Chapter 4.3

Han I

Be careful, Kokuo said to him. Han conveyed his thanks, shifting his centre of gravity till he was ready to launch himself at the enemy.

Five minutes ago, he’d been sitting on a chair with a cup of tea, enjoying the peace and quiet away from Iwa and the Tsuchikage. Five minutes ago, he’d been thinking of the trinkets he’d seen in Fang’s capital, small objects he thought Roshi would have wanted. Five minutes ago, the bases Iwa had set up at the border of Wind and Fang had still been intact. There had been no warning for what had happened. No sensor on his side had been alerted to a buildup of chakra. No mass movement had been reported.

One moment, there’d been silence, and the next, the sky had been torn apart like Raijin had dragged his mighty sword across the heavens. Out came six blazing comets that had laid ruin to all three of Iwa’s bases and ripped apart the reason for their existence in the first place. Now, he was up against the Kazekage, the Suna Jinchūriki, and a third unknown, the most likely cause of the sheer devastation wreaked on Iwa’s ranks. At-least he had Roshi with him.

“There’s still time to walk away from this all.” The Kazekage called over from a distance. Han heard Roshi snort.

“Walk away? Three bases, ruined. Dozens of Iwa shinobi injured or killed. A mountain, levelled. Do you truly think we can just walk away, Kazekage?”

“Don’t pretend like you care for them.”

Han’s fellow Jinchūriki threw his head back and laughed, a deep, sonorous sound that echoed across Suna’s base. “I don’t, little Kage, but I care for my own freedom. The old man would have my hide if I just walked away without beating you into the ground,” Then, Roshi leaned forward, cracking his neck. “Even if that wasn’t true, I just plain don’t like you.”

Roshi moved, the ground behind his feet exploding as he launched himself at the Kazekage, who’d separated from the other two in his group. Gold dust moved to intercept him, forcing Roshi to twist at the last moment, bleeding away much of the momentum. Still, Roshi reached the Kazekage in under three seconds, launching a wild haymaker at him. It was then that the Suna Jinchūriki intervened, appearing in front of Roshi in a burst of speed that even Han almost didn’t see, a shroud of chakra flaring around him as he blocked Roshi’s blow, throwing him back a dozen feet.

Han called upon Kokuo’s chakra, a shroud of chakra much the same as the Suna Jinchūriki’s – Gaara, he thought his name was – appearing around him. He reached Gaara around the same time Roshi reached the Kazekage. This time, Roshi burned through the gold dust, weaving handseals together till a stream of pure lava left his lips, splitting into three to encircle the Kage. This close, Rasa couldn’t dodge it.

Somehow, the Kage didn’t have to. With but one handseal, gold dust condensed in layers, hardening in a way Han had never before seen Rasa commanding it to do. The wave of condensed gold dust absorbed the three streams of lava, letting it sizzle between them. Simultaneously, Rasa leapt forward, landing a kick on Roshi’s breastplate. Roshi was forced but a step back before he spat out another stream point-blank. Again, a sheet of gold dust slowed the attack down just enough that Rasa could escape close-range, retreating till he was in a safer position to use long-range ninjutsu.

“You’re a perfect Jinchūriki,” Han said to Gaara, content to circle him slowly. Roshi, for all his strengths, wasn’t one. Before today, Han had thought the only one who had surpassed him in utilizing the Biju’s chakra was that annoying man from Kumo, the host of the Eight Tails.

Gaara nodded once, before blurring towards him. Sand followed him in waves, launching itself at Han. He snorted contemptuously, letting the furnace on the back of his armour expel a great amount of steam that he immediately redirected at the sand. Han took one mighty jump towards Gaara, throwing a punch to test the other Jinchūriki’s reaction speed. To his credit, Gaara was able to block the first punch and the follow-up chop, but he wasn’t able to block or dodge a solid kick to the shoulder. It threw him up into the air, which Han immediately capitalised on, leaping upwards.

Sand burst from the gourd behind Gaara’s back, enveloping his right arm and yanking him to the side. Han growled, dispersing it in a burst of Steam Ninjutsu. When he looked back, Gaara was standing there, chakra shroud still intact, studying him just as Han studied him back.

