As Sarada walked through the encampment, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the stares. It had been just shy of a full month since they invaded Tsuki and things were worse than ever and Sarada felt the mounting pressure continue to build. And it was all on her shoulders. Stalled battles on every front, rising death tolls, prison escapes, and the resounding loss that was the last two free Tailed Beasts. The Ōtsutsuki had come to Earth for them and they had succeeded, in the end, in getting what they wanted.

Sarada wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But she couldn't. She was the One Shadow now. She had to be strong. She had to be decisive. She had to win.

She didn't know how Bolt did it for so long without cracking. Maybe he did? His sanity had always been suspect in the best of times. Now Sarada wondered if she was walking the same road he did.

Sarada found the compound within the encampment where Bolt and his retinue were staying. Tonight, he would be venturing into the city. Into the dragon's den. Alone. To see a woman Omoikane insisted was vital to the war effort. Bolt was, if nothing else, consistent. He prided himself on if not winning, then at least not losing either. He had done more than that. His army sported the highest casualty rate— by far— but they had earned the most victories. Victories bought by spent lives, but victories nonetheless.

The Stormguard knew, at this point, to let her pass unhindered. They looked resigned and sighed as she strode past them. Tetsu stood guard outside the tent and, unlike the others, he could not be swayed so easily. His loyalty was to Bolt and Bolt alone. Sarada stood before the freakishly large man and looked up at him. They held their gazes for a few moments before Tetsu cracked a small smile, the barest quirk of his lips, and stood aside.

Sarada only had but a moment to ponder the meaning before she stepped inside.

She snorted. Then laughed.

Bolt turned to look at her, an expression of thunderous anger twisting his features. He stood in the middle of the room, resplendent in a finespun white silk robe that was common among the Tsukians. He had slipped out of the top, letting it fall to his shins and baring his chest, and Hikari and Aihana were standing around him with brushes in their hands as they painted his skin with makeup. His normal pallor had been made even more stark, and his distinct facial scars had been covered up, and the blues of his eyes stood in stark contrast to the smokey eyeliner the two girls had used.

"Get out!" Bolt hissed.

Sarada choked on her saliva as she burst into peals of laughter. She bowed over, hands resting on her knees, laughing even more at Bolt's squawks of outrage. Hikari was smiling and Aihana was giggling beneath her breath, obviously trying not to embarass her master.

"I'm—" Sarada giggled. "—I'm sorry. You look very pretty, Bolt. I didn't mean to laugh."

Bolt's left eye twitched as he grit his teeth. "It's for the mission," he retorted haughtily, looking down his nose at her. "The Tsukians will see through any jutsu. We have to do it the old fashioned way."

"Of course, of course," Sarada agreed, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. God, when was the last time she had laughed like that? "Let me help."

Bolt grumbled something under his breath but both Hikari and Aihana welcomed her with open arms and pushed another brush into her hands. Sarada gently coaxed Bolt to raise his one arm and, after a quick look at the robe, began to paint from his elbow down so even if the sleeve rode up no one would see his very human skin tone. Sarada was very careful not to let her eyes wander, nor her fingers. One of the few good perks of being a shinobi: everyone was in fantastic shape. Her eyes couldn't help but catalogue the litany of scars, however.

Hikari stepped forward and raised a hand with an outstretched finger that glowed green with chakra before guiding it towards his brow. Bolt frowned and recoiled. "Are you kidding me?" he asked.

Hikari shrugged. "It's the style," she said simply, before pressing her finger to his eyebrows and neatly trimming them away until they were two artful dots. "The upper echelons of the Ōtsutsuki all have the same eyebrows. This will make anyone who sees you think twice about questioning you."

Bolt grumbled under his breath but let Hikari do her job. Sarada smirked. "I have to admit," she mused. "I never expected all those kunoichi classes would be put to use like this."

Aihana giggled. "Oh, I know," she agreed.

Bolt cleared his throat, new eyebrows raised.

Aihana coughed. "I mean— sorry, Master," she fumbled.

Bolt rolled his eyes but removed his hand from her grasp just long enough to tossle the girl's hair affectionately. There was something light in his eyes, something good and innocent, something that Sarada hadn't seen since they were children. She smiled. Aihana was good for him. She finished applying the makeup to his arm and found her fingers lingering. Her cheeks felt warm as she realized what she was doing and backed away. Hikari stepped forward, both hands glowing green, and began to run them up and down Bolt's body. Everywhere her fingers touched, blond hair turned stark white.

Sarada took a step back and admired their combined handiwork. The noble features of the Hyūga, masked by the human in Bolt, had been highlighted and brought to the surface. The alien beauty that she had come to associate with their enemies was present in Bolt, hidden just beneath the skin, and now that he looked and dressed like them, Sarada could see the familiarity echoing across generations and species.

Bolt struggled to don the robe with only one arm and Hikari moved to help him. He bristled, nearly tearing himself from her grasp. Her hands paused and, after a shared look, she moved forward and Bolt allowed her to help him. Sarada looked away. She felt as if she had been caught peeping on something personal. In her defense, Aihana looked equally abashed, her cheeks lightly dusted with pink that brought out her freckles.

Sarada cleared her throat. "You remember what to do, right?" she asked once Bolt was dressed. Hikari was tying an ornate knot in the sash in the style of the Land of Water.

Bolt scowled and shot her a look. Who do you think I am, it said.

Sarada smiled. "Just making sure," she said airily.

Aihana fetched a veil of lace and offered it to him. Bolt looked down at the garment like it was filth. "First thing after we win..." he grumbled, draping the veil over his head and obscuring his face.

Sarada found a pair of wooden sandals by the entrance of the tent and fetched them for Bolt. He nodded his thanks as he slipped them on before sighing heavily. "How do I look?" he asked, twirling slowly for them.

"You'll pass," Hikari said, nodding with satisfaction.

Sarada nodded in agreement. "Remember, if you're in even the slightest bit of danger..."

"I know, I know," Bolt griped.

Sarada sighed and tried to banish her nerves. "Our fathers are standing by. If you give the signal, we'll raze the city to the ground. I won't let them hurt you, Bolt," she swore.

Hikari gave her an odd look. Bolt scoffed. "Please," he said. "As if I would need their help. I'll be fine."

"Are- are you sure you don't want me to come with you, Master?" Aihana asked, looking up at Bolt with— by the Sage— something that Sarada swore looked like puppy dog eyes.

