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Batman in Konoha. Chapter 35. Blood for Wings
🕑 Added 2025-06-30 16:54:29 +0000 UTCFugaku, Shisui, and Itachi moved deeper into the cave, step by step, guided by silent bat sentinels whose leathery wings sliced through the damp underground air without a sound. The stone vaults sloped lower, the corridors narrowed, and the darkness thickened.
At last, the path came to an end. The shadows ahead began to recede — a soft glow radiated from crystals embedded in the ceiling and walls of a subterranean hall. The light was dim, but enough to reveal the scale of what lay hidden beneath the earth.
"Welcome to Shadowland," said the leading bat in a cold, almost mechanical voice.
Shisui looked around in awe. He tilted his head back to take in the ceiling.
“Do bats need light?” he murmured in surprise, raising an eyebrow. “I always thought you navigated just fine in pitch black.”
“We’re not blind,” the guide replied calmly. “Echolocation isn’t everything. We can hunt during the day. Some of us eat fruit and berries.”
Shisui gave a relieved grin.
“So not everyone here’s a bloodsucker? That’s good. I was already calculating how many liters of blood I’ve got in me… and how many I’m willing to part with voluntarily. The answer’s zero.”
He was trying to break the tension. Though he was a trained fighter with solid control, even he felt the mounting pressure of the cave’s eerie, oppressive atmosphere.
Fugaku gave Shisui a silent nod, granting permission to deactivate the Sharingan. His own eyes slowly faded back to their natural color. Itachi followed suit — outwardly calm, almost emotionless — but Fugaku wasn’t fooled. He knew: fifteen straight minutes with the Sharingan took a toll.
Itachi showed no sign of fatigue. His pace was steady, breathing calm, gaze focused. But Fugaku noticed the details — the slight delay in his finger movements, the faint twitch of neck muscles. Signs of extreme concentration meant to mask any weakness.
Fugaku respected that composure, even took pride in it, but he always stayed alert. He was used to protecting others — even those who believed they didn’t need protection.
The underground city unfolded gradually before them. The cave walls had been carved — or more likely clawed and gnawed — with architectural precision no one would expect from beasts. In the high ceiling, nearly lost to darkness, stone dwellings glimmered. At first glance, they resembled tiny huts, but a closer look revealed intricate carvings, ornate patterns, sculpted cornices, and graceful arches. These were miniature palaces etched into the rock.
Just twenty-three homes. Like other clans, their numbers rarely exceeded a hundred.
Above their heads, the city's inhabitants flew. Each bat could easily fit into a human palm. They wore tiny dark kimonos, and their movements were precise, almost choreographed. Some hovered midair, watching; others whispered among themselves — the sound soft and rustling, like wind in dry leaves.
“Hm...” Itachi looked up, eyes scanning the circling figures. “Not a single giant.”
Fugaku nodded.
“Yes. Not one. The toads have Gamabunta. The snakes have Manda. The slugs have Katsuo. But the bats…” he paused, watching one of the creatures land softly on a ledge, “…they chose a different path. Stealth over strength.”
“Or they’re hiding their giants for a special occasion,” Itachi suggested, his voice quiet and thoughtful.
“Could be,” Fugaku murmured.
As they passed through the heart of the city, the stone paths turned into narrow bridges spanning a slender river of crystal-clear water. Illuminated by the crystals’ glow, it looked like flowing silver.
Soon, they approached the central structure. It stood out — not by size, but by craftsmanship. Barely the height of two doghouses stacked together, yet every surface, every line had been carved with such care that even Fugaku, accustomed to the Uchiha’s austere rigor, paused for a moment in silent admiration.
The two escorting bats silently beat their wings and soared upward, vanishing smoothly into the darkness of the entrance to the main house. Their movements were flawless—no wasted motion, not a sound. Their discipline rivaled that of elite shinobi.
Several minutes passed.
Shisui began to rock from heel to toe, but stopped when he caught Itachi’s gaze—direct, focused, silent. His brother’s eyes said it all: Be ready for anything. Shisui let out a quiet sigh and straightened up.
Suddenly, the escorts reemerged from the darkness. They circled in the air, then latched onto the ceiling above the entrance with their claws, lowering their heads in perfect unison like a ritual. The pose was both solemn and ominous, like priests summoning an ancient spirit.
