#Shisui Uchiha and the LTOA

[antipodeanpineapplelump]

WIP Update

Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura

I can't believe how long it's been since I shared any updates or snippets from this story! So anyway, in celebration of only having one more chapter, plus a little bit of art, to complete before I can finally start posting it (no... do not mention editing to me, I'm trying really hard not to think about that yet), I figured I'd share a sneak peek.

It's getting hard to find story excerpts that don't give away any of the plot, but this one has a short interaction between Madara (aka the "Mad Mercenary" and villain of this story) and Shisui.

Anyhow, hopefully I'll have this all finished in the not too distant future!

“Shisui… that distraction please?” Izumi prompts.

Shit.

“Sorry…” Rolling over to the edge of the platform, Shisui racks his brains. How exactly does one distract an insane madman hellbent on murder, whilst also providing no opportunity for that person to carry out the aforementioned homicide? By chance, his gaze settles on his hat, lying on the ground beside him where it fell in his mad scramble to flee Madara’s bullets. The brown felt is speckled with marble chip and dust, and he stares at it for a moment, thinking. Well, what the hell… when in doubt, improvise, right?

Closing his fingers around the brim, he waves it over the edge of the platform, yelling as loud as he can, “Hey! Hey! Imitation Bond villain? Can you stop shooting for a second please? I want to talk to you!”

It does take a moment, but after a brisk authoritative shout from Madara, the gunfire ceases, though the memory of it still echoes around the square. Taking it as a sign his request has been accepted, Shisui props himself up on his forearms, peering cautiously over the low railing.

Arms folded, Madara watches impatiently, flanked by his cardboard cut-out mercenary squad.

“Hurry up. I don’t have all night,” he snaps, mouth curling with a sneer.

There’s something about the Zetsus standing beside him that doesn’t quite seem real—with their matching clothes, pasty complexions and green buzz-cut hair. Even the way they stand looks alike, each of them holding their rifles at precisely the same angle. Exactly the same mannerisms and pose. Like they’re carbon copies. Struck by how weird it is, and for lack of anything close to a plan, Shisui points at them, blurting out the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Do you all dress like a late 1990s boy band deliberately, or is it a coincidence? Because I’ve heard cargo pants are coming back into fashion, but you might want to ask for a refund on those shirts…”

Mouth ajar, Madara stares at him, nose crinkling in disbelief. With a snarl, he turns to the Zetsus. “Shoot him.”