Chapter 55: A Hostage Situation
The declaration hung in the dry, desert air—"Uchiha Sasuke, S-Class Rogue Ninja!"—and with it, the atmosphere at the canyon's mouth shifted from professional vigilance to electric, vanity-fueled aggression.
One of the Sand ninja spat on the ground, a mix of contempt and excitement in his voice. "He's Konoha's S-rank traitor? What's wrong with them? They can't even catch their own garbage, and now this trash has washed up on our shores?"
Another puffed out his chest, a foolish bravado taking hold. "Hmph! Their incompetence is their problem. But we, the Shinobi of Sunagakure, are now allies of the Leaf. It is our duty to capture their fugitives! Let's take him down and hand him over! It's the least we can do for our new friends." His tone was dripping with sarcastic magnanimity.
A third guard, younger and more impulsive, laughed outright. "Hahaha! Think of the prestige! The S-level rogue that mighty Konoha couldn't catch, captured by us! It will prove to the entire shinobi world that Sunagakure's power surpasses the Leaf's!" His words, born of a deep-seated insecurity and a desire to reclaim lost honor after their recent defeat, ignited a fire in the others.
"Yes! That's it! We'll show everyone! We're not weak!" another chimed in, brandishing his kunai.
They were drunk on the imagined glory, their judgment clouded by the chance to one-up their powerful ally. In their fervor, they failed to grasp the most basic truth: a shinobi designated S-Class was not a mere fugitive to be rounded up; they were a force of nature, a walking catastrophe. They were looking at a hurricane and seeing only a prize.
Ren watched the pathetic display with growing impatience, his arms crossed. "Have you... finished your discussion?" he asked, his voice flat and utterly unimpressed.
"Heh! Heaven has a road you don't take, hell has no door you bust through!" the lead guard snarled, finally drawing his weapon. "Uchiha Sasuke! As Konoha's allies, we are duty-bound to capture their scum! You've got no one to blame but yourself for being stupid enough to walk right into our village! Monster!"
Ren sighed internally. *So it's inevitable. Fine. It was always going to come to this anyway. A little warm-up before the main event.*
"It seems you still don't understand your situation!" the guard yelled. "Surround him! Don't let him escape!"
In a flash of movement that was practiced but ultimately pathetic to Ren's enhanced perception, the Sand ninja fanned out, forming a tight circle around him, kunai glinting in the harsh sun, blocking any conceivable retreat.
"Now!"
One, over-eager for glory, led the charge. He lunged forward, kunai aimed straight for Ren's heart. It was a basic, telegraphed attack. Just as the blade should have connected, Ren's form seemed to dissolve into the air.
"Too slow." The icy, condescending comment came from directly behind the attacker. The Sand ninja barely had time to widen his eyes in shock before a powerful kick connected with his back, sending him flying face-first into the canyon wall with a sickening crunch. Ren had pulled the blow; it was meant to incapacitate, not kill. He was a prop in this play, not a target.
"Bastard! Get him!" Enraged by their comrade's defeat, the remaining guards abandoned all strategy and swarmed him en masse.
It was a pitiful sight. A handful of Chunin, their skills honed for border patrol and dealing with the occasional bandit, trying to overwhelm an Elite Jōnin—and one with the Sharingan's predictive capabilities at that. To Ren, they moved in slow motion, their every intention broadcasted by the subtlest twitch of a muscle.
He didn't need the Mangekyo. The basic Sharingan flared to life in his eyes, its crimson glow a stark warning they were too enraged to heed. He weaved through their clumsy strikes with an almost lazy grace. A precise chop to a wrist sent a kunai clattering to the ground. A sweep of the leg sent two men tumbling over each other. A reinforced palm strike to a shoulder dislocated it with a pop.
In less than ten seconds, it was over. The would-be heroes of Sunagakure were strewn across the sand, moaning in pain, clutching broken limbs, utterly defeated. Their vaunted glory had evaporated like a mirage.
"Q-quick! The signal!" one of them gasped through the pain, pointing a trembling finger toward a comrade who was still conscious.
The designated ninja, gritting his teeth against the agony of a cracked rib, fumbled in his flak jacket. He pulled out a small, tube-like flare, about ten centimeters long, designed to shoot a bright signal into the sky and alert the entire village.
He struggled to raise it, his arm shaking. Just as his thumb found the trigger, a hand closed around his wrist. The grip was like a vice of steel.
"I'd really prefer you didn't," Ren said, his voice calm and chillingly close.
He squeezed. The sound of bones splintering was unmistakable, a sharp, ugly crack that made the other wounded men flinch. The sand ninja screamed, a raw sound of agony, as the flare dropped from his nerveless fingers. Ren's foot came down, crushing the device into the sand, rendering it useless.
"You should all behave," Ren advised, looking down at them. "If you alert the whole village, things will get... messy for me. And I dislike messes."
"Sasuke Uchiha!" one of them roared, defiance warring with pain. "You're already Konoha's enemy! Do you want to make an enemy of Sunagakure too?!"
Ren let out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh? A moment ago, you were so eager to capture me for them. Now you talk of making enemies. But it doesn't matter." He shrugged. "I really don't care. So yes, let's be enemies. It changes nothing for me."
"What do you want?!" the man cried out, frustration and fear evident in his voice.
"You don't need to know what I want," Ren replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Right now, you only need to be good little hostages."
He bit his thumb, drawing a bead of blood, and his hands flew through a series of familiar seals. "For the rest... I have help." He slammed his palm onto the ground. "Summoning Jutsu!"
