Rain fell in relentless sheets, hammering the streets of Konoha like a thousand tiny blades. Lightning split the sky, illuminating Miyako Uchiha, a young shinobi, stumbling through the alleys. She clutched a newborn tightly against her chest, her breaths ragged and uneven. Each step was agony—childbirth had drained her, leaving her body weak, yet she forced herself forward.
Behind her, three figures moved with predatory precision. Uchiha assassins, eyes glowing red with Sharingan, closed the distance. Their mission was clear: the child must die.
"Miyako," the lead assassin hissed, voice slicing through the storm, "give us the child. The clan has commanded it."
Her heart seized. "Never!" she shouted, launching a burst of fire jutsu toward them. Flames hissed as they met puddles on the street, forcing the assassins to split momentarily.
The second pursuer lunged with blinding speed, hand extended toward the newborn. Miyako barely rolled aside, sending a kunai spinning in his direction. He deflected it effortlessly, tossing it back. The blade nicked her shoulder, sharp pain searing through her arm. But she refused to falter.
A third assassin attempted to flank her. Miyako's eyes darted to him, calculating. She flicked her wrist, sending a small fireball in his path. He leapt back, jaw tight, eyes glowing with fury. Mud, rain, and blood slicked the streets as she dodged, rolled, and countered in a desperate dance of survival.
Her legs trembled. Each movement was agony. Yet ahead, the spires of the Hokage's office appeared through the storm. A final surge of strength propelled her forward, sliding across the wet steps, newborn still clutched to her chest.
The Uchiha assassins snarled, eyes blazing red, circling her with lethal intent. Lightning split the sky, illuminating their gleaming weapons. The rain washed over them all, but Miyako refused to let fear take her. With every ounce of skill she had left, she twisted, dodged, and struck with small bursts of fire and kunai, buying herself precious seconds.
Miyako sank to her knees, exhausted, soaked, trembling, but still holding her newborn tightly. The assassins' eyes flared with anger, lethal and unyielding, yet for now, the storm and her relentless maneuvering kept them at bay.