Chapter 9: Escape
Pakura's strike force moved through the night like death itself—twelve killers arranged in perfect formation, their footsteps silent on the sand-swept streets. One elite jonin, two standard jonin, nine elite chunin. Against five Konoha operatives, it should have been a massacre.
The intelligence painted a simple picture: one jonin, three genin, and a single unknown. Standard protocol called for live capture when possible—broken bones healed, but dead men told no secrets. What the intelligence hadn't mentioned was that their targets already knew they were coming.
The shop owner, hunched and unassuming, had been positively identified as Shiranui Genbu, though his true capabilities remained frustratingly vague. The middle-aged messenger who'd brought word of their exposure had already melted back into the shadows—another deep cover asset who'd live to spy another day.
"Six of you hold the perimeter," Pakura commanded, her voice carrying the absolute authority of someone accustomed to obedience. "Focus on containment jutsu. Nothing leaves this building alive unless I say otherwise."
The assault team split with practiced efficiency. Two jonin led four chunin toward the back entrance, puppet masters positioned strategically within their formation. The lead jonin reached for the door handle, his team stacked behind him in textbook breach formation.
He never saw the massive array of explosive tags covering every surface of the room beyond.
"GET BACK!" someone screamed, but the warning came too late.
The world exploded into fire and thunder. A mushroom cloud blossomed against the night sky as the entire building vaporized, taking half the street with it. Windows shattered for blocks around as the shockwave rolled through the district like the fist of an angry god.
When the ringing in her ears finally subsided, Pakura found herself flat on her back, covered in debris and tasting blood. Around her, the survivors of her strike force groaned and cursed in equal measure.
"Bastard Konoha dogs," she spat, forcing herself upright. The others echoed her sentiment with creative variations on the theme, though their vocabulary proved disappointingly limited.
Three figures emerged from the rubble—Jonin Genji with his left arm pierced by wooden splinters, and two puppet masters whose constructs had absorbed the worst of the blast. One puppeteer writhed in agony, his body broken in a dozen places. The other merely stared at the twisted wreckage of his life's work.
"Casualties?" Pakura barked, though she could count the missing faces herself.
"Three dead, including Mori," an elite chunin reported. "Kiri says he saw a kid, maybe ten years old, trigger the explosion right before Mori breached. No body found though—probably a shadow clone."
Pakura's blood went cold. A ten-year-old capable of shadow clones meant either exceptional talent or exceptional training. Neither possibility boded well for Sunagakure's future.
"They used earth release to escape," another scout reported. "Trail leads north."
"Signal our northern units for intercept," Pakura ordered, her mind already calculating pursuit vectors. "Genji, can you travel?"
The injured jonin nodded grimly, wrapping his wounded arm with practiced efficiency. "I'll manage."
"Then we move. Leave two to secure the scene."
One of the surviving chunin bit his thumb and slammed his palm to the ground. "Summoning technique!"
The creature that emerged resembled something from a fever dream—head like a massive earthworm, body tapering to a serpentine tail. It immediately burrowed into the rubble, following scent traces invisible to human senses.
"Sandworm can track residual chakra from their earth techniques," the summoner explained. "Range of two hundred kilometers, assuming they haven't found a way to mask their signatures."
"Good. Move out."
Three hundred kilometers north, Rei felt the unmistakable sensation of his shadow clone dissolving. Unlike the multiple shadow clone technique that would have flooded his mind with memories, this basic variant provided only the vaguest sense of completion. He knew the trap had been sprung, but not how many had died in the flames.
"Shadow clone's gone," he reported to Inoichi. "They found our surprise."
"Keep moving. Watch for intercept teams."
Their escape route had been planned and revised multiple times. The direct path through River Country would take them straight through Sunagakure's sphere of influence—suicide by any reasonable measure. Instead, they were taking the long way around: north through Wind Country to Land of Birds, then west through Rain Country to reach Fire Country's borders.
It would take weeks instead of days, but it might actually get them home alive. Maybe.
The plan had one other advantage—once they crossed into Hanzo's territory, even Sand Village would have to tread carefully. The Salamander might be weakened, but he was still the kind of man who'd declared war on three great nations simultaneously. That kind of insanity commanded a certain respect.
As they pushed through the pre-dawn darkness, Rei found himself thinking about Shiranui Genbu. The shop owner had turned out to be related to Shiranui Genma—another reminder that this world wasn't just an anime backdrop but a place where real people lived, bled, and died.
The thought sobered him. These weren't characters in a story anymore. They were flesh and blood, with families and dreams and futures that could be snuffed out in an instant. The weight of that reality pressed down on him like a physical thing.
"Contact ahead," Inoichi's voice cut through his brooding. "Three signatures, one jonin, two chunin. Three kilometers out."
"Engagement?" Genbu asked, his hunched posture shifting subtly as he prepared for combat.
"The moment we engage, I'll ambush the jonin. Genbu, you finish him off if needed. The three of you, eliminate the others as quickly as possible."
They closed the distance at a measured pace, weapons ready but concealed. The Sand team spotted them at roughly the same moment—three figures silhouetted against the stars, puppets materializing in their hands like deadly flowers blooming.
At a hundred meters, Inoichi's hands flashed through seals. The Mind Body Switch technique struck the lead jonin like a psychic sledgehammer, turning his own puppet against him. Metal fingers sprouted hidden blades that punched through his back in a spray of blood and disbelief.
"Sato, what the hell are you doing?" the bald chunin screamed, but his partner was already beyond hearing.
Genbu's senbon flew in a glittering arc, followed immediately by his signature jutsu. The air filled with needle-sharp projectiles as the controlled chunin tried desperately to dodge attacks from his own teammate. He failed spectacularly, collapsing with a dozen senbon protruding from his chest like a pincushion.
The surviving chunin barely had time to register his partner's death before Rei materialized behind him, with his tanto sliding between his ribs. Scarlet eyes met his in the instant before death claimed him.
"Sharingan," he whispered, and fell.
"Strip them and move," Inoichi ordered, already rifling through the jonin's gear. "Grab anything useful."
Rei produced a sealing scroll and began storing the puppets—four constructs that would fetch a decent price back in Konoha, assuming they lived to sell them. "Should cover our mission expenses," he commented, earning incredulous stares from his teammates.
Even Inoichi looked ready to strangle him. Here they were, three hundred kilometers behind enemy lines with professional killers on their trail, and he was worried about turning a profit.
But as they resumed their desperate flight toward Land of the Birds, Rei couldn't shake the feeling that worrying about money was probably the sanest reaction he'd had all night. Everything else about this situation was completely insane.
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