Tenbo’s calculations had been precise. The illusion he cast had been flawless, and Gyoken’s descent into delusion had been inevitable. Yet, what he had not accounted for was the instinct buried deep within the young Uchiha—the raw, untamed response that coursed through his veins. Perhaps it was his natural talent, or something more—something primordial, a force far older than mere shinobi which resided in Gyoken. Intrigued, Tenbo’s obsidian eyes tracked his targets, flickering between the environment and the rapid movements of the boys as he bounded from tree to tree. However, his awareness extended beyond sight alone. His mastery went deeper, his perception reaching into the unseen—an unorthodox, enigmatic prowess that made him who he was. It was no coincidence that his name, Tenbo, bore the very meaning of *Perception.*
On this day, within this battlefield of shifting shadows and flickering illusions, Tenbo pushed the limits of his perceptive prowess. His chakra coursed steadily into his feet, forging a direct connection to the earth beneath him. Through this link, he extended his awareness beyond sight and sound, attuning himself to the essnece of the world around him. Every step, every breath, every shift in energy—nothing would escape him. Yet, this was more than just a test for Gyoken. It was an opportunity. A chance for Tenbo to wield and refine the power that still remained unmastered within him—the power granted through his consumption of the *Daikaiju.* The latent energy of the colossal beast stirred inside him, its potential vast and untapped. And now, for the first time, he would push himself closer to unraveling its depths.
As the lad conjured replications of himself, they were not mere illusions but tangible, physical clones—temporary yet solid manifestations that moved with purpose. Each one acted as a decoy, weaving through the battlefield with calculated precision, their collective intent singular: to overwhelm and strike down the enigma before them in perfect coordination. Yet, Tenbo remained unfazed. His grip on the Gunbai was firm, his stance unwavering. With a mere flicker of his obsidian gaze, he traced every movement around him, effortlessly tracking the clones as they closed in. Applied to this prowess was *Nature’s Connection*—a sensory technique that transcended sight, allowing him to perceive the rhythm of the world itself to an extent. The forest spoke to him, and through his heightened perception, he became one with the battlefield. It it told him where people are, and despite the speed at which they moved or arrived at, he was aware. In his own unique way, Tenbo was similar to Gyoken, through him also being connected to an irrestible force of nature. A smirk parked on Tenbo's face, with Gyoken now at the critical juncture of executing his offense.
As the azure-blue flames surged toward him with blistering speed, threatening to consume everything in their path, Tenbo remained composed. With a single, fluid motion, he maneuvered his Gunbai, its legendary craftsmanship designed to counter even the fiercest of attacks. In that swift instant, the fan met the roaring inferno, intercepting the encroaching disaster. The clash sent waves of force rippling through the air, embers scattering like dying stars as the flames struggled against the defensive might of the Uchiha war fan. Tenbo stood his ground, his stance unshaken, his expression unreadable. The attack was nullified in an instant, the Gunbai absorbing the flames, stripping them of their chakra, and seamlessly converting the energy into wind chakra. Without hesitation, the war fan retaliated, releasing the redirected force with devastating speed and pressure. The violent gust tore through the battlefield, a tempest unleashed, roaring back toward Gyoken and his clones. The sheer force of the counterattack was enough to send them hurtling several meters into the dense forest, tearing through branches and foliage like ragdolls caught in a storm.
