The absurdity of the moment hung thick in the air as Gaara spoke.
His voice, usually cold and emotionless, carried an uncharacteristic weight of theatrics. The infamous, stoic commander of the Sand Ninja Army had just uttered something so grandiose that even his most disciplined troops felt the urge to crack a smile.
But no one dared to laugh.
Captain Gaara was not someone to be mocked.
On the other side, Hidan, Obito, and the other commanders of the enemy forces exchanged baffled looks.
"Shurima?" Hidan muttered.
"Emperor?" Obito added, raising an eyebrow.
"Oasis?" one of their officers asked in confusion. "What the hell is he talking about?"
And most importantly—
"What is that massive golden thing in the sky?" Momonosuke's voice cracked in a mixture of awe and terror.
Then it happened.
Boom.
Boom.
The desert beneath Gaara's feet trembled as if a slumbering giant had stirred. Waves of sand rippled outward, swelling into neatly aligned formations. They weren't just random mounds—each dune was shaped deliberately, arranged in rising tiers, from modest two-meter hills at the front to towering twenty-meter peaks in the back.
It was no natural occurrence.
It was an army.
A legion carved from the desert itself.
Hidan's jaw slackened. "What in the name of Jashin..."
Gaara lifted a single hand, his voice ringing clear across the battlefield. "My soldiers..." he declared. "March forward!"
The dunes erupted.
Yellow sand cascaded to the ground, revealing an army beneath the dust.
In the front stood ranks of Sand Soldiers, their forms shaped from compressed earth, each holding a spear as tall as a man.
Behind them, the monstrous Vajra Warriors—hulking constructs of sand and stone, wielding massive war hammers with an eerie, silent menace.
Further back, a row of Gatling Buddhas—automated sand golems, each with spinning turrets bristling with chakra-infused ammunition.
And finally, looming over them all, the Cannon Bodhisattvas—massive stationary constructs, their arms replaced with artillery barrels, aimed and ready.
Four thousand strong.
The Sand Soldiers formed an unyielding wall against the tide of undead puppets. Though outnumbered, their presence alone radiated sheer, unshakable force.
On the enemy's side, Momonosuke's knees wobbled. "I-I-I…" A wet patch darkened the front of his robe. "I don't wanna fight anymore."
Kurozumi clutched his arm and hissed, "Get it together, my lord! We have numbers! We have a hundred thousand undead puppets! These are just sand sculptures!" He forced a weak chuckle. "They can't possibly hold against us."
Obito, however, was less sure. He narrowed his eyes. "This isn't normal jutsu. This… this is something else."
Mufasa, watching from the high ground, smirked. "Oh, it's ninja arts, alright. Just a little... extra."
The battlefield stilled, an eerie silence settling before the inevitable clash.
The battle commenced.
It was a brutal, chaotic, and oddly beautiful spectacle.
The undead puppets surged forward, their skeletal forms moving in eerie unison. Arms outstretched, they clawed mindlessly at the Sand Soldiers, seeking to tear them apart through sheer numbers.
Then the first shots were fired.
Boom.
Boom.
Da-da-da-da-da!
Cannon Bodhisattvas unleashed a relentless barrage. Chakra-infused sand cannonballs tore through the air like meteorites, obliterating entire ranks of undead in one fell swoop. From above, it looked like a dark storm cloud had materialized, only to rain destruction upon the enemy.
Explosions rocked the battlefield. Sand shrapnel ripped through the undead horde, severing limbs, crushing skulls, reducing entire sections of the army into piles of twitching, disjointed parts.
Momonosuke turned to Kurozumi, his face a ghostly white. "Can we still win?"
Kurozumi's voice was hollow. "Y-yes."
But Kurozumi wasn't convinced.
Kazuma, disguised as Yorushi, however, sneered. "Tch. My undead won't fall that easily. Shelling will only scatter them. They'll rise again."
As if on cue, the shattered remains of the undead army twitched. Severed limbs reassembled. Shattered torsos reformed. Heads rolled across the sand, finding new bodies to latch onto.
Slowly but surely, the puppets reassembled and resumed their march.
"See?" Kazuma smirked. "Your fancy sand soldiers won't last when faced with my immortals."
Gaara, still hovering over the battlefield on his sand platform, remained unfazed.
"Is that so?" he mused, extending his arms. "Then let's test your theory."
He retrieved a scroll, pressing his palm to its center.
"Summoning Jutsu."
Boom.
From the depths of the desert, something colossal stirred.
A brilliant golden structure emerged from the shifting sands, rising like the sun itself. It was massive, ancient, and radiated an overwhelming presence.
The Sun Disc.
Kazuma's mouth went dry. "What... is that?"
Momonosuke whimpered. "It's so... shiny."
Mufasa grinned. "Alright, Gaara! Say the thing!"
