Vetrax
patreon
Twin Demons. Chapter 38
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 17:08:06 +0000 UTC“Looks like I got everything done,” Menma muttered, lifting his head from the checklist in the bright hall of the Shinigami Shrine.
The upcoming trip to the Land of Waves promised to drag on — not just escorting Tazuna home, but also sticking around until the old man finished his “great” bridge. Basically babysitting, with the bonus of possible assassins lurking on the horizon.
And the worst part — the mission had dropped out of nowhere, in the middle of August, just when Menma was finally planning to tie up his growing pile of orders. Instead of steady work and scheduled training, he had to wrap everything up and prep for a long absence in a laughably short sixteen hours.
“So, let’s go over this again,” he said, turning his gaze to the two clones. One was his own copy, hunched over a drafting table, scratching sealing lines with grim meticulousness. The other — a grinning clone of Naruko, swinging her leg while somehow managing to draw seals. “You finish the pending orders. Don’t open the shop. Don’t take new jobs, even if someone waves a million ryō in your face. Got it?”
“You do realize I am you, right?” Menma’s clone drawled lazily, tilting his head and studying the original with open interest. “These instructions are baked in, like a password in a seal.”
“Not for you,” Menma snapped his eyes to the Naruko version, who only smiled wider, clearly planning to ignore half of what he’d just said. “After you deliver all the orders, you lock the shrine and the shop with a fūinjutsu seal. Then dispel yourselves without memory transfer. If there’s any critical info, write it down and leave it in the shrine. Clear?”
“Brooo, stop nagging,” the real Naruko groaned, yawning theatrically. “They get it. Come on, let’s change into our awesome gear already!”
Menma checked the clock and nodded. Forty minutes till departure. Yamato-sensei, after surviving the double onslaught — Naruko’s endless chatter and Menma’s cold reasoning — had surrendered and pushed their leave from six to nine in the morning. Those extra three hours they used well: a short “wear-yourself-out” training, since there’d be no time for pushups and pullups on the road. Then their usual ritual at Ichiraku, where Naruko inhaled a triple serving, whining, “How am I supposed to survive a whole month without ramen?!” Menma’s reminder about fifty servings carefully sealed in a scroll was brushed aside as irrelevant.
Now they stood in front of the mirror.
“Brother, we look amazing!” Naruko twirled with delight.
Menma smirked despite himself. The casual shorts and T-shirts were gone, replaced with serious gear: black pants, a tight long-sleeved shirt, layered with a steel ANBU-style vest, topped off with a dark green hooded cloak. A versatile outfit — good for both rain and battle.
“You two look so… armored,” Karin noted, not hiding a trace of envy. She herself wore short shorts and a green tank top, adjusting her glasses on her nose.
“Karin-chan, but you’re really pretty!” Naruko blew her a kiss mid-spin.
Karin just snorted, refusing to take the bait.
“You promised to take care of me!” she jabbed a finger at Menma. “Where’s my armor?!”
“Dearest cousin,” he drawled with weary irony, “in case you forgot, yesterday we went to Sasuke’s shop. And what did you say? ‘Ugh, gray is not my color!’”
“Well, did you see his cloaks?” Karin flared, tossing her red hair so it spilled like fire. “Gray doesn’t match my hair at all! And the fabric? It felt like he made them out of old curtains! Your cloak is clearly better!”
“Better fabric costs more,” Menma wagged a finger like a teacher, watching her puff her cheeks. “And no, it’s not about me being stingy. Gear like this is custom-made. In advance.”
“You managed to get some for yourself and your sister,” Karin narrowed her eyes.
“Karin-chan, we love you!” Naruko burst out, as if that solved everything.
Menma sighed heavily. “I ordered this set before graduation. I didn’t even know about you back then. By the way, I already arranged to meet with the smiths about your armor. But after this scene, I’m tempted to cancel.”
Karin blinked, her usual sharpness faltering. “That’s true?”
“Of course!” Naruko jumped in. “Big bro always thinks about me and you. We’re family!”
Karin adjusted her glasses and turned away, lips twitching. “Sorry, Menma. I… I don’t know what came over me. This mission just feels… too sudden.”
Menma gave a short nod and hugged her gently. “It’s fine. I’m uneasy about leaving Konoha too.”
“And I’ll just say this: we can handle whatever comes,” Naruko declared brightly, hugging them both into a triangle. “We’re Uzumaki! Even the alliance of three great villages couldn’t wipe us out. No way some trip to the Land of Waves is gonna beat us!”
For the first time that day, Karin smiled genuinely. “Thank you, Naruko… and you too, Menma. Let’s just stay like this a bit longer.”
///
Team Eleven gathered in full at Konoha’s main gates. The massive doors loomed like fortress teeth, and the noisy stream of people passing through underscored the truth: for some, the journey was just beginning, while for others it had already ended.
