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Chapter Text

The atmosphere was oppressive, weighed down by anticipation as Jennika marched through ranks of Foot Soldiers. Hundreds stood at attention, rigid and unmoving like statues. The kappa yokai's piercing gaze remained fixed on her destination. She ascended multiple flights of stairs, flanked by flickering torches casting eerie shadows. At the top, the current Foot Clan Lieutenant loomed, his imposing figure illuminated by dancing torchlight. Purple skin seemed almost iridescent, accentuating the bold Foot symbol emblazoned across his face.

Beside him stood his assistant, the formidable Foot Brute, towering over the lieutenant with an air of nonchalant menace, his features twisted into an unserious scowl.

Jennika trudged up the steps with deliberate strides, her expression unyielding and resolute. Reaching the summit of the imposing cement structure, she pivoted to confront the sea of expectant soldiers.

"Proceed, Foot Assassin," the lieutenant commanded, his gesture inviting her to address the assembly.

She stepped forward, inhaling sharply. "Foot Clan!" Jennika declared, her voice thundering across the silent ranks.

"Our master's return is upon us!" Her words ignited a surge of hopeful anticipation among the crowd, their collective energy palpable in the air.

"Five hundred years ago, our master was banished." Jennika reminded them, her voice resonating through the ranks. "The heart and soul of the Foot Clan ripped away from it. From us." She produced a weathered scroll from her back pocket, unfurling it. The parchment revealed an archaic, intimidating portrait of their leader. The illustration highlighted intricate armor pieces, forging the Kuroi Yoroi --- dark, mystic armor crafted by the malevolent Krang, an alien race renowned for their wickedness and their successful and unsuccessful attempts at conquering planets.

"The Kuroi Yoroi," Jennika announced, her gaze sweeping the assembly, "a symbol of our master's power, forged in darkness, awaits his return."

Jennika's voice rang out, recounting the Foot Clan's storied past. "When our master fell, his armor scattered globally. For five hundred years, the Hamato Clan thwarted our retrieval efforts," she stepped forward, confidence radiating. "Hamato Atsuko is long gone. Her son, Hamato Yoshi, lost to fame's shackles," the scroll returned to the Foot Lieutenant. "The Hamato Clan is gone. Nothing stands between us and Master Shredder's revival," Silence descended, anticipation building.

"Nothing can stop the revival of Master Shredder once we have all the pieces of the Kuroi Yoroi. New York City, and soon the whole planet, will kneel!" Jennika's fist shot upward, igniting thunderous cheers from the soldiers. Jennika's grin hinted at hidden advantages, secrets other members of the Clan were clueless to.

Baron Draxum, a master warrior alchemist who could locate the armor pieces before the rest of The Foot.

Her daughter, a lowly errand runner underestimated by the Foot, could easily slip under the radar. Her covert missions would pave the way.

Jennika envisioned Shredder's triumphant return. Recognition and rewards awaiting her for her loyalty and efforts, making her the Foot Clan's Jonin. Her ambition burned brighter.

The room's energy reverberated through her, fueling her ambition. In this moment, she transcended her surroundings, her presence commanding respect. The cheers resonated within, solidifying her unwavering resolve. She stood triumphant, her raised fist soaring above the sea of Foot Soldiers, surpassing every point in the room. Above the ground that supported everyone, above the Foot Soldiers, above the tower she stood on, and above the incompetent Foot Lieutenant.

Chapter Text

The girl's gaze nervously swept across the room, her piercing eyes scrutinizing every shadow. The yokai's thunderous cheers reverberated through the chamber, causing the stone floor to tremble beneath her feet. As the creatures' euphoric cries reached a fever pitch, April ducked to avoid their jubilant leaps. Her muscles coiled, ready to deflect any potential threat.

The air pulsed with vibrant, ethereal lights, casting an otherworldly glow across the room. Her hands instinctively sought the locks of hair attached to her scalp, soothing her frayed nerves with gentle strokes. Her hand extended, seeking comfort in her friend's presence, but Donnie shrugged her off, his annoyance palpable. His aversion to physical touch was well-known, and April suspected lingering resentment still simmered within him for something she said earlier.

"Donnie, wait!" April urged, her voice barely audible over the thumping drums. "Be careful!" Her heart raced, pounding in her ears like a blacksmith's hammer. Donnie disregarded her warning but allowed her to follow closely through the bustling crowd. "You insisted on tagging along," he retorted, dodging behind a scaled creature. April trailed, murmuring apologies.

"Think of the dangers, Donnie! Thieves, delinquents, drug addicts, alcoholics, people who want to hurt you! All the whispers I've heard!" But her words fell on deaf ears. "You mean those AI-crafted illusion videos?" Donnie tossed back, not bothering to glance over his shoulder. "Those are fabricated!"

"They still happen," April muttered under her breath, knowing Donnie would lecture her on probability statistics if he heard.

They entered a spacious area, farther from the band and closer to the bar, where liquor was concealed. The Hidden City's Kennel Klub, usually off-limits to kids, was hosting a teen night with tightened security and non-alcoholic drinks. April remained wary, her hair strands fluttering anxiously in her hands. “Woo, I was convinced we were gonna get swept away or stomped on…” She sighed, trying to catch her breath.

Donnie ordered flavorless orange juice, ignoring her comment. April shifted her focus to the yokai band, After the Bomb. The lead singer, a pig yokai with one ear, sported hot pink hair, black lipstick, and eyeshadow. Accompanying them were a hare on drums and a shark, pig, and armadillo on various guitars.

As her anxiety waned, April took in her surroundings. Donnie swayed to the pulsating rhythm on her left, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying his enjoyment. His subtle enthusiasm was contagious, easing her tension.

Glancing right, her gaze locked onto a striking figure, prompting a double take.

Beside April, a charming fox twirled on a bar stool, her two bushy orange tails swishing with each spin. Enchanted, April took in the fox's details. Teal eyes, resembling lizard scales, shone bright, fixed on the band. Dark eyeshadow accentuated their corners, creatively mimicking doe eyes.

Her fluffy cheeks, pointed face and slim snout framed a delicate black nose, adorned with a silver nose ring. Vibrant accessories, belts and necklaces danced across her body. Black and teal hues harmonized in her outfit.

Unexpectedly sweet, the fox defied April's preconceived notions of Kennel Klub patrons, especially with her oversized ears.

April's words escaped unexpectedly. "You don't seem like a regular here," she said, her voice tinged with curiosity, an awkward smile on her face. She was nervous and sweaty, but she hoped the yokai wouldn't notice.

The fox paused, oblivious to April's comment. Then, her teal eyes widened, and she swiveled in her chair, her large ears perked up. "Me?" She glanced around, momentarily bewildered.

April nodded, and the fox refocused. "Oh, I'm always here," she said matter-of-factly, turning back to face the band.

"Really?" April asked, intrigued.

The fox's finger, adorned with colorful rings, pointed to the stage. "My mom's the lead singer."

Her brow furrowed in surprise. "Oh, seriously? You two don't resemble each other."

"I'm adopted," the fox said nonchalantly, showing no offense.

April swiftly changed the subject, nervous about possibly offending her. "Do you enjoy coming here?"

The fox nodded enthusiastically, smiling at April. "Yeah! Since minors aren't usually allowed, my mom lets me and my friend watch from backstage."

April's smile widened. "That's cool! Your mom sounds wonderful." She pushed aside thoughts of her own step mother, whose crude behavior would never permit such kindness.

"She is," the fox nodded in agreement before turning her head, returning the interrogation. "Who are you here with?" She eyed the turtle beside her, wondering if they came together.

"My friend, Donnie," April gestured to the turtle that gently hopped in his place, hoping he'd join in on the conversation and ease her nerves. Talking to cool people was hard. Especially as an anxious teenager. He was barely even alerted by being introduced. "He likes these kinds of metal bands. I came just to make sure nothing happened to him," She rephrased the sentence in her head.

April was still wary of the kinds of people that would be at a crowded, primarily yokai infested area, but at least Shoku was different.

Shoku flashed a wide smile, gazing at Donnie, who remained oblivious to their conversation.

"Can he hear us, or is he deaf?" Shoku asked bluntly, her curiosity genuine.

April stifled a laugh. "No, he's not deaf. I'm sure he's just choosing to ignore us."

Donnie elbowed April, his eyes fixed on the band. "Let me enjoy the performance. I don’t get to go out in public a lot."

Shoku's brow furrowed. "What does he mean?"

April clarified, "He only recently discovered the Hidden City. Until now, he’s been hiding from others."

Shoku nodded, though confusion lingered in her eyes, unsure how they'd remained unaware of the yokai sanctuary and isolated for so long.

"Does he live on his own?" Shoku asked gently.

"No, he lives with his brothers," April replied. "And a goldfish."

Shoku's expression hinted at lingering concern.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"I'm April O’Neil, but call me April," She stuttered awkwardly, nervous about introductions.

"You?"

"I'm Shoku. You can call me Shoku," she said playfully, eliciting a giggle from April.

"Pretty name," April said, her face flushing. God, she hoped she seemed cool right about now.

"I like yours too," Shoku replied.

April opened her mouth to respond, but the abrupt halt of the music interrupted her.

The band members caught their breath, adjusting instruments.

Sheena, the lead singer, approached the microphone, her breathing heavy.

"Hello, Kennel Klub!" she declared, sparking screams and cheers.

Sheena thanked guests and bandmates throughout her speech, scanning the crowd.

Her gaze locked onto Shoku, and a warm smile spread across her face.

"This concert is special," Sheena announced, pausing for dramatic effect.

"July 19th, 2018, my daughter turns sixteen!" The crowd erupted into cheers. April grinned at Shoku, nudging her playfully.

Sheena pointed, "Wish her a happy birthday!"

The audience roared with birthday wishes, making Shoku's cheeks flush deep red.

She smiled sheepishly, thanking the crowd. April chuckled, amused by Shoku's embarrassment. "Happy birthday, Shoku!" April joined in.

Even Donnie grumbled a happy birthday. Shoku's face remained hidden behind her fur, her embarrassment palpable.

Shoku, still flustered, turned to April and Donnie. "I usually help pack up the band's gear now," she said, unsure how to exit.

April glanced at Donnie, who seemed tolerably content. "We can help if you'd like," she offered hopefully.

Shoku agreed, and a wave of excitement washed over her as she followed the fox. Donnie trailed behind, noticing April’s unusual enthusiasm but not understanding its source.

Shoku scurried to help move all equipment backstage with the help of April and Donnie typing on his phone. She was surprised how nice everyone was backstage as she helped. The other members of the band, Amy, Wenceslaus, Siobhan, and Athena all wished happy birthday to Shoku as she unplugged all the speakers.

Shoku enthusiastically pulled Sheena over. "Mama, meet my new friends! This is April, and..." She hesitated.

"Daniel?" she guessed.

Donnie gasped, offended, while April erupted into laughter.

"I am the Donatello!" he declared dramatically. "Don't mix my title with a basic white boy name!"

"Okay, sorry. I only remembered the D, which apparently stands for Drama Queen. Get it, girl," Shoku teased while bringing out her phone. "Now, gimme your numbers," they didn't seem to have an option as she approached Donnie, who was much more reluctant than April.

April excitedly pulled her phone out of her purse while Sheena grinned with amusement. She didn't usually get to add new contacts to her phone. "It's nice to meet you two. I'm glad Shoku is finally making some new friends," she commented. It was hard to catch, but Shoku's ears flicked at the mention. April didn't pry as Donnie typed in his contact information to her device. Her step-mom was similar in that way. Always pushing her about making new friends. "Are you both fans of metal?" The pig looked at April since Shoku was busy teasing Donnie.

"No, I'm not a fan," April clarified. "I came to keep an eye on my friend."

Sheena nodded approvingly. "Smart. Always good to have a buddy, especially at events, no matter how small."

Her tone conveyed a seasoned seriousness.

April smiled warmly. "Glad he had fun tonight."

She glanced over at Donnie, struggling to reclaim his phone from Shoku's playful grasp as she held it out of his reach.

Chuckling, April returned her attention to Sheena. "Shoku seems… sweet, too."

Sheena observed the same situation, grinning thoughtfully. "Definitely. She's amazingly caring, but it's hard to get her out and socializing," the concerned mother voiced with slight disappointment. "I get that." April's voice softened, sympathizing with Shoku. "Donnie's the same. When he does leave home, he doesn't socialize."

Sheena nodded in understanding, relating to the young girl's statement. "My wife is the same," she mentioned.

April caught her mind wandering to her own issues as well as her worries for her friend. Not wanting to dwell on the idea, she switched the topic. "Shoku, can I get your number, too?" She called hopefully, catching the foxes attention.

With annoyingly quick movements, she threw Donnie's phone back at him in a way he could barely catch. She scurried up to her, allowing April to peek at the number. She was surprisingly excited about getting to speak with the curious fox.

A sudden peek at her phone and a sigh from Sheena made her assume their departure would be soon. She looked back to her daughter, gesturing towards the exit. Shoku's face dulled a little, the previous life dimming. Something made her not want to leave.

She gave a wave to her new friends as Sheena said polite thanks for the two attending her concert, saying she hoped they enjoyed it before grouping up with her daughter.

"Happy Birthday, Shoku!" April called out. Shoku flashed a grateful smile before disappearing around the garage exit.

April and Donnie headed in the opposite direction, their silence thick. She struggled to read her friend's mood - frustration or fatigue?

Her chest tightened with worry. She knew she should ask but needed to gather herself first. She knew she tended to overthink. Breathing before confrontation is always good.

She took in the unusual sights along the road. Spells were being cast, beasts soared above, landing on hovering rocks in the sky. Large and small mystic creatures roamed about, sticking to their own tasks. Small lanterns, fire hazards, and glowing fireflies illuminated the sidewalk, although it was still quite dim. She had memorized the way down this path during the trip on the way to the Kennel Klub. Looking down, she noted the slight decay around the edges of the stone and small shrubs sprouting through the cracks.

"I'm sorry that I misjudged your interests," April sputtered under her breath. Donnie took in a slow breath, showing that she might have overanalyzed.

"It's fine, April. I'm not that offended," he explained, easing her excessive worry, knowing it was a big issue for her. "You've been quiet," she tried to help him understand why her thoughts spiraled in the direction they did. Donnie shook his head, trying to be as reassuring as he could. Which didn't make a big difference.

"It's not because I'm upset. I had fun, really. I'm just a bit distracted," he tried to clarify. "What's on your mind?" April wondered aloud, curious to what his brother was so distracted by. "I dunno. Shoku seems nice," He began. "Kinda annoying, too," Donnie added, making April laugh lightly. "That's fair. I'm excited to talk to her more," Her pitch cheerfully slid up, her mind wandering to her phone that now had Shoku's contact information.

Later that night, April put the information to use. She texted an abundance of questions such as what her favorite color was, turquoise, what she did for fun, dance, her favorite game, Sonic Frontiers, what kinds of music she liked, metal, indie rock, pop. April loved talking to Shoku. She was amiable, comical, and enjoyable. April could make a list about her positive traits, and even that wouldn't begin to match how lovely the fox really was. It wasn't often that she got to make new friends.

She slept well that night. Her mind happy and at ease.

Chapter Text

Mikey bubbled with excitement as he explored the Hidden City, its vibrant yokai, and mystical energies sparking his curiosity. He reveled in discovering hidden alleyways, colorful market stalls, and ancient secrets.

Understanding April's apprehension didn't dampen his enthusiasm. He recognized why the unfamiliar surroundings and enigmatic creatures would make her wary, especially being a human.

He didn't mind her tagging along, though; her constant vigilance ensured his medical needs were always met. Her backpack was always stocked with hypo treatments, a lifesaver when his blood sugar plummeted.

Though grateful, Mikey sometimes felt burdened by being the only Hamato with a disease. His brother's worry was suffocating, their concern for his well-being ever-present. Their protective nature, while comforting, made him yearn for moments of independence.

Despite this, Mikey cherished their bond, trusting them implicitly. Their unwavering support gave him strength to navigate the Hidden City's uncharted world, its magical energies swirling around them.

Mikey grasped April’s hand tightly, a gesture of reassurance amidst the bustling streets. Considering her discomfort with crowds, he stayed close. His own excitement, however, threatened to divert his attention. Every intriguing yokai that caught his eye beckoned him to explore.

Together, they turned into a cozy game and movie shop. Its familiar layout and signage evoked memories of New York stores. Mikey's curiosity piqued. He scanned shelves stacked with recognizable titles and beloved characters.

Surprise mingled with fascination as he discovered the overlap between human and yokai entertainment. Only a few genres, tucked away in corners, seemed unique to this mystical realm.

Mikey's eyes widened, absorbing the colorful artwork and enticing descriptions.

Mikey's eyes sparkled like diamonds as he sprinted toward the Crognard shelf, bursting with uncontainable excitement.

"Oh dude!" He gleamed, scanning the vibrant array of figures, masks, and comic books that seemed to leap off the shelf.

April followed, hoping they wouldn’t stay long.

"You should probably just pick one. I'd go with the Spooch figure," she suggested, nudging him playfully, her voice laced with teasing affection.

Mikey's jaw dropped, incredulous, his face reflecting horrified shock.

"Spooch over Crognard? Who raised you?"

April just shrugged, prompting Mikey's theatrical collapse onto the floor. "No one understands my love for this series," Mikey declared, his voice escalating to a squeak.

His echo, "No one," hung in the air as he tenderly caressed the packaging with his fingertips. The soft scraping of plastic against his skin underscored his reverence.

April's stifled giggles fueled Mikey's indignation. He shot her an offended glare, his expressive eyes flashing with mock hurt, amplifying the comedic effect. His dramatic display only deepened April's amusement.

Her warm, reassuring smile gently calmed Mikey's fervent enthusiasm, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Fine, fine. I'll help you buy two things. You're literally shaking," she teased, tenderly lifting her pouty brother from the floor. Mikey's face radiated relief, his vibrant grin reinstated. With renewed excitement, he swiftly selected the Crognard figure and the Spooch figure.

Clutching his treasures tightly, they approached the checkout counter. Anticipation pulsed through his veins; Mikey bounced on the balls of his feet, and the cashier's efficient beeps and rustling bags only heightened his excitement.

The doorbell above the entrance rang out, signaling a new arrival, but Mikey's euphoria over his haul rendered him oblivious. April's attention, however, snapped toward the door.

"Shoku?" Her voice rose, infused with a mix of surprise, fear, and delight.

A short, agile mutant fox sauntered in, accompanied by a towering female with a sleek buzzcut. Her ears sparkled with an array of piercings, mirrored by a few adornments on her nose, knowing her greatest foe was probably a magnet. Mikey noted the intriguing contrast between her serene demeanor and the vibrant, edgy aesthetic. “You know them?” Mikey asked her, getting a nod in response.

He sensed a dynamic personality hidden beneath her composed facade – explosive, energetic, and waiting to be unleashed.

Shoku's face illuminated with a warm smile, mirroring April's enthusiasm. "Woah! Cassandra, that's the human I was telling you about!" She glanced back at her friend before bounding energetically toward April and Mikey. Cassandra trailed behind, her loud, husky voice carrying, "What are the odds?" she confirmed.

Shoku's gaze shifted to April, her eyes scanning the snapping turtle's elegant attire. "What are you doing here?" she asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice. "Love your outfit," the fox added, her compliment genuine. April's breath hitched, not used to receiving compliments.

"Oh, um- thank you!" she stuttered, her voice filled with gratitude. Mikey sensed a surge of confidence in April, bolstered by Shoku's kind words.

“Heyy, Shoku, right?” Mikey stepped away from the counter for a moment. “I'm Mikey, April's friend,” he introduced with a somewhat dramatic tone.

She turned to Shoku, interest sparkling in her eyes. "How about you?"

Shoku extended her hand, offering Mikey a friendly handshake, who gratefully accepted.

"Cass picked me up from dance class," Shoku began, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "We're on our way to lunch, but she promised me a Sonic plush if I won our bet." With a playful nudge, she initiated a lighthearted exchange. Cassandra swiftly retaliated with a gentle headlock, enveloping Shoku and teasingly ruffling her soft fur. Shoku squeaked, wriggling to escape until Cassandra chuckled, releasing her from the affectionate grasp. "Should've known your mom would make you run errands, even on your birthday," Cassandra added with a grin, her voice tinged with self-deprecation.

Mikey's attention remained fixed on his purchase, oblivious to the conversation unfolding around him. He nudged April, urging her to complete the transaction. She effortlessly multitasked, continuing her chat while unfolding her wallet and handing cash to the cashier. "You had to run errands on your birthday?" She asked, her expression filled with surprise. Meanwhile, Mikey eagerly packed his new treasures into a bag, impatiently waiting for April to finish, practically shaking with glee.

"Yeah, my mom's been busy with a really big project, and I gotta help her out with it," Shoku said, her voice laced with a mix of playful frustration and genuine exhaustion, her bright smile faltering ever so slightly. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but beneath the surface, weariness lingered. Before April could respond, a gentle tug on her jacked interrupted the conversation.

"Oh, man. We gotta go get lunch soon. I'm gonna crash," he warned her, and April understood the message he was conveying. His blood sugar was beginning to drop. Mikey was always grateful for her understanding.

Mikey's family had long been aware of his hypoglycemia, a condition characterized by excessively low blood sugar levels due to excessive insulin production, similar to type 1 and 2 diabetes. When his levels dropped, he exhibited flu-like symptoms: overheating, dizziness, irritability, and nausea. Despite his naturally cheerful demeanor, these episodes often left him feeling guilty for snapping at loved ones or things he cherished, a frustrating contradiction to his usual vibrant self.

As Shoku swiftly purchased a Sonic stuffed animal with Cassandra's money, Mikey's annoyance grew, but he suppressed it, knowing April's friend had a good reputation. Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile. April discreetly handed him a small pack of Skittles to stabilize his blood sugar. Feeling calmer, Mikey rejoined the conversation as they headed to the restaurant. With the reassuring presence of the Skittles, he looked forward to regaining his composure soon.

"So, what have you and your brothers been up to lately?" Shoku asked, curiosity sparkling in her voice. Mikey shrugged it off, "Oh, a little bit of this, and a little bit of that," waving his free hand nonchalantly. April playfully rolled her eyes, taking over the explanation. "There's this creepy sheep villain going around, mutating people," she started. Shoku's eyebrows shot up. "Mutating? Like in those sci-fi comics?" Cassandra chimed in, her face lit up with fascination rather than concern. "Sounds dope," she said, her grin widening.

"Yeah, but like, twenty percent less cool than you'd think," Mikey said, popping more Skittles into his mouth. "We saw a guy get mutated into walking sushi," he continued, his words slightly muffled from his food. Cassandra burst out laughing. "I doubt he'll ever turn into a superhero," she chuckled. "No limited edition comic books for him."

"I dunno. He could sacrifice his own body to feed the sushi-craving citizens of New York. I'd say that's a story worth turning into a comic," April suggested, prompting Cassandra to snort again, amusement dancing across her face. "He'd be called Lord Sushi. It's like Lord Farquaad, but with sushi," Mikey chuckled, Cassandra and April laughing in harmony. April playfully nudged him, "Leo would definitely be Lord Sushi's fanclub president." She commented. "Oh, definitely," Mikey agreed, grinning.

Cassandra's curiosity got the better of her. "Who's Leo?" she asked, slipping her hands into her pockets as they strolled along.

Mikey stated matter-of-factly, "My big brother. He loves sushi more than his right pinky toe." Cassandra and April exchanged amused, perplexed glances. April giggled, "Mike, we gotta get the word 'toe' out of your vocabulary!" Mikey clutched his chest, mock-offended. "I hope you know, I would never speak again!"

As Mikey and April continued their playful banter, Cassandra's attention drifted to her close friend Shoku, who had grown unusually quiet. Shoku's eyes seemed lost in thought, tracing the patterns on the concrete beneath their feet as she trailed behind the group.

Cassandra's expression softened with concern as she reached out to gently nudge Shoku's arm. "Shoku?" she inquired, her voice laced with a gentle warmth.

Shoku suddenly snapped back to attention, her eyes widening momentarily as she took in her surroundings. "Huh?" she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of bewilderment.

Cassandra's features etched with empathy. "You got super quiet," she observed, her tone carefully probing. "Is Jennika making you run errands again?" she asked, seeking to understand the reason behind Shoku's sudden withdrawal.

"In a way, yeah," Shoku replied, her voice fading as she glanced away momentarily before refocusing. "I'll talk to you about it soon," she promised, a hint of mystery lingering. "It's not that big of a deal," she added, though Cassandra sensed an unspoken "yet" lingering in the air.

Cassandra nodded understandingly, humming softly as she trusted Shoku's judgment, knowing her friend would share when ready.

The fox, known for her affectionate nature, craved physical connection. Cassandra instinctively offered her hand, and Shoku took it without hesitation, their fingers intertwining warmly.

In an instant, Shoku's demeanor transformed. Her vibrant personality resurfaced as she swung their linked arms energetically, letting out contagious, bubbly giggles. Cassandra smiled, feeling her friend's joy radiate through their connected hands. The simple gesture had lifted Shoku's spirits, reminding Cassandra of the profound impact physical touch could have on their emotional well-being.

The four ate at a pizza restaurant together, getting to know one another better before Shoku had to leave to assist her mom with her work, and the two friends had to get back home before anyone worried.

Chapter Text

Shoku's gaze fell upon her paws, her eyes intently tracing the contours as she carefully steered the cart. The mysterious items beneath the tarp seemed to weigh heavier with each step, amplifying her growing unease. Despite her valiant efforts, her fur involuntarily bristled, standing on end like delicate sentinels, betraying the turmoil brewing within.

She inhaled deeply, the air filling her lungs, and exhaled slowly, seeking to quell the rising anxiety. Yet, her puffiness persisted, an unmistakable testament to her inner turmoil. Shoku deliberately avoided glancing back at her tails.

Those fluffy, expressive appendages had always been unreliable companions, stubbornly refusing to be calmed by her conscious attempts. Like delicate barometers, they accurately gauged her emotional state, broadcasting her feelings for all to see. Today was no exception; their restless twitching would undoubtedly confirm her worry.

Shoku navigated the deserted shoe store, surrounded by vibrant boxes stacked neatly along the walls. The soft glow of dimmed lights cast a warm ambiance, and the "closed" sign hung prominently on the entrance, ensuring her solitude. She slipped into the back room.

Before her stood an imposing, golden vault adorned with intricate dragons and piercing eyes embedded into its design. The fox's agile fingers danced across the keypad as she carefully entered the code Jennika had entrusted her with. A series of deliberate clicks echoed through the room.

A soft beeping sound emanated from the vault, signaling the initiation of its security release. The wheel began spinning autonomously, its rhythmic turns building anticipation. With a subtle hiss, the vault's entrance swung open.

As the vault's doors swung open, a vast, dark expanse unfolded before Shoku, shrouded in an air of secrecy. With a deep breath, she stepped forward, guiding the cart into the room. Its contents remained unexamined since she neglected to question it.

The room's dim lighting cast long shadows across rows of soldiers. Their faces were marked with eerie foot imprints either on their masks or skin. Shoku's gaze deliberately avoided the soldiers' frozen stares, their silent vigilance unnerving. Her footsteps echoed softly, the only sound breaking the oppressive silence.

Foot Lieutenant, towering with his lanky frame, addressed the assembled soldiers, his voice dripping with self-assurance. "And the Foot Shack's new resources will prove to be effective in our mission," he declared, his smug grin accentuated by air quotations.

Shoku approached, guiding the mysterious cart toward the Lieutenant. Its wheels scraped against the ground before coming to an abrupt halt, blocked by his outstretched foot.

Without an introduction, the Lieutenant raised his lean, purple arm, grasping the tarp. A swift, forceful tug unveiled the concealed items.

The tarp's removal revealed an orderly arrangement of boxes and stacks on the cart, leaving Shoku momentarily stunned. She blinked repeatedly, confirming her eyes weren't deceiving her. Shoe boxes? Her confusion deepened.

The Foot Lieutenant began distributing pump sandals among the followers, further perplexing Shoku. She expected something ominous, not footwear.

Seizing the opportunity, Shoku slipped to the side, avoiding attention. The Lieutenant's words became background noise as she tuned out his speech. She shifted her weight between the balls of her feet, her gaze wandering around the room.

She didn't focus on his speech, but she did catch him taking out a scroll and explaining their plan to bring back the Shredder. She had barely any idea who that was, and couldn't bring herself to focus on it as she rocked back and forth. All she understood was that her mother had the same goal as the Foot Lieutenant, but wanted to do it herself. Something about power.

Across the room, Shoku's mother stood vigilant, her piercing gaze sweeping the assembly. She surveyed exits, monitored the Foot Lieutenant and Foot Brute stationed on opposite sides, and kept a watchful eye on Shoku. Her gaze lingered, awaiting the perfect moment.

Jennika's subtle nod was almost imperceptible, but Shoku caught it. Her heart quickened, sensing the weight of responsibility.

