When Ryouma cast the jutsu, a training-field’s worth of mist vanished. They still couldn’t see Raidou, but Genma could feel Raidou’s ANBU spark, a beacon in the darkness. He followed Ryouma’s example and crunched a soldier pill before he attempted the jutsu again. This time the mist billowed away, revealing sparse trees and dense reeds.

The mist was a blank white wall where their jutsu hadn’t reached it. From somewhere beyond it, there was a nasty sounding crunch, and a sharp, strangled grunt. “Go right! I’ve got him,” someone called.

Ryouma’s chakra bloomed huge as he cast the jutsu again, driving the mist away. Genma cast again, too. The rising sun turned the remaining mist a watery lemon yellow, the shadowed bodies blue violet. There were four of them, closing in on a cornered Raidou and Kimiko, who had their backs to a sandy rock wall. He was in front of her, acting as a shield. His hands were wrapped around the chain of a kusarigama, which snaked around his neck. Blood sheened his face. From his left, a tall ninja with an outsized sickle twirled the blade for a lethal throw.

Ryouma charged, hands already rimmed red with killing chakra. As soon as he had a clear shot at the sickle-wielder, he braced his right arm with the left, palm forward. Red-black chakra surged between him and his target.

The other ninja turned at the last moment, eyes wide in surprise, as the bolt caught him square in the chest. The sickle dropped, and so did the dying ninja. A foul red slime gurgled from his mouth as his last breaths left rotting lungs.

Fukuda darted left, aiming for the flanking pair. Steel rang against steel. The chain around Raidou’s neck pulled tighter.

“Go with her!” Genma shouted to Ryouma. “I’ve got this one.” He poured chakra through easy channels of Fire and Earth, locked one arm around the neck of the ninja holding the other end of the weighted chain, and wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the chain itself. Links crumbled to coarse powder in his palm. The broken chain went slack.

Raidou dropped to his knees, coughing, with Kimiko crouched behind him.

Genma’s opponent squirmed and twisted, elbowing Genma in the solar plexus with trained precision. Genma grunted as the air was driven from his lungs, but grabbed for a hold on the man’s arm and wrenched it back, dislocating the shoulder with a slick pop and crunch.

The man roared in pain. Genma let one of the anonymous, unmarked kunai slip from his sleeve and drew the blade tight against the man’s throat.

“You can kill the others,” he called to Ryouma and Fukuda. “We’ll interrogate this one.”