"Finished celebrating?"
Namikaze Raimon's voice, laced with icy amusement, cut through the brief silence that had followed Ōnoki's Dust Release. He stood behind the two elders, pristine and untouched, not a single hair out of place. The all-obliterating light of the Kekkei Tōta hadn't even brushed his sleeve.
The fight left Ōnoki and Chiyo instantly. Their shoulders slumped, the last flicker of defiance snuffed out.
It was over. Truly over.
Their gazes swept across the battlefield—no, the bathroom floor the battlefield had become. Thousands of shinobi from four great nations writhed in the mud, a symphony of pained groans and pitiful whimpers rising from the churned, reeking muck that now reached past their ankles. The sheer volume of… fluid… was staggering, akin to a Tailed Beast bomb's worth of Water Release unleashed upon the plain.
"I knew it… I knew it would come to this," Ōnoki mumbled, sinking dejectedly into the foul mud. He ignored the cold, wet seep through his robes. The Allied Shinobi Force had been a desperate, hasty patchwork—all might, no mind.
A disorganized rabble against a singular, tactical nightmare. No one had coordinated to disrupt his Flying Thunder God markers, no squad had been dedicated to spatial interference. His own proud Dust Release, the "strongest attack in the shinobi world," was a lumbering giant next to Raimon's instantaneous, teleporting finesse. It was a mismatch of era and ideology.
Just as despair threatened to fully consume the two veterans, the air beside them shimmered. A figure materialized, breathing heavily—Shimura Danzō.
"That reckless old fool, Ōnoki!" Danzō spat, his one visible eye burning with fury and a deep, personal regret. He had just been forced to expend one of his precious, irreplaceable Sharingan to activate Izanagi, rewriting his death in the Dust Release. Each eye was a dwindling treasure, a piece of the Uchiha's legacy he hoarded, now wasted on an ally's attack.
"Ōnoki, Chiyo-baa," Raimon began, his tone conversational as he utterly ignored Danzō's reappearance. To him, Danzō was a cockroach surviving by sacrificing its limbs—annoying, but not a threat. "Final offer. Do you yield?"
"Hmph! Spare me your condescension! Kill me if you dare!" Ōnoki turned his head away, a stubborn fire still in his old eyes. The memory of his dear comrade during the last war—a proud Iwa jōnin driven to claw out his own kidneys in front of him to end the torturous stone pain—flashed behind his eyelids. He would not beg. He would not give this demon the satisfaction.
"Heh~ Let's see if your kidneys are as resilient as your pride," Raimon chuckled. His hands moved in a blur, seals forming faster than the eye could follow.
"Doton: Nyōdō Kesseki no Jutsu!" (Earth Release: Urinary Calculus Technique!)
"Doton: Jinzō Kesseki no Jutsu!" (Earth Release: Kidney Stone Technique!)
"Suiton: Bōchō Hozon no Jutsu!" (Water Release: Bladder Retention Technique!)
"Suiton: Jinzō Jōryū no Jutsu!" (Water Release: Kidney Flush Technique!)
The quartet of diabolical techniques was completed in under three seconds. Ōnoki and Chiyo, their elderly bodies already weakened by strain and shock, had no chance to resist the overwhelming physiological assault.
The urgent, agonizing pressure built and crested instantly. With pained cries, they joined the ranks of their forces, collapsing into the mud, their bodies wracked with convulsions as the microscopic jagged stones began their vicious journey.
"Y-You… devil…!" Chiyo gasped between ragged breaths, her wrinkled face contorted in agony.
"Deep breaths… just… deep breaths…" Ōnoki wheezed, joining the chorus of tens of thousands attempting to breathe through the pain. The battlefield echoed with a horrific, synchronized rhythm of sharp inhales and pained exhales.
"Ah, almost forgot about you," Raimon said mildly, turning his gaze to Danzō, who had been attempting to inch backward into the chaotic crowd. Danzō froze, his legs refusing to obey his frantic commands to flee.
Trying to outrun the Yellow Flash? It was the most futile thought in the shinobi world.
"Raimon! Wait! I know things! Sarutobi's secrets, his crimes!" Danzō blurted out, desperate. If he was going down, he would drag his lifelong rival, Hiruzen, into the mud with him. Misery loved company, especially a hypocritical one.
"Sarutobi, huh?" Raimon paused, appearing to consider it. The old Hokage did owe him a mountain of unpaid debts and moral bankruptcy. But dismantling the Sarutobi clan now? Too much effort.
They were a dying breed anyway, clinging to hollow nobility. Left to their own devices, they'd likely follow the Uchiha into oblivion without him lifting a finger.
"Danzō, you're not getting any younger. It's time for a permanent retirement," Raimon stated, taking a slow, deliberate step forward.
"No! I am still vital! I am still useful to Konoha!" Danzō scrambled back, terror etching his features. Izanagi could cheat death, but not indefinitely. The eyes on his arm were finite. Once they were gone, so was he.
"Fūton: Shinkūga!" (Wind Release: Vacuum Wave!)
