Naruto: God of Shinobi

Chapter 20: Collision

The mist had never been thicker.

It pressed against the windows of the house where Team Seven had been staying, pressed against the walls and the doors and the paper screens that separated one room from another. Tazuna stood at the window with his hands gripping the sill and his knuckles white and his breath fogging the glass. He had been standing there for an hour, watching, waiting, knowing that something was coming but not knowing what or when or how bad it would be.

Tsunami stood behind him with her hand on her son's shoulder. Inari sat at the table with his eyes fixed on the door. He was not crying. He was not shaking. He was waiting too.

Kakashi stood in the center of the room with his book in his hand and his visible eye on the ceiling. He had not turned a page in twenty minutes. He was listening to something that no one else could hear. The mist. The water. The silence that had settled over the island like a blanket being pulled tight over a sleeping face.

Sasuke sat against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. He was not sleeping. His breathing was too controlled for sleep. He was preparing himself the way he always prepared himself before a fight, running through scenarios in his head, planning his movements, calculating the angles of attack and defense.

Sakura sat beside him. Her hands were in her lap. Her fingers were laced together. She was not preparing. She was trying not to think about the last battle, about the twins and their blades and the way she had been thrown aside like something worthless. She was trying not to think about Naruto, who was not here, who had gone into the forest hours ago and had not come back.

"Where is he?" she asked.

No one answered.

"The bridge," Tazuna said. His voice was rough. "He will be at the bridge. He has been training there. He likes the space. The openness."

Kakashi closed his book. He tucked it into his vest. His visible eye moved to the door.

"Then we go to the bridge."

---

Zabuza moved through the mist like a ghost moving through water.

His sword was in his hand. His feet made no sound on the wet ground. His eyes were fixed on the building ahead, the building where Gatō kept his money and his weapons and his men and his sense of invincibility. The building where Gatō was currently drinking sake and laughing with his bodyguards and believing that the world belonged to him.

Zabuza had been waiting for this moment for months. He had tolerated Gatō's arrogance. He had accepted Gatō's money. He had played the role of the hired killer, the tool, the weapon that could be pointed in any direction as long as the price was right. But he had never been anyone's tool. He had been waiting. Planning. Building his strength and his squad and his patience.

Now he was done waiting.

The guards at the door saw him. Their mouths opened. Their hands reached for their weapons. They were fast, for civilians. They were dead before they finished drawing.

Zabuza walked through the door. The wood splintered around him. The sake cups on the table rattled. Gatō looked up from his seat, his face going from drunken confusion to pale recognition to raw animal terror in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

"You," Gatō said. "What are you doing? I pay you. I pay you well. We have a deal."

Zabuza did not answer. He walked across the room. His sword dragged against the floor, leaving a groove in the wood.

"Zabuza. Demon. Listen to me. Whatever they are paying you, I can double it. Triple it. Name your price."

Zabuza stopped in front of the table. He looked down at Gatō. The man was small. Soft. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wet. He had never been in danger before, not real danger, not the kind that came with a blade and no hesitation and no possibility of mercy.

"You do not understand," Zabuza said. His voice was quiet. "This was never about your money."

He raised his sword.

Gatō screamed.

The sword came down.

The building was quiet after that. The bodyguards were dead. The servants had fled. The only sounds were the dripping of blood and the crackling of the lamps and the distant murmur of the mist pressing against the windows.

Zabuza wiped his blade on Gatō's clothing. He turned and walked out of the building. The twins were waiting for him outside, their masks in place, their blades drawn. Haku stood behind them, calm and silent. Kasumi leaned against a tree with her arms crossed and her red hair bright against the grey of the mist.

"The island is ours," Zabuza said. "Now we destroy the bridge. And then we build something new."

The bridge was incomplete.

It stretched out from the shore, a skeleton of wood and rope and iron fittings, its far end disappearing into the mist like a road that led nowhere. The pillars rose from the water at uneven intervals, some finished, some still wrapped in scaffolding, some barely started. The planks beneath their feet were wet and slippery and creaked with every step.

Team Seven stood at the near end of the bridge. Tazuna was behind them, his hammer in his hand, his face pale but determined. He had insisted on coming. Kakashi had not argued. There was no time to argue.

Sakura looked back at the shore. At the trees. At the path that led to the forest where Naruto had gone to train.

"He is not coming," she said.

Sasuke did not look back. His eyes were on the mist. "Then we fight without him."

Kakashi's visible eye was scanning the water. The mist. The pillars. The spaces where enemies could hide.

"He will come," he said. "When he realizes something is wrong."

"And if he does not realize?"

Kakashi did not answer.

The mist shifted.

