His vision cleared immediately, genjutsu vanishing as if it had never existed. He felt the collapsing lurch of a dying clone at the end of the house, and heard the twin thumps of small bodies hitting the ground—the baby screamed again, and the little girl had woken up enough to join in. Servants shouted, footsteps hammering down wooden hallways. The nanny was shrieking.

Close by, Katsuko’s chakra swirled violently, locked in the tight pattern of combat.

Raidou hit his throat-mic. “One enemy down. Watch yourself, they use genjutsu. You need back up?”

The radio hissed empty static just long enough to make his throat tighten with worry, then Katsuko’s voice came over the line. “Roger that,” she said, clipped and professional. “I’ve got three hostiles. They’re using genjutsu to hide Masaaki. I can handle it, taichou.”

He’d struggled with one, but Katsuko was a lot better with illusion. Three jounin were a handful for anyone, though. Then again, Katsuko was her whole own class of fighter.

“Status?” she added.

“Little singed,” he said. “Mind the explosion tags. I’m going after the kids. Keep me updated.”

“Roger that.”

Something crashed on the other side of the house.

Atta girl.

Aching all over, Raidou smiled faintly, flicked blood away from his sword blade, and headed towards the thin sound of infant terror.