Kumogakure, once alive with lightning and raw power, was now a wasteland. Collapsed walls and shattered pillars littered the ground, scorched beams and broken tiles revealing a scene of utter destruction. The air was choked with the stench of blood and dust. Rescue teams hurried through the rubble, stretchers draped in white cloth occasionally revealing rigid limbs underneath, drawing muffled sobs and anguished cries from bystanders. Shinobi hauled stones from the wreckage, searching desperately for survivors. Their faces were streaked with dirt, their eyes hollow with exhaustion and grief.
The source of the devastation, the Eight-Tails' berserk rampage, had left wounds far too deep. Although the Sandaime Raikage arrived in time and risked his life to lure the rampaging beast away from the village center, the destruction caused in mere moments had already carved irreparable scars. Homes were annihilated, families shattered. Once-busy streets were now haunted by the moan of wind through debris.
After the Sandaime led the Eight-Tails toward the Thundercloud Gorge, command fell to the acting commander, a senior Jōnin and tactician the Raikage trusted deeply. He immediately launched a sharp and uncompromising investigation, his gaze cold and razor-sharp as he combed the ruins for any overlooked trace.
The first to be discovered were the two ANBU responsible for monitoring the Jinchūriki. Seriously injured, they were rescued from the collapsed wreckage and stabilized by the medical unit before being dragged before the commander for a brutal interrogation. The air in the room still held traces of fluctuating chakra.
"When was your last report? Has Fukai shown any abnormal behavior recently? Any contact with suspicious individuals?"
His voice was calm but carried a crushing weight. Each word slammed into the ANBU like iron.
Still bruised and bloodied, the two struggled to answer, brows furrowed in confusion and fear. Finally, they shook their heads.
"Reporting… Fukai-sama's mood has been relatively stable lately. He followed his usual patrol routine. No signs of outside interference. The rampage… it came without warning..."
"No warning?" The commander's frown deepened. No unusual contacts, no emotional instability, then what triggered the outburst? Could the seal have failed? But Kumo's Jinchūriki sealing method had been refined through countless tests. It shouldn't have failed so suddenly.
An ominous chill ran down his spine. Something was wrong. Someone had bypassed all surveillance and triggered this explosion with surgical precision. The method was too clean. Too calculated. It sent shivers through him.
The investigation widened like a spider's web. Every step of Fukai's past week was scrutinized, his meals, his patrols, every person he had spoken to. All threads led to a seemingly insignificant location, a small noodle shop on the village outskirts.
According to the ANBU, Fukai had visited this modest shop nearly every day in the past week, always ordering the same signature dish. For a Jinchūriki burdened with endless restrictions, that little shop offered rare peace.
But the commander's instincts screamed danger. Without hesitation, he gathered his elites and stormed the shop.
What they found confirmed his worst fears.
The wooden door was ajar. Tables and chairs overturned. The stove cold. The floor littered with broken bowls and scattered footprints. The entire space radiated silence. Not a trace of life remained.
"Search every inch," the commander barked. His eyes swept the room like a hawk.
Soon, a Chūnin uncovered several nearly-incinerated paper scraps hidden in a crevice near the stove. Barely visible. If not for a meticulous search, they would've been dismissed as ash. But on the greasy wooden table sat a lone transparent glass bottle. At its bottom was a thin layer of coagulated, dark purple liquid.
The commander's heart sank.
"Send this bottle to forensics. Now. Drop everything else. I want results immediately," he snapped. His voice brooked no delay. He carefully collected the burned fragments. Their texture and color, unmistakably from the Land of Earth.
This was Orochimaru's handiwork.
He didn't need to frame Iwagakure directly. He only had to lead Kumo to that conclusion.
The cruelest traps require no lies, only the truth carefully arranged.
The commander wrapped the fragments in chakra-resistant scrolls. This evidence was critical.
