Legacy [ Naruto Reader-Insert ]

You had already put away your blade on the display and changed out of the yukata and into more casual clothes. The night is late and the moon is high up, you suppose its a good time as any.

You whistle twice outside your window. Nothing happens. A second passes. And then ten. Nothing. You are about to whistle again but a slight breeze blows gently into your eye.

The dark eyed and black haired boy from before kneels on the narrow edge of the windowsill. The blank expression on his face could match your own in eeriness. His pallid skin is dyed with the colors of the rising sun, the colors of his clothes also match his hair and eyes.

"Yes. You called?" His voice is devoid of any inflection, flat-lining like a corpse. You almost couldn't tell that he was asking you a question instead of wording it as a statement.

"Tell Danzo, that I humbly decline." You say. You know that this is not going to go well.

And at that the room and atmosphere grows heavy. The tension in the air is so thick, you could barely breathe in. Chakra streams into every fiber of your body, through your veins, through your muscles and through your limbs.

"Oh, how unexpected." He says, "Danzo-sama will not be pleased to hear that." His eyes narrow into something dangerous and the sound of a blade leaving its' sheathe pierces your eardrums.

An arc of metal glints, coming from your left, the trajectory of the blade looking like it's about to slice through your neck.

The world seems to slow down, your muscles springing to action before your mind can follow. A glint of metal passing overhead and you dodge the first arc to tackle the boy. Shisui's ninjato found its way into your hand as both of you fall through the window.

You fall parallel to the outer walls of your house, wind whipping stray strands of hair into your face. Fall. Fall. Falling.

You angle your blade and he angles his.

"You're good." He says, body lax, hair disfigured by the wind, "But I'm better." He moves his blade parallel to his face and the light from the moon glints to hit you in the eye. A surge of rage rises up your neck at his taunt and you ready yourself, eyes studying him.

His body tenses. So do you.

You place a foot against the wooden wall that you are falling beside, concentrating a sharp burst of chakra into the soles of your feet and kick. The wood splinters, leaving a meter wide crater on the worn exterior of the walls of your home.

Both of you dissolve into blurs- you, light purple and him, black.

Clink! Zzing!

He exchanges even blows with you, not even breaking a sweat. With every swing of your blade, he parries, returning a swift blow of his own. The fields around you bend and ripple as each of your blows create several crescents of intense wind pressure with each hit of your blade against his.

Shit, his blows are stronger than yours. Your arms start growing numb with each of his attacks you have to parry, muscles slowly trembling from overuse.

Your body bends and curves, as you give respite to your burning muscles. You decide to dodge most of his attacks instead of using your blade to block.

He swings his ninjato with practiced ease, like it was an extension of his hand rather than a separate tool. You can't imagine what sort of training he had to go under to be that good. Your body remembers your training, so you are unafraid.