The battlefield was already soaked in blood. Smoke rose from dozens of craters across the ruined terrain, the charred smell of burned flesh mixing with the copper stench of fresh corpses. Screams echoed into the wind, carried by the cries of the dying and the roars of shinobi unleashing their jutsu. Fireballs lit up the skies like falling suns, water dragons crashed through the earth like tsunamis, and lightning split the heavens into jagged scars.
Kaito stood silently, his young eyes fixed on the carnage. Beside him, Soka clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. The two children, barely ten years old, were no strangers to this sight. They had seen their own village burn. They had seen their kin slaughtered mercilessly. They had felt the helplessness of watching the Uzumaki clan—once a great beacon of sealing mastery and vitality—reduced to scattered ashes.
This war… it was nothing new to them.
Kaito let out a slow breath, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the battlefield. Death, despair, anger, sadness… all of it mixes here, he thought coldly. His heart didn't tremble anymore. Not at the sight of a mother crying over her son's lifeless body. Not at the sound of a boy younger than him screaming as his chest was split open by a kunai. He had already seen it all. And now, he would return it to the world.
Without another word, Kaito stepped forward. His red hair swayed with the violent winds of exploding chakra. Soka followed, her expression steady, though her heart burned with quiet rage.
And then—they ran.
The two crimson-haired children shot into the battlefield like scarlet comets, their chakra flaring wildly. Shinobi from all three great villages locked in combat suddenly froze for a moment, noticing the unnatural killing intent rushing toward them.
"W–What the—?" a Chunin gasped before Kaito's blade cleaved him in half in a blur of silver steel. Blood sprayed like a fountain across the muddy ground.
Soka's hand glowed with medical chakra twisted into a sharp scalpel. She slipped behind another Chunin, her movements precise, and slit his throat in one clean slice. He collapsed, clutching his neck, gargling on his own blood.
The massacre had begun.
Kaito's sword danced through the battlefield with merciless precision. Each swing severed flesh, bone, and armor as if it were nothing but paper. His seals flashed across his hands; in an instant, exploding tags ignited, hurling bodies into the air in showers of gore.
Soka, fluid and deadly, moved with him like his shadow. Where he cut wide arcs of destruction, she struck vital points, piercing hearts and arteries, ensuring every enemy that faced her dropped instantly. Her chakra scalpels extended from her fingertips like claws of light, carving through shinobi defenses and even slicing through weapons.
It didn't matter what headband they wore. Iwagakure, Kumogakure, Kirigakure—it made no difference. Genin, Chunin, Special Jonin—it made no difference. They were enemies. They were prey. And tonight, two Uzumaki would paint the battlefield red.
"U–Uzumaki!" a voice suddenly cried out amid the chaos. One terrified shinobi had spotted their unmistakable crimson hair and the enormous vitality in their chakra.
The shout spread like wildfire.
"An Uzumaki! There's an Uzumaki here!""No—two of them!"
Dozens of heads turned at once, eyes widening. Even in the midst of this war, the sight of survivors of the annihilated clan was shocking. Their vitality, their sealing arts, their dangerous chakra reserves—the Uzumaki were feared and respected, and most importantly, hunted.
But the hesitation lasted only seconds.
The battlefield roared back into chaos as shinobi returned to killing each other, while some redirected their fury at Kaito and Soka. Kunai and shuriken flew. Fireballs and lightning bolts streaked through the smoke.
Kaito moved first. He dashed into the heart of the assault, his blade flashing as he cut through a volley of kunai, deflecting sparks into the dark sky. Chakra burst around him, a seal glowing on his arm—one of his own creations. It detonated outward in a concussive wave, hurling several attackers away with broken ribs and shattered spines.
Soka countered a water-style jutsu with a sharp burst of fire, the clash erupting into a cloud of steam that blinded her opponent. She was already inside his guard before he could react, her scalpel sinking into his chest, piercing his heart. She didn't wait for him to fall—already turning to block another strike with a seal barrier etched instantly in midair.
Every movement was brutal efficiency.
A Kumo shinobi charged Soka with a giant warhammer, screaming. She sidestepped, pressed a glowing hand to his back, and poured chakra in a pulse that ruptured his organs from within. He dropped like a stone, blood gushing from his mouth.
Meanwhile, Kaito ducked under the swing of an Iwa nin wielding twin axes. His sword cut upward in a clean arc, splitting the man from hip to shoulder. Before the corpse even hit the ground, Kaito flung an exploding kunai into a group of three Chunin charging from the left. The explosion turned them into mangled chunks of meat and smoke.
Their killing intent spread like a storm.
Genin, terrified, tried to flee. Chunin screamed curses and threw everything they had. Even Jonin-specialized warriors turned wary at the sight of these two children drenched in blood, moving with inhuman precision and stamina.
But Kaito and Soka did not slow.
The battlefield became their slaughterhouse.
Kaito's blade severed another neck. He spun, ducked, drove his knee into a shinobi's gut, then crushed the man's skull with the blunt end of his sword hilt. Blood coated his face, dripping down into his mouth, but he didn't care. His eyes glowed with a manic sharpness, cold and detached, yet burning deep inside.
Soka, graceful and merciless, vaulted over an enemy's slash, flipped in the air, and landed behind him. Her hands moved in a blur—scalpel to throat, kick to spine, elbow to temple—three strikes, three kills, before she even touched the ground again.
Then it happened.
From the chaos, two figures emerged—Jonin, unmistakable from their chakra presence and the deadly calm in their eyes. One from Iwagakure, one from Kirigakure. They had noticed the trail of bodies Kaito and Soka left behind.
The two Jonin advanced, stepping over corpses, weapons drawn.
Kaito and Soka froze. For the first time that day, their eyes sharpened, their instincts screamed. These weren't weaklings. These were predators.
The battlefield seemed to quiet around them, just for a moment.
Kaito's grip tightened on his sword. Soka's scalpel glowed brighter in her hand.
Blood dripped from their weapons, soaking into the earth. Their clothes were torn, their young faces splattered with gore, but their spirits burned brighter than ever.
The Jonin stopped only a few paces away. Their killing intent pressed down like a suffocating weight.
Kaito smirked faintly.Soka narrowed her eyes.
This was no longer slaughter. This was survival.
The clash was about to begin.