The fox began moving, gliding into the shadows, crawling through them and slipping through the back door unnoticed. Her tails disappeared around the corner as she darted down the short cut Jennika had previously mapped out with her.

On that crisp autumn night, Shoku's heart longed for the cozy sanctuary of her Sonic-themed bedroom. She yearned to envelop herself in the plush blankets. Her bed, adorned with beloved character stuffed animals, beckoned her return. The vibrant posters and figures lining her walls promised a warm welcome.

But for now, Shoku was captive to Jennika's incessant guidance. Her mother's words flowed like a relentless stream, detailing escape routes, evasive maneuvers, and the mystical device provided by Draxum, the enigmatic alchemist warrior.

Shoku's mind reeled under the weight of Jennika's prolonged instructions. Her focus wavered, irritation creeping in as her mother's words blurred together. The usually steadfast Shoku felt her resolve weakening.

"How much longer?" Shoku whined, fidgeting restlessly, her patience wearing thin.

Jennika's icy glare silenced her instantly. "The future of the Foot Clan, our family and the planet hinges on retrieving this piece," Jennika snarled, her voice venomous. "Your future, too, though I doubt you grasp the significance." Shoku's lips sealed shut, cowed by Jennika's biting words.

"Sheena's well-being depends on this," Jennika pressed, exploiting Shoku's deepest fears and amplifying her guilt. Love and loyalty overwhelmed Shoku's doubts. She couldn't bear disappointing Jennika. Whatever Jennika's intentions, they must be crucial, especially if Sheena was at stake.

Guilt swirled in Shoku's stomach, propelling her paws forward with renewed urgency. Jennika's assurance echoed in her mind: maintaining a swift pace would ensure a clean escape, buying time before the Foot Lieutenant's entourage caught up.

Jennika had told her that the Lieutenant's prolonged oration would delay their departure, as well as loading soldiers into vans and navigating New York's congested streets would further slow their pursuit.

As she moved swiftly, Shoku retrieved the metallic device from her pocket, verifying its presence. The alchemist's creation, a magical lens, gleamed with a soft purple hue, powered by a chipped crystal.

She looked it over, purely to make sure she still had it and to re-familiarize herself with the object. It scanned non-mystic and mystic objects as if it were a magic lens. She stuffed it back away when she got to a shadier area.

Shoku's paws pounded the grimy alleyway's concrete, echoing off crumbling brick walls. The air reeked of decay and neglect. Shadows hid unsavory figures, their wary gazes tracking her passage.

Animals scurried in terror as the giant fox burst through their domain. Rats and cats shrieked, fleeing from her imposing silhouette. Her majestic, bushy tails and swift movements amplified her intimidating appearance.

Shoku's heart ached; she cherished cats, finding their fear of her painful. Rats, however, were a different story – occasionally a midnight snack for her.

Shoku pushed open the shuttered window and squeezed through the narrow opening, landing somewhat awkwardly in the grand central hall of the dormant train station.

She gazed around the room, taking in the intricacies. Blue tiles lined the floor, while soft blue walls rose, adorned with golden trim. A majestic, rusted golden grandfather clock stood tall, its gentle ticks echoing through the stillness.

Shoku rummaged through her bushy tails, retrieving the mystic device. With trembling hands, she prepared it, propping it up and peering through the purple lens. Methodically, she scanned the room, rotating her body to ensure thoroughness.

As the grandfather clock ticked toward noon, one of its hands illuminated. She didn't ponder the object's nature or its unusual hiding place. Her sole focus was retrieval, driven by the promise of returning home to her bedroom.

With renewed determination, Shoku approached the grandfather clock with a curious look.

Shoku tucked the device into her tails and approached the majestic golden clock, her cold paws clicking against the tile floor. As she drew closer to the clock, curiosity got the better of her. Why was this bustling New York train station eerily empty? Shoku suspected Jennika's influence, but logic failed her – how could a kappa in a cult exert such control?

Either way, she was alone. She didn't have to worry about someone catching her stealing the mystic metal unless the rest of the Foot arrived. With that thought in mind, she began scaling the clock. Her paws scrambled to hold onto the sleek, gold material that made up the tower. With a flutter of her tails, she was able to propel herself up higher. With strain on her muscles, her eyes landed on the clock hand, and the tips of her pink painted claws swatted at the mystic clock hand. It creaked with every scratch and nudge until it finally broke loose, glimmering as it decended and smacked onto her face. She yelped, stumbling backward, tumbling off the tower.

The fall's impact still lingered, Shoku's back throbbing with each breath. She groaned, whining softly as she recovered on the cold tile floor. Just as the soreness began to fade, the screech of tires outside pierced the air.

The Foot had arrived.

Gritting her teeth, Shoku grabbed the mystic piece and pushed through the pain, scrambling to her feet. With haste, she sought the staircase descending into the train station's depths.

As the doors swung open and Foot Soldiers poured in, Shoku sprinted down the stairs, her paws pounding against the steps. The Foot Lieutenant's orders echoed through the hall, and she quickened her pace.

Just shy of the landing, the ground trembled beneath her. The building shuddered violently, sending Shoku tumbling forward. She landed hard on the cold floor, her face scraping against the concrete.

Adrenaline surged through her veins as fear and confusion overwhelmed her senses. Dazed, Shoku struggled to regain her footing, her heart racing with confusion and fear.

Shoku groaned, frustration etched on her face, as she struggled to her feet once more. Glancing back, she saw debris-cluttered chaos and disoriented Foot Soldiers. Something had impacted the building, sending alarm coursing through her veins.

As she dusted herself off, a familiar voice echoed through the turmoil – Donnie! Shoku's confusion deepened. What was he doing here?

Shrugging off the question, Shoku prioritized her mission. The mystic metal's significance remained unclear, but she knew her mother's displeasure would be fierce if she failed to bring it home.

Shoku gazed ahead, puzzled by the functioning train station's eerie emptiness. She discarded her questions, seeking refuge aboard the waiting train. With a pained effort, she slid through the open doors and collapsed onto a seat.

Her battered body protested, muscles tense and sore. The train jolted forward, and Shoku grasped the mystic metal fragment tightly, her paws trembling.

As the train gained speed, her mind reeled with anxious thoughts, stirring a queasy unease in her stomach. Shoku's grip on the mystic object remained firm.

“So, what do you have there?” Donnie's sudden, monotone inquiry startled Shoku, her head jerking upward. But relief washed over her as she met his familiar gaze.

"Oh, it's just you," she exhaled, slumping against the seat back. Her eyelids fluttered shut, exhaustion claiming her.

"You scared the heck out of me, Donnie..." Her voice trailed off, weariness seeping into each word.

"I'm so tired. This is stressful," Shoku confessed, her breathing slowing as she surrendered to fatigue.

"Shoku," Donnie repeated, his tone unchanged, yet laced with an undercurrent of tension. "What do you have in your hand?"

Shoku waved her hand dismissively, the mystic metal glinting. "Ugh, nothing. Something my mom needs."

Donnie's silence was palpable. His expression transformed, confusion and dismay flickering across his face before he pulled his goggles down before they flicked up once more, his eyebrows shooting upward, following his goggles.

"You have the mystic metal Draxum's been searching for," Donnie exclaimed, his voice laced with alarm. "Are you working for him?”

Shoku's eyes narrowed, puzzlement etched on her face. "The name sounds familiar... Mom mentioned him," she trailed off, realization dawning.

Donnie's sharp tone cut through her reverie. "Shoku, are you working for the Foot Clan?"

Her eyes widened, darting around the empty train car before settling on Donnie's tense form. "What? Why are you so angry?" she stammered.

Donnie's voice turned icy, each word laced with venom. "Why am I angry? You're working for a cult, Shoku. They tried to kill my siblings and me.”

Shoku's protest was swift, though laced with uncertainty. "What? No. My mom, my friends... they wouldn't do that. They..." Her voice faltered, as fragmented knowledge and doubts resurfaced. Shredder, the mystic armor, whispers of resurrection... she was unsure of what it all added up to.

Donnie's expression softened, frustration yielding to concern. "Can't you see? Whoever you think they are, they're not it," he urged. Shoku's gaze drifted, his words echoing unheard.

Donnie's three-fingered hand extended, unfurling with his palm up. "Just give me the mystic metal," he sighed. "Please."

Shoku stood, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't understand... I can't. My mom would be so, so upset. I'd be in so much trouble..." Her paw trembled, weighed down by the mystic metal's significance.

"You're scared," he noted. "But you'll be more scared if you see what they'll do with that mystic metal." His tone attempted to echo Raph's calming demeanor, just like how she had always spoken when he was anxious.

Shoku's gaze dropped, her voice laced with vulnerability. "Jennika promised... If she gets the mystic metal before the Foot, it would help Sheena." Her nerves resurfaced, trembling beneath the surface.

"I-I don't know what's wrong. I just know people want to hurt Jennika, and they'll hurt Sheena to do it. I don't want my mom to get hurt," she pleaded. Her breathing quickened, words tumbling out in a desperate bid for understanding.

A while of silence passed. Donnie wasn't entirely sure how to process her emotions while processing his and considering his families. "April isn't going to be happy to hear this, you know. I'm taking it a lot better than she would," he mentioned, making her tremble more. "Please don't tell her. I'll fix this somehow. I just can't lose this piece..." She tried to explain, to reassure him that he and his sister could still be friends with her. "Please, Donnie. I'll fix this," she took a breath, trying to reassure him and herself at this point.

Donnie exhaled heavily, his muscles tensing as the train rattled. He slid into the seat beside Shoku, guiding her with a gentle nudge.

"There's one more piece of armor left," he said, determination etched on his face. "My siblings and I will keep it from the Foot." His gaze fell to his legs, a silent hope that he could keep his promise.

Shoku slowly sat, her muscles twitching and shaking as she rested her head on the train window, feeling the cold glass quake against her fur. She wanted so desperately to give him the armor piece, to follow him and his sister home and hide. But, she knew she was too afraid to do that. Too weak, even. Either Jennika would find her somehow, or she'd cave and willingly run back to her family. She was far too fragile to do any of what she was considering, and she knew that.

Shoku's grip on the mystic metal tightened, her pink-painted claws digging deeper. The golden surface scraped against her tips, sending a jarring fear through her. The sensation was visceral, a physical punch to her gut rather than a mere emotional flutter.

As the train rumbled on, Shoku's breath caught. The metal seemed to sear her fingertips, its chilling essence coursing through her veins like icy blood.

Her heart racing, she realized the horrifying truth: this object was darkness incarnate.

Its malevolent energy wrapped around her, suffocating her resolve.

Shoku's eyes widened, her claws recoiled as if burned. She lifted her claws in a panic, swallowing roughly. Donnie looked at her, confused about why she looked as if she just saw a ghost. He couldn't understand. They weren't in any danger, and he just gave her a way out of the danger she was worried about in her near future. He found it incredibly puzzling, but then again, all emotional aspects of life tended to stump him.

"You're okay, Shoku," he mumbled under his breath before looking over at her fluffy, distressed face. She stayed focused on the distance, watching as the train rushed by the empty subway tunnels walls. Donnie was unsure of what else to do or say. He let her stay zoned out.

Time passed, and the train halted to a stop with a subtle lurch. He stood up, and the still timid fox followed. The doors on opposite sides of the cart skidded open. Donnie went right, Shoku went left. Her heart was heavy as she stepped out of the cabin, unsure of how to leave things with him. She was sure she wouldn't be able to mend their only freshly budded friendship. It wasn't destroyed, but it was as if it was just barely enduring the cold, winter storms. Entrapped in a layer of snow, it would be a while before it would begin to bud again.

"I have to go back and help my brothers," he explained, turning to her and peering through the car doors, his feet barely over the yellow line. She nodded, a tinge of sadness coloring her face, knowing it would be a while before they could fluently have a conversation like this again.

"Please, think about what you're doing. What Jennika is doing," he prompted her with a caution in his voice. "As Leo would say, ‘May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears,’" the turtle recited from memory before the train's doors dislodged, sliding back together and obscuring him from view.

Shoku rushed closer to the now speeding train, probably closer than she should have been in order to peer through the window. He vanished.

Chapter Text

Since Jennika had to stick with the Foot during their panic after discovering the mystic armor piece was missing, Shoku was expected to find her own way home. She fled the station, heading to the closest alleyway and seeking refuge in the nearest alleyway's shadows. She scraped her paws across the cool brick, white dust trailing her fingertips as she began the familiar ritual. Patterns emerged, etched in fleeting light, and the symbols ignited, blazing blue. The Hidden City's gateway materialized. Without hesitation, the fox dove through and let the mystic energy consume her as she surrendered to gravity, allowing herself to fall.

Once Shoku fluttered her eyes open, she found herself in the familiar area surrounding her home, the soft glow of lanterns and twinkling string lights enveloping her. Taking a deep breath to collect herself, she carefully hid the metal in her cargo pants pocket, ensuring it was concealed. As she started down the street, she strolled through vibrant crowds of yokai, their diverse forms and energetic chatter filling the air. Her bushy tails twitched, instinctively trying to take up minimal space in the already crowded area. Unaware of why her heartbeat felt much more panicked than usual, she was slightly alarmed, having never had an issue with crowds before. No matter what she thought of, nothing made sense as to why she was so tense and on edge. Shoku swerved gracefully, ducking under a large scorpion tail, its owner nodding in passing, before turning onto her front porch. She extracted her keys and opened the door, peering around cautiously to see if Sheena was home, her senses heightened.

Shoku quietly checked several rooms, finding them empty, until she reached her parents' bedroom. She peeked through the narrow crack of the door, noticing the usually tidy bed was now disarrayed. A heap of blankets contrasted with the rest of the comforter, indicating Sheena was sleeping there. Shoku crept closer, her footsteps silent, mindful not to disturb her. Knowing Sheena only napped when utterly exhausted, Shoku's concern grew. Her mother's fatigue was rare, and the sight stirred a mix of emotions within her.

Shoku gently picked up the discarded short, fluffy pink wig from the bed's edge, carefully detangling it with delicate fingers. Satisfied with its restored order, she neatly positioned it on the mannequin head atop Sheena's dresser, alongside its long-haired counterpart. She checked to ensuring both wigs rested serenely, awaiting their next use.

Shoku returned to Sheena's bedside, her eyes brimming with a profound longing for comfort. She enveloped her mother in a tender embrace, craving solace despite the thick blankets separating them. As her warmth seeped into Sheena's fur, Shoku's grip tightened, her heart overflowing with love.

Moments ticked by, and Shoku's yearning deepened. The restrictive hug wasn't enough; she needed closer connection, to feel her mother's loving presence. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she acknowledged the depth of her emotional hunger.

The mystic shard clinked softly onto the bedside table as Shoku carefully peeled back the blankets. She slipped into the warm space between Sheena's inviting, tattooed arms, snuggling her forehead into her mother's chest. Gently, she lowered her ears, ensuring their soft tips wouldn't tickle Sheena's face and disturb her rest.

As she settled in, Shoku shuffled, seeking comfort, her tails spilling over the bed's edge like silken waterfalls. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her breathing slowed. She wasn't entirely sure if she slept, but she did dream.

***

Time drifted effortlessly, and the hour approached for their evening meal. Jennika's arrival signaled the start of dinner preparations, filling the air with savory aromas. Shoku's heavy eyelids fluttered open, and the world gradually came into focus. Soft hallway light spilled through the doorway, casting a warm, gentle glow across the room.

Sheena's arms, once relaxed, now held Shoku with renewed purpose, her embrace tender and deliberate. Shoku sensed her mother's awakened presence, feeling the subtle tension in her muscles as she cradled her close.

Shoku's gaze drifted upward, meeting Sheena's gentle smile and affectionate eyes. Her mother's soft, plump features radiated warmth, filling Shoku's heart with love. Still drowsy, she became aware of the soothing hoof strokes on the back of her head, each gentle touch calming her mind.

She hummed, a contented whisper, and snuggled deeper into Sheena's warm chest, shutting her eyes once more. The comforting sensation enveloped her, and she surrendered to the tranquility, letting her mother's love lull her into a peaceful reverie.

Sheena's warm chuckle filled the air as she gently nudged Shoku. "Come on, hun, Jenny's almost done with dinner. Time to rise and shine!" Sheena's encouraging nudges accompanied her words.

Shoku groaned, reluctant to leave the cozy haven. With a stretch, she slid out of her mother's bed, her tails swishing lazily. Her hand instinctively reached for the mystic shard on the bedside table, securing it safely.

Shoku's eyes fluttered as she stepped into the hallway, adjusting to the brighter light. "Mother?" she called, following the savory aromas and sizzling sounds to the kitchen.

As she entered, Jennika stood at the stove, stirring gravy with a wooden spoon. Shoku approached cautiously, her movements tinged with anxiety and paranoia.

"Hey," Jennika said, noticing her.

Shoku offered the mystic shard, her hand extending with a mix of trepidation and relief. Jennika's eyes sparkled with interest.

"So, you were able to retrieve it," Jennika acknowledged, pocketing the shard.

"I feared the turtles got hold of it," she continued, frustration creeping into her voice. "They have an annoying way of messing up the Foot's plans." Jennika paused, studying Shoku's uneasy demeanor.

"Oh, you don't know the turtles. A year ago, we realized that Hamato Asuko was not the last Hamato and Hamato Yoshi did not disappear. At least, not forever," she explained, not noticing how Shoku's anxiety spiked at the mention of the turtles. She did, in fact, know who they were. Still, she played dumb out of curiosity, Donnie's words prominent in her mind. "You're working for a cult, Shoku. They tried to kill my siblings and me."

Jennika's gaze remained focused on the gravy as she stirred, her voice matter-of-fact. "We haven't located Hamato Yoshi yet, but his children have made their efforts to stop us known." Her webbed hand moved with practiced ease, the spoon gliding through the rich, savory sauce.

Shoku's eyes watched, fascinated despite herself, her mind racing with connections. Donnie's words still lingered, casting a shadow over Jennika's words.

Jennika's tone remained detached, discussing the turtles' demise with eerie casualness. "Leonardo, the eldest, poses our greatest threat. His skill is matched only by his overconfidence. Eliminating them is inevitable. We'll exploit his flaws to make it happen."

Shoku's expression remained neutral, but her mind raced. Donnie had mentioned another brother, but she knew little about Leonardo beyond his humorous descriptions: bossy and fruity. Now, Jennika's words painted a more complex picture.

She took another deep breath, still unsure of why she felt so constantly panicked. "Can I help with dinner?" Shoku asked her, trying to take her mind off of whatever was bothering her to such a physical level. Jennika nodded, pointing over to a pile of dry string beans. "Wash the vegetables and cut the ends off," she instructed, and she did just that. It didn't take long, but neither did making the last bits of the meal. Shortly, the three were at their dinner table with string beans, mashed potatoes, and steak before them.

Shoku's gaze swept across the table, watching her mother's savor their conversation, their laughter intertwining. Yet, amidst the warmth, Shoku's stomach churned with uneasy knots. The sensation echoed the mystic metal's sharp pain, now a dull, persistent throb.

Her fur prickled, alarm encroaching. She studied her mother's serene face, puzzled. How could they remain so calm amidst turmoil? Their joyful laughter contrasted with Shoku's escalating fear, intensifying her anxiety.

For once, Shoku's eyes were wide open, piercing through the facade. She saw the ominous storm clouds gathering, threatening to upend everything she held dear. The laughter and warmth surrounding her seemed fragile, a fleeting calm before the impending turmoil.

Her gaze locked onto Jennika, her mind racing with Donnie's words: "You're working for a cult, Shoku. They tried to kill my siblings and me." The truth gnawed at her soul, casting a dark shadow over the dinner table's warmth.

Shoku's heart pounded, her senses heightened as she grasped the gravity of her family's situation. No longer ignorant, she stood at the precipice, staring into the abyss.

***

Shoku sought refuge in her bed, but the nagging feeling persisted. A soothing shower and cozy pajamas brought no comfort. Even the familiar thrill of Sonic games failed to distract her.

As worry and unease clung to her fur like a stubborn shadow, Shoku crawled into the safety of her blankets. She enveloped herself in their warmth, seeking solace.

Her thoughts swirled, a maelstrom of anxiety and uncertainty. Donnie's words echoed, "You're working for a cult, Shoku. They tried to kill my siblings and me."

The tense feeling of what might come in the future seemed to press in, mirroring the turmoil within. Shoku's hearts pounded, her tails twitching restlessly. Sleep seemed elusive.

Shoku's mind careened wildly, a runaway train wrecking her calm. Fear and distress gripped her, unlike her usual energetic hyperness. Her body remained tense, rigid with anxiety.

Seeking comfort, she clutched her oversized blue hedgehog plushie tightly. Its softness enveloped her, a reassuring presence.

She buried her face in the plush's familiar fuzz, inhaling deeply. The scent of home wafted up, calming her fractured thoughts.

As exhaustion finally claimed her, Shoku's grip on the hedgehog relaxed, her breathing slowed. Sleep wrapped around her, a fragile refuge from her problems.

***

Shoku's gaze struggled to focus, her ears ringing from the thunderous crashes. She lifted her heavy head, disoriented. The familiar comfort of her bed was replaced by a desolate, crimson-hued wasteland.

The scarlet sky hung oppressive, casting an eerie glow. Maroon buildings stood as skeletal remnants, their grandeur lost. Twisted, broken lamp posts pierced the ground like jagged bones.

In the distance, the shattered remains of the "Battle Nexus Hotel" sign lay sprawled across the rubble-strewn street. Once a symbol of power and prosperity, now a haunting monument to destruction.

Big Mama's stronghold, the towering jewel of New York, lay in ruins. The Jorogumo yokai's influence had protected it, but now, devastation reigned. Shoku's mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the catastrophe.

Shoku's stomach churned as fear gripped her. Sweat dripped from her brow, her body paralyzed. The relentless thumping drew closer.

Thump, thump, thump.

Panic set in as she realized her leg was pinned beneath rubble. Desperate struggles failed to free her.

Thump, thump, thump.

A looming shadow stretched across the ground behind the buildings. Shoku's heart sank.

Thump, thump, thump.

A towering figure emerged, its presence ominous. Gleaming red eyes locked onto hers, radiating malevolence. The figure bent, its gaze piercing.

Shoku's breath caught, trapped and helpless.

The creature's body was adorned with spikes and sharp armor, its helmet gleaming in the red night sky. In its mouth were rows of teeth bigger than her torso. A clear, vibrant red, three tipped fork concealed a hole in the center of its chest, concealing a beating heart. A shredded vermillion cloak hung from its pointed shoulders, a matching tapestry hanging from its waist. On each claw lay two lengthy knives of ruby, probably longer than Shoku herself.

"I see you," his voice was gravely and drawn out. He spoke slowly, letting every word seep in. Realization struck. This man was the Shredder.

The world jolted past her. The city, the buildings, the debris, the ruined hotel all swirled by her vision, all collecting at a center point in her vision before disappearing. The Shredder along with it. Then, she awoke.

Chapter Text

Shoku's unease lingered, a persistent, gnawing feeling in the back of her mind. Though it no longer dominated her thoughts, the subtle discomfort remained.

Seeking distraction, she headed to dance practice, a mix of emotions swirling within. The change of scenery and physical activity offered a welcome reprieve, yet she yearned for someone to confide in.

As she watched her classmates laugh and chat, Shoku felt a pang of loneliness. Her dance classes, split between modern, hip-hop, and belly dancing, usually brought her joy. Today, they only highlighted her isolation.

Shoku's concerns swirled, a complex web of emotions. Typically, she'd confide in her mom, Sheena, but past experiences made her hesitant. Sheena often downplayed her worries, especially when it came to Jennika.

Cassandra and Alopex were her usual confidantes when issues arose with Jennika. However, this situation was different. The Foot Clan's involvement, and her loved ones' association with it, made her uneasy.

The weight of this secret threatened to overwhelm her. Her mother and friends, people she trusted, were part of an organization that had attempted to harm her new friends. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

Shoku considered confiding in April, known for her kind and empathetic nature. However, the fact that her friends, the Turtles, were sworn enemies of the Foot Clan made Shoku hesitate.

She worried that April's loyalty to her friends would lead to a biased reaction, potentially making the situation more complicated. Donatello's warning about April's likely negative response only added to Shoku's apprehension.

Fear of being judged or causing tension within the group kept Shoku from opening up to April. She felt trapped, unsure of who to turn to with her concerns.

Shoku's heart felt heavy, torn between two conflicting loyalties. The people she trusted and cared for were intertwined with the Foot Clan, an organization that posed a threat to humanity and yokai kind.

A nagging voice within her had always acknowledged the Foot Clan's malevolent nature. However, her personal connections had led her to downplay this concern, easing her guilty conscience.

Now, the weight of this decision crushed her. She felt forced to choose between her loved ones and the greater good. The moral dilemma tore her apart, leaving her emotionally drained.

As she danced, the rhythmic movements became a desperate escape. She lost herself in the music, temporarily evading the turmoil that ravaged her mind.

***

Sheena's eyes gazed blankly at her phone, disappointment etched on her face. Her pink wig, normally a vibrant expression of her personality, now hung limp, strands obscuring her features.

Tapping her hooves against the wooden table, she fought against growing boredom and frustration. Jennika's promise of a morning together now seemed hollow, as the minutes ticked by with no sign of her wife's return.

Sheena's mind wandered, wondering what could have detained Jennika. Work? An emergency? Or something else entirely? The uncertainty gnawed at her, making the wait feel even longer.

She didn't have to question it much. It was surely her work that had dragged her away.

Jennika burst through the door, an hour past the expected time. She rushed to Sheena's side, guilt evident on her face. "I'm so, so, sorry," she apologized, quickly pulling a chair beside Sheena.

Jennika's webbed hands cradled Sheena's face, lifting it from her phone. She placed gentle, apologetic kisses on Sheena's cheek. "There was a report about the turtles. I got worried they got the last armor piece," Jennika explained.

Her expression softened. "I promise I'm here now. Everything's sorted out. False alarm." Jennika's hands gently squeezed Sheena's cheeks. "You have my full attention," she assured, her phone sliding across the table as proof.

Sheena let out a huff, lifting her face from her fingers and resting her chin back on the table. "All you talk about now is that stupid armor," she said, her voice laced with frustration.

Jennika's eyes flashed with offense as she inhaled sharply, her personal investment in the Kuroi Yoroi making Sheena's words feel like a slap. "S-stupid?" she sputtered, her voice trembling with indignation as she struggled to comprehend how Sheena could dismiss something so vital. Taking a deep breath, Jennika endeavored to rein in her frustration, mindful of the person she cared about most.

She took a deep breath. "Sheena, honey, I promise nothing about the Kuroi Yoroi is stupid. It's dark mystic armor that could change the course of the world for yokai and humans," she spoke passionately, as if she were making a sales presentation, and Sheena was a vital investor.

Sheena's expression turned skeptical, her voice laced with disdain. "Doesn't seem like that to me," she said with a huff. "You just want a promotion." Her gaze dropped, and she stared at her outstretched hooves, her claws clicking against each other in a slow, agitated rhythm. "Is it really more important than me or Shoku?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but laden with hurt and accusation.

"Nothing in this world is more important than you," Jennika assured her. Intriguing how she only specified "you" and not "you two." For once in Sheena's life, she had to question that faith. "It's not just for the promotion. The promotion will give me more power. More power to protect you from Bishop," she hissed.

Sheena's gaze lingered on Jennika's face, her eyes searching for any sign of insincerity. Jennika's words, though spoken with conviction, only deepened Sheena's unease. The deliberate omission of Shoku from Jennika's declaration of devotion had already planted a seed of doubt. Now, as Jennika's voice dropped to a venomous hiss, Sheena felt that doubt take root.

Sheena's voice remained steady, but her avoidance of Jennika's gaze betrayed a hint of unease. "Your fight with him is so unnecessary," she said, her tone laced with a mix of frustration and concern. "Bishop can't even get to the Hidden City. If Shoku and I are in danger, we'll be okay. We've been taking martial arts and defense classes, we can handle ourselves," she explained, her blue eyes still fixed on some point away from Jennika's face, refusing to meet her gaze.

Jennika's face burned with suppressed anger. She bit her tongue, exhaling slowly. It felt as if there were barbed wires scratching at the lining of her stomach, her insides doing flips of protest, telling her to scream and shout and throw things. She let out a huff and a groan before breathing deeply. In, and out.

"He's smarter and more powerful than you think…” she finally spoke, her voice measured, though her patience was wearing thin. “I'm sure his efforts to find us aren't too long from paying off,” Jennika's eyes, filled with deep-seated concern, locked onto Sheena's averted face, willing her to meet her gaze. “Sheena, can you please look at me?” She prompted, her voice softer now. It was tempered by the realization of how much she hurt her wife.

