Convergence: A Sasuke Fanfiction

THE LAND OF WIND

We pulled our scarf tighter around our face in an instinctual bid to keep the worst of the dust out of our nostrils. The air shimmered with heat, carrying a dry, arid breeze through the city. Under the scorching summer sun, the capital gleamed, its towering sandstone structures bearing polished, pitted scars birthed from braving the relentless sandstorms that haunted the region.

For a city where it was hard to get anything done without getting dirt in your eyes, mouth, or up your nostrils, it was quite busy. Not that much dissimilar to the Land of Fire in that regard, in fact. The marketplace was alive with vibrant colours and energetic chatter. Traders from all walks of life displayed their wares, enticing passersby with an array of goods. The scent of exotic spices wafted through the air, blending with the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed tea.

Who would drink tea in such horrid weather, we could not fathom. But apparently, a lot of people did in the Land of Wind if one went by the number of peddlers plying the trade by the roadside.

Citizens, dressed in light, flowing garments meandered through the streets. We winked at a gaggle of young women who ran past us, their alluring laughter echoing like tinkling bells in a silent cavern; their faces adorned with broad smiles and tanned, sand-dusted cheeks. Some carried flavoured shaved ice, while others clutched colourful fans, using them to ward off the heat and hide their blushing faces as the group frolicked out of sight. A group of street performers gathered near the town square, their instruments at the ready. The melodic strumming of a shamisen intertwined with the rhythmic beat of drums to create a lively atmosphere. A small crowd had formed around them, clapping and swaying to the music.

We shot a side glance at our teammates as we paid for a scoop of shaved ice before coating the pineapple-flavoured treat with a layer of chakra in a bid to keep the worst of the swirling dirt out. Despite the package drop-off going off without a hitch―concluding that rather annoying capture mission―they still hadn’t loosened up in the slightest.

Not that their discomfort bothered us in any meaningful manner. It was still a hassle to deal with a bunch of skittish shinobi for the duration of our return to Konoha.

The city peeled off behind us as we made our way east, down a dirt trail towards the border. We were still about a week away if we continued at our current pace, and another two or three before we reached Konoha. But that was fine; we were in no hurry to return to the village.

It was then, as we were walking along, eating our pineapple-flavoured shaved ice, and minding our own business―whilst inwardly plotting Konoha’s downfall―with our skittish teammates in tow that we saw him. The cloaked fellow―obviously a shinobi―sat on a rock by the roadside, seemingly waiting for someone. Our guard rose as we bit into the icy treat in our hand; he was clearly skilled. Very much so, in fact. We hadn’t sensed him until he was just a few dozen meters away. A fact alone that instantly placed him leagues above the common rabble we were used to dealing with.

“Are you… Uchiha Sasuke?” the masked man asked foolishly.

We tilted our head in curiosity. “No.”

“...Funny,” the fellow declared, unamused, after a momentary pause. Behind us, Might Guy grew tense. His posture subtly changed as he flickered to stand beside us.

“Who are you?” the Jonin asked.

“It doesn’t matter, young one,” the masked fellow said. “I am gladdened to see the Will of Fire burning strongly in you, but it saddens me more to see you fighting beside this accursed child.”

“I will not ask again,” Might Guy replied, his expression turning sombre. “Who. Are. You?”

Strangely enough, the masked fellow sighed in response. It was a wistful thing.

“You need not think too deeply into this matter, child,” he said. “I will be taking the Uchiha boy off your hands. You should be grateful. Or you could try to stop me but I doubt you would see much success at that. Enough chit-chat. Genjutsu: Bringer-of-Darkness!”

We sensed the unexpected(entirely expected) assault take hold in the Might Guy’s Chakra network. The Jonin raised both his arms defensively, desperately trying to dispel the illusionary technique to no avail.

With our team lead effectively neutralised we felt our assailant’s attention settle fully on us. His right hand blurred and a kunai shot towards our temple. We leaned our head slightly to the side, letting the projectile shoot past harmlessly without taking our crimson gaze off the strange shinobi. But then, the strangest thing happened.

He disappeared.

Before we could blink we sensed our assailant’s presence reappear behind us as well as the churning of an alarming quantity of chakra.

Teleportation? We thought to ourself. Now that’s cheating…

“Water Style: Water Prison Jutsu!”

Chakra flooded our brains and sensory organs as we desperately attempted to reacquire battlespace awareness. Reality stalled as time slowed nearly to a halt. We could sense everything going on around us with supernatural clarity. We could acutely feel the air pushing back against our skin as we attempted to flicker away.

We could also acutely see, in the periphery of our vision, tendrils of conjured water slowly, but inevitably, overtaking us, crisscrossing as they positioned themselves directly in our path to cut off our escape route. The heightened sensation of pain we suffered from slamming into the wall of water forced us back into the moment.

We blinked as the rippling sphere of water around us smoothened out, growing denser―heavier―as it was further infused with chakra. Our breathing grew difficult and our movements were restricted. Trapped.

Our gaze flickered towards our other two teammates who stood uselessly, staring at our captor in shock. The worthless lot couldn’t be depended on, we decided immediately, our neurons firing as we calculated the optimal counter to our assailant’s move.

But, apparently, the masked shinobi wasn’t done yet.

“Flying Thunder God Jutsu,” he whispered.

Abruptly, the terrain changed and our teammates were nowhere in sight. We were now by some beachside not dissimilar to the ones we saw back at the Land of Waves. The soothing noise of rustling mangroves and thrashing waves rode on the ocean winds. Even through our prison, we could taste the traces of salt in the possibly moist air.

We were definitely nowhere near the desert lands of Wind Country.

Still, to be certain, we reached out as far as we could with our perception whilst trapped inside the sphere of super-dense water, but we could not find our teammates anywhere. Our captor had teleported us; conveniently out of sight of the spies Konoha had attached to us…

“Don’t bother,” the still unnamed shinobi commented blandly, confirming our suspicions. “We are no longer in the Land of Wind.”

At this point, if that wasn’t a tactical blunder we honestly did not know what was…