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This article, Eye Drops, is the co-property of both KontonMan and Mr.Zeno999. |
Open Season[]
It'd been some days since Ikaro Uzumaki had run into Ninjin. Remembering their promise to one another brought a smile to Ikaro's face. After all, he had guaranteed an ally for his village once he had built it back up. Not just with another village, but the entire country.
He glanced up at the sun as he moved through the forests. The canopy above blocked the sunlight from piercing his gaze. It was close to mid-day. He squatted back down, taking a deep breath. Every time he had done this it had ended up in the same result. But practise made perfect, as his grandparents would've said.
Ikaro intended to put out only a piece of his chakra into the ground in order to recover information. And he did just that. But that piece was still more than this technique was designed for. Knowledge came surging back and he fell onto his back, grimacing. The shadows of the leaves danced across his face as the wind blew.
"Fuckin'..." he touched the base of his nose. Blood was dripping out. "Every fuckin' time, man!"
Ikaro kipped up to his feet. He had still learned about the layout of the land. He had seen the animals, the people, every single detail around him. His eyes shut as he focused on the unique signature his Area Scan had picked up.
Some distance away. Moving in through the trees. Turned away. Turned back. Away. Back. Circling. This figure, a male, was approaching. Ikaro went to confirm his theory by flickering forwards a great distance.
He waited, still sensing. They were still approaching. It was an active pursuit.
"The fuck did I do wrong...huh," Ikaro tapped his chin. He stopped his movement. He chose to wait for the figure. "Did Ninjin get caught lying?! No shot. Did he sell me out? Nah. It's gotta be something else...a kinsman?"
High above, concealed by thick branches, Momotaro Hyūga exhaled quietly through his nose. His Byakugan bloomed across the world like ripples in still water. Through those pale eyes, the forest was transparent, every tree, every animal, every chakra thread painted in exact detail.
And at the center of it, one chakra flared like a beacon. Swirling, dense, stubbornly vibrant. Momotaro narrowed his gaze.
"Uzumaki…" he thought. The reports were true. Even at rest, this man’s chakra radiated more like a tide than a flame. It marked him as kin of a clan long thought fractured and lost to time.
Momotaro adjusted his stance on the branch, his black battle robe flowing with the breeze. He could see the faint exhaustion on Ikaro’s face, the blood drying under his nose. The fool was overexerting himself on some sensory technique unrefined but powerful.
Then, Momotaro finally moved, dropping silently from branch to branch until his form became clear through the leaves. He landed gracefully, tall and composed, pale eyes fixed on Ikaro.
“…So it’s true.” His tone was calm and laced with the refined cadence of Hyūga nobility. “The blood of Uzumaki still lingers.”
Ikaro kept his expression blank. Pale eyes. His studies would indicate this man as a Hyūga. A noble clan of Konohagakure. What was a Hyūga doing so far from their village?
It didn't escape Ikaro that the Hyūga was surprised at his presence. The Hyūga recognized Ikaro as an Uzumaki. But it seemed as if his people, at least in this country, truly had died out entirely. He grit his teeth.
"Hyūga-san," Ikaro nodded. "You've been searching for me?"
Momotaro’s pale gaze never left Ikaro. His Byakugan tracked every twitch of the Uzumaki's muscles, every fluctuation in that roaring chakra. He let the silence hang long enough to feel like a blade at the throat before he finally spoke.
“The world carries whispers of the Uzumaki,” Momotaro said, his tone polite and detached. “Scattered remnants. Dead embers. A clan erased by time. I was sent to see if those whispers were true.”
He stepped forward, movements measured, the faint crunch of leaves beneath his sandals sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness. His expression remained calm, but his words cut clean.
“And now I see they are. You live. And more than that your chakra swells beyond what rumor could ever capture.”
Momotaro then tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto Ikaro.
“You have a choice, Uzumaki.” His voice dropped. “Come with me willingly, and lend your strength to the Tennō. Or...” His hand lifted, fingers flexing into the faint shape of a Gentle Fist stance. “...be cut down here and now.”
For the first time, a flicker of something more than formality passed over his features, a faint, dangerous smile, just at the edge of his lips.
“Either way, your existence will no longer be wasted.”
"Good for nothing chakra suppression..." Ikaro cursed under his breath. He had tried his best to mask his chakra, but to no avail. Not only did he have poor chakra control, he simply had too much. He dispelled the jutsu, letting his chakra flow at its regular capacity. That same chakra that had scared his own grandparents.
Ikaro raised a hand. Not in a manner to attack, nor one of declination. A suggestive gesture. "Wait. What's Tennō?"
Momotaro’s pale eyes followed the ripple of Ikaro’s chakra as it surged outward, uncontrolled yet undeniably potent. The Byakugan traced every flow, every twist of energy, mapping it perfectly in his mind.
“…Impressive,” Momotaro murmured. "He far surpasses any of the stories told about him.”
He took a measured step closer, the forest floor silent beneath him. “The Tennō,” he began, “is an organization that thrives where nations grow soft. They orchestrate conflict. They ensure that weakness does not go unchecked. That is all you need to know for now.”
“You will not be given another chance.” He lifted his hands slowly, assuming the stance of a master ready to strike. “Come with me willingly and join the Tennō… or die here. The choice is yours, Uzumaki.”
"Die?!" Ikaro's eyes went wide. Mischief creeped out. "So you left the Hidden Leaf then? Or did they kick you out for being soft? No, wait. Tennō's the one that doesn't want softies."
His eyes danced across Momotaro's figure. Clearly trained. He had heard stories of the Hyūga. A strike from them could be the end due to their Byakugan. But Ikaro found his heart racing. It wasn't a lust for battle, nor was it a lust to fight. No, the feeling that was filling Ikaro's heart with excitement was something else.
Ikaro's lust for knowledge. He wanted to know if he could win.
His hands moved rapidly together, forming hand seals, before slamming his left palm on the back of his right hand. A seal manifested onto the back of the right.
Ikaro closed his open hands into fists. He raised them up, elbows out. His knees were slightly bent, one leg in front of the other.
"Okay, Hyūga." Ikaro grinned. "Let's see if we can solve this."
Roadkill[]
Momotaro’s pale eyes narrowed, Byakugan activating fully. The moment Ikaro slammed his left palm onto the back of his right, Momotaro saw it immediately. The seal, a glowing knot of concentrated chakra, pulsing with latent power. He traced the flow of energy, following it from Ikaro’s fists up into his arms, noting its density and power.
"Interesting", Momotaro thought, tilting his head slightly.
Every muscle in Momotaro’s body tensed, refined instinct taking over. He calculated the angles, the likely trajectory of Ikaro’s first attack, and where that seal would channel the chakra. A plan formed in an instant, the hand was now a danger point. Avoid it, strike elsewhere, disable without wasting time.
With calm precision, Momotaro shifted his stance, flowing like water over stones, closing the distance between them in a blur. His arm extended in a seamless arc, fingers curled into the familiar form of Gentle Fist.
The strike came fast, aiming not for the glowing seal, but toward Ikaro’s torso, intending to disrupt and shut down the chakra flow of Ikaro before he could unleash whatever he had prepared.
Time seemed to slow. Each leaf, each shadow, each trembling muscle of Ikaro was visible to Momotaro’s Byakugan. He could anticipate the force of Ikaro’s next movement, where the chakra would flow, and where the second strike, if he needed a second strike, would need to land.
Ikaro's lips pursed as soon as Momotaro was near. There would be no flowing chakra for Momotaro to follow, for the chakra had long been stored. It simply had to be activated.
Fire streamed out from his mouth, directly towards Momotaro's face and body as Ikaro kicked his feet back to slide against the ground, elongating the time required for Momotaro to close the distance between fist and torso. His feet planted firm against the ground as Ikaro thrust his knee up at the arm's elbow to force it to bend. Chakra began to flow down Ikaro's other leg, in preparation for a response.
Momotaro’s Byakugan flared, his vision mapping the flare of heat and chakra from Ikaro’s sealed palm. He noted the fire breath, the sudden surge of energy from Ikaro’s leg, and the angle of the incoming knee. His mind processed the threats in an instant.
