Terror completely overtook his body. Never in his life had he witnessed such horror—or at least, never had he lived it in his own flesh. A cold, sickening shiver ran mercilessly down his spine.
Orochimaru stared at the massive, muscular body of Manda, thrashing violently, headless and lifeless. The convulsions that shook the corpse were nothing but lingering reflexes playing their last cruel trick.
He barely had time to lift his gaze to the heavens, just in time to see the colossal serpent's head disintegrate in its entirety by the golden burst of energy radiating from the boy's hand.
What the hell are you? Orochimaru thought, at the same moment Manda did, just before death claimed him. In that final instant, their thoughts connected, both harboring the same dreadful question. But neither of them knew—and never would.
Orochimaru only realized the true weight of his situation when it was already far too late. In a flash of blue light, the boy landed directly in front of him. So fast—Goten's boots touched the ground before Orochimaru could even lower his head. A tiny monster. A tiny, damned monster.
"I ask that you leave… and never return," the monkey-tailed child said, his expression deadly serious, defiant. Yet the Sannin was frozen, shaken by the bizarre attitude of this boy with impossible power. Was he… sparing his life? Letting him go?
He could not believe it. With such power, Orochimaru himself would have been infinitely more ruthless—he was certain of that. If he already took pleasure in killing, he could only imagine the ecstasy of tearing victims apart with such strength, of blowing to pieces anyone who dared cross his path or obstruct his ambitions. This brat was a fool, wasting such overwhelming might.
He had no intention of retreating. Not yet. With blinding speed, he flashed through a string of hand signs—preparing to summon a pair of old acquaintances. A pair that, in truth, had long since perished.
"Summoning Juts—! Ugh!"
He couldn't finish. Looking down, Orochimaru's eyes widened in shock as the boy suddenly appeared before him, burying a brutal fist into his abdomen, knocking the very breath out of him.
But Orochimaru noticed something: the blow was hundreds of times softer than before—yet still devastating. Then he understood—Goten intended to persuade him the hard way. That meant one thing: a long, agonizing beating.
By the time Orochimaru pieced it together, the boy had already struck him dozens of times. Hooks, straights, elbows—using the pale Sannin like nothing more than a training dummy. Each blow more crushing than the last. He was so fast that Orochimaru couldn't even react. Worse still, the pain kept him from countering a single one of the child's devastating punches. He was at his mercy.
Without fancy kicks or martial-arts flair, Goten pummeled him like a boxer working a heavy bag, driving Orochimaru backward inch by inch. Each strike was calculated—not enough to send him flying, but just enough to keep him right there, within arm's reach, enduring relentless punishment.
The sheer force of the blows rattled the surrounding trees, cracks spreading across their bark from the shockwaves alone, while leaves drifted gently downward, swaying almost gracefully through the air.
Aside from the impacts, only Orochimaru's guttural groans and pained wheezes broke the silence. He refused to fall, but step by step he staggered back under every hook, every straight, every uppercut buried into his face, his jaw, his chest, his gut. Beneath his layers of robes, massive bruises bloomed across his pale skin almost instantly as blood vessels ruptured under the strain.
Saliva and blood spattered from his mouth in torrents with each savage punch to the face, his head whipping violently from side to side. Orochimaru could swear that at any moment his neck would give, leaving his head twisted the wrong way from the merciless onslaught.
His vision blurred. Consciousness slipped. Before him, Goten was nothing but an orange smear, a blazing blur that continued to massacre him with unseen strikes. It wasn't just the strength—it was the sheer speed. The boy's punches simply could not be followed by the eye.
Goten, however, knew his opponent was nearing his limit. With a crushing straight to the face, he decided to end the brutal assault.
Orochimaru's feet lifted from the ground, and this time his body slammed onto his back, collapsing several meters away, sprawled across the forest floor.
His breath came in ragged gasps, limbs spread wide, eyelids too heavy to lift. He was drained, broken. Never in his life had he endured such a beating. Each and every strike had been far more dangerous than they appeared—precisely aimed, deliberately restrained, yet devastating.
Goten had chosen not to unleash his vast energy recklessly, destroying half the forest. Instead, he focused on tearing Orochimaru apart at his most vulnerable points, maximizing the pain and damage.
Orochimaru had more lives than a cat. He could regenerate, yes, but at this rate he'd burn through his chakra reserves, wearing down his stolen body until it failed him—and then be reduced to pulp again. His only option was to escape. He just hoped the boy's words were true… that he'd allow it.
With great effort, the legendary Sannin dragged himself upright, first to his knees, trembling. A violent heave wracked him, and he vomited everything in his stomach—including the Earth Scroll he had swallowed in front of Sasuke and Sakura. He ignored the scroll completely, focusing only on staggering to his feet, swaying, and supporting himself with shaking hands pressed against his knees as he struggled through the torturous act of standing.
