—Looks like you knocked them all out cold.
The voice was rough, dry, like old wood creaking before it breaks. Noah heard the footsteps stop next to Chōji, and then he heard the dull thud of a boot against flesh.
Someone's foot struck Chōji's face.
—That's interesting —said another voice. This one was younger and sharper—. Very interesting.
The footsteps drew closer. Noah felt someone crouch beside him. The smell of damp tobacco and wet earth entered his nostrils. And then, the sharp voice sounded right next to him, so close he could feel its breath on his cheek.
—So then, why can I still hear your heartbeat pounding so loud?
—Now!
Noah opened his eyes.
His hands came together in a seal.
—Wood Style: Advent of a World of Trees!
From the mud beneath the crouching man's feet, thick wooden roots burst forth like snakes awakening from an age-old slumber.
The roots rose from the mud, twisting around the man's legs, climbing up his torso, closing around his arms. The wood creaked as it grew, its fibers weaving into a cage that constricted tightly.
—Tsk! —the flute man leaped backward with an agility Noah hadn't expected, his feet barely brushing the mud before pushing off again, again and again, until the roots only managed to graze his fingertips—. Clever brat.
Noah stood up. His body protested. The poison still hadn't fully left his system, and every movement was like pushing a boulder uphill. But he stood up anyway.
The two men were now a few meters away, studying him.
The flute player was slender, his black robe hanging from his shoulders like a shroud. His wicker hat hid the upper half of his face, but Noah could see his mouth stretched into an ugly smile.
The other was bulkier. His arms crossed over his chest, his posture that of a man who didn't expect to have to move.
—Well, well —said the bulky one—. The legendary Wood Style. Looks like we hit the jackpot, don't you think, Gōzu?
The flute player—Gōzu—let out a laugh that sounded like dry leaves rustling in the wind.
—The Mizukage will be extremely satisfied if we bring him not only a live Uchiha with the Sharingan —his gaze slid toward Kagami's unconscious body—, but also this brat with Wood Style.
—Heh —the bulky one, named Juro, spat on the ground in a gesture of disdain—. What was that guy, the Hokage, thinking? Letting such a valuable pawn who can use Wood Style participate in the war? Besides… —his eyes settled on Noah, and for the first time, something other than boredom appeared in them—. He's only five or six years old, it seems.
Gōzu shrugged.
—What does it matter? That makes things much easier for us.
Noah didn't wait for them to attack first.
His hands came together in a seal, and the mud beneath his feet exploded outward in a curtain of dirty water that blinded the two men just long enough for Noah to move.
—Earth Style: Dragon Sand Avalanche —he murmured, and the ground between them rose in a wave of earth and stones that hurled itself at Juro with the force of a flooded river.
Juro didn't step back. His hands joined, his fingers interlaced in a seal, and the air around him began to heat up.
—Lava Style: Lava Illusion.
From his mouth burst a stream of molten rock, bright orange against the gray of the rain, that struck the wave of earth with a hiss of steam and split it in two like a hot knife through butter. The fragments of earth and stone fell to the sides, smoking, their edges fused into black glass.
—Wood Style in a child —Juro muttered as the lava cooled on the ground at his feet—. Lava Style is its natural counter. Wood burns. Roots melt.
Noah didn't answer. He was already moving.
—Water Style: Water Dragon Projectile Technique.
The rainwater soaking the ground rose as if a giant had reached beneath the earth. It formed a spiral that twisted in the air, taking the shape of a liquid dragon that roared with the sound of a flooded river.
The dragon hurled itself at the bulky man.
—Bah! —Juro didn't even move—. Lava Style: Lava Demon Technique.
He opened his mouth and spat out another mass of lava that collided with the water dragon.
The steam that rose was so thick Noah felt the heat burn his cheeks ten meters away.
—Don't forget about me, boy —said Gōzu's lilting voice.
A sonic impact from his flute struck Noah's left shoulder before he could react.
Noah flew backward, his back hitting a tree with a crack that stole his breath. Bark splintered under the impact. His left arm hung useless at his side.
—Already tired? —Juro asked, and he was already moving, his hands weaving seals with a speed that belied his size—. Lava Style: Scorching World.
He spat again, but this time it wasn't a ball. It was a river. A torrent of lava that advanced across the ground like an orange carpet, melting the rain before it could touch it, evaporating the mud and carbonizing the grass.
Noah didn't think. He simply moved.
His hands came together in a seal.
—Water Clone Technique —his voice whispered from three directions at once.
Three copies of Noah emerged from the water pooled on the ground, each identical to the original, each running in different directions as they dodged the river of lava.
Gōzu blew into his instrument once more, and a visible sound wave swept the space in front of him. The three clones burst into streams of water that mixed with the rain.
The real Noah emerged from the mud behind him.
His hands were already forming seals when the man turned.
—Wood Style: Tree Prison Technique.
From the ground beneath the man's feet, a young tree sprouted with the speed of a serpent, its branches extending to trap his legs and arms.
—Juro!
A wall of lava interposed itself between Noah and his target, forcing him back.
—They have good coordination —Noah thought as his feet touched the ground—. They cover for each other.
Juro advanced, his hands already forming new seals. Three balls of lava burst from his mouth and flew toward Noah in a formation that left no room to dodge. Noah responded by summoning a group of water dragons that collided with the lava balls, forming a dense mist that blurred their vision for an instant.
Seizing the moment, he appeared behind Juro.
His hand shot out, a wooden branch sprouting from his palm like a spear seeking to pierce the man's chest. But Juro was already moving, his body turning with an agility his build didn't promise, his open hand deflecting the branch before it could reach its target.
—Slow —Juro said.
And the palm of his hand closed around Noah's arm.
Noah felt his skin blister and his flesh begin to smoke. The pain climbed his arm like a wildfire. Juro was using his Lava Style not as a projectile, but as an extension of his own body—the heat of lava concentrated in the palm of his hand.
Noah screamed.
But he couldn't break free.
With his other arm, he formed a seal.
—Wood Style: Birth of a Forest of Trees.
From the ground at his feet, a torrent of wood erupted with the violence of a flooded river.
Juro released Noah an instant before the wood engulfed them both, leaping back with a curse on his lips. Noah fell to the ground, his right arm hanging useless, the flesh reddened and oozing.
—This kid has guts —Gōzu said, and in his voice there was something that might have been respect if it hadn't been accompanied by the smile of a predator that has found prey offering some entertainment—. But guts don't win battles.