The wind shifted before they saw him.
A chill, sharp, and unnatural, swept across the battlefield like a phantom tide. It wasn't the cold of the eather — it was heavier, oppressive, as though the very air had been dragged back into winter's grave.
Gaara stood at the forefront of his company, the sand at his feet subtly rippling in response to the anomaly. His gourd felt… heavier. The sand within was sluggish, like it no longer wanted to obey. He narrowed his eyes.
"This isn't natural."
From the distant haze, a figure emerged.
Renjiro Yuki.
Even among the reanimated, he looked otherworldly — a ghost wearing the guise of a man. His skin bore the ashen gray of Edo Tensei, cracks of necrotic black sealing the seams where Kabuto's chakra tethered him. His hair was long and white, unruly like a frostbitten banner, and his eyes were blank pools of white—not blind, but glacial, unreadable, and endless.
He wore ancient Yuki clan armor, plated and layered like a relic of the Warring States. It bore a design reminiscent of frozen oni, jagged plates edged in pale blue ice, its silhouette sharp and predatory — a shinobi's armor reforged for war and myth. The appearance evoked something between a samurai and a frozen demon, a style almost Sub-Zero-like, but weathered by centuries of bloodshed.
His steps didn't crunch snow — snow formed where he walked. Every footfall exhaled rime and frost, spearing tendrils of ice into the earth.
When he finally stopped, the entire valley changed.
The Cryo-Domain unfolded.
It came like an avalanche without sound — an unseen dome of killing frost expanding outward, dimming the sunlight and smothering the landscape in ice. Sand froze mid-motion. Trees, corpses, and even the embers of distant battlefield fires crystallized in eerie silence.
Gaara inhaled sharply. His sand became leaden. It moved, but only sluggishly, as though each grain had been locked in permafrost. He flexed his chakra, forcing it to obey, but the response was unnatural, stunted.
Above him, Ōnoki descended, his cloak fluttering despite the weight jutsu softening his fall. His old face was drawn tight, his small frame tense. He said nothing for a moment, simply standing at Gaara's side as his eyes narrowed on Renjiro.
Then:
Ōnoki: "This… feels like fighting my youth."
Gaara turned, startled by the words.
Gaara: "You know him?"
Ōnoki didn't take his eyes off Renjiro.
Ōnoki: "Every veteran has heard the story of the Ice Requiem. But few believed it was more than myth. A man who froze battlefields… and buried gods."
As if in response, Renjiro tilted his head slightly — a subtle acknowledgment, as though he'd heard them despite the distance.
Then his voice carried through the frigid air — low, calm, deliberate.
Renjiro: "You carry the names of the dead. I carry their silence."
The words sank like stones in still water.
Ōnoki's brow furrowed. He shifted his stance, Dust Release chakra already humming faintly at his fingertips.
Ōnoki: "Gaara… be ready. He's not like the others. This one fights as if the Warring States never ended."
Renjiro drew his blade — a jagged nodachi of blackened steel, rimed with frost — and drove it lightly into the ice.
The blizzard thickened.
The Fourth Company began to shiver.
And for the first time since the war began, Gaara felt the battlefield wasn't his.
The blizzard swelled around them, eating the battlefield in slow, creeping silence. It wasn't just cold; it was oppressive, a stillness that carried the weight of graves.
Gaara kept his eyes locked on Renjiro's pale figure in the distance, his sand sluggishly circling at his feet.
Gaara: "You've fought many wars, Ōnoki. Why does this one man unsettle you?"
Ōnoki's eyes didn't leave Renjiro. He floated a little higher, just enough to keep himself mobile — though Gaara could see the effort in his trembling shoulders.
Ōnoki: "Because I know exactly who — what-that — is."
Gaara raised an eyebrow.
Gaara: "The Ice Requiem. You said the name as if it wasn't just a story."
Ōnoki chuckled bitterly, the sound swallowed by the wind.
Ōnoki: "When I was a boy, my father told me of him. A shinobi from the Yuki clan, from the Land of Water. They say his bloodline ice wasn't just for killing. It was for shaping the battlefield — no, reshaping it."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone growing heavier.