As Sheena's gaze finally met Jennika's, her soft, soulful eyes appeared mudded over. The hurt and disappointment etched on her face seemed to run far deeper than just the missed hour together. It was as if the cumulative effect of Jennika's emotional absence and her all-consuming obsession with the Foot had finally taken its toll. Sheena's eyes seemed to hold a quiet resignation, an acknowledgment that these issues would forever be intertwined with their relationship, a constant and unyielding presence.

Jennika's hands gently cradled Sheena's face, her touch filled with emotion. Her gaze met Sheena's, and she spoke in a soft, tender tone that was reserved just for her wife. "Sheena, I'm so sorry. It was wrong of me to leave when I promised the day together. How can I make it up to you?" Jennika's voice was laced with sincerity, a heartfelt apology that hung in the air, awaiting Sheena's response.

As Sheena's hooves wrapped around Jennika's wrists, a sense of relief washed over Jennika. Sheena's eyes, once dull and lifeless, now sparkled with a hint of warmth as she smiled. "That's all I needed," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And the rest of the morning you promised me." The yokai's eyes locked onto Jennika's, and for a moment, they just held each other's gaze. Then, they leaned in, their bodies meeting in a brief, tender hug. Jennika's tension eased, and she felt a sense of gratitude that the fight seemed to be over. However, beneath the surface, the embers of their disagreement still smoldered. Jennika's chest harbored a lingering bitterness, a residue of Sheena's words about her work with the Foot. Meanwhile, Sheena's mind whispered worries and doubts about Jennika's all-consuming obsession, a concern that refused to be silenced. Though their physical embrace had bridged the gap between them, the emotional rift remained, waiting to be addressed.

***

Deep beneath the bustling streets of New York City, the hidden Lair pulsed with life. Nestled within the labyrinthine sewer tunnels, the underground sanctuary was a hive of activity. The distant echoes of a soap opera drama wafted from a nearby room, punctuated by the plaintive sobs of a rat father enthralled by the on-screen melodrama. Amidst this backdrop, the sharp, crisp sound of blades slicing through the air rang out, a testament to the wielder's mastery. Leonardo, the ninja turtle, moved with fluid precision, his blades a blur as he executed a flawless series of strikes. A serene, self-assured grin spread across his face, a reflection of the ease with which he wielded his katanas. His movements were second nature, a symphony of steel and stealth that seemed almost effortless.

Michelangelo's eyes shone with unbridled excitement as he swung his arms back and forth, the game controller clutched tightly between them. He was completely absorbed in the recently arrived Spider-Man video game, his brother's latest programming masterpiece. The colorful graphics and immersive gameplay had captivated Michelangelo's attention, and he was determined to conquer the virtual world. Nearby, Donatello, the inventive genius behind the game, was hunched over his workstation, tapping away at his keyboard as he worked on the script code for a new game concept. He had promised Michelangelo a round of gaming once he finished, and Michelangelo was eagerly awaiting his turn.

April's face lit up with an uncontainable grin, and she turned her phone screen to Donnie. “Oh my gosh, Shoku's so cool! She just told me that she does dance classes,” she chimed in, her voice bubbling over with amazement. "I can't wait for her to come back and text me again." Her attention was completely consumed by the prospect of reconnecting with Shoku, her words displaying her admiration for her. With a contented sigh, she flopped onto her side, laying her head closer to Donnie. She adjusted her purple-rimmed glasses before speaking. "I really hope we can see her again," April confided in her friend, her voice filled with a deep-seated admiration. "She's so cool.” She seemed to primarily associate Shoku with the word “cool.”

Donatello's expression twisted in discomfort as he witnessed his close friend's infatuation. The sight of April lovesick demeanor made his stomach churn with a mix of unease and revulsion. He had always found it excruciating to watch his family navigate the complexities of romance. The memories of Leonardo's past boyfriend still lingered, evoking a visceral reaction within Donatello. Every term of endearment, every affectionate glance, had made his gut twist with anxiety. Donatello couldn't quite pinpoint the reason behind his intense discomfort. Perhaps it was simply the fact that they were his siblings, biological or not, and the idea of them being in romantic relationships felt inherently wrong. Or maybe, on a deeper level, it was a reflection of his own loneliness, a painful reminder that he had yet to find someone special. A twinge of jealousy whispered in the recesses of his mind, a nagging feeling that his siblings had somehow managed to find their perfect matches, while he remained alone.

Donatello's concerns deepened as he pondered the reality of April's infatuation with Shoku. Barely knowing the yokai was only the tip of the iceberg; the truth about Shoku's connections to the Foot Clan and her role as the daughter of their arch-nemesis made Donatello's anxiety spike. He knew that if April were aware of these facts, she would likely share his apprehension. However, April's blissful ignorance was palpable, and Donatello was torn between his desire to protect his friend and the joy she seemed to derive from her interactions with Shoku. The sight of April giggling and constantly adjusting her glasses, a picture of carefree happiness, was a bittersweet reminder of how long it had been since Donatello had seen his friend so lighthearted.

Donatello's mind wrestled with the moral dilemma, weighing the pros and cons of revealing the truth to his friend. On one hand, telling April about Shoku's connections to the Foot Clan would likely crush her spirits, causing immediate pain and heartache. On the other hand, keeping the truth hidden would only delay the inevitable, allowing April to become even more invested in the relationship before the devastating revelation. Donatello's instincts leaned towards warning April, hoping to mitigate the potential harm without completely shattering her illusions. Perhaps, he thought, a gentle warning would suffice, allowing April to approach the situation with caution and prepare herself for the potential consequences.

"She's absolutely the coolest ever," April continued to fawn, much to her friend's dismay. "Well, we don't really know much about her... I wouldn't say she's the coolest," Donatello ventured, his voice laced with a hint of caution. He hoped against hope that April would miraculously drop her infatuation with Shoku, sparing him the emotional fallout that was sure to follow. Donatello's concern for his siblings' well-being was genuine, but the weight of their emotions often proved overwhelming for him. The prospect of shouldering April's potential heartache was daunting, knowing that he would spend hours, even days, worrying about her feelings and fretting over the what-ifs.

April's expression remained resolute, her conviction unwavering as she corrected Donatello. "Definitely the coolest," she insisted, her voice firm but gentle.

"No... I wouldn't say that," Donnie felt a knot in his throat as he prayed she would just understand and move on. This whole conversation made him feel tense and he just wished she would move on without him having to be the bad guy. But, he had to be if he didn't want her to get hurt worse.

April's gaze snapped to his, her eyes narrowing into an offended glare as she challenged Donatello's assertion. "What? Why would you say that?" she demanded, her tone a mixture of defensiveness and hurt. “Y'know, just because you're not happy all the time doesn't mean I have to be the same. Let me have this,” her tone was harsh, and it made Donatello grimace, recognizing the futility of attempting to reason with her. "She's not trustworthy," he tried again, his tone more defensive after his last comment, but her expression remained unwavering, her conviction unshakeable. Donatello sighed inwardly, aware that he couldn't convince April without causing her pain. He decided to take a step back, opting to prioritize his friend's emotional well-being over his own concerns. He also felt burned by her comment. He wasn't sad all the time, was he? "Just be careful, okay?" he cautioned, his voice softening as he attempted to convey his worries without being too confrontational. With a quiet resolve, Donatello saved his project, exited the tab, and logged off his computer. He then made his way over to Michelangelo, who eagerly accepted the offer to play as player two, grateful for the distraction from the tense conversation.

***

The din of weary chatter filled the room as the Foot Recruit trainees gathered for lunch, their voices laced with a mix of fatigue and determination. The rigors of training were notorious, but for those driven to join the Foot Clan, the sacrifices were deemed worthwhile. Amidst the clusters of recruits, Cassandra navigated the crowded space, her lunch box clutched in her hand. Her body protested with every step, screaming for respite, but she pressed on, ignoring the pleas. Her tired eyes scanned the room, finally locking onto a familiar figure – her friend.

Alopex sat with her back against the dull wall, her frosty white hair a striking contrast to her exhausted demeanor. The shaved side of her hair accentuated her sharp features, while the messy locks on the other side added a hint of dishevelment. Her calm, icebound eyes remained fixed on the pasta as she twirled it around her fork, the movements economical and precise. Despite her evident fatigue from the previous training, Alopex maintained her strong posture, a testament to her dedication and resilience as a Foot Recruit.

Cassandra's energetic greeting cut through the din of the training hall, and Alopex's gaze flickered towards her friend as she called out her name. Cassandra navigated the crowded space with a practiced air, dodging fellow recruits with ease before plopping down beside Alopex. "My body hates me. I think I'm going to die," Cassandra declared, her voice dripping with melodrama as she kicked her feet up and began to unpack her lunch box. Alopex's eyes watched her friend's antics with a detached air, her expression unreadable as Cassandra continued to rave about her sandwich, her hunger likely exaggerating its appeal.

Alopex's voice was laced with a hint of exhaustion as she replied, "Understandable. I think I pulled... all my muscles." Her blue gaze remained fixed on her fork, her eyes avoiding Cassandra's as she spoke. A moment of silence passed before she added, "Hopefully, training slows down a bit once Shredder is resurrected. It'll be cool to meet him." Her tone was idle, her words spoken with a detached air.

Cassandra's smile was a faint, weary curve of her lips, but her eyes sparkled with a hint of enthusiasm as she spoke of Shredder's return. Her voice was laced with a mix of fatigue and anticipation, her words dripping with a sense of devotion. "Definitely! I'm sure Shredder has big plans for us. Since we're his loyal followers, I'm sure we'll be rewarded," she said, her tone a blend of conviction and hope.

Alopex's words dripped with a quiet intensity, her voice laced with a deep-seated conviction. "Even if it isn't a direct reward, the new world will be reward enough. I know Shredder will save us from the rest of humanity," she declared, her tone almost fervent. Cassandra's gaze met hers, filled with a sympathetic understanding, acknowledging the pain and hurt that Alopex had endured at the hands of humans. Cassandra nodded in agreement, taking a bite of her sandwich as she spoke, her words slightly muffled by the food. "Yeah. Things will be so much better," she said, before her expression turned concerned. "Although, I am worried about Shoku. She's been acting weird lately.”

Alopex's expression turned thoughtful, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered Cassandra's concerns. "Somethings definitely up," she agreed, her voice measured. She paused to chew her food, her manners a stark contrast to Cassandra's earlier conversation-through-chewing. Once she'd swallowed, Alopex continued, "She usually talks to me frequently, but she seems distracted, distant." Her wild bangs were pushed to the side, revealing her piercing blue eyes, which sparkled with a hint of curiosity as she pondered Shoku's strange behavior.

Cassandra's expression was etched with worry, her brow furrowed in concern as she confided in Alopex. "Augh, yeah. She promised me it was fine and she'd talk to me about it when she's ready, but I can't help but worry. Y'know?" Alopex nodded sympathetically, her eyes locked onto Cassandra's as she listened intently. Cassandra's gaze never wavered, her voice taking on a more serious tone as she continued. "Yeah... especially with her mom being how she is. Even without all the horror stories Shoku brings us about her, I don't trust her. She's doing something suspicious with the Foot." Her words were laced with a hint of caution, her tone dropping to a whisper to avoid being overheard. "Jennika definitely isn't trustworthy. I'm hoping Shredder will see that when he's brought back," Cassandra added, her eyes clouding with concern as she took another bite of her sandwich.

As they ate in silence, the weight of their unspoken concerns hung in the air, a palpable sense of unease that even their exhaustion couldn't dispel. The promise of Shredder's return and the looming unknowns cast a long shadow over their meal, leaving them both lost in their own thoughts. The only sound was the quiet clinking of utensils against plates, a stark contrast to the earlier murmurs of conversation, now reduced to an uncomfortable silence.

***

As Sheena snuggled deeper into Jennika's side, her eyelids grew heavier, and her breathing slowed, lulled by the warmth and comfort of her partner's presence. The soft glow of the television cast a cozy ambiance over the room, and the gentle hum of the movie's soundtrack blended with Jennika's quiet, soothing heartbeat, creating a sense of tranquility that enveloped Sheena. Her mind, once troubled by the looming uncertainties of the Foot Clan, had quieted, her worries dissipating like wisps of smoke on the breeze, leaving her feeling serene and at peace.

The kappa yokai rubbed her shoulder in slow, caring motions while her free hand scrolled idly through social media. She was in the middle of reading a post caption when her attention was dragged up to a notification. Clicking on it, she saw it was an image text from one of the higher up Foot Soldiers. A selfie with the second to last armor piece and the message reading. "One more to go!”

A sly grin spread across Jennika's face as she contemplated the imminent unfolding of her plan. She subtly disengaged from Sheena, both physically and emotionally, before slipping away to her bedroom closet. Amidst the pile of laundry, the sleek, gold shard of armor lay hidden, waiting to be unleashed. Jennika's webbed fingers delicately uncovered the shard, and as she grasped it, a thrill of excitement coursed through her veins. The cold, flat surface seemed to hum with promise, and Jennika's eyes gleamed with anticipation. In mere hours, the fate of the Foot Clan and the world would rest in her hands, and she reveled in the prospect of wielding such power.

Chapter Text

The impending resurrection of Shredder cast a dark and foreboding shadow over the city. Donnie's earlier optimism that Shoku might defect and deliver the final piece of mystic armor had dwindled to nothing. The harsh reality was that they had to take matters into their own hands. To prevent the devastation of New York City, they would have to embark on a perilous and direct course of action – one that required bravery, strategy, and a willingness to face the enemy head-on.

The dim lighting of the lair's meeting area cast a somber tone, the tension palpable as the four brothers gathered around the table. Leonardo's serious expression and unwavering gaze commanded attention, his three-fingered hands planted firmly on the surface. "Donnie, you'll disable the cameras and identification scanners in the west wing," he began, his voice low and even. Donatello's eyes locked onto his brother's, a surge of pride and responsibility coursing through him as Leonardo continued, "We'll use your gadgets to sneak in through a window five floors up. Your tech will carry this mission almost completely." The eldest turtle's gaze swept across his siblings, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "Once inside, we move silently. You know the drill." Raph, Mikey, and Donnie nodded in unison, their colorful masks a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation.

Leonardo's voice exuded confidence as he outlined the plan, his words steady and reassuring. "All we need to do is dislodge a single piece from the armor before they put it all together. Sneak in, sneak out. Simple as that," he explained, his gaze sweeping across his siblings to ensure they grasped the objective. A hint of a smile played on his lips as he added, "With Donnie's tech, this mission will be a breeze," his tone implying a sense of reliance on his brother's expertise. “Yeah, so don't mess this up, brainiac,” Raph commented. Donnie knew it was just his nature, but he really didn't have the energy for backhanded comments. “Raph, don't. You'll get in his head,” Leo warned, his tone stern. Mikey grew wary of the situation, knowing things were already tense and also being aware of how his brothers reacted to stress. For Leo and Raph, it was to bicker… “Don't boss me around. You don't have the right,” his voice grew more and more bristled. Mikey stepped in, trying to diffuse their tension. “Bros, not now, okay? Let's just all gear up and-” he was cut off. “Put a shell in it,” Raph grunted before stalking off.

Leo sighed deeply, waving the other two brothers off to debrief and prepare for the weight of the mission. Donnie made his way back to his lab, his fingers scratching the scaled skin that he hid under the fabric of his gloves. The skin was quickly irritated and peeling, but he didn't stop to consider that. He slipped behind his lab doors, making his way to the wall of his favorite and most impressive inventions. Only the best could come on this mission. If his gadgets were the key factor in their plan, he couldn't take the risk of one malfunctioning.

Donatello's battle shell was now loaded with his most prized and reliable gadgets, the result of a focused effort to prepare for the impending mission. With a deep breath, he shouldered his tech-bo and filled his pockets with throwing stars, the familiar weight of his arsenal a comforting presence. As he set off to meet his siblings, his mind turned to the daunting task ahead: thwarting the resurrection of the infamous Shredder. The weight of this responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders, and Donatello steeled himself for the challenge, knowing that his tech had to perform flawlessly – failure was not an option.

As Donatello took in the sight of his brothers and their chosen arsenal, he couldn't help but feel a surge of anxiety. Raphael stood ready with his trusty sais, while Leonardo grasped his mystical katanas, their portal-creating abilities a potent reminder of the high stakes. Michelangelo, meanwhile, wielded his modified nunchucks, their varied abilities a testament to Donatello's own ingenuity. The memory of those modifications sparked a fresh wave of nerves, as Donatello's mind recoiled under the crushing weight of responsibility. His technology, his creations, held the key to their success – and the burden of that knowledge threatened to overwhelm him.

Leonardo sliced a portal through the air, the blue energy forming a gateway. As they emerged from the portal, the turtles found themselves standing atop a small, unassuming building that seemed to blend seamlessly into the surrounding urban landscape. The rooftop's gravelly surface crunched beneath their feet as they gazed out at the imposing structure beside them – the Foot Clan's heavily disguised headquarters. The building's innocuous facade belied the sinister activities that lurked within, and the turtles exchanged a tense, knowing glance. This was it – the moment they had been preparing for.

The vibrant sounds of the city streets below created a stark contrast to the tense, focused atmosphere among the turtles. Donatello crouched down, his computer at the ready. With a few swift keystrokes, Donatello set to work disabling the Foot Clan's security mechanisms. To his surprise, the task proved almost laughably easy – a testament, perhaps, to the Clan's shoestring budget, courtesy of their front operation as a humble shoe store.

Donatello's fingers flew across the keyboard, his eyes fixed intently on the screen as he worked his technical magic. Behind him, the sound of his siblings' playful banter provided a comforting background hum. “Ooo, look at D go,” Mickey laughed, and Leo nudged him playfully. “I bet you don't even know what he's doing,” Leo pointed out, his tone edged with sass. “No, but it looks like he's winning,” The youngest crossed his arms, cocking his hip to the side. He got a firm slap in the back of the head from Raph. “Let him focus,”

Michelangelo's giggles and Leonardo's good-natured teasing blended together in a familiar symphony, even with Raph’s tense and anxious demeanor. It was a reassuring reminder that, even in the midst of a high-stakes mission, his brothers were there to support him.

With a final, nervous flourish, Donatello shut his computer and stood up, his eyes locking onto his brothers as he announced, "Everything's down in the West Wing. This mission will be easy." The words were meant to reassure not just his siblings, but himself as well. Leonardo's calm, collected demeanor only served to highlight Donatello's own frayed nerves, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. To the eldest brother, this perilous mission seemed as straightforward as a casual stroll into a yokai candy store – a notion that only added to Donatello's growing anxiety.

Leonardo's voice cut through the tension, his words a crisp reminder of their mission's parameters. "Get in, get out," he reiterated, his gaze sweeping across his brothers before settling on Michelangelo. With a nod, he issued a new instruction, his voice firm and decisive. "Get Donnie over first," he ordered, his pointing finger directing Mikey and Raph's attention to the adjacent building, where the Foot Clan's headquarters loomed. Donnie looked back at his siblings, feeling slightly eased by their presence.

Michelangelo's grin flashed brightly as he acknowledged Leonardo's instruction. "You got it!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious. With a fluid motion, he swung his arm back, the nunchuck chain whirring as he launched it forward. The knife on the end of the chain shot out, biting deep into the space between the windows of the adjacent building. Michelangelo gave the chain several firm tugs, testing its hold, before nodding in satisfaction – the makeshift grappling hook was secure.

Donatello's anxiety about his battle shell's reliability led him to opt for the more perilous route. He carefully secured his bo-staff above the chain, grasping it firmly with both hands. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the crossing. Raphael stood ready, holding onto Michelangelo to prevent him from slipping while offering Donnie an encouraging smile. With a firm nudge, Donatello's body weight shifted onto the chain, and the ground suddenly dropped away beneath him. In the blink of an eye, he found himself hurtling through the air, his feet striking the glass façade of the building with a muffled thud.

Donatello's upper body strength was put to the test as he struggled to maintain his grip on the chain. A grunt escaped his lips as he adjusted his hold, swiftly transferring his grasp from the staff to the chain with one hand. In a smooth motion, he stowed away his staff and regained his two-handed grip on the chain. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Donatello glanced back at his siblings, who were watching him with bated breath. Raphael's face was easy to read. He was trying to play it cool and act like he was unnerved, but he was worried for his brother. Michelangelo's eyes were wide with fearful concern. Leonardo, however, offered a steady, encouraging smile, his expression a beacon of reassurance amid tension.

With renewed determination, Donatello reached for his utility belt, his hand closing around a small device nestled in one of the pockets. Straining to reach across the window, he managed to stick the device to the glass, his heart racing with anticipation. Holding his breath, he pressed the button at the device's center, and a blade sprang to life, swinging in a smooth, deadly circle. Donatello recoiled, his grip on the chain faltering as he struggled to maintain his balance. Gasps erupted from his brothers, Raoh being the first to call out his name in panic, and his own heartbeat skyrocketed as he teetered on the edge of disaster. He managed to steady himself on the narrow ledge, letting his heart rate even out.

Donatello turned his attention back to the freshly cut glass, carefully retrieving the device and lifting the circular pane out of its frame. He swung back onto the chain, using it to propel himself forward before leaping through the newly created opening. Once inside, he gingerly set the glass panel down, taking care not to make any noise. With a triumphant thumbs-up, he signaled to his siblings that he had made it safely inside. Almost immediately, Raphael began his zip-line journey down the chain, his form a blur as he slid smoothly into the building. He landed with ease, not requiring any assistance as she joined Donatello inside.

Mikey followed, who Raph helped off the chain. Leo was the last one. Raph didn't even attempt to help Leo, knowing he’d slip into the gap just fine. Once they were all inside, Michelangelo swiftly recovered his nunchuck, the chain retracting back into its base with a soft whir. Without hesitation, the four turtles moved stealthily down the long, dark hallway, their footsteps eerily silent. Each of them had their weapons at the ready as they approached the first corner, where they had anticipated encountering several guards. In perfect sync, they turned the corner as one, poised for battle – only to be met with an unsettling emptiness.

Leonardo's eyes widened in surprise as he took in the empty corner, his expression a picture of shock. However, he quickly regained his composure, attributing the absence of guards to laziness or a minor deviation from their plan. With a reassuring grin, he sought to alleviate his siblings' concerns, his confidence and leadership qualities shining through. He gestured for them to follow, and the group continued down the hallway, navigating turn after turn. Yet, with each new corner, their confusion grew – where were the Foot Soldiers? The silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the soft creaking of their gear as they moved through the deserted corridors.

The group's cautious advance finally came to a halt at the end of the deserted hallway, where a formidable door barred their progress. The air was thick with anticipation, as it was clear that the Foot Clan had invested heavily in securing whatever lay beyond this portal. Leonardo's gaze locked onto the padlock, his eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and wariness. He turned to Donatello, a nod accompanying his request. "Donnie, would you like to do the honors?" Donatello nodded, his eyes lighting up with interest as he stepped forward to tackle the padlock. His fingers moved with precision, manually working the lock's intricate mechanisms.

Donatello's voice was low and contemplative as he worked on the lock, his words serving as a subtle reminder to his siblings of the potential dangers that lay ahead. "Whatever is behind this door is what they're protecting. Hopefully, the Kuroi Yoroi is back here," he murmured, his eyes fixed intently on the lock's mechanisms. Despite the underlying tension, a sense of calm pervaded the group, a sense of security that stemmed from their unwavering trust in Leonardo. He was their rock, their guiding light, and they had absolute faith in his ability to navigate them through even the most treacherous of situations. If Leonardo was confident, they were confident; and if he sensed danger, they knew he would protect them with his life.

Raphael's chuckle, despite being rough, was a welcome sound, helping to ease the tension that had been building. "Of course, it's the Kuroi Yoroi. What else would it be, nitwit?" He teased. Michelangelo, ever the jokester, piped up with a silly suggestion, "A Foot Soldier's Eighth Birthday Party?" The group's laughter was a brief but welcome respite from the stress of their mission. Leonardo and Michelangelo were always the ones who knew just what to say to diffuse the tension and calm their siblings' nerves. As the laughter died down, Donatello's focus returned to the task at hand, and he gave a small smile of satisfaction as he bypassed the padlock, the mechanism clicking open with a soft metallic sound.

As the doors slid apart, the group was met with a surreal sight. The room was filled with Foot Soldiers, their chatter and laughter creating a cacophony of noise that momentarily masked the sound of the doors opening. The room was decorated with colorful streamers, adding to the festive atmosphere. At the center of attention stood a small, tutu-clad figure in a Foot Uniform, a Foot Mask adorned with a painted smile covering her face. A large cake and piles of presents sat on a table behind her, while a bright banner stretched across the ceiling, proclaiming "Happy Eighth Birthday, Layla!" in bold, cheerful letters. The group's faces reflected their surprise, their mission to retrieve the Kuroi Yoroi momentarily forgotten in the face of this bizarre and unexpected scene.

The sudden silence was palpable as the Foot Soldiers' heads swiveled towards the turtles, their faces a mixture of surprise and hostility. In an instant, the air was charged with tension as weapons were drawn on both sides. The birthday girl, Layla, shocked the turtles by pulling out a massive Odachi from one of the gift boxes, her small hands grasping the hilt with an unnerving intensity. Her face contorted in a scowl as she wailed, "You ruined my birthday party!" With a fierce battle cry, she charged at the turtles, her sword flashing in the light. Leonardo sprang into action, positioning himself protectively in front of his siblings as he drew his twin katanas, their blades glinting menacingly.

"This is pathetic, even for the Foot," Leonardo commented, his tone laced with disdain as he deftly blocked Layla's attacks with his swords. His eyes widened slightly, however, as he was taken aback by the unexpected force behind her blows. Raphael swiftly moved to take the left flank, engaging the party guests-turned-opponents with his characteristic ferocity. “Finally, a real fight!”

Meanwhile, Donatello fell into a defensive stance alongside Michelangelo, the two of them expertly dodging and weaving to avoid the hail of attacks. As the initial shock of the bizarre situation began to wear off, the group settled into their battle rhythm. But just as they were finding their footing, a party cannon suddenly erupted, spewing forth a blinding storm of confetti. The colorful paper fragments swirled around them, obscuring their vision and causing Michelangelo and Raphael to yelp in surprise and annoyance. Leonardo, however, seemed impervious to the distraction, continuing to exchange blows with Layla. Donatello swiftly reacted to the chaos, flipping a switch on his tech-bo staff. A powerful gust of wind burst forth, sending the confetti swirling back towards the Foot Soldiers, momentarily blinding and disorienting them instead.

As the confetti continued to swirl around the Foot Soldiers, Donatello seized the opportunity to strike, his staff spinning with deadly precision as he targeted the weak points of his opponents. Michelangelo, meanwhile, unleashed the full fury of his nunchuck, its length extending and retracting with a whir as he sliced through the air, taking down multiple enemies at once. Raphael was able to easily plow through guests, but the chances of him being too focused on battle instead of the mission were high. Leonardo, meanwhile, was fully engaged in battle, taking on several of the stronger opponents with his characteristic skill and finesse. While Raphael couldn't help but view his actions as a bit showy, Leonardo's sole focus was on protecting his siblings, and he was willing to take on whatever challenges came his way to ensure their safety.

No matter how long they fought, it seemed this birthday party had one of the biggest guest lists possible. Only a few would stay down once defeated, and it was clear they had a larger motive to continuously pick themselves up again. Who knew a Foot Soldiers Eighth Birthday Party could be so violent?

***

Jennika had an easier way into the Foot Headquarters. She moved with an air of confidence, her presence going unnoticed by the guards as she slipped effortlessly into the Foot Headquarters. Her betrayal had been so unexpected, so calculated, that no one had seen it coming. And now, with her steel claws dangling from her belt, modeled after the very symbol of the Foot Clan's power, she seemed almost... entitled to be there. The ragged cloak draped over her shoulders helped to conceal the final piece of the mystic armor, safely tucked away on her opposite side. Her disguise was impeccable, and she blended seamlessly into the shadows, a ghostly figure moving undetected through the heart of the Foot Clan's stronghold.

Jennika's plan was straightforward, yet required precision and finesse. She had already navigated halfway through the East Wing without arousing suspicion, and now she focused on the next phase: slipping undetected through the shadows of the main hall. This was the most critical part of her plan, as the main hall housed the armor she sought. If she was caught, she was confident in her ability to concoct a plausible excuse, but she knew that avoiding confrontation altogether was the preferable option. Drawing attention to herself would only increase the risk of her mission being compromised, and she couldn't afford to take that chance. With calculated caution, she continued to move stealthily through the corridors, her senses on high alert for any sign of detection.

As Jennika envisioned herself standing atop the steps to the Kuroi Yoroi, a sense of ambition and determination burned within her. She was resolute in her plan to resurrect the Shredder, the infamous leader of the Foot Clan. With the Shredder by her side, Jennika was convinced that she would finally receive the recognition and respect she felt she deserved. The Shredder's influence would also provide her and her family with the protection they needed, shielding them from the dangers that lurked within the Foot Clan's ranks. Most importantly, with the Shredder's backing, Jennika was confident that she would receive the boost in rankings she had long coveted, propelling her to the pinnacle of power within the Foot Clan.

