Baby tries out Genjutsu

The road to Konoha stretched through the Land of Fire’s dense wilds, a ribbon of dirt flanked by towering pines whispering in the cool breeze. Baby strode in Kurenai’s lithe form, her crimson eyes glinting beneath a borrowed cloak, her movements exuding the deadly poise of a seasoned kunoichi. Naomi walked beside him, Mirai cradled against her chest, the infant cooing softly, oblivious to the monsters propelling her forward through the forest’s damp earth and resin-thick air. As they pressed on, a lone traveler appeared ahead—a wiry man in tattered robes, his pack slung over one shoulder, whistling a tune that faltered under Kurenai’s striking gaze. Baby felt a spark of glee ignite within her stolen chest, an eager hunger to test one of her greatest weapons: Genjutsu.

He slowed, his red gaze locking onto the traveler, and with a flick of Kurenai’s fingers and a pulse of chakra, he wove a curse, subtle as a whisper yet sharp as a blade. The air shimmered briefly, and the man stiffened, his breath catching as reality twisted around him. To him, the forest dissolved into a realm of crimson mist and shadowed stone, where Kurenai—or Baby within her—towered as a goddess clad in black silk clinging to her curves. Her whip of shadow cracked inches from his flesh, phantom chains biting into his wrists, while unseen hands teased his skin, edging him toward a peak he could never reach. “Welcome, pet,” she purred, her voice a velvet lash coiling around his soul, “to my little eternity.” His mind frayed under the relentless dance—lashes of agony, strokes of ecstasy, her taunting whispers unraveling his sanity as he begged for release that never came.

The traveler’s screams rent the forest air, a jagged symphony rising and falling against the pines as he clawed at his face, nails digging crimson furrows into his skin. He staggered backward, knees buckling, his spirit fractured beyond repair as grotesque, writhing figures morphed from the trees, their tormented faces screaming secrets only he could hear. Baby stood a few paces away, Kurenai’s crimson eyes alight with wicked delight, a thrill running through him at this new power. Naomi let out a soft giggle, her empty eyes gleaming with amusement as she rocked Mirai gently, the man’s despair a lullaby to her twisted joy. “Such a delicious art,” Baby mused, Kurenai’s voice smooth and laced with malice, a silken thread sliding into the man’s fracturing mind.

With a subtle twist of her fingers, he released the Genjutsu, the crimson mist dissolving to leave the traveler gasping on the dirt, shaking like a beaten dog, his wild eyes teetering on the edge of reason. Before he could scramble away, Baby stepped forward, a silver tendril of liquid energy slithering from Kurenai’s fingertip. It darted toward a shallow cut on his arm—earned in his thrashing—and burrowed in, forcing itself deep with a cold, invasive kiss. His body seized, veins bulging as the infection took hold, and in seconds, his twitching stilled, his terror-stricken eyes flooding crimson. “Listen, pet,” Baby murmured, leaning close, Kurenai’s breath warm against his trembling cheek. “Return to your paths, your trades. Watch. Wait. When the time comes, you’ll further my cause.” The man nodded mechanically, his hoarse voice fervent: “Yes, Master… for you, for the Tuffles.”

Baby straightened, a smirk curling Kurenai’s lips as he admired his work. This was a game he would enjoy—Genjutsu, deception, insanity—marvelous tools for his silent conquest. It could break minds without blood, bend wills with a flicker of intent, and cloak his subterfuge in shadows. “This will carve my path through the Leaf, one shattered soul at a time,” he purred, stroking Naomi’s hair with Kurenai’s hand as she smiled gleefully, her adoration mirroring his triumph. The traveler staggered to his feet, his insanity now a quiet, burning loyalty, and Baby turned away, Naomi falling into step beside him. The forest swallowed the man’s retreating figure as they pressed on toward Konoha, the promise of chaos humming in Baby’s borrowed veins, his excitement a dark flame fanned by the beautiful, deadly precision he’d claimed.