Naruto: Desert Phantom

The Konoha Chunin wasn't stupid. The second the Jonin's voice thundered through the tunnel, he reacted instinctively, his hands flashing through a single seal.

'Kawarimi no Jutsu.'

In an instant, the positions of the chunin amd jonin swapped.

The Jonin had anticipated it—and allowed it to happen.

Even as the lingering chakra from the substitution crackled through the air, he was already in motion. His kunai lashed out, a ruthless, pinpoint strike aimed at the unseen enemy before him.

Clang!

Metal rang against metal, the impact sending a jolt up his arm.

And for the briefest fraction of a second—he saw him.

A flicker in the air, like heat rising off the dunes at midday. Then, the mirage solidified.

A figure clad in black Suna Anbu gear.

A stone mask with an elaborate and beautiful engraving, its patterns swirling across the weathered surface like the shifting sands.

Recognition struck like a hammer.

That mask.

He knew it of them.

Once it had belonged to a desert clan from the Warring States Era—a bloodline of nomadic killers, warriors who thrived in the dunes, silent predators that moved with the sandstorms. Their assassins had been feared, not for their numbers, but because no one ever saw them coming.

They were ghosts. Whispers on the wind.

And now, that mask had reappeared.

The Konoha Jonin Commander had warned them before deployment to the suna frontline:

"If you see these masks, be prepared. Suna's elite special forces wear them now. If they've sent them, it means they don't want survivors."

The Jonin barely had time to process that thought before the assassin reacted.

---

Sabaku felt the force of the kunai rippling through his bones. The Jonin's strike had been perfect—an immediate, instinct-driven counterattack in the exact moment Sabaku had attacked. The kind of counter that only came from pure battle experience, from a lifetime of honing reflexes until hesitation no longer existed.

But Sabaku had trained for this.

The brutal conditioning with Lion. The hours of endless drills, the grueling spars where a fraction of a second too slow meant real injury, real blood. The relentless, merciless lessons that had wired his body to predict and react.

There was no time to think.

His body moved before his mind could process the threat.

He twisted his kunai, deflecting the Jonin's blade just enough to push it off-course. A clean deflection—precise, controlled. In the same instant, he launched himself backward, propelling his body away.

For a single breath, his form shimmered—

Like a mirage flickering in the heat.

And then—

Nothing.

The Jonin whirled, every sense screaming, his chakra field expanding outward, stretching through the tunnel like an unseen net. He searched for anything— a breath, a shift, a flicker of presence.

But there was nothing.

Sabaku hadn't vanished into the darkness. He was still there. But his jutsu wasn't simple invisibility—it was something deeper. A manipulation of perception. A mirage. His body wavered at the edge of reality, bending, distorting, slipping just out of reach.

The Jonin's heart pounded in his chest.

'Fuck this invisibility jutsu is troublesome…'

His fingers clenched around his kunai.

'No chakra trail. No presence. Not even my field can pick him up.'

His gaze flickered to the now-empty space where the assassin had stood.

And his stomach turned cold.

That mask.

Suna's special forces.

The whispers had been true.

His breath came slow and measured, but tension coiled in his limbs.

This wasn't just an enemy.

This was a ghost from the desert.

---

Sabaku reappeared deeper in the tunnel, crouched low, senses heightened. His breath was steady, but his mind was already working through the encounter.

'The Jonin reacted instantly. He planed for the Kawarimi from the Chunin and attacked the exact moment I appeared.'

That wasn't luck. That was experience.

A fight against someone like that…

No. That wasn't the mission.

'The mission has no time limit...'

He didn't have to rush. He didn't have to fight the Jonin. His orders were to eliminate the Chunin—nothing more.

That was why Lion had drilled patience into him. How many times had he been beaten down for being too aggressive? How many times had Lion knocked him to the ground, blade at his throat, and said, "You don't engage unless you have the advantage. You don't fight to prove something. You fight to kill. And you kill on your terms."

Sabaku exhaled slowly.

He wasn't here to challenge a Jonin. He wasn't here to prove he could win a fight.

He was here to execute his mission.

And he would do it right.

Somewhere in these tunnels, two more targets were still breathing.

He would find them again and he would wait.

And when the moment came—

He would strike.

---

The heat from the Jonin's fire jutsu still lingered in the tunnel, the acrid scent of scorched flesh mixing with the dry, sandy air. The only sounds were their own breathing and the distant, shifting echoes of the underground passageways.

Narui's hands trembled. His stomach was still twisted in knots from what he had just witnessed. Taneka—gone. Just like that. One second, she had been standing there, breathing, alive. The next, a kunai had been driven through her jaw like she was nothing.

His knees buckled slightly.

The other Chunin... he didn't know his name. But he also propaply had barely even seen his killer before he was snuffed out, his body slumped against the wall, a clean hole punched straight through his skull. Narui's mind kept flashing back to it. The emptiness in his eyes. The lifeless way his body layed collapsed against the wall.