The boy had good reflexes and an impressive durability, but Han was known for his speed in Taijutsu and the sheer, explosive strength that Boil Release granted him. By regulating the amount and pressure of his steam, Han could amplify the strength of his blows and the speed of his movement mid-combat to the point where he could shatter stone with the lightest taps.

“I do not wish to fight you,” Gaara confessed to him, recalling his sand.

Han looked him in the eyes. “I do not either, but we are Jinchūriki. We do not fight because we want to, we fight because we have to.”

And with that, he threw himself at Gaara, shattering the sand that rose to protect him with the right application of steam. Then, he slammed into the boy, landing a solid punch to the chest, reinforced with his loaned chakra. The blow landed on Gaara solidly with no attempt to dodge or block successful, and it threw him far off in the distance, a crater forming where the boy landed.

Han turned around. The Sand Jinchūriki wouldn’t be up anytime soon. He looked at where his fellow Jinchūriki was fighting the Kazekage and inwardly marvelled at the sheer increase in power the Kage showed. Where before they disengaged after a while of beating on the Kage, now, Roshi was almost held at a stalemate, forced to evade ever growing waves of sand and the odd wind-based jutsu that would cut through his position. Han couldn’t see a hint of the lava armour Roshi was famous for, so he assu-

He twisted on his feet as his senses screamed at him, just in time to bring up his hands to block a monstrously powerful kick. Despite the sheer size difference, despite his proficiency at Taijutsu, despite Boil Release empowering his physical parameters, Han was sent flying back just as he’d done to Gaara, albeit at a much shorter distance. He righted himself mid-air, forming handseals in quick succession to send half a dozen beams of high-pressure steam to cut through the fist of sand headed his way.

He’d underestimated his opponent once. He wouldn’t do so again. Landing on his feet, Han rocketed back towards Gaara, crashing into the boy’s lithe frame with both feet, attempting to send the Jinchūriki sailing away. Gaara somehow shrugged off the blow, twisting on his feet to bring a fist encased in a thick, dense gauntlet of sand flying at Han’s head. Han took half a step back, bringing up his forearm to block, but could do nothing about the massive, ephemeral claws that exploded out of the boy’s torso and rent his armour nearly in half.

Eyes widening, Han immediately released steam all around him at high pressures, digging deep gouges in the ground and forcing Gaara to retreat back.

“You aren’t half bad,” he said, a glimmer of grudging respect in his words.

“Neither are you,” the boy shot back.

Smiling savagely, Han flashed through hand seals while he dodged a pillar of sand and jumped over another. “Boil Release: Three Fists!”

Living up to its name, three fists of extremely high-pressure steam shot towards Gaara, whistling as they forced the air apart. Gaara tried absorbing the first one. That was a mistake. The fist slammed into his shoulder and threw him sideways, momentarily gouging away the chakra shroud that covered him from head to toe. Teal eyes widened as they understood the sheer, explosive force packed into each part of the jutsu. A jerking of Gara’s hand saw a wave of sand intercept the second, falling upon the steam fist continuously till the technique dissipated. By the time Gaara dodged the third, Han was already on him, lashing out with a kick.

Rasa II

For the first time in his many, many bouts with Roshi, Rasa had him firmly on the backfoot. His Yin chakra had increased significantly over the course of the past few weeks, but it had been his control over it that had yielded the most results. Where before he would have been struggling to create and control such massive quantities of gold dust, Rasa had barely broken a sweat this time.

Rasa pressed his advantage, gales of wind punctuating pillars and waves and spirals of gold dust that kept Roshi at bay. It worked, and with a clap, Rasa forced the gold dust to converge on Roshi’s position, entombing him beneath layers upon layers of the heavy, dense material. Rasa had but a moment to think he might just have won the bout when he heard a mighty roar, and suddenly the cage of gold dust around Iwa’s Jinchūriki was shattered into motes. Out stepped Roshi, eyes burning something fierce as they found Rasa. Where before he’d merely been using lava to melt through gold, now he was garbed in an armour made of the thing.