He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, pivoting his torso just enough to let the knee glance past his arm rather than connect directly. Simultaneously, he stepped slightly to the side, closing the angle between himself and Ikaro, reducing the effective reach of the fire while keeping his stance stable.
Momotaro’s right palm extended into a classic Gentle Fist strike, aimed at the side of Ikaro’s torso near the ribs. With precise chakra flow, his strike targeted multiple tenketsu, attempting to disrupt chakra circulation in that area.
At the same time, he flexed his left hand outward in a to unleash a subtle Eight Trigrams Vacuum Palm, releasing a concussive wave of air to push back the remaining flames and maintain pressure, forcing Ikaro to focus on defense.
Ikaro swiped his hand towards his flames, his thumb burning as the skin began to blister and crack. He ceased the flames, and Momotaro would be able to see the chakra moving up through his body and into the seal on his tongue.
With his knee raised he tilted it away from the side Momotaro had moved towards, lifting up his grounded leg. A sudden switch, a roundhouse kick as Momotaro moved to strike the back of his head. It would've been perfect. If not for the Vacuum Palm slamming towards Ikaro, his sensory abilities warning him at the last moment as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Ikaro was pushed back as the chakra in the leg that had now missed its target unleashed a concussive wave of force outwards and away from the duo, knocking over some trees.
The Uzumaki too, crashed into a tree, creating an indent. He landed on his knees before standing. Blood dripped from his thumb.
"What the fuck is that?" Ikaro scowled. "You can expel chakra from your Tenketsu? Fuckin' hell..."
Momotaro’s pale eyes flickered with the first trace of surprise.
He exhaled slowly, fluidly, and then raised his hands, executing a series of hand signs before shaping chakra for the first elemental attack of the encounter. The chakra solidified into a series of Water Needles, thin but lethal.
Momotaro's Byakugan began mapping every sinew, nerve, and pulse point in Ikaro’s body. After a second of looking, Momotaro fired the needles in rapid succession. Each one targeted vital nerve clusters, pressure points, and exposed muscles.
Ikaro could sense them. They were moving quickly. He thrust his left hand out, chakra moving down. A golden chain burst out from under his forearm, Ikaro grabbing it with his palm. He flicked it out in a helix before pulling it taut back towards him. It struck the outermost needles and broke them apart, before bursting all the ones at the centre.
He pulled it back towards him, spinning it as he manifested a second one from his right palm. He swung them both out. Not at Momotaro. To his sides. Wrapping around tree branches before going taut, Ikaro pulled back as far as he could and let go. Shooting forwards with an absurd level of speed, legs aimed out for a double chest strike.
This of course, was all a distraction. Ikaro pulled his chains.
The trees surrounding Momotaro were uprooted, and began to fall down towards the opposing shinobi.
Reacting with flawless instinct, Momotaro moved in an instant, positioning himself between two falling trees with barely a sound. His mind traced every possible trajectory Ikaro could use with those chains and the wreckage.
Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod to himself, Momotaro executed the Eight Trigrams One Hundred Twenty-Eight Palms, the most powerful of the Hyuga Clan's signature Gentle Fist technique.
His arms moved fluidly, a blur as chakra flared along his fingers, striking at the air like a storm of invisible fists aimed at every potential tenketsu on Ikaro’s body. The technique was rapid, unrelenting, and precise, designed to overwhelm even the most formidable defenses and now the Uzumaki was heading straight for it.
A quick reply was needed as Momotaro moved through the trees. Ikaro yanked at his chains, wrapping them around his forearm. They continued to elongate and enveloped the man in them. Each strike of Momotaro's struck Ikaro, but could not reach his Tenketsu. Very little could damage the chains, much less break through them.
Ikaro's momentum continued carrying forwards, as Ikaro maintained his double-legged strike aimed towards Momotaro's chest.
As Ikaro’s legs shot forward, aimed dead-center at his chest, Momotaro’s eyes narrowed. Timing.