***

Leonardo's gaze swept across the chaotic battlefield, his eyes lingering on the Foot Soldiers' clumsy attempts at combat. He couldn't help but feel a mix of disdain and disappointment. These were clearly the Foot Clan's lowest-ranking members, and the fact that they were being led by an eight-year-old child was almost laughable. Leonardo's instincts screamed at him to take charge, to show these amateur warriors the true meaning of combat. He longed to demonstrate the skills he and his siblings had honed over the years, to prove that they were the superior fighters. But, he knew that indulging in this battle would only serve to delay their true mission: preventing the resurrection of the demon. With a calculated calm, Leonardo pushed aside his desire for a decisive victory and focused on finding a way to bring a swift end to the battle, so that he and his siblings could press on and save the world from the impending threat.

As Leonardo continued to exchange blows with the Foot Soldiers, his eyes scanned the room, searching for the exit they had planned to use. His gaze landed on a door to his right, which appeared to be secured with the same type of padlock that Donatello had effortlessly bypassed earlier. Recognizing the opportunity, Leonardo's mind began to formulate a plan. He knew that he needed to get Donatello over to the door, and then create a diversion to give his brother the time and space to work his technical magic and unlock the door. With a mental nod, Leonardo set his plan in motion, preparing to create a window of opportunity for Donatello to get to work.

With a swift motion, Leonardo shoved the Foot Soldiers he was battling, sending them tumbling to the ground. Seizing the brief window of opportunity, he launched one of his katanas through the air, the blade slicing through the distance to embed itself in the wall above the door. "Donnie!" he called out to his brother, his head whipping around to locate him. "Catch!" he warned, before throwing the second katana in Donatello's direction. Donatello caught the handle, the blade narrowly missing his skin as he absorbed the impact. In a flash of blue light, he teleported to the door, reappearing beside it. Without hesitation, he set to work on the lock, his fingers moving with practiced ease. Leonardo, meanwhile, utilized his exceptional combat skills to weave through the opponents, retrieving his katanas and positioning himself protectively near his brother. As the battle raged on, Leonardo found himself gaining the upper hand, the Foot Soldiers' attacks becoming increasingly disorganized and easy to deflect.

***

Jennika darted down the hallway, her cloak flying behind her like a shadow. The weight of disappearing on her wife lay in the back of her mind like a thick cloud of smoke that she continuously pushed back. Thinking about it made her feel small, but she tended to ignore how pushing the thought back made her feel even smaller. Like she was a weak, frail child hiding behind a big, powerful fan that continued to push the clouds back. She knew she'd have to shut off the fan eventually or else it would die on its own, overloaded and sprawling the clouds onto her.

Jennika's gaze drifted downward, her eyes settling on the shard nestled on her belt, concealed from view by the folds of her dark cloak. As the soft, golden light of the shard caught her eye, she felt an inexplicable sense of trepidation. It was as if the shard was watching her, daring her to question its significance, its power, and the true cost of her ambition. The gleam seemed to hold a silent challenge, one that only Jennika could hear, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

Suddenly, there was a clicking sound behind her. She halted in her steps, processing the familiar sound of a blaster building up, ready to fire. "Long time no see," the gruff voice commented. With her well trained ears, she estimated the distance between her and the weapon, and swiftly ducked. In one smooth motion, the back of her heel collided with the side of the blaster, the built up energy firing to the empty space to the left of her. She replanted her foot, whipping around and throwing her fist in the opponent's face. The sharp, sickly looking face of John Bishop. The deadly pallor of his face making her tremble. With a firm arm, he blocked her attack. "Not long enough," she growled back, too distracted to notice how he had created an opening to knee her in her plated stomach. Shells came in handy in combat.

Jennika stumbled backward, her movements barely avoiding the rapid-fire kicks that Bishop unleashed. His words cut deeper than his blows, each phrase a venomous barb designed to pierce her defenses. "You were such a good EPF agent," he taunted, his voice dripping with malice. The mention of her past life as an Earth Protection Force agent struck a chord, and for a moment, Jennika's gaze faltered. Bishop's next words, however, reignited her fury. "Too bad you ended up being a traitor... and a disgusting yokai." The contempt in his voice was palpable, and Jennika's eyes flashed with anger. She dodged the powerful kick that followed, her movements fluid and calculated.

Jennika put distance between the two of them, giving her time to slip her claws on, and in turn, giving Bishop crucial moments to fire up his blaster once more. By the time the base of her weapon was securely wrapped around her fist, his weapon was set to rapid fire. Swiftly, she was able to dodge while advancing further. She ducked, jumped, rolled, and swerved before she met herself with a wall. A few strong steps and enough momentum, she had scaled the concrete partially, diving over the line of fire and landing in range.

With a swift, deadly motion, Jennika sliced through the end of the blaster, the metal tip clattering to the floor as the sound echoed through the hallway. Bishop's gaze barely flickered, his eyes slowly shifting from the disabled blaster to Jennika's triumphant form. Pink goo began to ooze from the blasters wound. "Always the risky fighter, huh, Jennika?" Bishop sneered, his tone strident as his malfunctioning blaster continued to twitch and spasm in his hand. Jennika's retort was swift and venomous. "Always the fool, huh, Bishop?" She taunted, brushing off her cloak as she approached him, her blades at the ready. Bishop's response was immediate and unexpected. "You're the fool," he spat, before suddenly hurling the malfunctioning blaster at Jennika. The device struck her with considerable force, knocking her off balance and sending her stumbling backward.

Jennika's eyes widened in alarm as she realized the blaster's imminent explosion. With barely enough time to react, she fumbled with the device, her fingers scrambling to toss it away from her. She managed to fling it aside mere moments before the liquid ignited, unleashing a minor explosion that sent her flying backward. Jennika crashed into the wall with a bone-jarring impact, the shockwave of pain radiating through her body and converging around her shell. Her initial concern was for the integrity of her shell, worrying that it might be cracked or damaged. However, her anxiety was short-lived, as a far more pressing threat emerged in the form of Bishop. His grin, etched onto his chiseled features, seemed to grow wider as he approached her battered form, his slow, deliberate steps exuding an air of menace. Jennika's nerves strained, her senses on high alert as she struggled to regain her footing, her mind racing with the ominous implications of Bishop's unhurried approach.

As Jennika struggled to rise to her feet, her battered body refused to cooperate, forcing her back down to the ground. Bishop loomed over her, his black eyes seeming to bore into her very soul. His voice was laced with venom as he spoke, his words dripping with malice. "You and every yokai will regret the damage you've caused. Your threat will be eliminated." His tone dropped to a menacing whisper, the threat hanging in the air like a challenge. Jennika's face twisted in anger, her voice trembling with rage as she began to speak. "You..." she started, her tone sharp as needles, her teeth gritted in fury. But before she could finish, Bishop's fist slammed into her face, sending a burst of blood shooting from her nose. Jennika's eyes fluttered closed, her body going limp as she lost consciousness, her battered form slumping to the ground.

***

Leo's world narrowed to the rhythmic clash of steel on steel, his movements a fluid dance as he wove between the Foot Soldiers. The din of the room receded, becoming a distant hum that barely registered on his consciousness. His focus was absolute, his senses heightened as he anticipated and countered each attack. In this state, he was invincible, a master of his craft. Time seemed to slow, allowing him to navigate the chaos with ease. But then, a voice pierced the bubble of his concentration, shattering the spell.

“Leo!” His head whipped around at Donnie's shout, his eyes locking onto the slowly opening door as the keypad flashed green. “It's open,” Donnie's proud grin was evident, but it was short-lived. As the doors creaked open, they revealed a small, empty black room, no larger than a storage closet. The brothers' eyes widened in unison, their minds racing to process the implications. The room was empty, devoid of any signs of the valuable information they had been seeking. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Leo's stomach as he exchanged a wary glance with Donnie. This was no coincidence. The ease with which they had bypassed the security measures, the convenient opening of the door... it all pointed to one inescapable conclusion: this was a trap.

Leo's head snapped towards the entrance, his heart racing as he took in the horrific scene unfolding before him. His younger siblings, Raph and Mikey, were pinned to the ground by a swarm of masked soldiers, their struggles futile against the overwhelming force. The paint on the masks seemed to sear itself into Leo's brain, a constant reminder of his failure. His gaze locked onto the Odachi, its razor-sharp edge pressed against Mikey's neck, the smallest turtle's eyes wide with fear as he tried to squirm free. The girl's cackle sent a chill down Leo's spine, her eyes blazing with malevolence. "Drop your weapons, turtle fiend!" she spat, her voice dripping with venom. Raph screamed at him to not give in, just like how Leo's instincts screamed at him to fight, to protect his siblings at all costs, but he knew he was outmatched. With a heavy heart, he surrendered, his weapons slipping from his grasp and retreating to his sides. His arms rose in defeat, a sense of despair washing over him. He had failed his brothers, and in doing so, had failed the world. The weight of his failure crushed him, leaving him feeling helpless and devastated.

Chapter Text

The air around the turtles was oppressive, weighed down by the crushing burden of self-doubt. Donnie and Leo were trapped in their own minds, reliving the events that had led to their downfall. Donnie's thoughts were consumed by the what-ifs, his imagination tormenting him with visions of a different outcome. If only he had reached the door sooner, if only he had opened it faster... The blame rested squarely on his own shoulders, and the weight of it was suffocating.

Leo, meanwhile, was haunted by the memories of the battle. Every move he had made, every decision, was replayed in his mind, scrutinized for flaws. He was the oldest, the one who had always been tasked with protecting his younger siblings. The lessons of his father, Splinter, echoed in his mind: protect your family at all costs. Leo's failure to do so was a bitter pill to swallow, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had let everyone down.

The bitter taste of failure filled Leo's mouth as he knelt beside his siblings, his arms bound behind him. He had vowed to never again fail those he protected, to never again let his family down. Yet, here they were, captive and helpless, lined up before the ominous tower that loomed before them. The structure seemed to pierce the earth like a jagged tooth, holding the pieces to the puzzle of the destruction of New York. The metal parts gleamed with malice in the torch light, and he couldn't help but feel as if they were all eyes staring right at him.

Leo's head dropped, his chin tucked to his chest as he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. The weight of his failure threatened to crush him, and he could feel the sting of tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His mind was a maelstrom of despair, consumed by the devastating thought that if the world ended today, it would be his fault. The burden of responsibility was suffocating, and he knew he couldn't share it with his siblings.

The eerie stillness was shattered by the crisp, deliberate footsteps, which seemed to command attention. The muted murmurs and restless shuffling of the turtles ceased, replaced by an air of tense anticipation. A towering figure emerged, clad in a sleek, black suit that appeared to be chiseled from the very darkness itself. The fabric was immaculate, devoid of even the slightest wrinkle or imperfection, exuding an aura of calculated precision.

Slung over his shoulder, a battered and bruised kappa yokai hung limply, her muscular frame swathed in a tattered cloak. The turtles recognized her as the woman who tried to end their lives on several occasions. A trickle of crimson seeped from her nostrils, and her normally formidable physique seemed reduced to a mere shadow of its former self. She resembled a living, breathing piñata, her body a canvas of colorful bruises and lacerations. The man supporting her weight appeared almost cadaverous, his gaunt features seeming to defy the laws of mortality. Yet, despite his frail appearance, he displayed an unusual strength, effortlessly bearing the yokai's substantial weight as if she were a mere afterthought

With a voice that was both low and sonorous, the man declared, "I have your traitor." His words settled over the assembled Foot Soldiers like a heavy, suffocating blanket, casting a pall of anticipation over the room. Though his statement was directed at the Lieutenant, who stood tall and proud beside the imposing armor, it was clear that every soldier present was aware of the weight and significance of the announcement.

"John Bishop," the Lieutenant rasped, his voice like a rusty gate, worn from years of disuse. His tone was as dull as his gaze, devoid of emotion. "Bring her up," he instructed, his gesture a curt, economical motion towards the side of the armor, where the hulking Foot Brute stood, axe at the ready. Bishop nodded, his face a mask of detachment, as he hauled Jennika up the stairs. The motion stirred Jennika from her stupor, her pounding head throbbing like a drum. Her vision blurred, she struggled to take in her surroundings. All she could see were hazy steps moving beneath her, and tiny trickles of blood dripping onto them, leaving a glistening trail. It took her a moment to realize that the blood was her own, seeping from her nose. Her ears felt clogged and ringing, her head fuzzy, and her entire body felt drunk with physical pain.

Jennika's struggles were feeble, but she managed to wiggle her bound arms, the restraints digging into her shell. She grunted, her mouth opening to expel a mouthful of thick, crimson blood. The globs hit the hard step below her with a sickening splat, and Jennika's gaze was drawn to the mesmerizing pattern they formed. The blood pool spread, tiny droplets dancing across the steps, their movement seemingly slowed by the dim lighting. The liquid gleamed, reflecting the flickering orange hues of the surrounding torches, its surface mirroring the light like polished glass. Yet, the edges of the pool were a stark contrast, an inky blackness that seemed to absorb all light. Jennika's gaze was transfixed by the macabre beauty of the blood, a faint, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. But as the reality of her situation came crashing back, her smile faltered, and her eyes snapped back into focus.

Jennika was yanked off Bishop's shoulder by the Foot Brute, whose rough grasp was infused with a palpable disdain for her perceived disloyalty. As she was repositioned, the world spun around her, and the blood rushed out of her head, leaving her dizzy and disoriented. She found herself on her knees, her arms bound behind her, her gaze drawn to the tower's base. There, she saw the turtles, similarly restrained, their eyes fixed on her with a mixture of concern and defiance. The same group of teens she had sworn to eliminate now shared her plight, a cruel irony that was not lost on her. The faint, enigmatic smile that had played on her lips earlier began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of despair as her delirium gave way to the harsh reality of her situation.

The reality that she would never see her wife again.

The Lieutenant's voice boomed through the assembly, his words dripping with contempt as he addressed the crowd. "On this day, our devoted Foot Assassin, Jennika, has betrayed us," he declared, his tone crisp and authoritative, amplified by the full force of his lungs. As he turned to face Jennika, his expression twisted into a scathing glare, his eyes blazing with indignation. "She stole the final armor piece, planning to take credit for our work," he spat, his voice venomous. "We predicted this, Jennika. I could smell your foolishness like a hound dog." The Lieutenant's words hung in the air like a challenge, his resentment simmering just below the surface. He turned back to the crowd, his voice taking on a firmer, more resolute tone. "On this day," he repeated, the words carrying a heavier weight, a sense of gravitas that echoed through the assembly. "Jennika Smith will pay for her atrocities. The axe will seal her fate." With a curt gesture, he signaled the Foot Brute, who raised his massive arms, the axe glinting in the dim light as he prepared to deliver the fatal blow.

A blood-curdling shriek pierced the air, and a vibrant, multicolored fox darted out from the crowd, her bushy tails and oversized ears making her appear almost otherworldly. Her friends, a shaved-headed, pierced individual and another with unruly white hair, rushed to restrain her, trying to drag her back into the relative safety of the crowd. Shoku's anguished wails and sobs filled the air, her eyes fixed on Jennika with a desperate, pleading expression. Donnie's throat constricted with disappointment and frustration, his voice caught in his throat. He longed to speak out, to intervene, but his courage failed him, leaving him mute and helpless as the scene unfolded before him.

"It was inevitable, Shoku," the Lieutenant declared, his voice dripping with malice as he bent down to Jennika's level. The axe still hovered ominously in the air, casting a long, menacing shadow on the ground. Jennika's eyes blazed with fury, her expression twisted in a silent snarl, as if she would gladly rip the Lieutenant apart if only she were free. But before she could even spit in his face, the Lieutenant swiftly snatched the final shard from her belt, deftly avoiding her enraged gaze. He stepped back, clearing the way for the Foot Brute to deliver the fatal blow. The Lieutenant's attention turned to Shoku, who was still being restrained by her friends, her body shaking with weakness and fear. "The poisoned apple doesn't fall far from the tree," he sneered, his voice heavy with contempt. "You're sick as well, Shoku. A traitor driven by the disease of illusion." With a dismissive flick of his wrist, the Lieutenant turned his back on the crowd, his attention focusing on the arrangement of armor pieces before him.

Shoku's anguished wails grew louder, more piercing, as the axe swung back, its deadly arc unfolding with merciless precision. Her beseeching cries, ignored by the Foot Brute, seemed to fall on deaf ears, until one word, one desperate, heart-wrenching word, escaped her lips. That single word struck Jennika like a physical blow, causing her to flinch, her eyes snapping towards Shoku with a mixture of shock, pain, and regret.

The word "Mama" tore through the air, a heart-wrenching cry that shattered the façade of formality and discipline that had once defined their relationship. Shoku's turquoise eyes, now brimming with tears, pleaded with Jennika, their gaze a desperate, soulful appeal that cut through the armor of Jennika's resolve. The fox's cheeks, usually so fluffy and lively, were now soaked with tears, her face a picture of anguish and despair. Jennika felt the weight of her past bearing down on her, the torment of her mistakes, the pain of her neglect. And yet, in the face of all that, Shoku still loved her.

The knowledge that Sheena, too, had suffered in silence, pierced Jennika's heart like a dagger. She had always been aware of the deep-seated pain that drove her actions, a pain that stemmed from her own troubled childhood. As she gazed down the tower, her eyes straining to see Shoku's face, now a blurry, tear-stained smear, Jennika felt the weight of her regret threatening to consume her. She longed to reach out, to say something, anything, to ease her daughter's pain, to apologize for the years of torment she had inflicted upon her. But the words caught in her throat, refusing to be spoken. Even as death's dark doorway loomed before her, Jennika's pride, her fear, and her shame struggled to maintain their grip, silencing the words that might have brought solace to her daughter.

Jennika's head dropped, her eyes shutting in resignation as she steeled herself for the fatal blow. The weight of her own self-loathing crushed her, the realization of her own horrid nature finally sinking in. She knew she had been a terrible person, but it was only now, in this moment of reckoning, that she fully acknowledged the depths of her own depravity. The punishment that awaited her was not just for her betrayal of the Foot, but for the far greater crimes she had committed against those she was supposed to love and protect. She was ready to pay the price for being a woefully inadequate wife and mother, for the pain and suffering she had inflicted on those who had depended on her. The axe's deadly swing would be a just reckoning, a punishment she felt she richly deserved.

Shoku's anguished howls gradually subsided into pitiful sobs, her throat raw and exhausted from the emotional outpouring. Her body crumpled to the cold, unforgiving concrete floor, her limbs trembling with grief. Cassandra and Alopex, their faces etched with sympathy, knelt beside their friend, offering what little comfort they could. Yet, no matter how much they cared about Shoku, their loyalty to the Foot was always first. The organization's code was clear: betrayal would not be tolerated, and Jennika's punishment had already been decreed. As they held Shoku, their eyes remained fixed on Jennika, their expressions a mixture of sadness and resolve, acknowledging that the kappa's fate was all but sealed.

The Foot Lieutenant's hand hovered above the armor, the final mystic piece trembling in his palm like a magnet yearning to connect with its counterparts. The air was electric with anticipation, the turtles' hearts racing in unison as they watched the scene unfold. Bishop's voice, laced with authority, cut through the tension, stopping both the Lieutenant's approach and the Foot Brute's deadly swing. "This wasn't our deal," Bishop reminded him, his tone daring the Lieutenant to contradict him. The Lieutenant's pause was palpable, his groan a mixture of frustration and annoyance at Bishop's untimely intervention.

The brief argument that ensued seemed to hang in the balance, the outcome uncertain, before the Lieutenant finally acquiesced, allowing Bishop to take matters into his own hands. The spare blaster Bishop produced seemed to hum to life, its power-up a ominous portent of the fate that awaited Jennika. As the Lieutenant resumed his approach to the armor, the shard in his hand beginning to tremble with an otherworldly energy, the sense of impending doom settled over the assembly like a shroud. The calm that had momentarily descended was short-lived, the tension ratcheting up once more as the dual threats of Jennika's execution and the resurrection of the Shredder loomed larger than ever.

The building shuddered and trembled, the walls convulsing as if alive. The sound of cracking and splitting brick filled the air, growing louder as the wall behind the armor began to disintegrate. The fissure spread, a jagged line that crept across the bricks, expanding with a sudden, explosive force. As the wall burst apart, a dark shape came into view, a shadowy form that hurtled through the gap, slamming into the armor with incredible force.

The impact sent the carefully arranged shards flying, scattering them across the floor as the creature's momentum carried it forward. Debris and dust swirled through the air, a chaotic storm that obscured the scene, leaving the turtles and the Foot Clan staring on in stunned confusion.

As the dust settled, a towering figure emerged, its brown scales glistening in the flickering torchlight. A turtle stood tall, his muscular physique rippling beneath his scaly skin. His shell, adorned with three vibrant orange stripes, seemed impervious to the destruction he had just caused, its dusty surface a testament to his crash through the wall. His electric blue eyes gleamed with an inner intensity, their piercing gaze illuminated by the dim light. The sharp contrast between his glowing blue irises and the pitch-black sclera made his eyes seem almost otherworldly, as if they burned with an inner fire.

The yokai stood tall, only, it wasn't a yokai at all. He was a mutant named Rem.

Chapter Text

The armor pieces, once meticulously arranged, now cascaded down the staircase like a shimmering, metallic waterfall. The clicking of the fragments against the concrete steps created a hauntingly beautiful melody, a symphony of sound that echoed through the air. Rem stood tall, a towering figure amidst the chaos, his feet planted firmly on the crushed stone that had once been the wall. Beneath the rubble, the Foot Lieutenant lay motionless, his body crushed beneath the weight of the debris. It was likely that he had succumbed to his injuries, his life extinguished beneath the rubble. Nearby, the Foot Brute lay still, his massive form similarly silenced by the devastating impact. The air was heavy with the scent of dust and destruction, the only sound the gentle clicking of the armor pieces as they continued their rhythmic descent down the staircase.

The Foot Soldiers, their discipline shattered by the sudden and catastrophic loss of their leaders, stood frozen in shock and uncertainty. Their eyes darted wildly between the rubble-strewn floor, the mutant who had wreaked havoc, and their fallen comrades.

In stark contrast, the turtles breathed a collective sigh of relief, their eyes fixed on the mutant who had single-handedly turned the tide of the battle. Though they were grateful for his intervention, a hint of wariness lingered in their expressions, a cautious uncertainty about this newcomer's intentions.

Shoku, still trembling with fear, strained to see the aftermath of the destruction. Her eyes scanned the rubble-strewn floor, her heart racing with anxiety, until they finally came to rest on her mother, Jennika. A wave of relief washed over her as she saw that Jennika was alive and seemingly unharmed. Yet, despite this reassurance, a lingering sense of anxiety continued to gnaw at her.

Bishop, meanwhile, was still standing nearby, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. His eyes, though narrowed, seemed to gleam with a calculating intensity, even as he struggled to regain his footing amidst the chaos.

As the dust settled, it became clear that the mutant's explosive entrance had had an unintended consequence: Bishop's misfired blast had struck a critical pillar, causing it to shudder and begin to disintegrate. The sound of crumbling stone filled the air, threatening to bring the entire structure down.

But before the pillar could collapse completely, a woman emerged from the crowd, her face hidden in the shadow of her elaborate black hat. The hat itself was a masterpiece of dark, mystical design, adorned with intricate golden patterns that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. With a swift, economical motion, she raised her hand, and the crumbling ceased. The air seemed to vibrate with magical energy as she reached out with her powers, grasping the shattered pillar without touching it.

As the crowd watched in awe, the woman reassembled the pillar, restoring it to its former solidity. The sound of grinding stone gave way to an eerie silence, broken only by the woman's sharp, commanding voice as she turned to bark orders at the Foot Soldiers.

Shoku's eyes widened as she took in the woman's striking appearance. Her skin was deathly pale, accentuated by heavy, dark makeup that made her features seem almost cadaverous. Black lipstick and dark purple eyeliner added to the dramatic effect, while her bright lemon-colored eyes gleamed like lanterns in the dark. Shoku recognized the woman instantly: Shinigami, the Foot Mage, who preferred to style herself as a witch.

The Foot Soldiers, fueled by Shinigami's orders, charged up the tower with reckless abandon, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they converged on Rem. The mutant turtle, his eyes blazing with fury, let out a thunderous roar that shook the very foundations of the tower. His massive jaws, lined with razor-sharp teeth, seemed to be perpetually locked in a snarl, as if daring the Foot Soldiers to come closer.

Rem's teeth, jagged and pointed, gleamed in the dim light, giving him a feral, predatory appearance. His entire being seemed to radiate an aura of raw power and aggression, as if he had been born for one purpose alone: to destroy. And as he clashed with the Foot Soldiers, his movements a blur of speed and fury, it became clear that Rem was, indeed, a living, breathing weapon.

The room descended into utter chaos, with Shoku's fragile mental state beginning to unravel. Her eyes wide with fear, she trembled violently, her mind reeling as the mayhem unfolded around her. The turtles, sensing their chance, struggled to free themselves from their bindings, their desperate efforts a testament to their determination to escape.

Meanwhile, the Foot Soldiers clashed with Rem, their movements a blur as they attempted to take down the formidable mutant turtle. Bishop's voice rose above the din, his barked orders and criticisms revealing a sinister truth: Rem was his creation, a creature engineered for destruction. The Foot Clan's plan had accounted for Jennika's betrayal, but they had never anticipated Bishop's own treachery. The consequences of this double-cross were now unfolding with devastating clarity, as Rem's rampage threatened to upend the entire operation.

Bishop's voice cut through the chaos, his orders and criticisms revealing a calculated precision. As an EPF agent, he had been playing a delicate double game, using his vendetta against Jennika as cover for his true mission: to prevent the Foot Clan from unleashing a catastrophic evil upon the world. The resurrection of an ancient demon was a prospect too dire to contemplate, and Bishop would stop at nothing to ensure it never came to pass. Rem, his creation, was the key to foiling the Foot Clan's plans, and Bishop would guide him every step of the way.

Through the bars of his blue mask, Leo's eyes locked onto the scattered pieces, his gaze burning with determination. If he could just grab the piece closest to him, they might have a chance to escape and prevent the resurrection of the notorious Shredder. Raph's struggles to free him from his bindings seemed to be taking an eternity, but Leo knew his brother wouldn't give up. As he watched, Rem clashed with the Foot Soldiers, buying them precious time. Leo's heart pounded with anticipation as he strained against his restraints, willing Raph to hurry.

Leo's gaze remained fixed on the metal piece, its plum tint seeming to pulse with a malevolent energy in the torchlight. But as he stared, a soft, lavender glow began to emanate from it, as if the very darkness within was responding to his attention. The air seemed to thicken, and Leo's eyes widened as he realized that the piece he was staring at was merely a small part of a larger, more sinister whole.

As he watched in horror, the scattered armor pieces began to tremble and levitate, drawn together by some unseen force. Shinigami, the Foot Mage, stood at the center of the whirlwind, her decorative hat askew as she strained to maintain control of the dark magic coursing through her. The wind generated by the spell buffeted the turtles, sending them stumbling backward.

The turtles as well as Shoku, who was separated from her friends, were pushed back by the force of the wind and into a nearby wall, their eyes fixed on the Foot Mage with a mixture of fear and fascination. Alopex and Cassandra, lacking mystic abilities, nonetheless rallied to Shinigami's aid, stabilized her as she poured all her energy into the resurrection ritual.

Time seemed to shatter, freezing the chaotic scene in a snapshot of perpetual motion. The turtles' fear spiked, their hearts racing with anticipation, as they realized that something was terribly wrong. Raph, fueled by adrenaline and desperation, burst free from his bindings, abandoning his efforts to free Leo. With a fierce cry, he launched himself at Shinigami, determined to stop her from proceeding with the dark ritual.

But Alopex was ready for him. With a swift, agile movement, she interposed herself between Raph and Shinigami, her long blade flashing in the frozen light. The two warriors clashed, their blades ringing out in a flurry of steel and sparks. The battle was fierce, intense, and utterly futile. For in this frozen moment, it was clear that the outcome was already sealed, and that nothing could stop the horror that was to come.

As the dark cloud dissipated, the mystic metal pieces had merged into a single, cohesive entity. The armor, now whole, hovered in mid-air, its presence seeming to fill the room with an unspeakable malevolence. The helmet's empty space was now illuminated by two glowing eyes, burning with an otherworldly intensity.

Shinigami, exhausted from her magical exertions, collapsed to the ground, her body limp and lifeless. But the armor remained suspended, its levitation now fueled by a power far greater than the Foot Mage's magic. The claws on the armor twitched, as if testing their newfound freedom, and then, in a moment that seemed to freeze time itself, the heart encased in the transparent Foot symbol began to beat.

The armor, once dull and lifeless, now radiated a sinister glow, a gleam that seemed to emanate from the very soul that now occupied it. The air was heavy with an unspeakable presence, a malevolent entity that had awakened from its ancient slumber, ready to wreak havoc upon the world once more.