Bolt glanced at her and then quickly looked away. Sarada's lips parted in disbelief. Did she stumble upon a hidden weakness to the infamous Thunder God? "I will be fine," Bolt reiterated with a heavy sigh. "I swear, you all act like this is the first time I've done this."

Sarada snorted. "Really? You dress up like this all the time, huh?" she asked smugly.

Bolt glared at her. "Infiltration, Sarada," he replied testily.

Sarada smiled cheekily. "Sure," she agreed too easily.

Bolt sighed, long and heavily. "I hope they do see through this disguise," he muttered under his breath. "Death would be kinder."

Sarada found herself regretting her teasing. She knew Bolt wasn't really offended, but the danger he would be in was gravely serious. She was sending him into the dragon's den. Alone. To reveal himself to one of said dragons and hope that she was sympathetic to their cause. If she wasn't... if she attacked...

Bolt was strong, yes, but he wasn't invincible. He wasn't immortal. He could die. He almost had died. Multiple times. Sarada had been witness to some of them. This could be the last time she saw him. The thought was sobering.

The tent was deathly quiet. Hikari and Aihana were looking as pale and grave as Sarada felt. Bolt softened before their eyes. "I will be fine," he repeated, again, more surely, with that little smug smirk that made Sarada want to punch him in the mouth. "And if I'm not? Well... if you see lightning, it's not a storm. You'll know what to do."

Sarada laughed lightly, mirrored by Hikari, and Aihana toed the ground, dancing with a small smile.

Bolt straightened and smiled. "Well," he mused. "Let's get this show on the road."

Sarada watched as he disappeared under the cover of night. Her Sharingan traced the back of his white robes until even the vaunted eyes of the Uchiha couldn't see him.

It was a flaw of society, Bolt mused, that people shied away from figures of authority. He kept his head held high, looking down his nose at the Tsukians scurrying about the city, purposeful in his stride, and his disguise did the rest. They saw him as one of them, and more than that, an elite among them, and the sheer power he radiated sold the rest. They quickly averted their gaze, eager to look away and find something else to be doing, never stopping nor questioning him.

Getting in had been child's play. He conducted himself through the wall, a thoroughly disorienting experience, but otherwise bearable. The Ōtsutsuki had been none the wiser. Now, stalking among the streets as one of them, he admired the beauty of Tsukian architecture. In a society where everyone had the power of Kakashi Hatake, at the minimum, buildings were not built, but erected, made wholly raised from the ground in ornate stone and intricate design. It was beautiful. Unlike human cities, there was no rhyme or reason to the layout of the streets. Structures were placed seemingly at random, wherever their creators had deigned, and the city had become a winding maze of alleyways and side streets.

Yet, because of the Byakugan, he had no trouble navigating, though he noticed the homes were warded from his sight. His first thought had been paranoia— that he had been discovered— but rationality won out. In a society of people whose natural ocular ability included the ability to see through walls, well, of course they would have countermeasures to ensure privacy. Just like the Hyūga villa back home.

The deeper he roamed into the city, the more it changed. At first, it had been all warriors. Homes had been evacuated to make room for fortifications and barracks. There had been a strictly enforced curfew and the people out and about had reason to be there, a task to be accomplished. Now, however, the soldiers had been left behind, and the citizens emerged. There had to be at least a population of several hundred thousand, if not approaching the million mark. The city never slept. And the deeper Bolt ventured, the more "modern" the city became. It still retained its distinctly alien feel, but Bolt could taste the familiarity. Districts where people could go to get a drink, or a fine meal, or some company for the night. Tsukians who weren't warriors but looked the part; tough and intimidating. Enforcers.

Beneath his veil, Bolt smiled. It reminded him of his time as a mercenary. A time that felt like a lifetime ago, but in reality was merely a decade. Bolt had wondered what kind of woman Uzume Ōtsutsuki was. Omoikane had been vague— and Bolt thought the prescient Tsukian was being intentionally obtuse. Now, as he navigated the city and made his way to the location Omoikane's resistance had supplied as Uzume's haunt, he realized what, precisely, "the Lady of the Dawn, champion of mirth and revelry" was.

Uzume Ōtsutsuki was a glorified party girl.

The truth was so outrageous that Bolt couldn't restrain the laughter that bubbled up his throat. Several passersby looked at him oddly, then turned away fearfully when they saw his feigned nobility. Bolt smiled broadly as he made his way to what he knew had to be the equivalent of an alien club. The lights were dimmed, visibility low, with colorful flashes of fire illuminating the dancefloor. The Tsukians looked younger— or what passed for young among their kind. There was music, too, a quick thumping beat that his heart echoed. Pale-skinned bodies danced and writhed in too-thin clothes. They were all smiles and laughter, ignorant or oblivious to the war brewing just outside their walls.

Bolt stepped inside and quickly discarded his veil and ruffled his otherwise too neat robes. An Ōtsutsuki elite wouldn't be caught dead in such an establishment. Probably. On the other hand, as much as things changed between worlds and species, some things didn't. Bolt had grown exceedingly adept at navigating these kinds of scenes. This, he could handle. Plus it got him out of the frankly ridiculous garb the Tsukian noblemen dressed themselves in.

Bolt began to make his way through the throngs of dancers, joining in on the dancing in that half-hearted sort of way that one does before they find a partner. A few Tsukian girls obliged him, looking up at him with violet eyes that sparkled with mirth and desire. There wasn't any formal set of moves, just undulations of the body in time to the beat of the music. His partners brushed against him, and for a time they danced, before he moved deeper through the crowd. None of them seemed to realize he wasn't one of them, though Bolt had been momentarily worried his makeup would smear and give him away.

More disconcerting than his disguise, or the strangely beautiful women— and a few men— that tried to lure him back to the dancefloor, were the Ōtsutsuki that were strewn across the outskirts of the club. Their eyes were lidded and glazed with a dopey smile on their lips as they stumbled over their own feet, dancing to music only they could hear. The deeper into the club Bolt went, the more numerous the inebriated became.

Bolt had worried he would have trouble discerning Uzume among the horde of other revelers. He shouldn't have been. To his Byakugan, she shone bright, her chakra blazing with an intensity he had only seen in Hashinau, Iresu, and Omoikane. He could almost feel the heat on his skin, like a brush of fingertips. It was like...

Like the sun cresting the horizon.

Suddenly, the woman's title made much more sense.

And, as he emerged from the throng of dancers, between the tide of bodies, Uzume Ōtsutsuki's eyes found his. Almost as if she had been waiting. Intellectually, Bolt knew she had. Their meeting had been arranged by Omoikane. But there was a sly, almost smug aura about Uzume that unsettled Bolt. The way the colorful lights of the club danced in her eyes; the quirk of her full lips as she smiled at him.

