The alley in Hell's Kitchen reeked of blood and scorched flesh, the aftermath of Kakashi's clash with the Hand shinobi.
The bodies of the red-garbed mercenaries lay scattered across the pavement.
A new group arrived, their movements silent but purposeful. At their head was Nobu, an elite of the Hand, his Japanese features sharp beneath a crimson mask.
His dark eyes scanned the scene, cold and calculating, as he knelt beside the first body. The man's throat was slashed, a clean cut from a kunai, the wound precise and fatal. Nobu's gloved fingers traced the edge, noting the lack of struggle.
'No resistance. He didn't see it coming.'
He moved to the next pair, their bodies charred and twisted, the air around them heavy with the scent of burnt cloth and flesh.
'Lightning.' Nobu's brow furrowed, his mind racing. The burns were too uniform, too controlled for a natural fire or explosion.
There was also Chi in the air. He recognized the faint ripple of energy, what his order called "chi," though it was unlike anything the Hand had wielded. The amount of chi in the air was huge. Normally the Chi stayed with the person but only the leaders of hand can use Chi outwardly.
Nearby, two more bodies bore deep gashes, their red shozoku torn by a force that had slammed them into the wall. Wind, sharp as blades. Nobu's eyes narrowed as he pieced it together. The cuts were too clean for swords, too widespread for shuriken.
'Another technique, beyond our training.' He stood, his gaze falling on the final group, four shinobi slumped against the rooftop's edge, their bows discarded. Each had a single slash to the throat, their faces frozen in expressions of terror. No signs of a fight. They were incapacitated before they died.
Nobu's voice was low, almost a growl. "I sense the use of chi," he said, addressing his squad of six Hand shinobi, their red masks gleaming in the moonlight. "Another finger is acting against Master Murakami? They don't want us to expand to New York?" His tone was laced with suspicion.
The Hand's five fingers—each a leader of their shadowy empire—were united in their goal to dominate, but betrayal was not unheard of. Why here? Why now? "I must inform the master."
He gestured, and his squad moved out, their steps silent as they vanished into the night.
Unseen, a small dog—Pakkun, his brown fur blending with the shadows—watched from a distance, his nose twitching as he memorized their scents.
'Got you,' Pakkun thought, his loyalty to Kakashi unwavering. He turned, padding away to report, his small form unnoticed by the Hand.
----P.O.V Shift------
In a realm beyond the physical, the Ancient One sat cross-legged, her eyes closed in meditation. She still remembered the recent clash with Dormammu that had nearly torn reality apart.
The Dark Dimension's ruler had lashed out after being thwarted again, his tantrum fracturing the multiverse.
The Ancient One had sealed the breach within seconds, her mastery of the mystic arts unmatched, but not before something—someone—had slipped through.
She had been watching him ever since. Kakashi Hatake, a man from another world, his silver hair and masked face marking him as an anomaly. Through her scrying, she saw his all his action, his name which was spoken by a dog from another Multiverse.
She has deducted he was a shinobi, she deduced, a true ninja, not like the Hand's corrupted mockery.
His mastery of "chakra"—what she knew as chi, the life energy of all beings—was extraordinary.
'He wields it in ways we've never imagined.'
Her visions showed Kakashi summoning talking dogs, creatures infused with chakra, a feat that fascinated her. Sentient summons, bound by contract.
She saw him navigating New York, gathering information without harming the innocent, blending into the city with the ease of a man accustomed to shadows.
'He's not fazed by this new world,' she mused. 'Either he's numb to loss, or he's faced so much sorrow that a new world is just another burden.'
The Hand's encounter with Kakashi confirmed her suspicions. He had dispatched their squad with chilling efficiency, his jutsu—earth walls, wind blades, illusions—far beyond their rudimentary chi enhancement.
'He's a genius, even among his own kind back in another Multiverse.' The Ancient One's lips curved in a faint smile. The Hand, with their demonic rituals and stolen chi, were pests compared to this man.
But is he a threat? She had to know this.
She rose, her robes flowing as she waved a hand. A golden portal sparked to life, its edges crackling with mystic energy.
'It's time to meet Kakashi Hatake,' she thought. To understand his intentions, his power, and his impact on this universe's future.
Kakashi crouched on a rooftop, Pakkun had reported in, his voice urgent as he relayed the Hand's movements and their leader's suspicions.
Another finger? Master Murakami? The terms were unfamiliar, but they hinted at a larger structure—a hierarchy within the Hand.
'If they're fighting among themselves, that's an opportunity. If they're united, it's a problem.'
Kakashi's plan was forming: infiltrate the Hand's network, pose as a mercenary, and uncover their master's identity.
'If I can't go home, I'll carve a place here.'The thought was grim, but it was his reality.
As he stood, preparing to move, a golden spark flared in the air before him. The portal widened, revealing a figure in flowing robes, her presence radiating power unlike anything he'd felt in this world.
Kakashi's hand twitched toward his kunai, but he kept his stance relaxed, one of his eye crinkling in a polite squint as a form of habit.
'This just got interesting.' He thought
The Ancient One stepped through, her gaze locking onto his. "Kakashi Hatake," she said, her voice calm but commanding. "We need to talk."