Curse These Old Bones - Chapter 50

Chapter 50

Land of Stars

The wind whistled through the cracks in the cabin walls, its cold fingers brushing against Natsuhi’s skin as she stood motionless by the window. Below her, the faint glow of Hoshigakure flickered like embers in the night. Her amber eyes stayed fixed on the village, her vision blurring momentarily as a memory of Sumaru surfaced. Her son, with his too-bright eyes and too-big dreams. Dreams that Akahoshi would twist and shatter if she didn’t act soon.

Her hand tightened on the edge of the windowsill. She had chosen this exile to protect the village, to protect Sumaru, but the years spent watching from a distance had done nothing to weaken Akahoshi’s grip on power. The self-styled Fourth Hoshikage had always been ambitious, but now his greed burned unchecked. The meteorite, with its chakra-leaking poison, had ensnared him in its thrall. She could see it in the way his decisions grew more reckless, his promises more grandiose. The star was killing him, but he didn’t care. His madness infected the village, and she feared it would claim her son next.

And then, as if fate conspired to make her task impossible, the Konoha shinobi had arrived. She had seen them earlier, their presence too heavy to mistake for anything but jonin. Even though they pretended they were not. But why were they here? To guard the star? To claim it? No — they had been called by Akahoshi’s himself, and his paranoia was endless. But if the star caught the interest of Konoha’s Hokage… Her stomach knotted at the thought. Whatever their purpose, the shinobi had made her mission infinitely harder. Stealing the stone would be more difficult. But she couldn’t stop now. Not when Sumaru’s life hung in the balance.

A sudden creak snapped her from her thoughts. The cabin door, slightly ajar, groaned under the weight of the wind—or perhaps something else. Natsuhi’s heart stuttered, and she spun around, chakra surging as her kunai slid into her hand. Her body tensed, the weight of years of training settling into her limbs as her senses sharpened.

Natsuhi spun toward the sound, her kunai flashing into her hand with practiced ease. The black bodysuit clung tightly to her body, outlining every curve as she moved. The material hugged her abdomen, showing the faint ridges of her toned stomach, and stretched across her chest, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts as they shifted slightly with her sudden motion. Her indigo flak jacket, worn but snug, framed her torso, cinching at her waist before accentuating the curve of her hips. When she took a step, the tightness of the suit drew attention to the firm, rounded shape of her ass, every movement highlighting the power in her legs. Her boots moved silently against the wooden floor, her posture low and ready, her body radiating tension and precision.

Her face came into full view as she turned her head, caught in the warm flicker of the lantern. High cheekbones gave her features a sharp elegance, while her full lips, pressed into a faint frown, hinted at the mix of worry and control that marked her expression. A small mole near the corner of her mouth added a hint of softness, an unintentional detail that only enhanced her striking appearance. Her violet hair, tied back in a loose braid, swayed with her movements, a few damp strands clinging to her forehead from the humid air inside the cabin. Her amber eyes flickered with intensity, scanning the room with a sharp, predatory focus.

Her breath hitched as two figures emerged from the shadows, stepping into the faint light of the cabin. She froze, every instinct screaming at her to flee, but she held her ground, kunai raised. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with a monstrous blade strapped to his back that could only belong to one person. Zabuza Momochi, the Demon of the Hidden Mist. Beside him, a woman smirked, her amber eyes glinting with an unnerving mix of mischief and menace. Anko Mitarashi. The Serpent’s Shadow, terror of Konoha. Two A-ranked ninjas. And she was a low-ranked jonin. Very high B-rank to low A-rank. 

“You’ve got good instincts,” Anko drawled, her voice laced with amusement as she leaned casually against the doorframe. “Most people wouldn’t even notice us coming.”

Natsuhi swallowed hard, her knuckles whitening around the kunai. “Yes,” she managed, her voice steady despite the spike of fear that coiled in her chest.