Zabuza stepped out of the white. His sword was in his hand. His eyes were cold. Behind him, the twins emerged from the fog, their masks gleaming with moisture, their blades already drawn. Haku followed, graceful and silent, his needles hidden somewhere beneath his sleeves. Kasumi walked at the rear, her red hair catching what little light there was, her hands empty but ready.

Zabuza stopped at the far end of the bridge. He looked at Kakashi. He looked at Sasuke and Sakura and Tazuna. He looked at the space where Naruto should have been.

"One of you is missing."

Kakashi did not respond.

Zabuza shrugged. "It does not matter. He will die like the rest of you. Or he will run. Either way, the bridge falls."

He raised his sword.

The mist exploded into motion.

Kakashi and Zabuza collided in the center of the bridge.

The sound of their first impact was like thunder cracking directly overhead, a sharp and violent noise that made Sakura flinch and Tazuna stumble backward. Kunai met sword. Sparks flew. The wood beneath their feet splintered from the force of their clash.

The fight was devastating.

Kakashi was fast. His Sharingan was active, the three tomoe spinning in his left eye, copying every movement Zabuza made, predicting every strike before it came. He ducked under a horizontal swing that would have taken his head off, countered with a kick to Zabuza's knee, followed with a kunai thrust toward the larger man's throat.

Zabuza was faster.

He blocked the kunai with the flat of his sword, twisted his body, brought his elbow around toward Kakashi's temple. Kakashi caught the elbow with his free hand, but the force of it drove him backward, his sandals skidding against the wet planks.

"Ninja Art: Hidden Mist Jutsu."

The words were quiet. Almost casual. But the effect was immediate. The mist thickened, darkened, became something more than water droplets suspended in air. It was a living thing now, pressing against Kakashi's skin, filling his lungs, blinding his Sharingan.

Zabuza disappeared into the white.

Kakashi stood still. His visible eye was closed. His Sharingan was open but could see nothing through the chakra infused fog. He listened. The sound of water dripping from the pillars. The creaking of the bridge beneath his feet. The soft whisper of breath that was not his own.

He turned. His kunai came up. Zabuza's sword clanged against it, inches from his throat.

"You are good," Zabuza said. His voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "But the Sharingan cannot copy what it cannot see."

Kakashi did not answer. He reached into his vest. He pulled out a roll of explosive tags. He threw them into the air.

"Fire Style: Fire Dragon Jutsu."

The flames erupted from his mouth, a stream of orange and yellow that ignited the explosive tags and sent them spinning in every direction. The tags detonated. The shockwaves cleared the mist in a expanding circle, pushing the fog back, revealing Zabuza standing ten meters away with his sword raised and his eyes wide.

The two men looked at each other across the burning bridge.

The mist rushed back in to fill the space.

---

Sasuke faced the twins.

Zuro and Juro moved together, their blades cutting through the air in perfect synchronization, their steps matched, their breathing matched, their killing intent matched. They attacked from opposite sides, forcing Sasuke to choose which blade to block and which blade to take.

He blocked both.

His kunai met Zuro's sword. His body twisted, and Juro's blade passed through the space where his ribs had been a moment before. He kicked out, caught Juro in the hip, sent the twin stumbling sideways.

Zuro pressed the advantage. His sword came down in a series of rapid strikes, each one aimed at a different part of Sasuke's body. Throat. Chest. Stomach. Legs. Sasuke blocked them all, his kunai moving faster than it had any right to move, his feet finding the gaps between the planks, his eyes tracking every movement.

But he was bleeding.

A cut on his arm. A slash across his ribs. A shallow wound on his thigh where a blade had gotten through before he could move. The blood soaked into his clothes. The pain was sharp and constant and distracting.

He could not keep this up forever.

Juro recovered. He came at Sasuke from the side, his blade aimed at the boy's kidney. Sasuke saw the movement at the last moment, twisted, took the blow on his forearm instead of his organs. The blade cut deep. Blood sprayed across the bridge.

Sasuke gritted his teeth. He did not scream.

He kicked Juro in the chest, hard enough to send the twin stumbling backward. He threw a shuriken at Zuro, forcing the other twin to block instead of attack. He bought himself a moment. A single breath.

His vision was blurring. His arms were heavy. His leg was soaked with blood.

He could not keep this up forever.

But he did not need to keep it up forever. He just needed to keep it up long enough.

Haku moved.

He had been watching the fight between Kakashi and Zabuza, waiting for the moment when the Copy Ninja's attention would be divided, when his Sharingan would be focused on the Demon and not on the space around him. That moment came when Kakashi used the Fire Dragon Jutsu to clear the mist. His attention shifted to Zabuza. His guard dropped.