Bolt approached her slowly, cautiously. Like all their kind, Uzume was inhumanly beautiful. Unlike Hashinau and Iresu, however, hers was not a beauty of art come to life, but something more... carnal. Something more base, more real, and because of that, she was all the more alluring. Sensual, Bolt decided, was how he would describe her. She looked comfortable in her skin and she knew it. And what a skin it was. She was short for her kind, but her figure was full, with wide hips and full breasts, and her silver hair was messily braided like she had just awoken— or been ravished— and she couldn't quite muster the effort to make herself fully presentable. Her skin was milky and pale and the robes she wore were thin and disheveled, leaving little to the imagination.

Almost as if she could read his thoughts, Uzume smiled, and despite himself, something in Bolt's chest fluttered. She lounged atop a sofa, one hand lazily tracing her hip, and the other beckoned for him.

Bolt approached and inwardly cursed himself as he passed a handful of guards. He hadn't even noticed them until it was too late, he had been too busy staring at Uzume. A few of the dancers, his former partners among them, looked upon him with envy.

There was something otherworldly alluring about Uzume. Something that spoke to his base animal side and set it howling. She was so easily and casually attractive in a way that no woman, Tsukian or human, neither Hikari nor Sarada, had ever been to him. And that was dangerous, Bolt reminded himself harshly, even as his monkey brain was content to happily bask in Uzume's radiance.

Uzume smiled brightly as he reached her and sat up, making room for him next to her, and Bolt woodenly sat down. He froze as she reversed her position until she was sitting next to him, almost against him, rather than the arm of the sofa. Her appraising violet eyes darted across his face for a few moments before descending to his body. Her gaze rose, met his, and then she grinned slowly.

Despite himself, Bolt felt his cheeks grow warm. Had she just... checked him out?

"Your kind are so very strange," Uzume said. Her voice was smooth and warm and sweet. "But so very familiar, too."

What did that mean? "... Thank you?" Bolt settled for, feeling every bit the awkward teenager. It was like he had been thrust back ten years and was afraid to look Hikari in the eye because he was attracted to her.

Uzume laughed and it was the most delightful sound Bolt had ever heard. He found himself smiling.

"You didn't run into any trouble, I hope?" Uzume asked, sounding genuinely worried— for him, not her.

She beckoned and suddenly Bolt found a drink in his hand. He glanced from the drink to his host and back again before allowing a crystalline green to emit from his fingertips. A crude copy of Hikari's technique she had taught him, but one that should reveal any poisons. The drink came up clean and Bolt warily lifted the glass to his lips. The liquor was sweet and fruity and went down easily, only to burn harshly after a few moments just when he thought it wouldn't.

"... Nothing I couldn't handle," Bolt answered eventually with a rakish grin when the fear that he had been poisoned passed and he realized the burn was just alcohol.

Uzume smiled up at him. "I'm glad," she said, eyes lidded and full pink lips revealing pearly-white teeth. "We have much to discuss, you and I."

Bolt felt his eyes wander against his will. Past full lips, down a slender neck, before settling on the woman's cleavage, then back up. Uzume smiled wider. Caught. This time, his cheeks burned. Bolt swore under his breath and took a long drink. What in the name of the Sage of Six Paths was wrong with him? He wasn't some fumbling green virgin that let kunoichi wiles get the better of him. He was Bolt Uzumaki, the Thunder God, the One Shadow. He had a mission. Even if he didn't, he had Hikari. He would never betray her like that. Never.

"Relax," Uzume cooed. "You're too tense. No one here is going to betray you— or me. No one would be so... foolish," she finished.

Bolt looked around the club. It was true, he realized. Despite the merriment, there was a sour undertone of fear that tainted the lust of the mood. People were envious of him sitting next to Uzume, yes, but they were also afraid of her too. How hadn't he sensed that sooner?

Bolt did his best to relax. After a few more drinks, he even succeeded. "This is good," he commented. It appealed to his sweet tooth.

Uzume smiled brightly. "It's my favorite," she admitted. "I'm glad you like it."

Then came the reason he was there in the first place. "What did our mutual friend say, exactly, when he arranged all this?" he asked.

"Just his usual tripe. And that his new allies would be sending a... representative," Uzume answered coyly.

Great. Omoikane had given him just enough rope to hang himself with. If Bolt made it out of this meeting with his dignity intact, he was going to strangle the man. "Well," he mused, swirling his drink in the glass. "There's much the two of us— our people— could accomplish together."

Uzume paused momentarily and then smiled slowly. "Yes, there is much that you and I could do together..." she purred.

Bolt froze as the picturesque beauty pressed against him. She raised a delicate hand and reached out, rubbing the pads of her fingers against his cheeks. It took him a few moments to realize what she was after. By then, it was too late. Makeup smeared, his scars were revealed.

Uzume sat back down looking incredibly pleased with herself. Smug, in a word. "So it is true," she murmured to herself.

Bolt slapped a hand to his cheek to cover his very distinctive scarring. Looking around, it seemed as if no one had seen his slip.

"Do you know what they say about you?" Uzume asked, taking a demure sip of the pleasantly sweet liquor. "They whisper your name in fear. In awe. A raijū in the skin of our enemy. That you have the blood of Lord Raijin in your veins. A lost scion to a most ancient and noble bloodline."

Bolt smiled inwardly. "I can neither confirm nor deny such accusations," he answered her.

Uzume laughed, lyrical and sweet. "I would feel better about a potential alliance between our people if I knew the truth," she pouted.

It was time to go on the offensive, Bolt decided. "As would I if I knew why Omoikane was so insistent you join our side," he countered.

Uzume sneered slightly at the name.

"You don't like him?" Bolt asked, taking another drink of the sweet liquor. It really was quite good.

Uzume shook her head. "It's not a matter of like or dislike," she said eventually. "It's the principle. Omoikane was old when time was young. They say he was born an old soul in a new body. A single look in his eyes would tell you the truth. He knows all, sees all. When he looks at you, he sees an obstacle. Something to be made to move as he wills. You're standing between the now and the future he has foreseen."

Bolt slowly nodded in agreement with her. There was something... uncannily wrong that surrounded Omoikane. Perhaps that was it, after all?

"But you're still willing to entertain an alliance with us?" Bolt asked.

