Naruto: Rise of the Fallen Princess

After a grueling eighteen-hour pursuit, it was clear our opponents were at their limit. They had tried everything—clones to throw us off, scattered explosive tags, even pitiful summons that couldn't hold a candle to shinobi of our caliber. All of it meant to delay us, to mask their trail. Useless. I knew every trick Takigakure had to offer. Their strengths, their weaknesses—it was all second nature to me.

We found them in a clearing nestled at the base of a rocky hill, where sparse moonlight filtered down through a circle of leaning trees, casting fractured shadows across the moss-covered ground.

The jōnin—clearly gravely wounded—was unconscious, slumped between two genin. They were trained well, able to carry him for so long, but exhaustion had gutted them. They could barely remain standing. And then there was the girl.

In front of them she stood, our target: Fū, the Seven-Tails jinchūriki.

She was exhausted. It radiated from every inch of her body. But in her eyes—defiance.

For a fleeting moment, I questioned the necessity of this. She was strong—promising even, a potential asset to the future of Takigakure. But power, and the bounty that came with success, quickly snuffed out any sentiment.

She stepped forward, positioning herself between us and her teammates. Predictable.

"Mika, Tamiro... get Yōrō-sensei out of here... I'll stop them..."

Hidan surged forward immediately, bloodlust in his eyes.

"No. They're mine," I said sharply.

He groaned. "You're no fun, Kakuzu. Those brats are perfect sacrifices—"

"You wanted her, didn't you?" I growled. "Then take responsibility for your words. She's yours to deal with—go."

He growled, twirling his scythe with glee before rushing toward Fū. Meanwhile, the genin began pulling their unconscious sensei into the forest.

As expected, they were slow.

The two genin struggled to retreat, dragging their wounded sensei from the battlefield—barely able to move, chakra almost depleted. Children, little more than civilians in their current state.

Their jōnin, however... he had value.

By the time I reached them, it wasn't a fight. It was cleanup.

The two genin lay collapsed on the forest floor, trembling and helpless. Their chakra reserves were spent. Their limbs barely obeyed them.

I held their jōnin by the neck, lifting him effortlessly, inspecting his unconscious face as the children stared back in terror.

"Your sensei is worth money," I told them, letting the words burn into their minds. "You two aren't. So you'll live. Takigakure lost enough today."

I recognized the man. Yōrō. Earth-style specialist, competent, respected. But more importantly, he had what I needed.

One of my hearts—my earth heart—was approaching its limit. This technique, after all, was never meant to be sustainable. It was forbidden for a reason. Each new heart meant another life taken. A cycle of murder, of flesh bought with blood. But even knowing that, I'd do it all over again.

This world doesn't reward mercy. Only power and coins have meaning.

And so, with one clean motion, I plunged my hand into Yōrō's chest and tore out his heart.

The genin screamed. One collapsed to his knees. The other vomited. Perfect. If they recover from this, they'll come for me someday.

Let them.

I never refuse when strong hearts come knocking.

By the time I returned to the battlefield, chaos had erupted.

Cocoons and strands of chakra-thread littered the glade. Clearly, insect-based tactics—clever. In the center of it all stood the girl, her body wrapped in a flickering cloak of green energy. Three tails lashed behind her like whips.

Hidan laughed like a man possessed, swinging his scythe with abandon. Fū fought back, not just with desperation, but with sharp, honed instincts—ones that kept her narrowly out of reach from Hidan's cursed technique. I could see it clearly: her survival reflexes were keeping her just out of the critical range he needed to draw blood.

Impressive, yes. But it would drag this out.

So I did what was necessary to break her focus.

I raised Yōrō's severed head by the hair and called out.

"What do you think, Hidan? This one had a pretty bounty."

She turned. Her eyes locked onto the face of her mentor.

And the jinchūriki snapped.

The fourth tail exploded into being. She roared and charged with terrifying speed. Hidan's scythe bit into her chakra cloak, drawing blood—but she powered through, slamming into him and launching him through the treeline with devastating force.

She was bleeding now. Her rage gave her strength, but it made her sloppy.

She turned on me next.

Predictable.

I dodged her initial strike, but the tendrils of chakra followed. I countered with a fire Jutsu, the blast throwing us apart.