Haku appeared between them.

His needles flew from his sleeves, ten of them, twenty, each one aimed at a different part of Kakashi's body. The jonin dodged, twisted, deflected what he could not dodge. But the needles forced him back, away from Zabuza, away from the fight, away from the momentum he had been building.

Zabuza did not waste the opportunity.

He charged past Haku, past Kakashi, toward the part of the bridge where Sasuke was fighting for his life against the twins. His sword was raised. His eyes were fixed on the dark haired boy who had been giving Zuro and Juro so much trouble.

Sasuke saw him coming.

He tried to move. His leg would not cooperate. The blood loss had made it sluggish, unresponsive. He could not dodge. Could not block. Could not do anything except watch as the Demon of the Hidden Mist closed the distance between them.

The sword came down.

Sasuke rolled.

The blade missed his chest by a finger's width, but the flat of it caught his shoulder and sent him spinning across the bridge. He hit the railing hard, felt the wood crack against his back, tasted blood in his mouth. His vision went white for a moment. Then grey. Then black around the edges.

He was still conscious. Barely.

Zabuza raised his sword for the killing blow.

---

He saw Haku in front of him. He saw Zabuza behind Haku, raising his sword over Sasuke's prone body. He saw the twins moving to intercept anyone who tried to intervene. He saw Sakura frozen in place, too far away to help, too slow to matter.

He made a decision.

He stopped holding back.

His chakra erupted from him in a wave that sent Haku stumbling backward. His body moved faster than it had moved in years, faster than it had moved since the war, since the days when he had been known as the Copy Ninja and the Friend Killer and the boy who had lost everyone who mattered.

He crossed the distance between himself and Haku in less than a second. His fist connected with the boy's chest. The impact was enormous, a sound like a tree being struck by lightning. Haku flew backward, his body a blur, his arms and legs flailing, and he did not stop flying until he hit the wooden house at the edge of the bridge.

The house collapsed.

Walls splintered. The roof caved in. Dust and debris exploded outward, filling the air with fragments of wood and straw and paper screens that had been someone's home.

Haku did not get up.

Kakashi did not wait to see if he would.

He turned on the twins.

Zuro saw him coming. The wolf mask raised his blade, tried to block. Kakashi caught the blade with his bare hand. The edge cut into his palm. He did not seem to notice.

His kunai went through Zuro's left eye.

The mask cracked. The blade went deeper. Through the eye socket. Through the bone. Into the brain.

Zuro's body went rigid. His arms dropped. His sword clattered against the bridge.

Kakashi pulled the kunai out. He stabbed again. Through the right eye this time. The mask shattered. The face beneath was young and pale and frozen in an expression of surprise.

He stabbed again.

And again.

And again.

Juro screamed.

The fox mask charged at Kakashi, his blade raised, his body trembling with rage and grief and the desperate need to make someone pay for what had just happened. He did not get far. Kakashi caught him by the throat, lifted him off the ground, and threw him into the water below.

Juro did not surface.

The bridge was quiet for a moment.

Then Kasumi arrived.

She came from the direction of the collapsed house, her red hair wild, her eyes wide, her chest heaving. She looked at the place where Haku had disappeared under the rubble. She looked at the body of Zuro lying in a pool of blood with his eyes destroyed and his mask in pieces. She looked at the water where her brother had been thrown.

Her face twisted.

"You," she said. The word was not directed at anyone in particular. It was directed at everyone. At Kakashi. At Zabuza. At the world.

She ran to Zabuza. Her hands glowed with green chakra. She placed them on his wounds, on the places where Kakashi's attacks had cut and burned and bruised. The healing began. The flesh knitted. The blood stopped flowing.

Zabuza's breathing steadied. His eyes cleared.

"What took you so long?"

Kasumi did not answer. She was furious. At herself. At Haku. At the twins. At the boy in the forest who had distracted her with his quiet voice and his wandering eyes. She should have been here. She should have been ready. She had failed.

She would not fail again.

Zabuza stood up. His wounds were closed. His strength was returning. He looked at Kakashi across the bridge, and his grin was back, sharp and wrong and full of murder.

"Now," he said. "Let us try this again."

Kasumi stood behind him. Her hands were still glowing. Her chakra wrapped around Zabuza like a second skin, healing him as he fought, protecting him from the worst of Kakashi's attacks.

But she was doing something else too.

Kakashi's Sharingan flickered. He could see Zabuza's movements, could predict them, could copy them. But every time he tried to lock onto the larger man's chakra, something blocked him. Something interfered. Something that felt warm and familiar and completely wrong.

Kasumi.

She was blocking his Sharingan.