Uzume smiled brightly. "Of course," she said. "I've always been adept at divining which way the wind blows. Their Graces, Izanami and Izanagi, and then their daughter, Amaterasu. Only a fool would oppose them. And now, after so long..." she looked back to him and grinned. "Perhaps a new direction?"

So she was opportunistic. She knew it was only a matter of time until Amaterasu was defeated, so she was jumping ship. Cowardly, perhaps, but Bolt couldn't fault her for wanting to be on the winning side of history.

"But I suppose you wish to know why Omoikane thinks so highly of me," Uzume mused. She reached within the folds of her wispy robes and removed a small, round pill-like pellet and held it up to be examined at eye level. "Ours is a society of power. Those with power, and those without. Those who seek to not only keep theirs, but hunger for ever more greater and greater heights. Those without who seek to ascend, from powerless to powerful."

Uzume popped the pellet into her mouth and chewed with a small hum of satisfaction. "Chakra elixirs, made from harvesting the distilled essence of a person's very chakra," she explained. "It kills them, of course, but then again, that is rather the point. If someone... displeases the regime, death is too pleasant a fate. They are made to serve, one way or the other."

Bolt realized his mouth was agape as he stared at her in horror. Even at his very worst, he never would have stooped so low as to... eat another person's chakra. And this was what Omoikane wanted Uzume for?

Uzume appeared to take great pleasure in his horror. She smiled, a horrible, beatific smile, and leaned forward. "Outside the royal family, I alone am the sole supplier of the elixir. Omoikane wants me for the sole purpose of denying the Empress' faction another source of the elixir, to say nothing of the people who will fight for your side merely to gain greater power. Nor, for that matter... the possibility of humans who have partaken of it."

"The only thing that remains..." Uzume mused with lidded eyes. "What do I gain from helping you?"

Uzume was a profoundly dangerous woman, Bolt realized. His initial impression of her had been tainted by their surroundings. Perhaps she had intended for it to mask her true sinister role behind Tsukian society. Either way, he had let his guard down. She wasn't an opponent he could afford to engage without insurance.

In his official capacity, Bolt could offer her pardons for her crimes, a position of power in the government that would be established following the fall of Amaterasu, an unofficial acquiescence to continue her operation. But privately? Bolt couldn't allow someone— something— so vile to run unchecked, outside his control.

Uzume slid over to him with languid, liquid grace and sensual beauty, pressing herself against his side. Heat rose in his cheeks. She really was quite beautiful, after all. Her lips parted in a small smile, pursed and moving as she spoke words that didn't make it to his ears. Uzume moved closer still until she was practically in his lap.

Something was wrong, Bolt thought.

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift away as he loosed his grasp on his mortal coil.

Almost instantly, his eyes snapped open. Earthly tethers severed, his thoughts were clear. It felt like his brain was melting out of his ears, dribbling from his nose and down his chin. Like someone had cracked open his skull and took a blender to his brain before embellishing with a straw and a little umbrella for good measure.

Through gilded eyes he saw the hazy aura radiating from Uzume— love me— surrounding him— desire me— surrounding the entire city— worship me. Her influence raced across the land like the light of the breaking dawn, banishing the shadow, leaving no place and no one untouched.

He'd been within her grasp long before he had even seen her face.

How dare she?

Apocalyptic fury swelled within his chest and—

Soft lips pressed against his own and Bolt fell out of his trance. This time, the feeling of Uzume's aura was like a punch to the gut. Bolt sucked in a breath, trying to move away, but his thoughts were warm and muddled and slow. The tip of her tongue traced his bottom lip and then something passed between their mouths and down his throat before he could pull away.

As quick as she had forced herself on him, she was gone, and Bolt jerked away violently, hacking and coughing as he tried to resist Uzume's aura. A pleasant warmth blossomed in the pit of his stomach after a few moments and Bolt stilled as a cold fear gripped him.

Uzume smiled at him demurely from the other side of the sofa. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked.

Above, thunder cracked, loud enough to be heard over the pulse of the music. The entire club's foundations shook and the colorful fires that dimly lit the interior winked out as people cried out in alarm.

There wouldn't even be dust from her bones when he was done with her.

The heat in his stomach spread down his legs and arms and up his spine, settling in the base of his skull. Bolt tried to stand, stumbled, and then pitched forward onto the ground as his chakra began to dance like flames, wild and uncontrolled and beautiful and mesmerizing. "You..." his mastery of the Tsukian language quickly fled him. His words came out slurred, like he was drunk. His mouth felt dry, like cotton, and his tongue was swollen. "Drugged me...?"

Uzume stood and loomed over him, hands clasped behind the small of her back as she leaned forward, cleavage spilling from her robes. "Consider it a taste of what I can do for your people," she said and it felt like Bolt was hearing her speak through water, bubbly and warped.

Uzume snapped her fingers and two Ōtsutsuki guards picked him up and began to carry him from the club. Bolt groaned, feeling the heat pool low in his belly, and the stars danced in the darkness of the night sky, a dizzying display of color and light.

Sarada paced nervously on the ramparts near the edge of the army's encampment. It had been hours since Bolt had entered the city and she was torn between launching an all out attack in an attempt to rescue him or to trust in him and wait for him to return. She froze mid stride as her Sharingan caught a glimpse of something glowing in the dark of the night.

She was running before she had even realized it was Bolt. A few guards cried out in alarm as she took off and Sarada heard footsteps behind her, no doubt some of the Stormguard, as she raced to meet him in the no man's land between their army and the Tsukian city.

Sarada knew something was wrong immediately. Bolt staggered forward, stumbled, and then went sprawling across the ground. She heard a low peal of laughter echo in the silence of the night and redoubled her speed.

Bolt was still laughing as she reached him. "Bolt! Are you—" Sarada hissed as she reached out to touch him but found his skin radiating heat and chakra like a furnace. Her red eyes widened as she sensed his normally disciplined chakra roiling and raging within his body, like a stoked fire. His skin glowed with a soft inner light, electric blue, making him look like a firefly.

Prepared, Sarada gingerly gathered him in her arms and Bolt giggled up at her with a boyish smile and mirth in his eyes, looking younger than Sarada had seen him since before Naruto had become the Hokage. Her eyes darted across his face, looking for some sign he was injured, before settling on the smeared makeup on his cheek that bared his distinctive facial scarring. Sarada sucked in a breath as cold fear settled somewhere in her ribcage. Had he been discovered? Had... had someone done this to him?