The voice was like a cold wind, cutting through the air with disdainful amusement. Its laughter was a mocking, condescending sound, dripping with arrogance and contempt. The words themselves were a slap in the face, a cruel reminder of the futility of their efforts.

"Pathetic mortals," Shredder sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Did you really believe you could prevent this? I am Oroku Saki, the Shredder, and I will not be defeated by the likes of you."

Donatello, in particular, felt the sting of those words. He had designed the equipment, the tech that was supposed to prevent this very outcome. And yet, here they were, facing the resurrection of a powerful and malevolent force. The weight of responsibility settled heavy on his shoulders, and for a moment, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

Donatello finally managed to free himself from his restraints, and with a swift motion, he pressed a button on his battle shell. The temple shook, and a nearby wall came crashing down, sending debris flying everywhere. Through the newly created opening, a swarm of robotic drones, mechanical arms, and other technological contraptions burst into the room, a chaotic whirlwind of metal and wires.

Without hesitation, Donatello turned his attention to his wrist, rapidly typing away on a small keypad. His focus was solely on the task at hand, leaving no time for witty remarks or boasts. Instead, he let his actions speak for themselves. "I hope you've enjoyed your stay," he declared, his voice echoing through the room. Shredder's gaze snapped towards him, and Donatello's gauntlet sprang to life, illuminating with a soft pink glow.

As the chaos erupted, Leonardo and Michelangelo quickly freed each other from their restraints. Michelangelo, ever the quick thinker, swiftly pulled out his trusty nunchuck and extended its chain. With a flick of his wrist, the chain latched around Raphael's arm, yanking him backward like a fish on a hook. Michelangelo held tight, reeling Raphael in with a grin, until his brother stumbled back into the safety of their little group, looking a bit dazed but otherwise unharmed.

As the machines closed in, a symphony of chaos erupted, with explosions and fireworks illuminating the dark temple. Leonardo instinctively wrapped his arms around his younger brothers, shielding them with his larger shell. Michelangelo snuggled deeper into the protective embrace, his grin still plastered on his face. "Nice move, Donnie. Shred-head won't be staying long," he quipped, his humor a thin veneer over the fear that lurked beneath.

Raphael and Leonardo exchanged a tense glance, their eyes locked in a silent prayer that Michelangelo's words would prove prophetic. Donatello, meanwhile, stood tall, his fingers flying across his keypad as he orchestrated the mechanical onslaught. The machines were his symphony, and he was the conductor, driving them forward with a fierce determination.

As the dust settled, the turtles' eyes locked onto the figure of Shredder, expecting to see him battered and bruised. But instead, he stood tall, his armor gleaming and unscathed. The machines that had attacked him lay scattered and still, their metal bodies twisted and broken.

Donatello's face fell, his eyes widening in dismay. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the unmoving machines, his mind reeling with the implications. His tech, his pride and joy, had failed.

"EPF, take action!" Bishop's voice was laced with urgency as he barked orders into his watch. Almost instantly, the sound of gunfire filled the air, bullets raining in through the newly created opening. Wails came from Foot Soldiers that were surely hit and most likely killed, but Shredder merely strolled forward, his demonic armor deflecting the bullets with ease.

The demon's voice was a low, menacing growl, his teeth glinting in the dim light. "Pitiful. So desperate to delay the inevitable." He vanished from sight, and the temple was filled with the agonized screams of the EPF agents. The gunfire ceased, replaced by an oppressive silence.

When Shredder reappeared, his armor remained unscathed, a testament to his formidable power. He halted before the tower. Bishop and Rem were nowhere to be seen, having seemingly vanished in the chaos. The air was heavy with tension, the only sound the heavy breathing of the turtles and the distant, fading screams of the EPF agents.

Alopex's voice was a high-pitched squeak, a stark contrast to Shredder's deep, rumbling growl. She stood on the first few steps of the tower, her finger accusatorially pointed up the staircase. "Master Shredder! Jennika betrayed the Foot. Punish her immediately!"

Shredder's gaze followed Alopex's pointing finger, his eyes locking onto Jennika's bound form at the top of the tower. His massive, armored body began to climb the stairs, each step echoing through the temple like a death knell. As he reached the top, his eyes burned with an inner fire, his jaws open in a snarl. Jennika, still bound and helpless, could only watch in terror as the demon loomed over her, his very presence seeming to darken the air around him.

Shoku's eyes welled up with tears as she watched the scene unfold, her body trembling with emotion. But before she could utter a sound, the blue-masked leader, Leonardo, swiftly moved to silence her. He gently covered her mouth with his hand, his eyes filled with a deep understanding and empathy.

Shoku's tears dripped onto Leonardo's hand as he held her, his grip firm but gentle. He knew that she was on the verge of breaking down, and he couldn't let that happen. Not here, not now. He remembered all too well the pain of watching a parent die, and he couldn't bear the thought of Shoku going through that same trauma.

Shredder's voice was a low, menacing rumble, his words dripping with disdain as he addressed the Foot Clan soldiers. "Betrayed?" he repeated, his tone incredulous. "Jennika has proven herself to be a true warrior, worthy of the Foot Clan's highest ranks. You all, on the other hand, are nothing but weak, pathetic excuses for ninjas."

The soldiers gasped in shock and outrage, their voices rising in protest. But Shredder's glare silenced them, his eyes burning with an inner fire that dared them to defy him. "Jennika is the Foot Clan's new Chunin," he declared, his voice brooking no argument.

As the soldiers watched in stunned silence, Shredder raised a hand and swiftly cut Jennika free from her bindings. She stood tall, her head held high, her eyes flashing with a fierce determination. Instead of rushing to her child, she walked calmly to Shredder's side, standing beside him as if daring anyone to challenge her newfound status. The air was thick with tension, the Foot Clan soldiers exchanging uneasy glances as they struggled to come to terms with this sudden and unexpected turn of events.

As the Foot Clan soldiers were distracted by Shredder's shocking announcement, the turtles took advantage of the chaos to make their escape. They slipped out of the temple through the new entrance, created by Donatello's machines, and found themselves amidst a grim and bloody scene.

The EPF soldiers who had been sent to provide backup lay scattered and lifeless, their bodies mangled and bloody. A testament to Shredder's brutal power. The turtles exchanged somber glances, their faces set in determined expressions.

Leonardo kept a firm grip on Shoku, holding her close as they navigated through the carnage. He knew that she was still reeling from the shock of what she had just witnessed, and he was determined to keep her safe. He could sense her trembling with fear and adrenaline, and he knew that she might do something reckless if given the chance. So he held her tight, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any signs of danger as they got past the brutal scene.

Leo dropped her off in an alley and prepared to leave, but he halted.

Donatello's face was twisted in a mixture of anger and frustration as he confronted Shoku in the alley. His fists were clenched, and his jaw was tight, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. "You realize what you've done, right?" he demanded, his voice harsh and ringing out through the alley.

The others fell silent, taken aback by Donatello's outburst. Shoku stared back at him, her eyes wide and uncertain, but she seemed unable to find the words to respond.

"Donnie..." Michelangelo tried to intervene, stepping forward to calm his brother down, but Donatello was beyond reason.

"Can it, Mikey!" he snapped, his voice rising. "If she had just listened to me and given me the last piece...!" He sputtered, his anger and frustration overwhelming him. His thoughts were racing, trying to catch up to his words, but they seemed to come faster and faster, fueled by his rage.

“You knew?” The orange turtle whispered. Shoku's glaze met Michelangelo's, and she saw the hurt and surprise reflected back at her. She knew she had to be honest, no matter how difficult it was. She took a deep breath, letting her gaze drop for a moment as she gathered her thoughts.

Raphael's growl cut through the air, his anger and frustration palpable. "So, she could have... prevented all of this," he spat, his words dripping with accusation.

Shoku's eyes flicked up, meeting Donatello's angry gaze, and then Michelangelo's hurt expression. She knew she had to make things right, or at least try to. She opened her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper, as she prepared to speak the truth.

Shoku heard it first, a sense of impending impact that seemed to silence everything else in her mind. It was as if her senses had skipped ahead, anticipating the blow before it landed. And then, Donatello's knuckles connected with her cheek, the force of the punch whipping her head downward.

The sound of the slap echoed through the alleyway, a stark and jarring noise that seemed to hang in the air. Shoku's eyes widened in shock and pain, tears pricking at the corners as her cheek throbbed. Her body began to shake, her muscles trembling with adrenaline and pain. But despite the shock and hurt, she didn't move, didn't react. She just sat there on the cold, dirty concrete, her eyes fixed on the ground, her body quivering with each ragged breath.

Donatello's face was a twisted mask of anguish, his eyes blazing with a mixture of guilt, shame, and desperation. He was consumed by self-loathing, believing that Shredder's resurrection was his own fault, a direct result of his failure to prevent it. The weight of his perceived responsibility threatened to crush him, and in a misguided attempt to ease his own guilty conscience, he lashed out at Shoku, deflecting the blame onto her.

"No? No? Shoku, this is your fault!" he spat, his words dripping with venom. "The world is going to end, and you did this!" He was beyond reason, his emotions raw and unchecked.

His face felt like it was on fire, his throat constricted, and his heart racing like a jackhammer in his chest. His knuckles still throbbed with the impact of the punch, and he felt like he was on the verge of a breakdown. The urge to scream and cry was almost overwhelming, but he stood there, frozen in his rage, as he continued to vent his fury at Shoku.

Donatello's anger seemed to worsen as he gazed at Shoku's tear-stained face. He hated the way she looked at him, her eyes welling up with tears. He hated the way her body trembled, her whimpers and sobs grating on his nerves. Most of all, he hated that she wasn't fighting back, that she was just sitting there, crying. It made it impossible for him to keep blaming her. Her tears undermined his rage, making him feel off-balance and uncertain, and that confusion just seemed to feed into the fire of his negative emotions.

"Come on, Donnie," Leo sighed, placing a firm hand on his shoulder as guiding him away. His purple masked brother allowed it, unable to snap at his brother like he did at Mikey. "I like angry Donnie," Raph commented, grinning as he followed his brothers. They popped open a sewer lid, all diving in and leaving Shoku with her tears.

Chapter Text

The Shredder's conquest of New York City was eerily swift. Within mere months, the once-thriving metropolis was transformed into a dystopian nightmare. Millions of its residents fell victim to the Shredder's brutal regime, either meeting a gruesome end or being forcibly converted into mindless Foot Bots. Now, these former New Yorkers patrolled the desolate streets, their bodies upgraded with cold, calculating machinery. Cameras embedded in their robotic forms scanned the cityscape, detecting even the faintest whispers of heat and motion.

The fall of New York City sent shockwaves of grief and horror across the United States. Yet, instead of launching a rescue mission to save the surviving citizens, the government made the drastic decision to establish a quarantine zone around the entire city. A perimeter of soldiers was deployed to seal off the city, their primary objective being to prevent anything – or anyone – from escaping. However, in their haste to contain the situation, the government grossly underestimated the enemy they were facing. The resurrected warlord, the Shredder, was a formidable foe, whose power and cunning would prove to be more than a match for even the most advanced technology and highly trained soldiers. While the military had managed to slow the spread of the Foot Bots by neutralizing those that ventured too close to the border, it was a temporary solution at best. The Shredder's influence continued to spread, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and unleash its full fury upon the world.

The turtles' narrow escape from the fatal night had been short-lived, as the Shredder's forces soon descended upon their sewer lair, leaving it in ruins. Driven by an insatiable lust for power, the Shredder sought to exploit two ancient sources of energy: the Hamato Essence, which flowed through the turtles' veins, and the life force of a Divine Beast, a mystical entity residing within yokai of noble lineage. However, the Shredder knew that finding a Divine Beast would be a daunting task, as the Hidden City's modernization had led to the decline of these powerful creatures. Many had lost their abilities, while others had failed to produce worthy successors. Yet, the Shredder's intelligence hinted at the existence of a single, remaining Divine Beast – a female, hidden somewhere nearby, possessing the power he so desperately sought.

Despite the Shredder's formidable power, there existed one sanctuary that had managed to evade his grasp: the Hidden City. This mystical realm remained a thorn in Shredder's side, a testament to the limitations of his dark mystic armor, which could only harness the power of possession and light magic. The Turtles and April, seeking refuge from the Shredder's relentless pursuit, fled to the Hidden City, navigating its winding paths to find solace in one of the Resistance Camps hidden within Witch Town. Once a thriving hub of activity, Witch Town now lay deserted and untouched, its streets eerily silent, as if frozen in time. The camp, a haven for those resisting the Shredder's tyranny, offered the Turtles and April a fleeting sense of safety, a chance to regroup and plan their next move.

The camp was one of many, led by two known Yokai. The enigmatic Baron Draxum, a Pishayanamun yokai and warrior alchemist with a storied past. Once a respected member of the Ministry of Magic, Baron Draxum's reputation had been tarnished by a misinterpreted prophecy that had set him on a path of redemption. After negotiating an agreement with the Ministry's higher-ups, he had dedicated himself to atoning for his past mistakes. As the camp's leader, Baron Draxum was a meticulous and vigilant presence, ensuring that the camp remained hidden from prying eyes, whether they belonged to untrustworthy yokai or Foot soldiers. With a keen eye for detail, he oversaw every aspect of camp life, guaranteeing that each day's chores were completed and the camp remained a safe haven for its inhabitants.

Salley Pride, a revered captain and Shisa yokai, was a pillar of strength from the Pirate Bazaar division in the Hidden City. Her fearless leadership and unwavering compassion earned her the respect and admiration of her peers. With a natural ability to balance boldness with empathy, Salley could effortlessly rally her troops for battle while also considering the unique perspectives of each member. As the war against the Shredder's forces intensified, Salley took on a crucial role, leading squadrons on perilous missions to scour the area for Foot Bots, recruit new yokai allies, and gather vital supplies. It was during one of these daring operations that Salley crossed paths with Sheena.

Sheena's fragile form was a testament to the unbearable suffering she had endured. The brutal Foot Bot raid on her neighborhood had left her with grievous physical wounds, but it was the emotional anguish that seemed to cut deepest. Weeks of frantic searching had yielded no signs of her wife, Jennika, or their daughter, Shoku. The uncertainty was suffocating, leaving Sheena with only her instincts to cling to. As a mother, she couldn't shake the feeling that Shoku might still be alive, no matter how faint the hope seemed. Her heart refused to let go of the possibility, and she held onto it with every fiber of her being, even as the hopelessness closed in around her.

As Sheena settled into the camp, she was struck by the sense of order and functionality that permeated the atmosphere. Baron Draxum's meticulous nature and Salley's leadership skills had clearly played a significant role in establishing this refuge. It was here that Sheena met Quarry, an imposing blue oni whose exceptional intelligence and natural leadership abilities were tempered by a awkward and anxious demeanor. Despite Quarry's towering stature, Sheena found herself drawn to the oni's kind and gentle nature, sensing a deep-seated need for connection and support. As they spent more time together, Sheena discovered that she and Quarry shared a common bond - a desire to find purpose and solace in the midst of chaos. With a newfound sense of determination, Sheena pushed aside her exhaustion and began to contribute to the camp's daily operations, finding a sense of fulfillment in assisting Quarry in the medicine den.

Sheena's eyes landed on a recognizable figure - Mira, the Mayor of Witch Town. Mira's exceptional intellect and mastery of spellcraft were evident in the intricate barrier spell she had woven to protect the camp. This complex spell was a marvel of magical engineering, cleverly designed to conceal their presence only from those who harbored malicious intentions towards them. By crafting the spell in this way, Mira had ensured that the camp could remain a safe haven for its current inhabitants while also allowing them to welcome additional refugees seeking sanctuary. Sheena felt a sense of gratitude towards Mira, whose ingenuity and dedication had created a sanctuary amidst the chaos.

As Sheena navigated the camp, she was struck by the unfamiliar faces surrounding her. Most of the members seemed to be from Witch Town or the surrounding areas, and Sheena didn't recognize many of them. However, one face did stand out - Millicent, a bat yokai from Witch Town who had often attended Sheena's After the Bomb concerts. Although they hadn't yet spoken, Sheena and Millicent had exchanged knowing glances, a silent acknowledgment of their shared connection. The familiarity was a small comfort in the midst of uncertainty, and Sheena found herself looking forward to the possibility of rekindling their acquaintance.

Sheena had also grown acquainted with two other Witch Town residents, twins Gentry and Aldith. Despite the dire circumstances, the twins radiated an infectious enthusiasm, tackling tasks with an irrepressible gleam in their eyes. Their resilience was a testament to the fact that many Witch Town residents, including the twins, had been shielded from the worst of the trauma inflicted by the Foot Bots. The town's relative isolation and Mira's protective barrier spell had preserved a sense of normalcy, allowing the twins to maintain their youthful energy and optimism. Now, as they worked together in the resistance camp, Sheena found their presence a welcome balm to her own frazzled nerves.

In stark contrast to the twins' resilience, other members of the camp bore the scars of unimaginable trauma. Sheena, for one, was still grappling with the uncertainty surrounding her loved ones, having lost contact with her wife, daughter, and band members before her town was ravaged. Others, like Hob, an elderly bakeneko yokai, had witnessed the brutal slaughter of their family members at the hands of the Foot Bots. The weight of the loss of his wife had left Hob a shadow of his former self, his days now spent in a haze of grief and anger. His frequent clashes with Draxum, who he felt was too focused on maintaining the camp's order, were a testament to the depth of his pain and frustration. The camp, meant to be a sanctuary, was for Hob a constant reminder of all that he had lost.

Some were even less fortunate. Among the camp's residents was Ninjara, an Okami yokai with a storied and ancient lineage. Her distant connection to the revered Divine Beasts had made her a prized target for the Foot Clan, who sought to exploit her life force for their own nefarious purposes. Captured and subjected to the Clan's twisted experiments, Ninjara's bloodline proved too diluted to yield the desired results. Condemned to death, she managed to escape the Foot Clan's clutches, fleeing to the resistance camp where she now resided. The trauma of her ordeal still lingered, but Ninjara's presence served as a poignant reminder of the Foot Clan's ruthless ambitions and the camp's role as a beacon of hope for those seeking refuge.

Despite the collective trauma that lingered, the camp's residents demonstrated remarkable resilience and determination. Most pitched in to help, each contributing their unique skills to the collective effort. Salley Pride's team of scouts, comprising Methania, Ninjara, and Slash, played a crucial role in procuring vital supplies and ensuring the camp's perimeter remained secure. Meanwhile, the sizable contingent of Witch Town residents worked tirelessly to utilize these supplies, request additional necessities, and maintain the camp's internal operations. Under Draxum's watchful eye, tasks and jobs were assigned, and order was maintained, fostering a sense of stability and purpose within the camp. As the residents worked together, their shared efforts wove a fragile but vital fabric of community and resistance.

In contrast to the more high-stakes tasks, there were also roles that focused on nurturing the camp's sense of community and well-being. Todd, a small but spirited rodent, was a shining example of this. As a kitchen staff member, Todd's culinary skills were matched only by his exceptional ability to listen and offer comfort. With his irrepressible cheerfulness and empathetic nature, Todd had become a beloved confidant within the camp. He would often offer refreshing glasses of lemonade to anyone willing to share their struggles with him, providing a safe and supportive space for people to open up and heal. Todd's kindness and generosity of spirit were a balm to the camp's weary souls, reminding everyone that even in the darkest times, compassion and connection could be powerful sources of strength.

Time seemed to stand still as Sheena's gaze fell upon the newest arrivals. It had been months since the battle against Shredder began, and yet, here they were - a group of four turtles and a human, brought back by Sally's group. Sheena's eyes widened as she recognized two familiar faces among the newcomers: Donnie and April, whom she had met at her concert. The unexpected reunion sparked a mix of emotions within her, and Sheena's heart began to race with anticipation.

As Sheena rushed towards Donnie and April, the dam holding back her emotions began to crumble. Her limbs trembled violently, threatening to give way beneath her. The words she had been desperate to keep inside came tumbling out in a frantic, shaky torrent. "Where's Shoku?" she begged, her voice cracking with desperation. Her jaw quivered in sync with her legs as she pleaded, "She has to be with you...she wouldn't...she wouldn't survive..." The words spilled out in a disjointed, emotional rush, as if Sheena was struggling to keep pace with her own frantic thoughts. She stumbled over syllables, speaking too quickly, too shakily, and with an intensity that threatened to consume her. The world around her melted away, leaving only the aching, all-consuming need to know that her daughter was safe.

Donnie's expression remained impassive, but his words were laced with a hint of caution. "I haven't seen her since Shredder's resurrection. She was there, but she escaped into an alleyway." He carefully omitted the more sensitive details, his mind momentarily drifting back to the events that had transpired. The memory of Shoku's defeated expression and the feeling of his fist connecting with her cheek made his gut twist with discomfort. Though he didn't regret his actions, he couldn't shake the feeling that things could have unfolded differently. With a deliberate effort, Donnie refocused on the present, his tone remaining flat as he continued, "Jennika's alive. She's Chunin of the Foot Clan now." April's nervous glance between Sheena and Donnie was a silent testament to the unspoken tension that hung in the air.

As Sheena's emotional facade crumbled, Donnie was met with a sight that stirred a long-dormant spark within him. Witnessing her panic-stricken state, her body shaking uncontrollably, awakened a pang of guilt that resonated deep within his stomach. His conscience, though not yet fully acknowledging the emotion, whispered a gentle reprimand. April's attempts to calm Sheena down, aided by the gentle giant Quarry, only served to intensify the unidentifiable ache within Donnie. His mind, not yet prepared to confront the feeling, relegated it to a distant, nagging sensation - a quiet reminder that his actions, though justified in his own eyes, had consequences that extended far beyond his own moral code.

Emotions weren't his strong suit, but that didn't mean he was stupid. That also didn't mean he was very good at understanding what he was witnessing. Donnie's analytical mind struggled to grasp the intricacies of Sheena's emotional turmoil. He recognized that her concern for her daughter and wife was the driving force behind her distress, but he couldn't comprehend why she wasn't relieved by the new information. From his perspective, knowing that Jennika was alive and that Shoku had escaped into an alleyway should have brought Sheena a measure of comfort. The lack of confirmation about their deaths should have been a cause for hope, not despair. Donnie's logical thinking told him that Sheena's emotional response was...illogical. Yet, as he watched her, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more at play, something that his analytical mind couldn't quite grasp.

The most confusing part for him was how he felt. Shoku was in the wrong, and all he did was react. Why should he continue to think about it? Why was seeing her mother worried about her making him feel so terrible? His stomach twisted, and it felt like a blade was wedged into his organs, piercing him at every breath.

The oni woman, Quarry, took Sheena elsewhere, providing a much-needed distraction from the emotional turmoil that had unfolded. Mayor Mira showed the turtles around the camp, ensuring they had everything they needed, and even set up a cozy tent for them to rest. Once everything was settled, Donnie's thoughts began to linger once more, and he found himself seeking a familiar coping mechanism. He went to search for small trinkets to fidget with, hoping to calm his restless mind. He found a few screws and gears and wrenches, but there wasn't a lot, so he was only able to envision making a small spinning top. He had barely started before he had to put everything down. Trinkets weren't helping.

"Donnie?" April's voice sliced through his panicked thoughts. His muscles jumped, dropping and scattering the pieces to his barely assembled spinning top. As he sighed and gathered the parts, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was struggling to reassemble more than just the trinket. He just started to put it together, and he had already broken it. April's presence beside him was a comforting blur in his peripheral vision, but he avoided meeting her gaze, unsure of how to articulate the turmoil racing in his mind. Her words, laced with empathy and understanding, only served to heighten his discomfort. "It's okay if you're not... doing great," she said, and Donnie responded with a gruff acknowledgement, his tone barely concealing the vulnerability he was desperate to keep hidden. "I know.”

"Raph told me he thinks you're blaming yourself for what happened, and it's really not your fault." She began to explain, and Donnie opened his mouth to snap at her. She cut him off instead by tugging on his mask tails. "Don't even try to argue. I know exactly what you're thinking. Your tech wasn't good enough." She observed, making Donnie fall silent again. "Just listen to me, okay? I don't want to argue." April's tone softened as she released his purple mask tails, her black painted fingernails falling back to her lap.

"Leo blames himself too," April said, her voice gentle but piercing. Donnie's gaze faltered, his mind pausing to consider her words.

He nodded slowly, and April continued, "And I'm sure Mikey and Raph feel the same way. And Bishop. And that mutant. Everyone in this camp blames themselves for something that has happened since Shredder was resurrected." Her eyes never left Donnie's face, watching as his eyebrows twitched ever so slightly.

"I'm even willing to bet that some Foot Soldiers feel the same way," April added, her voice soft but persuasive. "Even Jennika." She paused, studying Donnie's reaction before delivering the final blow. "So does Shoku.”

Donnie's fingers instinctively tightened around the gear, the rough edges biting into his skin as he struggled to process the tumult of emotions. He could feel April's gaze on him, a comfort that made him wary. Her question, "Can I give you a hug?" caught him off guard, and he responded with a gruff, begrudging nod. Yet, despite his reluctance, a spark of longing flared up. The weight of his guilt and anxiety seemed to shift, ever so slightly, as April's arms enveloped him in a warm, comforting embrace. Still, Donnie refused to yield, his pride and defenses holding firm as he neither hugged back nor met her gaze, his eyes fixed on some distant point, his emotions locked away.

Donnie's whispered plea, "Can we talk about something else?" was a fragile, emotional thread that April carefully grasped, weaving it into a comforting tapestry of laughter and nostalgia. As they delved into lighthearted conversations, the atmosphere transformed, reminiscent of carefree sleepovers from their past. Their cackles and jokes about the camp's yokai residents - Hob and Draxum's bickering, Mayor Mira's melodious voice, and Quarry's towering stature - served as a balm to their frazzled nerves. As the night wore on, their giggles subsided, and a peaceful calm settled over them. Though Donnie's sense of responsibility for Shoku's safety still lingered, a gentle fatigue finally claimed him, and he slipped into a restful slumber. For a fleeting moment, the world outside receded, and all that remained was the soothing comfort of friendship and shared laughter. Even if it were just for a moment.

***

Cassandra's footsteps echoed through the desolate corridors of the Foot Clan headquarters, the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. The temple, once a symbol of honor and discipline, now seemed to be succumbing to the dark influence of Shredder's presence. The walls, once adorned with vibrant colors, had faded to a dull, lifeless gray, as if the very essence of the building was being drained away. The only remnants of the Foot Clan's former glory were the crimson tapestries, which hung like bloody slashes on the walls, a stark reminder of the organization's enduring presence. And then, there were the dark, wine-colored vines, their twisted tendrils creeping up the walls like malevolent fingers, a grim testament to Shredder's corrupting influence.

As Cassandra navigated the cold, dark corridors, her thoughts swirled with a mix of disillusionment and despair. Shredder's return, once a beacon of hope, had devolved into a nightmare. Instead of ridding the world of cruelty and wickedness, he had unleashed terror upon the innocent humans of New York City. Cassandra felt betrayed, her faith in Shredder's vision shattered. She had done everything required of a loyal Foot Soldier: she had believed in him, prioritized his will above all else, and prepared for his return. Yet, now she felt hollow, devoid of purpose. The weight of her isolation was crushing, having been separated from her father and sister since that fateful day. And then, there was Shoku's disappearance, a blessing in disguise, perhaps, given Shredder's knowledge of her divine beast heritage and the target he had placed on her back. Cassandra's thoughts whispered a grim acknowledgment: it was indeed for the best that Shoku had vanished, rendering herself undetectable.

A faint pang of longing echoed within Cassandra, a small, stubborn part of her heart still yearning for Shoku's presence. The ache of her absence was compounded by Alopex's decision to forge her own path, rising through the Foot Clan's ranks and distancing herself from Cassandra. Jennika and Shinigami, too, had ascended the hierarchy, their power and influence growing, yet none of them could compare to the darkness that lurked at the very top. Shredder's malevolent presence cast a long, ominous shadow, a reminder that even the most skilled and ruthless warriors were mere pawns in his twisted game.

The memory of that day remained etched in Cassandra's mind with vivid clarity. The dimly lit training room had been electric with anticipation, the recruits standing at attention, their forms stiff and rigid, yet betrayed by fidgety excitement. Shredder's entrance had been a masterclass in commanding presence, his massive frame stalking to the front of the room, his movements radiating an aura of power. The absence of his mystic armor did little to diminish his intimidating presence, the dark energy still swirling around him like an invisible cloak. His attire, a striking combination of red and black, seemed to underscore his authority, the bandages wrapped around his fists and elbows hinting at a warrior's scars. His slick, black hair, tied back in a neat bun, framed a face that was both stern and commanding, its natural authority rendering any overt display of dominance unnecessary. As his gaze swept across the crowd, Cassandra felt a shiver run down her spine, her heart pounding in her chest.

