The Garden of Gods

He cut his tongue on the seal ingraved in his tooth, and immediately the unsealing process began: snakes shot out of his sleeve. They formed a barrier around his arm and body to dull the blow. Other snakes shot out of his pant leg, and slithered into the ground. The snakes rooted his leg to the ground.

"Ooof!" The impact rocked his entire body. "Ku ku ku..." Orochimaru met Zabuza's eyes, over the snakes and metal blade. Momochi-sama looks tired. Orochimaru stuck out his attacking tongue to-

Suddenly there was a shin in Orochimaru's stomach. The air exited his lungs painfully. He wheezed. The snakes held him. That made it worse.

Of course, he thought. He folded over with wide eyes. He's a swords-man. The sword is as dangerous as the man.

He anticipated Zabuza's elbow against the back of his head. Orochimaru curled his head to dodge it. Just in time!

Orochimaru slithered between his own legs as if he had no bones. He slithered out of the snake pile. He erected himself a few steps ahead.

Zabuza's fist appeared near his temple.

Zabuza... He's fast!

Orochimaru did a series of defensive maneuvers. Ducked. He raised his kunai just in time to deflect the sword. Jumped for Zabuza's sweeping kick. He deflected another sword swing. Just in time!

The kunai spun by Zabuza's ear. It hissed through the air. It landed in the nearest tree. It sank hilt-deep.

Orochimaru's fingers barely had the time to grab the next kunai. The fight sped up. Metal scraped over metal. Deflect, deflect, duck, deflect, jump. Every connection flashed light. Their dance lit the forest, at the speed of a disco-show.

He's looming! Dominating the fight like it's nothing. So oppressive. I barely have time to catch my breath! "Phah!" Orochimaru grinned.

Zabuza swung. Flash of light. Deflecting caused an impact that rattled Orochimaru's arm until his knee. Orochimaru lost his seventh kunai, and his grin.

Orochimaru was not lesser prey. What might have been a brutal followup strike was instead a sickening lurch of momentum without a terminal point, forcing Zabuza to take a half-step forward to maintain balance. The human body was not meant to contort the way Orochimaru's did. He was boneless liquid that defied every natural law Zabuza readily used to cage and annihilate his quarry. It demanded things of Zabuza that prickled his psyche. His blade trembled for blood, his teeth itched for violence. What came next was nothing short of an onslaught led by a heat-seeking sense for weakness. Zabuza chewed through kunai after kunai like a beast with a taste for metal seconded only by the rising rage to obliterate his foe.

But Orochimaru was infuriatingly, always, just out of reach. The range of his motions were a mere suggestion, extending at times which should have been outside of his reach, twisting in manners that provided ample deflection to otherwise vulnerable targets. It was a fluid adaptation to Zabuza's oppression. Even as the margins of error thinned between their deadly dance, an undercurrent shifted the tides. Strands of long, black hair flowed in the wake of that taunting, elusive prey, and Zabuza saw an opportunity; nothing was beneath him. There was no honor amongst monsters when his fingers seized a fistful of what was truly a beautiful liability to drag Orochimaru's body into the air and slam him into the ground, to be following shortly with the ravenous end of his blade-- whether he split Orochimaru in two was an afterthought.

Mid-swing, Orochimaru's jutsu released, and a sharp pain shot up Zabuza's hand and arm. It bought the slippery Sannin time to roll out of the executioner blade's path, the hateful sinking deeply into the earth before it buckled beneath the force wrought there. Before the pain could truly register, Zabuza instinctively pulled his arm back, before another pair of sharp, intrusive needles embedded in his flesh, a mess of hair and snake coiled and snaring the hunter. Before he could be bit a third time, Zabuza decisively let the hilt of Kubikiribōchō go in exchange for a short tanto knife which allotted him the necessary mobility to sever the serpent from his person, sending the ambomination to writhe and hiss in its pooling blood.

