The bounty station squatted like a carbuncle in the valley between two hot spring resorts—a weathered building that managed to look simultaneously prosperous and disreputable. Its wooden walls bore the stains of countless meetings between hunters and their prey, and the very air around it seemed to hum with barely contained violence.
As the bright moon hung on the sky, five figures approached the station's entrance. To casual observation, they appeared to be ordinary bounty hunters—travel-worn, well-armed, and possessed of that particular wariness that came from lives spent in pursuit of dangerous quarry.
The man behind the reception desk looked up as they entered, his scarred face breaking into a recognition smile as he spotted the familiar form among them.
"Well, well," he said, his voice carrying the roughness of old smoking habits. "If it isn't our most efficient team. Rui, Kyogai—I was wondering when you'd return. That last contract you completed has had clients specifically requesting your services."
Rui inclined his head slightly. "Reputation is the most valuable currency in our profession."
"Indeed it is, young master, indeed it is." The receptionist's eyes moved to the two unfamiliar figures accompanying the established team. "New associates?"
"Wakuraba," the tall demon introduced himself with a slight bow. "A practitioner of specialized wind-based techniques."
"Mukago," the smaller figure added with a smile that was just slightly too sharp. "I work with... biological solutions."
The receptionist nodded knowingly. Bounty hunters often had euphemistic ways of describing their methods, and he had learned not to inquire too deeply into specifics.
"The rogue from Kumo," Rui said without preamble. "Is the contract still available?"
The man's expression grew serious. "Aye, it is. Though I'd strongly recommend against it. Three teams have tried for that bastard already. Only one hunter came back, and he was half-dead and babbling about lightning that moved like liquid and strength that could punch through stone walls."
"The reward has increased accordingly?" Wakuraba inquired, his voice carrying odd harmonics.
"Substantially. The village he butchered has added their own funds to the original Kumo bounty. We're talking about enough money to retire comfortably." The receptionist leaned forward conspiratorially. "But money's no good to dead men, you understand?"
"Death," Mukago said with her disturbing giggle, "is such a negotiable concept."
The comment earned her a sharp look from the receptionist, but he seemed to dismiss it as bravado.
"Last confirmed location?" Rui asked, accepting the mission scroll.
"Rocky foothills, about two days north of here. He's been moving erratically—probably knows he's being hunted. Word is he's holed up in some cave system, coming out only to raid supply caravans for food and equipment."
Kenji, maintaining his shapeshifted appearance as the team's mysterious leader, finally spoke. "We will depart immediately. Have our payment prepared for our return."
The receptionist nodded, though his expression remained dubious. "I'll have everything ready. But... be careful out there. This one's different from your usual targets. Something about him has the other hunters spooked."
As they departed the station, Kenji couldn't help but smile. The receptionist's warnings only confirmed that their target would provide an adequate test of his new Lower Moons' abilities. A rogue jonin with stolen lightning techniques, powerful enough to intimidate experienced bounty hunters, would serve perfectly as their introduction to the world stage.
___
Two days of tracking through increasingly treacherous terrain brought them to the foothills where their target was reportedly hiding. The landscape was a maze of wind-carved stone formations and hidden valleys, perfect country for someone attempting to avoid pursuit.
Kenji's enhanced senses made the hunt almost trivial. The rogue's chakra signature blazed like a beacon against the relatively calm background of the mountains, tainted with the distinctive electrical discharge patterns of Lightning Release techniques. More interesting was the signature's instability—the man was clearly struggling to control his stolen abilities, the chakra fluctuating wildly between periods of intense activity and near-dormancy.
"There," Kenji said, pointing toward a cluster of caves in a rocky outcrop roughly three kilometers distant. "He has made his lair in those formations."
Wakuraba tested the air currents, his expression growing thoughtful. "The wind patterns are favorable. I can establish full control over the surrounding airspace."
"And there are many small animals in the area," Mukago added with anticipation. "My children will have ample resources."
"Remember," Kenji cautioned, "this is both a test and a performance. Demonstrate your capabilities fully, but ensure the target understands the futility of resistance. Fear is as valuable as death in building our reputation."
Both demons nodded their understanding.
As the sun finally disappeared behind the mountains, plunging the foothills into the deep shadows that demons preferred, the hunt truly began.