Ōnoki: "When the Hidden Stone was still carving itself into existence, he fought near our borders. For one week… one week… the sky snowed over my homeland. The rivers froze. Even our hardened earth-nin couldn't dig through the permafrost he left behind."
Gaara turned his head slightly, surprise flashing briefly across his otherwise stoic face.
Gaara: "A single man did that?"
Ōnoki's gaze hardened.
Ōnoki: "A single man did that. And then disappeared back into the mist, leaving only bodies behind. They called him a requiem because wherever he went, there was no war — only aftermath."
The old Tsuchikage exhaled through his nose, his breath misting in the cold.
Ōnoki: "We thought he died long before the villages formed alliances. That was the only mercy in his legend. Yet here he stands, brought back by this cursed jutsu."
Gaara watched Renjiro draw his blade from the ice, the movement slow, deliberate — like a priest raising a censer.
Gaara: "And now he's here… standing between us and the future of the shinobi world."
Ōnoki's expression darkened.
Ōnoki: "No, Kazekage. He doesn't stand between us and the future. Men like him…"
He pointed toward Renjiro with a stone-like finger, chakra humming faintly at his tips.
Ōnoki: "…drag the future back into the past."
For a brief moment, Gaara felt his father's presence in those words — that same suffocating sense of inevitability when facing an opponent beyond human limits.
Renjiro turned his head slightly, those pale, blank eyes locking on them. There was no malice in his gaze. No thrill. Just recognition — like a man who'd already measured them for coffins.
Ōnoki's jaw tightened.
Ōnoki: "He's the kind of shinobi who makes the land itself his ally. And we're standing on his side of the board."
The wind carried Renjiro's voice across the frozen plain, soft but clear.
Renjiro: "I've seen these faces before. In another war. Another age."
Gaara tensed, the words making his sand bristle.
Renjiro: "I buried them, too."
Ōnoki's eyes narrowed.
Ōnoki: "This won't be that war, Yuki."
The old Tsuchikage began gathering Dust Release chakra, his entire frame glowing faintly with suppressed power.
And just like that, the conversation ended. The silence became a countdown.
---
The wind howled louder, as if the battlefield itself sensed the collision about to happen.
Ōnoki floated higher, straightening his spine despite the ache in his bones. His small frame seemed to grow heavier with resolve, his eyes sharpening.
Ōnoki: "So… Renjiro Yuki. The Ice Requiem. The ghost who turned the Land of Stone into a tomb of snow."
Renjiro tilted his head. His pale, dead eyes locked onto the old Tsuchikage.
Renjiro: "You've aged, little kage. But you still cling to that brittle rock you call will."
Ōnoki's jaw tightened.
Ōnoki: "And you… are just another relic, dragged from the grave to play soldier for a snake."
Renjiro's grip tightened around his nodachi, frost crawling up the blade as if it were alive.
Renjiro: "Relic? I've buried more men than your entire village has sired. Do you know what it means to fight a war without an end, Tsuchikage? To keep killing until the land itself forgets the names of the dead?"
Ōnoki glared, rising another few feet in the air, his chakra humming as he shaped it.
Ōnoki: "I know what it means to survive long enough to build something from the rubble. You stayed a ghost. I became a pillar."
Renjiro's lip curled faintly. Not quite a smile — more like the suggestion of one.
Renjiro: "A pillar? Stones sink in the snow."
And with that, the world broke.
Ōnoki moved first — a blur despite his age, chakra-enhanced weight manipulation launching him forward like a cannonball. His hand cut a glowing seal in the air, and the white-hot cube of Dust Release screamed toward Renjiro.
Renjiro didn't dodge.
He slammed his sword into the ice beneath his feet, and the Cryo-Domain answered. Walls of jagged ice erupted upward, catching the beam mid-flight. Dust Release obliterated the first barrier in a blinding flash — but not the second, or the third. By the time the beam dissipated, Renjiro was gone.