The soldiers' excitement was swiftly tempered as they fell into pairs, their faces set with determination. Shredder's voice cut through the air, his single word command, "Hajime," hanging like a challenge. The recruits exchanged confused glances, their uncertainty palpable. Shredder's gaze darkened, his eyes flashing with impatience, as he growled, "It means begin." The soldiers sprang into action, hastily assuming their stances as they grasped their wooden weapons. The sound of hollow sticks clashing against each other echoed through the room, a staccato beat that underscored the intensity of their training. The air was electric with the promise of discipline and rigor, as Shredder's unyielding presence drove the recruits to push themselves to their limits.

Shredder's displeasure was palpable as he strode into the midst of the training session, his voice thundering above the clash of wooden weapons. "It's been centuries since the Foot has had a proper leader," he declared, his words dripping with disdain. "Or proper training." With a swift, brutal motion, he struck the nearest recruit with the outside of his forearm, sending them crashing to the ground. The room fell silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of the recruits, as Shredder issued a challenge: "Strike me." The pause that followed was oppressive, the soldiers hesitant to test their skills against their formidable leader. But then, a lone recruit charged forward, a fierce battle cry on his lips. He was swiftly and mercilessly cut down, Shredder's blocks and counterattack a blur of motion that left the recruit crumpling to the ground, defeated. The demonstration was a stark reminder of the vast chasm between Shredder's mastery and the recruits' ineptitude.

The recruits continued to throw themselves at Shredder, each one meeting a swift and merciless defeat. Shredder's movements were a blur of precision and power, his attacks a testament to his mastery of the martial arts. As he fought, his voice rang out, cutting through the din of clashing wood and grunting effort. "The Foot's progress disappoints me," he declared, his words a scathing indictment of the recruits' abilities. But it was his next words that struck the deepest, a verbal blow that left the recruits reeling. "Society has hurt you, and you believe I can solve all your problems." The statement hung in the air, a harsh truth that cut to the heart of the recruits' motivations. Shredder's final words were a cold, calculated warning: "You take revenge for yourself. Don't expect me to." The recruits stood frozen, their chests heaving with exertion, as the weight of Shredder's words settled upon them.

The memory of that moment still seared itself into Cassandra's mind, a bitter reminder of her own hubris. She had genuinely believed she could be the one to land a hit on Shredder, to prove herself as a worthy warrior. But when the moment of truth arrived, she was swiftly and mercilessly knocked to the floor, joining the ranks of her defeated comrades. As she gazed up at Shredder's face, she was struck by the cold, dead emptiness of his expression. It was as if he was a vessel for pure, unadulterated evil, a malevolent force that seemed to suffocate the very air around him. In that moment, Cassandra felt a shiver run down her spine as she realized that she was staring into the face of the very evil she had sworn to eradicate.

***

Soft, quiet sobs escaped from a drenched and stained cardboard box in a deserted alley, a poignant sound that seemed to echo off the cold, unforgiving walls. Shoku, the once-luxuriant fox, now lay hidden, her ragged and dirty pelt a testament to the harsh realities of her new life. By sheer luck, she had managed to evade detection by the Foot Clan's relentless robots, but for how much longer? The past months had been a desperate struggle for survival, as she scavenged for food and shelter, forced to rely on her primal instincts to navigate the treacherous landscape. Yet, in a twisted sense of normalcy, Shoku found that her new diet of rats and bugs wasn't all that different from her usual fare. She had even briefly sought refuge in the sewers, a tactic she knew the turtles had employed, but soon discovered that the Foot Soldiers had increased their patrols, forcing her to stick to the alleyways.

Shoku's fragile form curled in on itself, her body wracked with pain and weakness. Her mind, a jumble of painful memories, continued to replay the events that had led her to this desperate state. The resurrection, meant to be a triumphant moment, had instead unleashed a wave of death and destruction. The faces of the fallen swirled in her mind, their lives lost in the chaos that followed. And then, there was Donnie's anguished scream, his words cutting deep into her heart. The memory of that moment, of the pain and accusation in Donnie's eyes, still lingered, a festering wound that refused to heal. As Shoku's thoughts swirled in this maelstrom of pain and regret, her body shuddered, her malnourished frame trembling with exhaustion.

Shoku's claws dug deeper into her sides as the memories threatened to overwhelm her, her stomach roiling with a mix of nausea and anxiety. Her mouth watered excessively, and she was convinced that she was on the verge of vomiting. Just as she thought she couldn't take anymore, a faint, canary-yellow light flickered to life beside her, illuminating the dark cardboard box. She turned her head, and her eyes met the familiar, hallucinatory image of her biological mother. But Shoku was in no mood for the lecturing, guiding voice that often accompanied these visions. She didn't need her subconscious mind berating her for her failures and weaknesses. With a mixture of frustration and desperation, she turned her head away, burying her face in the dirty cardboard. But, as she had come to expect, the vision didn't disappear. Her mother's gentle, ethereal voice whispered in her mind, a persistent presence that refused to be silenced.

“You cannot continue on like this, my child.” The gentle, melodious voice of her mother's hallucination continued to whisper words of concern, piercing the fragile armor of Shoku's resolve. Despite her efforts to shut out the vision, her eyes drifted back, drawn to the serene, ethereal beauty of her mother's luminous form. The nine fluffy tails, a symbol of her mother's kitsune heritage, flowed behind her like a river of silk, while the velvet red kimono seemed to glow with an inner light. The smaller ears, adorned with delicate piercings and traditional Japanese clips, added to the aura of elegance and refinement that surrounded her mother's apparition. Shoku's gaze, however, was short-lived, as she pulled her eyes back to the grimy rubble beneath her, her body still hunched in a defensive posture. Her voice, barely above a whisper, was a faint, sorrowful croak, as she acknowledged her mother's words with a weak, resigned whisper: "I know.”

Shoku's mother's gentle voice filled the silence, her words a balm to Shoku's battered soul. "It's not your fault," she said, her tone soft and sympathetic. "You were doing what you were told. I know it's hard for you to disobey instructions." Shoku felt a lump form in her throat as her mother's words struck a chord deep within her. She had always struggled with following orders, and the weight of that struggle now threatened to crush her.

"But... if I finished my task, why do I feel this way?" Shoku asked, her voice cracking as tears began to roll down her face. She felt no shame in crying in front of her mother, knowing that she was safe to express her emotions.

She could feel the faintest, ghostly touch on her shoulder. The small, circular motion it made was like a ripple of waves across her body. "Maybe you were focused on the wrong task," her mother responded with a caring tone, making her glance up. She felt glowing, semi-permeable hands cup her cheeks. "You think like a robot, Shoku. When someone gives you a task, you don't have to accept or go through with it." Her thumb ran along the softer fur under Shoku's eye. She began to consider her blind obedience towards instructions, realizing the weight of her flaw.

Shoku's mother's words were like a gentle breeze on a summer day, soothing and calming. Her voice was soft and warm, but slightly distracted, as she tenderly dusted away the tears on Shoku's cheeks. The gesture was futile, as the tears continued to flow, but the intention behind it was clear - to comfort and reassure.

“You are your own person, capable of making her own decisions and her own choices.” As Shoku looked up at her mother's luminous form, she felt a pang of sadness. Her mother wasn't real, just a product of her own mind, a manifestation of her own guilt and regret. But at this moment, it didn't matter. The words, the touch, the comfort - it was all real to Shoku, and it was enough to give her a glimmer of hope. She was her own person, capable of making her own decisions and choices. The realization was both empowering and terrifying.

Shoku's head slumped, her body feeling heavy with the weight of her thoughts. The sudden disappearance of her mother's image left her feeling empty and alone, the memory of her face now nothing more than a bittersweet recollection. The silence that followed was oppressive, punctuated only by the sound of her own ragged breathing.

As she sat there, surrounded by the grimy alleyway, Shoku's mind struggled to process the emotions and thoughts that swirled within her. She felt a sense of determination rising, a resolve to make things right. The knowledge that she had made a mistake, one that had far-reaching consequences, was a burden she couldn't shake. With a newfound sense of purpose, Shoku knew she had to fix her mistake.

Chapter Text

Shoku's body went limp, her limbs splayed out beneath the grimy cardboard box like a ragdoll. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she felt herself being pulled down into the darkness of unconsciousness, but it didn't last long. She tossed and turned, her rest fitful and fragmented, as her exhausted body and troubled mind refused to let her sleep.

Shoku's dream transported her to a breathtaking cyan blue forest, teeming with life and vibrant colors that surpassed even the wonders of the Hidden City. The trees' leaves shimmered with an otherworldly glow, supporting fruits that radiated a warm, sunset-like light. A winding path, worn smooth by the footprints of countless travelers, stretched out before her, cutting a gentle swath through the tall, swaying grasses. As she stood there, fireflies danced around her, their soft glow complemented by the gentle luminescence of small, furry creatures that roamed the underbrush.

The gentle gurgle of the stream accompanied Shoku as she padded along its banks, her paws sinking into the soft, damp earth. The fish swam lazily alongside her, their scales shimmering in the soft light, while the turtles seemed utterly unafraid, their calm demeanor a stark contrast to the usual flight response she'd grown accustomed to. The first turtle, with its flat carapace, caught her eye, and she felt a fleeting sense of connection as their gazes met. Further downstream, the second turtle, its shell resembling a dry leaf, gazed up at her with piercing eyes, its scrutiny unsettling yet fascinating. Shoku's instincts whispered that this was unusual behavior, but the dreamlike quality of the scene allowed her to brush off the anomaly, and she continued on her way, the stream's gentle song fading into the background as she wandered deeper into the cyan forest.

As Shoku walked the winding path, the forest serenaded her with the sweet, melodic sounds of turtle chirps and an unusual chorus of fox calls. Her gaze drifted to the forest floor, where tall blades of grass swayed gently in the breeze. Suddenly, a group of golden luminescent foxes burst into view, their slender forms weaving in and out of the grasses with effortless ease. Like dolphins leaping through ocean waves, the foxes jumped and played, their shimmering coats catching the light as they disturbed the grasses, sending ripples through the sea of green.

The gentle sound of trickling water grew louder as Shoku continued along the path, until a cluster of boulders came into view, their rugged forms huddled together like sentinels. The rocks formed a natural barricade, a small imperfection in the landscape that seemed to blend seamlessly into the surrounding terrain. Shoku approached the central boulder, her eyes drawn to a subtle indent in its surface. Within the indent lay a complex Japanese symbol, its intricate strokes and curves a testament to the language's beauty. Shoku's paw came forward like a moth to a flame, and she gently traced the symbol with her paw pad. The characters seemed to shimmer in the fading light: "妖怪" (Yōkai).

Shoku's brow furrowed in concentration as she struggled to decipher the kanji symbol. Despite her fluency in spoken Japanese, her knowledge of written kanji was limited, and she had to dig deep to recall the meanings of the individual characters. The first symbol, , seemed to dance in her mind, its strokes and curves slowly revealing their meaning. Ah, yes... attraction, or allure, perhaps even a fascination with someone's physical appearance. The second symbol, , was more elusive, but she was fairly certain it conveyed a sense of mystery, or the unknown.

As soon as Shoku's paw made contact with the kanji symbol, the characters transformed into a brilliant sky blue. Before she could fully grasp their meaning, the boulders slid apart, revealing a hidden entrance. Without hesitation, Shoku stepped through the opening, her feet carrying her into the unknown. The gentle trickling sound from earlier swelled into a soothing melody, and she discovered a compact waterfall cascading down the rocky walls. A small stream flowed alongside her, gradually widening as she ventured deeper into the cave. Despite the lack of natural light, a soft blue glow permeated the tunnel, illuminating her path and casting an ethereal ambiance over the surroundings.

She couldn't find the source, but again, she didn't question it.

As she gazed into the pool, the spear seemed to shimmer, its blonde base and white tangles appearing almost otherworldly. The water's surface reflected the soft blue hue of the tunnel, creating an ethereal ambiance. With an almost reverent slowness, Shoku reached out to touch the spear's base. Her paw made contact, and for an instant, she was ripped from her dream.

When she awoke, she couldn't make sense of it all other than the fact that she could feel a physical pull trying to take her to wherever that spear was.

Groggy and dazed, Shoku didn't find herself automatically questioning anything about the spear in her dream and simply began following the spiritual pull she felt towards it. While her inability to question things was certainly a flaw, it also didn't seem like something that would ever change.

Shoku emerged from beneath the soggy box, her movements cautious as she slipped into the nearby alleyway. The narrow passageway was dimly lit, the walls stained with grime and the air thick with the smell of decay. She navigated the alley with ease, her senses guiding her to the dumpster, where she uncovered a meager breakfast of bugs and rats. Her body, adapted for such scavenging, efficiently processed the small meal, yet she couldn't shake off the feeling of sluggishness. Her domestication had accustomed her to more substantial, varied meals. This sparse breakfast was a far cry from her usual fare. Still, she was resilient, and her body would manage, even if it didn't thrive.

As she navigated the alleyway, Shoku's ears functioned like a hyper-vigilant radar, homing in on the faint whirrs and creaks of Foot Bots, while tuning out the cacophony of the city. Her focus was so intense that the distant barrage of gunfire sounded muffled, barely registering on her consciousness. However, when the alleyway momentarily fell silent, her gaze snapped towards the commotion. That's when she saw them: a squad of EPF agents, led by the imposing figure of Bishop, accompanied by his hulking mutant pet. They were exchanging fire with a swarm of Foot Bots, their bullets ripping into the mechanical bodies, causing them to malfunction and stumble.

Shoku's eyes widened as the mutant's icy gaze locked onto hers, sending a chill down her spine. She spun around, her legs propelling her into a frantic sprint down the alleyway. Her ears flailed wildly, detecting the pounding footsteps closing in behind her. With a desperate burst of speed, she careened around a sharp corner, her paws skidding on the wet pavement. Just as she thought she'd lost her pursuer, her gaze fell upon a Foot Bot looming directly in her path, its cold, calculating eyes scanning the area. Before she could react, a pair of razor-sharp, red-tipped claws clamped down on her shoulders, yanking her backward. A calloused hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her struggles. Shoku's mind raced with fear, as she recognized the unmistakable strength of a turtle's muscles holding her captive.

As the Foot Bot's distant hum faded, Rem's grip on Shoku's mouth relaxed, and she tumbled to the ground, gasping for breath. She scrambled to her feet, intent on fleeing, but Rem's firm grasp on her tail halted her escape. Shoku twisted around, her eyes locking onto Rem's perplexed expression. "What are you doing?" he asked, confused. Rem's eyes narrowed, his voice taking on an urgent tone. "In the open? The Foot Clan is searching for you! If they capture you... it would be catastrophic." His grip on her tail tightened, as if willing her to respond. Shoku's ears folded back, her eyes darting between Rem's determined gaze and the surrounding alleyway, her mind racing with the implications of his words.

Shoku's eyes flashed with desperation as she struggled to break free from Rem's grip. Her claws scraped against the rough ground, sending small rocks and debris flying as she tried to inch away. "The Hidden City is my best bet," she repeated, her voice strained from the effort. Rem's expression transformed from amusement to puzzlement, his brow furrowing in confusion. "No, it's not," he said, his tone dripping with conviction. "Your best bet is with Bishop. Whatever the Foot Clan wants can amp his arsenal, and he can use it against the Foot to save the world. Isn't that great?" His words were laced with an unsettling enthusiasm, as if he genuinely believed that surrendering to Bishop was the most logical solution. Shoku's instincts screamed in protest, her mind racing with the implications of Rem's words. She didn't trust him, or his motives, one bit.

Shoku's uncertainty about what made her a target didn't lessen her dread of being captured. The prospect of falling into Bishop's hands, given his animosity toward her mother and all yokai, was equally unsettling as the Foot Clan's pursuit. She turned to Rem, her expression a mask of disdain. "You're stupid," she spat, before flopping onto her stomach and resuming her clumsy, army-style crawl, her movements more befitting a helpless, struggling creature than a desperate fugitive.

Rem's face contorted in confusion, his eyes wide with incredulity. "You're the one who's blind," he said, his voice dripping with admiration for Bishop. "How can you not trust him? He's incredible, and all he wants to do is save humanity." As he spoke, he reached out and scooped Shoku up by the scruff of her neck, holding her suspended in mid-air as he turned her to face him. She let out a furious hiss, her limbs thrashing wildly as she tried to break free and return to the ground. "He hates yokai!" she snarled, her voice fierce with defiance. "And he tried to kill my mom!”

"Bishop doesn't hate you yokai. He just wants to protect humans from your vile tendencies," Rem said, his voice laced with conviction. But before he could continue, Shoku's pink-tipped tails flicked into his face, interrupting him. "Aren't you a yokai?" she asked, her tone dripping with disdain. Rem's expression faltered, confusion etched on his face as he stumbled backward, releasing his grip on Shoku. She seized the opportunity, darting up the fire escape ladder with a speed that belied her small size. Rem quickly regained his composure, his long legs allowing him to scale the ladder in half the time it took Shoku. As he climbed, he retorted, "I'm nothing like you." Shoku's tails disappeared from view as she reached the top of the staircase. "I'm a mutant," Rem corrected her, his voice carrying up the stairs. Shoku's voice drifted back, "Yeah? What's the difference?" She reached the rooftop, her eyes scanning the horizon for a place to hide or escape. "You're not a human, like Bishop,"

Rem's voice rang out, filled with conviction, as he reached the rooftop. "I was once human. Bishop's going to change me back! I won't be a mutant forever, just until humans are safe." His confident declaration echoed across the rooftop as he scanned the empty space. His gaze landed on a box, and his eyes narrowed as he spotted two fluffy tails poking out. As he approached, the tails vanished under the box. Rem lifted the box, revealing Shoku's hiding spot, and swiftly grabbed her. She let out a loud screech, then glared up at him with a fierce expression. "If he hasn't yet, he never will," she hissed, her voice low and menacing. Rem's face reddened with anger, and he jabbed the nerve in her neck. Shoku's eyes fluttered shut, and she went limp in his grasp.

"What do you know?" he growled at the unconscious fox before taking her back to Bishop.

***

As Shoku's senses slowly returned, her mind struggled to clear the haze. Her neck throbbed with a dull ache, and her vision was obscured by a harsh light that seemed to sear her eyes. She began to focus on the physical sensations, trying to anchor herself in reality. Her chin was wet with drool, and her fingertips and toes felt numb and unresponsive. A pounding headache threatened to split her skull. As she became more aware, she realized that she was restrained, strapped down to a cold, unforgiving surface. Disoriented, she couldn't tell if she was upside down, on her side, or flat on her back. The only certainty was that she was bound and helpless. Her ears, however, picked up on the sounds around her: the ominous scrape of a blade being sharpened, and the low, indistinct murmur of voices. The sounds sent a shiver down her spine, and she strained against her restraints, panic rising in her chest.

As Shoku's eyes adjusted to the light, her gaze swept across the unfamiliar surroundings, and her panic deepened. She was indeed positioned at an awkward angle, her body tilted in a way that made her stomach lurch. But it was the array of menacing objects surrounding her that sent her heart racing. The large saw, its metal edge glinting evilly, seemed to loom over her face, making her skin crawl. She could see the surgical supplies on the table to her right, the gleaming instruments and rows of sterile equipment only adding to her growing sense of dread. Her breath came in short gasps as she struggled against her restraints, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Her heart felt like it was trapped in her throat, pounding out a frantic rhythm as she strained to free herself from the cold, unforgiving surface that held her captive.

As the shadow moved, the intense light dimmed, and Shoku's eyes slowly adjusted to the change. She made out the imposing figure of John Bishop, his features illuminated by the faint light. Jennika's stories about Bishop's brutality echoed in her mind, but she had never grasped the full extent of his ruthlessness. Now, as he loomed over her, his presence seemed to fill the room with an unspeakable malevolence. Bishop's voice was like a rusty gate, low and gravelly, sending shivers down her spine. "The next few moments of your life will be extraordinarily painful, Shoku Kadi," he declared, his words dripping with sadistic anticipation. As he spoke, he nudged the saw closer to her body, its metal edge glinting menacingly in the dim light. Shoku's heart sank, and her breath caught in her throat as she realized the true horror that awaited her.

"How did you know my name?" She questioned while attempting to wiggle free from the bindings. There was a large variety of ways he would know that information, but all made her anxious. There wasn't exactly a good answer to her question. "I know a lot about you," he spoke absently before flicking the blade still perched just inches away from her. It spun, making a silent hum before gradually slowing down. "I know you're a half breed of a fennec fox yokai and a kitsune yokai, making you Arab and Japanese. I know you were adopted at six by Sheena and Jennika Smith. I know who your biological parents are, who your adoptive parents are, that you live in a small neighborhood near the Mystic Train Station, the fact that you rarely show up to middle or high school and have nearly faced court cases because of it. And I even know that you were diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder and severe separation anxiety disorder at eight years old." he listed effortlessly, every word sending a new wave of fear through Shoku.

Shoku's fear spiked as Bishop picked up a needle from the table, his fingers wrapping around it with a precision that made her skin crawl. He squeezed the end, and a tiny droplet of liquid formed at the tip, glinting menacingly in the dim light. Bishop's voice was like a rusty blade, scraping against her nerves as he spoke. "I wonder how it feels to be away from that pig you call 'mother' for so long," he sneered, the word "pig" hanging in the air like a challenge. Shoku's throat constricted, and she gulped, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. A single bead of perspiration trickled down the side of her face, a tiny, involuntary betrayal of her terror.

Bishop's eyes gleamed with a sinister intensity as he poised the needle mere inches from Shoku's neck. She shuddered, her body straining against the restraints as she tried to squirm away from the impending puncture. "But what I don't know," Bishop continued, his voice dripping with malevolence, "is why Shredder needs you to return to full power." Shoku's eyes widened in terror as the needle drew closer, its tip glinting like a tiny sword. She shuffled desperately, but her movements were restricted, and she couldn't escape the looming threat. Bishop's gaze seemed to bore into her very soul as he spoke, his words dripping with calculation. "If I figure out why, I can use you to amp my own arsenal and demolish the Shredder and yokai threat to humanity, protecting the good people of New York from future threats they seem to be a magnet for." The air seemed to vibrate with Bishop's ambition, his words painting a chilling picture of a future where he wielded absolute power.

Shoku's chest heaved with labored breaths, her lungs burning as adrenaline coursed through her veins like liquid fire. Her eyes bulged, the pressure building behind them as if they might indeed burst free from their sockets. The veins in her neck stood out like twisted ropes, throbbing with a frantic pulse. Her mind reeled with the implications of Bishop's words, a creeping sense of dread seeping into her bones. She had no idea what methods Bishop would employ to extract the information he sought, but her instincts screamed that she wouldn't emerge from this ordeal unscathed. A cold, clammy fear clawed its way up her spine, threatening to consume her completely.

A door slammed open behind her, the sudden noise making Bishop hesitate. A breathless voice cut through the air, "Sir, the Foot Bots are advancing. We need your guidance." The man's words spilled out in a frantic rush, his voice shaking with a hint of panic. Shoku's eyes fluttered closed, and she let out a silent sigh, taking a moment to collect herself. As she did, a glimmer of hope flickered to life within her. This unexpected interruption might just provide the perfect opportunity for escape. She remained still, pretending to be helpless, as she listened intently to the conversation, waiting for the ideal moment to make her move.

Bishop's voice was a stark contrast to the underling's panicked tone, its harsh, bothered quality slicing through the air like a knife. "Urgently? Or can it wait," he growled, his impatience evident. The underling's response was immediate, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "Now, sir. We believe the Foot Clan is attempting to abolish our headquarters." The air seemed to vibrate with tension as the underling's words hung in the air, awaiting Bishop's response. Shoku, still pretending to be helpless, listened intently, her mind racing with the possibilities. The Foot Clan's attack might just be the distraction she needed to escape.

Bishop's annoyance was palpable, etched on his pale, gaunt features like a mask. But as he turned to follow the agent, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, like air escaping from a punctured balloon. The needle, once poised to pierce her skin, was withdrawn, leaving her fur untouched. Bishop's footsteps echoed as he stepped away, leaving Shoku alone with the array of surgical instruments. His voice, firm and commanding, carried back to her. "Rem, watch Shoku. Be sure she doesn't escape." The response was immediate, the voice a perfect match for the mutant who had chased her earlier. "Of course," Rem replied, his tone confident and obedient. Shoku's gaze flicked towards the sound of his voice, her heart sinking as she realized she was once again at the mercy of her relentless pursuer.

The door's closure seemed to amplify the sound of Shoku's own ragged breathing, making her feel like she was drowning in her own anxiety. She squirmed and wriggled, trying to loosen the straps that bound her to the table, but they seemed to hold fast. With a surge of desperation, she called out to her captor, her voice ringing out in the silence. "Mutant guy! Rem, was it?" The words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was no response. Then, the sound of footsteps echoed through the room, heavy and deliberate, and Shoku sensed Rem's presence looming behind her.

The sudden spinning motion of the metal table left Shoku disoriented, but as her vision stabilized, she was met with a sight that made her blood run cold. Rembrandt's piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into her very soul, their intensity making her feel like she was drowning in a sea of ice. His tone was a perfect echo of Bishop's stern, commanding voice, sending a shiver down her spine. The contrast between this cold, imposing figure and the boy she had encountered in the alley was jarring, like night and day. Gone was the amused, gangly teenager; in his place stood a formidable, intimidating presence that seemed to embody the very essence of menace. "Rembrandt to you," he corrected her, his voice dripping with an air of superiority.

Rembrandt's piercing gaze faltered for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as he met Shoku's soft, pleading stare. Her gentle gaze was like a whispered secret, conveying a depth of emotion that words alone couldn't express. The balance of despair and hope in her eyes was a delicate, heartbreaking thing, and it caught Rem off guard. For a moment, his mask of intimidation slipped, and Shoku glimpsed a flicker of uncertainty beneath. "Please, let me go," she whispered.

Rembrandt's stoic facade began to crumble, his expression faltering as he struggled to maintain the icy demeanor he'd emulated from Bishop. His voice, though firm, held a hint of wavering conviction as he said, "I can't do that." Shoku's gaze, however, seemed to see right through him, and she sensed the faintest glimmer of uncertainty beneath his surface. Her eyes, well aware of their own potent effect, locked onto Rembrandt's. As she spoke, she orchestrated her voice to tremble with vulnerability, she pushed tears to build up in the corners of her eyes, and Rembrandt's resolve seemed to waver further. "Bishop will kill me if I stay," she whispered, her words hanging in the air like a desperate plea.

“You know that, don't you?” Shoku's voice cracked. She saw something in Rembrandt's eyes, a flicker of recognition that spoke of shared pain and fear. As she gazed at him, her slit brows furrowed in concern, and she sensed that Rembrandt had witnessed the darker aspects of Bishop's nature, the parts that she and Jennika had been fortunate enough to avoid. Her question, "Rembrandt, how old are you?" was a gentle probe, a seeking a possible route of escape.

Rembrandt's voice was barely audible as he whispered "Fifteen", his once-intimidating stance now diminished, as if the weight of his own vulnerability was bearing down on him. Shoku let the silence envelop him, giving him space to reflect on the significance of her question. The shared knowledge of their youth hung in the air, a poignant reminder that they were both still just children. Shoku's whispered words, a gentle echo of her mother's wisdom, seemed to hover between them, a promise of autonomy and self-determination. "You are your own person who can make his own decisions and his own choices." Though she knew her intention was to persuade him to set her free, the words still held a profound truth. As the silence stretched out, Shoku spoke again, her soft voice a gentle prod, encouraging Rembrandt to consider her words.

Shoku's words spilled out in a slow, measured tone, as if she was carefully selecting each phrase to maximize its impact. "Whatever Bishop is trying to get from me, I don't think he'll find it by cutting me open," she said, her voice dripping with a quiet conviction. The words hung in the air, giving Rembrandt time to absorb their weight and implications. Then, with a subtle shift in tone, Shoku dropped a bombshell: "But I do know a way to defeat Shredder." The statement was a calculated risk, a desperate bid to alter the course of events. Though Shoku wasn't a skilled deceiver, she hoped her words would be convincing enough to sway Rembrandt. Deep down, she prayed that her promise wasn't an empty one, that she could somehow find a way to make good on her claim.

Shoku's voice took on a newfound sense of urgency, her words tumbling out in a passionate, assertive plea. "Let me go, and I'll stop Shredder," she said, her tone brooking no argument. Her eyes locked onto Rembrandt's, burning with a fierce determination. "Before you or Bishop can get hurt," she added, her voice softening ever so slightly as she appealed to whatever humanity lay beneath Rem’s built up exterior.

Rembrandt's expression shifted, a subtle spark igniting within him as he stepped closer to Shoku. His claw extended, and he spoke in a low tone, "It has to look like you escaped on your own." With a swift, precise motion, he dragged his nail through the air, slicing through the leather restraints that bound her. As the tension in her limbs dissipated, Shoku let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing onto the ground. But instead of seizing the opportunity to flee, she locked gazes with Rembrandt once more, a fleeting moment of understanding passing between them.