---
The bone-white sickle moon cast sharp, jagged shadows across the rocky foothills of Lightning Country. The air hummed with residual ozone and the palpable, predatory hunger radiating from **Lower Moon Three, Wakuraba**, and **Lower Moon Four, Mukago**. Wakuraba's dark kimono fluttered unnaturally, controlled by the contained tempest within the 15-meter sphere of his **Disaster Winds**. Mukago, crouched like a feral cat, grinned, flexing a hand where her pinky finger was already regenerating.
Opposite them, stood **Kaito**, a rogue Jonin of Kumo. His forehead protector was slashed, his dark hair singed. Sensing them, he assumed a battle posture. Blue-white lightning flickered *around* his body, forming a crackling, unstable aura – the **Lightning Release Chakra Mode**. It's power was potent, amplifying his speed and strength, but it leaked chakra violently, the aura sputtering and flaring erratically.
"Wind Cutter: Thousand Slices!" Wakuraba hissed. Dozens of invisible blades, air compressed and accelerated to **12,900 mph**, screamed towards Kaito. They cut the very atmosphere, leaving faint, shimmering trails in the moonlight.
Kaito *moved*. The Lightning Chakra Mode flared brightly, turning him into a blue-white blur. He wasn't dodging the blades; he was anticipating their paths, weaving through the lethal lattice with inhuman speed enhanced by stolen power. Rock shattered where blades struck milliseconds after he vacated the space. A shallow cut opened on his forearm. *Too close.*
"Persistent pest!" Mukago giggled. With a sickening *rip*, she tore off her ring finger and flicked it upwards. Before it landed, it erupted into a perfect, snarling replica. Her middle finger followed. Two Mukagos darted in opposite directions, vanishing into the moon-cast shadows near the treeline.
Wakuraba pressed. "Gale Fist: Annihilation Wave!" He slammed his fist downward, not at Kaito, but at the ground before him. The earth *detonated* upwards, transformed into a devastating, hypersonic wall of compressed wind hurtling towards the Jonin.
Kaito didn't retreat. He met it. Lightning chakra surged through his limbs. **"Lightning Release: Lightning Burial Banquet!"** He slammed his palms onto the rocky ground. Dozens of thick, jagged bolts of blue lightning erupted *upwards* from the earth directly in front of the oncoming wind wall, creating a crackling defensive barrier. The collision was cataclysmic – shrieking wind met crackling lightning in a blinding, deafening explosion of force and light. The wind wall fragmented violently, but the concussive blast still hammered Kaito backwards, skidding across the rock, his stolen cloak flaring wildly.
One Mukago clone lunged from a deep shadow, claws raking for his eyes. Kaito spun, faster than thought, his fist encased in crackling lightning. **"Raiton: Thunderous Fist!"** He drove the punch *through* the clone's chest. It dissolved not into smoke, but into a spray of dark, viscous fluid that sizzled where it hit the ground. *Solid, but fragile. Good.*
The *real* Mukago wasn't idle. A large mountain hare, frozen in terror near the rocks, became her target. She blurred forward, injecting dark blood into its flank with a clawed finger. The creature convulsed, fur sloughing away, muscles bulging grotesquely, eyes burning crimson. With a guttural snarl, the demon-hare launched itself at Kaito, unnaturally fast, jaws snapping for his legs.
"Beast Assimilation!" Mukago purred, already scanning for more prey. "Tear him apart!"
Surrounded again. Wakuraba unleashed another barrage of hypersonic wind blades, forcing Kaito into constant, high-speed evasion. The demon-hare harried his lower body, forcing him into acrobatic flips and kicks. His Lightning Chakra Mode allowed him to land a crushing, chakra-enhanced kick that shattered the hare's spine, but the distraction cost him. A wind blade sliced a deep gash across his shoulder, drawing a sharp gasp.
He saw the remaining Mukago clone (or was it her?) edging closer from the other side. *Enough diversions.* Kaito formed seals faster than the eye could follow. **"Lightning Release: False Darkness!"** A blindingly bright spear of concentrated lightning lanced towards Wakuraba, faster than sound.
Wakuraba sneered. A mere flick of his wrist. The air *dense-packed* instantly in front of him, forming an invisible, hyper-compressed atmospheric shield. The lightning spear struck it head-on and detonated prematurely in a thunderous blast of light and sparks, leaving the Lower Moon untouched within his domain. "Foolish. The air itself is my shield and sword."
Mukago saw her opening. As Kaito recoiled from the backlash of his own jutsu, momentarily dazzled, she flicked her wrist. Tiny, dark nodules of flesh – **Meat Buds** – flew silently, not at Kaito, but burrowing into the churned earth near where he stood.