"Presenting the Bat-Kage!" one of them declared loudly, her voice ringing with reverence. The words echoed through the cave, bouncing off stone walls and ceiling like a call tearing through the dark.
From the carved doorway, a figure emerged. For a moment, he seemed a silhouette—tall, proud, wings spread wide. But as he stepped into the crystal light, it became clear: this was no ordinary member of the bat race. This was a chieftain, a ruler, a presence that radiated strength and ancient wisdom.
He wore a deep green robe embroidered with fine gold thread. The fabric swayed gently with each step. Two short swords hung at his waist. He wasn’t just a leader—he was a warrior.
Fugaku narrowed his eyes. His gaze lingered on the swords. He respected that. He despised those who ruled through words while hiding behind others. But this one—this one fought his own battles.
The bat’s eyes were a vivid emerald green, gleaming even in the dim light. His muzzle bore a short gray beard, well-groomed whiskers, and strong, defined brows. He looked like a master who had lived for centuries—and had never let his body grow weak.
Shisui couldn’t help but smile—there was a flicker of a seasoned comedian in his expression. A few clever quips were already forming in his mind, but he held his tongue. Not the time.
From the house’s carved windows, small faces peeked out—young bats with the same green eyes. His children. They watched with a mix of curiosity and perhaps concern. Everything about their posture suggested this was rare—outsiders in Shadowland were not a common sight.
The Bat-Kage stepped forward, stopping at the threshold, looking down at the visitors. Despite his smaller size, the difference in stature didn’t diminish his authority. He knew exactly who he was.
“Greetings, human… or, as I’ve been told, possible brother,” he said, voice deep with a velvet rasp. “I am the Bat-Kage, chieftain of the Shadow Clan. And you are Uchiha Fugaku. Beside you, your sons—Shisui and Itachi. Don’t be surprised I know your names. We bats are a clan of scouts. We hear everything that matters. And your name is known across the world.”
Fugaku gave a slight nod, his voice calm:
“That makes things easier.”
But the Bat-Kage raised one wing, as if to silence him.
“Wait. Whatever you were about to say—you stand at the threshold of my home. Before we speak of business, I want to know how you found it. In detail.”
Fugaku met his gaze with weight and silence.
The Bat-Kage sighed, his posture softening slightly.
“We raise our children here. We value solitude. Stealth is not a luxury—it is survival. Tell me the truth, and it will be your first act of goodwill. The first step toward diplomacy.”
Fugaku gave a slow nod.
“So be it. I hired Hatake Kakashi to locate your cave. He has a summoning contract with ninja hounds. They found talking spiders. The spiders pointed to this location.”
The Bat-Kage scraped his claws against the stone in frustration. His voice sharpened:
“Of course. Those eight-eyed traitors will sell us out to anyone who asks. Remember this: we’re leaving this place. Somewhere a spider cannot follow. This city is no longer our home.”
“I could help,” Fugaku offered. “I can share fuinjutsu techniques that will seal Shadowland from any sensor. If we can come to terms.”
The Bat-Kage raised an eyebrow. His eyes narrowed slightly, and a sharp, knowing smile touched his lips—clever, calculating, like that of a seasoned politician who had just spotted a new asset.
“You’re a true businessman, Uchiha Fugaku,” he murmured, as if turning over the idea of a deal in his mind. “So tell me—what brings you here? Don’t tell me you’ve come to join our clan, my bloodsucking brother?”
“I won’t be your subordinate,” Fugaku replied calmly. “And I won’t become part of your clan. But I offer an alliance. The Uchiha and the bats. An exchange of intelligence. Tactical support. Joint operations. We move in the shadows. You were born of them. We have much in common.”
The Bat-Kage nodded slowly, as if savoring each word. His eyes gleamed.
“In other words, you want to form a summoning contract with my clan,” he said, stepping forward. “Unlike the toads, we’re not so… open. But we’ve worked with humans before. Twice. And the last time was… complicated.”
“With the Tsuchigumo Clan leader,” Shisui added lightly, unable to help himself, a faintly innocent smile on his lips.
All eyes turned to him. Even Itachi tilted his head slightly, assessing where this was going.