Zabuza staggered back and away from his prey, eyes blazing with an unparalleled wrath. The pain in his bitten arm did not ebb, it intensified, like strikes of lightening carried by the pulse of his veins; venom. Fear was the only human response to such a sickening realization. Abject horror the inevitable end to understanding the implications of such potency in the context of fighting life and death amongst shinobi. How narrow the margins of error has been, all along. And, Zabuza was afraid. He was always afraid. Everything he had was fought for and bought in blood. And Zabuza had long adapted, from a most tender age, that any and everything could be fuel to claw and bite. Anything to kill. Anything to survive. Demon. It's what they called him. It was what he had become.

A brief moment of respite fell over the combatants, Orochimaru's outmaneuver showing in the smug of his face even if his body had been pummeled and undoubtedly broken in a number of places. Not that it mattered for a man whose body structure was a suggestion, an abomination to the natural order. Clever prey. His clever prey. Prey that bit back, prey that played with fire. Prey that had Zabuza heaving as purple veins and bruised flesh radiated from the back of his hand and forearm, heavy. If the necrosis did not kill him, Zabuza suspected the paralysis would.

"Send your fa.. ather my regards."

Ox, Monkey, Hare, Rat,-- Zabuza's envenomated arm struggled to keep up with the demand of his other and the lightning pace it demanded. --Boar, Bird, Ox, Horse, -- chakra churned in his stomach, rampaging bullet beast in embryo-- Bird, Rat, Tig-- but just as Zabuza's pointer fingers steepled to make the seal of the tiger, his now purple hand twitched, seizing and collapsing the seal to that of entwined fingers. Serpent.

Fuck.

Vapor in the air rapidly condensed into a wall of water, a clever anticipation of Zabuza's lightning fast reflexes. Raw aggression had limits. And the monumental task of now having to fight against one's own exertion of chakra, against the progression of an inevitable loss, it would make sense to merely wait until the swordsman had no more fight left and collapsed. That was, until, Kubikiri cut through the wall of water, shattering the chakra that maintained it. Orochimaru used the cover of the behemoth blade to fire his final kunai in the only trajectory Zabuza could have thrown from. Blade for blade, one large, one small, one leapt away from, one sticking with a sickening thud. The last of the water fell, and Zabuza was bleeding from the abdomen, heaving. His vision went double, desperately trying to locate his blade, his foe, if he hit, or--

His right arm was seizing again. It was nearing his shoulder now, and Zabuza had to make a choice, regardless if his for lay dead or was readying the next assault. The tanto blade quivered in his good hand. Loyal arm, turned traitor, allowed to be mourned for about as long as Zabuza had when his graduating class turned into a slaughterhouse. The sharp of the blade slid under his pit.

With a gutteral howl, and it sliced through muscle and sinew, sinking hard against the juncture of bone. Zabuza tried to finish the sickening dismemberment, but the tanto was stuck fast. So he abandoned the handle, digging his fingers in the laceration, around the bulk of his shoulder and grit his teeth. And after a twist, crunch, and pop, the limb was severed, tossed aside like the garbage it had become. Useless, fucking garbage. His remaining good hand plastered to the gushing wound. He was not deluded to believe he would survive.

So there was nothing to lose. He'd take the bastard down with him. And with a crackle, then deafening roar, the surge of his monstrous chakra exploded in what was a visible and sensory aura, dark and loathsome, an oppressive gravity pinning all lesser beings to place.

zabuza's response dawns on him for no more than a few seconds. breathing remained steady and quiet even though he felt a minuscule twinge of satisfaction. while twelve hours is a third the original request , the fact that the hozuki managed to get the man agree was an accomplishment by itself. one among many to take to his grave.

mangetsu's gaze flicked between the others face to their hand around the hilt and back again , waiting for him to follow through on their agreement. ever so patiently was he still waiting whilst observing their reluctance. theirs alone. . ? his head ticks into a slight tilt , curious at why it's taking zabuza this long to release the blade. or rather , why is he having so much more trouble doing it than before? the difficulty in which he needs to part with the blade- their codependency. . . mangetsu then wonders if he needs to increase his visits. if interference would worsen zabuza's condition or be beneficial; because by the looks of him now , the man could barely catch his breath. zabuza is so worn out that if another were to walk in , they'd assume he's been on a mission for four months straight with barely a break to catch.

succumbing to his thoughts , ❛ due to kubi's non-sentience , it's rapacious nature worsens. . . zabuza's turn over is imminent at this rate. . . would it do this with me? would the next weilder not even be able to manage? how long would it take to grow dull again? to rust and become brittle? ❜ had it not been for the being worthy of concern feeble attempt at a growl , mangetsu would have went through another batch of questions to instigate an experiment.