Bolt saw her expression, laughed lightly, and raised his hand to cup her cheek. His thumb ran across her cheekbone and Sarada shivered. "'M fine," he slurred, eyes lidded, and Sarada didn't fucking believe him. "'M good," he added, as if that was supposed to convince her.

Sarada swore under her breath, gathering Bolt in her arms as she prepared to summon her Susano'o and fly back to camp. Something was seriously wrong with Bolt, she could feel it, feel the change in his chakra. It struck fear into her because Bolt was normally so... disciplined. He would never have allowed himself to be reduced to this state.

"'M hot," Bolt whined and began to struggle in her grasp, managing to worm halfway out of his robe and was quickly working on the rest of it.

"No, no, no, no," Sarada stumbled as she tried to juggle keeping Bolt in his fucking clothes and getting them back to safety. Heat bloomed in her cheeks. Years ago, this precise situation would have been something straight out of her dreams. Now it made her sick to her stomach.

"Hot," Bolt whined again, and Sarada finally saw that he was sweating profusely and trembling violently.

"It's going to be okay, Bolt," she told him, finally conjuring her Susano'o. The Stormguard looked up at her in alarm as she soared over them and they immediately turned and began their mad sprint back across the no man's land to the encampment. "Just a little farther," she added as Bolt snuggled closer to her.

Bolt's too-warm fingers continued to trace meaningless patterns on her face and neck as he trembled violently against her. "... Yer pretty," he sighed up at her, his breath ghosting across her skin.

Okay.

Alright.

That was a thing.

Sarada blinked several times in rapid succession. It was a stupid, shallow compliment, but some small part of her preened. It was also wildly inappropriate. Also, Sarada could add another thing to her ever growing list of "facts about Bolt": inebriated, he had absolutely no filter. Sarada struggled to remember if she had ever seen him absolutely smashed drunk or not. She hadn't. If she wasn't scared out of her mind, she might've found the whole situation funny.

They touched down amongst a growing mass of guards and, thankfully, medics, including Hikari. Hikari was practically walking through the outer layer of Sarada's Susano'o before she dispelled it.

"What happened?" Hikari demanded in that terse, clinical tone Sarada had heard her mother use countless times working at the hospital.

Sarada helped Hikari place Bolt gently on the ground as the other woman's hands glowed a soft green as she ran them across his chest. Bolt giggled up at them and whined pitifully as he tried to worm his way out of his clothes again.

"I— I don't know, I found him like this, and—"

Bolt grabbed Hikari's ass and then tried to kiss her. Sarada felt heat color her cheeks as Hikari gently but firmly pressed him back down and continued her work professionally. "'Kari," he moaned pitifully, looking up at her with eyes full of dark desire.

Sarada had to look away.

"Bolt," Hikari spoke, slow and low and serious. "I need to know what happened to you. I think you've been drugged."

Bolt made a low, distressed sound that caused Sarada to clench her fists. He nodded, some semblance of manic clarity returning to his glazed eyes. "'N my head," he slurred, trembling so violently he was shaking.

Suddenly, he sat upright, and his hand shot out and grabbed Sarada by the front of her shirt. Sarada gasped in surprise as she was pulled down and forced to look Bolt in the eyes. "Aura," he managed to choke out. "Don't- don't get c-close. Don't let h-her in."

Bolt's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell unconscious and Sarada felt a spike of adrenaline-inducing panic. "What's wrong with him?" she demanded worriedly.

Hikari had an intense frown on her face as her hands glowed brighter where they rested over Bolt's chest. "... His chakra is waxing. Forcibly. I've never seen anything like it before," she murmured.

A ninja's chakra naturally waxed and waned depending on the composition of their physical Yang and spiritual Yin energies, Sarada knew. When a ninja was sick or injured or aging, their Yang energy was weak, thus their chakra was weak. It was also why ninja tended to become more powerful the more intense a fight was as their emotions peaked, causing their Yin energy to become stronger, causing their chakra to become stronger, leading to explosive final confrontations.

It was the natural order of their kind. Sarada hadn't ever heard of a technique or bloodline capable of manipulating something so fundamental to their people's very being.

That an Ōtsutsuki was capable of it was terrifying.

Sarada trembled helplessly as Hikari and a trio of medics carried Bolt away to a nearby tent. Sarada heard Hikari barking orders for a bathtub of ice to be prepared.

Her eyes burned and it took Sarada a moment to realize it wasn't because of tears, but anger. Uzume Ōtsutsuki would rue the day she crossed Sarada and tried to harm what was hers. The only thing stopping her from razing the city to the ground was Bolt's panicked, manic last-minute warning. Aura, don't get close.

Sarada scowled violently at the towering Tsukian city walls and stormed away as she began to call for a meeting of her war council.

Himawari dashed across the landscape at a blistering speed. The wind was at her back, pushing her forward, and the earth beneath her feet was smooth and accommodating to her breakneck pace. It was a day's run between Shikadai's army and Bolt's, but she made the trip in less than three hours. She was worried how Shikadai would fare without her, as his strongest fighter, but the fighting had all but reached a stalemate in the past several days and Himawari trusted him to hold the line while she was gone. He was the foremost genius of their generation, after all, regardless of what her brother thought.

With Sage Mode, she could sense the presences of her friends and family ahead, rapidly approaching. Tsuki was overflowing with an abundance of natural energy and Himawari had never felt more powerful in her life. Her strength, speed, and endurance had all increased manyfold. She was never more grateful than now as she flew to her brother's side.

Himawari reached the encampment just before dawn, having run through the night, and breezed past the night's watch. They cried out in alarm but there was not a soul in this world or the next that could stand in her way. She burst through the front of the impromptu command tent, startling those inside, save for Sarada who smiled knowingly, and launched herself at her brother and wrapped him in her arms, squeezing tightly.

Bolt wheezed and struggled futilely but Himawari wasn't going to let him go so easily. Eventually, her brother stopped struggling and gingerly wrapped his one arm around her back and returned her embrace. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly, knowing Bolt wouldn't appreciate being fawned over in front of so many people.

Their father and uncle Sasuke couldn't come, but aunt Sakura had come personally to oversee Bolt's treatment and Sarada had summoned a number of her officials and attendants to their impromptu war council. Sentoki was standing amicably near her brother who looked visibly uncomfortable at the friendly monk's presence. Hikari was at Bolt's side and Tetsu stood vanguard behind them, as always. Hibiki was there, too, whom Himawari hadn't recognized until she was in the room. She wasn't sure she liked Hibiki. The boy's eyes always trailed after her brother longingly in a way she wasn't entirely certain was healthy. Possessive, that was the word she would use.