***BOOM!***
A massive cloud of white smoke erupted, obscuring the area. When it cleared, a new, immense figure stood beside Ren. It was another poodle, similar in size to Liudaowang and clad in battle armor. But this one was different. Its face was concealed by a grim, featureless iron mask, giving it an aura of silent, imposing menace. In one hand, it held a long, double-bladed spear. A bound net hung from its left hip, and two heavy-looking iron rings of unknown purpose hung from its right.
The poodle surveyed the scene of groaning ninja with a calm, analytical gaze before turning its masked face to Ren. "It has been some time, Lord Ren," it said, its voice a deep, resonant rumble, devoid of the wild energy of Liudaowang or the chaotic rage of Erha. It was the voice of cold, calculated efficiency. "How may I be of service?"
"Long time no see, Saatchi," Ren greeted with a genuine smile. This poodle was a respected figure, known as the "Iron Hunter." Where Liudaowang was fierce and Erha was unhinged, Saatchi was stability and precision incarnate. He was one of the strongest of his generation, but his power was tempered by a disciplined mind. "I need your help with some troublesome baggage."
"I am happy to serve," Saatchi replied with a slight, formal bow of his head.
"Saatchi, bind these men and take them with us," Ren ordered, gesturing to the incapacitated Sand ninja.
"Understood." Without another word, Saatchi moved with startling speed for its size. It untied the large net from its hip and, with a series of efficient, almost gentle motions, gathered the wounded shinobi into it as if they were nothing more than sacks of grain. Their pained cries were ignored.
Just as Saatchi was about to scoop up the last conscious ninja—the one whose wrist Ren had shattered—Ren held up a hand. "Wait. Leave that one."
He walked over to the terrified man, who was cradling his ruined hand, his eyes wide with fear. Ren loomed over him.
"Listen carefully," Ren said, his voice low and threatening. "You are going to run back to your village. You will find Sabaku no Gaara. You will give him a message. Tell him if he wants his men to live, he will come alone to the woods ten miles southeast of here before noon tomorrow. I will be waiting for him there."
He leaned in closer, his Sharingan spinning slowly, making the man whimper. "If he keeps me waiting... if I see a single other Suna shinobi with him... I will have no choice but to kill every last one of these men to vent my frustration. Do you understand? Now, get out of my sight."
The man didn't need to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he turned and fled towards the village as if all the demons of hell were at his heels, his broken wrist forgotten in his sheer, primal terror.
Ren watched him go for a second, then turned and effortlessly leaped onto Saatchi's broad, armored shoulder. "Let's go, Saatchi."
The massive poodle nodded, hefting the net full of groaning hostages in one hand and its spear in the other. Without another word, it turned and began loping away from the canyon, its powerful strides eating up the distance, carrying Ren and his bargaining chips towards the designated meeting spot.
The lone Sand ninja stumbled through the main gates of Sunagakure, his breath coming in ragged, panicked sobs. He collapsed to his knees, his body shaking uncontrollably.
Two guards stationed just inside the gate rushed over to him. "Hey! What happened? Are you under attack?"
"I... I need... Gaara!" he gasped, the words barely coherent.
"Gaara? You need to see Gaara?" one guard asked, confused.
"Y-yes! Now! Please, take me to him!" he begged, his voice cracking with hysteria.
"What is going on here?" a cold, flat voice inquired.
The small group turned. Walking towards them were the three siblings: Gaara, his gourd of sand ever-present on his back, with Temari and Kankuro flanking him. They had been on their way to a council meeting and happened upon the commotion.
The wounded ninja's eyes locked onto Gaara, and a fresh wave of fear washed over him. "G-Gaara!"
"What happened to you?" Kankuro demanded, his face painted with concern. "Was it an enemy attack?"
Temari's eyes were sharp, already assessing the situation. "You said you needed Gaara. What does this have to do with him?"
"It's... it's Konoha's rogue ninja! Uchiha Sasuke!" the man blurted out, the name tasting like ash in his mouth. "He attacked us at the canyon! He took the others captive! He... he told me to come back with a message!"
He took a shuddering breath, forcing the words out. "He said... if we want our people to live... you must come alone to the woods ten miles southeast by noon tomorrow. If you don't... or if you bring anyone else... he'll kill them all!"
"What? Uchiha Sasuke? Are you certain?" Temari asked, her voice laced with disbelief and dawning horror.
"I'm positive! He looked exactly like the picture in the Bingo Book! I couldn't be wrong!"
Kankuro frowned, his mind racing. "Sasuke Uchiha... why is he targeting Gaara? And he's bold enough to take Suna shinobi hostage? What is his game?"
Gaara, who had been silent, his expression an unreadable mask, finally spoke. His voice was quiet, but it carried a chilling intensity that froze the blood. "Uchiha... Sasuke." The name was a statement, a catalyst. The sand in his gourd seemed to stir slightly.
"Humph! So it is Sasuke Uchiha," Temari said, her grip tightening on her giant fan. "No matter his reasons, we must inform Konoha immediately. This is their rogue ninja; let them deal with their own problem!"
But Gaara's eyes were fixed on the horizon, towards the southeast. A challenge had been issued. A threat had been made against his people. The monster within him stirred, intrigued.
𝗚𝗨𝗬𝗦, 𝗙𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪 𝗠𝗘 𝗢𝗡 𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗠 𝗔𝗧 𝗚𝗘𝗛𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗢𝗪9