Chapter 100: Shattering the Inferno
The force was absolute, a violence so pure it seemed to strain the fabric of reality itself.
Tsunade and Ragnar, both practitioners of the Strength of a Hundred, operated on a scale of power that dwarfed conventional shinobi strength. Tsunade, with years of refinement, likely had no equal in raw physical power in the entire world. A full-strength strike from her was a cataclysm—a dragon's roar, a mountain's fury.
Ragnar, though a later student of the art with his compression ratio only around twenty percent, compensated with otherworldly enhancements. The hardening of Armament Haki and the profound, foundational evolution granted by the Daibutsu Fruit brought his output terrifyingly close to hers.
Now, their powers combined.
The twin shockwaves didn't clash with the fire dragon; they unmade it. The air screamed as it was compressed and blasted apart. The ground, except for the patch under their feet, erupted in concentric waves of shattered earth, heaving like a storm-tossed sea. The visual was apocalyptic—a localized earthquake meeting a hurricane born from two fists.
The roaring fire dragon disintegrated, snuffed out like a candle in a gale. The supporting wind was torn to shreds. The hail of kunai was swatted into the mud.
The concussive aftermath, visible as shimmering rings of distorted air, slammed into the advancing Suna-nin. Men were lifted off their feet and hurled backward like ragdolls; others stumbled, their formation shattered before it could truly engage.
In the sudden, ringing silence, Tsunade straightened, a fierce, proud glint in her eyes as she stared down Chiyo from across the devastated field. The message was wordless, but clear: Is that all you have?
"What monstrous force…" Chiyo muttered, her veteran composure cracking for a moment. Her gaze lingered on the masked ANBU in red—the 'Rakshasa.' That level of power marked him as a jonin at minimum, possibly a squad captain. It made sense—a Senju princess would have elite protection.
"Tsunade, stand down," Ragnar's voice cut through the tension, flat and certain. "I can handle this alone."
Tsunade shot him a look of surprise, then a stubborn set to her jaw. "No. I want to teach this old hag a lesson myself!"
Pfft—! Chiyo felt a vein throb at her temple. The indignity! First the 'old crone,' now 'old hag'? And the arrogance of this masked whelp, claiming he could take them all single-handedly! Did he think he was the Hokage? The White Fang?
"The arrogance of Konoha's dogs knows no bounds! Very well," Chiyo spat, her voice dripping venom. "Let me educate you on the cost of overconfidence."
Ragnar took a half-step forward, but Tsunade was already moving, a green blur of motion. "The hag is mine, Ragnar! Deal with the trash."
"…Fine." Ragnar relented, recognizing the fire in her eyes. This was personal for her.
Chiyo, now in her prime, was a high-tier opponent. Her mastery of puppetry alone placed her in the realm between elite jonin and low Kage-level. Tsunade, strong as she was, would not have an easy time against such a seasoned, versatile veteran.
"Hahaha!" Chiyo's laugh was brittle with anger. "Is this what Sarutobi Hiruzen teaches? Disrespect for your elders? I shall correct that deficiency."
"Elder? Hag," Tsunade retorted, already in motion. "Haven't you heard? The new generation always surpasses the old. And since we're enemies, why should I show you courtesy?"
She closed the distance with her newly honed, explosive speed—a product of 'Strange Power: Shave'—and launched a fist that compressed the air into a sledgehammer of force.
Chiyo, for all her age, was no slouch. She sidestepped with surprising agility, though her eyes widened at Tsunade's velocity. "You're fast, girl!"
"Faster than you, hag!" Tsunade taunted, pressing the psychological advantage. A furious puppeteer was a careless puppeteer.
"You insolent—!" Chiyo's composure shattered. The repeated insults ignited a cold, furious fire in her chest. "Today, I will discipline that old fool Sarutobi's pupil!"
Her hands flew into a series of seals. A scroll unfurled before her with a snap.
"White Secret Technique: Chikamatsu Collection of Ten Puppets!"
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
Puffs of white smoke erupted. From them emerged ten distinct, eerie puppets, each clad in long, ornate robes, their wooden faces carved into silent, ominous grimaces. The Chikamatsu Ten, a masterpiece of the puppeteer Monzaemon. In the hands of a master, ten puppets could be an army.
And Chiyo was a master. In this era, before Sasori of the Red Sand etched his name in horror, she was the pinnacle.
As the puppets settled, ten nearly invisible chakra threads shot from Chiyo's fingers, connecting her to her wooden soldiers. The moment she did, her chakra—previously restrained—flared openly.
It was immense. Greater than Ragnar's current reserves, greater than Tsunade's before she developed the Strength of a Hundred Seal. It dwarfed that of an elite jonin, brushing against the lower echelons of Kage-level potency.
Puppet masters didn't rely on ninjutsu or taijutsu; their strength was their puppets. And Chiyo's puppets were extensions of a formidable will and a vast, honed chakra pool.
Tsunade's teasing expression vanished, replaced by focused seriousness. Her provocations had worked—Chiyo was angry, less precise. But the raw power she now faced was daunting. Ten puppets, each a potential jonin-level threat in the right circumstances. Controlled by a master whose chakra and skill were at their zenith.
But Tsunade feared no puppet. Her philosophy was simple: no matter the trick, the trap, or the technique, they all broke before overwhelming force.
The ten puppets lurched into motion, a blur of whirling blades, hidden needles, and snapping jaws, descending upon Tsunade from all angles. Chiyo's hands danced, five chakra threads sprouting from each to guide the deadly ballet.
"Puppet Technique: Heart-Mind Gymnastics!"
From the other side of the clearing, a different kind of dance began.
"Itto-Ryu: Thirty-Six Pound Phoenix."
Ragnar's voice was a cold declaration. He had already Shaved into the heart of the scattered Suna-nin formation. Yama, black and thirsting, flashed in a wide, horizontal arc.
VWOOM!
A spiraling tornado of compressed, Haki-edged sword energy erupted from the slash, a whirlwind of annihilation that engulfed the stunned Suna-nin. They were lifted, tossed, and shredded within the vortex of cutting force.
"AHHH!"
"MY ARM—!"
"Fire Release: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique!"
Uchiha Mikoto, seizing the opening, completed her seals. Dozens of small, guiding fireballs streaked from her lips, homing in on the disoriented, wounded Suna-nin caught in Ragnar's whirlwind, turning the maelstrom into a cyclone of fire and steel.
The battle had split in two: a primal brawl of titanic force against intricate, deadly art, and a swift, merciless harvest on the periphery.
(End of Chapter)
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