Interlude 7

Tea Capital
Laughing Smoke

He fingered the hilt of his sword as he watched the immense form of Gamatsu fall from the sky, an immense bladed hurricane crashing into his underbelly and tearing into his wings. One of the mightiest warriors of the moth clan felled in one stupendous wind jutsu. A hurricane that must have been three hundred meters long and a third as wide, coiling up from the top of the military-tower, shredding the rooftop apart in the process, and striking down the immense moth like an angry wind god.

The wind-fan ninjutsu of Sunagakure were some of the most feared techniques in the Elemental Nations. In sheer destructive potential, only a handful of powers could match it. The potential for collateral damage and lack of acceptable targets for such techniques kept their usage relatively rare. That rarity had caused him to err, he had thought the missing arm of the warfan user would prevent her from unleashing her devastating techniques.

He had been wrong, and now he was suffering a significant setback for it. He rolled his fingers across the hilt of his blade for several long moments as Gamatsu returned to Manaslu Tsum in a massive burst of smoke. The green light of his meditative scales winked out of existence, and soon the attitudes of everyone in the Tea Fortress would grow agitated. If he waited too long, they’d become uncontrollable.

If she hadn’t been here, Gamatsu would still be in the air. Only the arrows of a truly exceptional Samurai could scratch his carapace, and all of the most powerful samurai in the Tea Fortress were co-conspirators or long reassigned away from the upcoming conflict by Commander Tenchi. All except that one that was ripping the guards apart earlier, whom Tenchi ignored for whatever foolish reason.

No other ninja present could harm Gamatsu- not without revealing something truly exceptional and unexpected. Too high in the air for any to leap to him, too large for any normal weapons to damage. Only that warfan was a concern, and the Ogress had told him she had torn it off. That should’ve rendered the only obvious threat here impotent.

It hadn’t. Why hadn’t it? Could war-fan ninjutsu be used with only a single arm?

Water the Earth.

He sighed. Oh well. You learn new things with each passing day. “Start executing the hostages.” He called out over his shoulders, keeping his eyes on the ongoing battles of the fortress. “Drain their blood into the flower-basin, waste not a drop.”

“…Lord Takamura?” One of the ashigaru nervously called out, stopping him before he could begin another round of rousing thought. He restrained the urge to sigh, stopping his fingers along the hilt of his blade and letting the silence linger for a few moments.

“…Ashigaru. Are you suffering from some impairment?” He called out very deliberately and cooly. He could practically hear the winces and flinches from the gathered men as they watched over sedate hostages.

“I- I apologize Lord Takamura.” The shuffling told him that the guard had dropped to one knee. “Forgive me my trespass.”

He turned around, letting his shadowed blue eyes cast over the scene. A garden built into the side of the mountain, slightly higher up than the palace itself and overlooking the fortress courtyard. A shrine had been hastily converted in the center to prop up the brightly-glowing Fire Blossom upon its ivy pillar, and the many dozens of noble hostages captured from the activities of the night were sedately kneeling. Gamatsu’s spell upon them would soon break.

“You’re wondering why I commanded you to do that, aren’t you, ashigaru?” He declared, taking smooth and steady steps towards the kneeling warrior, but voice meant for everyone in the courtyard. “Worry not, your Daimyo will enlighten you.”

There was a much harsher flinch at that, and sweat pooled upon the kneeling man’s brow.

“Ideally, the hostages would be kept to ensure the cooperation of our neighbors as power is consolidated, that is correct.”

Feed the Roots.

“But that ideal is only possible if we first succeed here tonight.” He pointed a deliberate finger towards the distant courtyard, just in time for the side of the military tower to explode outwards in a burst of smoke and fire. “The battle has turned against Commander Tenchi, and his loss grows more likely by the moment. By the time we move to reinforce him, the elite ninja I had previously lured away will have returned, and by then our loss is inevitable.”

He leaned down to grab the man by his collar and hoist him upwards, glaring into his muddy eyes. “The only path that results in sure victory now is the Fire Lotus. If we feed it sufficient chakra to achieve its radiant bloom, I can devour it for unprecedented levels of power. With that power I can sweep aside our enemies, and all of you will be remembered as liberators instead of failed rebels.”

His hand tightened around the man’s collar, even as his face remained perfectly calm. “Do you understand, ashigaru? Every second I’ve wasted explaining this to you is another moment that victory slips further from our grasp.”

The sweating man raised a hand up in a salute, practically slapping his forehead in the process. “I-I understand Lord Daimyo!”

He dropped the man, letting the common-born warrior stagger back and stumble for a moment. He turned his head and nodded sharply, making sure to look at each and every ashigaru in the garden in the process. “Start with the oldest ones- every drop upon the roots. Time is of the essence.”

“Yes Lord Daimyo!” With that the ashigaru began to hoist the gathered nobles up by their shoulders, dragging the sedate elderly over to the large central basin that held the roots of the Fire Lotus. With knives they cut throats in quick but choppy motions, and red blood began to spill over the twisting tendrils. The bodies were hoisted up by ankles and allowed to drain completely before being tossed aside and the next set of sacrifices brought up to the hungry flower.

Three, six, nine… Every set of sacrifices made the glow of the fire lotus just the bit more radiant. He walked over to the prepared stovetop, adding another ashwood log to the fire, inspecting the teapot for sabotage, and letting out a low exhale.