Gaara sighed, suppressing the urge to cringe. Then, with the weight of a true king, he declared:
"Shurima! Your Emperor has returned!"
The battlefield bathed in golden light.
The Sun Disc pulsed, absorbing the surrounding chakra, fueling the Sand Legion with celestial energy.
Gaara's voice carried across the desert. "The world is a vast desert. I am its oasis. Those who follow me follow their destiny. I am the Dawn of Shurima."
The light intensified.
The desert itself responded, shifting, reshaping. The sand beneath the undead army collapsed, consuming them in an instant.
From above, the undead horde, once an unstoppable wave, was reduced to struggling figures caught in an endless abyss of golden sand.
Then the real devastation began.
A new wave of Sand Soldiers emerged, now radiant with divine energy. Their movements were faster, their strikes stronger.
A single Sand Soldier swung its spear—and entire groups of undead shattered to dust.
The sheer absurdity of the battle was almost comical.
Gaara stood atop his floating platform of sand, watching his army clash with the enemy forces below.
His expression remained calm, almost uninterested, but there was an undeniable energy in the air.
Sand King Kong, a towering behemoth of golden sand, loomed over the battlefield like an ancient titan.
His massive form moved with surprising grace for something so large, each step sending tremors through the desert.
With a single swing of his colossal hammer—
BOOM!
The force of impact sent a shockwave rippling across the field. The undead puppet beneath his hammer was obliterated instantly, crushed into dust. The surrounding ten meters of enemy forces were blasted away, flung through the air like ragdolls.
To the monstrous Vajra Warriors, these undead puppets were nothing more than brittle twigs, snapping apart with each movement.
Every attack resulted in another hundred corpses reduced to nothingness.
The Sand Spearmen fought with deadly precision, their spears skewering undead foes in perfect synchronization, moving like a single organism.
Meanwhile, the Gatling Buddhas—hulking automatons with massive spinning turrets—unleashed relentless barrages, mowing down wave after wave of enemies with chakra-infused bullets.
Da-da-da-da-da!
The air was thick with the sound of gunfire, explosions, and the relentless march of the sand legion.
From a distance, the Sand Ninja Army watched with growing amusement.
"Captain Gaara is unstoppable!"
"This is insane! He's wiping them out like it's nothing!"
"I love you, Captain!"
The excitement in their voices was palpable at first, but then... it started to wane.
Deidara sat on a nearby rock, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed. "Hmph. What's so exciting about this? It's boring. Just a massacre."
He yawned, resting his head on his hand. "Tch. Wake me up when something interesting happens."
At first, the Sand Ninja cheered as the battle continued, but as time passed, the enthusiasm faded.
It wasn't a battle—it was a slaughter.
A completely one-sided affair.
The undead puppets were falling like grains of sand in the wind, barely putting up any resistance.
The spectacle, once thrilling, became dull.
"...So, uh, anyone wanna play cards?"
"Blackjack?"
"Let's get the grill going, someone grab the barbecue."
With a sigh, someone dragged a cooler into the middle of the camp. "Take out the drinks."
"Military discipline forbids drinking during battle," a voice called from above.
Mufasa, floating lazily in the sky, cracked open a bottle of sake. "Give me one, though."
The absurdity of the situation was almost too much.
Meanwhile, on the battlefield, Gaara was completely engrossed. Unlike the others, he wasn't bored—far from it.
He watched his army in action with a quiet fascination, like a child playing with a new toy.
Mufasa, sipping his drink, rolled onto his back on the Sun Disc. "Gaara, wake me up when something fun happens."
"Alright, sensei," Gaara replied, eyes still locked onto the battle.
The undead forces were being pushed back meter by meter. Their sheer numbers weren't enough to break through the overwhelming power of the sand legion.
Momonosuke, standing behind the front lines, paled as he watched his army collapse before his eyes.
"Kurozumi! Call Lord Yorushi! NOW!"
The enemy commanders retreated to a fortified tower, overlooking the battlefield. Momonosuke grabbed Yorushi by the shoulders, shaking him. "Can your puppet army even handle this?! Can they survive?!"
Yorushi sneered, shaking him off. "Relax. My puppets can't die." He turned to the battlefield, gesturing grandly. "As long as the cursed earth remains, my undead will rise again! They'll keep fighting forever!"
As if to prove his point, the fallen undead began to twitch. The broken bodies started to reassemble, shattered limbs pulling themselves back together.
The tide of corpses, once still, surged back into motion.
Momonosuke gasped. "They're... they're getting up again!"
Yorushi grinned. "Told you. Now watch."
On the battlefield, the situation shifted. The undead puppets, now seemingly endless, surrounded the Sand Spearmen, cutting off their path of retreat.
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Word count: 1567
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