Even at such a distance, Rasa could feel the sheer heat emanating from it.

“You’re one annoying asshole, you know that?” Roshi said. His voice came out garbled and guttural. Each syllable sent a wad of lava flying out, eating through the ground when it landed.

Grimly, Rasa called his gold dust back, taking stock of his chakra reserves. He had more than half left in his tank, but against that lava armour, he’d have to change tactics altogether. Roshi could eat through whatever he sent his way without having to rely on any other jutsu, and given that he was a Jinchūriki, he could keep that up for however long he wanted. In many ways, this was his ultimate defence, just as the sand was Gaara’s.

Rasa had but a moment to see his son roar, pummelling Han furiously with fists ensconced in sand, before Roshi was upon him.

Cursing, Rasa leapt away, summoning a wave of gold dust to carry him up into the air. From there, he condensed a massive pillar of sand until it was little more than an eight foot spear, balancing it in his hands. Rasa had thought he’d bought himself more than a few seconds with the cloud trick, but Roshi exploded towards him, trails of lava burning the air behind him. Aiming, Rasa threw it with all his might, channelling chakra to propel the spear ever faster.

It struck dead on, knocking Roshi off of his trajectory. Rasa smiled. Lava bubbled forth furiously from where the spear haft was buried, and then the spear began to melt bit by bit till nothing was left but motes of gold. His smile dropped.

For all the pride Rasa had in his prowess and skill, for all that Gaara had grown tremendously since he’d embraced his Biju’s power, Han and Roshi were in a league of their own. Both were exceptional shinobi on their own, even without taking their Biju in consideration. Once their immense chakra reserves were factored in, it couldn’t be anything but a losing battle. But then, point of this battle had never been to win, but to stall. They had to hold out against both Jinchūriki long enough for Suleiman to get back up on his feet and for the Suna nin to finish encircling the enemy.

The win condition for this battle wasn’t the elimination of Iwa’s Jinchūriki – something Suleiman had solidly opposed each time even the idea of it had been brought up – but the capture of as many Iwa nin as possible, to dissuade the Jinchūriki from escalating further.

It was then that Roshi reached him, one arm in front of him blazing in lava. Rasa swung the cloud the other way as fast as he could, but Roshi’s mere passage so close to him burned his arm. Cursing in pain and frustration, Rasa changed tactics.

He summoned up nearly a fourth of his remaining chakra and formed a massive arm of gold dust, condensing layer after layer of it at the hands, reinforcing the fingers and the palm as best he could. Roshi had landed on the ground and was preparing for another swing at him. If the spear had done any lasting damage to him, it didn’t show.

Then, just as Roshi had launched himself into the air, Rasa threwthe arm construct at him. The sheer mass behind the arm and the speeds at which it travelled meant that, lava armour or not, it sent the Four-Tails Jinchūriki hurtling through the air. Rasa kept the pressure up, funnelling more and more of his chakra into the attack till his vision grew red. The gold dust construct carried Roshi miles away from the battle field till he and the arm that had wrapped around him disappeared beyond Rasa’s line of sight.

Breathing deeply, Rasa turned towards his son. Eyes widening, he guided the cloud dust at them at full speed.

Gaara was on one knee, defending desperately against a never-ending onslaught of punches and kicks. The chakra shroud that had earlier covered his form was wavering. Right behind him lay Suleiman, the rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he was alive.

Gaara IV

Never before had Gaara fought against an enemy so skilled, so powerful, so fast. No one, not Suleiman, not Baki, not his father, had ever managed to push him this far to the brink of collapse.

The fight had turned in his favour when Gaara had went on the offensive, trusting the Imperfect Chakra Mode to hold up to Han’s monstrous blows. His fellow Jinchūriki had responded in kind, dodging, blocking, countering, right up until the deflected remnants of an errant steam spear had impacted Suleiman’s kneeling form and sent him flying away. Gaara had but a moment to note the burns on his skin, the blood leaking from his torso.

