The forest whispered with the weight of their decision. Two shadows moved side by side, burdened with scars but unbroken in spirit. Kaito and Soka, the children the world now called demons, gathered the remnants of their lives in silence. The shelter they had carved out of trees and blood no longer belonged to them; it had become a beacon, drawing flies by the dozens. Their path was no longer hidden—it was inevitable.
They packed what little they owned. Weapons sealed in scrolls, food supplies wrapped in crude cloth, and a few pelts that had kept them warm in nights of fever and pain. Soka checked her tools with precision, her eyes narrow, her movements calm. Kaito adjusted the tanto that never left his side—Kibō to Shinkō, the blade that had drunk rivers of blood. Neither spoke as they tied their packs, but in the silence, they both understood: the home they had built in the woods was no longer a refuge. It was a memory.
Their destination was chosen with little debate—Amegakure. The Land of Rain had always been a battlefield, a crucible where shinobi were forged and broken in equal measure. There, they would sharpen themselves, test themselves against the world's cruelty. Kaito's jaw clenched with quiet resolve. If the world wants demons, then we'll rise from the rain as gods.
The journey was tense. Clouds rolled in above them, grey and heavy, the promise of endless drizzle that made the Land of Rain infamous. The ground softened into mud with every step. By the time they crossed the border, they were soaked to the bone, but neither complained. They had bled in rivers. Rain was nothing.
But in the shadows of the battlefield, others waited. The villages had not remained blind to the rise of these two children. This time, the trap was not set by bounty hunters or rogue shinobi. It was orchestrated, deliberate. And at its center, waiting like a serpent coiled in darkness, was one of Konoha's most dangerous prodigies: Orochimaru.
They arrived at dusk. The battlefield stretched before them, a wasteland of broken steel and charred earth. Corpses still littered the mud, washed half-bare by the endless drizzle. To Kaito, the scent of blood was familiar, but the silence was not. It was too quiet. His grip tightened on his tanto.
"They're here," he murmured.
Soka followed his gaze, her expression calm, though her chakra pulsed subtly beneath her skin. "How many?"
Kaito exhaled slowly, his Mind's Eye of Reality flickering faintly, though still unrefined. "Dozens. No… hundreds. Surrounding us already."
And then the silence broke.
Figures stepped from the mist, one after another. Shinobi in rows, their bandanas gleaming in the fading light. They formed a circle, enclosing the two Uzumaki like predators hemming in prey. And at the center of the formation, striding forward with eerie grace, was a pale figure whose very presence suffocated the battlefield.
Orochimaru.
His golden, slit-pupiled eyes gleamed with hunger. His long tongue slid across his lips, tasting the air as though savoring the scent of their chakra. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but it slithered into the ears like poison.
"So these are the infamous children," he drawled. "Uzumaki blood… resilient, stubborn, and oh, so very rare. What delightful specimens you will make."
Kaito felt his teeth grind together. He had expected hunters. He had expected ANBU. But not this. A Sannin, a man whose name was already whispered with awe in the war. His instincts screamed at him—this battle was unlike anything before.
Beside him, Soka summoned her chakra scalpels, the blue glow painting her fingers like knives of light. Her stance was calm, but her eyes betrayed nothing but readiness.
Kaito raised Kibō to Shinkō. "Specimens? You'll choke on our blood before you cage us."
Orochimaru's smile widened, serpentine, and with a flick of his wrist, the ground split.
"Hidden Shadow Snake Hands!"
From his sleeves erupted countless serpents, their bodies thick, their fangs dripping with venom. They surged forward in a tidal wave of scales and hisses.
Kaito moved first. His tanto carved through the snakes, each slash precise, chakra-laced steel slicing flesh and fang alike. He dashed into the enemy lines with ferocity, a whirlwind of steel and chains. His laughter was wild, not from joy, but from the exhilaration of survival against impossible odds. Every kill was a heartbeat, every heartbeat a promise to himself: I will not fall.
Soka moved differently. Where Kaito tore, she danced. Her chakra scalpels flashed, slicing arteries and tendons with surgical precision. She slipped between blades, spun beneath spears, her movements a fluid ripple through the chaos. To the enemy, she was death cloaked in elegance, a flower blooming among corpses.
But Orochimaru did not watch idly. His tongue slid across his lips again as he stepped forward, savoring their resistance. "Exquisite… You are wasted as mere shinobi. No, you will be perfect material for my experiments."
In a blur, he struck. His speed was terrifying, his movements precise and inhuman. Kaito barely raised his tanto in time, and even then, the impact was monstrous. The force sent him flying, crashing through mud and shattered stone like a ragdoll. His ribs screamed, his vision blurred.
Soka's heart clenched, but she moved without hesitation. She launched herself at Orochimaru, seals blazing across her arms.
"Weight Seal—Amplification!"
Her body anchored itself to the ground, the soil cracking beneath her feet, her stance immovable. Orochimaru's strike cut through the air where she had been moments before. She twisted, her chakra scalpel slicing toward his arm. For the first time, Orochimaru pulled back—not from fear, but curiosity.
"Ohhh," he hissed, eyes gleaming. "So the little one has teeth."
Soka didn't reply. Her focus was razor-sharp, her breaths steady. She lunged again, forcing him to retreat a fraction.
Meanwhile, Kaito clawed his way out of rubble, coughing blood, his body bruised but not broken. His scars burned with fury. Around him, shinobi closed in, their eyes wide with fear and duty. They moved as one, forming a barrier of steel and flesh, hemming him in.
Kaito wiped blood from his lip, then smirked. "You really think numbers are enough?"
His hands blurred into seals.
"Lightning Release: Wave of Inspiration!"
The seals he had laid earlier flared to life, etched into the mud with the foresight of a predator. Electricity surged through the battlefield, hungry and merciless. It found the easiest conductors—the metal plates of shinobi bandanas—and leapt from head to head in a storm of blue sparks. Screams tore through the air as dozens collapsed, their nerves fried, their brains cooked inside their skulls. The stench of burnt flesh and ozone filled the battlefield.
Kaito rose through the haze, his tanto gleaming, his chains rattling at his side. He strode toward Soka, who was still holding Orochimaru at bay.
"It's time," he said, his grin sharp as a blade. "Let's see if we can kill a legend."
Soka's lips curved into a thin, dangerous smile. "Together."
Side by side, bloodied but unbowed, the two Uzumaki faced Orochimaru. The serpent's eyes narrowed, his hunger deepening. He had underestimated them. That mistake would not happen again.
The rain thickened, the battlefield drowning in storm and blood.
And the battle with a Kage-level monster began.
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I saw that most of the votes were for Kaito to be a villain and to explore the world or form his organization, so I'll do that. I'll see if he will form his organization or not depending on your votes.
If you review or give a Power Stone, I'll give you an extra chapter.
A Power Stone: an extra chapter.
A positive review: an extra chapter.
This would help me a lot and would also attract more people, so I'd make more chapters per day.
Tomorrow I will upload many chapters because I did not manage to complete the amount of extra chapters today, stay tuned tomorrow, I have free time.