The strangest of those in attendance was Sarada's dead— undead?— uncle, Itachi, who had arrived shortly after Sarada herself sometime yesterday. There was some kind of tension between Bolt and Itachi. Himawari wasn't sure what it stemmed from. The Akatsuki, perhaps, she thought? After all, everyone always said to never meet your heroes. Or your villains, in this case? It always seemed like the two of them were dancing around each other, undecided if they wanted to fight to the death or plot about world domination.

He was, in a word, creepy. But he was protective of Sarada, so he was okay in Himawari's book.

"I'm fine, really," Bolt sighed into her hair.

Himawari pulled back and looked her brother up and down for injuries, though the ones she was most worried about weren't of the body, but of the mind.

Sarada cleared her throat. "Now that everyone is here..." she gestured at Hibiki.

Hibiki stepped forward demurely, approaching the two of them, and Himawari glared at the prettiest member of the Akatsuki as he took her brother's hand in his. The iridescent spectral forms of her father and Sasuke appeared, along with Shikadai, Shikamaru, Orochimaru, and Omoikane. Himawari frowned as she waited for Mitsuki to appear, but he never did. Sarada, too, looked worried as she stared at an empty patch of space.

"I've summoned you all to discuss Uzume Ōtsutsuki and the threat she poses and whether or not we should choose to go forward with an alliance with her," Sarada explained briskly. "First, we'll examine General Uzumaki's memory of his encounter with her, and then the resulting effects of what was... done to him."

Bolt languidly leaned against one of the command tent's supports and nodded to Hibiki who took Bolt's hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and closed his eyes. Instantly, a haze filled the air before their eyes, like heat radiating from pavement, and the illusion slowly took shape. Himawari had to consciously allow the genjutsu to take hold of her, her Hyūga blood's natural instinct to clear the foreign chakra in her head.

Himawari watched as her brother quickly crossed the distance to a city that loomed in the distance. The moment he phased through the outer defensive wall— which was incredibly discomforting as the phantom sensation of here-not-here crackled through her body— a strange pink-red haze tinted the memory.

Sarada raised a fist and the memory paused. "As you can see, the moment Bolt crossed the threshold of the city, he was affected by a kind of widespread area of effect jutsu, which he did not notice at the time," she explained.

Itachi, who had been still as stone, unbreathing, took a breath to speak. "It's some kind of genjutsu, from what I can tell, and very powerful, in the same vein as Tsukuyomi, only more specialized and widespread," he explained.

The heads of all those assembled swiveled to her brother. Bolt nodded in agreement with their statements. There were several looks of alarm at the information. Her brother, like her, was largely immune to all but the most absolute of genjutsu thanks to their Hyūga blood, and he was arguably the most powerful fighter from Earth aside from their father and uncle Sasuke. That he could be so easily ensnared was a frightening prospect.

Sarada nodded to Hibiki and the memory resumed. It skipped forward a few minutes, and the haze grew stronger and stronger, until it became difficult for Himawari to see clearly. When Bolt stepped into an alarmingly Earth-looking nightclub, she was nearly blinded by the sheer radiance emitting from a woman seated near the back.

Himawari shivered as she felt the ghost of phantom lips press against the shell of her ear. "Desire me," a woman's smokey voice whispered. Himawari swore she could feel someone's breath on the back of her neck, but when she subtly looked, no one was there, nor did a presence appear to her Sage's senses.

Hibiki paused, frowned, and then the haze was reduced to a more manageable level.

Himawari felt her cheeks grow warm as Bolt and Uzume began talking. A quick glance to her left showed her brother averting his gaze and the tips of his ears were pink. Honestly, what kind of woman dressed like that when meeting a foreign dignitary in an official capacity? And... and were Bolt and Uzume flirting with each other? Himawari chanced a look at her brother and found him resolutely avoiding anyone's gaze, but especially Hikari's.

When Uzume finished explaining the "elixir," Himawari was horrified. The memory paused and the command tent was dead silent. Many of those assembled wore matching looks of disgust and fear. Himawari could honestly imagine very few fates worse than having someone devour her chakra, her very essence, just to increase their own power. And this was the basis for their entire society?

Through the illusion, Himawari could sense the growing haze obscuring her brother's thoughts. "Love me," the woman whispered into her ear again, louder this time, more insistent. Needy, whiny.

Himawari flinched. She felt uncomfortably hot, like she wasn't comfortable in her own skin, like the phantom of the luxurious warmth she felt would burn right through her if she couldn't get away from it, but it just felt so good. Surely it would be alright to bask in the light just a little longer, wouldn't it?

Uzume reached a hand up, her fingers trailing along her brother's jaw, guiding his glazed eyes to meet hers, and then she was pressing their lips together in a heated kiss.

"̵̛̘͊͆̅̔͐̇̈́͘W̶̩̰̞͓̲̜͘͝Ǫ̵̣͔͙͔̮̬̠͚̚ͅR̶̫̪͇̯̖̖̮͖̗̩̼͕̝̒͗̔̔̈́͒ͅS̷̼̪̳̣̦̥͉͖̗̝̝̫̒̑͒̎̇̇̌̏͑̽͜͝͠ͅH̷̢̞̥̟̖̰̺̓͆̇̾͒Į̴̩̟̺̟̮͖̣̼̫̥̘̝̥͆̽̾̽͆͋͝P̴̖̤͉̫̱̥̖͈̱͉̯̆ ̸̨̡͓̲͖͙͍̣̤̯̪̫̿̓̾̾̚M̴̢͖̺̖̩̦̐̒̏͑̒̒͂͒͌̚͘E̴̢̻͎̼̳̞͙̹̯̻̯͝!̴͇͔̠̗̗̼̬͕͠"̴̧̖̤̹̦͎̯͕͖̓̌̈͌͒̓̒̐͊̏̌̊͜

"Hibiki!" Bolt barked.

Suddenly, the memory was gone, and the phantom heat vanished, leaving Himawari cold and shivering in the comparatively dark command tent. Hibiki was startled, visibly frightened and trembling, and Bolt had to gather both of the man's hands in his one remaining hand to get him to calm down. Around the room, Himawari could see that everyone else had been equally shaken by the experience.

The ghosts of those not in physical attendance had disappeared, broken when their caster had been ensnared by the memory, but Hibiki quickly brought them back. Her father looked angry, lips pulled back to bare sharpened, bestial teeth, and his eyes were slitted. The ghost that projected his image began to flicker and its edges were tinged with a deep, bloody crimson color. Uncle Sasuke moved to place a hand on her father's shoulder and he seemed to calm somewhat, at least to no longer be trembling.