“Perfect.” Anko’s smirk widened, her tone far too casual for the weight of the moment. “Konoha’s got a deal to propose.”

“A deal?” Natsuhi’s voice came out sharper than she intended, and she stepped back instinctively, the kunai still raised. Her mind raced. Why would Konoha want anything with her? She was a nobody—a low jonin from a minor village. What could they possibly gain from this?

“Yeah, a deal,” Anko said, her smirk never faltering. She tilted her head, as if reading Natsuhi’s thoughts in real time. “You’re worried about the guy pretending to be a Kage, aren’t you? Akahoshi, or something? The one who killed his predecessor and his overly ambitious? And you're worried about your son, aren't you?”

Natsuhi’s heart stuttered again, her blood running cold. How did they know? She forced her expression to remain neutral, but the panic clawing at the edges of her resolve was impossible to silence. These two were dangerous. And they knew far too much.

"Tell me—if you were to reveal that you’re still alive, are there those in the village with enough influence who might actually listen to you?"

— — — 

Akahoshi’s footsteps echoed down the polished corridor, though the sound seemed distant, muffled, as if the building itself held its breath. The path to the salon had always felt longer before. Had it changed? Or had he? He shook his head, dismissing the thought. The stone thrummed in his mind, its presence constant, its whispers soothing even as they clawed at the edges of his sanity. He tightened his grip on the idea that mattered most: the fools from Konoha would serve their purpose. They would feed the star, and when the time came, when he would merge with It, they would take the blame for stealing it. Konoha would be in his debt, and Hoshigakure’s rise would begin.

The door to the salon stood before him. It seemed to have appeared there rather than approached, as though the distance he’d traveled had been swallowed by something unseen. He paused, his fingers brushing against the handle, his thoughts scattering and rearranging themselves in ways he barely recognized. Then he stepped inside.

And froze.

Sura stood there, as if waiting, his expression calm, almost amused. But Akahoshi’s eyes were locked on what was in his hand. The star. His star. The meteorite that had chosen him, that whispered its secrets to him, now rested in the palm of another.

“You,” he growled, his voice low and ragged, an animalistic snarl forcing its way through his composure. He felt his chest tighten, his vision narrow. “The stone! No! Don’t touch it! It’s mine!”

Sura tilted his head, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he turned the star in his hand, its surface catching the light. “Nice toy,” he said, his tone infuriatingly casual. “Bet you’ve gotten attached to it.”

The words snapped something in Akahoshi. He stepped forward, trembling with rage. “You dare? I’ll have you skinned alive for this!” Normally, he wore the mask of a composed, benevolent leader, the kind face his people needed to see. But seeing the star in someone else’s grasp—seeing someone else take what was his—stripped him of pretense. He was raw and exposed, his anger spilling unchecked.

Sura raised an eyebrow, his smirk unfaltering. “You’re truly unhinged, you know that? This thing’s not doing you any favors. Maybe I should take it away, for your own good.”

“No!” The scream tore from Akahoshi’s throat, and chakra surged through his body. He was moving before he even realized it, his hand already reaching for the star, intent on tearing it from Sura’s grip. But Sura simply smiled and tossed it back to him.

Akahoshi caught it reflexively, his breath hitching as the star’s familiar warmth spread through his hands. The whispers in his mind soothed, the chaos quieting into a gentle hum. He cradled the star close, his eyes darting back to Sura, suspicious now. “What… What is this?”

Sura leaned back in a chair, casual and calm, as if they were discussing the weather. “Relax. This mission’s a mess, and frankly, I don’t care enough to fight you over it. Let’s make a deal. I’ll help you protect the star.”

Akahoshi narrowed his eyes, his grip on the stone tightening. “A deal? What do you know?”

Sura’s smirk widened. “Oh, I know plenty.” His tone dropped, taking on a sharper edge. “I know about the star. About what it does to people. How it hurt the ones who train with it. And about the lengths you’ve gone to make sure it stays fed.” He let the words hang before leaning forward. “I know about the Third Hoshikage.”