“I read an old, classified report by the Third Hokage back in ANBU,” Shisui continued, as if apologizing for being so well-informed. “The Tsuchigumo Clan developed a forbidden technique. One powerful enough to destroy an entire village in a single strike. And… well, they shouldn’t have boasted about it. They were wiped out shortly after. But their leader managed to pass the scroll on to his final ally. His summon.”
He looked at the Bat-Kage with that same innocent smile.
“A bat.”
The Bat-Kage raised an eyebrow. Interest flashed in his eyes, though his voice remained calm:
“You’re well informed, young man.” There was a note of approval in his tone. “That’s worthy of respect. But if you’ve come here for that technique, know this—it isn’t given freely. To access it, one must become part of our clan. Or…”
He slowly turned his head toward Fugaku, narrowing his eyes.
“…or become a full-fledged ally.”
Fugaku met his gaze without so much as a flicker.
“I’ve made my offer. I seek an alliance between your clan and the most powerful shinobi clan in the world.”
The Bat-Kage tilted his head slightly, weighing the words. Then he spoke with the calm of a predator—a tone that promised nothing easy.
“I hear you. But I don’t find your offer equal.”
He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving Fugaku’s face.
“Information exchange—fair enough. But ‘tactical support’? No. You humans are always at war. Your way of life is an endless chain of battles. If we ally with you, you’ll summon my family into those constant conflicts. And what do we gain? We’re scouts. We act from the shadows, carefully. We don’t seek war.”
Fugaku gave a single nod, neither arguing nor defending himself. He simply said, in an even tone:
“I could promise I’d never use your warriors in combat.”
He paused.
“But I won’t. Because that would be a lie. I’m not going to waste a resource this powerful.”
He looked straight into the Bat-Kage’s eyes—calm, confident, without fear or falsehood.
“So I’ll ask another way. What do you want—for your army?”
A long silence followed. The air itself seemed to thicken. From deep within the house, small faces peeked out again, sensing that something important was unfolding.
The Bat-Kage narrowed his eyes. A glint lit them—the glint of a merchant who had finally reached the moment to name a price so steep, his counterpart would only accept it if truly desperate.
“One hundred liters of shinobi blood. Per month,” he said with lazy superiority. “From each person who signs the contract.”
Shisui froze, uncertain if he’d heard right.
Fugaku nodded, as if discussing the monthly upkeep of a manor.
“Fine. The contract will include me, my three sons, and my wife. Five people. That’s five hundred liters a month.”
“Then the deal is struck,” the Bat-Kage said with satisfaction, nodding to Fugaku not as a subordinate, not as a naive client—but as an equal. As someone who understood the cost of power.
But Shisui couldn’t hold it in. His smile vanished instantly. He leaned toward Fugaku and hissed through his teeth:
“Five hundred liters of blood! Where are we supposed to get that?!”
The Bat-Kage’s ears twitched. He turned his head toward them with interest. Apparently, he was also curious to hear how the Uchiha would solve this problem.
“I’ll buy it,” Fugaku said calmly. “There are countless small shinobi villages around the world. Few missions, little work, many desperate fighters. They’ll sell their blood without asking questions. I’ll also post an offer on the black market. Nukenin love easy money. One syringe of blood, and they can feed for a week.”
He shrugged.
“It’ll cost me about the same as five hundred D-rank missions. I make more than that in a day.”
Shisui covered his face with one hand.
“Sometimes I forget you’re the richest man in the world,” he muttered.
The Bat-Kage chuckled. His claws scraped across the stone again—this time with approval.
“It’s always a pleasure to deal with well-funded allies,” he said. “We’ll discuss the details of accessing the Tsuchigumo technique and, later, the specifics of summoning the shadow army. But for now…”
He spread his wings, as if commanding the world to move forward.
“Bring the summoning contract!”
Two attendant servants dropped from the ceiling and vanished instantly into the depths of the cave, heading toward the archives. Their silhouettes dissolved into the darkness like ink in water.
“Why do you need so much blood?” Itachi asked in an even, almost colorless tone.
There was no fear in his voice. Only the bare, clinical curiosity of someone who had already seen death from the inside. Shisui glanced at him sideways, unsure whether Itachi had said it aloud or merely thought it.
