Zuan's voice was a mere whisper, swallowed by the hollow echoes of the great hall.
High upon the throne, Menma's gaze pierced through his white, three-eyed fox mask. It fell upon the priest below—a man flickering like a candle in a gale—and the defiled letter clutched in his trembling hands.
He did not speak. He simply raised a hand, and a golden chakra chain snaked out, coiling around the urgent missive and drawing it back to him.
The letter was protected by a sealing formula, but for a member of the Uzumaki clan, it was child's play. Within moments, the seal dissolved, laying bare the contents of the plea.
Silence reclaimed the hall. Menma read in stillness, leaving only the sound of Zuan's heavy, terror-stricken breathing. Every passing second felt like a mountain pressing down on the priest's chest, threatening to crush the very air from his lungs.
How much time passed? A heartbeat? A century?
"Tell me everything," a voice finally commanded. It was cold, devoid of emotion, and sharp enough to strike at Zuan's fraying nerves.
Though Miroku had sent word by letter, its brevity was born of desperation. Menma needed the details only an eyewitness could provide. As he listened, memories of a past life surfaced—fragments of a story he once knew.
If I recall, Shion's mother died around this time while sealing the demon Moryo. The timing fits.
He mused further. Shion's power is the greatest among the priestesses. In my memory, when she finally released her seal, patterns broke out across her skin... it looked like Sage Transformation. Could the priestesses be tapping into Natural Energy?
As Zuan detailed the catastrophe, Menma's will rippled outward like an invisible wave, surging through the chakra network established by the Inscribed Tsukuyomi.
Across the Land of Stars, several figures stiffened simultaneously.
In the depths of the dungeon, Uchiha Hikari closed her copy of Icha Icha Paradise, her cold eyes drifting over the captive Hiruko and Yakushi Nono.
In the administration building, Uzumaki Kasumi froze while checking an mountain of supply scrolls.
Kaguya Kimimaro stopped mid-motion in the training grounds, a bone spur protruding from his arm; beside him, Haku paused while tending to a flower crystallized from ice.
The four of them shared a single moment of clarity as the same voice, the same coordinates, and an unquestionable summons echoed in their minds.
Moments later, four shadows stood at attention within the hall: Hikari, Kasumi, Haku, and Kimimaro.
In the corner, Zuan sat huddled in a chair, frantically eating to recover his strength. He had insisted on returning to protect the Priestess's lineage.
"A catastrophe has struck the Land of Demons," Menma's voice rang out, muffled but icy behind his mask. "The Priestess Miroku and her daughter Shion have been placed under house arrest by Daimyo Hamahata and the nobility. In the chaos, someone has unsealed the demon Moryo. The country is in shambles."
Hikari's dark eyes flickered toward Menma, a silent question in her gaze.
"Hikari," Menma addressed her. "Take Kimimaro and Haku. Follow me to the shrine immediately. We are there to save lives."
His gaze shifted to the two boys, sharp and testing. "This is your trial. Your opponents will be at least Jonin-level. Don't die."
"Yes, My Lord!" Kimimaro straightened his spine, his resolve hardening. Haku's breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening.
"Kasumi," Menma turned. "Organize the Hoshikage's forces. I want thirty elites dispatched to the Land of Demons. Prepare a contingency of officials, doctors, food, and medicine. We are not just saving them; we are taking over. I want a peaceful transition."
"Understood, Lord Shura," Kasumi replied, her eyes turning sharp and steady.
Menma blurred, appearing instantly beside Hikari. He placed a hand on her shoulder. Hikari followed suit, her pale hands resting on the shoulders of Kimimaro and Haku.
"We're moving," Kimimaro warned Zuan.
The priest, still reeling from the speed of it all, scrambled over. As Haku placed a hand on him, Zuan caught a glimpse of the "lovely girl's" face and felt a faint, misplaced blush rise to his cheeks.
Flying Raijin Jutsu!
The air warped. In a mountain cave near the capital of the Land of Demons, five figures manifested out of thin air.