Wakuraba capitalized. "Disaster Winds: Scouring Gust!" A horizontal cyclone of razor-sharp wind screamed out, scouring the ground bare, forcing Kaito into a desperate, backward leap... directly onto the seeded patch.
*THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!* Thick, ropy vines, glistening with blood and sinew, erupted from the ground like spears. One gashed Kaito's thigh deeply. Another whipped around his left ankle, tightening with crushing force, its tip trying to burrow into the wound. He roared in pain and fury.
"Got you!" Mukago crowed triumphantly.
Kaito channeled raw lightning chakra down his trapped leg. **"Raiton: Discharge!"** Blue-white electricity surged over his skin and into the vine. It blackened, smoked, and withered instantly, releasing him. But the cost was immense. He staggered, breathing heavily. The Lightning Chakra Mode sputtered violently, dimming significantly. Blood soaked his torn pants leg. Chakra depletion gnawed at him; maintaining the stolen technique was draining him rapidly against these relentless, regenerating monsters.
Wakuraba raised both hands. The air within his sphere vibrated with contained annihilation, ready for a finishing blow. Mukago's grin widened as she prepared to tear off another finger. The demon-hare twitched, trying to rise.
*Escape.* The thought was desperate, primal. He couldn't win this. Not exhausted, wounded, against two Kizuki with such bizarre powers. He needed distance. He needed to *run*.
Gathering the last dregs of his chakra, Kaito forced the unstable Lightning Chakra Mode to flare one last time. Blue-white energy crackled wildly around him. "You haven't won yet, demons!" he snarled, a bluff to mask his intent. He formed a single seal. **"Lightning Release: Thunderbolt!"** Instead of attacking, he *became* the lightning. With a deafening *CRACK*, he vanished in a blinding streak of blue-white light, aiming for the dense forest uphill, moving faster than he ever had – a stolen speed he could barely control.
He rematerialized nearly 200 meters away, deep within the tree line, stumbling and gasping. The Lightning Chakra Mode flickered and died completely, leaving him shrouded only in darkness and his own labored breathing. *Made it. Just need to—*
A shrill, monstrous shriek split the night air *above* him. The demon-owl Mukago had created earlier, hidden and waiting, plunged from the canopy, talons outstretched. Kaito twisted, raising an arm defensively. Razor-sharp talons ripped through his forearm. He cried out, stumbling back.
Before he could recover, the air around him *changed*. It thickened, became heavy, resistant. Wakuraba's sphere wasn't 15 meters here... but his winds *could* travel. "Did you think distance mattered, insect?" Wakuraba's voice, amplified and distorted by wind, seemed to come from everywhere. "**Disaster Winds: Binding Current!**"
Invisible bands of hyper-compressed air snapped around Kaito's limbs and torso like ethereal manacles, lifting him off the ground, immobilizing him completely. He strained, lightning flickering weakly at his fingertips, but he was spent, the stolen power exhausted.
Mukago emerged from the shadows below, walking calmly up the slope, her grin predatory. "Running only makes the hunt more fun," she purred. With a casual flick, more Meat Buds arced through the air, landing on Kaito's immobilized body. They wriggled, burrowing into his wounds and unbroken skin. He screamed – not just from pain, but from the horrifying violation as the demonic flesh began to take root *within* him.
Wakuraba lowered his hands, the binding winds holding Kaito aloft like a macabre puppet. "It seems you're was already weakened because of the previous assaults," the Lower Moon Three stated coldly, watching the Meat Buds pulse.
Kaito hung in the air, bathed in the cold moonlight, his power gone, his escape failed, his body becoming host to demonic growth. The silence of the forest was broken only by Mukago's delighted giggle and the wet, squelching sounds emanating from his own flesh. The Jonin's defiance was finally, utterly crushed.
---
From his concealed position atop a distant ridge, Kenji observed the battle's conclusion with cold satisfaction. His new Lower Moons had performed admirably—demonstrating not only their individual capabilities but also their capacity for tactical cooperation. The rogue jonin had been formidable enough to provide a genuine test while not being so dangerous as to risk his subordinates' defeat.
More importantly, they had followed his instructions precisely. The battle had been conducted with maximum psychological impact, designed to spread tales of the encounter far beyond these lonely foothills. Any witnesses—and there were always witnesses, even in seemingly empty wilderness—would carry stories of demons who commanded wind and flesh with supernatural mastery.
The Twelve Kizuki's reputation would grow from this night's work.