Naruto: Shadows of the Hive

The early afternoon mist clung low along the stone terraces of the Kushō compound, curling around the bone arches and empty training yards like pale ghosts. Soma stood on the lowest terrace, hands folded behind his back, his breath steady in the mountain chill.

He watched a single insect skitter across the stone. A small beetle, antennae twitching in search of warmth. Soma knelt, tapping the stone near it, as if greeting an old friend.

"Always moving," he murmured. "Even when everything else stops."

A voice cut through the haze. "Still talking to bugs instead of people, cousin?"

Soma looked up. Kawa stood at the archway above, a simple cloak over his shoulders, arms crossed. His expression was half exasperated, half amused.

Soma stood. "You sound disappointed."

Kawa hopped down the steps two at a time. "Disappointed? You vanish for days, come back reeking of beetle brine and incense ash, and expect no one to question you?"

"I expect curiosity," Soma corrected.

"Curiosity is for scrolls," Kawa retorted, tapping the hilt of his practice blade. "You're starting to look hollow, Soma. A branch cut too far from the tree."

Soma tilted his head. "Then prune me."

A sharp laugh. "I didn't come to scold. I came to spar. Before you forget how to move like one of us."

---

They stepped into the courtyard, silent watchers now peeking from balconies and doorways. A few clan elders paused their stirring of marrow stews, eyes narrowing.

Kawa tied his hair back and rolled his sleeves. "No lethal blows. No constructs that explode," he warned, casting a pointed look.

Soma smiled faintly, hands lowering to his sides. "Understood."

They circled. Kawa moved first—swift, precise. His chakra flared subtly beneath the skin, a telltale sign of an activated animal imprint. Soma recognized it instantly: wolf reflexes, rapid acceleration.

Kawa closed the gap, blade flashing low. Soma leaned back, stepping aside with near-perfect timing, his eyes sharp. Another strike, a feint high—Soma ducked, pivoting lightly.

"Still quick," Kawa grunted. "But can you still call on the hare?"

Soma's breath caught. On instinct, he reached inward, searching for the familiar surge. The hare's fleetness, the echo of sprinting paws, the flood of blood to the legs.

Nothing.

His chakra met a wall—thick, pulsing. The Hive Core shifted beneath his ribs, a silent observer.

Kawa's blade nearly caught him. Soma twisted too late, a shallow cut opening across his shoulder. He winced, pulling back.

Kawa paused, brows knitting. "Why didn't you—"

Soma didn't answer. He snapped his palm forward, and chakra twisted violently through his network. A small construct burst forth—an insectoid mass with hooked limbs and a hissing carapace.

It launched toward Kawa, forcing him to leap back. The construct shivered, scattering a thin cloud of venom into the air before collapsing into itself.

Shock rippled through the small crowd. Kawa landed heavily, wiping green mist from his sleeve.

"Your... constructs," he said, voice low. "They're stronger now. But why didn't you use your imprints?"

Soma pressed a hand to his ribs. The Hive Core pulsed once beneath his palm, as if acknowledging its dominance.

He looked at Kawa calmly, almost gently. "I cannot call them anymore."

Kawa's eyes widened. "What do you mean? We inherit those for a reason. The hare, the boar, the owl—these are our roots!"

"They were," Soma said quietly. "Now, they're echoes. The Hive Core has taken them all."

Kawa's fists trembled. "This isn't refinement. It's annihilation! You're erasing what we were meant to preserve!"

Soma looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers as though feeling for an answer inside his skin. His voice was quiet, almost wondering.

> "Annihilation… or something else? I don't know what the Hive truly wants yet. But maybe they're not meant to echo separately forever. Maybe… they're to become something more, through me."

The silence was deep and cold.

Then Kawa dropped his blade, stepping back, shoulders trembling. "I don't know you anymore," he whispered.

Soma bowed his head. "I know myself more clearly than ever."

---

When Kawa left, the courtyard emptied. Soma stood alone, his shoulder bleeding slowly into the stone.

He looked down at his palm, then at the faintly throbbing spiral beneath his ribs.

The Core pulsed again, warm and slow.

> "No more animal ghosts," he whispered. "Only… something new, waiting to be shaped."

A faint, almost curious echo rose from within—like an insect tapping glass.

Soma turned, stepping back toward his cavern. As he descended into the cool dark, a single thought bloomed behind his eyes:

If he could no longer inherit the beast... perhaps he could make something new from its bones.