For a Few Ryo More

Mission:

Snow swirled around him. The icy winds of the country danced around Yurei and drowned out any other sounds in howling cacophonies. It was bitterly cold, nothing like the light snow he’d been dealt with in Forest Country, but tolerable. The gray sky and white earth seemed to mute the colors around him. It was as if he’d been deafened, and now he was going blind. There was something about this place - this country. It was cold in a different sense than merely the air. He couldn’t place it. Maybe it was the lifelessness. Maybe it was something else. He felt not like prey, but as if he were being watched in a country without eyes. 

Yurei extended his hand, a snowflake torn from its breeze made its way into his palm. He stared at it, holding it just out from his waist. His fingers folded, his hand closed, and it was gone. He was clothed - a black wrapping covering his forearm and knuckles over darker gloves. Beneath his kimono he wore layers of fabric, and, beneath his mask, cloths that covered all but his eyes. His usual mane of white, spiked hair lay trapped beneath a black fabric that channeled it beneath his garments. His hannya mask rested on his face, strapped from the back and mounted. His hot breath poured from the mask’s nostril and gaping mouth, as if the beast it represented billowed fire and smoke. 

He lowered his hand, glancing up at the lights ahead. Just before him was a beam not waist high that glowed, then faded a soft yellow hue at its peak. It pulsed like a heart, flashing and fading. With the sun hidden behind the blizzard’s clouds and snow, it was the brightest light in view. Yurei brushed the snow from the top of the lantern, then fixed his gaze beyond it. Not twenty yards from him was another lantern, beating in the same pattern. In Snow Country’s tundra, this was the only indication of a path set before travelers. It marked the surveyed land within the tundra, and, beyond it, its outskirts. 

There was little to see in Snow Country as far as Yurei knew. It was a barren wasteland of ice and snow, known more for its lack of notoriety than anything denoting it. As far as he was concerned, it was the perfect location for these thieves to hide. No one without cause or with sense came here as the gains were so little if at all. And yet he and Damon had come without second thought on account of an interrogatee on the brink of death, though he did not yet know it. When hunted and marked as traitors, there were few instances of Missing Ninja positing the same goals Yurei and Damon had. In that end, the Uchiha had found solace in the little people, not those under the supposedly watchful eye of the Five Kage and their shinobi. It was only by pure coincidence that those they pursued now could also threaten those within countries under such supervision. 

“Few visitors though Snow has, I doubt these shinobi will be on the same path as merchants and vagabonds,” Yurei said, looking out beyond the markers. The man Damon had sourced this information from offered little, but there were few places to hide in snow. The only asset to that end was the weather. “They’ll likely have an outpost nearby. Anything too far off this path would be a death wish, and anything underground would be readily covered by snow.” Yurei’s clawed hands reached behind him, pulling a hood over his horned mask. Two tears in its stitched frame draped over and around the horns, fixing it just over the mask’s exaggerated brow. “Let’s move.”

WC: 627

Yurei’s mask gave out something that sounded like a muffled snort. Snow country was as inhospitable as you could get, rivaling that of Volcano Country. Though the danger wasn’t as immediate, to the untrained, Snow could easily kill. Although, in spite of such fierce conditions, the albino had begun to muse to himself. Such a place had so few travelers, it was no wonder the group they hunted now had a base of operations here. There was little opportunity for someone to find them - without cause Damon and Yurei likely never would have - and, more importantly, the naturally uninviting climate acted as a sort of embedded defense mechanism.

Lands with such harsh conditions made for strong people. Struggling to live from day to day, training in the harsh cold, enduring all of this for a mere meal - Snow had the capacity to make life grueling - let alone that of a shinobi. And yet, Hoshigakure, fittingly sourced in Haven country, was just that - for most. That he and Damon were forced to grow up in such a shut away village was an unfortunate miracle in a sense. But here, in Snow, the conditions alone could breed a far more stalwart shinobi. Perhaps dozens. Hundreds. And yet, Yurei saw people thriving before him. Protected.

Damon continued, bringing up yet another point in the country’s favor. The geological separation from the mainland of the shinobi world was another of its natural defenses, even if in close proximity to Haven in technicality. Much like Kirigakure, the waters surrounding the isolated country were both a sanctuary and a prison - two factors that may facilitate Yurei’s ends in time. Combined with the low traffic the country maintained, Snow would make for an excellent base of operations once they’d traveled the world to Yurei’s content.

But that was neither here nor there. That time would come. Yurei spoke up, shaking his head as his skeletal fingers rose to what would have been his lips. “No, it makes perfect sense. Shinobi aren’t easily concealed in plain sight. It’s best to let the environment do the work for you.”

Yurei’s eyebrow raised beneath his mask, turning to look at Damon as he continued. What he said was true, in a general sense, and, with the difference this group displayed from what the pair was usually fighting, it seemed likely, even. He nodded, allowing Damon to continue with his conjecture before following his eyes. It was there, outside the visibility of those without doujutsu, but, with the Sharingan, Yurei could see it with utmost clarity - a small mound of snow and a small source of flickering, dwindling light. 