With the faintest movement, almost imperceptible to anyone without Byakugan-level perception, he executed a Body Substitution Jutsu. In an instant, his form disappeared, replaced by a harmless tree trunk.
Momotaro reappeared seamlessly atop a thick branch several meters ahead, crouched and balanced, eyes locked on Ikaro. The forest trembled slightly from the force of the Uzumaki’s kick smashing into the tree, splintering bark and sending shards flying harmlessly into the air.
“Impressive,” he spoke, his eyes glistening. “You are far more than the rumors suggested.”
Ikaro dissipated the chains. Being in a forest meant Momotaro had ample things to substitute himself with. He glanced at the ground, noting how his chains had carved through the earth to stain them, how he had disrupted the woods themselves. His eyes found themselves locked with Momotaro's Byakugan.
"Don't go trying to make me blush," Ikaro sported a lop-sided grin. "Flattery won't make me come in willingly. Least you could do, if you're gonna brazenly flirt with me, I'm out of your league by the way, you could tell me more about Tennō too."
Momotaro’s lips curved into the faintest of smirks, a glimmer of amusement in his pale eyes.
He tilted his head slightly, meeting Ikaro’s gaze directly, letting the Byakugan’s intensity brush over him as though nothing else existed. Each second felt casual, conversational, yet beneath the surface, his fingers moved subtly. In the rhythm of his words, he wove the hand seals for Genjutsu, invisible to Ikaro, each seal flowing seamlessly with the slight gestures of polite conversation.
“Flattery, you say?” Momotaro’s voice was smooth. “I merely speak what I observe. Your chakra it is rare, even among your clan. That is not flattery, it is fact.”
He maintained eye contact, letting the illusion of normalcy carry him, while the hidden hand signs began threading the subtle tendrils of the Genjutsu into Ikaro’s chakra.
“You speak of leagues, yet I wonder…” His voice dipped slightly, calm and almost hypnotic, drawing Ikaro in. “…how far would you go to protect what is yours? How much are you willing to reveal if the world stands against you?”
And in a moment, Ikaro would begin to hear other footsteps, seeing other silhouette as Momotaro's Byakguan-enhanced genjutsu finally took hold of the Uzumaki.
It didn't matter the sheer quantity of Ikaro's chakra. An infection was still an infection. And with his lack of talent in Genjutsu, there wasn't much Ikaro could do. It was already becoming difficult to raise his limbs.
The benefit of Ikaro's unyielding mass of chakra was that it would take longer for Momotaro's foreign chakra to affect enough of it for Ikaro to fall into the Genjutsu. That gave him some time. And yet there was still very little he could do.
With great effort, Ikaro did not raise his arm up. His hands were brought together. Weakly. Slowly, they formed hand seals. Becoming slower and slower the more chakra Ikaro molded. All he had to do was raise his hand to bite it and make it bleed.
But he couldn't. His body was lulling into a sleep. He couldn't bite down.
Of course, his thumb was already bleeding from his own flames.
His hand pressed down on his thigh. Smoke erupted.
Enryō, a monkey emerged. "YO, YO! IKAROOOO~"
He landed, glancing around. "The...fuck?! Shit, Genjutsu: Release!!"
The monkey leaped onto Ikaro's shoulder, dispelling the foreign chakra as Ikaro shook his head as senses became his once more. No more words shared between the simian and the shinobi, a nod of gratitude as it leaped up and transformed. He reached out and grabbed the staff.
"I'm glad," Ikaro began. "I'd set up my thumb to bleed to speed up my Summoning speed earlier, though the plan was to strike your palm as it hit me to summon my friend...I'm glad I waited."
He pointed the staff at Momotaro.
"I've come up with the solution," he declared. "This fight ends one way. In my win."
Clean-Up[]
With a calm motion, Momotaro raised his hands, weaving a series of hand signs with speed and fluidity. His fingers moved almost imperceptibly, chakra coiling in the air around him.
“Very well,” he murmured, his voice measured and cool. “If victory is your claim, then we shall see how it fares against mine.”