Through the smoke, I saw Hidan rise again, laughing madly. His skin, once pale, was now dark as obsidian—his cursed ritual was complete. The black markings crawled across his body like living ink, pulsing with unholy power. The fight was no longer balanced. The outcome was clear.

Then came the stakes.

Two iron rods drove into his own legs. Fū's scream cut through the air as she collapsed.

Two more. One in the stomach. One in her arm.

Her chakra cloak evaporated.

Blood sprayed.

"Careful," I muttered. "We need her alive."

"Yeah, yeah! She's alive," Hidan snapped. "But she better be hurting. Jashin demands it."

I didn't respond.

If he weren't immortal, I'd kill him myself.

And now… all that remained was containment.

In that moment—between Hidan and the battered Jinchūriki—a new presence arrived.

A young woman descended like a whisper of wind: graceful, striking, her long black hair cascading behind her. She wore a simple black-and-white kimono, her eyes closed as if sight was unnecessary. In one hand, she carried a silver-hued blade that shimmered with moonlight.

With an elegant slash, she cut the space between them—and for a breath, I saw a black thread snap midair. Hidan froze, his body returning to its pale state, his cursed technique undone in an instant. Shock painted his face. Someone had dismantled his ritual—effortlessly.

I barely had time to process when a young man—clearly from Takigakure—struck. His jutsu mimicked mine but was raw and vital, fueled by something stronger than ambition. A wind technique exploded around me, disrupting the terrain. I saw a silver-white serpent coiled protectively around our Jinchūriki target, her luminous green tail pulsing with healing chakra.

Farther behind, I spotted a massive black hound—her mount, no doubt. The beast was as large as a horse and clearly spent, its body trembling, kept upright only by sheer willpower.

It had all seemed so simple.

Now it was time to put my new heart to the test.

My back opened, revealing four masks—air, lightning, fire, water—ready for combat. Opposite me, the Takigakure youth summoned only one mask. Yet the power radiating from it was palpable. Elemental, yes—but something else. Yang in its purest form.

Another promising soul from my former village. Another life I'd likely end.

Hidan, still fuming, lunged at the woman who had broken his technique. She vanished before he reached her, reappearing next to the Jinchūriki in a flash that bordered on teleportation.

The serpent coiled tighter. "Ssshe will be fine," it hissed.

"You damn witch! You'll be my sacrifice to Lord Jashin!" Hidan roared.

Then the world changed.

Time slowed.

We all felt it—everyone but Hidan. He charged forward, oblivious, a mad dog chasing death.

And death met him.

Reality tore open. A shadowed figure emerged, cloaked in veils of black, its face obscured by a porcelain mask. My five hearts skipped in terror. Even I dared not breathe. The shinigami.

Hidan never saw it coming.

The figure caught him by the throat. Hidan's scythe passed clean through the entity—no resistance, yet it held him fast.

"You exploit a flaw in the framework to cheat death... clever. But futile. Death claims all."

Black threads surged from the portal. They latched onto Hidan, pulling. He screamed as his soul was unraveled from his body. Small threads fought back, trying to anchor him, but they shattered beneath Death's will. His cries—anguish, confusion, rage—echoed as his soul was dragged into the abyss.

His body went still.

Then the shinigami turned.

"You are the anomaly," it said to the young woman with the silver blade.

Threads lashed out. She sidestepped, impossibly fast, but it wasn't enough. They caught her.

Around me, the world thickened, slowed. Like molasses over vision. The black hound, gathering its strength, surged forward.

The beast struck first—loyalty, rage, strength. It slammed into Death. In reply, a single sweep of the shinigami hand conjured threads of dark energy that lashed out, smashing the great wolf and sending it crashing through the trees.

The distraction worked.

The young woman severed the threads around her—but the shinigami responded instantly. With speed beyond comprehension, it drove a hand straight through her stomach.

The serpent lunged, mouth open to bite, only to pass harmlessly through the shinigami form. Its tail, however, wrapped around the bleeding woman, trying desperately to staunch the flow.

"Resistance is meaningless," the shinigami whispered. "You will lead me to the source of the anomaly... and I will destroy it."

Another tear opened in reality.

With a deafening wail, the shinigami, the woman, and the serpent were pulled into the void.

And they were gone.