Ōnoki's eyes darted downward —
Renjiro stepped out of his own shadow.
The blade flashed.
Ōnoki barely shifted his weight, his body suddenly light as air as he vaulted upward, the nodachi slicing clean through the stone he'd been standing on a heartbeat ago.
Renjiro's movements were unnerving — no wasted motion, no hesitation. He stalked forward like a predator through his blizzard, every swing of his nodachi whistling with frozen death.
Gaara moved to flank, summoning a massive wave of sand, but the Cryo-Domain hissed in protest. The sand crystallized mid-motion, freezing into a grotesque sculpture before it even reached him.
Renjiro's voice carried through the storm, calm, detached:
Renjiro: "Your tricks won't work here, Kazekage. Even your sand knows who rules this ground."
Gaara grit his teeth, forcing the frozen sand to break apart with sheer chakra control.
Ōnoki swooped down, slamming a super-weighted punch into the ice — the ground cratered, ice cracking under the density of a mountain. But Renjiro flowed around the strike like mist, his blade lashing out and carving through Ōnoki's armor, frost creeping into the wound.
Ōnoki staggered, but his voice remained steady.
Ōnoki: "You fight like a god, Renjiro. But gods fall the same as men."
Renjiro stepped closer, their faces nearly level despite Ōnoki floating mid-air. His white eyes were still, utterly devoid of warmth.
Renjiro: "I am no god. I am the requiem for those who believed in them."
He vanished.
No — he didn't vanish. He moved so fast through his Cryo-Domain that it felt like he blinked out of existence.
Ōnoki braced — too late.
Renjiro appeared at his flank, sword already descending.
The old kage barely had time to throw up a weighted stone barrier — the nodachi sheared through it like paper, sending Ōnoki crashing into the ground, bones groaning under the impact.
Gaara surged forward, sand whipping like a serpent to shield the Tsuchikage. Renjiro's blade met the sand — and froze it solid.
In seconds, the entire shield became a jagged ice sculpture, fracturing under Renjiro's strength.
Ōnoki forced himself upright, spitting blood into the snow.
Ōnoki: "Kazekage… don't hold back. He's not a man. He's a walking battlefield."
Renjiro tilted his head, almost curious, and leveled his blade.
Renjiro: "Show me, old kage. Show me the strength that built your precious Stone."
Ōnoki's hands began to form a seal, Dust Release humming to life —and the valley shook with their war.
---
The valley had become a cathedral of frost and ruin. Spikes of ice jutted skyward like jagged obelisks. The very air seemed to hum, dense with chakra and the sting of winter. The storm Renjiro conjured no longer felt like weather — it felt like a world remade in his image.
Ōnoki's chest heaved, but he didn't descend. He rose higher, the chakra around him surging so violently it cracked the ice at his feet when he'd last touched the ground. His spine straightened in defiance of its years, his small form haloed by the glow of Dust Release.
Ōnoki: "Enough running, Requiem. Let's finish this."
Renjiro's blank eyes didn't blink. He simply tilted his head, resting the blade across his shoulder with a languid grace that made the gesture all the more terrifying.
Renjiro: "You carry yourself like a man still seeking his prime."
Ōnoki's chakra flared brighter, glowing like molten rock in the blizzard.
Renjiro: "But your body knows the truth."
The old kage bared his teeth in something between a grin and a grimace.
Ōnoki (panting): "Age humbles us. But some of us keep standing."
And then he was gone.
Ōnoki dropped his weight to nearly nothing, zipping through the blizzard like a hummingbird, zig-zagging across the field with speed that belied his size. At the last instant, he shifted his density to mountain levels, slamming a super-weighted fist at Renjiro with enough force to crater the earth.
Renjiro didn't block. He blinked.
One heartbeat, he was standing still. Next, he was behind Ōnoki.
No, not speed. Something worse.
Ōnoki twisted just in time to take the flat of the nodachi against his side instead of the blade, but even that sent him skidding across the ice like a stone, slamming into one of the jagged pillars hard enough to rattle his bones.