A deep breath, and Momotaro unleashed a large fire. Flames erupted, swirling with crisp intensity, Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu, but this was no ordinary fire. He layered wind chakra along the edges of the inferno, causing the fireball to elongate, stretch, and hiss as it expanded rapidly, forming a wall of roaring flame that moved toward Ikaro with frightening speed and size.
The Byakugan traced Ikaro’s every twitch, every shift of stance, every pulse of chakra as the wind-fed firestorm surged, Momotaro’s expression calm, almost serene. The flames were precise, shaped to cut off lines of escape and essentially force Ikaro to meet the flames head on. After all, Momotaro did unleash a wave of fire in a very densely wooded area.
"You oughta do more research, White-Eyes," Ikaro slammed the base of his Adamantine Staff onto the ground, pulling himself up onto the other end. The staff grew longer and wider, becoming a massive pillar that surpassed the wall in height. The flames trickled against the staff, but the staffs the Monkeys could transform into were as hard as diamonds. The flames could not harm the staff.
Atop the staff, chains emerged from Ikaro's arms as he whipped them out and around in a circular motion, carving through the earth around the staff and beyond Momotaro. The earth and dust kicked up as he pulled the chains back up, causing the dust to encircle wide and expand outwards in the terrain far below Ikaro where Momotaro laid.
"Stop chasin' rumours, and start chasin' after some brains, why don't ya?!" Ikaro yelled out, nearly laughing.
As the dust kicked up, infused with Ikaro’s chakra, it created a semi-hazy battlefield, a slight interference even the Byakugan could barely compensate for. Yet Momotaro did not flinch. He stepped into the center of the cleared area, feet planted firmly on the forest floor, arms rising slowly.
He assumed the Eight Trigrams stance, palms open and poised, fingers flexed lightly in readiness. The 128 Palms could wait, patience was part of the art. His eyes never left Ikaro, piercing through the faint haze of chakra-laden dust.
Momotaro remained still, calm as a mountain, stance steady. His hands hovered just at the edge of motion, waiting to respond to the slightest twitch, the next attack, the smallest opening.
“You are… impressive,” he murmured under his breath, voice low but audible only to himself. “Let us see how far this ingenuity carries you.”
"Staying down there, huh? Guess the great eyes of the Hyūga Clan aren't that good then? FYUHAHAHA!!" Ikaro broke out into laughter. He swung the chains back down. While he couldn't see through the dust, he could still see the large border he had made. He could position, and through the great precision he held with his chains, he could still make his moves.
The chains were thrust down and continued to carve into the earth. Short jagged lines. Long lines that curved. All near the top half. Rocks were kicked up, more dust arose. He retracted his chains back, clanging against each. Chakra-infused dust continued to permeate, worsening the haze. Rocks shot around with no intended direction except where Ikaro knew Momotaro had been last.
Calmly, Momotaro recalculated. Head-on confrontation would no longer suffice. His fingers flexed slightly, chakra already coiling through his legs. With a single, precise exhale, Momotaro released a burst of chakra into his legs, launching himself high above the dust-clouded battlefield.
From that vantage point, he was no longer limited by the haze. He extended his arms in fluid motion, weaving hand seals with the speed of instinct. In a flash, shadow clones erupted around him, duplicates that mirrored every subtle gesture.
With a flick of his wrists, chakra condensed in the form of Water Style: Water Needle, forming dozens of razor-sharp projectiles in each of his hands. Momotaro and the clone began their descent, plummeting through the swirling dust like twin storms.
Needles rained down with perfect timing, each one guided by Byakugan sight. Though Ikaro could not see through the haze, the twin barrage cut through every gap in the clouded battlefield, probing for exposed nerves, tenketsu, or chakra flows.
"Even if I cannot see him fully, that Uzumaki cannot hide in that haze unscathed" Momotaro thought, his expression calm, almost serene.
The clone and the original moved in perfect synchronization, their attack relentless and vast. The needles pierced the dust with sharp whistles, aiming to strike the Uzumaki no matter where he moved below.
Ikaro grimaced. He needed more time. He tapped his foot, the staff shrunk. Momotaro was likely aiming at where Ikaro had been, much like Ikaro hiimself had been doing to Momotaro. Out of the way of the majority of the barrage, the needles that did pierce and cut into Ikaro's skin avoided the vitals due to their precise path being knocked off course.
