Naruto: Shadows of the Hive

The morning wind bit sharply across the terraces as Soma stepped out, cloak drawn close around his shoulders. The Primorph moved beside him, limbs gliding over the stone with liquid silence. Together, they descended toward the seal annex — not predator and pet, but two echoes of the same internal rhythm.

Tenyu stood waiting, his thin frame rigid against the drifting incense smoke. At his feet lay an unfurled scroll, its pale paper marked in flawless looping seals.

> "Kushō Soma," Tenyu called, voice as even and cold as the morning air. "Step forward."

Soma advanced without hesitation. The Primorph paused, head tilting, its chakra-reactive membrane shimmering faintly. Then, with deliberate grace, it followed.

Tenyu knelt beside the scroll, sliding a small ceremonial blade forward. Soma accepted it, the steel cool and bright against his palm. Without ceremony, he cut across the base of his thumb, blood welling dark and quick. He pressed it firmly against the contract's center, the inked sigils thrumming as they absorbed his blood.

A moment later, the Primorph stepped forward. One thin forelimb extended, a sensory spine splitting in a controlled incision. Its iridescent dark fluid dripped onto the seals beside Soma's mark. For an instant, the entire scroll shivered as if breathing, then stilled.

Tenyu exhaled slowly.

> "A contract not simply signed, but shared," he murmured. "Blood for bond — will for anchor. So... you command it now."

Soma shook his head, slow and deliberate.

> "Not command," he said softly. "Connection."

Tenyu inclined his head, though whether in respect or wary awe was impossible to tell.

> "It is done," Tenyu announced. "Your creatures may now be called across any distance. Return tomorrow to receive your copy."

Soma bowed once, turning to leave. The Primorph rose smoothly, falling into step at his side as they moved toward the higher quarters of the village.

---

The Raikage's private council hall loomed above the winding streets, its tall shutters closed against the brightening sky. Two guards admitted Soma without a word, sliding the heavy doors shut behind him.

The Raikage sat alone at a central table, a large map of the Land of Fire spread before him. His eyes — hard, bright, and unwavering — met Soma's without hesitation.

> "Your work has reached my ears," the Raikage said, voice low and commanding. "You are no longer a secret."

Soma inclined his head, steady.

> "I did not intend to remain hidden forever."

A sharp, approving laugh rumbled from the Raikage's chest.

> "Good. Kumo does not fear power; we cultivate it. We do not cower — we strike, as lightning does."

He gestured sharply at the map, fingers tapping along Konoha's northern borders.

> "Tensions with Konoha have peaked. We will strike first — and strike deep. You will lead a forward infiltration to disrupt supply lines and relay stations near their forest perimeter. Silent. Fast. Decisive."

Soma's eyes narrowed, the Hive Core pulsing beneath his ribs — not in fear, but in cold, measured readiness. The Primorph shifted behind him, membrane flickering pale blue, sensing the weight of the words.

> "Eight months," Soma said suddenly. "My brood is not ready — one creation will not suffice. Give me that time, and I will build a force that moves through Konoha's forests like wind through leaves."

The Raikage paused, fingers still on the map. Then, slowly, he leaned back, eyes gleaming with a sharp, cunning light.

> "Eight months," he echoed, a slow breath following. "Most would call that reckless, giving the enemy so much time. But we are not driven by fear — and the Hokage of Konoha... he hesitates. Hiruzen is cautious to a fault; he will not move first. That gives us time — and I intend to make full use of it."

A slow, iron-edged smile curved the Raikage's lips.

> "You shall have your eight months. Return when your brood is ready. When you move... it will be as thunder beneath clear skies. Do not fail me."

Soma inclined his head deeply.

> "I will not."

---

Later that afternoon, a combat evaluation took place in an inner courtyard. Jōnin and tacticians observed from above, eyes sharp and expectant.

When summoned, the Primorph appeared without sound — no roar, only a chilling, flowing silence. It landed low, limbs flexing, sensory spines quivering as it assessed the space.

The sparring squad attacked. The Primorph's movements were neither savage nor hesitant; each motion was refined to surgical precision, turning momentum into collapse with disarming fluidity. It flowed between blows like a blade through water, disabling with pinpoint strikes to joints and tendons, breaking posture and balance effortlessly.

A Jōnin lunged forward, sword raised. The Primorph pivoted, hooking the wrist with perfect economy of movement before flinging the attacker aside, limbs retracting instantly to a ready stance.

Above, the Raikage leaned forward, eyes narrowing in sharp analysis. To most observers, it seemed the creature simply overwhelmed the squad with impossible speed — a phantom flickering beyond reach. But the Raikage saw the truth immediately.

> "It isn't faster than a Jōnin," he murmured, voice low and sharp. "Its actual movement matches a swift Chūnin at best... but it wastes nothing. No hesitation, no excess — every shift a perfect echo of intent."

He tapped the railing lightly, gaze fixed.

> "It moves as though it already knows the outcome. That's not raw speed. That's a mind free of doubt, instinct shaped without fracture."

This was no Dominion-born frenzy, nor Communion's reverence. This was Soma's vision made manifest — instinct perfected, movements a seamless echo of an unbroken self.

When the final attacker fell, the Primorph simply straightened. Its spines relaxed, the membrane shifted to a muted glow, and it turned to stand quietly beside Soma once more.

No words passed. The proof had been shown in each pivot, each quiet, devastating strike.

---

That night, Soma stood at the cavern entrance. The moon rose like a silver blade above the ridges, turning the terraces below into a maze of shifting shadows. The Primorph rested behind him, silhouette still and attentive.

Soma's fingers hovered at his chest, feeling the Hive Core's slow, methodical pulse.

> "Eight months," he thought, gaze distant. "Time to sculpt new hatcheries, design mobile sacs, refine nutrient balances… to build forms tailored to forest warfare."

His mind moved in quiet, precise sequences — plotting terrain densities, tree gaps, Konoha's patrol routes. Light, high-mobility types for interception. Heavier breachers for emergencies. Specialized scouts to melt into undergrowth unseen.

> "I'll need new imprints," he thought. "Fox, squirrel, hawk — anything that moves through those woods without a sound. And more. Amphibians for swamp routes. Insects for micro-scouting."

He glanced at the Primorph, which tilted its head slightly, spines trembling as if sensing the echoes inside the Hive Core.

> "Not merely children," Soma continued inwardly. "Refined siblings — each a precise answer to the gaps Konoha doesn't know it has."

The cavern felt less like a retreat and more like a forge — a place of hammer strikes and quiet heat. In the distance, a lone night bird called, sharp and thin.

Soma exhaled, each breath measured, each plan layered like seal arrays inside his mind.

The Primorph inched closer, still as a blade at rest. Together, they turned back toward the depths of the cavern, where sketches waited, and where the next generation of forms would soon be born.