"I need to get the hell away, I can definitely take the bird… not Kensei as well, maybe one on one but they're both there." Oroshiki said, his body getting stronger and stronger for every person that was dying in the village.
The less people that bare his eyes, the more of his power returns to him.
Right before he could continue running away, his senses screamed at him to dodge as a bolt of golden fire was flung his way.
He narrowly dodged the attack and quickly looked at his adversary, only making his eyes widen further.
"Ha! No way you came all this way… and what's with that form? You look an awful lot like me." He said with a mocking grin.
A figure descended from the sky with large white and gold wings. "Don't even talk, Oroshiki." The person said, voice androgynous.
"Hey… tell me, why and how do you look like that? Don't tell me…" Oroshiki asked, eyes sharpening for a moment.
"Yes, I knew of your plan from the beginning. Yes, this form is due to me allowing your soul to overhaul my own." The figure said, an equally mocking grin appeared on their face.
"You… knew that I'd swap my consciousness into another body and allowed my DNA to override your own, knowing that I wouldn't be able to take over due to already having taken over a body?" Oroshiki said in disbelief.
The figure scoffed. "The genetics of the otsutsuki far exceed anything else, if I want to give you the punishment you deserve… I'll need anything I can get."
"Hmm… are you mad at me? What could I have done wrong?" Oroshiki said, his eyes curling in joy.
His curling eyes suddenly widened in shock as the nature energy in the air surrounded the figure and entered its body.
"Don't bullshit me, bastard. You know exactly what you did." They said, stepping onto the sandy floor.
Oroshiki hummed in thought for a moment and looked around at the desert surrounding them. "Could it be… whatever her name was? The girl who raised you and your siblings—?"
"Don't even think about her." The figure said, immense hatred emanating from its very being.
Oroshiki burst out laughing. "Hey, the bitch had it coming. Not like I killed her anyway, just blessed her with my—"
"Didn't kill her?" The figure said, chakra and natural energy flaring and mixing. "She died giving birth to the child you FORCED her to have."
Oroshiki grinned. "Hey, she was practically begging for it. Didn't you see the clothes she'd wear? Oh, and she died giving birth? Shame I wasn't there to see it."
Multiple veins popped out from the figure's head as their eyes opened wide, revealing the bright golden tenrigan as they tied their long hair back.
Oroshiki's smile widened. "Come on, show me what's new… Shuen."
"I'll make you wish you stayed on your own little planet of freaks, bastard."
…
…
The blade that stopped the strike did not tremble.
Takeo stood between Yukio and the remaining seven masked figures, standing there with his typical quiet composure. His back was straight despite his age, long dark grey hair swaying, pristine white blade angled just enough to make clear his next move would NOT be a defensive one.
He had intended not to kill again in this lifetime ever since the day he had killed his own brother. He had promised himself that much. But vows were luxuries afforded to peaceful times.
This was not a peaceful time.
The masked men adjusted their spacing, tightening their formation as they reassessed the situation. There wasn't any recognition in their eyes, no idea of what kind of opponent they were facing. To them, he just looked like an old man who had appeared in the wrong place at the wrong time.
One of them spoke, voice deep and low beneath the mask.
"Unknown target. Hm, age advanced. Stance refined."
Another shifted his grip on the blade at his waist.
"Chakra levels above Chūnin, control is abnormal."
Takeo didn't respond, he quickly turned to look at Yukio for a moment, his face hardening as he saw the horrible state the boy was in. But he was alive.
At that moment, all of the masked men moved at once.
Sand suddenly erupted beneath Takeo's feet in a binding cloud while two of the men lunged from opposite sides in a pincer attack, blades angled for his arteries instead of limbs. A third masked man flickered above him, descending with a blade in hand.
Takeo raised an eyebrow and stepped.
"Page One, Flower Reflection."
He shifted his posture off center just enough that the first blade sliced through empty air, his own blade jerking up to redirect the second blade just perfectly. The descending attacker fully committed and was about to decapitate—
Takeo vanished.
"Sign-less Body flicker?!" One of them exclaimed.
He reappeared midair behind the descending attacker.
"Page Three, Mist Draw."
The cut was extremely clean and efficient. The masked man hit the ground before he understood that he had been attacked.
Their formation broke.
They didn't panic, but they certainly had to reassess the situation again.
The same three quickly gathered themselves and attacked simultaneously once more, forcing Takeo in strange angles, testing his reaction speed. Lightning formed along one arm, wind compressed around another's blade.
And Takeo's sword followed.
"Page Two, Still Water Mirror."
