Would Akiko and her band of Kiri-nin actually get what they wished for? In a word: no.
While they'd been busy plotting their 'big revenge' these past few days, Azula hadn't exactly been taking a vacation.
Having mastered the Flying Raijin meant she could pop back to Kiri for a cup of tea whenever she liked. She'd just been… scouting.
Frankly, she'd doubted they'd have the spine to make a move before her one-month deadline to return to Konoha, but hey, she loved being proven right about people's 'determination'.
And so, she'd found them. She'd been standing right there in the crowd, disguised, munching on metaphorical popcorn as Akiko gave her big, passionate 'freedom' speech.
It was almost touching.
Almost.
Watching the raw, gleeful bloodlust shining in their eyes, a wicked thought had crossed her mind: what if she just… dropped an S-rank jutsu right here? How fast would all that lofty morality evaporate?
'Oh well,' she mused, her gaze drifting over the particularly beautiful kunoichi. 'It's a shame. She's quite attractive. A real waste.'
Azula, now verging on fifteen, had to admit that chakra and a little… creative application of Lightning Release to stimulate cellular growth had been very kind to her.
Honestly, if not for the old soul piloting this teenage body, she might be dealing with some truly distracting hormonal crises. As it was, she could only sigh internally.
This world was unfairly stocked with stunning women—each one putting her past life's supermodels to shame—and here she was, too busy for anything but professional appreciation.
'Focus,' she chided herself, shaking her head minutely. 'Teenage angst later, world domination now. Or at least, Mangekyō first. Otherwise, that old coffin-dodger might get ideas.'
The thing she currently hated most was a tactic she'd once used herself: threatening a person through their loved ones. The irony wasn't lost on her, and she had zero desire to be on the receiving end.
Her attention snapped back to the present. The plan with Mito was simple: whoever found the hidden Kiri-nin first would alert the other.
But Azula had a… personal goal. She'd always wanted to see what it felt like to face down an army solo, just like Madara. No fancy tricks, just pure taijutsu and ninjutsu pushed to the absolute limit. So, normally, she wouldn't call.
But this wasn't normal. Mito wasn't bloodthirsty; she'd probably just show up to watch the spectacle with judgy, crossed arms.
And since Azula had already keyed her chakra into Mito's Flying Raijin formula, her sensor-grade teacher could find her across countries, let alone across a few islands.
She pulled out a special kunai, its handle inscribed with Mito's own sealing formulae, and channeled a spark of chakra into it.
"Hey, you! What are you doing?!" a nearby ninja barked, his senses prickling at the focused chakra flow.
Azula didn't even grace him with a glance. As dozens of eyes swivelled toward her, two brilliant wings of roaring blue flame—her Conflagration Wings—exploded from her back. She shot into the air like a firework.
And in that same instant, with a soundless shunshin pop of displaced air, Mito appeared.
Well, she almost appeared. She'd expected solid ground, not empty sky three meters up.
With the impeccable grace of a seasoned ninja, she twisted mid-air, landed in a perfect crouch that sent dust billowing out, and rose smoothly to her feet beside the hovering, flame-winged Azula.
'Old but showy. Very showy,' Azula complained inside.
Mito, as if sensing the blatant disrespect radiating from Azula's very soul, turned and gave her a long, slow look that said I feel you are thinking about something disrespectful, to which Azula responded by absolutely, definitely, one-hundred-percent not looking at a nearby 'innocent' ninja.
She then swept her gaze across the sea of shinobi—over seven thousand of them, packed onto that island. Thousands of eyes locked onto her.
Some sweating, some trembling, and a few brave souls tried to swallow, only to discover their throats had apparently forgotten how throats worked.
Azula grinned. "I could've sworn I heard someone screaming about revenge and glory, which sounded messy. So here I am."
The silence was the kind of quiet you get when a room full of people had talked about rebellion only to collectively realize the man they are planning to rebel against is in the room.
You could hear a kunai drop. Actually, one did. Some poor chuunin's fingers gave up on life; no one blamed him.
Floating there, mid-air, Conflagration Wings blazing behind her like she'd stolen a phoenix's wardrobe, Azula was impossible to miss.
And not just because she was literally on fire. It was the presence—the kind that made you suddenly remember every unflattering thought you'd ever had and wonder if she somehow knew about them.
She smiled.
"That's more like it." Then, with all the casual menace of someone ordering takeout: "Now. Let's dance."
And just like that, the wings dissolved and she dropped back down—landing right next to Mito, who hadn't even blinked. Azula's Sharingan spun to life, three tomoe spinning excitedly.
She launched herself at the first idiot brave enough—or stupid enough—to have already recomposed himself.
It was admirable. Short-lived, but admirable.
Within seconds, the collective shinobi mind underwent a rapid, horrified recalibration. We're being surrounded. By two women. One of whom is literally playing with us.
At the vanguard, a safe distance from the absolute blender that was Azula, stood Akiko—freshly Jinchuriki of the Three-Tails, Isobu—and her right-hand man, Hikuto.
Akiko's chakra reserves had quadrupled since the sealing, and she still couldn't access even half of Isobu's power. It should have felt like a lot.
Then she looked at Mito.
Specifically, she felt Mito. The nine-tails chakra rolled off the woman in slow, patient waves, like an ocean that had decided to wait politely before drowning you. Akiko couldn't even estimate it. It was like trying to count the stars while blindfolded.
Three times? she thought hysterically.
But Mito wasn't fighting. She simply retreated to the opposite end of the battlefield, arms folded, watching Azula with the serene detachment of a cat observing a mouse that thinks it has a plan.
Akiko didn't know whether to feel grateful or deeply, deeply unnerved. Both, probably.
As for Azula, she was having fun.
No chakra mode and no flashy jutsus. Just her Sharingan, her fists, and her kind of creative brutality.
Punch—and a jonin's arm became a sad, floppy memory. Kick—and another shinobi folded like origami, now paralyzed from the waist down. A glance from her Sharingan, and a third man stood frozen, his mind scrambled, drooling slightly. Then another punch and he was done.
She spared some. Only the ones who looked like they'd be useful once Kirigakure officially became hers. But that almost made it worse.
A monster who kills is terrifying. A monster who picks and chooses while just crippling some is a horror.
"How… how is this possible?" Hikuto's voice came out strangled. "Twenty jonin from Kiri alone could level a small country. At our peak, we barely had five hundred jonin, maybe sixty elite. And she's—"
He gestured vaguely at the absolute chaos unfolding before them, where a woman was treating trained assassins like a game of whack-a-mole. "—that. She's just… that."
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
Sorry guys, I think I'm ill because I woke up with a headache yesterday and today. I really wanted to end this fight in this chapter and wrap up the Kiri arc in the next, but I just lack the morale. See you tomorrow and I promise a 2K chapter at least.