Himawari realized she herself was still shaking. The phantom memory of what had happened to Bolt seemed so real, too real for comfort. She could almost feel Uzume's heated gaze, feel the ghost of her lips, hear the ring of her not-words in her ears and in her mind. By the Sage, she hadn't even been there. It was just a memory. How must it have felt for her brother? To be there, in person, under Uzume's direct power, like an ant under a child's magnifying glass?

Himawari wasn't afraid of a fight. But this? This wasn't an opponent that she could beat with her fists. None of her Sage training had prepared her for an enemy that would get inside her head, beat her, and make her like it.

It terrified her to the bone.

"... The rest of the memory isn't worth seeing," Bolt eventually said.

No one suggested they see more of the memory. Sarada, strangely, looked relieved, even. Himawari wondered why.

Across from her, Sarada cleared her throat, frowned, took a deep breath, and then cleared her throat again before speaking. "Doctor Uchiha, if you would, please," she prompted her mother and Himawari smiled at the awkward lilt of the words that only her, Mitsuki, and maybe Bolt could hear.

Aunt Sakura stepped forward, cleared her throat, and addressed the assembled war council. "Yes, well," she began. "As far as I can tell, the so-called 'elixir' acts as a powerful steroid, if you will. Imagine yourself at your strongest, in peak condition. It essentially forces that state upon you. Bolt, for example, by my estimation, is approximately ten to fifteen percent stronger than his baseline."

There were several audible inhales at the doctor's statement. Even Himawari was surprised. Ten to fifteen percent of her brother was a lot of ninja.

"In my professional opinion," Sakura continued. "Bolt will be an outlier. In regular ninja, we could see gains between forty and fifty-five percent."

"That would close the gap significantly between our forces and theirs," Sarada murmured quietly, deep in thought.

"That's not even the most surprising part," Sakura said. "The elixir appears to halt the aging process entirely, or at least slow it to a glacial pace so as to be virtually the same. I believe this is the source of the Tsukians' longevity."

Omoikane nodded in confirmation. "My people are long-lived, but even we succumb to the ravages of time without the aid of the elixir," he explained.

"What's the catch?" Uncle Sasuke spoke for the first time.

Sakura smiled wryly. "And that's the bad news," she said. "Bolt had an adverse reaction to the elixir, likely due to his already unnaturally powerful Yang energy— we'll need to screen for similar complications if we administer the elixir to others. However, at the rate he's burning through the drug, it will be flushed from his system in four to six days. Regular ninja might last four to five times longer. But, ultimately, it's something that you must continue taking to retain its benefits."

"And let me guess," Sarada sneered. "It's addictive?"

"Physically?" Sakura posed, then shook her head. "Not from what I can tell. But psychosomatically? Almost assuredly. The allure of power in a once a month pill? Men have been corrupted by far less."

The room burst into conversation. That settled things for Himawari. This drug wasn't worth the hassle of dealing with that Uzume harlot. Sarada had already called all the warriors she needed to destroy the city to her side and Himawari was ready and eager to get some justice for what was done to her brother.

"If I may," Omoikane interrupted. "The elixir is a double-edged blade, this is true. But it is the lesser of two evils. Without it, many more of your people will die before this war reaches its end. I do not seek to impose my will upon your decisions, but I implore you to consider your choice wisely. Do not let the elixir nor Uzume cloud your judgement unnecessarily."

All at once, everyone was voicing their opinion. It was decidedly negative. Himawari agreed wholeheartedly and cracked her knuckles in anticipation of a good, righteous fight.

"We should take the deal," Bolt said, casting the tent into silence.

"... What?" Himawari asked numbly.

"What Omoikane said is wise," her brother explained. "If we don't ally ourselves with Uzume, not only will we have to defeat her, but she will also continue to supply our enemies with the very thing that gives them their advantage over us. Conversely, bringing her into the fold will save us a battle, lessen the gap between our people and theirs, and deprive the Tsukians of a vital resource. That Uzume Ōtsutsuki was... less than... agreeable should have no bearing on the logic of our decision."

"I... also agree," Sasuke eventually spoke in the silence that followed her brother's statement.

"As do I," Itachi said, inhaling sharply to speak the words.

Everyone looked to Sarada, whose head was lowered and her brows furrowed as she was deep in thought. The war council was precisely that: a council. The people whose opinions Sarada valued were present, making their thoughts heard, but ultimately, the choice was Sarada's alone as the One Shadow.

"Sarada," Himawari hissed quietly. "You can't seriously be considering this?"

"Tentatively..." Sarada spoke slowly. "If— if— we agree to this alliance, we would need to be sure of the safety of this elixir. And it would only be administered by volunteering. And... if it has addictive properties, we need to prepare for the eventuality that some of our ninja will need to have special care provided for them after the war and the drug is no longer needed."

"I can run some more thorough tests if I had, say, a dozen samples," Sakura offered. "But there's no way to tell what the long-term side effects will be without human trials. Time that we don't have."

"I believe I can be of assistance," Omoikane said. "My people have done much research into the science of the elixir. It may be of help determining how it would affect your people."

Sakura nodded thankfully. "That would be appreciated," she said.

An aid of Sarada's spoke lowly. "The funding required to take care of veterans after the war would be... costly," she said, running through figures she had scribbled on a scroll.

Bolt waved his hand dismissively. "I can front the cost for the first few years," he said, simply, as if the hundreds of millions of ryō that would require was nothing. "If we can afford to send our people to war, we can afford to take care of them after it."

Sometimes Himawari forgot that her brother was filthily wealthy from his warmongering. At least he spent his wealth on good causes, unlike the bygone feudal lords. Himawari could still remember the disgusting opulence of the Fire Lord's palatial estate when her father had taken her and Bolt to the capital when they were very young.

Everyone waited quietly as Sarada continued to debate in her head.

Eventually, she nodded. "I don't like it, but it is our best option," she decided. "Bolt, I take it you've already developed a countermeasure?"

Her brother scoffed with a look that said "who do you think I am?"

"Good," Sarada declared. "Then you'll be our point of contact. I don't want to risk anyone being exposed to Uzume unnecessarily until we have a better understanding of her abilities. Itachi, if you could...?"

Itachi nodded, a bit of cracked, dead skin falling from his jaw. "I shall see if I can develop an effective counter to the jutsu," he said.

