Black veins crawled through the desert, fractals branching off into the pale white sand and stirring the dust into the pale haze. It started at the border, like a candle placed beneath the map. As it progressed and tapped into the atmosphere the elements began to feed into it, propelling it’s growth.
Boulders and ridges erupted across the front. Dissolved by fumes and swallowed by dunes, they faded as quickly as they appeared. With the rattle and snap of an avalanche. The impacts were softened at a distance, however the quakes liquified the sand around them.
Precious little was built in the land of wind. A single stronghold boasted the majority of its population. A city excavated from a crater of clay, and ledges carved in the edge of the rim. These walls held the weather at bay, leaving the city sheltered and still.
The eastern horizon was filled with the black wave, just beyond the range of the sentinels. A dusty afternoon lessened that range even further, but news of the disaster had arrived. Shinobi and caravan alike fled before it. Any who lingered knew only devastation.
The stone teeth of the front mulched the desert, raising ruins and flinging them over the ridge. The stronghold sent their strongest and fastest hawks, carrying word of the disaster to their allies. They barely cleared the disaster in time, and even then, most of them suffered from it.
The fews were slow to rise, weighing heavy on the black desert. What space they touched stripped away chakra at alarming rates, and transformed them into extremes that swept the landscape by the hundreds.
The shinobi were prepared for a siege, but there were more alarms to come. The natural 1I’ve got my “nature / naruto” wires crossed. flows that fed the storm, it corrupted at their source. A burning wind preceded it, beckoning.
Beneath the onslaught of stone, golden flecks began to appear. Like the white sand, they retreated before the storm, but compounded in doing so. Large glowing veins soon met a wall of sunlight. As the dark storm stalled, a hammer struck down on the crags.
A heel knocked the teeth out of the storm, Towering among the mana flows was the sandman. The one-tailed tanuki. With a roar that rivaled the raw power of the fumes, It bore down on the storm. Plowing through rock and blasting wave after wave of concentrated chakra into the storm. The chaos was driven back. With every step the surrounding sand faded to gray and shimmered in his wake.
Step by step, it tore a path through the rocky front. Jagged eddies flung from his presence and drove back what shadows probed at him, cracking further spikes in the process.
The aura of the storm waned. The jagged stones around him set like tempered iron. The tanuki grinned manically, but as he pressed on, he found that the spires became tougher as well. Tempered iron indeed. He frowned at this unresponsive obstacle, and through the stillness he began to hear whispers.
Trails of darkness began to border on his wake. Shaken as they were with a blast of his presence, they were not purged. The corridor began to close behind him. Scanning the shadows that now surrounded him on all sides, The one-tail was made to check himself. The power of the biju was unparalleled, but a new strategy was in order.
As tendrils of shadow crept in on all sides, the biju turned his power inward. It was time to take advantage of an old bargain. Run through by a spear of shadows, the Biju turned to the approaching storm, took one steadying breath and. Vanished. Into smoke.
The shadows converged with a dizzying shriek. Spires shimmered silver as the dark became smothering. Flashed of white light punctuated the shadows. Dented, cracked and then - all at once - the spires collapsed. Immersed in a field of red, shrouded in the fuming storm.
Sixth tier / Six paths: Nature vs Beast.
I had way more planned for this session. That segment was all well and good, but what about the rest? (Dejavu, I have been in this situation before) What? Bide my time and commit another session to a fresh new stage?
Shoutout: “Rise of the guardians” set an example for this scene.
In a world of shinobi, it didn’t take long for word to spread. The losses taken in the desert were only the beginning. The chorus of whispering vines broke out in the land of fire. Sprites and whirlpools struck the archipelago. Firestorms poured over the land of earth. The land of lighting was checked by squalls. No nation, great or small, had been spared. Iron and ice hadn’t stopped shaking for hours.
Reports poured in. Skeptics and the usual suspects were quickly doused as an hours journey out of any settlement would find evidence of their own.