Haku crawled out of the rubble.

His clothes were torn. His face was bruised. Blood ran from a cut on his forehead, down his cheek, dripping onto the wood of the bridge. He looked at Sasuke, who was struggling to stand, who was bleeding from a dozen wounds, who should have been dead but was not.

Haku attacked.

Sasuke's eyes changed.

The Sharingan awakened. One tomoe in each eye, spinning slowly, focusing the world into something sharper and clearer than it had been a moment before. He could see Haku's movements now. Not all of them. Not perfectly. But enough.

He blocked the first needle. Dodged the second. Caught the third between his kunai and his forearm.

Haku's eyes widened.

"You have the Sharingan," he said.

Sasuke did not answer. He attacked.

The fight was different now. Sasuke was still slower than Haku, still weaker, still less experienced. But he could see. He could predict. He could survive. He forced Haku backward, step by step, needle by needle, until the masked boy's back was against the railing of the bridge.

"You are strong," Haku said. "But you are not strong enough."

He was right. Sasuke could feel it. He was holding Haku back, but he could not defeat him. The Sharingan gave him vision, but it did not give him speed. It did not give him strength. It did not give him the power to end this.

He kept fighting anyway.

---

Sakura faced Juro.

The remaining twin had climbed out of the water, his mask gone, his face exposed. He looked like Zuro. Same pale skin. Same sharp features. Same scar above the left eyebrow. But his eyes were different. His brother's eyes had been cold and empty. Juro's eyes were burning.

"You killed him," Juro said. His voice was quiet. Too quiet. The quiet of something that had been compressed and compressed and was about to explode.

Sakura did not answer. She did not know what to say. She did not know if there was anything to say that would make this better.

Juro attacked.

He was faster than she expected. Stronger. His blade came at her in a fury of strikes, each one aimed at her throat, her heart, her stomach. She blocked what she could. Dodged what she could not block. Took a cut on her arm when she was too slow.

But she did not fall.

She remembered the last battle. The way she had been thrown aside like a doll. The way she had woken up after everything was over, useless and crying and ashamed. She would not be useless this time. She would not be thrown aside.

She landed a hit. Her kunai cut across Juro's chest. The wound was shallow, barely bleeding, but it was a hit. She had landed a hit.

She landed another. Her fist connected with his jaw. His head snapped to the side.

She was not winning. But she was surviving.

Naruto arrived.

He came from the trees at the edge of the bridge, running faster than he had ever run, his feet barely touching the planks, his eyes scanning the battlefield in an instant. He saw Kakashi fighting Zabuza. He saw Sasuke bleeding against the railing. He saw Haku pressing his advantage.

And he saw Sakura.

Juro had her against the railing. His blade was raised. Her kunai was gone, knocked from her hand, skittering across the bridge. She had nothing. No weapon. No backup. No hope.

Naruto moved.

His body crossed the distance between them in less than a second. His fist connected with Juro's throat. The twin's eyes went wide. His hands came up to protect his neck. Naruto did not give him time.

A kunai appeared in his hand. He drove it into Juro's chest. Once. Twice. Three times. The blade went deep, through the ribs, through the lungs, through the heart.

Juro fell.

He did not get up.

Sakura stared at Naruto. At the blood on his hands. At the body at his feet. At his face, which was blank and calm and utterly without emotion.

"Look after the old man."

Naruto did not wait for her response. He turned and ran toward the center of the bridge, toward Kakashi and Zabuza and the girl with the red hair.

He saw her standing behind Zabuza, her hands glowing, her chakra wrapped around the Demon like a cloak. He saw Kakashi struggling against her, his Sharingan flickering, his movements slowing.

"What is happening?"

Kakashi's voice was tight. "The girl. The red hair. She is blocking my Sharingan. I cannot copy Zabuza while she is there. Cannot predict him. Cannot counter him."

Naruto looked at Kasumi. At her hair. At her eyes. At the way her chakra moved around her like a living thing.

Zabuza laughed. The sound was rough and triumphant.

"This is Kasumi Uchinote." He gestured to the girl behind him. "She may have a different last name, but make no mistake. She is one of the last survivors of the Great Uzumaki clan. Her blood is ancient. Her power is real. And she is mine."

Naruto's eyes widened.

His breath caught in his chest.

The girl he had been flirting with in the forest. The girl whose curves had made his mouth go dry. The girl who had smiled at him and winked at him and told him to try weighted clothing.

She was Uzumaki.

His clan.

His blood.

The world tilted. The bridge swayed. The mist pressed against him from all sides.

He looked at Kasumi. She looked at him.

Neither spoke.

The battle was not over.

---

Next Time: The Blood of Uzumaki

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