He matched their rhythm, he didn't overpower it or rush his movements. He read the rhythm of their combined efforts and moved between the attacks, steel tapping against each other only when necessary. One strike was deflected while he severed another's wrist and cut one throat open.
The remaining four hesitated despite their elite training.
One spoke, voice barely a whisper. "…Is he self taught?"
Another nodded faintly.
"I don't see an insignia. I don't recognise that footwork or technique either, yet the refinement—"
"It's my family's technique." Takeo cut in with a calm voice.
The old man advanced one step.
They rushed him again, far more aggressively now that their formation didn't work.
Takeo smiled as he lowered his blade deliberately.
"Page Five, Shadow Invitation." He said beneath his breath so that they wouldn't hear.
He exposed an opening so perfectly that they took it within an instant.
"Page Six, Shattered Reflection."
The barely established rhythm crumbled.
His counter cut through the angle they had unconsciously deemed safe. Two fell immediately after a singular exchange.
Only two masked men remained.
They circled Takeo with extreme caution.
"You…" one of them said, voice tight with something bordering awe despite the situation. "Where were you trained?"
Takeo hummed in thought. "I am pretty much self taught, but the swordsmanship is from my great ancestor."
The two immediately attacked with desperation.
He sighed and moved through them like falling silk.
"Page Four, Butterfly's Edge."
He passed by one without stopping, his blade gliding across his side before the man collapsed just seconds later.
The final masked man stood alone, his blade trembling ever so slightly.
"State your name." He demanded, as if he refused to die to someone he didn't even know the name of.
Takeo paused.
For a moment, he considered just saying Takeo Natsuki and rolling with it.
But right now he was actually having quite a lot of fun, so he decided to give himself an awesome nickname or something.
He thought of multiple things like… the super sword man, sneaky little swordsman, sword god, Takeo the great…
But then a name came to the top of his mind, the name whispered by the elders of his family, mutters from his cousins, reluctant acknowledgement from those who resented what they could not replicate.
A name he had been called on multiple occasions by his family and even Takumi, who he had deemed a friend.
He straightened his posture, deciding to reclaim the name and use it for something good.
"You are facing The Dishonourable Genius of the Natsuki Family."
The masked man froze, taking in the long name.
Then he charged.
Takeo ended the exchange without even using a page from the Kagamihana.
Silence returned to the bloody street.
Seven bodies lay scattered across the sandy floors and debris from broken buildings.
The wind only carried the scent of blood, making Takeo feel a little sick to his stomach.
He stood alone in the aftermath, breathing a little heavily, eyes lingered on the bloody white blade in his hand. For decades, he had refused to stain it. Tonight, he had just broken that vow.
"…So be it," he murmured.
He immediately turned to Yukio, kneeling and pressing his palm against the boy's severed arm, Chakra flowing carefully to slow the bleeding.
"You fought well," he said quietly, making sure to comfort the boy. "You survived longer than most. Stay conscious, if you lose consciousness you will die. I will save you, so stay alive."
A slow clap echoed from behind him.
Takeo didn't bother rising to his feet, but his eyes sharpened.
Two unmasked men stood at the far end of the street.
Their uniforms were darker, more fitted than the others. Their headbands bore the same unfamiliar symbol, polished and without a scratch. Their posture was relaxed and almost careless, far too confident.
One of them surveyed the bodies.
"…Ten bodies."
The other exhaled slowly.
"Three killed by a kid and the others by an old man. Sunagakure is truly doomed, our Anbu is losing to people like this?"
They approached without haste.
"We haven't ever seen swordsmanship like that," the first admitted openly. "Definitely not from a great ninja village."
The second studied Takeo's stance carefully.
"You molded chakra without using any hand seals," he said. "You managed to use the body flicker jutsu without hand seals, yet you used it perfectly."
They stopped several steps away.
"What is your name?" One asked.
Takeo ross slowly to his feet, placing himself between them and Yukio's unmoving body.
He didn't repeat the name he had chosen.
"My name is Takeo Natsuki."
The two men exchanged a glance.
"Perhaps if you had been born beyond this village," one said thoughtfully, "you would have altered the balance of the ninja world, I'm sure."
The other nodded faintly.
"It is fortunate for the world that you were not."
"And? Are you two going to introduce yourselves?" Takeo asked calmly.
The first man inclined his head slightly.
"We are Elite Jōnin of the Sand Village."
Takeo lifted his blade once more.
"I don't have a clue in the world as to what an 'Elite Jōnin' is," he said calmly. "But I assume you intend to demonstrate it."
The faintest smile touched one of the men's lips.
"Of course." He replied.
"And unlike the others," the second added softly. "We do not intend to die here. We do not underestimate our opponents."
Takeo grinned.