❝ very well. ❞ he says , finally breaking his form to fish out a special scroll from the utility pack at his hip. rolling it open , the length extending from wrist to wrist , revealed seven different seals. kneeling to the ground and laying the scroll down , mangetsu performs the hand seals: tiger > serpent > rat , the summoning call seal specifically for kubikiribōchō. ❛ sorry kubi. but i do not wish to become your food bank. ❜ kubikiri glows until it unwillingly , by demand , flees into the scroll.

with practiced perfection , mangetsu rolls the scroll back to a close and stores it away in exchange for another. as he rises to a stand , he extends the deep red scroll toward his assigned partner. ❝ this is the scroll that details our mission. the print will appear in the agreed twelve hours. we will rendezvous on the southeast shore. ❞ he says , purposefully with-holding information of the destination they would be traveling to after they regroup. he can't have zabuza trying to shorten his resting period now could he? zabuza wouldn't have anywhere near half of the reserves he needs for the mission but at least he'd feel somewhat better to pull off a synced attack if necessary.

❝ get plenty of rest , zabuza-san. ❞ mangetsu bows his head with respect before leaving the elder of a couple years to go make use of their assigned resting quarters within the hideout ( beneath the mizukage's tower ).

"And you recognize me too," he sighed, with a little dramatic flair in his voice. This encounter might hinder my search for the Kaguya.

He gathered his white cape to shield it from mud, and he crouched down in the mud. Like a magician, his empty hand was suddenly holding cotton buds for cheek swabs. He opened the mouth of the first corpse and collected some DNA from inside the mouth. The cotton didn't chemically recolour to black. It was a dud. He glanced up while he reached for the next corpse.

Only a fool would underestimate a panting, bloodied swordsman. If Zabuza attacked now, Orochimaru stood no chance. Zabuza would dismember him, surely. But there lay the ricochet. Dismembering me will dramatically lower my combat usefulness, Momochi-sama. Plus my political status, and the populace' respect for yours. Thus I have no desire to come, not even quietly.

Unless you desire sex; then your threat of dismemberment and command for silence have clear purpose. And I may even desire to come along. Orochimaru thought these words, feeling like a playful nuisance. He wanted to goad him into lashing out so he could measure their strengths. But will Zabuza Momochi listen to reason and strategy? Really? While he is in this state?

He considered saying, Dismembering a healer-nin is the stupidest act someone could possibly do. He almost said it. Orochimaru needed a one-step shutdown, but there was no fun in shutting down. Orochimaru had been alone for days. He was feeling social and playful. 'Coming along quietly' sounded like the absolute worst plan of action right now. Similarly, the peaceful approach appeared terribly dull.

Kakuzu didn't expect the price to be matched. He would be making twice the original mission reward, with only time, focus, and patience required on his end. (If he was going to be loaning himself for a number of weeks, he'd have to let the Akatsuki know he'd picked up a… lengthier mission and wouldn't be returning in the expected time frame.)

(Un?)Fortunately for Tsubaki, Kakuzu's ability to pick up on drier senses of humor was more miss than hit. Talk of borrowing his arm for study in exchange for 100,000 ryo was taken completely seriously. 

❛ what good are we if we can't serve our only purpose to fight. ❜ the younger so badly wants to counter this logic of his but trying would be like an average person attempting to bend a three-quarter inch steel pipe barehanded. pointless.

still , his posture doesn't faulter and neither does his tone or the equally cold look in his grey-ish lavender eyes. ❝ i appreciate your awareness of my honesty but your decision to challenge me will not sway mine. part from the blade for thirty-six hours is all i'm advising. ❞ mangetsu wished for zabuza to be able to withstand double the amount of time but his patience runs predictably thin like the others. even recommending the time frame he did was a stretch , but still , mangetsu had to try without having to get the mizukage involved.

the less yagura knew , the better being that their village was already severely short-handed due to their method of graduation. a work in progress to be abolished.