The room felt colder, and Akahoshi’s heart skipped a beat. His mind raced, the stone’s whispers growing louder again. “You know nothing,” he spat, but the crack in his voice betrayed him.

“Oh, I know enough,” Sura continued, his grin wolfish. “The Third Hoshikage was an honorable man, wasn’t he? Loved his village. Refused to let the star hurt anyone else. So, you killed him. Didn’t you?”

Akahoshi staggered, the accusation cutting through him like a blade he hadn’t seen coming. How did this man know? Who had whispered the truth into his ear? His thoughts scattered, trampled under the rising storm in his mind. The stone pulsed in his hands, its whispers no longer soothing but a rising cacophony, urging him to act, to silence this threat. Panic surged, fueled by a raw, unrelenting anger. His lips parted, and the words spilled out, unrestrained and desperate.

“It was for the good of the village!” he roared, his voice cracking, a vein bulging at his temple as he clenched the star tighter. He could feel the weight of Sura’s silence pressing on him, the man’s calm detachment a glaring contrast to his own unraveling. But Akahoshi would not be silent. Not now. Not after everything.

“Yes!” he continued, his tone climbing, wild and electric. “The training harms people! Yes, I killed him! I killed the Third Hoshikage! But what would you have me do? Stand by and let our village rot in mediocrity? He was too weak to see the truth! Too soft to wield the power the star offers! Do you know what that’s like? To lead a place that the world spits on? A village so small, so insignificant, that even the weakest of the five great nations wouldn’t bother to conquer it because we aren’t worth their effort?”

He paced now, his movements sharp and erratic, his grip on the star almost painful as he waved his free hand wildly. “They called us pathetic! They called me pathetic! And I swore that one day, they would choke on their arrogance! That one day, Hoshigakure would rise! And I did what I had to do to make it happen! Yes, people die in the training! Yes, the Teeth behind the Stars takes Their toll! But greatness requires sacrifice! Power demands a price! The star is our future, our salvation!”

His eyes, wild and bloodshot, locked onto Sura, his tone shifting into something almost pleading, though the desperation burned beneath it. “Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? Without the star, we are nothing! With it, we could rival the five great nations! We could make them tremble! They would respect us! Fear us! We could finally step out of their shadow and into the light of our own making!”

He took a step toward Sura, his voice lowering, trembling with intensity. “And you…You could join us. You have strength—I can see it. The kind of strength we need. You could help us rise above the chains of mediocrity that bind us. My right-hand man. Don’t you see? This isn’t just for me. It’s for the village. For its people. For everyone!”

His chest heaved with each breath, his voice echoing into the silence left in the wake of his outburst. Sura had to understand. How could they not see the truth? This was for all of them. The stone had promised him everything, and he had given everything in return. How could they not see?

Sura tilted his head, his smile softening into something almost pitying. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the world around them shimmered, as he broke the genjutsu. 

The salon dissolved, replaced by the open village square. Akahoshi froze, his breath catching as he saw the crowd of villagers standing in stunned silence. They had heard everything—his confession, his madness, his justification. Horror and betrayal marked their faces as they stared at him.

“No…” Akahoshi whispered, clutching the star tighter as if it could shield him. “No…”

Sura stood, brushing imaginary dust off his hands. “Oops,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery.

— — — 

Sumaru felt like his mind was underwater, each thought sluggish, heavy, impossible to grasp fully. His mother was alive. The words refused to settle, even as he stood beside her. Alive. She had been dead for years—or so he’d believed. Now here she was, vibrant and determined, spilling truths that made his stomach churn and his fists clench. The truth about their so-called leader.

Akahoshi. The name brought bile to his throat. The man Sumaru had once respected, even admired, was a fraud—a murderer who had twisted their village for his own gain. His mother’s words had been cold, precise, laying bare the lies that had held their village together. The betrayal burned in his chest, hot and choking.

