Chapter 2: An Emperor's Welcome
The air on the outskirts of the Land of Serenity was taut with unspoken anticipation. Darui held up a hand, his elite force of two hundred Kumo shinobi melting into the shadows of the sparse treeline, their senses hyper-alert. The land before them was unnervingly quiet, the usual chorus of nocturnal creatures conspicuously absent. It felt less like an unguarded border and more like the calm before a perfectly orchestrated storm.
Then, as if coalescing from the moonlight itself, a figure appeared.
He was tall, with short, artfully messy blond hair that seemed to catch the faint lunar glow. His purple eyes, serene and observant, surveyed them from beneath a brow adorned with a distinctive blue six-pointed star on the left side of his forehead. His attire was elaborate: a white shirt with a high collar trimmed in black fur, intricate gold and purple designs decorating its circumference and cuffs, complimented by brown pants and high boots. Over it all, a long, regal red robe flowed, its torso section also adorned with white fur
"Welcome, esteemed guests from Kumogakure," Julius's voice carried effortlessly across the distance, calm and devoid of any discernible threat, yet it sent an involuntary shiver down the spines of even the most hardened shinobi. "Though, if memory serves, my last correspondence discouraged such… unannounced visits." He punctuated the statement with a closed-eye smile, a picture of benign hospitality that was utterly at odds with the reputation preceding him.
Darui stepped forward, his expression carefully neutral, though every instinct screamed caution. "Lord Julius Novachrono," he began, his tone respectful. "My name is Darui, acting on the orders of the Fourth Raikage. We offer our apologies for this intrusion."
Julius's eyes opened, azure orbs that seemed to pierce through the darkness, studying Darui with an unnerving intensity. "Apologies are pleasantries, Commander Darui. Actions, however, speak with a louder, more definitive voice."
"I understand your position, Lord Julius," Darui continued, choosing his words with care. "Believe me when I say I attempted to dissuade my Boss from this course of action. The Land of Serenity has offered no direct provocation to Kumogakure beyond the… return of our prior operatives."
A soft chuckle escaped Julius, a sound like rustling leaves. "Ah, yes. The 'return.' A necessary, if regrettable, lesson in etiquette. It truly is a pity," he mused, his head tilting slightly, "that so many are compelled to serve such… imbeciles. Leaders who allow pride and short-sighted aggression to dictate policy, rather than wisdom and foresight. It's a common flaw, wouldn't you agree?"
The air crackled. Darui's easygoing demeanor vanished, replaced by a flinty anger. "Watch your tongue, 'Emperor.' You may have dealt with demons, but you know nothing of the Raikage!"
Around Darui, the Kumo shinobi tensed, hands instinctively moving towards their weapons. Whispers of outrage rippled through their ranks. Disrespecting their Kage was an unforgivable offense.
Julius merely smiled, that same serene, unsettling expression. "Oh, but I believe I understand perfectly."
With a casual, almost dismissive swipe of his hand, an invisible force slammed into Darui. It wasn't a physical blow, but an oppressive weight that buckled his knees and sent him hurtling backward through the air as if swatted by a giant, unseen hand. He crashed through several trees, the sound of splintering wood echoing in the sudden silence, before skidding to a halt a significant distance away, groaning but conscious. Gravity Magic – swift, brutal, and utterly effortless.
Before the Kumo ninja could even react to their commander's sudden incapacitation, Julius sighed theatrically. "Now, that was rather impolite of me. Such a direct approach for a greeting. My apologies, Commander Darui," he called out towards the distant crash site, though his attention was already shifting.
Then, with a subtle shimmer, another Julius Novachrono – blond hair, purple eyes, star mark, red robe and all – solidified beside the first. A perfect duplicate.
"It seems our primary guest requires a more… personal conversation," the original Julius stated, his gaze already fixed in Darui's direction. He then gestured to the stunned Kumo forces. "You, my dear other self, will entertain the rest. Do try not to make too much of a mess. We've only just finished landscaping this region."
With that, the original Julius vanished in a flicker of distorted space, streaking towards where Darui had landed.
The clone, an exact replica down to the serene smile and regal attire, turned its full attention to the two hundred elite shinobi. "Well now," Clone-Julius said, his voice identical to the original's pleasant tone. "Where were we? Ah, yes. The welcome."
The Kumo ninja, momentarily stunned by the display of power, snapped back to reality. "Attack!" roared one of the squad leaders. "For Lord Raikage! For Darui-sama!"
A wave of standard Lightning Release jutsus – crackling bolts and arcs of electricity – erupted from a dozen hands, converging on Clone-Julius. Simultaneously, shuriken and kunai, many imbued with lightning chakra to enhance their speed and cutting power, filled the air like a deadly metal hailstorm.
Clone-Julius simply raised a hand, palm outward. "Time Magic: Chrono Stasis."
