Chapter 47.1- One Thousand Hands

‘Too slow’, she thought with a sigh as she bent backwards at her waist to avoid the arcing slash of the blade. The gunbai she bore in her right hand lashed out with ears of experience from both attacking and defending against it thanks to her two lifetimes and removed the man’s had with a negligent flick. The Kumo shinobi were unimpressive to say the least. The letter from her father that warned her to never let the village learn of her mangekyou meant that she was not going all out, but that did not even mater. Of course, it was just like Uchiha Satoru to figure out what her other half’s body-death had meant to her without bothering to even offer his condolences.

He was fighting to the east somewhere a few paces away. As an Uchiha, she was supposed to go in that direction. Help him out, push as one. She went West instead. Uraume was fighting somewhere in that direction, and say what you would about the Hyuga girl, she could at least fight with some competence. There was that, and the fact that she was one of the few that Shori actually cared about. She quelled the jealousy that flared with the ease of long practice. They were cousins. She wasn’t a threat. Neither was Shikahime.

A woman jumped in her face, fire building in her throat. The audacity to use fire against an Uchiha of all people. Her eyes spun and the poor chunin never finished her jutsu. Never even saw the shuriken that buried itself in her neck and ended her life with a deft twist of her wrist. She continued onwards. Waging war had quickly lost its lustre. No one could do anything that surprised her or even interested her anymore. All their plans and intentions were laid bare before her sharingan and she found them wanting. If Shori was here, she could at least entertain herself by watching him. He fought like a scholar. He was never boring.

Every movement was born of an unholy combination of hours of practice, ungodly levels of talent, and a mind most would describe as perverse. Her thoughts were interrupted as another man came in her direction, screaming a war cry. She formed a single handseal and cut through him in a spray of blood and wind. She jumped over the hands that stretched from the ground beneath her. She had seen the fool as he weaved his seals for the headhunter jutsu almost half a kilometer away. He had certainly thought himself wiser than he was in truth. She stabbed her gunbai into the ground, releasing a wave of electricity that locked his nerves and roasted his brain.

She flipped the gunbai around to is flat end and blocked a blast of gale force winds. The weapon made of wood grown by Hashirama Senju himself did no even groan as it held off the winds. She shifted her feet, body flickered to the side, and then was upon the woman who had released the jutsu. Her fingers lit up with the chakra of the gentle fist— with how much she watched him, it would have been impossible for her not to copy bits and pieces of Shori’s chaos fighting style. The woman scarcely managed to lift a guard but it mattered little. Uzume could not see the tenketsu like Shori could, but everyone’s heart was in the same place.