They moved swiftly under Naori's illusion. The battle raged all around them, yet no one noticed Maki's group slip past.
Hitomi took the lead. A quick hand signal—and she darted toward the target. The most obvious landmark in Ame: the central tower.
It loomed above the village like a sword thrust into the heavens.
The four climbed to a neighboring spire and leapt across, gliding like hawks through the rain until they landed in half-crouches on a balcony. Water ran off their hoods, splashing against the stone.
Masanari was not here. He had not kept subordinates close. Those stationed at the entrance wore Hanzo's insignia.
Hitomi's fingers moved: three guards, entrance corner.
Naori's genjutsu could veil them, but she was already drained from days of use. Maki turned to White Fang.
He shook his head—no need to fight.
Hitomi disagreed. Too many checkpoints inside. No way around. She signed again: must go through.
Maki raised her hand. Tiny insects crawled onto her fingers—ordinary parasites, at first glance. But a violet glow spread through their bodies. The three flew off, vanishing into the rain.
Moments later, dull thuds echoed from within.
They advanced. Inside, three Ame-nin lay collapsed, purple blood leaking from their eyes, ears, nose. Silent deaths. Not the convulsions and grotesque lesions White Fang remembered from Aburame toxin reports. Those left victims writhing in agony. This—this was surgical.
Maki's new art. Parasites carrying micro-worms that burrowed painlessly into the bloodstream, numbing as they tunneled. They reached the brain before the host realized anything was wrong. One moment alive. The next—gone.
White Fang shivered. If I ever cross her… no antidote will save me. He made a mental note: buy insecticide, bathe in it if necessary.
The four pressed on, killing in silence, Hitomi scouting, Maki's insects leaving corpses in their wake. No one noticed the drifting insects. No one imagined their horror.
At last, they reached the tower's summit. A vast hall stretched before them, draped in white curtains and heavy with flowers. A mourning hall. Masanari's chosen grave.
The old master already lay in his coffin, hands folded. Poisoned. No fight. No struggle.
And there—Hanzo. Cloaked in battle gear, chain-sickle in hand, standing before the body in stunned silence.
He had come prepared for war. But his enemy had fled to the grave instead.
Rage twisted his features.
"You escaped after all, Masanari!" His roar shook the chamber. "Then watch closely from hell! Watch what becomes of the Rain under me! I'll prove it—you were the coward, not I! No more running! No more bowing to great nations! The Rain will spread fire across the world! The world will feel our pain!"
Maki's eyes narrowed. A purple insect slipped from her fingertip, winging toward his shoulder. If this worked, the mission ended here.
It landed. Success—
No.
She stood. "Failed."
Hanzo's toxin. His salamander venom was so potent even her parasites slowed. Not enough to resist it.
Maki gestured. Three new insects burrowed into her comrades, leeching chakra. White Fang stiffened as he felt his reserves drain. Subtle, almost imperceptible.
"Poison resistance," Maki murmured. "They'll adapt. But your chakra consumption will rise. Be careful."
"Understood," they answered together.
On the floor below, Hanzo flicked the dead insect from his shoulder, eyes narrowing. "Which country sent you rats? Haven't they learned their lesson?"
None of them spoke.
Murderous intent hung thick in the hall.
"Then die!"
Hanzo's hands blurred through seals—until kunai whistled at him. Naori broke cover, disrupting his jutsu.
But Hanzo only smiled grimly, finishing a single one-handed sign. His form shimmered—then vanished.
Instant Body Technique.
Too fast.
The storm inside the mourning hall was about to begin.
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