The Weight of a God of Shinobi
The clash had changed the air itself. Smoke drifted across the battlefield like the remnants of a funeral pyre, the trees still burning from stray flames, the ground charred black where lightning had kissed it.
Hiruzen exhaled slowly. His lungs rattled. The cut across his chest ached with every breath; each heartbeat sent hot blood seeping beneath his robes. Yet he remained upright, staff clutched in white-knuckled hands. The Third Hokage in his prime—one of the most feared shinobi alive—stood battered, and before him a boy only thirteen winters old, standing unbowed, crimson chains writhing behind him like serpents that tasted blood.
Kaito's expression was calm, almost serene, but the eyes told the truth. Those spiraling Ojo de la Realidad carved reality into fragments, dissecting every move Hiruzen made, every fluctuation of chakra, every tremor of muscle.
"Old man," Kaito said softly, the words drowned out by the groans of dying shinobi in the distance. "You bleed already. Soon, you'll break."
A Dance in Carnage
Soka was nowhere near finished.
The battlefield was her canvas, and her golden chains painted strokes of red across it. She spun through the air, her chakra scalpel glowing with surgical precision, severing limbs, piercing hearts. An Aburame cried out as his kikaichū swarmed forward, the buzzing louder than thunder. They enveloped her body, crawling beneath her skin, draining her chakra.
Her lips parted in a grin.
Her chakra exploded outward, fiery and golden. The insects burned alive, their charred husks dropping to the mud. Before the Aburame could recoil, a chain ripped through his torso, lifting him into the air. His body convulsed, still smoking, before she slammed him into three comrades, bones cracking like dry branches.
But the shinobi of Konoha adapted.
"Formation C! Combine elements!" shouted a commander.
Dozens moved as one, hands weaving seals.
A wall of earth rose from the ground, creating a corral.
Jets of water flooded into it, turning soil into a sucking mire.
Wind howled, fueling the growing prison into a swampy storm.
And finally, a dozen fire-users unleashed flame into the cyclone.
The battlefield became a furnace—wind-fed firestorm contained within walls of earth and mud, the heat so intense it warped the air itself. Shinobi collapsed from their own jutsu's radiance, skin blistering just standing nearby.
Soka was at its heart.
Her flesh singed, blood sizzling into steam, her golden hair burning black at the edges. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, as if savoring the pain. Then—her chains shot out.
Five. Ten. Fifteen.
They punched through the earth walls as if they were parchment. They tore through shinobi standing guard outside, ripping bodies apart in sprays of crimson. The cyclone collapsed under its own violence, sending a storm of flaming debris across the battlefield.
Soka emerged from the inferno, her body scorched, her breath ragged—but her smile intact. She limped once, then straightened, her eyes alight with a predator's joy.
"Pathetic."
Kaito Breaks the Professor's Guard
Back at the duel, Hiruzen tightened his grip on Enma, who in staff form roared with fury.
"Don't falter, Sarutobi!" the staff barked, voice guttural and primal. "This child is no ordinary shinobi. He is a monster!"
"I know," Hiruzen whispered. His chest burned. His ribs screamed with every twist. But his will was iron.
Kaito lunged.
The tanto Kibō to Shinkō cut through the air, wrapped in wind chakra spinning at such velocity that the blade whined like a drill. The crimson chains lashed at the same time, three lines of pure malice aiming from different angles.
Hiruzen blocked one chain with his staff, the impact rattling his bones. He sidestepped the second. But the third slashed across his thigh, carving through muscle. Pain flared white-hot, and he faltered.
Kaito was already there. His fist, coated in spiraling wind chakra, slammed into Hiruzen's chest.
CRACK.
A rib gave way. Then another. Blood sprayed from Hiruzen's mouth as the force hurled him backward. He slammed into the remains of his own earth wall, stone splintering under the impact.
The Hokage rolled to his knees, clutching his chest. His breathing came ragged. His vision blurred for an instant. He could feel it—two ribs broken, one puncturing dangerously close to a lung. His left arm tingled with numbness.
Yet he forced himself up.
The crimson-chained boy was already striding toward him, tanto glowing, chains swaying like the tails of a bijū. For a moment, Hiruzen saw not a boy—but a demon.
The Shinobi Push Back
Below, Konoha's surviving shinobi had rallied.
A trio of Hyūga activated their Byakugan, veins bulging around their temples. They dashed toward Soka, palms glowing. Gentle Fist strikes shot forward like lightning, aiming not at flesh but at the very tenketsu of her chakra network.
She countered with chains, but the Hyūga flowed around them, their agility supernatural. One palm struck her shoulder, chakra stabbing into her pathways. Pain exploded through her arm; her chain faltered. Another blow hit her side, sending her skidding across mud.
For a moment, she gasped, her chakra flow flickering erratically. The Hyūga pressed their advantage.
But Soka was not so easily crippled.
Her laughter returned, ragged and sharp. She forced chakra through blocked tenketsu with sheer will, blood dripping from her pores. Then—she unleashed a storm of chains, golden serpents whirling in every direction.
One Hyūga screamed as a chain impaled his chest, blood pouring from his mouth. Another dodged—but was decapitated mid-spin. The third barely managed to retreat, his arm hanging limp, torn from its socket.
"Dance with me," she whispered, her body trembling, golden chains writhing like living things.
The First Hundred Dead
The numbers spoke for themselves.
Akimichi lay disemboweled, their massive forms broken into grotesque heaps.
Yamanaka corpses stared with empty eyes, faces twisted in horror from failed mind jutsu.
Aburame swarms burned into black husks, their masters' bodies hollowed.
Nara shadows lay still, severed as their casters bled out.
Even Uchiha fell—eyes staring lifelessly, their Sharingan dim.
The ground was painted red. Over a hundred shinobi already dead, their bodies littering the forest like leaves in autumn. The cries of the wounded filled the night, but no medic could reach them. Anyone who tried was shredded by Soka's golden fury or Kaito's crimson wrath.
For the first time in decades, the elite of Konoha felt the icy grip of despair.
Hiruzen's Desperation
Back above, Hiruzen staggered to his feet once more. Blood trickled down his chin, his robes heavy with crimson. His chest burned with every breath, but his eyes—those old, sharp eyes—remained alive.
"This child…" he whispered. "This is not just power. This is hatred given form."
Kaito tilted his head, chains swaying like living things. "Not hatred. Justice."
And then he vanished.
Hiruzen barely raised Enma in time. The tanto struck with such force the staff bent like a bow. Sparks flew. Chains lashed, one slicing across Hiruzen's arm, carving flesh to the bone. Another cracked against his temple, splitting skin, sending blood into his eye.
His defenses faltered.
Kaito's grin widened. "Fall, Hokage."
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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.