It could have been him.

In Tanekas case it should have been him.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

"I—I didn't even see him," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "We were just standing here, and then—"

"That's enough," the Jonin snapped, his sharp voice cutting through the suffocating silence.

Narui flinched.

The older shinobi turned toward him, his eyes cold and hard. His entire posture radiated control, but beneath it, Narui could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed slightly around his kunai.

"Now is not the time to break down," the Jonin continued. "I get it. You're scared. But fear will only get you killed faster. That assasine is still here. Watching us. Waiting for one of us to make a mistake."

Narui swallowed, forcing himself to straighten.

The Jonin's gaze flickered around the tunnel, scanning every possible shadow, every movement in the dim light.

"He's not gone," he muttered. "Not far, at least."

"You—" Narui hesitated. "You saw him, didn't you?"

The Jonin exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.

"For a moment," he admitted. "When our kunai met."

Narui's breath caught. "What did he look like?"

The Jonin hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "Black Suna Anbu gear. But the mask… that's what stood out."

He glanced at Narui. "A stone mask. Carved with a special design."

Narui blinked. "That means—"

"Yeah," the Jonin said grimly. "I knew it the second I saw him."

He turned fully toward Narui now, keeping his voice low but firm.

"That mask doesn't belong to normal Suna shinobi. It's old. Warring States era. It used to belong to a desert clan—an entire bloodline of assassins. Nobody knew their name... just how to contact them. They were ghosts in the sand, hunters that could kill without leaving a trace. Entire clans were wiped out, you just had to pay enough..."

Narui felt a cold chill creep up his spine.

"They don't exist anymore," the Jonin continued. "But that mask does."

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Our Jonin Commander warned us about them before deployment. Suna's special forces wear those masks now. And from what I just saw, they've earned that reputation."

Narui felt his hands clenching again. "Then… what do we do?"

The Jonin's eyes darkened slightly.

"I don't know yet."

Narui stared at him. "You don't—"

"Shut up and listen," the Jonin snapped.

Narui shut his mouth.

The Jonin's voice dropped lower, more controlled. "He's fast. But not faster than me. But I barely felt the chakra signature when he used Shunshin. And after that… nothing. Not even a flicker."

Narui inhaled sharply.

"That's why I think he's using a special jutsu," the Jonin continued. "Not just stealth. Perception manipulation. Something that lets him bend out of sight—not just to the eye, but to chakra as well."

Narui felt the back of his neck prickle. "That's… terrifying."

"Yeah." The Jonin exhaled slowly. "It is."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Narui shifted uneasily. "So… what does he want?"

The Jonin hesitated.

And there it was.

That tiny, nagging thought that had been clawing at the back of his mind since the moment their kunai met.

He himself wasn't the target.

The assassin had the perfect opportunity to fight him just now. He had closed the gap, the anbu had revealed himself for that split second—but he didn't press the attack.

Instead, he withdrew.

Why?

Because he wasn't the target.

The words echoed in the Jonin's mind, clear as day. That was the logic of an assassin.

And he had already killed two people.

Both of them Chunin.

The Jonin's stomach twisted.

'He's only after the Chunin.'

It made sense. A tactical decision. A battlefield execution. This guy wasn't wasting energy engaging him—because he didn't need to. His mission was something else.

'But why only kill the chunins?! Do they want me alive? That would make sense... I know a lot more secrets than the chunins...'

But one thing was clear. The chunin besides him wasn't supposed to leave this tunnel alive.

And the assassin was still here.

Still watching.

Waiting for another moment to strike.

The Jonin clenched his jaw.

"What is your name boy?"

With a weak voice the boy answered:" I'm Senju Narui. I got promoted through war promotion last week to Chunin."

'Fuck! That means he probably isn't really on the level of a chunin... most likely more of a Genin...'

He pondered.

He could… let it happen.

Let Narui die.

Not because he wanted to, but because it was the smart choice. A Jonin had a chance against an assassin like this. A Chunin didn't. The assasine was picking them off one by one, and Narui was just another body waiting to drop.

If he let him die, he could use the moment of attack to counter.

Set a trap. Turn the tables.

It would be the logical choice. The easiest choice.

But—

His grip tightened around his kunai.

'Not another one.'

Not again.

He had already lost too many.

He wasn't leaving a Konoha shinobi behind. Not while he was still breathing.

His eyes flickered to Narui, who was watching him with uncertainty, waiting for an answer.

"We stay together," the Jonin finally said, his voice like iron. "We don't separate, not for a second. And we don't lose focus. That's what he's waiting for. My name is Shimura Kaito, and i will get us out of here. I promise!"

Narui swallowed but nodded.

Kaito exhaled slowly.

'If he comes… I will be ready.'