Dozens of shimmering, translucent spheres materialized in an instant, each one capturing a bolt of lightning or a cluster of projectiles. The deadly attacks froze mid-air, suspended within the temporal prisons, Roman numerals glowing faintly on ethereal rings around each sphere. The sheer scale and precision were breathtaking.
"Such… enthusiasm," Clone-Julius mused, stepping forward as if on a leisurely stroll in his red robe. "But a bit uncoordinated, don't you think?"
Before the Kumo shinobi could launch a second volley, the ground beneath their feet erupted. Not with earth, but with bone. "Bone Magic: Eternal Fangs!"
Countless spires of razor-sharp bone, ivory white and glistening in the moonlight, shot upwards with terrifying speed and density. They weren't random; they targeted formations, aiming to impale, separate, and disrupt. Shinobi leaped and twisted, their agility tested to its absolute limit. Screams tore through the night as several less fortunate or slower ninja were skewered, their bodies grotesquely impaled on the sudden bone forest.
"Disarray," Clone-Julius commented, his smile unwavering. "The first step towards defeat."
From the clone's outstretched hands, crimson tendrils began to coalesce. "Blood Magic: Sanguine Lash!"
Whips of solidified blood, impossibly long and flexible, yet hard as steel, snaked out with blinding speed. They weren't aimed to kill, not initially. They wrapped around limbs, ankles, and throats, yanking shinobi off balance, dragging them from the relative safety of the trees, or slamming them into the newly formed bone spikes. The blood whips seemed to have a life of their own, bifurcating and reforming, ensnaring multiple targets simultaneously.
A group of Kumo swordsmen, masters of their craft, charged forward, their blades glinting, attempting to sever the blood constructs. As their katanas met the sanguine whips, there was a dull thud; the blood constructs were surprisingly resilient, absorbing the impact.
"Persistent," Clone-Julius noted. His other hand made a subtle gesture. "Bone Magic: Bone Bullets."
From the palm of that hand, a volley of small, incredibly dense bone fragments shot out like rifle fire. Each bullet spun with furious velocity, whistling through the air. They were aimed with pinpoint accuracy, targeting the joints and exposed flesh of the charging swordsmen. One swordsman cried out as a bone bullet shattered his kneecap; another had his sword arm pierced, his weapon clattering to the ground.
The Kumo forces were in chaos. Their lightning attacks were either frozen in time or dodged by the clone's uncanny premonition (a subtle use of short-term future sight via Time Magic). Their physical assaults were met by a gruesome and ever-shifting landscape of bone, or ensnared by relentless blood whips.
A particularly skilled sensor-type ninja in their ranks tried to pinpoint a weakness, to understand the flow of this multifaceted assault. "His power… it's immense, but it feels… borrowed, somehow layered!
"Insightful," Clone-Julius acknowledged, his head tilting. "
He clapped his hands together lightly. "Time Magic: Decelerating Field."
A subtle shimmer expanded outwards from the clone. It wasn't a complete stop like Chrono Stasis, but a palpable drag, as if the very air had thickened into molasses for the Kumo shinobi. Their movements became sluggish, their reaction times slowed. A kunai thrown with full force seemed to drift lazily.
For Clone-Julius, however, time remained his own. He moved through their slowed forms with predatory grace, his red robe barely rustling.
"Blood Magic: Crimson Impaler." Streams of blood erupted from his palms, solidifying into sharp, spear-like projectiles that he launched with contemptuous ease at the struggling shinobi.
"Bone Magic: Ribcage Prison." Bones erupted from the ground around a cluster of slowed Kumo ninja, curving inwards to form a constricting cage, its points digging into their flesh.
The Kumo elite, renowned for their speed and power, were being systematically dismantled. Their jutsu were neutralized before they could even fully form, their movements hampered, their formations shattered. The clone fought with a terrifying, almost artistic efficiency, combining the gruesome utility of Bone and Blood Magic with the absolute control of Time Magic. It was less a battle and more a meticulously orchestrated deconstruction.
Yet, they were Kumo shinobi. Pride and desperation fueled a renewed, albeit frantic, counter-attack. A coordinated burst of Gale Style ninjutsu – sharp winds designed to buffet and create openings – was unleashed.
Clone-Julius merely smiled. "Time Magic: Chrono Anastasis - Localized Reversal."
A small, ethereal clock face appeared before him, its hands spinning rapidly backward. The incoming wind jutsus faltered, then receded, flowing back towards their casters as if the moment of their casting was being undone.
"Predictable," the clone sighed, a hint of Lucius's disdain seeping into the Julius-like tone. "Always relying on brute force and familiar patterns. The true flaw of this world is its lack of imagination, its unwillingness to embrace true, orderly perfection."
He raised a hand, blood and bone beginning to swirl around it, time itself seeming to bend to his will. The remaining Kumo shinobi, battered, bleeding, and horrified by the sheer oppressive power they faced from this blond-haired, purple-eyed apparition in regal red, braced themselves. Their elite strike force was on the verge of annihilation, not by an army, but by a single, smiling duplicate.