The door was nearly sealed from the ice, but Yurei could hear the wind’s echo inside. Wherever it led to, the other end was far from close. He took his queue, slipping past the door as if it wasn’t there to begin with. Pausing, he looked at the descending stairs, a lightsource palely tracing its end. He opened the door, allowing Damon in while suppressing the urge to let him freeze outside. As Damon entered, Yurei refused to look at him directly.

Shutting the door behind them, the steady howls of wind dwindled, but not completely. The staircase seemed to distort the storm’s cries. It felt unnatural. He stopped at the stair’s peak, glancing at the torch at their side. “Leave it,” Yurei said, once again activating his sharingan as he ventured into the bunker’s depths. 

Each step echoed alongside the wind, oversaturated with it to the point neither’s could be heard. As they descended, the sound of the wind strangely faded - warped. The constant drone of chilled air became a methodical hum, drumming rhythmically in a static, constant beat. Once the pair reached the base of the steps, Yurei’s eyes peeked through the cracked door, scanning with the Uchiha’s visual prowess. Guards were stationed, patrolling the grounds of the next room. From this angle, eight could be seen.

More interestingly, Yurei saw the source of the hum. The churning of mechanisms. Steam rolled out into the staircase, pouring around Yurei. A machine of some sort, though crude. Pistons of stone bobbed as if on water, rising and falling onto themselves. Chakra, pure and made manifest, coursed through it. The Uchiha squinted, raising his head. Just above him and Damon was a vent. He turned to face his brother, pointing upwards. 

Yurei jumped, latching his fingers through the grate. He raised his legs, pinning himself in the space as to move his hands. A kunai spun between his fingers, dancing as it found its way through each bolt. The metal grate fell into Yurei’s hands, and, passing it to Damon, Yurei slipped through. 

The crawlspace was even tighter, but not impossible to navigate. Assuming Damon accompanied him, the pair arrived at another opening bordering the next room, this one with a much better view. The stone’s source of chakra lay before Yurei’s eyes. Visible chakra, siphoned from twelve shinobi, all suspended by chain, and some seemingly from thin air. They appeared drained and sunken. Yurei narrowed his eyes. No, they were already dead. What little chakra remained in them was being siphoned away from corpses and into the mechanism before the pair. 

It was revolting. An overwhelming sense of disgust and anger washed over Yurei - coldly. His voice was thin, venomous and icy, yet disconnected, apart from himself. “It’s a weapon,” he said. The chakra boiling within the machine found its destination within a cannon of some sort. Through Sharingan, it radiated energy, the combined chakra pool of twelve, perhaps more, shinobi housed within it. “This is bigger than I expected,” Yurei said. He glanced around, taking the chamber into full view. 

WC: 950
TCW: 1577

Damon sprang into action, erupting like the flames before him. Amaterasu. Yurei watched that anger flash in Damon. It expelled into every move, every roar of the flames. Fire sprung up from the machine, the equipment, and, it too, was consumed by the roaring black flames. Yurei gilded downward, following Damon. His cloak swirled around him as if delayed, catching the air, wrapping and coiling. His arms extended, and he flung himself forward, kicking the first of the many into the flames that now consumed the room.

The conflict was brief. The screams, the roar of flames, made for a deafening silence. Yurei watched Damon, squinting at his eyes, the red blood streaming from their use. It had been so long since he had seen Damon exert so much emotion. Perhaps longer for himself. That rage, that anger that burned in his brother, somehow warmed him.

Yurei’s eyes draped across the floor, finding a man crawling towards him. His clothes had been shredded from him to no avail. The black flames ate away at him still, unquenchable. His eyes pled for mercy - it was all he could do not to scream in agony as he fed his end. He reached upward, begging for the kunai at Yurei’s belt, for death. The Uchiha regarded him with an absent look, the face of the mask he wore receiving those eyes and obscuring his own.

Beneath that visage, they were not merciful. He walked on, placing his hand on Damon’s shoulder. “Let it burn,” he said simply, moving to collect those mounted to the machine. 

The chakra linking them to the weapon was fading, and with each removed from their chamber, they died. There was no stopping that, not by any means. In a sense, they already were dead. Each faded, gone from this world one at a time until there were none left. Yurei turned to Damon, staring at him. He stood, observing his brother as those fires raged around them. But he said nothing, and he made his way to the stairs, away from this, to bury the bodies.

WC: 348
TCW: 1925

EXIT

Mission rewards with the ryo doubled from the Beloved Presence skill (12,000 ryo, 45 AP)
14 stats to Speed - 31
5 Stats to Vigor - 100
1541/1541 Remaining words to Sharingan Copycat Tech S-Rank, rest from here
384/2750 to Great Fire Annihilation Mastery 1