| [Jan. 5th, 2012|08:00 am] |
Fireballs were pretty damn impressive. Especially when they could apparently be controlled with pinpoint—well, treepoint—precision. Heat seared Ryouma’s face, as the skeleton of the tree blazed black within a storm of orange and gold. He was beginning to reconsider his foolhardy half-step, but his eyebrows weren’t sizzling yet. He stayed put.
The fireball collapsed on itself just before his skin started blistering, leaving only the tree blazing merrily above the riverbank and a few excited children shouting to each other from a safe distance. A handful of people on the opposite bank had begun to take an interest as well.
“Would you take it personally if I pulled a water jutsu?” Ryouma asked. “Only I’ve just been back two days, an’ the Uchiha are at the far end of the line of people I need to catch up with.”
“Be my guest,” Asuma said. He swiped his tongue around the inside of his teeth, grimaced at the taste, and spat black sludge on the ground. Then he glanced up at Ryouma, narrow-eyed. “You got the chakra for it?”
“You can carry me home if I collapse,” Ryouma informed him. He shifted his boxes again, balancing them at the crook of his elbows and freeing his hands underneath. Boar, Dog, Horse, Tiger. His chakra gathered slowly, but it came. Maybe last night’s translocation had been good practice after all. As long as you ignored the collapse and nosebleed, which he was perfectly capable of doing.
“Suiton,” he murmured. “Suigun Suima no Jutsu.”
Water rose from the river in a tight, spiralling stream, arched like a bow, and crashed down with enough force to smash the burning tree into smoking charcoal splinters.
“Overkilled that a little,” Ryouma decided, and lengthened his stride as he headed onto the bridge. Better not to actually be in the area when the Uchiha MPs showed up. “I’m guessing you’ve got an affinity for Fire chakra, then. How d’you do the chakra-blades? I’ve never managed to stick chakra into anything harder than paper an’ ink.”
Asuma’s knife appeared from its hidden sheath again. He snagged the cake-box by its ribbons and left the knife in its place. The remaining box was thin enough that Ryouma could tuck it under his arm as he toyed with the blade. It was nearly twelve inches long, with a saw-toothed knuckle-guard, leather binding on the inner grip, and a curving, single-edged blade. The blackened steel didn’t even catch a glimmer from the morning sunlight.
“Special alloy in the blade enhances my chakra—which, yeah, Fire. And also Wind.” Asuma reached over to tap a blunt finger-tip against the steel. It rang dully, like a muffled bell. “I could maybe do it with a normal knife, but I’d burn a bunch of chakra up trying.” He grinned suddenly. “You should talk to Hatake if you want to see the real deal. He can do that white-blade trick, right?”
“Saw him turn a sword held to his throat white-hot and melting in the other guy’s hand,” Ryouma said, thoughtfully. “Blistered his throat, did a hell of a lot worse to the other guy.” Not that the bastard had lived long enough to actually appreciate his injury. Ryouma’d made certain of that.
“He told me it was a kekkai genkai, though. Least, I think that was what he was talking about. Free-form chakra, at any rate.” He gave the chakra blade one last longing look and handed it back. “Too many damn bloodline limits running around this village. Glad to see you do your tricks with honest cheating.” |
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