When she’d gathered the elders and demanded they listen, they’d been skeptical, their doubt visible in every furrowed brow and narrowed eye. But she had promised proof. And so, with trepidation and the weight of generations of secrets, the village had gathered at the central square. Midday sunlight bathed the crowd, their murmurs of confusion and unease filling the air.

When they arrived, Sura was already there, lounging on a couch strangely placed in the middle of the village like it was his own private stage. The sight of the Konohan shinobi so at ease, casually flipping the sacred star in his hand, made Sumaru’s blood boil. Around him, villagers hissed and muttered, their anger palpable. Who was this outsider to toy with their village’s legacy? But the arrival of Akahoshi changed everything.

The Kage stepped into the square, his movements strange and detached, as though he couldn’t see the crowd gathered before him. Sumaru’s breath caught. He glanced at Sura, whose faint smirk confirmed his suspicion. Genjutsu — Akahoshi was walking blind into a trap, not knowing he was surrounded by the villagers. 

And then Akahoshi spoke. At first, his voice was calm, almost thoughtful, but as he continued, the words spilling from his mouth made Sumaru’s heart pound. The Kage confessed everything—the murder of the Third Hoshikage, the lies, the deaths caused by the star training. He justified it all with a twisted logic that left Sumaru’s hands trembling. By the time the genjutsu was dispelled, Akahoshi’s crimes hung in the air, undeniable and damning.

The crowd stared in stunned silence as Akahoshi froze, his gaze darting around the square. His eyes locked onto the villagers, and then the realization hit. They had heard everything. Sumaru saw his face twist in fury, then redden with rage, and finally contort into something else entirely.

Laughter.

It started as a low, unsettling sound bubbling up from Akahoshi’s throat. His shoulders shook, his head tilted back, and the laugh grew louder, more ragged, more wrong. The pitch twisted and warped, echoing through the square in dissonant waves that made Sumaru’s skin crawl. The crowd recoiled instinctively, murmurs of unease spreading like ripples in water.

Akahoshi’s hands moved to his chest, clawing at his robes, shredding them as if they burned. Blood dripped from his fingertips as he tore at his flesh, his nails ripping through skin and muscle. The sickening squelch of tearing tissue filled the air, and Sumaru felt bile rise in his throat.

“What are you doing?!” he screamed, his voice breaking with panic.

Akahoshi didn’t answer, his manic laughter continuing as he plunged his hands into his own chest. The crowd gasped, some looking away, others frozen in horrified fascination. The tearing sound deepened, more wet and visceral, until with a final heave, Akahoshi ripped his chest cavity open, revealing a pulsing void where his heart should have been. Blood and viscera oozed from the wound, steaming in the cool air.

Still laughing, Akahoshi raised the star above his head, its eerie light illuminating his grotesque grin. With a triumphant roar, he thrust it into the gaping hole in his chest. The star sank into the cavity with a grotesque squelch, its glow spreading through his veins like molten metal. The transformation began instantly.

Akahoshi’s body convulsed violently, his back arching as unnatural energy surged through him. His skin bubbled and stretched, veins darkening into jagged, branching patterns. His limbs lengthened unnaturally, the bones cracking and snapping as they reformed. His face warped, the once-familiar features twisting into something alien and monstrous. His teeth sharpened into jagged points, his eyes glowing with a sickly, golden-green light that seemed to pierce the air itself.

The transformation didn’t stop at his form. The air around him thickened, carrying a sense of dread that pressed down on Sumaru like a physical weight. Akahoshi’s presence was overwhelming, his body radiating power so intense it was suffocating. The villagers trembled, some falling to their knees as the oppressive aura consumed the square. He was no longer a man. He was a nightmare made flesh.

“Then, it does not matter! I will rise alone! For The King in Yellow” Akahoshi’s voice boomed, layered and distorted, each word vibrating through the air like a thunderclap. “Konoha will burn! I will raze it to the ground for your arrogance! The world will tremble before the might of Hoshigakure!”