Yamato stood slightly to the side, arms crossed over his chest, critically inspecting his squad. His gaze lingered on their backs — straight, but suspiciously bare.
“I did warn you the trip would be long,” he said pointedly, adjusting the strap of his own backpack. “We’ll be camping in the woods. Don’t expect shops or restaurants along the roadside.”
“And we’re ready for that,” Menma replied calmly. He clicked open a pouch and pulled out three small scrolls. “Hot food, clean water, a tent, and spare clothes. All sealed.”
“Must be nice being a fūinjutsu master,” Yamato muttered, giving his heavy pack a hopeless shake. The bottles and canned food inside clinked faintly. “You could’ve made a couple of scrolls for your sensei too.”
“Freebies are for family only.” Naruko instantly hugged her brother on one side and hooked an arm around Karin on the other. “But for our beloved sensei, we can give a discount.”
“How generous,” Yamato squinted at them, though the corners of his lips twitched.
At that moment Tazuna approached. Red nose, heavy gait — it looked like he’d already taken his “battle ration” that morning. A backpack dangled from his shoulders, bottles inside betraying him with their telltale clinking.
“Tazuna-san,” Naruko cooed with the most innocent face, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, “why are you drinking so early? Are you bracing yourself for something terrible?”
Tazuna grunted and nearly toppled over, tripping on his own shadow.
“Naruko,” Yamato sighed, catching their client by the elbow, “stop pushing him toward a nervous breakdown. At least wait until we’re outside Konoha.”
///
The next four hours of travel felt less like a mission and more like a park stroll with a very drunk uncle. They had to adjust to Tazuna’s turtle pace. Every hundred steps he tipped his bottle like it was the last one on earth.
The road stretched wide, with tall, sprawling trees lining both sides — typical scenery of the Land of Fire. Following protocol, Yamato took point, scouting ahead. In the middle walked Karin and Tazuna, while the twins brought up the rear, holding hands.
Silence dragged on, until Tazuna’s hoarse voice cut through it: “Why’re you two glued together like that the whole way?” He gave the twins a bleary stare. “What are you, a couple?”
“How uncultured!” Naruko raised her nose like a noblewoman. “Even if we were hugging and kissing behind your back, it still wouldn’t be your business.”
Tazuna stumbled on flat ground, nearly kissing the dirt, and Yamato had to catch him again. Karin, meanwhile, blushed scarlet to the tips of her ears.
“And besides, we’re twins,” Naruko added with a solemn smile. “We started groping each other back in Mom’s womb.”
Tazuna flushed so hard it looked like his heart might give out — alcohol, heat, and Naruko’s trolling proving a lethal mix. Menma realized that if he didn’t intervene, their very first serious mission might end right here on the road — with their client’s heart attack.
“My sister is joking,” he explained coolly. “By holding hands, we double our sensory range.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly and added, “Speaking of which, Yamato-sensei — we have company.”
The squad froze instantly. Even Tazuna dropped his bottle, glass shattering on the road.
“Details,” Yamato demanded, voice clipped.
“Twenty minutes ago, we passed a roadside café,” Menma reported clearly. “Two men in black cloaks were sitting there. As soon as we left, they followed us through the forest. Five minutes ago they picked up the pace, circled ahead, and are now waiting on the road.”
“Sounds like an ambush,” Yamato remarked with a dry snort. His voice carried no fear, just a statement of fact. “Which means we’ll have to fight.”
“C-can’t we just go around them?” Karin’s voice trembled, her fists clenched as she tried to steady herself.
“Sadly, no,” Yamato gave a disappointed smile. “If we vanish from the road, they’ll trail us anyway. And with a client, we won’t get far.”
Tazuna pressed a fresh bottle to his lips, his whole body screaming, “Not my problem.”
“Don’t worry, Karin-chan,” Naruko patted her shoulder. “Big bro and I will cover you.”
“There’s going to be blood… maybe even killing,” Karin whispered, her eyes wavering. “How can you be so calm?”
Even Tazuna and Yamato glanced at Naruko, waiting for her answer. But Menma stepped in first.
“We’ve been hunting beasts in the Forest of Death since childhood,” he tilted his head slightly, animal-like pupils glinting in the shade. “We’re used to playing hunters.”
About ten minutes later, the road offered its first omen. On smooth ground lay a strange, perfectly round puddle. The area around was dry — no sign of rain.
Yamato stepped aside and said quietly, “Your move.”
In the same instant, Naruko turned into a shuriken — no hand seals, no smoke, no sound. Menma caught her midair and hurled her straight into the water without hesitation.
Two men in black cloaks erupted from the puddle, but they had no time to dodge. The shuriken twisted into an adamantine cage, slamming shut with a metallic snap.