Himawari couldn't believe Sarada would bow out like this. Uzume had assaulted her brother and was the most untrustworthy woman she had ever laid eyes on, to say nothing of the slippery slope they were willingly skating down by entertaining the use of the Tsukians' barbaric "elixir."

They had fought so much already, fought so hard, killed so many, and had so many die in turn. Himawari never wanted to be a killer, didn't condone killing except in the most extreme of circumstances. She abhorred their people's willingness to put their hearts beneath their blades. She liked fighting, yes, but this... this senseless slaughter, this war, that wasn't her, that wasn't who she wanted to be.

But she had to fight, even if it hurt her, because her family, her friends, and her people needed her. Himawari just wanted it to be over. Just wanted to fight and fight and fight until it was done and she could go home and it would all be blissfully over.

Himawari didn't realize her hands were shaking until Bolt took one of her hands and laced their fingers together, looking down at her with worried eyes. "Hey," he said softly, tugging her away from the table. The council had been dismissed. "It's going to be alright, Hima."

She sucked in a sharp breath and blinked away the stinging, hot tears that had welled in her eyes. Himawari shook her head.

That only seemed to make her brother worry more. He looked around, blue eyes darting back and forth quickly, before leading her from the tent by their joined hands. "Come on, let's get out of here. Want to meditate with me?" Bolt asked with a small smile.

Himawari snorted. Her brother did not seem the Sagely type. He could never be still, within or without. Not as children, and definitely not now. But she found herself nodding all the same. Bolt led her away from the encampment, the guards standing at attention as they passed, and led her to a small copse of trees that looked like fingers sprouting from the ground. A small babbling brook welled from a narrow bed of rocks that flowed from the city towards the sea where Mitsuki was stationed.

Bolt smiled at her and tugged her over to a large, flat boulder where a few rays of sunshine beamed through the trees. "I found this place shortly after we arrived here," he explained as he took a seat, crossing his legs and resting his hand in his lap.

"... It is nice," Himawari agreed, feeling the calming embrace of nature all around her. She settled down opposite of her brother, assuming a similar position, and sighed, exhaling her worldly troubles, allowing herself to still in both mind and body.

Bolt smiled at her and closed his eyes. With one last deep breath, Himawari let her eyes close and was immediately immersed in the veritable storm of natural energy that Tsuki had in abundance. It welcomed her like an old friend, flooding her with warmth and power, chattering excitedly as it embraced her. Her anger and fear retreated like the tide and all that was left was her, her brother, and the enduring glory of life all around them.

Minutes passed like days before Himawari allowed herself to be dragged from her tranquility. She turned her meditation outwards instead of inwards, peering through the lens of Sage Mode at the world and her brother. Opposite her, Bolt felt... strange. Empty, in a distinctly disconcerting way. It gave her a heady sense of déjà vu, almost as if she were dizzy.

To her Sage senses, Bolt was merely sitting before her, as physical and grounded as the rest of the world, plagued by that human inability to still themselves and be at one with nature. But that strange sense of déjà vu lingered, like an echo superimposed over him, something lofty and detached, something that loomed and looked down at her that she couldn't see nor hear nor touch.

It felt like life and death, like dying and birth, both and neither and more, but not. Neither living nor dead, but something in between, like potential, a haunting entelechy. Like the beauty of spring emerging from the dead of winter.

The phantom sensation of arms encircling her drew Himawari's attention from her brother. Foreign warmth blossomed in her chest, so powerful it felt like she might burst. But it was safe, familiar, harkening back to her childhood, of her mother's cooking and warm hugs, of her grandfather's stern but tough love, of her ever present big brother, there when their father wasn't. She couldn't help but sigh in pleasure and luxuriate in the feeling of safety as memories of her childhood fluttered through her mind.

Himawari cracked open her eyes to see Bolt smiling a small, true smile, eyes still closed, and she knew that she would make it through this war, no matter how tough it was, no matter how much blood stained her hands, because she had him and it would be okay because it was always okay because Bolt made it that way.

But that wasn't true, Himawari frowned, was it? Hadn't he—

—Himawari jerked as if slapped as nature screamed.

Mitsuki felt his arms go limp at his sides as a wave of water rose from the sea on the horizon. It was deceptively small, at first, at such a distance, but it grew and grew and grew, until it was not just a wave, but a wall. It stretched from the sea to the sky, so tall it pierced the clouds, pushing them forward towards the coast.

It was a tsunami of apocalyptic proportions. It dwarfed mountains.

There would be no running, no hiding, no stopping a disaster of such scale.

All around him, his brothers burst into action, calling upon their Sage Transformations, their cloaks of natural energy converging and merging into a collective greater whole to defend themselves. Mitsuki threw himself into the depths of his power, summoning all that he could, so much that he felt himself fray at the edges of his being.

The tsunami crashed against the shallows, growing to even greater heights, casting a shadow so great that it turned day to night. Then it was upon them, crashing down, cold as ice, hard as steel, and black as the abyss.

Then, darkness.

Mitsuki blinked himself awake to the feeling of cold water lapping at his legs. He felt bruised and bludgeoned— tenderized, like a slab of meat beneath the butcher's hammer. Cracking open his eyes, he blinked away dried sea salt and found himself staring into the sightless eyes of one of his brothers. The corpse's dead fish eyes stared back into him and Mitsuki gagged at the sight of the bloated body.

Wet footsteps echoed loudly in Mitsuki's ears as his body struggled to move.

The footsteps stopped and Mitsuki looked up. A Tsukian man looked down at him, a square jaw and neatly trimmed black beard framed an aristocratic face with thick brows. He was garbed in a flowing robe of sea-green and ocean-blue silk trimmed in a frothy white color. He wore no shoes, and between his fingers and toes Mitsuki could see webbing.

So this was Ryujin, Dragon King of the Sea.

Ryujin's cold, glacial eyes continued to bore into Mitsuki's own. The Dragon King raised an arm and water flowed from the air and into his hands, forming a trident, before it froze into bubbly ice, poised to strike.

There was only one thing Mitsuki could say.

"Fuck."

The trident came down.

Mitsuki knew true and lasting darkness.

A/N:

A chapter in this trying time of quarantine? How long can I bait Mitsuki and Ryujin? The world may never know. Stay safe, everyone. Reviews are the lifeblood of bored, quarantined authors like me, let me know what you think! I'm always happy to talk shop about my stories. Special thanks to HeroToAllTheVillains and StampedingYak90 for betaing.