Knife.
Steel needle.
Sawtooth.
Every kind of cold weapon from human history rained down from the heavens like a storm, sprouting from the ground like wicked weeds.
"Be careful! Don't get hurt!" Tsunade shouted urgently.
She had only just survived a deadly curse that pierced her heart, barely clinging to life by drawing upon the vitality of the Strength of a Hundred Seal and the help of Katsuyu.
Now, nearly a thousand people in the entire village had been bound together by the evil god's formation. Their lives were fused into a collective. If even one of them managed to consume the blood of an enemy, it would count as a curse enacted by all—resulting in immediate and absolute death.
Even someone like Logan, whose body had evolved beyond the limits of normal shinobi, or Tsunade, who bore the Strength of a Hundred, would not survive such a death curse.
Kakashi acted quickly, weaving hand seals with practiced speed.
"Earth Style: Earth Flow Wall!"
A thick wall of earth surged up from the ground. With a twist of his chakra, Kakashi tilted the wall ninety degrees, creating a dome that shielded them from above.
Steel needles clattered against the earthen barrier with sharp, piercing rings.
Kakashi didn't waste the moment. He formed more seals, lightning crackling in his palm as he prepared his next move.
Meanwhile, Tsunade completed a summoning jutsu. With a loud puff of smoke, the massive slug Katsuyu emerged, coiling its body protectively around her. Its wide tail arced overhead like a living canopy, intercepting the steel rain falling from the sky.
Thousands of steel needles embedded themselves into Katsuyu's flesh.
"I'm sorry, Katsuyu," Tsunade said, wincing.
A gentle, sticky voice replied, "It's alright, Lady Tsunade. I've shut off my pain receptors."
"Good!"
Tsunade slammed her right fist into her palm. Chakra surged through her limbs, amplifying her strength. She was ready to fight.
"Empty the body!"
"Death returns!"
The cultists roared as one, their pain transforming into strength. They stood at the precipice of life and death, driven by the whispers of their evil god. Their gazes burned with fanatical determination as they stared at Logan and the others.
"Friends from afar," one of them sneered.
"I'll send you to death myself."
Dark, thick scales like that of a dragon appeared across Logan's skin. Neither steel needles nor serrated knives could penetrate his hardened flesh.
He stepped forward—BOOM—breaking the sound barrier as he moved. Blood splattered beneath his feet as he surged ahead, knocking away the incoming cultists with bone-crushing speed.
In a flash, Logan was in front of the white-haired leader. One punch. His fist shattered the man's chest and obliterated his heart.
The leader dropped, dead.
Behind Logan, Star Platinum materialized, its cold eyes scanning the battlefield. The leader's corpse rapidly reverted back into that of a normal cultist—just as another follower began transforming into a new "Master."
Without hesitation, Star Platinum grabbed Logan by the shoulders and hurled him through the air.
This time, Logan moved even faster.
The newly transformed white-haired leader didn't even manage to blink before Logan arrived and broke his neck with a brutal twist.
In mere seconds, Logan became a blinding blur of destruction, ricocheting between the human mirrors known as "Master."
Plop—
More than a dozen bodies dropped to the ground, their blood soaking into the dirt.
A bottle of water was suddenly held out.
A cultist wearing a familiar white-haired illusion smiled. "Would you like a break?"
Star Platinum reached forward and crushed the imposter's head. The sensation reminded Logan of a grim truth.
The cultists were evolving.
The evil god's formation cloaked them in shared vitality. Each time one of them died, it served as a blood sacrifice to their god, empowering the survivors with greater strength and resilience.
Logan clenched his fists.
That vitality didn't appear from thin air. It came from the innocent victims—people brutally murdered by the cult.
The more divine power the god rained down…
…the louder Logan could hear the cries of grief from the souls of the slain.
"No," Logan murmured, "not just from the ordinary people—it's her."
The white-haired leader pointed a trembling finger toward Tsunade.
"Tsunade's life force is feeding me. Her bloodline… it's perfect."
Just then, a startled cry came from behind.
"Kakashi!"
Logan whipped his head around in alarm.
Tsunade looked horrified.
Kakashi stared at his own leg in disbelief. Blood dripped from a fresh cut across his calf.
A cultist, one who had been cut clean in half by Kakashi's earlier Raikiri, had somehow revived. He scrambled forward like a grasshopper, using only his hands. With a wide, gaping mouth, he stuck out his tongue, reaching for the droplets of Kakashi's blood.
At the same time, he held a long knife against his own throat—ready to slit it and trigger the curse.
"Logan! Use your Star Platinum! Do something!" Tsunade yelled.
"Platinum World!"
"Time stands still!"
Logan burst forward, blowing cultists aside like leaves in a storm. In the frozen time bubble, he reached Kakashi, wiped away the few droplets of blood midair, and gently pressed his fingers to Kakashi's wound, channeling ripple energy to close it instantly.
Time resumed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Cultists were sent flying in all directions.
Kakashi, regaining his breath, looked at Logan and said with a tired smile, "Seems like I've become a burden."
Logan shook his head.
Kakashi wasn't a burden. But truthfully, the battlefield wasn't made for a shinobi like him. A samurai in heavy armor—someone like Miyamoto—might fare better in this hellscape.
The white-haired leader looked around at the fallen cultists, then glanced at the dark blood soaking the soil.
"A terrifying jutsu... with unnatural speed," he said. "But it doesn't matter."
Whoosh—
Logan reappeared in front of the leader.
"ORA!"
Star Platinum's fist rocketed forward, smashing the man's skull like an eggshell.
Yet this time, the white-haired leader didn't die.
His skull caved in. His brains oozed out across the dirt.
But he stood back up.
Most of the original thousand cultists had already died at the hands of Logan, Tsunade, and Kakashi. Now, fewer than a hundred remained.
But the dead had been given to the evil god.
Those who still lived had become tougher. Harder to kill. More monstrous than ever.
The white-haired leader rose unsteadily to his feet, shattered eyeballs staring directly at Logan.
"Your technique is indeed terrifying," he growled. "But Logan... don't forget—death is eternal. No matter how fast you run, no matter how far you flee to the other side…"
"Death will catch up with you eventually!"
Woooo! Woooo! Woooo!
A strange sound echoed from the sky.
Tsunade looked up and froze. The steel needles falling from the heavens were now coated in thick, black-gray smoke. Faces floated within the smoke—twisted, happy faces.
They were the cultists. The ones they had already killed.
Unintelligible whispers filled their ears.
They weren't human.
They weren't even language.
Yet they felt familiar—like scripture recited in the dead of night, or a mother's lullaby sung in reverse.
"Come and die together."
"Come and die together!"
"Come and die together!!!"
"DIE!!!!"
The voices of the dead cultists howled joyfully.
Every steel needle.
Every sawtooth.
Every curved blade.
None of them flew randomly anymore. They were guided by the souls of the dead, now puppets of the evil god.
And all of them were flying straight toward Logan.
Ãdvåñçé 60 çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)