I stood on the soaking-wet Explosive Tags.
Even through my thick soles, I could clearly feel the slick, muddy paper beneath my feet.
The earthy smell in the air mingled with the sour stink of gunpowder, making my throat itch.
The wrenching coughs inside the paper nest still hadn't stopped.
It sounded as though a filthy rag had been stuffed down his windpipe, and he was about to cough up his lungs along with it.
"What gives me the right? Now that's a new one."
I took out a dried foxtail stem I'd casually plucked earlier and stuck it between my lips.
I bit down and chewed twice, letting the dry bitterness of its root spread across my tongue.
"I eat three square meals every day, sleep like a baby, and have plenty of strength."
"You're a bag of bones who spends all day hiding in a dark cellar, living on nutrient solution."
"What makes you think you can match my strength? Those rusty black iron rods of yours?"
The depths of the paper nest fell silent, leaving only heavy breathing like a broken bellows.
A few seconds later, the white sheets plastered with yellow mud began to rustle.
Like layers of dead skin peeling away, the paper tree split down the middle, opening a gap wide enough for a person.
A chilly draft blew through the opening, carrying the musty smell of somewhere that hadn't seen daylight in years.
Konan stood at the front, several large tears ripped through her Red Cloud Cloak.
They exposed pale arms covered in scrapes and muddy smears.
She held her arms out rigidly, shielding the man seated amid a mass of strange machinery behind her.
Nagato was painfully thin, every rib jutting beneath the skin stretched over his chest.
Thick black tubes filled