As he stepped out of the ruined shop, his gaze swept over the devastated village. Wounded shinobi moaned, civilians wept in the ruins. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air.
All of this had come from one carefully orchestrated scheme.
Rage surged through him like molten iron. His fists clenched, nails digging into flesh.
"Iwa. Ga. Kure," he growled, each syllable soaked in murderous intent. Even if this was a setup, the trail pointed only there. It was a direct provocation. And Kumo could not ignore it.
The village needed justice. The dead needed closure. If someone owed a kindness, it would be repaid in blood.
Kumo had no other choice.
Before the commander could act, a deafening roar echoed from the Thundercloud Gorge. A sound like a war drum shaking the heavens.
The battle at the gorge decided Kumo's fate.
Lightning and thunder intertwined in the heart of the gorge. The earth was split with deep fissures. Massive craters dotted the terrain. Huge chunks of rock had collapsed.
At the center stood the Sandaime Raikage, Kumo's strongest shield and spear. His body was wrapped in lightning chakra, forming armor of blinding blue arcs. Every step cracked the earth with power. This was the Lightning Release Chakra Mode.
Opposite him was the berserk Eight-Tails, massive and wild, with a bull's head and eight lashing tentacles.
But something was wrong. Despite its overwhelming size, the Eight-Tails was breathing heavily. Its tentacles moved sluggishly. Its bloodshot eyes weren't just furious. They were desperate.
"Get lost, you stubborn old man. I just want freedom. Let me out of this damned place," the Eight-Tails roared. It wasn't mindless. This was rage born from pain and suppression. It wanted to escape. To run free.
But the man before it, wrapped in lightning, blocked its path.
"As long as I still stand, you won't take a single step out of Kumo," the Raikage answered. His voice cracked like thunder. His body bore scorch marks and bleeding wounds, but his presence remained immovable.
It was a battle of stamina and sheer will.
The Eight-Tails growled in frustration. A creature of near-limitless chakra, now struggling against a single human. This wasn't just a fight. It was humiliation.
Then the Raikage raised his hand. Four fingers extended.
That technique.
"Hell Stab One-Finger Nukite."
With a thunderous roar, the Raikage condensed his lightning chakra into a single spear of destruction. His fingers became a blade of thunder. The air screamed as it tore forward.
The Eight-Tails panicked. The move had injured it countless times. Instinct took over.
"Roar. Die."
It opened its mouth wide. Yin-Yang chakra swirled, forming a condensed Tailed-Beast Bomb. It wasn't large, but the speed of its formation was terrifying. The ground beneath them cracked under its pressure.
The Raikage's expression shifted.
He knew how deadly a Tailed-Beast Bomb at this range could be. The shockwave alone could wipe out their entire division.
Without hesitation, he accelerated, lightning wrapping around him as he shot forward like a living bolt. His target, the very core of the bomb.
Too fast.
Too reckless.
The Eight-Tails was stunned. It never expected the Raikage to charge straight into the bomb's mouth.
The moment's hesitation was fatal.
The bomb, already completed, detonated.
The Eight-Tails jerked its head down to dodge. Not to fire, but to avoid the suicide charge.
Boom.
The Tailed-Beast Bomb exploded at point blank.
A blinding flash swallowed the gorge. A blare louder than thunder followed. The shockwave flattened the area in a perfect circle. The gorge's rock walls were shredded. A massive crater replaced the battlefield. The explosion rocked even the shinobi stationed far outside the gorge.
As the dust slowly settled…
"Ugh…" The Raikage staggered. His lightning armor flickered violently.
The Eight-Tails fared no better. It had taken the brunt of its own explosion. Smoke rose from its head. Its tails were limp. Blood poured from its nose and mouth. It collapsed, unconscious.
"Cough… bastard…"
The Raikage looked at the beast. The last of his strength ebbed away. His knees buckled.
Just before he lost consciousness, he saw the commander and a squad of elite Jōnin rushing toward him through the smoke.
(To be continued.)