Gaara moved, sand surging like a tidal wave between them.
Renjiro didn't cut it. He froze it solid in mid-air, the wave of sand turning into a monolithic ice wall that hung there, dead and unmoving, like a monument to his dominance.
The Kazekage's eyes widened. He forced the frozen grains to shatter with sheer will, chakra pulsing violently through his gourd.
But Renjiro was already on him.
A blur of white hair and armor, a predator in a storm of his making.
The nodachi swept wide, aimed to take Gaara's head.
Ōnoki shot forward, Dust Release blooming in his palms, forcing Renjiro back with a blinding cube of annihilation. The beam struck ice, vaporizing it in a screeching hiss — but when the light faded, Renjiro stood untouched behind a curtain of freshly conjured frozen walls.
Ōnoki's heart pounded. He's reading my attacks before I finish them.
Renjiro advanced, his steps deliberate.
Renjiro: "You fight like a man who doesn't want to die… but knows he must."
Ōnoki gritted his teeth, pushing chakra into his old limbs until his joints screamed.
Ōnoki: "You talk too much for a corpse."
He surged forward, his hands glowing again — super-lightened movement to blitz, super-weighted punches to kill. Every strike was a gamble, every swing threatening to tear his brittle muscles from their bones.
Renjiro flowed between them like water.
He wasn't just moving. He was slipping through seconds. Gaara saw it — the subtle distortion in the air, the way Renjiro "blinked" between frames of reality, leaving only cold and silence where he'd been.
One strike nearly landed — a weighted punch that could level a fortress — but Renjiro caught it with the edge of his blade. Ice bloomed across Ōnoki's arm, locking his elbow in place.
Ōnoki growled, pivoting his weight to shatter the frost with raw force.
Renjiro didn't flinch.
With a single twist, he lashed out with his off-hand, driving a spear of ice toward the hovering kage — only for Gaara's sand to intercept, forming a shield.
The spear shattered through it — and skewered Gaara's gourd, exploding it in a storm of frozen shards.
The Kazekage staggered back, chest heaving.
Ōnoki swooped down, planting himself between Gaara and Renjiro. His chakra pulsed violently — Dust Release fully charged, bright enough to burn the blizzard.
Ōnoki: "Kazekage… stay behind me."
Renjiro tilted his head.
Renjiro: "Still standing. Impressive."
Ōnoki glared at him, blood running from the corner of his mouth.
Ōnoki: "Stone doesn't fall easily"
And then the old Tsuchikage unleashed hell.
--
The storm didn't relent.
It deepened.
The ice had grown so thick that even the sound of distant battle outside the domain felt muted — muffled, like the world beyond had been smothered under snow.
Gaara staggered to his feet, blood at his lip, his sand sluggish and fractured. Ōnoki floated beside him, shoulders hunched but fists still clenched, chakra burning in his frail frame like a dying star.
The blizzard parted.
Renjiro stood still at its heart, his nodachi planted deep into the ice, both hands resting on the hilt. His pale, dead eyes stared at nothing in particular, but his presence was heavier than any killing intent they'd ever felt.
Ōnoki spat blood into the snow, grimacing.
Ōnoki: "Kazekage… we can't win this."
Gaara glanced at him, disbelief flickering in his tired gaze.
Gaara: "You'd leave him here? After everything he's done?"
Ōnoki's face hardened.
Ōnoki: "Do you want to die on principle? Because that's all you'll do if you stay."
Before Gaara could argue, movement caught his eye.
Reinforcements — Temari at the lead, followed by a dozen of the Fourth Company, rushing through the storm.
Temari: "Kazekage!"
Her fan was already in hand when she crossed the threshold into the Cryo-Domain — and then stopped cold.
Her breath fogged instantly. Her skin prickled. Every one of them froze mid-step, their chakra sluggish, their bodies trembling violently.
Gaara's heart dropped. They can't even breathe properly in here.
Ōnoki didn't hesitate. He barked an order with all the authority of a man who'd seen too many die for nothing.
Ōnoki: "Out! All of you! Get OUT!"