The leaf probed toward their borders, but the sand knew. If help was coming, it would take the feat of a Kage to arrive in time.
Dustdevils and sandstorms virtually exploded in the path of the encroaching nimbus. To the north and south the border was flooded. Messenger hawks flew in every direction with standing orders and intelligence. Fewer and fewer managed to complete the journey.
The miasma weakened and dragged down the avians. While the barrier corps tried and tested their mettle against the storm, the best they could do was slow it down. Two teams had already fallen to the erratic front. They could do little more than anchor themselves as the front turned them to stone.
The corrosive aura mounted and crushed all in it’s path. Undercutting spiritual barriers and rendering physical ones mute. It wasn’t all bleak though.
As the storm drew nearer to the sand village, the backlash from the desert intensified. The dust devils became saturated with water, fire and wind chakra. In places, turning the front against itself and holding the storm back for hours at a time.
The sand shinobi were reluctant to take advantage of them, as any person inside when the phenomenon failed would be certainly lost. Nevertheless, they studied them in earnest. Preparing elemental specialists and preparing the barrier team accordingly.
The impact of the conflicting storms rolled over the walls like thunder. Descending onto the sand village like a lullaby.
Children were gathered in shelters. Shinobi were committed to errands as often as they were defense. Everyone was preparing for the worst. Among several exceptions were the Hokage and his children. Rasa of the sand confronted each of his children with every ounce of courage and wisdom he could muster. He gave each of them a choice however. To his eldest son and daughter, he gave them the choice to take shelter or assist in errands. He did not offer the former to his youngest.
Rasa asked the boy whether he would stand by his side and protect the village. To what effect he would not say, as Gaara was visibly overwhelmed.
With the latest fiber of uncertainty, Gaara’s facade cracked. The presence of the Biju split the room, and in turn Gaara’s chest, where the one tail’s transformation shimmered. Gaara’s eye became unseeing, as his gaze panned the room for several moments. Then, as his family began to adjust, He centered himself.
Gaara’s focus had been split. A boy would see no purchase in the unknown, and a beast would not recognize the finer things. Between them, Gaara had a vague idea of where he stood, and Shukaku of the circumstances they faced. Calm if unseeing, he spoke, “So this is it? This is where it all ends.” Garra shivered and closed his eyes, curbing in his emotions as cracks emerged in the wall, “No matter. I’m not going to die today, and anyone suggesting otherwise can have the short end of this stick.”
The presence was visibly blurring the air in the room, and as her fear was overwhelmed Temari found her voice spilling over, “Gaara-”
At his age, his body wouldn’t survive the amount of pressure it was under. Instead Gaara had set aside a position. He carried a gourd on his back at all times, and typically funneled the excess or spillage from the one-tails chakra into it. His control over sand was otherworldly. The blood of his father and grandfather rushed to mature. Not this time. In this case, Gaara would have bore nearly ten times as much chakra as any other jinchuriki. The presence that clung to him was heavy enough to snap his tiny frame in half.
Garra instinctively directed the excess to the gourd and assented to afford his bond with as much space as necessary. Instead of containing it, the sand spirit’s chakra clung to him, burying him head and shoulders in a phantasmal dune.
Even dismissing as much as he was, Gaara was still stretching his bloodline to it’s limit. Limbs hinged and projected off of his own. Shukaku hadn’t tried to move, and only he knew where the patience came from. Gaara was struggling to convert enough sand to stabilize his emotions. Little did he know, he had the entire tower under his thumb, and half its volume of the neighboring streets.
Rasa spoke, and as he did the tower began to rumble. His hand, rippling under the cloak, came to rest firmly on Gaara’s shoulders. It was a surreal experience, as he shared Shukaku’s senses. He felt every inch of the man inside the cloak like it was buried within him. In answer, a feature of Gaara’s own personality emerged to match it. It moved him, changed him on a deeper level than Shukaku’s power ever could.
