Chapter 10: Chapter Nine: Soraikure (Part I)
Hizashi Hyuga POV:
As I sank into the creaky, age-worn chair, it groaned under me, a sound eerily mirroring the quiet protest of my own exhausted body. Fatigue clung to me, an unwelcome second skin, but I couldn't show it—not with Masaki Hyuga's sharp eyes on me, and certainly not with the future of our village resting on my shoulders. This responsibility was a gift, or perhaps a curse, bestowed upon me by the lord third himself.
I was acutely aware of Masaki Hyuga's penetrating gaze. Stories of his discerning eyes were legendary in Konoha. The fate of our village was a heavy burden, a mantle handed down to me by the lord third, a mix of fear and determination weaving through me.
As I ran a hand through my unruly, dark hair, I pondered the impression I was giving off. People often mistook my confidence for arrogance. I didn't want him to be one them.
Soraikure, the village where fate had thrown me, appeared unremarkable at first glance—a place of humble means but resilient people. It was off the beaten path, forgotten by most, which I suspected was just how he liked it.
Masaki approached, his face framed with a gentle, knowing smile. He handed me a small, leather pouch, placing it in my palm with a tenderness that spoke of trust and unity. His hand lingered over mine briefly, a silent acknowledgment of our bond. "I'm not the man I once was," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of sorrow. "But this… this I can do."
I gripped the pouch tighter, curiosity getting the better of me. "How did you manage to get this?" I asked.
He simply smiled knowingly, a secret to the end, huh?
"I know the lord Hokage has been searching for this for a long time," I added.
Masaki's eyes twinkled with a secret amusement. "Hokage…" and shook his head.
"You know him well?"
"The Hokage? Never met. That brat Hiruzen? Yeah, I know him."
I looked at him.
"I've heard stories about you, sir," I said.
"I'm sure you have," he replied.
"It's just... an honor to meet you," I admitted, feeling a mix of awe and gratitude.
"Why's that?" he asked, his tone light.
My eyes drifted to the seal on his forehead. "Just… thanks for everything."
Masaki shrugged off my gratitude. "Were not the same, kid. Do not fall for this trap"
I cleared my throat. I was about to say more when suddenly, a kunai bursted into the room. We both rushed to the entrance, knowing something was amiss. With my Byakugan, I scanned the horizon, pinpointing my companion almost immediately – his hand pointing to the horizon.
"Five Units", Master Masaki identified.
"You should hide," I urged.
"You should leave."
"Maybe I can—"
His words were firm. "You have your mission, kid. I have mine. Now go. I must protect the village." With that, he turned away, resolute, leaving me to my own path, my heart racing with the gravity of what lay ahead. I started running to my companions
As I sprinted, villagers swarmed by me, their faces set in grim determination, bows and arrows at the ready. The alarm had rung – I didn't know how or why, but it didn't matter now.
In the distance, they approached – camouflaged figures moving with a menacing purpose. Nukenin. The kunais whistling through the air left no doubt about their identity.
The villagers fought valiantly, but bravery isn't a match for skill. Explosions rocked the air as the paper bombs detonated, and one by one, the villagers fell.
The battle, if it could be called that, was over almost as quickly as it began. The villagers, recognizing the futility of resistance, began to surrender in small, defeated groups. Chaos reigned as animals escaped their confines, panicked and wild. Then, some of the shinobi started to blow the village ablaze. It was a brutal display, senseless, but I couldn't stop to help.
My mission was elsewhere. Racing towards two of my companions, a glint of metal caught my eye. A single kunai, trailing a paper bomb, sailed through the air—a harbinger of destruction.
The explosion was deafening, a catastrophic eruption of fire and force. It tore through the space where my companions had stood, engulfing them in fire and smoke. I stopped dead in my tracks, the shockwave knocking the breath from my lungs.
The smoke and dust settled, the devastation was laid bare. Where my friends had stood, there was only destruction. I frantically looked around, searching for the one responsible, the perpetrator of this horror. There. Three Shinobi, thinking they're job was done were running somewhere else.
It took everything in me not to chase them down. Instead, I turned, looking a place to hide. I didn't know why this place was being attacked, but this pouch was to important to let fall on enemy hands.
Chaos, fire, tall houses. Where to hide? Every hiding place seemed either too exposed or engulfed in flames. Then I saw, an old well, half-hidden by a collapsing house. It was a risk, but it was the only chance I had. With trembling hands, I opened the pouch and looked inside. The contents glowed faintly in the firelight. Taking a deep breath, I threw the pouch inside the well, praying it would remain undiscovered.
As I retreated, the weight of my actions crashed over me like a wave. In a heartbeat, 15 years of Konoha's secrets were buried in a village gasping its last breaths. Doubts whispered in my mind, but there was no room for second thoughts, no space for regret.
I raced through the ravaged streets, my final teammate was still out there. The air was sharp with the scent of chaos, the sounds of battle a bizarre symphony around me. The villagers, powered by a fierce determination to survive, this wasn't a fair fight – but they sure weren't being massacred.
An loose arrow pierced the armor of a Shinobi, his blood splashed against the night. One of his comrades, driven by instinct, knelt beside him. The downed man's hand, emerging from the remnants of a bloody glove, reached out in a silent plea for salvation.
Faces behind camo stared at one another. What were they doing in the open-field? A brief, final flailing by the downed Shinobi splattered the newcomer's face with blood. No, it was another arrow. The second Shinobi also realized this. He grasped at his neck, where the arrow had hit, and then crumpled to the ground
How old were these Nukenin? We're they even old enough to be Nukenin?
As I made my way through the village, my eyes were drawn to a confrontation unfolding before me. I hunkered down behind the crumbling wall, feeling every beat of my heart like a drummer gone rogue in my chest. Amidst the bedlam – The Nukenin running wild, the last few villagers shooting arrows – there was a tall, shadow-clad figure moving with a deliberate grace, slicing through the chaos. And there, in the thick of it all, was Masaki Hyuga, standing still – Why wasn't he moving?
The man In the cloak looked at Masaki like he was the answer to a question that had plagued him for years - a piece from a board game lost to time. Masaki seemed to met his stare, unflinching, defying the eeriness of the man in the mask.
From my shadowed nook, I watched them, the stranger and Masaki. Their words lost to me, drowned out by the thunderous beating of my heart. But their silent confrontation spoke volumes, a dialogue louder than any words.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no…".
Compelled by a rash impulse, I broke cover, throwing a kunai without a second thought. Too slow, too late, I chastised myself, even as I launched another, and another. The stranger's hands moved, conjuring a blazing sphere of fire, drenching the world in a crimson hue.
Then, in a moment that stole the air from my lungs, Masaki Hyuga was engulfed in a burst of blinding light.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Evil_Monologue
Evil_Monologue How often have you fallen in love?
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