The chains were whipped out once more, carving further down south of the oval-like shape, kicking up rocks that were fired away and outside of the oval. More dust kicked up. Another tap of his foot, more urgent.
The staff shrunk down rapidly, almost flickering down in size. The sudden decrease kicked up mighty winds that cleared the dust and debris. A clearing had been formed, the two of them in the "boundary" Ikaro had carved earlier.
Ikaro clenched his jaw. He hopped off the staff, wrapping one chain around the top half. The other dissipated. "You're so insistent on trying to fuckin' capture me..."
"The least you could fuckin' do," He began to spin the chain, the staff shrinking further as the chain's grip around it tightened. "Is let us exchange names."
“My name,” Momotaro said smoothly, voice steady as ever, “is—”
Before Ikaro could even process the words, Momotaro’s body blurred. Simultaneously, his shadow clone duplicated the motion. In a flash of subtle, controlled chakra, both executed the Body Flicker technique, disappearing from the open clearing and reappearing in perfect positions: one directly in front of Ikaro, the other just behind him.
Momotaro’s voice carried again, now from two directions at once, calm but also creepy. “Momotaro Hyūga.”
Without missing a beat, both Momotaro and his clone extended their arms, fingers flexing into the Eight Trigrams Sixteen Palms stance. In perfect unison, each launched a rapid-fire flurry of strikes,sixteen precise, chakra-guided blows from both the front and back, forming a lethal double-prong assault aimed to disrupt Ikaro’s flow, his chakra, and his tenketsu simultaneously while also seeking to inflict internal damage upon the Uzumaki.
It was the moment Momotaro had begun speaking, Ikaro had acted. He hadn't had time to process the words, but his sensory abilities could still pick up movement. He could tell that a clone was approaching. Thankfully, Ikaro had done the set-up required.
"Uzumaki Style Grand Mausoleum!!" Ikaro yelled out.
The carvings into the ground that Ikaro had done. The wide shape. The cuts and slashes into the earth. The clearing of everything so that Momotaro could not substitute out. It had all been for this. Hidden behind the visage of attack, Ikaro had been setting up a Fūinjutsu the entire time.
The chains appeared on the circumference, and the barrier was manifested immediately. It would aim to lock Momotaro and the clones in place immediately, the forward moving momentum hard to alter especially while Momotaro had prepared to strike 128 times in an instant. And had begun to move to do so before more than likely being suddenly halted.
A Fūinjutsu worthy of its name.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, Momotaro’s Byakugan traced the barrier’s formation, but there was no time to react. His strikes, along with his clone’s, connected just before the barrier locked them in place. Over 12 precise palms from each formed a deadly lattice, fingers lashing at Ikaro’s tenketsu with pinpoint accuracy.
Chakra points flared, some of Ikaro’s tenketsu forced into temporary disruption. Pain would shoot through the Uzumaki's body as a 24 chakra channels were shut down, slowing the flow of energy to his limbs and torso.
Then, like the snap of a trap, the barrier’s fangs of chakra closed in. The momentum of the incoming strikes was suddenly halted. Momotaro and the clone found themselves suspended mid-motion, feet hovering, palms inches from continuing their assault on Ikaro. The chains hummed with sealing energy, thick chakra radiating outward, resisting every movement.
Momotaro’s eyes narrowed, Byakugan still glowing as he assessed the sudden lock.
He flexed his fingers slightly, feeling the pressure of the Fūinjutsu around him, but there was no panic, only a spark of delight. "And here I thought I’d be done gathering information… yet I’ve learned so much more."
Ikaro coughed, grasping his ribs. The Tenketsu would reopen in time. Especially given his Uzumaki heritage. But he couldn't strike at Momotaro just yet.
"Y'know," Ikaro mumbled. "I oughta kill you. You'll keep fuckin' chasing me if I don't. And now so will your group, I assume. Tennō is a group of you, yeah?"
The staff transformed back into a monkey, landing on Ikaro's shoulder. The simian crossed his arms. The barrier remained as strong as ever.