Rembrandt's gaze remained averted, his voice low and even as he repeated, "It had to look like you escaped on your own." His massive frame seemed to shrink as he knelt, his eyes cast downward in a rare display of vulnerability. Shoku's gaze drifted to her pink-painted claws, a wave of reluctance washing over her. She knew what Rembrandt was asking of her, and the thought of it made her stomach twist with unease. Yet, she also knew that she had no choice, that this was the price of her freedom. With a deep breath, she steeled herself for what was to come, her claws trembling ever so slightly as she raised them.

In a swift, precise motion, Shoku's claws raked across Rembrandt's cheek, leaving four stark streaks that marred his brown scales. Rembrandt's expression remained stoic, but Shoku's own reaction betrayed her - she flinched, her breath catching in her throat. The wounds began to bleed, tiny rivulets of red that seeped into Rembrandt's scales. Shoku's gaze was transfixed on the wounds, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Rembrandt's urgency broke the spell, as he swiftly guided her away, his movements almost rough in their haste. He pushed her through a side door, and Shoku stumbled, her feet scrambling to regain balance. As reality crashed back around her, she launched into a sprint, her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes fixed on the path ahead, refusing to look back.

The hallways were mercifully sparse, the EPF agents either distracted or deployed elsewhere due to the Foot situation Shoku had overheard. Those who did block her path were easily evaded, Shoku's speed and agility allowing her to dart past them with ease. Her eyes locked onto the bright red exit signs, guiding her through the labyrinthine corridors as she sprinted down staircases and through endless white-tiled hallways. The sterile environment seemed to stretch on forever, and Shoku couldn't help but wonder how anyone who worked there daily managed to maintain their sanity. The thought sent a shiver down her spine as she pushed on, her feet pounding the tiles in a relentless bid for freedom.

Shoku burst through a doorway and found herself in a familiar alleyway. A quick glance at the street sign to her left helped her get her bearings, and she swiftly located a Hidden City portal, her knowledge of the area guiding her to safety.

***

Rembrandt's world imploded as Shoku vanished, leaving him consumed by a suffocating sense of panic. Regret and fear wrestled for dominance, rendering his mind a jumbled, incoherent mess. His body, once a finely tuned instrument of obedience, was now frozen in place, as if rooted to the spot. The seconds ticked by, each one a countdown to disaster, and still, Rembrandt couldn't muster the will to act. He knew he should give chase, track down the small fox and drag her back to the EPF's clutches. But his legs refused to budge, his muscles locked in a state of paralysis.

As the moments turned into minutes, Rembrandt's thoughts turned to the inevitable: Bishop's return. The mere thought sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't bear the prospect of facing his handler's disappointment, of seeing the disapproval etched on his face. Rembrandt's mind recoiled at the possibilities: the thunderous yelling, the piercing screams, or worst of all, the crushing abandonment. Would Bishop reject him, cast him aside like a broken tool? The uncertainty gnawed at Rembrandt's psyche, each potential outcome more terrifying than the last. His brain whirled with the dire consequences, and still, he stood frozen.

As Bishop entered the room, his gaze fell upon a quivering, scale-covered form huddled beside an empty table - Rembrandt. The usually stoic agent's breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes welling up with tears as he begged for forgiveness. "Bishop- Please," he stammered, his voice cracking with desperation. "I tried. I tried and she got away. I'm sorry." Rembrandt's emotional display was a rare sight, as he typically kept his feelings tightly locked away. However, Bishop's keen instincts picked up on the insincerity behind Rembrandt's words. He knew that if Rembrandt had genuinely attempted to restrain Shoku, she wouldn't have escaped so easily. The faint scratch on Rembrandt's cheek was a paltry excuse, a weak attempt to deceive. Bishop's expression remained unreadable.

Bishop's tall, imposing frame loomed over Rembrandt, his slow, deliberate approach radiating an aura of menace. His anger was palpable, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with every step. Rembrandt, sensing his displeasure, struggled to compose himself, knowing that Bishop had little patience for his emotional displays. He gritted his jagged teeth, clenching his jaw in a desperate bid to stifle the sobs that threatened to overwhelm him. Holding his breath, Rembrandt froze, as if hoping to delay the inevitable reckoning that was to come.

Bishop's bony, chilled hands cradled Rembrandt's beak with an unexpected gentleness. "You tried your best, Rembrandt," he cooed, his voice a soft, soothing balm that caught the turtle off guard. "This is what cunning yokai like that conniving fox do. They manipulate for their own benefit." As he spoke, Bishop drew Rembrandt into a tender embrace, his long arms enveloping the turtle's trembling form. Rembrandt buried his jaw into Bishop's shoulder, his tears soaking into the fabric of the man's usually immaculate suit. His red-tipped claws instinctively gripped the fabric, holding on as if for dear life. Though Rembrandt's mind reeled with confusion, unsure of who or what to be angry at, one thing was clear: Bishop was here, holding him, and that fox girl was not.

Chapter Text

The crisp wind whispered through the greenery, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Leonardo's scales prickled with unease as he marched alongside his brothers, his mask tails fluttering in the breeze. His eyes darted back and forth, ever vigilant, as he scanned their surroundings. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was one of Mikey's more harebrained schemes - venturing out with just the four of them, in the midst of a war with the Foot Clan? It was a recipe for disaster. But Leonardo was too exhausted to argue, his usual sharp instincts dulled by fatigue. So he followed, driven by a deep-seated need to keep his brothers safe. His paranoia simmered just below the surface, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked in every shadow. Yet, despite his brothers' teasing, Leonardo clung to the conviction that their father, Splinter, would always be with them, watching over them. Even if his brothers denied it, Leonardo knew the truth - the five of them were a family, bound together by ties of blood and loyalty.

As the ground rose steadily beneath their feet, the turtles ascended the hill with ease, their trained legs propelling them upward. However, Leonardo's gaze remained vigilant, his eyes scanning the trail's edges where thorns and jagged leaves jutted out like tiny sentinels. He eyed them warily, his mind instinctively linking even the smallest, seemingly insignificant details to potential dangers. Experience had taught him that even a tiny thorn could be the precursor to something far more sinister, and he couldn't shake the habit of treating every detail with suspicion.

Leonardo's eyes clouded, his mind threatening to unravel the carefully wound threads of his memories. He bit down on his lip, the physical pain a desperate attempt to stave off the haunting images that lingered in his mind. The dust-coated fur, the crimson stain spreading across the kimono, the faint hitch in his father's breath before the light faded from his eyes... Leonardo shook his head violently, refusing to let the memories resurface. He was the only one who had witnessed Splinter's final moments, and he was determined to bear the burden alone. The weight of his secret was crushing, but he would carry it for as long as it took to protect his brothers from the same pain. His love for them was a palpable, living thing, and he would do anything to shield them from the horrors that haunted him.

Leo could feel the tension between their family, and it made him queasy with worry. Everyone was struggling. Relying on each other had never been such a task as it was now. He wanted to bring them back together like he always had, but how could he? He himself was one of the many problems in their life at the moment.

Despite their core family breaking apart, it seemed every turtle had someone else to rely on. Mikey had befriended someone new from the Resistance Camp, a giant kappa named Slash. Donnie had his best friend, April. Raph had bonded with the scouts, finally able to fulfill his vigilante fantasy, and Leo had his very much alive father. The brothers knew they were drifting apart, and it was hard to mend their bond when each of them were all facing personal hardships, shared hardships, and hardships with one another.

As they crested the hill, the brothers entered a desolate clearing, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves beneath their feet. Mikey delegated tasks to Donnie and Raph, dispatching them to gather firewood, while he approached the tree where Leonardo had ascended, his shell shrouded in a hood of foliage. The box turtle drew near, his eyes scanning the trunk for a glimpse of his brother's face, but it remained obscured, hidden behind his cloaked shell. "Hey," Mikey called out, his voice laced with trepidation, marking an awkward beginning to a fraught conversation. The only response was a low, indistinct murmuring, a gentle hum of words that sent a pang of concern through Mikey's chest, for he knew his brother was convinced he was communing with Splinter, their father.

"We're worried about you, Leo," Michelangelo confessed, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and sadness. He slumped against the tree trunk, his usual energetic demeanor subdued. "You're the strongest out of us, Leo. You're the one who always keeps us together, who always knows what to do. Seeing you like this... pretending that Dad is still here... it doesn't feel right," he said solemnly, his eyes filled with a deep empathy for his struggling brother.

"I am not pretending!" Leonardo's voice flashed with anger, a rare and unsettling sight for Michelangelo. Mikey's expression fell, his face a mask of concern and hurt. He was accustomed to Raph's harsh tone, but not Leo's. The box turtle's usual resilience seemed to waver, and he chose his next words with care, aware that his brother was teetering on the edge. "We need our brother, Leo," he said softly, his voice laced with a deep longing. With a regretful sigh, Mikey pushed off from the tree trunk and rose to his feet, leaving Leonardo to his turmoil. He hoped that by giving Leo space, his brother would eventually come back to reality, and remember that he wasn't alone in his grief.

As the two middle children ventured deeper into the forest, Raph lugged the growing pile of sticks for their fire, while Donnie scoured the underbrush for the perfect branches. His brother's meticulousness was on full display, as he scrutinized each potential addition to their firewood stash, assessing its width, height, density, and who-knew-what-else. Raph couldn't help but feel a mix of amusement and concern at Donnie's perfectionism, even in something as mundane as gathering sticks. Yet, he was also relieved to see his brother so thoroughly engaged. Donnie's fixation on details was his coping mechanism, and Raph was more than happy to enable it. After all, his own role was simple: hold the sticks and watch Donnie scurry about, his eyes shining with intensity. The task gave Raph a rare moment to reflect, his mind wandering.

The quiet of the forest was soothing, only natural sounds prinkling through the leaves. Being alone with Donatello was also a good thing. He had several topics he wanted to get off his chest, but it was clear which to start with. He shied away from the other secret weighing on his pointed shoulders, dismissing it as he followed his brother.

Raph's voice was unusually subdued as he broke the silence, his words tinged with frustration. "This thing with Leo and Dad... it's just really weird." He paused, his gaze seeking out Donatello's, hoping for understanding. "And infuriating," he added, the admission slipping out in a hushed tone. The brothers walked on in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft crunch of leaves and snapping of twigs beneath their feet.

"I get that," Donatello said, his voice laced with a hint of resignation, a subtle undertone that betrayed his attempt at nonchalance. "To be honest, I'm trying not to think about it too much. The Shredder's still out there, and that's what's got my attention," he continued, his eyes fixed on the path ahead as he walked. Raphael, however, wasn't fooled by his brother's detached demeanor. He knew Donatello well enough to sense the underlying tension, the unspoken emotions that his brother was carefully keeping in check.

As they approached the end of the trail, the gentle hum of a rushing river enveloped them, quieting their thoughts. Raph, relieved to be free of his burden, dropped the stack of sticks in a memorable spot before collapsing onto the coarse sand. "Break?" he suggested, turning to Donatello, who nodded in agreement, and together they settled into a well-deserved rest.

Donatello carefully placed his tech beside Raph, trusting his brother to keep a watchful eye on his prized possessions. He then made his way to the shoreline, his eyes scanning the river's edge before he waded into the calm waters. The gentle current rippled around him as he grasped the rocks that lined the river, his fingers wrapping securely around them. Though the water wasn't treacherous, Donatello's cautious nature prevailed, and he eased into the river with deliberate slowness. As the water enveloped him, he let out a deep sigh, feeling the tension in his body begin to unravel. It was a sensation he hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity – not since Shredder's return had cast a shadow over their lives. The waves lapped gently against his leathery shell, and his feet sank into the soft, slimy mud beneath him. As he settled into the water, his muscles relaxed, and he felt a deep sense of ease, his body instinctively at home in its natural habitat.

Donatello's voice carried a hint of vulnerability as he spoke, his words tinged with a mix of empathy and frustration. "The stuff with Leo and dad is frustrating, I agree," he said, his tone softer than usual, as if he'd shed his usual reserve. He huffed, sympathizing with Raph's concerns while also sharing his own perspective. "But then again, Leo never got to heal after dad died. He was too busy focusing on keeping our well-being together. Now, I think he needs space and support." Donnie's expression turned thoughtful, his eyes drifting toward the river's flow. "However, I get what you mean. Leo's acting like dad was some... amazing person. But he kinda sucked," he admitted, his words laced with a hint of sadness. The fact that Donatello spoke in a less sophisticated manner than usual revealed the depth of his comfort and trust in Raph, allowing him to be more open and vulnerable.

Donatello's gaze drifted back to Raph, his eyes locking onto his brother's as he listened intently. He could sense the underlying emotions that Raph struggled to express, and his expression softened in understanding. "I get how you feel," Raph said, his voice laced with a mix of anger and vulnerability. Donatello's eyes never left Raph's face as he continued, his words painting a picture of a deep-seated hurt. "I'm so... upset about everything he did before he died. He made me feel kind of... neglected. Emotionally, at least." Donnie nodded slowly, taking in his brothers words.

Donatello nodded in agreement, his expression somber. "Yeah, with Shredder around, it's hard to focus on family issues. But to be honest, I keep thinking about Shoku," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Raphael's curiosity was piqued, and he raised an eyebrow. "The fox you punched?" Donatello's eyes dropped, and a wave of guilt washed over him. "I feel bad, okay?" he muttered, his voice laced with shame. He glanced away, unable to meet Raphael's gaze. "We're the last people who have seen her," he explained, his voice tinged with regret. With a soft huff, Donatello rested his chin on the rocks, his eyes fixed on the river's flow.

Donatello's voice dropped to a whisper, his words laced with a mix of fear and guilt. "I mean... her mom can't find her. She's probably dead." His eyes seemed to glaze over, his mind consumed by the dark possibilities. "The Foot Clan probably did something," he added, his voice cracking with concern. Raphael watched as Donatello's face fell, his expression a mask of despair. He knew his brother was replaying their encounter with Shoku on the train, wondering if he could have done something differently. Raph's voice cut into Donatello's thoughts, gentle but reassuring. "Hey, Don. She's okay. That fox may be a mess, but she's got guts," he said, choosing his words carefully. He wasn't sure how to comfort Donatello, knowing that his fears were likely justified, but he wanted to offer some semblance of hope.

A prolonged silence settled over the brothers, the only sound the gentle lapping of the river against the shore. Donatello finally broke the stillness, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "We should head back," he sighed, pulling himself out of the river with a slow, deliberate movement.

Raphael opened his mouth, hoping their conversation would be loner. He wanted to tell him something, but then again, he didn't want to put more onto Donnie's plate. His little brother was already biting off more than he could chew. Despite knowing this, he could still feel the words bubbling in his throat. Telling someone would make him feel a lot better, but he couldn't now. He regretted not telling Donnie before Shredder was resurrected. Or, more so, she regretted not telling him sooner.

She kept quiet, offering him his tech before they made their way back to their brothers.

***

Upon their return to camp, the brothers quickly set up a cozy campfire, with Michelangelo producing a basket of marshmallow roasting supplies. As they settled in, Raphael found his frustration growing, heightened by the weight of unspoken words. It seemed that there were many secrets and unresolved emotions simmering beneath the surface for the mud turtle.

Raphael's gaze kept drifting towards the tree where Leonardo was perched, his annoyance growing with each passing moment. As he jammed his marshmallow onto a stick, his frustration boiled over. "Leo!" he barked, a sneer twisting his voice. "How about you get your grumpy shell down here before I eat you?" The threat was real, and as a scorpion mud turtle, his species' cannibalistic tendencies lingered in his instincts despite the fact that he would never hurt his family.

Donatello shot Raphael a warning glance, cautioning him against escalating the situation. "Apologies on Raphael's behalf, Leo. Stay if you need space," he said, his voice measured and calm. Raphael's glare was immediate, but Donatello's words had already extended an olive branch. Raphael's tone, however, was less conciliatory. "No. Leo needs to come down here and be a part of his family. His alive family," he emphasized, the needles of accusation poking through his attempt at a stern tone. The words hung in the air, a subtle but clear rebuke.

A sudden thud echoed from behind the log, and Raphael's eyes narrowed as Leonardo emerged, his landing swift and agile. The eldest brother's gaze locked onto Raphael, dark and intense, his voice low and harsh. "Splinter is alive." The words were laced with desperation and fury, and even Michelangelo, who had been about to intervene, felt a shiver run down his spine. "Bros, how about we all take a breath and calm—" Mikey began, but his words trailed off as Leonardo strode over, his movements fluid and deliberate. He plopped down beside Michelangelo, snatching up some marshmallow roasting supplies with a quiet intensity. Raphael's glare, however, remained unwavering, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and skepticism.

Raphael's voice was laced with a mix of frustration and finality. "He's gone, Leo. Accept it so we can all move on." He turned his attention back to the marshmallow, watching as it transformed into a soft, golden brown. Leonardo's response was immediate and venomous. "Move on? You all just want to forget Splinter! He is our father!" The other three brothers reacted defensively, their bristles raised. Michelangelo was the first to respond, his voice firm but hurt. "Leo, you know that's not true!”

Raphael's correction cut through the air, a vicious retort that left a sting. "Was our father." The words hung like a challenge, a defensive barb that Raph hadn't truly meant to unleash. Leonardo's eyes flashed with anger, his jaw clenched in a tight, furious line. He opened his mouth to respond, to lash back with a hurtful remark of his own, but before he could speak, he was interrupted.

Donatello suddenly sprang to his feet, tossing his roasting stick into the flames with a clatter. "Will all of you quit it?" he thundered, his voice echoing through the night air. "Listening to you fight is worse than trying to solve the Yang-Mills Theory! Leonardo, Raphael, you both sound like babbling lunatics!" He glared at his brothers, his eyes flashing with frustration, before taking a deep breath and composing himself. "Watching you bicker makes it harder for us all to cope with Father's death," he said, his voice softening. "Leo, let him rest. Raph, Leo needs help, not insults." Raphael grunted, his face hardening into a stubborn mask, but he remained silent, unwilling to argue with his younger siblings.

Leonardo shot to his feet, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity as he confronted Donatello. The red and yellow stripes on his face seemed to deepen, etched by the anguish and rage that contorted his features. "I don't need your help! Father didn't die that night!" His voice trembled, the words torn from his throat like a raw, gaping wound. Beneath the harsh, defiant tone, Michelangelo sensed the depths of Leonardo's pain – the aching sorrow of their father's absence, the creeping fear, the crushing loneliness. The turtles had grown up in a world where Splinter was the center, the anchor that held them fast. Without him, they were adrift, lost, and vulnerable.

Michelangelo stepped forward, positioning himself between Leonardo and Donatello in an attempt to diffuse the tension. But before he could intervene, Leonardo's words tumbled out, raw and anguished. "Because if he died that night..." He paused, his voice cracking beneath the weight of his emotions. "...then it's all my fault." The words hung in the air, a painful admission that left his brothers reeling in shock. They had known Leonardo was struggling, that the weight of his responsibilities and the trauma of their past had taken a toll on his mental health. They had witnessed his mood swings, his paranoia, and his withdrawal from their family. But they had no idea that he carried this crushing burden of guilt, that he blamed himself for the pain and hardship inflicted upon them by the Foot Clan. The realization was a painful one, and it filled Michelangelo's heart with a deep sadness and compassion for his troubled brother.

Michelangelo's expression softened, his eyes filled with empathy and understanding. He quickly wrapped his arms around Leonardo, pulling him into a warm, comforting hug. "You were fourteen. We were all kids," he whispered, his voice gentle and reassuring. "You couldn't have done anything more than you did, which was kept the rest of us alive." His words were a balm to Leonardo's battered soul, a reminder that he had done everything he could to protect his family, and that he wasn't alone in his guilt and pain.

Donatello hesitated for a moment, his expression a picture of discomfort, before awkwardly inserting himself into the group hug. He wedged himself between Michelangelo and Leonardo, his long, slender body stiff and unyielding. "Uncomfortable... with... emotion," he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice strained with the effort of suppressing his natural aversion to physical touch. Despite his reluctance, he remained there, a testament to the strong bonds of brotherhood that held them together.

Michelangelo turned to Raphael, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Whose got a grumpy shell now?" he teased, his voice light and playful. Raphael huffed, his expression softening ever so slightly as he made his way over to his brothers. He wrapped his arms around them, his grip firm and warm. "It... wasn't your fault, Leo," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. The words were a gentle apology, an acknowledgment of his own guilt for snapping at Leonardo earlier.

Michelangelo spoke hesitantly, choosing his words with care. "You helped us cope with the... loss," he said finally, pausing as if to gauge Leonardo's reaction. "We want to help you now too." The words struck Leonardo with the force of a train, stirring up memories he'd rather keep buried. He'd been the one to lead his brothers to safety after Splinter's passing, the one to return to the lair alone and face the devastating reality. He'd seen their father's lifeless body, the dullness in his once-bright eyes. And in the aftermath, he'd put his brothers' needs before his own, helping them heal while neglecting his own grief. But now, Michelangelo's offer resonated deeply. For the first time, Leonardo considered the possibility of leaning on his brothers, of sharing the weight of his pain instead of shouldering it alone.

Leonardo let himself be enveloped by the warmth of his brothers' embrace, a rare and comforting sensation. The turtle brothers weren't prone to displays of physical affection, but in this moment, it felt like a balm to their weary souls. Leonardo's gaze drifted to the spot where his father's figure had stood, a poignant reminder of what they had lost. He watched, a sense of resignation washing over him, as the particles of his father's existence flickered away, disappearing into nothingness. This time, Leonardo didn't try to hold on, didn't try to keep the image of his father alive. He simply let go, allowing the pain and the grief to wash over him.

As they parted, a sense of calm seemed to settle over the brothers, but before Raphael could speak, a brilliant flash of light illuminated the clearing. The campfire behind them erupted into a vibrant, unearthly blue, its flames dancing and swirling in a mesmerizing pattern. The brothers turned to gaze at the transformed fire, and their eyes widened in wonder as a distinct, spectral form took shape within the sapphire flames. A pair of whiskers protruded from a sleek, elongated head, and large, beady eyes seemed to bore into their very souls, as if seeing right through them. The familiar, yet transformed, figure wore their father's signature robe, now radiant and refreshed, as if revitalized by the afterlife. The brothers knew, without a doubt, that they were gazing upon their father's spirit. His body was transparent, his body spotted with stars. Donatello, however, stood frozen, his analytical mind struggling to comprehend the impossible phenomenon unfolding before him.

"My sons," Splinter's ethereal voice sent shivers down their spines. "I know of the return of our greatest fear. The Shredder has arisen from his own personal hell to reform the Earth to function under his own rule. You did the best you could to prevent it, but there was only so much you could have done." Splinter's words dripped with a haunting wisdom, but the brothers found themselves struggling to focus on the message. They were too entranced by the sheer presence of their father's spirit, too overwhelmed by the mix of emotions that came with seeing him again. The weight of their grief, the ache of their longing, and the shock of this unexpected reunion all swirled together, making it difficult for them to concentrate on the words of warning and guidance that Splinter was offering.

"Father?" Leonardo's voice trembled, his eyes wide with wonder and confusion. The Splinter standing before them was not the same one he had seen in his memories, not the same one he had mourned. This was something more, something different. Leonardo's mind reeled as he struggled to comprehend the implications of what he was seeing. The other three turtles were similarly affected, each one hit with a tidal wave of repressed memories, both good and bad. The emotions came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm them. Donatello, in particular, seemed to be struggling, his fists clenched so tightly that crescent-shaped indentations appeared on his palms. His eyes were wide with denial, his face pale with shock. "No," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "This can't be.”

Michelangelo's voice was barely above a whisper as he reached out a trembling hand, his scales brushing against his father's transparent form. "Papa?" he whispered, his eyes shining with a mix of wonder and trepidation. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, slipping down his beak. As the youngest, Mikey's memories of Splinter were hazy, but they were filled with joy and innocence, untainted by the harsh realities of the world. He had been only ten years old when Splinter passed away, and his childlike mind had preserved the happy moments, shielding him from the pain and complexity of his father's death.

In stark contrast, Raphael's reaction was one of turmoil and anguish. As he gazed upon his father's spirit, a maelstrom of emotions erupted within him. He had been twelve years old when Splinter died, and the pre-teen angst and hormonal turmoil had already begun to simmer beneath the surface. He had harbored resentment towards his father, blaming him for leaving, for the hardships they faced, and for the unspoken words that still lingered. But most of all, Raph hated himself for the memories they never made, for the words he never spoke, and for the pain he never confronted. The weight of these unspoken emotions threatened to consume him, and he struggled to keep his feelings in check as he gazed upon his father's ethereal form.

Splinter's gaze softened as he looked at his sons, his eyes filled with a deep understanding of the turbulent emotions that were swirling within them. However, he knew that he couldn't let their feelings distract them from the task at hand. "My sons, you must listen to me," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "This task is far greater than anything I have ever set you up for." He paused, his eyes locking onto each of his sons in turn. "The Twilight Realm holds all the answers you need. Our ancestor, Oroku Karai, resides there. She can show you the way to defeating the Shredder." Splinter's words were laced with a sense of urgency, and he could see the questions forming on his sons' lips. But before they could ask, he raised a hand, silencing them. "But father-" Leonardo began, only to be cut off by Splinter's raised hand.

A separate blue flame erupted before them, its tendrils slithering and twisting into a large, intricate circle. The inner portions of the circle were filled with delicate patterns and symbols, all leading to a smaller circle at the center. Splinter's voice took on a sense of urgency as he commanded, "Memorize this pattern, quickly." His eyes darted over his sons, his gaze stern and unyielding. "It is the ritual to find Karai. It must be led by the current head of the Hamato Clan," he paused, his eyes locking onto Leonardo, "and requires Hamato blood from all living members... you four." The weight of his words hung in the air, leaving no room for emotion or debate. The gravity of the task ahead was clear, and Splinter's stern expression drove home the importance of their role in the ritual.

Donatello took a step forward, his voice laced with urgency as he protested, "Dearest Papa, you never appointed a head to succeed you." His eyes scanned Splinter's face, searching for answers as he struggled to keep up with the rapid unfolding of events.

Splinter nodded calmly, as if the matter was settled, and flicked his fiery tail. A few sapphire-colored rocks landed before Leonardo's feet, and Splinter spoke with an air of certainty, "Leonardo is the head of the Hamato." Raphael's eyes widened in outrage, and he exploded, "What?!" The veins on his neck pulsed with anger as he spluttered, "Why should he be the leader?" Before anyone could respond, Raphael's tirade continued, "I knew he was the favorite! I knew it all along!" His voice cracked with emotion, but Splinter's stern glare cut him off. "This is more important than petty fights and accusations, Raphael," Splinter snapped, his voice sharp as a blade. "The Twilight Realm is the answer to stopping Shredder. Go there immediately." With that, the flames engulfing Splinter's spirit flared up, and he vanished into the wind, leaving the brothers staring at the spot where he had stood. The only reminder of his presence was the faint scent of smoke and the sapphire rocks at Leonardo's feet.

"No 'goodbye?' No 'I love you?" Michelangelo commented gruffly.

***

The cold, harsh steps echoed through the empty, dark hallway. Alopex steeled herself, draining all emotion from her expression, and kept her back straight as she marched forward with a sense of purpose. Her eyes fixed on the door ahead, she approached the chamber reserved for the elite inner circle of the Foot Clan, those who had earned the right to stand in the presence of the Shredder himself. The air seemed to thicken with anticipation as she reached out to grasp the door handle, her heart pounding in her chest.

The massive doors creaked open, revealing the imposing figure of the white-haired Foot Soldier, Alopex. As she stepped forward, the dimly lit chamber seemed to stretch out before her like a cold, unforgiving abyss. The air was heavy with the weight of Shredder's presence, and the very walls seemed to reverberate with the dark energy that had been unleashed since his resurrection. The tower itself, a twisted monolith born from the very earth, seemed to be a constant reminder of the power that now resided within. Alopex's footsteps echoed off the tiles as she approached Shredder, her movements deliberate and measured. She halted a few feet before him, her eyes fixed on the figure seated on the throne, her expression a mask of subservience.

Shredder's imposing form seemed to radiate an aura of power, his full mystic armor a testament to his mastery over the forces of evil. The helmet that concealed his face left only a faint glimpse of his eyes, making it impossible to discern his emotions. Jennika and Shinigami flanked him, their presence a reminder of the loyalty and devotion that Shredder commanded. Alopex's swift descent to one knee was a display of her own unwavering allegiance, her head bent low in a gesture of submission. "Master Shredder," she intoned, her voice laced with reverence. The words that followed were a report, delivered with precision and clarity: "The Foot Bots have located Shoku making her way through the Hidden City. She was last spotted near the mystic train station, in the neighborhood that used to be her own." The chamber fell silent, awaiting Shredder's response, as Alopex remained frozen in her subservient pose.