Simultaneously, as Tenbo repositioned his Gunbai, his entire body moved in seamless coordination. Anticipation sharpened his awareness, and as if reading the rhythm of the battle itself, he extended his hand with flawless timing, intercepting the incoming strike from Gyoken by grasping the fist. His grip was firm but controlled, his expression unreadable. He doubted this was the real Gyoken—his instincts told him otherwise. If he had wished, he could have effortlessly slammed the boy into the earth, ending the exchange with brutal efficiency. But that was not his intent. Instead, Tenbo sought to show Gyoken something. His chakra, coursing through his body and into the ground, pulsed with an unnatural resonance. Connected as he was to the battlefield itself, perhaps Gyoken—or the primordial essence stirring within him—would sense it. The foulness that lurked beneath Tenbo’s chakra, a presence not entirely his own. A whisper of something ancient, something corrupted. An entwinement of Tenbo’s essence and the Daikaiju’s lingering abhorrence gave birth to something more—a darkness, raw and unfathomable, twisting into a sinister force that pulsed beneath the surface. It was not just hatred; it was refined hatred, sharpened into something deeper, something unnatural. The energy that seeped from Tenbo’s being was unlike any ordinary chakra. It carried weight, a suffocating presence, an overwhelming sense of malice that could make even the battle-hardened hesitate. It was an anomaly—one that Gyoken, even in his inexperience, could feel. The enigma before him was no mere shinobi. There was something wrong with him. Something that defied reason, that threatened to blur the lines between man and monster. And as Gyoken stood there, caught in Tenbo’s grasp, he might begin to question not only what kind of power the enigma wielded—but whether he even understood who Tenbo truly was. Should this be a clone, when dispersed Gyoken would retrieve this information.
"Are you sure you wish to be my opponent?" Tenbo inquired, his voice steady, devoid of arrogance yet carrying an undeniable weight. His obsidian eyes, sharp and calculating, bore into Gyoken, searching for even the faintest sign of doubt. This was no ordinary fight. It was more than a test of strength or skill—it was a confrontation with something beyond Gyoken’s understanding. Did he truly grasp the depth of what stood before him? The nature of the force he was challenging? Tenbo wasn’t simply asking a question. He was offering a moment of clarity, a fleeting chance for Gyoken to reconsider. Because if he chose to press forward, there would be no turning back. Or at least, that was what Tenbo would have preferred however they now were interrupted.
At that moment, a new presence made itself known—one that carried weight even in the midst of battle. Positioned in front of Tenbo but looming just behind Gyoken stood The Black Hound of Konoha. Yaju Inuzuka. A name spoken with both respect and caution within the Hidden Leaf. A warrior whose reputation was built not just on strength, but on instinct, discipline, and an unshakable will. His arrival was not one Tenbo could ignore. Even as an enigma himself, Tenbo knew better than to dismiss this shinobi. Yaju was not like Gyoken. He was not a reckless child playing at war. He was a hunter, a predator, and his very presence shifted the atmosphere of the battlefield. For the first time in this confrontation, Tenbo would need to be wary.
Taking note of Yaju’s stance and the positioning of his hound, Tenbo remained still, his grip on Gyoken unwavering. His expression, unreadable as ever, carried a flicker of something rare—perhaps acknowledgment, perhaps calculation. Yet, in that moment, he seemed to resign* himself. Not in surrender, but in recognition of the shifting tide. The battlefield had changed. What had begun as a test for Gyoken had now become something else. With Yaju present, the confrontation was no longer just between predator and prey. It had become a standoff between forces—one of instinct and unwavering discipline, the other of perception and enigmatic power. Still holding Gyoken firmly, Tenbo exhaled, the weight of the situation settling in. His next move would define what came next.
“There is no need for a bout between us, Black Hound of Konoha.” Tenbo’s voice was steady, yet laced with something unreadable—calculated restraint, perhaps. His grip on Gyoken loosened, though his presence remained imposing.
“I alone was here to test the merit of my sensei’s son… and the future of the Uchiha clan.” His obsidian gaze flickered toward Gyoken for a brief moment, as if weighing the results of his so-called test. Then, without another wasted motion, he turned his attention back to Yaju.
“I will be leaving to train with the Hyuga Lord instead then.” There was no hesitation in his words—no request for permission, only a statement of intent. Whether Yaju would allow such an exit without contest remained to be seen. But Tenbo, ever the enigma, had already made his decision.
Location: Forest of Death
Posting Order: Gyoken -> Takashi Hyuga -> Tenbo -> Yugo (Optional) -> Akitsuki (Opitonal) -> Kokezaru Sarugami -> Yaju Inuzuka
Post Time Limit (PTI): 3 Days.
Skip Points: ll