Temari hesitated, eyes flicking to Renjiro. "But—"
Ōnoki: "NOW!"
She bit back her words and motioned for the others to retreat, their bodies moving awkwardly through the thick, punishing frost as they staggered back out of the domain.
Gaara turned back to Renjiro, sand circling his feet defensively despite how little of it remained.
But Renjiro didn't move.
He didn't pursue.
He simply kept both hands on his blade, like a priest at an altar, staring into the blizzard.
And then, so softly it was almost lost in the howl of the wind:
Renjiro: "More names for the grave."
The words hit Gaara like a weight to the chest. Not a threat. Not even anger. Just… inevitability.
Ōnoki's hand gripped Gaara's shoulder.
Ōnoki: "We live to fight another day. Move."
Reluctantly, Gaara stepped back with him, the two of them slowly retreating toward the edge of the Cryo-Domain.
And then, as if the scene weren't suffocating enough, a voice slithered through the storm.
Kabuto (from afar): "Ahh… so you've met him. Even Madara feared the cost of awakening that one. Tell me…"
The puppeteer's tone turned mocking, almost playful.
Kabuto: "…does it feel like fighting gods yet?"
Ōnoki froze mid-step, his old face unreadable.
Gaara glanced back one last time.
Renjiro hadn't moved.
He stood there, utterly still, the blizzard howling around him, like the very embodiment of winter itself.
The Kazekage swallowed hard, feeling the same thing Ōnoki surely did:
They had survived.
But only because he had allowed it.
--
As they staggered out of the Cryo-Domain, the silence was deafening.
The blizzard's roar dulled to a distant hum, but the weight of what lingered behind them clung to Gaara and Ōnoki like frostbite.
Ōnoki didn't speak for a long moment. When he finally did, his voice was low, rasped by age and fatigue:
Ōnoki (inner thoughts): All my life, I've watched men call themselves gods… Madara, Hashirama, countless others. I thought the age of monsters had ended with them.
His hand trembled slightly at his side, though he refused to let Gaara see.
Ōnoki: I was wrong. He's not like Madara. Not like anyone. He doesn't fight for dominance. He fights like a… requiem. Like the battle is already over, and we're just catching up.
Gaara glanced sideways at him, silent but inwardly wrestling with his thoughts.
Gaara (inner thoughts): I've fought monsters, seen men who wanted to burn the world just to feel alive. But this one…
He recalled those pale, dead eyes, devoid of hate, joy, or anger — a man who had become his grave marker.
Gaara: Renjiro fights without wanting. That's why he's terrifying.
Far away, in the safety of his hidden den, Kabuto adjusted his glasses and smiled faintly at the image playing through his scrying jutsu.
Kabuto (inner thoughts): Even Madara feared the cost of resurrecting him. And now they all see why.
His grin widened, sharp as a kunai.
Kabuto: Go on, Requiem. Let them taste the past. Let them remember why the Warring States bled for centuries.
On another front, Madara's Rinnegan flickered. Even as he toyed with other divisions, his attention brushed across the threads of chakra tethering him to Kabuto's puppets.
Madara (inner thoughts): So… that old ghost still breathes. Hn.
He smirked to himself, tilting his head to the sky.
Madara: Show me, Renjiro. Show me if you've changed… or if you're still the man I knew.
Back in the frozen heart of the battlefield, Renjiro stood alone.
The blizzard quieted as if bowing to him.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand. The ice obeyed.
From the shattered battlefield, jagged spikes of frozen death curved inward, folding and locking together. A throne emerged — carved not with elegance but with the cold, brutal artistry of a battlefield monument.
Renjiro stepped forward, resting his nodachi against its side, and sat.
He leaned back, eyes closed briefly as though feeling the memories of every corpse entombed in the frost.
Renjiro (inner thoughts): More names. More silence. That is all the world has left to give me.
His blank gaze drifted skyward.
Renjiro: If I must play their god, then let them worship a requiem.
The storm howled around him, and the battlefield was still.
The Ice Requiem had claimed his throne.