Feral eyes glinted with the rage of a muzzled dog that had come to learn where it stacked up in the hierarchy of swordsman. His knuckles whitened with reluctance to submit. Through Kubikiri, he could feel the pulses of channeled chakra weave through their systems, how the lines blurred from where metal ended and flesh began.

"Twelve is the most you'll get." Zabuza retorted stubbornly, flexing his fingers around the grip as though even a mere day was inexplicably excruciating. At one point, it seemed he was finally letting go, shoulder pulling back, but he froze. It seemed that Kubikiri was as reluctant to part from him as he was it. More, even, like a starving animal that never knew when it would next feed.

This wasn't the first, nor the last, time that he would be helping someone with their hair. It was, unfortunately, a role assigned to him by the other guys because of their ability to perceive his appearance. He didn't question the role, but didn't believe that it fit, necessarily. Thankfully, they avoided asking him questions pertaining to clothing.

"... try a middle part. It's sticking up too much on one side."

A pause.

All this to say he wasn’t completely surprised at the way whatever magic this creature used was disrupted by the anguish. He could see the outline of something else under the cloak it was using. But it wasn’t really his business to ask too many questions, much to Rommath’s annoyance to his dismissiveness.

The fun little light show however was quite unusual. His vision had the small speckles of black and red that comes from a sudden exposure. He’s never seen mana act like that. It was hard to look away but it came with a consequence for his curiosity. Perhaps it would have been better to have handed over a wyrm core to start with. Nausea was a wave later but he certainly wasn’t going to let anyone see him weakened by an arcane explosion. It wasn’t so different from the flash of arcane mages and sin’dorei can force from their bodies in a dire battle.

“You should reapply your disguise quickly. Before someone walks in here. My kin are on edge enough with everything going on. Another oddity is bound to get you arrested or killed.” He spoke without much shift in his ever calm tone. His eyes shut calmly until his side effect left and the static like dispersing of the arcane in the air faded. After a deep breath he opens his eyes to look at the creature. “If you are unable, I have a study in my sanctum on the lower level that no one may enter but me.”

Flirting happened more often than he cared for, but many people wanted what they couldn't have, whether they knew it or not.

But Jin's voice accompanying her came as another surprise, and he watched as the mothfiend followed her out into the moonlight. He was coming along after all? That was a relief. As capable as Anderson was, there would only be foul tempers all around if he'd had to resort to violence. 

He got to his feet and pocketed his phone before handing the bagged bottle of wine over to Jin. Whether he intended to stow it inside the shop or take it with them was up to him, but enough time had already been spent. 

No longer obscured by dancing wisplight or the shadows of the rafters, his figure was defined under the sharp glare of moonlight. He was a slender individual with an air of grace and refinement about him. But where the form of something human nearly fit his mold, notions of more flitted from within the layers of a most gaudy, deeply purple coat with bright cyan patterns resembling the mimicry of eyes one found in the animal kingdom, a guise to ward off predators. Sometimes, they seemed to move. An equally cyan laurel of sorts split from his forehead and curled around, fitted, but ethereal in the way the little fronds shivered in the soft wind. His fingertips were blackened, nails uncomfortably sharp. But what was perhaps the most damning of these strange collection of features were his eyes. His sclera were dark, irises some piercingly bright color that made the juxtaposition all the more apparent.

Tainted at best, inhuman, undoubtedly. "Huiyan Jingyi. Jin is fine. Ambassador if you must." He returned the introduction, collecting the priest's offering with a surprised please. It was no century-old wine coveted by the noble class, but it was more than the Vatican had done for him in ages. Charming. But a little cheap favor would not have been enough for Jin to dive into the political nightmare of the Vatican... Intrigue, on the other hand, was.

A priest, an Iscariot no less, with discretion was a rare treat. The price of a dimple... the bar of expectations was in hell. How fortunate for this father.

"I suppose so, Iscariot." Graceful steps strode through the refreshment of the garden and beyond where the cobble streets met the perimeter of what he called home. For a moment, he paused, glancing down the length of the block one way, then the other before a short, bemused scoff puffed out.