"Fūton: Shinkū Renpa!" (Wind Release: Vacuum Serial Waves!)
He launched a frantic barrage of cutting wind blades, but they passed harmlessly through Raimon's Edo Tensei body, not even causing him to flinch.
"Monster! You utter monster!" Danzō screamed, his sanity fraying. "You want to know?! It was ME! I leaked the intelligence that led the four villages to your position on that mission! I orchestrated your encirclement!"
He was babbling now, hoping to provoke a quick, merciful death. In this moment, he cursed the abundance of Sharingan on his arm. Too many chances to survive meant too many chances to suffer.
"Doton: Nyōdō Kesseki no Jutsu!"(Earth Release: Urinary Calculus Technique!)
Raimon didn't bother with the full suite. He went straight for the cornerstone. And he wasn't gentle. The stone that formed within Danzō wasn't a grain of sand. It was large, smooth, and obstinate—the size of a marble, lodging itself with perfect, cruel precision.
Danzō's eyes bulged. He felt the abrupt, solid blockage, the mounting pressure with no outlet.
"Please… don't…" he choked out.
"Suiton: Bōchō Hozon no Jutsu!"(Water Release: Bladder Retention Technique!)
Raimon completed the combo.
The pressure escalated from urgent to catastrophic. Danzō's face turned a shade of purple that rivaled a ripe eggplant, veins throbbing at his temples. The dam was full, the floodgate sealed.
'To live in shame… is better than to die in it!' The thought, born of pure survival instinct, cut through the panic. With a grimace of utter resolve, Danzō's remaining hand flashed to his kunai pouch. In one swift, brutal motion, he drew the blade and slashed downward, creating a desperate, bloody emergency release.
A torrent of fluid, streaked crimson, poured out. The terrifying pressure abated. Danzō slumped, his face pale but etched with a twisted relief.
"Wow, Danzō. You really don't hesitate, do you?" Raimon whistled, a flicker of genuine, morbid respect in his eyes. Most men would have agonized over that choice. Danzō had treated it like pruning a dead branch.
Danzō, still panting from the self-surgery, shot Raimon a look of pure, undiluted venom.
'Just let me survive today,' he vowed silently, 'and I will find a hole so deep, I will plot and scheme until I have a way to erase every last trace of the Namikaze name from this earth!'
His expression, however, was not as guarded as his thoughts. The murderous intent shone through clearly.
"Heh… plotting something nasty already, are we?" Raimon's smile turned razor-sharp. "Your acting needs work. You haven't even escaped yet."
Danzō's blood ran cold. He'd given himself away.
"Alright, nostalgia hour is over," Raimon announced, his voice carrying across the subdued field. "Time to end this farce."
A farce.
The word echoed in the minds of Ōnoki and Chiyo, writhing in the mud, and in the ears of the Raikage, listening from the distant perimeter. The mobilization of four great villages, the gathered might of tens of thousands… was merely a farce to this man. A collective, dizzying shame washed over the surviving leaders.
Danzō's heart hammered against his ribs. If Raimon was getting 'serious,' his time was up. He still had one card—the suicide technique, Kotoamatsukami, woven into Shisui's eye. But could he activate it before the Yellow Flash moved?
He had to try. Izanagi still offered him a few more rolls of the dice.
His desperate plan formed and shattered in the same instant.
Swish—Thud!
A blur of motion. A sickening, wet sound of separation. Danzō's right arm, the one swathed in bandages housing his stolen Sharingan, was suddenly… gone. It lay in the mud several feet away. His window for mistakes had just been slammed shut.
"Shisui… your eye… it must work as you promised…" Danzō thought frantically, his focus snapping to the single Mangekyō Sharingan hidden beneath his forehead bandages.
But Raimon was a ghost. A hand, moving faster than perception, shot toward Danzō's right eye socket.
Squelch.
"This doesn't belong to you." Raimon held aloft the prized eye, its unique tomoe pattern glistening in the moonlight.
"NO! Give it back! It's mine!" Danzō shrieked, a loss more profound than the arm. Regret, more bitter than any poison, flooded him. Why had he saved it? Why hadn't he used it on Hiruzen when he had the chance?!
"Piss off." Raimon delivered a dismissive kick, sending the armless, now eyeless Danzō tumbling through the mud like a broken doll. Danzō could only squirm, a creature reduced to his most pathetic form, his gaze still burning with impotent, world-ending hatred.
"What are you glaring at?" Raimon paid him no further mind. Instead, he turned and raised a hand, beckoning toward the Konoha wall. "Oi! Sasuke! Get over here!"
Uchiha Sasuke landed lightly beside his teacher, his Sharingan already active, taking in the scene with cold satisfaction. "What is your command, Raimon-sensei?"
Namikaze Raimon jerked a thumb toward the wretched, squirming form of Shimura Danzō. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
"Sasuke. This old man has had a long, strenuous day. Don't kill him."
He paused, letting the implication hang in the foul air.
"Just take him for a nice, long… walk."