As they stepped out of the cave, a frigid wind lashed at them, carrying the stench of copper and the sickening, sulfurous rot of the underworld. Below them, the city was a sea of fire, columns of black smoke choking the horizon.
Zuan gasped, his face paling. "This... this is the Capital?"
"Move," Menma commanded, his voice a blade.
The crimson of the Sharingan flared in Hikari's eyes. With three tomoe spinning, she locked onto the chaotic chakra signatures emanating from the shrine. She vanished, a phantom in the night, racing toward the thickest scent of blood.
Kimimaro activated his Byakugan, leaping forward alongside Haku. Thanks to Menma's research, the "drain" of transplanted Dojutsu had been mitigated; they could now toggle the power on and off, sparing them the exhaustion that plagued those like Kakashi.
Menma gripped Zuan like a piece of luggage and blurred. He moved faster than the rest, a dark streak merging with the shadows.
The Shrine of the Land of Demons
What was once a sacred sanctuary had become a slaughterhouse.
Outside the shrine, the scene was grotesque. The stone courtyard was carpeted with the corpses of soldiers in ornate armor. Their deaths were unnatural; their bodies were desiccated husks, skin clinging to bone as if every drop of moisture had been sucked out. Their faces were locked in silent, wide-mouthed screams.
Among the common soldiers lay the nobility—the pampered elite of the Land of Demons. Daimyo Hamahata, once a man of immense girth and arrogance, lay slumped like a discarded sack of flour. A kunai forged of black bone was driven deep into his forehead, the flesh around the wound turning a necrotic, bruised purple.
The architect of this horror loomed in the center of the plaza.
It was a mass of writhing, dark-purple chakra—a sentient, viscous swamp of filth. Eight titanic, hideous serpentine heads rose from the gloom, their slitted pupils burning with the molten fire of ancient hatred.
Moryo.
The heavy vermilion doors of the main hall were shut tight, protected by a thin, flickering veil of white light. The barrier groaned under the relentless assault of Moryo's dark energy, hissing like steam against ice.
Through the translucent shield, the Priestess Miroku could be seen. Her face was deathly pale, a streak of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth as she poured her life force into the seal. Behind her, little Shion trembled, her violet eyes swimming with tears, her tiny hands clutching a spherical bell.
Below the demon, a group of figures in blood-stained white robes watched with twisted glee.
"Miroku, how much longer can you last?" mocked Yomi, the leader of the Dark Medical Ninjas. His eyes were sunken, his skeletal fingers weaving signs to direct Moryo's wrath. "I can feel it... your power is fading."
The air was a cacophony of demonic hisses, the screams of the dying, and the sickening sound of grinding bone.
Then, the night was torn asunder.
Like falling stars, several figures crashed into the blood-soaked purgatory.
Uchiha Hikari struck the ground first, her high-collared cloak snapping in the gale. As she looked up, her eyes shifted from mere crimson to the intricate, terrifying pattern of the Mangekyo Sharingan.
She didn't move. She simply stood there, an aura of absolute lethality radiating from her like a freezing mist.
Kimimaro and Haku landed beside her. Kimimaro's face remained a mask of indifference, but his Byakugan burned with a cold fire. He raised a hand, and a wicked, snow-white bone spur tore through his palm. Beside him, Haku took a steadying breath, the air around him crystallizing into shards of ice.
Finally, Menma stepped into the very heart of the storm.
His three-eyed mask caught the firelight. As he walked, the dark-purple sludge of Moryo's chakra retreated from his feet, exploding and dissipating as if touched by holy fire.
"Impossible!" Yomi stammered, his madness momentarily replaced by shock.
Menma walked past the carnage and stopped directly in front of the flickering barrier. He stood tall, a solitary silhouette positioned between the terrified priestess and the eight heads of the roaring demon.
"You..." Moryo hissed, his eight heads recoiling slightly as they felt an unprecedented, crushing pressure. "Who are you?"