The night after the battle was eerily calm. The wind had shifted, the blood of fallen enemies absorbed into the earth as if the world itself had swallowed the violence. Tatsuro sat alone by the fire, his fingers running over the old seal etched into his skin. It was a constant reminder of the power he carried—a power he had chosen to use for the survival of his clan.
The Tatsugan had emerged victorious, but the feeling of triumph felt hollow. His warriors were strong, but the enemy had shown them something new: the Jashinists were more organized, more dangerous than they had ever been before. This was no mere skirmish; this was the beginning of something larger.
Tatsuro's mind drifted to his friends, Hashirama and Madara. They were more than allies; they were like brothers to him. The bond between them had always been strong, even in the days before his clan had formed. They had fought side by side during the early days of the Warring States period, but this new enemy was something even they hadn't faced before.
"Tatsuro!"
Raikō's voice broke through his thoughts. He turned to see his most trusted ally approaching, his expression grim.
"It's worse than we thought," Raikō said, his words heavy with the weight of the situation. "The Jashinists aren't just raiders. They have a base in the far east, and there's talk of even darker forces behind them. We can't afford to sit back any longer. If we do, it'll be our clan next."
Tatsuro nodded, his face hardening. "We'll need reinforcements. Send word to Madara and Hashirama. They'll have to support us if we're going to fight this threat."
Raikō hesitated. "What about the other threat? The one you've been avoiding."
Tatsuro's eyes darkened. He knew exactly what Raikō was referring to—the mysterious figure from his past who had somehow followed him into this world. The one who had set in motion the chain of events that had led him to this point.
"I'll deal with it when the time comes," Tatsuro said, though his voice was colder than he intended. "For now, focus on the immediate threat. The Jashinists and whoever else they have allied with."
The following morning, the Tatsugan clan prepared for the journey. Every warrior was equipped with armor, weapons, and supplies. Women and children were moved into the inner sanctum of the fortress, hidden from view in case of a siege. The tension was palpable.
As Tatsuro looked over the preparations, he felt the weight of leadership pressing on his shoulders. This was his burden, but it was also his calling. He had been granted the power to change the course of history, to lead his clan to greatness.
But greatness came at a cost. And that cost was something he was still struggling to understand.
Raikō came up to him, a letter in hand. "This just arrived from Madara."
Tatsuro took the letter and broke the seal. His eyes scanned the parchment quickly, and a grim smile tugged at his lips.
"Hashirama is sending his forces to reinforce us," he said, looking up at Raikō. "But Madara… Madara's on the move as well. He has a different plan."
Raikō raised an eyebrow. "What's his plan?"
"Madara's always had his own agenda." Tatsuro's voice was heavy with experience. "He'll fight the Jashinists, but he'll also look for a way to gain power. It's in his nature."
The trek to the eastern lands was long and treacherous. The terrain was rugged, and the skies were often clouded with a thick fog that hid the approach of any enemies. The deeper they traveled into enemy territory, the more uneasy the clan became. There were whispers of demonic creatures lurking in the forests, of spirits bound by dark forces. But nothing could prepare them for what lay ahead.
As they reached the foothills of the mountains where the Jashinist base was rumored to be, the ground beneath their feet trembled. A low, guttural growl echoed through the forest, and the very trees seemed to groan under an unseen weight.
"We're not alone," Raikō muttered, drawing his sword.
Tatsuro's senses flared. He could feel the disturbance in the air, the disturbance in chakra. It wasn't just the Jashinists—they were being hunted by something far more ancient and far more dangerous.
Suddenly, the ground split open, and out of the darkness emerged monstrous beasts. Their bodies were twisted and deformed, limbs far too long, eyes glowing with a sickly, malevolent light. These were no ordinary creatures. These were the spawn of Jashin, brought to life through the darkest rituals.
Tatsuro didn't hesitate. "Wind Style: Gale Cutter!" He thrust his hands forward, and a massive gust of wind sliced through the air, severing the first of the creatures in half.
Raikō followed suit, his chakra flaring as he slashed through another beast with a single strike. But the beasts just kept coming, as if there were no end to them.
"We can't keep this up forever," Raikō shouted, parrying a blow from one of the beasts. "There are too many of them!"
"We don't need to fight them all," Tatsuro said, his voice calm despite the chaos around him. "We just need to reach their base. We end this here, or they'll keep coming."
The final push toward the Jashinist base was relentless, the creatures relentless in their pursuit. By the time they reached the walls of the fortress, Tatsuro's clan was battered, but unbroken. Madara's forces had arrived in time to help repel the last of the beasts, and together they stood before the stone gates.
Tatsuro turned to his clan, his eyes fierce. "We break through those gates. We take their stronghold, and we end this threat."