Three figures in black cloaks moved swiftly down a narrow, grimy alleyway, their footsteps soundless as they approached a dingy building. The night was thick, the air oppressive with the smell of wet stone and the faint, acrid odour of something burning in the distance.
Their hoods were drawn low, casting dark veils over their faces, leaving only the lower halves of their mouths exposed to the occasional flicker of light from the scattered, dim lanterns.
As they neared the entrance of the building, a heavily armed guard stepped forward, eyeing them suspiciously. His hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his sabre, a clear indication that he was not one to be trifled with. He was a tall and grizzled man, his face scarred from countless battles.
"Who are you?" he barked, his voice low and threatening, the kind that carried authority in places like these.
His partner, standing a few paces behind him, remained silent but equally alert, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the cloaked figures.
The guard's gaze flicked between the trio, but he wasn't too concerned about the secrecy of their cloaked faces. Many of the patrons who visited this place were wary of exposing their identities—anonymity was a valued currency here.
In the depths of Konoha's underworld, people did things they wanted to keep hidden, and in a place like this, discretion was expected.
The figure at the front of the group stepped forward, still shrouded in darkness, and extended a hand. The guard squinted, trying to get a better look at what was being shown to him.
A small wooden insignia, worn but unmistakable, was presented for a brief moment, illuminated by the faint light. The guard's expression shifted slightly, his grip on the sword loosening as he nodded in recognition. He glanced back at his partner, who returned the nod, and together they stepped aside.
Just as the figures moved to enter, the second guard approached cautiously, beginning to weave a series of hand signs—a simple security measure.
However, before the guard could complete his jutsu, one of the cloaked figures pulled back their hood just enough to reveal something much more dangerous, their eyes.
The crimson glow of Sharingan's eyes flashed in the dim light, the tomoe swirling hypnotically. The guard's movements faltered as his eyes locked onto the red orbs, his mind clouding over in an instant. His hands dropped to his sides, he had forgotten what he was about to do.
The figures passed through the entrance without another word, and the guards left dazed, forgetting what they had even been doing. The trio immediately split apart as they entered the building. Inside, the building's true nature revealed itself.
The large room they entered was dimly lit, the oppressive air thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and cheap alcohol. The layout resembled an underground coliseum, with rows of tiered seating surrounding a large, sunken pit in the centre.
The flickering light from wall-mounted torches cast long, twisted shadows that danced across the crumbling stone walls, giving the place an almost otherworldly feel. Above the pit, suspended in rusty metal cages, were children. They were filthy, their bodies bruised and bloodied, their faces twisted in fear and exhaustion.
In the pit below, two children—no older than ten—were locked in a brutal fight, their small fists swinging wildly as they struggled to survive. Around them, a crowd of masked and cloaked figures cheered and jeered, their voices a cacophony of twisted excitement.
Bets were being placed, money exchanged hands, and the atmosphere was charged with bloodlust.
Renjiro's eyes narrowed beneath his hood as he took in the sight. His stomach turned at the sight of the children forced to fight for the amusement of the crowd.
'This is truly despicable,' he thought, his jaw clenched tightly. The cruelty of it all was a stark reminder of the darkness that still lingered beneath the surface of the shinobi world, hidden from the public eye but thriving in places like this.
Just then, a soft hum vibrated through the seal tag on Renjiro's forearm. It was the signal he had been waiting for. He allowed a small, grim smile to cross his face. This charade had gone on long enough.
With a quick, subtle movement, Renjiro made his first move. In a puff of smoke, five identical shadow clones materialized around him. Their expressions were as cold and determined as his own. His real self and his clones immediately activated their Sharingans.
Without hesitation, the massacre began.
Renjiro's hands quickly retrieved a pair of twin swords he had stored in one of his storage seals, and in one fluid motion, he drew them, the blades gleaming ominously in the torchlight.
His first target was a man standing near the edge of the pit, laughing at the children's suffering below.
"Hiss!"
Before the man could react, Renjiro's blade slashed through the air, cleanly severing his throat. The man crumpled to the ground, his lifeblood spilling onto the dirt floor.
The crowd barely had time to register what was happening before Renjiro and his clones were upon them. They moved with deadly precision, cutting down anyone in their path.
Renjiro's Sharingan tracked every movement, every panicked step, predicting the actions of his enemies before they even had a chance to react.
One of Renjiro's clones leapt into the crowd, his blade cutting through the air with the speed of lightning. A guard raised his weapon in a futile attempt to defend himself, but the clone was faster.
With a single, sweeping strike, the guard's chest was sliced open, and he fell to the ground in a heap, his sword clattering uselessly beside him.
The masked figures who had been so eager to watch the children's suffering now scrambled to escape, but there was no escape. Renjiro's clones moved like spectres, their blades cutting through the crowd with brutal efficiency.
Bodies fell in rapid succession, the once lively cheers of the crowd replaced with terrified screams and the sickening sound of flesh being sliced apart.
Renjiro's real self, meanwhile, focused on the guards who rushed into the room, drawn by the commotion. They charged at him with weapons raised, but they were no match for the power of the Sharingan.
With a quick sidestep, Renjiro dodged the first attack, his blade slashing upward in a deadly arc. The guard's head snapped back as the blade sliced through his neck, and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Another guard came at Renjiro from behind, but his Sharingan allowed him to see the attack before it even happened. With a quick spin, Renjiro brought his sword around, the blade catching the guard across the chest.
Blood sprayed into the air, and the guard fell to the ground, clutching at the wound as his life drained away.
The children in the cages watched in wide-eyed terror as the carnage unfolded before them. Their small hands gripped the bars of their cages, their bodies trembling as they saw the once-powerful figures who had forced them to fight now being cut down one by one.
Renjiro noticed the fear in their eyes and knew he couldn't allow them to panic. One of his clones stepped forward, his Sharingan locking onto the children.
With a single glance, he cast a powerful genjutsu, and the children's eyes glazed over. Their bodies slumped against the bars of their cages as they fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
By the time the last body hit the floor, the room was eerily silent. Renjiro stood in the centre of the blood-soaked arena, his chest rising and falling steadily as he surveyed the aftermath. His blades were slick with blood, but his face remained emotionless. This had to be done. There was no room for mercy here.
A few moments later, Kakashi appeared at the entrance, his face grim as he took in the scene. His eyes, though usually hidden behind his mask of nonchalance, now betrayed a hint of sadness.
"I found more kids locked up in the back," Kakashi said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It's worse than we thought."
Renjiro nodded. "We'll wait for more instructions from Wolf," he replied, his voice cold but resolute. Wold was the codename that Yano used during missions.
As they spoke, a sudden gust of wind swept through the room, and both shinobi turned, sensing the presence of another. A lone figure emerged from the shadows, his face twisted in fury. His eyes, burning with rage, locked onto Renjiro and Kakashi.
"You…" the man growled, his voice trembling with anger. "How dare you!"
Renjiro's heart skipped a beat as he saw the man's eyes. They were red but not like the Sharingan.
'Those eyes…'
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