An Imperial Influence

[Kakashi Hatake]

“Dust duplicates,” Kito confirmed with his comrades, the human triumvirate watching as the wound that the youth had inflicted on the doppelganger rapidly closed. “And it’s not going to be as easy as taking out a regular person.” The youth took his position against the far wall, the originals forming a triangle as the duplicates followed suit.

“Don’t be discouraged,” Minato replied, a confident smile painted across his face. “Just because they can recoup from our attacks doesn’t make them unkillable.” He glanced from one copy to the other, sizing each up. “Everything has a weakness. Find it, and exploit it.”

If there was one thing that Kakashi was good at, it was analysis. During the few seconds that the facsimiles had been recovering and his sensei had been giving his motivational speech, the ANBU captain had already been scanning the copies with his ocular jutsu. The clones were nearly identical to their templates, save for only perhaps a slightly lighter hue to their skin. Additionally, though they didn’t have anything as recognizable as a chakra network, there was definitely some kind of energy or force animating the beings. He didn’t have a doubt in his mind that Minato could sense the same thing. The question now became: what would they do with that knowledge?

The shinobi had little time to plan their attack before the phonies went on the offensive, surging forward with startling speed and lashing out with untamed strength and savage, unconventional strikes. The silver-haired jonin quickly found himself parrying a dusty proxy of his own White Light Sabre with a kunai, though its blows lacked the characteristic fang that was its namesake. Despite this, Kakashi found himself staggering backward into a wall as the sheer strength of the blow broke his parry. “This is going to be a challenge,” he muttered as he squared up for another clash.

The filthy figment bearing his visage gave him no time to regroup, the fingers of its right hand clawing around what Kakashi knew instantly to be the beginnings of his mentor’s signature technique. Though its face remained more stoic than Kakashi’s own countenance, he’d know the Rasengan anywhere. The ANBU captain’s lips twisted into a smirk as he darted sideways, channeling his own spiralling sphere in his palm. If he could out-pace his copy, he had little doubt that the he could end this before it truly began.

“You know, you three should really trade partners,” the scarecrow taunted. “Using our own attacks against us is flawed when we know exactly how they work.” Kakashi fell to a somersault as he finished his goading, deftly dodging a kunai from Kito’s reflection. He threw an arm out to catch himself against the wall of the narrow corridor as he neared it, landing in something of a squat as he faced the oncoming Hatake. Five paces his brain calculated instantly. I have a second or two before he makes his move…

The Captain’s eyes shot open behind his earthenware mask as his duplicate stopped its charge all at once, cocking back the off-blue orb clasped between its digits. The mirage was still a good a few meters from where he lay, ready to strike back. Why had it stopped, and what did it hope to accomplish? Panic bubbled in his gut as he quickly ran through the possibilities. Is he...going to throw it?

Before his mind could properly process what he was witnessing, Kakashi’s left shoulder lit up as his nerves registered agony. The shinobi’s lightweight breastplate had been breached, a beam of caustic energy pouring from the clone’s grasp and burning into his flesh, threatening to perforate his torso. It had been a split-second reflex that had moved him the few inches it took to evade a direct hit to where he knew his heart lay, currently thumping out a staccato rhythm within his ribcage. Adrenaline rushed into the man’s veins, spurring his movements as he sloppily rolled sideways and sprang into a desperate sprint. A handful of shuriken thunk-ed into his arm guard, courtesy of the Minato clone, before the masked man sensed his facsimile drop its destructive beam and begin to charge after him. Kakashi winced as he reached over his injured shoulder and drew the chokutō from his back with his left hand, his right mitt forming a hasty hand seal. He’d need to turn the tide and go on the offensive if he hoped to dispatch his reflection.

Once more he spun in place after a dozen paces, his sandals skidding upon the dusty floor as he stopped and turned to face the oncoming duplicate. Fortunately, it seemed like the dust-man was appreciably slower to offset the power behind his version of Kakashi’s jutsu, the fake now lagging a good 4 meters behind him. The real McCoy took a breath and ignored the pain as he slapped his hand upon the hallway floor, a plume of particulate becoming airborne as rivulets of white chakra zigzagged toward his foe. A beat later, the silver-haired shinobi caught his breath as the clone dropped into a pit that had sprung open under its feet. He hoped these few seconds of respite would grant him some kind of edge.

As he caught his breath, Kakashi hastily stole a look around the cramped battlefield, noting his comrades enduring their own struggles against their dusty twins. Kito looked to be having a particularly difficult time keeping up with his foe, though what blows had already landed did not seem to be grievous. Similarly, despite landing lightning-fast blows that might otherwise cripple the average foe, Minato had yet to put much of a dent in his target. Though their enemies seemed to be exact duplicates of their host, upon closer inspection there appeared to be notable differences in ability. Before he could posit much more about their opponents, Kakashi caught sight of his dusty duplicate climbing out of the pit.