The plan was as simple as it was risky - quick, silent, and fraught with peril. Daiana would tread lightly behind the scarred bandit, her gait measured and submissive, with the liberated trainees huddled around her, their wrists bound in deceptively loose knots that were part of the charade. Shira brought up the rear, poised and ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.
The scarred bandit's hands trembled uncontrollably, his steps erratic. The gravity of the situation weighed on him, and the words Isan had whispered to him before sending him on this mission echoed in his mind. He was torn between the fear he felt of the bandits lurking within and that of the missing boy.
Isan's plan had been meticulous. The bindings on the "captives" were dusted to look weather-worn, the knots loose enough to slip in an instant. Each person carried two kunai, one hidden in a sleeve, another tucked beneath the folds of their tunic, placed for quick, instinctive access.
The scarred bandit led the group toward the cavern's entrance. His steps faltered at first, but when the shadow of the bluff stretched over him, his posture stiffened, and he raised his voice, barking an order that echoed off the stone.
"Got more for the pen! Stupid little brats wandered too close!"
The cavern's acoustics twisted his words into distorted echoes. Inside, the air was cool compared to the sweltering heat outside, but it reeked of the stagnant stench of too many bodies in cramped space. Smoke clung to the walls, and deeper within, the faint sound of dripping water broke the oppressive stillness.
The camp sprawled across the cavern floor beneath the sandstone ceiling. The tents were crooked and filthy, a haphazard collection of shelter. A rough-hewn wooden pen pressed against the far wall, housing the half-starved trainees. Near the firepit, several guards eyed the newcomers with suspicion, their hands brushing their weapons.
Among them stood Juro. His gaze met the group's, lingering a moment longer on Shira and Daiana before quickly darting away. His face betrayed no emotion, his stance tense and wary.
One bandit stepped forward, frowning. His voice came low, suspicious.
"What the hell are you doing? Where is everyone?"
That was the trigger.
Shira moved like a breaking wave, surging past the bandit "escort" and slamming into the nearest bandit with brutal force. The man staggered, barely managing a grunt before Shira's heel collided with his ribs, sending him crashing to the sand.
Daiana, already moving, flicked a kunai toward another guard. The blade barely grazed his cheek, leaving a shallow cut. He snarled and swung at her, but midway through his strike, he froze, his breath catching as the poison from the blade began to take effect.
Chaos erupted across the cavern. The trainees, who had been quietly waiting for their moment, surged forward with newfound determination. The scarred bandit, eyes wide with panic, bolted toward the exit without a second glance back.
Juro remained motionless. His fingers twitched toward his weapon, but then they fell away. He stayed in the shadows, observing the mayhem with an unreadable expression.
Just as Shira neared the pen, a massive shadow loomed beside him, sending him stumbling back in surprise.
BOOM
The ground cracked. Sand and debris exploded outward. A massive figure emerged from the haze - close to two meters tall, his bald scalp gleaming in the firelight, a thick gut framed by corded arms. In his hands, he wielded a warhammer so massive it seemed to bend the very air around it. The weapon's steel head was scarred and stained with old blood.
He grinned, but it was all teeth and no humor. "Hah… you little worms think you can walk in here and take what's mine?"
Shira's eyes narrowed. He didn't need anyone to tell him, this was the leader.
Shira barely had time to brace before the leader's warhammer came crashing down. The head of the weapon was the size of Shira's torso, and when it hit the stone floor, the shockwave rattled his teeth. Sand and splinters of rock exploded upward, forcing him to leap back or risk being buried.
The leader's movements weren't fast in the way a shinobi's were, no flicker steps, no blinding dashes, but every swing carried the kind of raw, ugly power that could kill in a single mistake. His grip on the shaft was tight and sure, his footwork solid for a man his size. He didn't overextend; he stepped in only as far as his reach allowed, then pulled back, forcing Shira to either close the distance and risk the hammer, or stay away and lose any chance to counter.
Shira darted left, testing the man's reaction speed. The hammer swept after him, not quite catching him but close enough that the passing air felt like a shove to the chest. The leader followed it with a sudden shoulder-check, using his bulk to close the gap faster than Shira expected. Shira barely ducked under the man's arm, twisting away.
"Tch… quick little rat.", the leader growled, adjusting his stance.
Shira lunged in, throwing a quick jab at the man's ribs, not to hurt him, but to disrupt his balance. It landed, but it was like hitting a wall. The leader twisted with the blow, letting it glance off, and brought his elbow down toward Shira's head. Shira sidestepped again, but this time he didn't get away clean, the edge of the blow clipped his shoulder, sending pain shooting down his arm.
The leader grinned, seeing the flinch. "One hit's all it takes, boy."
Shira didn't answer. He breathed through the pain and circled, keeping his eyes on the man's feet. The leader's stance was wide, grounded. Every time he swung, his lead foot shifted just enough to keep his weight behind the strike. Shira waited, letting him attack again, and again, hammer slamming into the floor, tearing deep furrows in the packed sand.
Then the leader overcommitted, just slightly. The hammer bit into the ground and stuck for a fraction of a second.
Shira moved.
He darted in low, striking the man's knee from the side. It was enough to make the leader grunt and stagger, but not enough to topple him. The warhammer ripped free, swinging in a savage backhand that Shira barely avoided by dropping into a roll. The weapon passed so close he felt the rush of wind against his neck.
Both of them were breathing harder now.
The leader stopped grinning. His eyes narrowed into something sharper, colder. The game was over.
He stepped in with sudden speed for his size, the hammer not swinging this time but thrusting forward like a battering ram. Shira sidestepped, but the haft of the weapon shot out like a spear, striking him across the ribs. The blow knocked the wind from him and sent him staggering back, coughing.
Shira's vision wavered for a heartbeat, but instinct drove him forward before the leader could follow up. He kicked low at the man's shin, forcing him to check his step, then followed with a rising knee aimed at the gut. It landed, but the man barely budged, grabbing Shira by the forearm with a grip like iron.
The leader tried to swing him toward the ground, but Shira twisted in midair, planting a foot against the man's chest and using the momentum to flip back to his feet.
For the first time, the leader looked at him with something like respect. "Hn… not bad. But you'll still die."
He came on again, faster, swinging in brutal arcs that left no room for mistakes. Shira ducked, sidestepped, and leapt, each movement eating away at his stamina. The air was thick with dust, every swing of the hammer sending another choking cloud into the cavern.