The Bat-Kage tilted his head slightly, his green eyes gleaming with sly amusement. His voice rustled like parchment:
“The young medic isn’t yet familiar with the remarkable properties of chakra-rich blood. It’s a catalyst, a resource, a source of evolution.” He grinned, revealing small but razor-sharp teeth. “With it, my kin will grow faster, become stronger. Evolve. Rise in the food chain.”
Fugaku gave a short nod. The answer suited him perfectly. In fact, it inspired him.
But beside him, Shisui whispered quietly:
“Fugaku, I know you’ve thought this through. And I know our opinion doesn’t factor into your plans.” He leaned in slightly. “But I’m doing just fine without bats.”
Fugaku shot him a glance—cold as stone.
“You’re right. I’ve thought everything through,” he said without reproach, simply stating a fact. Then his gaze hardened. “The contract isn’t for power. It’s for evacuation. Instant and secure.”
He slipped a ring off his right hand and held it up for the Bat-Kage to see, particularly the fine fūinjutsu script etched on the inside.
“It allows mental communication. Instantaneous. No interference. Global reach,” he explained, looking into the green eyes. “I’ll make a dozen of these rings. For your best scouts. They’ll wear them at all times, as part of their belts. On signal—they summon the one calling.”
The Bat-Kage nodded. A flicker of genuine interest crossed his eyes—not just in the technique, but in the man who had created it.
Meanwhile, the two familiar bats flew out of the darkness, dragging a battered scroll between them. It was enormous, dusty, like an ancient artifact forgotten by time. When they dropped it straight into Fugaku’s hands, the air exploded in a cloud of gray dust. Shisui and Itachi coughed, waving it away.
Fugaku unrolled the scroll. On the yellowed, nearly rotted parchment, only two names were written in blood. He touched the first one with his finger, studying the dried, brownish-black line. The brittle texture of the blood spoke of time—at least fifty years between each signature.
He closed the scroll with a look of quiet dismissal, as if shedding an old skin.
“Unacceptable,” he said flatly.
The Bat-Kage’s ears quivered. He froze, examining Fugaku with renewed focus.
“This isn’t a continuation of old ties. This isn’t a return to forgotten vows. This is a new path. And it should look like one.”
Fugaku formed a hand seal, and a shadow clone appeared beside him, immediately vanishing again to relay the message outside. Soon, the shadow clone who had been guarding the carriage entered the cave, carrying a long, pristine scroll—black as night, sealed in blood-red ink. At the center of the complex web of symbols glowed a fused crest: the bat and the Sharingan, merged into one. A dual emblem, declaring the birth of something new.
The Bat-Kage smirked, flew closer, and began inscribing the scroll with dignity. His claws moved with precision, almost ritually. He understood the weight of symbols.
“It’s ready,” he said, drifting back. The scroll now lay stretched across the stone floor like an altar. “Only the names remain. In blood.”
Fugaku stepped forward. His face betrayed nothing but cold composure. He bent down and, without hesitation, bit into his finger with his new sharp fangs.
A surprised chirp rose from many of the bats. Some even clapped their wings in approval, noting how naturally he had embraced their nature.
Fugaku wrote his full name on the parchment—Uchiha Fugaku. No embellishment, but with a precision worthy of a noble.
He left the next line blank. The others tensed slightly, but Fugaku turned and said plainly:
“That will be for my wife.”
He believed her name deserved to stand beside his. As an equal.
Next came Shisui and Itachi. Each added their own stroke, their own blood, but the scroll absorbed it all the same—binding them in crimson lines to a new power, and to new obligations.
At last, it was done.
“The first delivery of blood will be in a month,” Fugaku said as he rolled up the scroll. His voice was calm, but laced with calculated certainty. “The next—on the first of every month.”
The Bat-Kage nodded, without a trace of irony:
“I believe you. They say you’re a man who always keeps his word.”
Fugaku gave a silent nod and turned toward the exit.
But just as he was about to step toward the fresh air, the Bat-Kage landed on his shoulder with a rustle of wings. His claws rested lightly yet commandingly on Fugaku’s cloak—not as a gesture of dominance, but of kinship.
“Wait,” he whispered, his voice a touch softer now. “You’re as much a bat as I am.”
He leaned in, and his voice dropped to something almost personal:
“I have much to teach you.”