Ikaro flexed his fingers and clenched them into a fist. Like one did to "wake" their arm after it had fallen numb. "Momotaro Hyūga. Tell me more about Tennō. And I'll give you more information."
Exchange[]
Momotaro’s chest rose and fell slowly, the chains of sealing pressing in against his frame, his Byakugan flickering with faint veins of resistance as if probing every thread of chakra that made up the Grand Mausoleum. His smirk hadn’t faded, though the corner of his lips twitched at Ikaro’s words.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Momotaro said evenly, his voice calm despite the weight pinning him in place. “Even if I wanted to, even if this was the perfect chance to bargain. I literally can’t.”
“We’re bound by oaths and seals. Words about Tennō won’t leave my mouth. Not willingly, not unwillingly." his pale eyes sharpened, the smirk returning with defiance, “you could tear out my tongue and I still couldn’t tell you a damn thing.”
The clone flickered and dissipated into smoke with a soft pop, leaving only the real Momotaro suspended in the Uzumaki’s trap. His gaze never wavered from Ikaro’s.
Ikaro tightened his grip. He could feel trickles. He approached Momotaro, keeps his eyes off his. The Grand Mausoleum's barrier tightened its grip. "So this seal that keeps you from talking..."
His jaw clenched. He hadn't figured out the finer details of that technique yet.
"Nod your head. Yes or no. Every time you do, I'll share something." Ikaro began. He paused. He had to phrase his question properly. What did he know about Tennō? They had heard rumours. They sought him out. Because of his bloodline? Momotaro was of a noble clan too. What was it about the Uzumaki then? Did they seek their inherent talent in Fūinjutsu? Were they trying to seal something? Unseal something?
"Tennō...is a group you are a member of, and have a goal of reawakening a certain entity. Yes, or no?"
At the question, the faintest grin tugged at the Hyūga’s lips. Momotaro didn’t speak, he couldn’t, but slowly, deliberately, he inclined his head.
A clear, sharp nod.
Yes.
Ikaro nodded. He watched the Hyūga. He could feel the chakra's flow returning. He flicked his wrist out, manifesting one of his chains. "Out of the Uzumaki I was with, I'm the last one alive." he revealed. Of course, he had only known of two others, his grandparents. But the Hyūga didn't know that. It didn't matter regardless. All it meant was that Ikaro was even more valuable to whatever they were planning.
To reawaken something. What could it have been? He'd have to research more about the past. What components would they need for such a reawakening?
"Do you want me for the knowledge of Fūinjutsu my people hold?" he asked. "Or is it the amount of chakra we each possess?"
Momotaro’s throat tightened as if the words themselves resisted him. His Byakugan narrowed, and his lips parted.
“My mission is to.”
The seal in his body flared like fire through his veins. His body jerked as if pulled by invisible threads. From his mouth, black markings spread outward before his jaw dislocated unnaturally wide.
With a grotesque hissss, a serpent of ink and chakra forced its way out, coiling and stretching. Its scales shimmered like sealing script, its body an extension of the cursed jutsu placed on him.
Before Ikaro could even react, the snake lunged downward, not at him, but at Momotaro himself. Its jaw unhinged wide, and in one smooth motion it swallowed the Hyūga whole, dragging him into its form until the body was completely gone.
The Grand Mausoleum seal flared against it, chains rattling in protest, but the serpent twisted and phased through the cracks of space itself like smoke. The barrier hadn’t been broken, its captive had simply been removed.
The serpent’s form slithered skyward, dissolving into inky fragments that rained down before vanishing altogether.
Momotaro was gone.
"FUCK!" Ikaro cursed. The Grand Mausoleum relaxed, dispersing itself. "Fuckin' Juinjutsu. How the fuckin'...FUCK!"
The monkey on his shoulder mirrored his feelings. Ikaro let out a deep exhale. There wasn't anything he could do about it. He had learned about Tennō. That was enough. He could ascertain Momotaro was a lower-ranked member. Why else would he be subject to such a seal?
Ikaro turned away. This was a distraction, anyways. His true goal was further south.