And then he’d seen red. In that instant, Gaara drew on Shukaku’s chakra like he never had before. The chakra shroud blazed around him, clawed hands rending the air apart as he blurred, slamming into Han with four fists – two of flesh, two of chakra made manifest. Han had no time to respond. Gaara could hear Shukaku calling out to him, asking him to pull back, to think clearly.

It was all so very distant to him.

Suleiman had taken him from the very boundary of hatred and pulled him back. When no one, no one, had sought to help him, a stranger had closed the distance and soothed his soul. It had not been easy for him, Gaara knew. Shukaku had been clear about that fact. Whatever Suleiman had done, however he had done it, the man had been forced to take up every single second of agony, betrayal, hate, and rage that Gaara and Shukaku had ever felt.

He had done so uncomplainingly. Not once had he asked for anything in return. Not once had he made Gaara feel like he owed him something. Not once had he changed in his demeanour towards him – or even Shukaku – despite all that he must have witnessed, despite having hoisted the weight of the sum total of their negative emotions up on his shoulders, all so he and the Tailed Beast within could find peace. With themselves, with each other, with the world as a whole.

And look at him now. He’d found out about his mother. He’d gotten his siblings back. He was even on better terms with his father, the same father who’d tried assassinating him because of the sheer destruction Gaara and Shukaku had caused.

Gaara owed Suleiman everything. To see him injured- it lit a part of Gaara he did not know existed on fire.

“You.” A massive fist of sand slammed into Han, forcing him on his knees. The ground beneath the older Jinchūriki buckled, shattering into spiderwebs. “DARE.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the rage he felt and the pummelling he dealt out. Flying high on the sheer power the Imperfect Chakra Mode afforded him, Gaara never noticed how Han didn’t try to respond, how he remained content to stay there. Gaara never noticed, and so he didn’t see the sphere of steam exploding its way out of Han’s back. The technique blasted him through the air till he hit the ground painfully, just a few short feet in front of Suleiman’s crumpled form.

Kid, Shukaku said grimly. Your chakra shroud is half gone. Han’s going to be on us any time now. You have to retreat.

Not when Suleiman’s in danger, Gaara shot back, readying himself.

A second later, Han shot through the air, landing next to Gaara in a burst of motion he could barely keep up with. He raised his forearm to block a fist before crying out as a foot drove itself into his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. Gaara summoned a wave sand to his side, aiming to knock the older ninja away. Han batted it to the side with ease, never diverting from keeping up the pressure on the auburn haired boy. A steam-covered punch shattered the chakra shroud around his arm. A kick forced him a step back. Another fist pierced the half-present chakra shroud again, leaving him feeling like he’d taken a hammer to the chest.

Gaara was on his knees, but he couldn’t move. If he moved, Han’s attacks would likely land on Suleiman. He couldn’t block for the simple fact that Han’s Taijutsu was the definition of overwhelming. He couldn’t summon another wave of sand because he was dangerously low on chakra. In this mode, his ‘absolute defence’, a gift from his mother, constantly cloaked his form. If Han’s punches could tear through what was left of his chakra shroud, they wouldn’t even notice the shield of sand.

And then, at the very edges of his vision, there was a pillar of gold dust shrieking through the air. His father had descended from the skies to aid him. Something within Gaara warmed up. The pillar slammed into Han, who diverted his attention briefly to flash through another sequence of handseals.

Against all odds, Gaara stood, summoned every last dreg of energy he had available, condensed the remnants of his chakra shroud around his fist, and struck Han right in the back, driving his fist deep into the strange protrusion on his armour.

Something cracked. There was a brief flicker of light. A wave of sound.

Gaara had been thrown back a dozen feet. When he blinked away the flash of light that had seared into his retinas, he saw a solid wall of gold dust separating him and Suleiman from the rest of the fight. There, on top of a cloud of gold dust, stood the Kazekage, halfway turned towards him. Gaara saw the tremors wracking his legs, saw the burn marks littering his body, a testament to how fiercely the vaunted Lava Release burnt. Above it all, Gaara saw a fierce emotion burn in his eyes, unlike anything he’d ever witnessed before.

“Get away from my son.”

AN: Third chapter of the day. 3.3k words devoted almost entirely to action.