Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

The chamber was bathed in an eerie blue glow, flickering and pulsating in rhythm with the intricate seals that adorned the walls and floor. At its centre, Hano Ayame, her wiry frame tense with strain, lay strapped to a stone altar.

Tani, her soon-to-be replacement, stood nearby, her hands trembling as she clutched the edges of her ceremonial robes. It seemed she was questioning if she was ready for this lifelong mission.

Kudo stood over them, his gnarled hands poised in mid-air, fingers dancing through a series of precise, deliberate movements.

The process was well underway. Tendrils of chakra, wild and untamed, snaked through the chamber like living flames, coiling and writhing as if resisting their fate.

The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning incense and the metallic tang of blood—Hano's blood, which trickled from her bitten lip in defiant silence.

Kudo winced, his weathered face contorting.

{A/N: I made a mistake in the previous chapter by mistaking Kudo and Taira but I have already updated the changes.}

He wasn't just feeling the strain of Matatabi's chaotic chakra—no, that would've been manageable on its own. It was the noise outside, the constant explosions and the distant thwack of jutsus clashing against one another, that grated on his nerves. The walls vibrated faintly with each distant detonation, the chaos seeping through like water through a cracked dam.

"I told that brat to ensure there was no disturbance," Kudo muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with irritation. "But he didn't listen."

His voice, though low, carried the weight of someone who had endured centuries of unmet expectations.

And indeed, Kudo had lived long enough to harbour such grievances. His uncle, Kosuke Goto, had been the First Raikage, the founder of Kumogakure.

Kudo had witnessed the village's birth from a cluster of warring clans into a formidable shinobi nation. Through it all, he had remained in the shadows, honing his craft in fuinjutsu—a discipline that, at the time, had been dismissed as unnecessary when Uzushiogakure's mastery reigned supreme.

The shinobi world had relied on Uzushio's seals for decades. Why bother cultivating their own fuinjutsu experts when they could simply barter with the neutral and benevolent Uzumaki?

But Kudo had seen the writing on the wall. He had persevered, mastering a craft that few cared to pursue. His efforts had borne fruit when Uzushio allied itself with Konoha, when Senju Hashirama and Uzumaki Mito tied the knot, shifting the power balance and forcing the other villages to realize the value of self-reliance.

By the time Uzushio fell after the other shinobi villages became fed up with their cooperation with Konoha, Kudo had already established Kumogakure's fuinjutsu department, becoming its foremost authority.

And now, decades later, here he stood, the architect of Kumogakure's jinchuriki program. The transfer of the tailed beasts—the Two-Tails, Matatabi, and the Eight-Tails, Gyuki—was his responsibility.

A sharp crack from outside made Kudo grimace again, his concentration faltering for a split second. He took a deep breath, forcing the external chaos from his mind. He had performed this ritual more than he would have hoped, but the stakes were always high.

One misstep could lead to disaster.

"Focus," Kudo muttered to himself, his voice a low growl.

He pressed his hands firmly against the cold, unyielding surface of the altar, activating the intricate network of seals carved into it. The response was immediate—a surge of energy coursed through the room as the tattoos etched onto Hano's aged and weathered skin came alive.

Lines of ink, impossibly complex and glowing with an ethereal blue light, spread like veins of lightning over her frail body. The chamber was momentarily bathed in an otherworldly glow, the light flickering as though the energy itself was unstable.

Hano's body reacted violently, her muscles spasming as if struck by an unseen force. She arched off the altar, her wiry frame straining against the unseen force that held her in place.

A guttural sound escaped her lips, a mix between a grunt and a gasp, as she clenched her teeth harder. A single tear broke free from the corner of her tightly shut-eye, tracing a glistening path down her cheek before disappearing into the deep lines of her face.

"Damn stubborn chakra," Kudo muttered, his hands trembling ever so slightly. Despite his vast experience, Matatabi's essence was proving to be as unruly as ever. The energy wasn't just resisting—it was fighting him, lashing out like a cornered predator.