He closed one eye, cycling through the vision of his various corpse-clones. Only one third of them were still active, the preparation of months lost in a single night. A dozen or more fights were happening at the moment, and most on the shrine-island were already disabled.

A handful were still alive, doing their best to avoid the screaming molten-rock ninja from Iwa and his spittle-riddled gesticulations. It was honestly rather shameful to look at, shouldn’t the man be embarrassed to act like that?

Then the docks- there were no clones at the docks. That meant the elite ninja were already in the city proper, making their way up. They should be running into-

No clones left in the city. He almost threw himself up as his vision cycled through views, the roadway, the courtyards, the tower-

They were already at the gates of the Tea Fortress. He snarled, glancing up to inspect the Fire Lotus. The bloom was almost perfect- but it wasn’t quite all the way there yet. He needed to-

Feed the Roots.

-wait…? No. That was stupid. He was about to lose everything right now. He waved a hand at the ashigaru, practically leaping over to the fire lotus. “Enough- ashigaru, to the palace. The elite ninja have already arrived, delay them long enough for the Tea Ceremony to conclude!”

“Y-Yes Lord Daimyo!” The ashigaru dropped the most recent nobles- late teenagers by the looks of it- on the ground and ran off, leaving them alive and sedated on the ground of the garden. They didn’t matter, what did was the Fire Lotus.

He leapt once, sword flashing once before raising up and to the side. The ivy pillar slumped as the golden-fire Fire Lotus glowed, carefully balanced on the flat of his blade as he carried it over to the hot stove and tea pot.

He knelt, resting his sword to the side as he quickly washed his hands in the garden-stream, then a basin of water, then a vial of blessed water. The Fire Lotus was grasped- almost burning his hands from the sheer radiant heat of the bloom.

He had made sure to practice the mincing for many, many hours before this. Mostly on onions. If he never saw an onion again, it would still be too soon. Eight cuts this way, eight cuts that way, then a rapid series of downwards slices as he shredded the bloom and then added the entire thing to the interior of the teapot, setting the pot to boil over the ashwood fire.

A low, tense sigh escaped his lips, as he inspected his slightly-burned fingertips and charred surface of the cutting board. He reached over and started a little mechanical timer, setting it for the bare-minimum time for the tea to saturate.

He was out of sealing-tags for the corpse-clones. The battle was progressing at a rapid pace in the fortress. There were no more guards around him. He was out of things he could do to prepare, all that was left was to wait for the tea to finish.

The teapot glowed with an inner fire as the water boiled. An explosion echoed in the distance. He closed one of his eyes and cycled through active corpse-clones. Vanishingly few now, barely a tenth of the number he started the night with.

Soon, it would just be him and his sword. His chakra was still full, his blade sharp, and his spirit hardened.

He brought his hands together and focused. He exhaled slowly, letting a thin trail of smoke out from his mouth. Gradually, the viscosity and quantity of the smoke increased, growing out across the garden and filling the space with a thick layer of white chakra-laden airs. The air rolled across the ground, covering the earth in a thick fluffy layer.

Fire Art. Field of Smothering Smog.

A useful sensory technique he had learned from the monks of Fire Country. Anything that moved within the smoke, he would feel. Six hostages still alive, barely moving in the smoke. A number of small lizards and insects in the garden. Nothing else in the courtyard.

He dropped one hand, keeping the other in a focused handseal, and reached over to pick up the mechanical timer. Less than a minute left.

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A series of familiar explosions rippled through the air, making him work his jaw and raise his hand to scratch his chin. The sound of a number of explosive tags going off in sequential order, he was willing to bet on that being the puppeteer from Suna.

He reached into his robes and withdrew his sword-polish, both an oil and a poison, and steadily applied it to his blade as the pot continued to boil. As he performed the meditative preparation, he considered how he was going to fight the man that was so much like himself.

He could only watch a single view at a time through the eyes of his corpse-clones, but that was more than enough to get important information.

The first movement of the Onimask was clumsy, a great leap and then staggered, almost deliberate movements during his first attack. The second battle showed a much greater degree of mobility than the first, as the Onimask moved and leapt in much more agile ways. The difference was the presence of the puppeteer by the puppet’s side.

The absence in the first battle implied one of three things, a jutsu to hide himself, the ability to pilot the Onimask from a distance, or perhaps a compartment on the inside of the puppet for him to pilot it from within. Potentially all three were true.

The presence of the puppeteer in the second battle dramatically increased the level of agility, but the cut in his side had bled sand. Even as weak as that clone had been, it should’ve cut deeper than that. Armor or a clone, and again perhaps both.

…The man was entirely too similar to himself, even their brief and distant fights had been enough for him to determine that. With that in mind- he should assume all of the above was true simultaneously.

The outermost perimeter of his smoke was disturbed by a large movement. The trees in the distance shook as a large figure leapt up the mountainside, towards the garden.

Calmly, he removed the teapot from the heat and started to chug, ignoring how the scalding water burned his lips and throat and swallowing as much of the godly fire as he could.

Pain

If all of the previous was true, the real body of his enemy was inside the Onimask, the body outside was a clone with an armor-jutsu, and he had the ability to hide himself from sight on demand. Most likely he wouldn’t be able to force a confrontation to the point of actually killing him. That was fine- he didn’t need to kill the puppeteer to achieve his goals, just destroy his puppet and drive him away.

Pain