Never Before Noticed...

“Surprised to see me? Pleasantly so, I hope,” Mirko teased when the flow of the fight allowed him enough breath to talk.

Several thoughts could have run through Zabuza's mind (chief among them being, how was Mirko still alive?) but he wouldn't allow the distraction. Shifting the weight of his sword to one hand, Zabuza sent his fist square into the other shinobi's stomach. Wincing, the scarred nin immediately retreated, breaking their weapons' connection.

“Eh, guess I deserved that one—I know how devastated you must have been upon hearing of my death.”

Zabuza's eyebrow quirked in irritation, didn't this guy ever shut up? He threw a dozen shiruken at his opponent--only to have Mirko perform a hand sign that sent the missiles right back, forcing Zabuza to dodge his own projectiles.

“It was a vicious rumor, one I myself started. I was merely offered a better deal by Haramishi than my former employer.” It was now clear what must have happened. They were men for hire after all, Haramishi Ka must have paid Mirko more money to protect him than the crime lord paid to have Haramishi killed.

With another hand sign from Mirko, Zabuza lost all trace of his chakra signature. Not only that, but his sense of smell and what nominal sight he'd had in the night were now gone. Caught in his opponent's gen-jutsu, all Zabuza was left with was that irritating, twisted voice (that seemed to have no direction).

I knew you'd be sent, once it became known along the grape vine that I didn't complete the mission. While you may not be as good as me, little Zabuza-chan, I still wanted to try for some advantage by surprise. Even with your pathetic attempt to hide among the trees, I could still sense you watching out there like a wolf. Hope you'll forgive me for my little trick before I kill you. Nothing personal, Zabuza-chan, just business.”
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He would not cry out. I will not cry out. I will not cry out, a matra that Haku stated over and over in his head. To cry out would distract Zabuza from his fight—a fight against a single guard that should have ended a half hour ago. Haku had eliminated all eight of the guards that had attacked him within minutes. I will not cry out. I will not cry out. To cry out would distract Zabuza from his fight—a fight against a man who was obviously no simple guard.

It was supposed to have been simple, a slaughter. Eleven men, all civilians, one already lying dead among the trees—it should have been simple. They hadn't expected for someone to be awake, or for someone to shout out a command (“Now!”) or for the nine remaining guards to attack all at once. Unable to see, taken by surprise, unfriendly combatants all around him, Haku had made a mistake. He'd blocked two attackers with deftly drawn kunai, but he'd left his back unguarded to a third. A sword slashed violently through the boys skin and muscle. Zabuza had trained his apprentice well, Haku didn't crumble from the pain. The fight had been over quickly, he'd made no more mistakes after that first one, and, even wounded, thugs were no match for a shinobi.

Now, his part of the fight over, Haku allowed himself the luxury of collapsing to the ground. I will not cry out. I will not cry out. Haku felt his long hair catch in the grass, and the dew seeping into his torn clothes, but mostly he felt the blood leaving him through the deep laceration with every pump of his heart. I will not cry out. I will not cry out. To do so would distract Zabuza-san from his fight, and--”Zabuza-san!”
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Zabuza heard Haku cry his name and was distracted. In that moment, Mirko swung his hammer with bone-shattering force into Zabuza's left arm, breaking the gen-jutsu. White flashed behind his eyes, and he grit his shark teeth with the pain. He now held the great sword in only his good right hand, slashing it in the direction he knew Mirko to be. In the dark of the moonless night, the two missing-nins had been forced to fight as if blind. Without both arms to guide his weapon, Zabuza's intended death-blow was slow enough for the scarred shinobi to dodge.

“That kid's done a real number on your head, eh, Zabuza-chan? Making you forget yourself in the middle of a battle.” Growling, Zabuza swung again...and missed again. “Your little playmate must be quite something. Ya know, I never did find out if it was a girl or boy behind that mask,” Mirko added meditatively as he continued to dodge Zabuza's weakened blows. “Not that it really matters to me. Once I've finished playing with you, I'm sure that kid will scream like a woman either way underneath me.”

Somewhere inside himself, Zabuza felt a cord snap. Discarding his weapon, the missing-nin's hands moved on their own. In the dark, Mirko couldn't see what seals his opponent made. Hearing the distinctive sounds of nin-jutsu clones puffing into existence, Mirko ran towards where he heard the first one. If he could land a good solid hit on it, then keep on running through the other ones, the water clones should puff right back out of existence. The scarred shinobi's eyes nearly bulged out of their skull with surprise, when both his hands were caught by the doplganger instead and another grabbed his feet. As the other three tore into his flesh and bone with their bare hands, he realized too late that these were full body clones—not simple water bushins. Mirko had made a fatal mistake.

Zabuza fell to his knees, chakra drained from the jounin level fight and from creating five solid bushins. Clutching his shattered arm to his side, Zabuza (still on his knees) slowly and deliberately made his way to where he'd heard his apprentice lay bleeding.

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A/N: Again, really short...and it appears that I lied about the yoai DX (believe me, no one is more sorry about that one than me!) Tune in next time!