"Hano, hold on," Kudo said, his voice gruff yet carrying an undercurrent of respect. "We're almost there. You're strong. Stronger than most."

Hano's only response was a strained grunt, her hands balling into fists so tight that her knuckles turned white. Blood seeped from the crescent-shaped marks her nails left on her palms, but she didn't falter.

The seals on the altar began to change, shifting and reconfiguring as Kudo adjusted his hand movements.

Matatabi's chakra surged again, more violently this time. The tendrils coalesced into a massive wave, slamming against the barrier of Kudo's own chakra.

"You think you can resist me?" Kudo hissed under his breath, his tone almost mocking as he tightened his grip on the energy. "You've been in my hands before, Matatabi. You know how this ends."

Despite his bravado, it was clear that this was no easy task. The years had taken their toll on Kudo, and his body wasn't what it used to be. His joints ached, his muscles protested, but his mind—sharp and unyielding—kept him moving.

The seals on Hano's skin flared even brighter, the light now almost blinding. The patterns writhed as though alive, pulsating with a rhythm that matched the erratic beating of her heart. Each pulse drew more of Matatabi's essence from her, the wild chakra swirling in the air like a storm contained within the chamber's walls.

Hano's lips moved faintly, forming words that were inaudible over the cacophony of crackling chakra. Kudo leaned closer, his focus unwavering despite the chaos.

Her voice was barely a whisper, her breath shallow and ragged. "...I won't scream."

Kudo's expression softened for the briefest of moments, a flicker of something that might have been pride crossing his weathered face.

"You don't need to," he said quietly. "Your strength speaks louder than any scream ever could."

===

Meanwhile, Renjiro moved silently through the labyrinthine corridors of the facility. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows against the cold, stone walls, creating an almost oppressive atmosphere. The distant sounds of battle echoed faintly, a reminder of the chaos he had orchestrated.

'I need to get there quickly before my chakra runs out,' Renjiro thought, his pace quickening.

Everything was going according to plan, perhaps too perfectly. He hadn't needed to engage with any of the S-rank shinobi stationed around the facility—a fact that both relieved and unsettled him.

When the ceremony had begun, Renjiro had made his move. He had created an army of clones—shadow, water, and earth—sending them to attack different parts of the facility.

The clones served their purpose well, drawing the enemy's attention and scattering their forces. Each time one set of his clones was destroyed, Renjiro created another set, ensuring the chaos continued unabated.

The strategy was simple but effective. Most of the Kumogakure shinobi would assume his target was the ceremony, where Hano and Tani were undergoing the transfer.

But that was a misdirection.

Renjiro's true objective lay elsewhere: the office of the head of the research department, where he was certain the tailed beast research documents were stored. At least that was what he got from the memories of a shinobi he sent to his maker.

As he moved, Renjiro activated his chakra field, the very sensory technique that allowed him to manipulate the movements of the Kumo shinobi like pawns on a chessboard. Each time one neared his destination, he adjusted the placement of his clones, drawing them away.

Finally, he reached the office. The door was reinforced with seals, their faint glow visible even in the dim corridor. Renjiro channelled his chakra into a kunai, the blade humming with energy, and slashed at the seals. They shattered with a faint crackle, the sound almost lost in the distant din of battle.

The door creaked open, revealing a dark, musty room filled with shelves of scrolls and tomes. Renjiro stepped inside, the air cold against his skin. He activated his Sharingan, the crimson tomoe spinning as they pierced the darkness, searching for any traps or hidden mechanisms.

As he scanned the room, his instincts screamed at him. A chill ran down his spine, and he flickered backwards just in time.

A figure emerged from the shadows, their presence oppressive and overwhelming.

"I was wondering which village was attacking us," the man said, his voice deep and resonant, like the rumble of distant thunder. He stepped into the faint light, his sharp features etched with a grim smile. "But seeing an Uchiha here... Konoha is probably behind this, right?"

Renjiro's breath hitched. He couldn't answer. Every fibre of his being was telling him one thing: this man was dangerous.

=====

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