The Biju saw this. The seal - his ace in the hold - became a weapon. A scythe before the fate of the desert, and a torch in the face of the darkness. It was crude yet, but sturdy enough.
A single stream wound its way through the surface, crystal and dust vented onto open air, “I think you should go.”
Temari stepped forward, “Gaara, breathe.”
Gaara turned his head, tossing a mane of shadow as he did, “Get out while you can.”
There was a gleam in his eye. Mischief and… something else.
Kakuro caught one glimpse of cross shaped eyes and grabbed Temari by the shoulder. He then shouted into the hall, “Everyone needs to evacuate, now!” As the impression settled in Temari’s mind.
Fondness?
Rasa stood, releasing Gaara, “I won’t allow you to do this on your own.”
Gaara raised a look that was half his own. One of knowing and challenging, “Can you live up to that, I wonder?”
Few accepted an order from a fleeing child, but as the floors and walls began to ripple, the chambers began to clear nonetheless.
Stacks of vital documents accompanies some of the last to escape the building. The sand siblings began to break down across the street before the surface of the building folded in on itself. In the shade of mid afternoon, the building flickered with a golden light before markings began to trace the surface. They had nearly set into place when the building began to rise. Black ringed eyes flickered at the forefront, to those who had the distance. The foundation cracked and raked the street. Paving stones merged to form obsidian claws.
Gaara did remember to breathe. The draft alone was deafening. The form signed, then crouched. The city center rocked like a bow-sting as it took to the air. Barely clearing the street, Gaara kicked the side of a neighboring building, converted the wall, and lashed out with one arm. A bridge of sand webbed out from block to block, bracing a route to the gate. With a howl of exertion and slap of air, the form of the one-tailed Biju flew over the village.
Great furrows cut in the canyon walls, as the beast shed it’s momentum. Shukaku arrived to find a layer of darkness on the horizon. He drew a breath, driving one foot into the earth. The open space was a breath of fresh air, but no less precarious. As he took his bearings Shukaku felt himself straining.
Gaara’s body, at the heart of the Biju, was red-lining. Tapering off under the pressure from the One tail’s form. Shukaku had hoped for a head start in driving back the corruption. He instead found himself plopped down on the village doorstep, Drawing on the elements that made him whole.
Vortexes of dust and darkness erupted on all sides of the surviving desert. The perimeter decayed sharply as the dust devils were drafted.
Winds buffeted the village watch and nearly buried those stationed outside the eastern gate. The essence of the land of wind converged on the Shukaku and split upon his flesh. Delinquent chakras and ancient conquest refusing aid to him now.
Shukaku’s interest was peaked, but unconcerned with them as his body surged with vitality.
Gaara opened his eyes as he felt his surroundings equalize. A steady warmth matched against his fatigue and he let himself go to a sea of limbo. Moments before a stray thought took root.
Shukaku felt the absence in his tenketsu. Several of his prized possessions had been taken by the storm. A cold vengeful focus laced his body for their absence. Taking one measuring step after another, he stomped across the desert. Then sprung. Then threw his weight behind kilos of sand.
A platform raised from the sun starched desert. A churning disk flanked by veins of sand. If he had his way, Shukaku would have like to wield the entirety of the desert against the terrible plague. As it were, the desert’s chakra was thick and compressed. It lent itself all too well to his designs, but even he had his limits.
His patience for example. Driving a pillar into the wall of shadow, Shukaku blasted a whole in one side of the front large enough to house the hidden village over again. Massive arcs of sand, rings that ripped and shredded through the shadow. The land beneath his feet, bare and patchy, began to shimmer and rise like golden wheat. The callous earth softened. Hoarding enough sand to both maintain his attack and rebuild his foundation, Shukaku jogged across the front, tearing a massive amount of terrain from the back line and spawning lesser swirls to hold the line.