It was the Monkey King’s technique — a trap strong enough to restrain even Hashirama’s roots, maybe even a bijū.
[Shame a shadow clone can’t turn into something this useful. I have to throw my sister instead.]
“Caught you, little critters,” Naruko’s cheerful voice rang right from the cage bars. The metal clanged as she gave the grid a playful shake. The cage had shrunk so small the prisoners had to sit with their knees pressed to their ears, barely able to breathe. “So, who exactly are you?”
No answer came. The two missing-nin kept their heads stubbornly bowed, chakra squirming in their bodies as they tried to form jutsu without hand seals. Useless. After Menma’s modifications, the technique not only restrained the body but also destabilized chakra, turning shinobi into helpless captives. Right now, they were no more dangerous than Tazuna.
“Silent treatment, huh?” Yamato snorted, stepping closer. His gaze skimmed over their gear. “Forehead protectors with horns. Gloves with chains. Bingo Book, page fifteen. Demon Brothers. Fifty thousand ryō bounty each.”
“Demon… Brothers?!” Naruko’s voice rang with outrage. She yanked the cage so hard the bars rattled. “It’s me and big bro who should be the Demons! Yamato-sensei, tell me honestly — how do they get a nickname to get into that Bingo Book of yours?!”
“By killing,” Yamato cut her off, without the faintest smile.
Naruko fell silent. Tazuna and Karin, standing a little apart, didn’t dare even look at the prisoners. Tazuna clutched his bottle like a lifeline; Karin nervously bit her lip.
Menma, however, regarded the nukenin calmly.
[Interesting protectors. Horns. Stylish. Could borrow the idea.]
“Yamato-sensei, are you going to interrogate them?” Karin’s voice wavered.
“No point,” Yamato answered coldly. “Judging by our client’s reaction, he knows perfectly well who they are and whose head they’re after.”
All eyes turned to Tazuna. He responded the only way he knew: downed a gulp of sake straight from the neck and collapsed under the nearest tree with a groan. He fell asleep so fast it was as if problems didn’t exist.
“Then… are we sending them to prison?” Karin asked cautiously.
“No.” Yamato shook his head, his voice stricter than ever. “We can’t risk them breaking out and coming after us again. Menma. Naruko. Eliminate them. That’s an order.”
The air grew heavy with silence.
Naruko, usually so quick with words, hesitated for the first time. Menma too stood motionless. Deep down he understood the logic: leaving enemies alive meant endangering themselves and the team. But the thought of killing a person for the first time weighed on him like lead.
“If you don’t follow orders,” Yamato’s voice was as unyielding as stone, “you can forget about a shinobi career.”
[What’s with him? He used to be the most reasonable jōnin in the village. Now he’s flipped to strict ANBU mode.]
“I’ll count to three,” Yamato said. “One.”
Menma raised his hand; an adamantine chain unfurled from his palm, its tip razor sharp. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Naruko shape a spike from the cage bars, aiming it straight at the second prisoner’s skull. They froze, mirroring each other.
“Two.”
Menma looked his captive in the eye. There was no fear there. No pleas for mercy, no flashes of family, no cheap excuses. Only calm acceptance. A true shinobi already at peace with death.
“Three.”
The chain shot forward, crunching through the man’s face with a sickening crack. The body jerked once and went limp. Almost at the same time, Naruko’s spike pierced the second man’s skull. The cage shuddered as its floor filled with blood.
Naruko instantly shifted back, throwing herself at her brother, pressing against him like the little girl who once hid from nightmares in his arms.
“You both did well,” Yamato’s voice was firm, though not cruel. “This is your first and most vital lesson: a shinobi must be ready to kill. Only then can you survive.”
He created a wood clone and a wooden cart. Without a word, the clone loaded the bodies and hauled them back toward Konoha.
“You’ll receive the bounty for their heads,” Yamato added, but the words fell flat.
The twins didn’t cry, their hands didn’t shake. They had killed before — hundreds of beasts in the Forest of Death, warm blood and beating hearts. And yet… this was different. Someone else’s death no longer felt like a victory. More like filth they’d been forced to wade through.
Menma glanced at Karin. She shifted uneasily, fists clenched, as if about to step forward and hug them. But she couldn’t — fear and disgust held her back.
///
The rest of the journey passed in silence.
Yamato created a second wooden cart and loaded the still-sleeping Tazuna inside. Their pace quickened, but there was no joy in it.
Even that night, when their sensei raised a full wooden house in the forest instead of simple tents, there was no relief.
Menma lay in his room, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come. The scene kept replaying in his mind: the sharp burst of blood, the crack of bone, the empty eyes of a shinobi who had accepted his death.
[In the anime this scene felt almost funny, carefree. But in reality it was vile, sticky. And the mission’s only just begun… What’s waiting for us next?]
Comments
Raphael
TFTC
