It wasn't the darkness that nearly sent her to the deck, ducking for cover like a cub outside its lair. It was the silence.

The ocean was gone. Footsteps, calls, the lashing wind and water, the hiss of steam off jutsu, the crack of sails. Even the deafening roar of cannon fire and the quiet cursing of the clone had vanished. The deck trembled under her booted feet. She could feel the clone, chakra given form, still holding onto her arm. She gripped it with both of hers, clinging to touch to keep panic at bay.

She couldn't even hear her own heartbeat under the weight of nothing.

There had been ninja. Deprived of vision, her mind twisted into memory. Three of them in view, standing like rocks on the bow of the plunging ship, outlined in shadow. Two men, and a woman who carried a katana strapped to her back. One shinobi had a face wrapped in bandages, only his eyes showing. The other carried a whip, twined across his massive chest.

The ship rocked again, nearly knocking her off her feet. She slammed into the clone, felt it wrap an arm around her to stabilize her, all the while taking several steps of its own.

She didn't hear its steps. She felt the movement of legs, but couldn't hear--

The clone vanished. There one instant, gone the next. Tsume dropped to all fours, snarling. She couldn't hear that, either. A boot caught her in her midsection. She crashed to the ground, rolled up to her feet, and felt something that reeked of leather snap around her neck and pull hard, yanking her back toward her assailant.

She smelled it when he got close.

She couldn't be sure if she growled or not, couldn't see her own arms moving or know where she was aiming. She did feel her claws tear into cloth and flesh, felt the warm spill of blood, smelled the coppery red of an injury, and she thought she smiled savagely.

The whip--it had to be the whip, they'd been close enough to board--around her neck tightened. Pulled up. Lifted her off her feet. Tsume twisted, trying to reach upward, to find some way to release it. She scratched at the binding with her claws, only to feel them skitter off, repelled by chakra. Grabbing the leather leading upward, she started to pull, to ease the choke on her throat. Fire burned down her hands, forcing her to let go. She might have screamed. She couldn't tell.

Translocate. She needed to--

Her initial panic had released the reserves of power she'd drawn, and air-starved and sense-deaf, she couldn't focus enough to drag it slowly, slowly back. She kicked, lashing out, hoping to connect with something.

How long since she'd taken a breath? She'd lost one when she'd been kicked. Hadn't inhaled before she'd been grabbed. Her mind swam, begging for oxygen.

Her muscles grew heavy. Her lungs burned. Her heart must have been laboring, but she couldn't hear it through her blood. With dangerously pointed claws she raked at her own neck, trying to get a breath, a purchase on the coils. Skin tore, but the whip didn't. Her fingers fumbled, starting to go numb. Her toes pointed, legs tensing to reach downward toward a ground somewhere below her. Half an inch, half a league, it could have been either.

Muscles weakened. She gagged, her body's natural reaction to choking. She still couldn't breathe. For an eternity she struggled, and for an eternity it was useless.

With one last burst of strength, she lashed outward, hoping unnaturally sharp claws might connect. Someone had to be holding her up.

Or a jutsu was holding her up.

Half a step, half a league. She didn't know how far away they might be.

Claws swiped at invulnerable air. She spun in empy space, putting more pressure on her throat.

Her head fell back, mouth working. Her arms dropped. One foot kicked a final time, as if it might yet find purchase.

The world didn't go dark. It ceased to exist.