Shredder's jagged claw sliced through the air, its tips glinting with an otherworldly malevolence. His voice was blunt, devoid of emotion, as he issued the order: "Bring her here." The air seemed to thicken with tension as he continued, his tone dropping to a harsh, menacing growl. "I will not leave any room for mistakes. Not this time." Alopex's gaze remained fixed on the floor, but her mind was racing with the memories of the last Divine Beast who had dared to enter their headquarters. Ninjara, the proud Okami yokai, had been brought in by Lin Koyobashi. When the yokai escaped, Koyobashi vanished into thin air. The unspoken implication was clear: Shredder's displeasure had been the catalyst for the warrior's disappearance. Alopex's instincts screamed at her to be cautious, to avoid suffering the same fate as Lin Koyobashi. She knew that she had to tread carefully, lest she incur Shredder's wrath.

Alopex's thoughts swirled with a mix of emotions as she contemplated Shoku's capture. Once a friend and ally to the Foot Clan, Shoku's value lay not only in her strength as a Divine Beast but also in her potential to unlock Shredder's true power. Alopex's loyalty to the Foot and her desire to see Shredder's plans come to fruition warred with the memories of her friendship with Shoku. She knew that bringing Shoku in was crucial, but a part of her whispered that it would come at a terrible cost.

With a fluid motion, Alopex rose from her kneeling position, her head bowed in a gesture of respect. "Yes, master," she replied, her voice firm and resolute. As she turned to depart, her movements were swift and deliberate, conveying a sense of determination and purpose. The doors closed behind her, and the chamber was once again shrouded in silence. But Alopex's parting thought echoed within her mind, a burning ambition that drove her forward: Shredder would know of her greatness. The whole world would.

Chapter Text

As Shoku walked, the invisible force drew her in with an otherworldly allure, sending her heart racing with an excitement that was both exhilarating and unsettling. The sensation was almost intoxicating, making her forget the troubles that had driven her to search for the spear in the first place. Her paws moved of their own accord, leaving behind a trail of indents in the slate grey dirt as she followed the mysterious pull. The world around her melted away, leaving only the thrumming sensation and the promise of something unknown, yet tantalizingly within reach.

As Shoku approached the outskirts of the Hidden City, the ocean's presence loomed before her, its waves crashing against the shore in a soothing melody. The air was thick with a mystical energy that repelled most yokai, but Shoku felt an inexplicable pull towards it. The fog that shrouded the area seemed to seep into her mind, but instead of disorienting her, it had a strangely calming effect. Her thoughts, once a jumbled mess of worries and distractions, suddenly clarified, as if the mental fog had lifted. The constant chatter in her mind ceased, and she felt a sense of focus she hadn't experienced in a long time. It was as if the mystical energy had smoothed out the wrinkles in her brain, allowing her to think with a clarity she hadn't known she was capable of.

As the fog dissipated, Shoku found herself standing in a space that was unsettlingly familiar. The landscape before her was identical to the one she had seen in her dream, yet the details were slightly off. No turtles were basking on the banks, but there were still foxes darting through the undergrowth, their bushy tails flicking behind them. Her gaze was drawn to the vibrant, sunset-colored fruits that hung from turquoise leaves, their gentle sway mesmerizing. Without thinking, the fox stepped off the path, her paws silent on the soft earth as she approached the branches. She reached out a paw, snapping one of the branches free, and plucked a fruit from its stem. The sweet, heady aroma wafted up, enticing her to take a bite.

As Shoku's teeth sank into the fruit, the skin burst open, releasing a flood of sweet, sticky nectar that dripped down her chin and onto her tongue. The flavor was intoxicating, a heady mix of sugars and acids that made her taste buds tingle. The gooey insides of the fruit squished between her fingers, coating her paws with a sticky film. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste and texture, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the experience.

As she devoured the last morsel of the fruit, Shoku felt a profound sense of satisfaction wash over her. The saccharine taste still lingered on her tongue, a sweet reminder of the fruit's extraordinary flavor. But it was the fruit's restorative properties that left her truly amazed. Her days of hunger, thirst, and fatigue seemed to melt away, replaced by a renewed sense of vitality and energy. Her bones, once weary and weak, now felt strong and resilient, as if infused with a newfound vigor. The dryness on her tongue was quenched, and her senses felt revitalized, as if she had been reborn. All this from a single, extraordinary fruit. She gave it a confused, scared, and intrigued look before her mind slipped elsewhere.

As she continued down the path, the tug grew stronger, guiding her deeper into the forest. The sight of her own pawprints on the ground only added to the sense of déjà vu, and Shoku's confusion deepened. She had never been to this place before, yet everything felt eerily familiar thanks to her dream.

Shoku halted before the familiar boulder, the kanji etched into its surface no different than the symbols in her dream. She pressed her paw pads into the indent, and the boulder slid open, granting her access. With a fluid motion, she stepped into the dark cave, where gemstones embedded in the walls cast a soft glow, illuminating her path. The river below shimmered, its gentle flow seeming to emanate a soft light. Shoku dipped her paws into the water, feeling a sense of relief as the cool liquid washed away the dirt, minerals, and bark that had accumulated between her toes.

As she reached the center of the cave, Shoku's eyes grew wide with wonder. The spear, towering the sand below her, was even more breathtaking in person. The heavenly base, adorned with swaying tassels, seemed to shimmer in the soft light, as if infused with an otherworldly essence. The blade itself appeared to be drinking in the water, as if thirsting for the liquid. With reverence, Shoku reached out and grasped the spear, feeling an energy course through her veins as she pulled it from the earth. The spear felt alive in her paws, its weight and balance seeming to hum with a power that resonated deep within her. As she held it, Shoku felt a stirring within her, like a bird awakening from a long slumber, its wings unfolding, ready to take flight. The sensation was exhilarating, and she knew in that moment that she was meant to wield this majestic creation.

As Shoku marveled at the spear, a flash of gold at the edge of her vision caught her attention. She knelt down, her eyes drawn to the crystal-clear water, where a soft glow danced in the ripples. There, reflected in the water's surface, was her mother's image, nine tails swaying majestically behind her. Shoku's eyes widened in wonder, and she swiftly looked up, expecting to see her mother standing before her. But she was alone. A spark of hope flickered, then faded, leaving only her awe. She turned back to the water, and her mother's luminous reflection winked at her before darting off, leaving behind only ripples.

With the spear still clutched in her paws, Shoku burst out of the cave, her feet pounding the earth as she sprinted through the forest. Her paws barely touched the ground, the grass blades whispering against her legs as she hurtled forward. Fireflies and tiny glowing creatures darted out of her way, their lights flickering like tiny stars. A joyous smile spread across her face, her fangs glinting in the light. Beside her, the river's surface mirrored her mother's gentle smile, shining brighter than a thousand suns. Together, they seemed to be racing, their reflections keeping pace with Shoku's wild dash through the forest.

As Shoku emerged from the forest, the fog enveloped her, casting a damp, gray veil over her surroundings. Her pace faltered, her paws sinking into the misty silence. Her breathing came in short, sharp gasps, as if she was savoring the stillness. Though she stood alone, it didn't feel that way.

The faint footsteps drew closer, and Shoku's ears perked up, tracking the sound with precision. With a swift, fluid motion, she swept the spear through the fog, unleashing a gleaming, transparent blade that sliced through the mist. The golden light illuminated the shadows, revealing a cluster of dark figures that instantly scattered, vanishing into the fog like ghosts. Shoku's heart skipped a beat as fear spiked through her veins. She had never been cornered by the Foot Clan before, and the realization sent a shiver down her spine. Her grip on the spear tightened, her senses on high alert, as she prepared to face the enemy.

As the blade's golden light swept across the fog-shrouded surroundings, the shadows coalesced into a dozen Foot Clan soldiers, their eyes glowing like embers in the dark. Shoku's fist trembled with a mix of fear and adrenaline, her grip on the spear tightening. Then, a figure emerged from the fog, its features slowly taking shape. Alopex, who was once her close friend, stood before her, a hint of warmth tempering her calm, measured tone. "Shoku," Alopex said, her voice dripping with an unsettling familiarity, "you know what you are, correct?" The question hung in the air like a challenge, and Shoku felt a shiver run down her spine as she struggled to respond.

Shoku nodded warily, her trust in her close friend now tempered with caution. "The Divine Beast," she said slowly, her voice measured, "the thing Bishop mentioned.”

"Your magic holds the key to restoring Shredder's power," Alopex said, her voice ablaze with passion. "With it, you can exact vengeance on those who have wronged you, wronged us." Her finger traced the scars on her face, a bitter reminder of past wounds. "You can make your birth parents pay for abandoning you, and Jennika for her cruelty." As Alopex's words hung in the air, Shoku's heart sank, her gut twisting with a mix of fear, anger, and sorrow.

"Al..." Shoku whispered, the nickname halting Alopex's impassioned speech. The fox's voice was laced with a mix of sadness and conviction as she continued, "I never hated my birth parents. They did what they had to.”

Alopex's piercing yellow eyes widened in shock, her gaze frozen on Shoku as if she was seeing her friend for the first time. "But they abandoned you," she protested, her voice laced with confusion and a hint of accusation. "You've always been hurt by that." Shoku took a step back, her eyes darting nervously to Alopex's tense form. The fox's words tumbled out in a rush, "I-I don't want revenge for it. I mean, I wish it hadn't happened, but...if it hadn't, I wouldn't have met you and Casey." Alopex's face darkened, her expression a stormy mix of emotions, and Shoku's timidity grew. She seemed to be teetering on the edge, as if she might erupt at any moment.

"Are you... scared, Shoku?" Alopex whispered, her voice dripping with malice, the question more of a challenge than an inquiry. Before Shoku could respond, Alopex's demeanor shifted, her eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. "You're just like everyone else!" she spat, lunging forward with a fierce battle cry. Her twin kama flashed in the dim light, their blades slicing down with deadly precision, only to be halted by the spear's base, which Shoku grasped firmly in her palms. The Foot Soldiers closed in, their shadows forming a suffocating circle that eliminated any hope of escape. Shoku's heart sank, her instincts screaming that she was outmatched. Alopex was a formidable foe, and in this battle, the fox knew she wouldn't emerge victorious.

***

Michelangelo exhaled slowly through his nostrils, his pacing around the empty tent a testament to his growing anxiety. His blood sugar had been plummeting for what felt like an eternity, and his usual candy stash was nowhere to be found. He must have devoured it all and forgotten, a lapse in memory that was now coming back to haunt him. Each step made his body quiver, his limbs trembling like a leaf. Pacing probably wasn't the best idea, but Mikey's fuzzy brain wasn't exactly overflowing with brilliant notions at the moment. He took another deep breath, his rapid heartbeat pounding in his ears. A searing headache threatened to split his skull, but he knew he needed to find one of his brothers – and fast.

With sweaty, shaky palms, Michelangelo pushed aside the fabric that separated their tent from the rest of the camp. His movements were jerky, urgency getting the better of him as his head pounded and his vision began to blur. His gaze landed on Leonardo, who was intently re-creating Splinter's symbol in the sand. Leo's eyes flicked up, meeting Mikey's, before returning to his task. "Hey, Mike. How's it going?" he asked, his tone casual. Michelangelo's chest constricted, his head spinning. The darkness closing in around his vision made it hard to focus. "T-totally...tubular," he slurred, his words barely intelligible before his legs gave out, and he crashed to the ground.

***

Michelangelo's eyes creaked open, his mind foggy from the blood sugar crash. The familiar surroundings of Quarry's medicine den slowly came into focus. However, his attempt to sit up was promptly interrupted by Todd, the mutant capybara, who thrust a glass of lemonade into his face. Mikey's eyes widened as he fumbled for the glass, his fingers wrapping around it shakily. "Lemonade! Made with extra love," Todd's cheerful voice chimed in, and Mikey took a grateful sip, the sweetness hitting his taste buds like a warm hug. He could sense the extra sugar Todd had added, and the thought of his friend going out of his way for him made Mikey's guilt twinge. He attempted to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, forcing him to pause. "Thanks, dude," he nodded at Todd, his voice weak but sincere. Todd beamed, launching into his signature enthusiasm. "Anytime! I'm happy to help. You know, the secret to my recipe always includes a dash of-”

"Todd," Leonardo interrupted, his voice firm but gentle, "Mikey needs his rest." The larger turtle stood up, his towering figure encouraging the capybara to scurry off. Leonardo settled into the seat beside Michelangelo, his expression softening with concern. "Why didn't you get some sugar before you passed out?" Although his question sounded stern, Mikey knew it was rooted in worry. Mikey had always been the one to see beyond the surface, to understand the intentions behind their actions. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he drew a cross on his chest, mourning the loss of his stash. "I totally would have, but my stash was empty," he said, his voice laced with mock tragedy.

Leonardo's expression softened, his initial frustration giving way to gentle concern. He let out a calming breath, his voice taking on a soothing tone. "You should have told someone, Mikey. We could have gotten you something faster..." His words trailed off, his eyes locking onto his brother's, filled with a deep-seated worry for Mikey's well-being.

Michelangelo's carefree facade crumbled, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability beneath. "I know, I know," he muttered, his voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness. He paused, his eyes drifting away as he searched for the right words. "I didn't want to bother you, bros. You're all so stressed," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a sip of the lemonade, using it as a momentary distraction from the conversation. "I just didn't want to add to it and burden my family," he confessed, his gaze still averted, as if ashamed of his own needs.

Leonardo let out a gentle sigh, his expression a mix of understanding and reassurance. "Mike, I promise you're more important than all the issues with Splinter," he paused, a hint of concern flickering across his face at the mention of their sensei's name. "And our other problems. Just let us know next time, okay?" He placed a comforting hand on Michelangelo's shoulder, his three fingers a gentle reminder of his presence. Before they could continue their conversation, Quarry's blue-horned head appeared at the tent's entrance. "Draxum is holding a meeting. It's about the Foot Clan," she announced, her voice crisp and informative.

Leonardo stood up, casting a glance over his shoulder at Michelangelo. "Stay here. I'll mention your issue to Draxum during the meeting," he instructed, his tone firm but gentle. With that, he turned and followed Quarry out of the tent, leaving Mikey behind. Initially, Michelangelo felt a pang of frustration at being excluded from the meeting. However, his disappointment was short-lived, as he recalled the comic book tucked away in his belt. A sly grin spread across his face as he opened the colorful pages, the box turtle's eyes sparkling with mischief.

***

Draxum stood tall at the head of the gleaming golden table, his sharp claws digging into the edges as his brows furrowed in deep contemplation. To his left, Sally Pride engaged in a hushed conversation with the three scouts beside her. Slash, the towering kappa, loomed over Methania and Ninjara, his deep voice rumbling as he contributed to the discussion. Hob, the potential recruit, slouched beside them, observing the scene with a mix of curiosity and detachment. Across from Draxum, the three turtle brothers – Leonardo, Donatello, and Raphael – stood alongside their human friend, April. Leonardo's expression mirrored Draxum's, his eyes narrowed in thought. To Draxum's right, Mayor Mira beamed with warmth, greeting Sheena and Quarry as they joined her, their faces a picture of calm focus.

"Quiet, everyone," Draxum commanded, his voice echoing through the room despite the fact that only a few hushed conversations had been taking place. He paused, surveying the room before continuing. "I have new intel from our intelligence within the Foot Clan." His eyes seemed to gleam with a knowing intensity, a testament to his past connections with the New York Clan of Ninjas – or, as he wryly referred to them, the Clan of Buffoons. It was clear that he had cultivated valuable sources within the Foot Clan, including the seventeen-year-old Cassandra Jones. Draxum's gaze locked onto Sheena as he dropped the bombshell: "The Foot Clan are planning to ambush the fox we know as Shoku Kadi." Sheena's face contorted in shock, a gasp escaping her lips as she reeled from the news.

Sheena's voice rose in alarm, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "What? What could they want from her? Did Jennika do this?" she demanded, her eyes blazing with intensity. Her hooves slammed down onto the table, the loud thud echoing through the room as she struggled to contain her outrage.

Draxum's expression remained stern as he elaborated, "No, Shredder wants her because of her mystic heritage. She's a Divine Beast, just as Ninjara is." Ninjara's typically blank face flickered with a hint of emotion, a subtle reaction that only those who knew her well might catch. Sheena, on the other hand, let out a disturbed sigh, her eyes clouding with concern. She had been aware of Shoku's mixed heritage as a fennec fox and kitsune, but she had never realized the significance of the kitsune magic within her. This new information cast a different light on Shoku's identity, and Sheena's rough understanding of her daughter's origins from her adoption paperwork now seemed woefully inadequate.

Salley Pride leaned forward, her sleek tail twitching behind her as she asked, "Draxum, you know where they're planning their ambush, yes?" Her eyes locked onto Draxum's, seeking confirmation. He nodded curtly, his claw gliding across the map spread out on the table. The tip of his claw came to rest on a specific location, pointing to the opposite end of the Hidden City. "The Foot Clan spotted her by the Mystic Train station, most likely heading towards the forest," Draxum explained, his voice low and serious.

Donatello's brow furrowed in concern as he pondered the situation. "What could she possibly be doing?" he muttered to himself, his unease growing as he thought about the desolate edges of the Hidden City. Meanwhile, Sheena's urgency escalated, her voice taking on a demanding tone. "You have to stop them and bring her back here," she insisted, her eyes locked onto Draxum's. Salley Pride stepped in, her calm demeanor a soothing balm to the rising tension. Her reassuring words helped to ease Sheena's anxiety, though her expression remained resolute.

Salley Pride's voice rang out with conviction, her passion evident in every word. "My scouts can prevent those fiends from even touching her," she declared, her sharp, gold feline eyes locking onto Sheena's in an attempt to reassure the distressed mother. Sheena's worried expression remained, but Salley's confidence seemed to offer a glimmer of hope. Draxum nodded in agreement, his voice taking on a decisive tone. "That's the plan," he confirmed. "Stop the Foot soldiers before they can find her, then find Shoku yourself and bring her here," he instructed, his eyes scanning the room as he assigned the task. “We cannot afford to allow Shredder to return to full power,” he snarled.

Mayor Mira's eyes narrowed as she studied the map, her gaze darting between their current location and the spot Draxum's claw indicated. "That's a long way," she fretted, her brow furrowed with concern. "How can the scouts get there in time?" Methania, however, seemed unfazed by the distance. A confident grin spread across her face, and her grey ears twitched with assurance. "Oh, trust me," she said, her voice dripping with self-assurance. "I can get us there." As she spoke, her two tails swished behind her, a dynamic motion that only added to Mayor Mira's growing unease. The mayor's expression turned even more concerned, her eyes widening with a mix of alarm and skepticism.

April began to propose, "We can go with you. The turtles know Shoku," but Draxum swiftly cut her off, his tone firm and unyielding. "The Foot is looking for the turtles. They'd be putting themselves and the fate of the world in danger," he warned, his words laced with a sense of urgency and gravity. April's face fell, and she let out a huff, "Jeez, okay," her voice tinged with frustration and disappointment at being shut down.

Leonardo stepped forward, his expression serious as he nodded in agreement with Draxum. "No, April. He's right," he said, his voice calm and measured. He shuffled his feet, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued, "And plus, we need to stay back to help Mikey." His eyes flicked towards the tent where Michelangelo was waiting, a hint of concern etched on his face.

Raphael's voice boomed out, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Mikey? What did that bone-head get into now?" Leonardo's eyes rolled good-naturedly, and he sighed, "I was getting to that, Raph." He refocused his attention on Draxum, Salley, and Mayor Mira, his expression turning serious once more. "Mikey ran out of high sugar snacks for his hypoglycemia and passed out this morning," he explained, his voice measured. Donatello's brow furrowed with concern, and he spoke up, "And he didn't tell us beforehand?" Leonardo's gaze flicked to Donnie, and he froze, his expression hinting that this was a conversation for later.

Quarry's deep, rumbling voice added to the conversation, her words tinged with a gentle concern that belied her intimidating appearance. "He's resting in the medic tent as we speak. Todd got him lemonade for now, but he certainly needs something equivalent to the stash he had before," she said, her voice smooth and soothing. As she spoke, she waved one of her razor-sharp claws absently, a gesture that seemed almost careless given the deadly nature of her features. Despite her fearsome appearance – the predatory eyes, the sharp horns and claws, the rows of teeth, and her imposing stature – Quarry seemed utterly oblivious to the intimidation factor she possessed, her demeanor relaxed and accustomed to her own physiology.

Slash's expression softened, and he let out a sympathetic sigh. "Poor Michelangelo," he murmured, his voice filled with concern for his new friend. He turned to the other turtles, his eyes shining with determination. "Us scouts can certainly find some high sugar snacks if he's in need," he promised, his words a beacon of hope. Leonardo, Donatello, and Raphael exchanged relieved glances, their faces easing with gratitude at Slash's offer.

Hob, the brown-coated bakeneko yokai, sauntered forward, his movements languid as he leaned against the table with one arm. His eyes gleamed with a hint of curiosity as he asked, "Now, how old is this kid?" He glanced between Draxum and Sheena, his gaze lingering on each of them before returning to Draxum. "Does she have any battle experience?" he inquired, his tone neutral, yet somehow probing. The others around the table exchanged uncertain glances, unsure of where Hob was headed with this line of questioning. Draxum, however, sensed a trap, his instincts prickling with wariness. His response was curt and cold. "She's sixteen with little to no battle experience.”

Sheena's voice took on a desperate tone, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Which is exactly why we need to get her back now," she urged, her eyes wide with worry. Her gaze swept across the room, coming to rest on the scouts. "Why are we standing around?" she demanded, her impatience growing. "You need to go. She's in danger," she emphasized, her voice cracking with emotion as she stressed the urgency of the situation.

Hob raised a paw, palm facing Sheena, and waved it in a silencing motion. Sheena's eyes flashed with offense at the abrupt gesture, but Hob continued, his voice detached and logical. "Say we do rescue this adolescent fox. What good will she do other than be another mouth to feed?" He posed the question without acknowledging the emotional undertones, his tone pragmatic and unyielding. Donatello, however, was quick to counter, his voice rising in defense. "Bringing her back to her mother is what's right," he retorted, only to be cut off by Hob's curt, "Enough, turtle.”

"Shoku is crucial to the Foot Clan's plan to restore Shredder's power," the cat explained, his tone gruff and serious. "As a Divine Beast, she's extremely valuable, but also vulnerable since she can't defend herself. If she falls into the wrong hands, our entire world will be at risk." He paused, surveying the group with a stern expression. "Ninjara, at least, can take care of herself. But Shoku... could she really escape the Foot Clan if they captured her?" Hob tested, his eyebrow raised in skepticism as he challenged the others to consider the harsh reality.

Mayor Mira's kind smile remained fixed on her face, but a hint of strain was visible beneath the surface, a testament to the effort she was exerting to keep her emotions in check. Her voice, however, remained warm and inviting as she asked, "Then what do you propose we do, Hob?" The bakeneko yokai shifted uncomfortably, his piercing yellow eyes darkening as he responded, his voice low and even. "We kill her," he said, the words dropping like a stone into the silence, causing the atmosphere in the room to grow heavy and tense.

Sheena's face contorted in outrage, her snout scrunching up in fury as she let out a shriek. "Don't you dare think about it!" she exclaimed, her voice venomous. Her words tumbled out in a torrent of anger, "That's my baby you're talking about, you disgusting, ragged, son of a-" But before she could finish her tirade, Quarry intervened, gently tugging on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down. Sheena's angry outburst was abruptly cut short, but her eyes still blazed with fury, fixed intently on Hob.

Hob's expression remained impassive, his voice steady and detached as he continued, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil he had just unleashed. "Think about it," he said, his tone almost clinical. "If she's gone, there's less of a threat of Divine Beast heritage amping Shredder's power." His words hung in the air, cold and calculating, as if he were discussing a mere mathematical equation rather than the life of a young, innocent creature.

Draxum's expression turned thoughtful, his hoof rising to rest against his chin as he considered Hob's words. "Hob makes a fair point," he said, his voice measured, and for a moment, it seemed as though the two were in unsettling agreement. The atmosphere in the room grew even more tense, until the shisa yokai, Salley, intervened, her eyes blazing with anger. "The scouts will bring her back. Alive. My decision is final," she snarled, her voice low and menacing, as she directed a fierce glare at Draxum. With that, she turned and stalked off, deliberately bumping Hob with her shoulder as she passed. The three scouts followed closely behind her, their loyalty and support for her decision evident in their united front. Hob, unperturbed by the confrontation, merely shrugged, his expression dismissive. "Whatever. It's your funeral," he muttered, his eyes dragging back to the group before him. Sheena, still seething with anger, cast a smug glance in Hob's direction as her gaze followed the scouts, the group exiting the mystic barrier that surrounded their camp.

As the group dispersed from the meeting, the tension lingered, palpable but no longer suffocating. Sheena's worry, however, only intensified, her hooves trembling beneath her. "I have to go with the scouts," she urged, her breathing slightly labored as she confided in Quarry. "I have to make sure Shoku is okay." Her words spilled out in a rush, as she paced back and forth in the secluded area beside the medicine tent, where the turtles and April were currently seeking treatment.

Her distress deepened, her voice laced with panic. "It's been months. Who knows what could have happened to her? I don't even know if she's okay or not." Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, her legs wobbling beneath her as fear threatened to overwhelm her. Quarry's calm, gentle voice cut through her chaotic thoughts, "Sheena…”

Sheena's words dissolved into a choked sob, her breathing erratic and ragged. "I'm such a horrible mother," she whispered, self-recrimination etched on her face. Her eyes welled up with tears as she relived the past, her voice cracking with anguish. "I should have never let Jennika take her to the Foot in the first place. If she had just stayed away… If I had just stayed away," she trembled, her body shaking with the weight of her regret. Her hoof rose to her throat, as if trying to loosen the tightening noose of panic. "I can't-" she gasped, her voice strangled, her throat constricting further as her panic spiralled out of control.

Quarry's gentle touch guided Sheena to cease her frantic pacing, her claws softly grasping Sheena's shoulders as she encouraged her to sit. "Listen to me," Quarry whispered, her voice a soothing balm to Sheena's frayed nerves. "You're okay, and Shoku's okay. The scouts are going to bring her back unharmed," she reassured her, her tall figure folding into a crouch before Sheena. Quarry's eyes locked onto Sheena's, her gaze calm and steady. "Deep breaths," she instructed, her voice a silky, quiet whisper. The oni scooted closer, her presence a comforting warmth as Sheena buried her face in her palms, her breathing still ragged and uneven. "I'm right here, okay?" Quarry whispered, her words a gentle reminder of her support. "Keep breathing. In," she inhaled, her chest rising and falling in a slow, measured rhythm. Sheena followed Quarry's lead, her own chest heaving as she struggled to mirror Quarry's calm. "And out," Quarry exhaled, her eyes never leaving Sheena's face as she watched her friend breathe, her body still trembling with fear.

Quarry and Sheena continued their soothing ritual, inhaling and exhaling in tandem, until Sheena's ragged breathing slowed, and her trembling subsided. As she calmed, her gaze refocused, and she became more aware of her surroundings. Quarry's gentle offer, "Do you want to hold my hand?" was met with a silent nod, and Sheena's hand instinctively reached for Quarry's extended claw. The physical connection seemed to provide a sense of comfort and security, as Sheena wiped her snout with her sleeve, before gently bonking her head against Quarry's spiked shoulder. Despite her calmer state, Sheena's pink hair remained frazzled, and her limbs still quivered with residual anxiety. Her whisper was barely audible, but it spoke volumes of her emotional turmoil: "I just want my baby back.”

Quarry's hold on Sheena tightened, her nose nestling into the pink locks of Sheena's hair as she offered words of comfort. "I know," she whispered, her breath a gentle caress against Sheena's scalp. "You'll get her back," Quarry promised, her voice filled with conviction, and for a moment, Sheena's despair seemed to lift, replaced by a glimmer of hope. Quarry's reassurance was a balm to Sheena's frazzled nerves, and she repeated her earlier statement, her voice a soothing melody: "The scouts will bring her back." As she spoke, one of Quarry's claws gently tangled in Sheena's wig, holding her closer, a physical manifestation of her unwavering support.

***

The twin motorcycles, their engines fueled by Methania's pyrokinesis, slowed to a gentle rumble before falling silent. Salley Pride, her movements fluid and deliberate, hopped off her bike, her boots thudding against the rocky earth. Her feline eyes narrowed, piercing the thick fog that shrouded the landscape, obscuring their view beyond the hill. "It's on foot from here," she announced, her voice clear and commanding, as she addressed the yokai gathered behind her. The air was filled with the soft sounds of preparation: Ninjara's sword sliding free of its scabbard, Slash's neck cracking in anticipation, and the crackle of flames dancing across Methania's fists. Salley's own claws extended, shining with a soft, deadly light, as she stepped forward, her determination to retrieve the yokai unharmed burning brighter with every step.