A snort broke the tension, cutting through the horror like a blade. Sumaru turned, his wide eyes landing on one of the Konohan nins  who stood with his massive sword resting on his shoulder. “Big talk for a guy who just ripped himself open.”

Akahoshi roared, the sound shaking the ground, and lunged at Sura with terrifying speed. His claws glowed with eldritch light, each swipe carrying enough force to rend stone and flesh alike. Sumaru’s heart stopped. There was no way anyone could survive an attack like that.

But Sura didn’t move.

The claws came within inches of his face, and Sura simply tilted his head slightly to the side, letting the strike pass harmlessly by. His hands remained in his pockets, his expression calm, almost bored. Akahoshi snarled and attacked again, faster this time, his monstrous form a blur of motion. Sura stepped to the side, his movements so subtle they barely registered, avoiding every strike with infuriating ease.

“You done yet?” Sura asked, his tone dry.

Akahoshi roared in frustration, his claws slamming into the ground, sending shards of stone flying in every direction. The ground beneath them cracked and buckled, but Sura stood unaffected, his feet planted firmly as if the chaos didn’t exist.

The villagers watched in stunned silence, their terror at Akahoshi’s monstrous power giving way to disbelief. Sura wasn’t just surviving. He wasn’t even trying.

“You want a real fight?” Sura finally said, his tone carrying a faint edge of disappointment. “Fine.”

The shift was instant. Sura moved, his hands still in his pockets, and the air seemed to ripple around him. He stepped forward, closing the distance in a single, unhurried motion, and delivered a casual kick to Akahoshi’s side. The impact was deafening. Akahoshi’s body flew across the square, crashing into a stone wall with a sickening crunch that shook the ground.

Akahoshi struggled to his feet, his monstrous form trembling but unbroken. He screamed and charged again, his claws leaving streaks of molten energy in the air. Sura met him head-on, dodging effortlessly and delivering a single, precise punch to Akahoshi’s chest. The sound was like a thunderclap, and Akahoshi’s body crumpled inward, the star in his chest flickering violently.

Sura didn’t stop. He moved with inhuman speed, each strike landing with devastating force, his movements almost lazy. Akahoshi’s claws never came close to touching him. It wasn’t a fight. It was a dismantling.

Finally, Sura stepped back, his gaze cold as Akahoshi collapsed to his knees, blood and ichor dripping from his broken form. The monstrous Kage gasped, his glowing eyes dimming as he looked up at Sura with something that almost resembled fear.

Sura crouched, his voice low and steady. “You thought the star made you powerful. But power without control is nothing. Even a genin knows that. You were always going to lose.”

The Konohan moved without urgency, driving his hand straight into Akahoshi’s chest with a sickening crunch. The sound of bone splintering and flesh tearing was punctuated by the grotesque squelch of his arm sinking deep into the cavity, blood spraying out in thick, steaming arcs. Akahoshi’s monstrous form convulsed violently, his glowing eyes bulging in disbelief as a gurgling rasp escaped his throat. Sura’s expression didn’t shift. His fingers closed around the star, and with a sharp, unceremonious yank, he tore it free. The motion sent a fresh spray of blood and viscera splattering across the ground, coating the stone beneath him in a sticky, crimson pool.

Akahoshi’s body spasmed once before crumpling into a lifeless heap, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles, his chest gaping open like a grotesque ruin. Sura stood over him, his arm dripping with gore, the star held loosely in his blood-slicked hand. He gave it a glance, flicking off a chunk of flesh with a bored flick of his thumb before letting out a faint sigh. “What a mess,” he muttered, his tone as flat as if he were commenting on spilled ink. He turned to the crowd, unfazed by their horrified stares, and gestured casually toward the corpse. 

“All that buildup, and this is what he brought to the table. Disappointing. Fucking Filler villains…”