The furnace-heat of the hurricane's eye pressed against my skin, a heavy, airless load that made every inhale feel like a trade—oxygen for volcanic dust and salt spray.
My boots struck the basalt, but the sound reached my ears a fraction late, a misalignment that made the thousands of vertical slabs feel less like stone and more like a shifting mirage. Beneath my polarized glasses, the world remained a flickering pulse of overexposed rock and trembling water mist. The Stone Steps That Tear Hearts Apart loomed, a repeating, ascending river of churning rainwater and slurry. The mountain seemed to swallow the gale, twisting the wind into a thundering howl that shuddered through my marrow.
"Keep… move…!" Anko's voice reached me in jagged fragments, her commands torn apart by the white noise.
I looked back, my lungs burning.
Anko moved with a frantic, jerky energy in her skin-toned undershirt and heavy interlocking chainmail. The metal rings pinched the flesh at her shoulders, the mesh dragging asymmetrically as she fought to redistribute her weight against the wind. Sweat and rain turned the skin around her Cursed Brand into a raw, angry patch. Her eyes remained fixed on the peak with a glazed fixation, her body answering late to its own commands. Beside her, Kakashi's silver hair remained a damp spike against the bruised sky, his gloved hands over-correcting as they gripped the thrumming railing.
Upward, Naruto's bare shoulders glistened in his mesh tank top. He radiated a chaotic heat, his sun-kissed skin appearing even brighter against the dark, wet stone. He fought against the heavy drag of the viscous runoff, his muscles straining as the salt spray crystallized in his clothes, yet he surged forward with an aggression that cost him every breath.
I tried to adjust my pace, but my lead foot skidded on a slick riser. My weight committed to empty space. My hand snapped toward the railing, but as my fingers closed, a sharp stinging snapped across my skin. I hesitated, my palms screaming with the memory of the earlier heat and current. My arm jerked—an involuntary muscle contraction that threw my balance off-line. A metallic, copper taste flooded my mouth.
The world didn't just break; it tore.
Aoi Rokushō appeared on a higher riser, his dark teal hair erupting in unruly spikes. He unslung the black-ribbed umbrella and held the space, his outlines ghosting behind him as the timing of the world continued to fail. He didn't strike yet; he simply occupied the riser, the Sword of the Thunder God dark in his hand. I waited for the strike, the syringe Anko had shoved into my pouch feeling like a lead weight against my thigh.
Then, the hilt flared. The translucent blade of pure yellow electricity cast a sickly, golden glow over the white waterfalls.
The first swing sent a bolt of lightning into the railing. The current leapt into my palm, snapping my arm back with a force that made my shoulder joint pop. I stumbled into Idate, who hesitated for a heartbeat before his lean, athletic frame caught me. His dark navy tunic was sodden, and his lead foot skidded on the lip of a step, his weight dropping too far before he hauled himself back.
"Go—!" Anko's voice was a pressure in my skull as she lunged.
She was too aggressive, her timing lagging behind her intent. She swung her kunai at a shadow that had already moved, her chainmail rattling with an arrhythmic clatter as she collided with Aoi. A Naruto clone leaped to join her. I missed Kakashi's direction entirely; the thundering of the water and the glare of the electricity collapsed my focus. I could only see the stone and Idate's damp shoulder.
"Naruto!" I choked out.
A Naruto—the real one—was ten steps up, struggling against the grit-laden stream. From the cascading volcanic mud, a figure emerged. Mubi. His yellow jumpsuit absorbed the amber light. He wore a rebreather and a sash that left only one cold, patient eye visible.
Naruto's footing failed. A step gave way, and he staggered, hands splashing into the mud. Mubi's hand, clad in a wet, textured glove, shot forward. It caught Naruto's mesh tank in a precise, grasping hook.
"Luck," Mubi's voice was a muffled vibration.
He yanked. Naruto was dragged down. I saw the mud pull back, a wet, hungry load enveloping his chest.
"Naruto!" I screamed. I lunged forward, my heart hammering against my ribs.
My lead foot drove into the runoff, but instead of finding stone, it sank. The volcanic mud swallowed my leg to the knee, the cold pulling weight anchoring me in place. I pitched forward, my hands hitting the slick basalt, water rushing over my wrists. I tried to pull free, but the grit under the water gave me no leverage.
"Stay—!" Idate's hand clamped onto my wrist like a vice, yanking me back so hard my glasses slipped. "Snare! It's a—"
"He's under! Let—" I talked over him, struggling to yank my leg from the mud, but his grip was a painful, white-knuckled pressure that ignored my resistance.
"Sylvie, look!" Idate pressed his face to mine, his breath falling out of sync with the storm. "Ibiki showed me… they wait for the break! If you go in, you're dead!"
I looked at the water. A single Naruto clone stood near us, aimless, its eyes tracking nothing as it felt the main body's struggle. Its reaction lagged a heartbeat behind, a ghost without a command.
Then, the air shifted.
The oppressive furnace-heat of the eye vanished as if a door had been slammed shut. My ears popped with a sharp snap. My inhale caught, my chest tightening as my lungs rejected the change. The cold front took the air—a blast that turned the water on my skin into needles of ice.
My skin was still flushed and hot, but the air was freezing. The mismatch sent a shiver through my spine so violent my teeth rattled. My breath fogged in a sudden, thick chill. The remaining ground moisture flash-cooled, visibility beginning to die as a silver-grey haze pooled in the hollows.
"Is the storm… doing this?" I whispered, my left lens fogging over completely.
"Hold on to me," Idate ordered, his grip pressure increasing as his own muscles began to tremble with the cold.
I looked into the mist.
Shapes seemed to move, but they were directionally wrong. The metallic tang of iron and the sulfurous scent of volcanic vents became cloying, pressing into my sinuses. My brain tried to call it a weather effect, but the rhythm of the fog was too steady. It felt like something was being forced into my perception.
"Kagari," I managed, the name feeling like lead in my mouth.
I didn't know for sure, but I didn't believe the weather was this deliberate.
We were alone.
The steps were no longer just a path; they were a living thing, and we were currently halfway down its throat.
My nerves were a mess of phantom charges, and I couldn't tell if the ground under my sandals was still there.
I only had the cold.