Lord of limits
Beyond the walls of Konoha, the fate of her shinobi lies. Turned within, frames tremble and rock with each step of the biju. Hemorrhaging warmth and fond memories into the streets, where a torrent of tormented chakra descended.
As embers would shine for breath, the spirits feast on the husk.
“Once upon a time, a vow was made. I will never curse a name without understanding it first, and never on behalf of malice. Removed from death, and armored in doubt, these blasted notions of otherworldliness and fickle souls will fade into myth.”
Fire pours down from the rooftops. Rain and the cloth of a starry night erase the scent of yesterday. Drowning garbled voices of promises. The earth surges to bear itself, dissolving walls and boundaries in its wake.
A hiss of sleet, steam and storm swept woods. A swimming shimmering shape as ever surface dances to life. Every texture. Every plank, every joint, every handful of earth and standing water.
I made a promise to revive her family name. I made a promise to nurse friendships well in advance. I made a promise to ward away disasters that tore families apart.
And to that effect, I feed on demise. On destruction. On chaos and delusion. On dissent and foolishness. In all my years, I neglected the simple things. The things that leant power and purpose to those tales. Countered and cross examined, I aim to confront something which had since moved on.
“So come forth Kurama, and your wild justice. Come forth peerage, and raise calamity of your own design.”
A hand presses to the worn stone street. Excitement caught on the air, tugging like gusting winds. Veins emerge from the surface, shadowing my palm, as vines sprawl out. A figure, not cloaked, but shrouded in vines. A branching network, from the breadth of a finger to needle thin, yet powerful enough to raise and cut stone.
“They call me the reaper. They call me the great tree. They call me the world serpent. Bane of divinity. Devourer of storms. Once upon a time… Hu, I doubt any of you have been here that long. This world appeared in the wake of that after all. To their credit, they did try. To set me straight, or defeat me, I could not say. They saw power beyond comprehension. The borderless and unparalleled field of my arbitration.”
Licks a finger, “Of course, leading with a personal favorite of mine.”
And the walls came tumbling down. Split, corroded, reclaimed, weathered. Time passed exponentially. Turning days into years and minutes into hours. All that the people had abandoned and left empty.
Even the ground beneath their feet. Jonin would wonder whether some invaded in the wake of the ninetails. Others blamed him outright. It wouldn’t end with the battle however. The elements blossomed around the places that harbored them. Prized heirlooms gained a life of their own, while others faded into the shadows.
The codes hidden before this beast would fasten behind their backs. Only coming free with the support of allies. Fear paralized the leaf, in a physical sense, binding them, but it was not alone. Idealism and confidence clashed with the devastation wrought by the incursion. As one flame faded to ash, another emerged to take its place.
Each tail of Kurama’s was like an avalanche. Ripping through the trees and dashing any who stood in their midst. Power that could wipe the face of the Hokage monument struck flesh head on. It burned and wrenched and exploded into their bodies.
One flew through the forest like a cannon shot, and impacted a tree as such. The shadow of the fox and roar of battle was omnipresent, yet as the fight played over in their mind, this one had to wonder how they were still alive.
The treeline rocked like grass underfoot. Creaking as the front wedged closer. They were slowing him down?
Duty. The urge to rise up, to embrace that hope, was strong. The reaper took its share however. Lumber shards dug into their sides, and fatigue echoed back with a vengeance. Their conscious mind swam about the forest as ambition too great for their means swept them.
Fixed to the tree; Abused to the deepest corner of their bones, and yet they moved. Each millimeter between them and the tree multiplied. Nearly fused, there wasn’t much to work with, but the tremors stirred them. The cries of comrades, of friends called to them.
Drawing on their chakra till there was next to nothing, biding their time for more. Numb, legs hit the ground. A plethora of hunger frenzied cells and battle weary bones held them up. Light as a feather, and yet rogue as a meteorite.
Courage carried them toward the front line, where the bodies of ninja lie scattered. Some never saw the fox, pinned instead by the thousand blows and crushing weight as trees fell around them.
It was only the end of a trail left by the ninetails, and yet their body promised to fail before they reached the front. They couldn’t even draw a kunai to mind, let alone fight.
It wasn’t a fruitless journey however. The groan of undead challenged the rumble of war. Distant. Too distant to appear before the curtain wall. This one knelt, examining the injured closest to them. It wasn’t pretty, but chances were they wouldn’t be alive past this point, so seeing eyes and rising chest were considered well off.
From the tangle of limbs, ninja wormed their way out, rising atop the tangle mat. Some scarred far worse. Whimpers and cries for help rose from the matted brush. Those who could moved to free those they could reach.
It wasn’t realistic. To think so many as they had survived. Scarred and dismembered, but many. There weren’t enough bandages to go around. There wasn’t enough blood in the forest to keep them moving.
So they stayed. A leaf Shinobi would not abandon their own. The strongest survivors marched back toward the village gates. For cloth, for medicine, for aid.
