A village taken over

The village square swelled with the press of bodies as the villagers gathered, summoned by Baby’s silent call threading through their minds, the cool night air thick with the scents of sweat, ash, and the faint metallic tang of his presence lingering in their blood. They crowded beneath the silver glow of the moon—farmers, weavers, the scarred and the weathered—men, women, even children, their once-lifeless expressions now brimming with purpose. The tavern’s dim hearth cast flickering light across their faces, illuminating eyes that glinted with a fervor belied by their restored facades. Kurenai’s form stood at the center, her crimson gaze sweeping over them, her beauty sharpened by the sinister authority Baby poured into every gesture. “Lord Baby,” a grizzled man rasped, dropping to one knee. “Master,” Naomi echoed, her voice a soft hymn as she cradled Mirai, her devotion a beacon among the throng.

He raised Kurenai’s hand, silencing their murmurs with a single, deliberate motion that settled into something commanding, undeniable, and his voice rolled forth—smooth as velvet, rich with amusement, edged with a playful cruelty that made their spines straighten. “My faithful subjects,” he began, her full lips curling into a smile both seduction and threat, “you’ve tasted my will, and now you bear my purpose. The time is not yet right to reveal ourselves—we must be patient, precise—but soon, this world will belong to us.” He paused, letting the words sink in, his gaze lingering on their upturned faces—each one a mirror of his triumph. “Naomi and I will journey to Konoha, the Village Hidden in the Leaves, a ripe fruit waiting to be plucked. There, the next step in our conquest begins.”

The crowd stirred, excited murmurs spreading like wildfire, and Baby’s smirk widened with cruel satisfaction. “While we’re gone, you, my sweet puppets, will prepare this place for the Tuffles’ return. Strengthen your hands, sharpen your minds, and spread my will—dream of the vengeance we’ll carve into this world’s bones.” His tone dipped, intoxicating and absolute, a lover’s whisper promising blood. The villagers erupted, a chorus of cheers rising like a dark tide, their voices jagged with zeal. Evil smiles split their faces, teeth bared in wicked delight as they imagined the chaos to come—villages razed, shinobi broken, the Leaf’s proud towers crumbling under their Master’s wrath. “For Lord Baby!” a woman cried, her hands clenched into fists. “For the Tuffles!” roared another, his scarred face alight with malice.

Naomi stepped closer, her posture proud, unwavering, perfectly obedient, her gaze locked on Kurenai’s form as she murmured, “Master, we’ll bring them to their knees.” Baby laughed, the sound slithering from Kurenai’s throat, rich and triumphant, reverberating through the night as he drank in their absolute submission. He reached out, brushing a gentle hand over Mirai’s soft cheek, marveling at how easy it was to claim an entire future with one night’s work, and exhaled slowly, satisfied. The villagers bowed as if one entity, their glowing crimson eyes flickering with dark, eager anticipation, whispering amongst themselves—“For our Master,” “For the Tuffle cause”—their unholy glee a silent promise of the world they’d burn in his name.