They had not come here to fight an army. Kaito knew it. The knowledge pressed on him like a second heartbeat, steady and undeniable. Two children — even Uzumaki children — could not stand against the weight of an entire hidden village. Against ranks and banners, against orders shouted from high walls, against shinobi trained to kill and die for their Raikage.
And yet, he could not stop the thrill that burned in his chest. Excitement danced alongside logic, reckless and sharp. It was dangerous, it was foolish, but it made him feel alive in a way survival never did.
"This will be fun," he murmured under his breath. The words left his lips like smoke curling into the night. His eyes slid toward Soka, the only one who could hear him in the din of the village streets. He smiled, not mocking, but as if daring her to answer.
She smiled back. It was quick, a flash of warmth in the cold air, but then both their faces hardened as a voice cut the night apart like a blade.
"Uzumaki! To arms!"
The shout thundered across the plaza. It wasn't just a voice; it was a spark dropped into dry grass. The world lit up in chaos. Metal clattered from sheaths. Kunai gleamed in the moonlight. Swords hissed free. The sound of sandals pounding stone echoed everywhere, building into a rhythm like war drums.
The crowd shifted. Civilian whispers turned into screams. Mothers dragged children inside, stalls clattered shut, lamps shook in their sockets. But shinobi came forward — hundreds of them, like a black tide pulled by a single command.
Kaito inhaled. He and Soka didn't need words. Their breathing aligned in an unspoken rhythm, the way it always did before blood.
The first to reach them was a jonin. Brave, sharp-eyed, fast. His movements betrayed discipline and a career of survival. He knew he was the first wave, the first test — and he accepted it with the grim determination of a soldier.
Kaito saw it in his eyes: not hatred, but resolve. A professional doing his duty. For a split second, Kaito almost respected him.
Almost.
Kibō to Shinkō flashed in the moonlight. A single cut. Clean, absolute. The jonin staggered, clutched his throat, and collapsed wordlessly to the ground. He hadn't even had time to scream. Blood pooled beneath his body, steaming against the cold stone.
The silence that followed was louder than the cut. For one heartbeat, the entire square froze. Then the crowd erupted.
Cries of rage. Shouts of terror. Orders barked from captains.
Kaito felt the rush of energy surge through him. His skin tingled as natural energy threaded into his veins. Symbols shaped like spirals unfurled across his palms, glowing faintly in the dark. He had practiced until his body remembered the feel of this state, the way the world bent and sharpened at once. He was no longer just Kaito — he was the channel of something older, something relentless.
"Soka," he said calmly, eyes still scanning the flood of shinobi. "Grow in the fight. Survive."
"Always," she replied, her tone like steel wrapped in silk. She closed her eyes for half a second, let the natural energy sink into her flesh, and when they opened again, the Kagura's Mind Eye gleamed bright. Spirals burned faintly in her palms. Her fists glowed.
Then, chaos.
Kaito exploded forward. His first strike sent a chunin flying, the sound of bones snapping echoing like wood under strain. His body folded grotesquely, neck twisted at an angle no living man should have. Gasps filled the crowd.
Another wave came. Kaito's blade answered them with a crescent arc. The cut sang through the air, and silence followed. When it finished, a dozen shinobi collapsed, their lives cut away in the breath of a single motion.
"Destruction of Faith," he whispered, almost gently, as though naming the technique was an apology to the dead.
On the other side, Soka was a storm all her own. She didn't cut — she crushed. Fists wreathed in green and gold slammed into chests, necks, jaws. Her blows sounded like drums of war, each one cracking air and bone alike. Enemies staggered away from her, not because she was brutal, but because she was precise. Every strike landed where it hurt the most. She wasn't a storm of violence. She was inevitability dressed as a girl.
Civilians shrieked. "It's the Demon Children!" one cried, clutching her son close.
"They'll kill us all!" another wailed, hiding behind a doorframe.
But for every cry of fear, there were voices of defiance: "Raikage-sama will protect us! Long live the Raikage!" Their chants grew, desperate and trembling, but loud enough to fill the night.
Kaito heard them. He felt the weight of their fear and their faith — fear in him, faith in their leader. It twisted something in his chest. Demons, they called him. The same word his enemies had always used. He told himself it didn't matter. He told himself it was only noise. But it lodged in him, sharp, like a splinter he couldn't remove.
He tightened his grip on Kibō to Shinkō. His answer was another storm.
"Destruction of Hope!"
The ground lit with violence. His blade blurred faster than eyes could follow, leaving residual images behind as if the sword existed in a dozen places at once. Cuts erupted everywhere, carving stone, splitting trees, severing lives. The plaza shook as if the world itself was recoiling from his fury.
Dozens fell. Screams drowned beneath the sound of steel meeting flesh, the tearing of the earth.
Then, silence.
And from that silence — thunder.
It wasn't weather. It wasn't a jutsu. It was a man.
The Third Raikage stepped into the square, lightning crawling over his body like a living cloak. His frame was massive, built of war and willpower. His presence eclipsed the crowd. The villagers gasped and clutched one another. Shinobi pulled back, their fear evaporating under the raw certainty of their leader.
"Raikage-sama!" voices cried out, filling with new courage. "Long live Raikage-sama!"
A's eyes burned with rage as they scanned the carnage. Dozens of his shinobi lay broken, cut, lifeless. He growled, a sound deeper than human, more beast than man. "You will die for this."
Kaito's spiraled eyes opened fully, the Eye of Reality twisting in his sockets. He could see it all — every flicker of lightning across A's skin, every twitch of muscle, every heartbeat. He understood it instantly: the Raikage's speed was more than human. Almost nothing could surpass it. Only space-time techniques, or speed beyond comprehension. Anything less was suicide.
And then A moved.
The Raikage didn't run. He appeared. One moment he was across the square, the next he was upon Kaito, a living storm.
Steel met lightning. The clash was deafening. Sparks sprayed outward like fire from a forge. The shockwave tore across the plaza, shattering windows, throwing villagers to the ground.
Kaito was launched backward, his body slamming through the wooden wall of a house. Dust and splinters fell around him as he staggered to his feet. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, but he smiled anyway.
"You okay?" Soka's voice was tight, her eyes sharp with worry as she dashed to his side.
"Do you think I'm that easy?" he shot back, smirking even as pain tore through his ribs. He spat blood and tightened his grip on his sword.
The crowd roared. "Raikage-sama! Kill them!"
Children pointed with trembling hands. Women prayed aloud. To them, the story was simple: a demon and his accomplice had come to slaughter, and their god of lightning had descended to punish them.
A raised his hand. Three fingers extended, glowing with raw electricity. The lightning gathered, humming, vibrating, a promise of obliteration. His voice thundered across the plaza.
"Tonight, Demon Children — you die."
Kaito stared at him, his chest heaving, his mind a storm of thought. He thought of his village, drowned in fire and betrayal. He thought of every whisper of "monster" and "demon" hurled at him. He thought of Soka beside him, her hands steady, her gaze unwavering.
Maybe they're right, he thought. Maybe I am a demon. But if I am, then I am a demon forged by this world. A demon it created. A demon it deserves.
He raised his sword. The spirals in his eyes spun, reality itself bending to his perception.
Soka touched his wrist lightly — a grounding gesture, soft but sure. Their eyes met.
Two kids. Two choices. Against the world.
"Let him come," Kaito whispered.
The plaza held its breath. Lightning crackled. The night drew taut, thin as paper.
And then the storm began.
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We'll do something, on weekdays I'll only upload 1 chapters a day, while on weekends you can get power stones for an extra chapter, thanks for reading this fan-fic, I love you :)