"How humiliating! I, Orochimaru—one of the three legendary Sannin of Konoha—forced to flee like a filthy rat! And all because of a boy no older than twelve! This is impossible… I must find out who he really is…"
As the Sannin's thoughts spiraled, Goten watched him calmly, hands resting behind his head, quietly taking in the pitiful state of his opponent. A little more punishment, and Orochimaru's face would have been unrecognizable—it was swollen almost beyond recognition. Beneath those robes, his condition was hidden, but judging by the way he clutched his ribs, the young Son knew he had ground them to dust.
He had to. Otherwise, the stubborn shinobi never would have retreated.
Right on cue, Orochimaru's figure began to sink slowly into the earth, as though the ground itself was swallowing him whole.
It was like watching some twisted magic. Within seconds, the Sannin vanished completely, swallowed up by the strange technique.
"At last, he's gone," Goten said to himself, puffing out his cheeks. He acted as if nothing strange had happened.
He walked over to the disgusting scroll, covered in saliva, blood, vomit, and other repulsive fluids he didn't even want to think about. He didn't want to touch it, but he knew it was important for his team. Biting his lower lip, he crouched down and picked it up by the tips of his fingers with obvious disgust.
Now he had to find his friends, but with so many presences in the forest it was difficult. No matter how much he concentrated, he couldn't sense any of the three. So, following the first idea that came to him, he flew straight to the tower to meet Trunks.
"You finally made it," Trunks greeted him, quickly standing up. "Why did you take so long?"
"I was watching the chaos of the battle from the sky, hehe," Goten answered, eyes closed and scratching the back of his neck. "I just hope nobody got hurt…"
"And what the hell were you fighting?" Trunks asked, crossing his arms and twisting his mouth in clear annoyance. "That guy's energy was incredibly evil… and then something even stronger appeared."
"Umm… honestly, I don't know! Hehe."
Trunks fell back in disbelief, then immediately jumped to his feet and yelled in his face with clenched fists.
"What do you mean you don't know? Are you an idiot or what?"
"I mean I don't know what he did," Goten replied quickly, stepping back with a nervous smile while waving his hands. "Like Kakashi-sensei, he summoned an animal—but much bigger! It was a giant snake!"
"Hmm… I see. So that's why everything was shaking," Trunks muttered, putting a hand to his chin and frowning. "You know something, Goten? Something weird is going on here. That guy wasn't here for the exam. His energy was way too high for a genin."
"Yeah, yeah, exactly, that's what I thought too," Goten said, nodding quickly with his eyes closed and his hands on his hips.
Trunks blinked rapidly as a huge bead of sweat rolled down the back of his head.
"Don't lie! You don't even know what was happening! Stop trying to act smart and quit behaving like that."
"Yeah, maybe you're right, buuut…" Goten grinned mischievously, looking just like Goku when he blackmailed the Supreme Kai of the fifteenth generation. "You also act differently when you're around Ino, don't you?"
"You know what? Why don't you just go look for that ridiculous Sakura and the others instead? I've got plenty of work to do," Trunks shot back a bit aggressively, his face turning red—making him an easy target for Goten's laughter.
However, a few seconds later, Goten stopped laughing as something dawned on him.
"Hey! Sakura's not ridiculous, it's just that…"
"Yeah, it's just that she's crazy, that's all. Isn't that enough? I don't get why you let her push you around like that."
Now the tables had turned. Trunks crossed his arms and looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye with a sly smile. Goten didn't blush, but he did get nervous. Now that he thought about it, he didn't really understand why he let Sakura treat him that way.
"I guess you're right… I'd better go look for them." Without another word, Goten turned around and flew off into the sky, leaving behind a smiling Trunks, proud of having gotten the last word.
Night had fully settled in. In fact, during the final moments of the battle between the Sannin and the young Saiyan, the last rays of the timid afternoon sun had painted the sky a fiery orange. The scene gave an almost epic touch to Orochimaru's beating before his retreat—his pride perhaps more shattered than his bones.
Fortunately for everyone, Goten had stopped flying and was now walking through the shadowy forest. Otherwise, he might have accidentally laid eyes on the full moon. Though darkness surrounded him, it posed no real obstacle; he was heading straight toward three familiar presences hidden beyond the brush.
"Hey, guys! I brought food!" he called cheerfully as he stepped out of the bushes—only to tilt his head quickly and dodge the kunai hurled at him.
"Hmph… It's you," Kiba growled, lowering his arm as he sat back down near the campfire with his teammates. "How'd you know we were here? What do you want?"
"D-don't worry, Kiba. We can trust Goten," Hinata interjected quickly, hoping to prevent any clash. Not that Goten seemed the least bit concerned—he ignored the boy's hostility entirely, wearing the same calm smile.
Without hesitation, he dropped himself down between Hinata and Shino, placing the enormous fish he'd caught in the river near the fire.
"Want some?" he asked pleasantly. Truth be told, he hoped they'd refuse. And indeed, all three shook their heads. Goten's face lit up with a wide, childlike grin. "Perfect! More for me!"
"Hold it right there, little monkey." Kiba shook his head, already bracing himself to launch into one of his tirades filled with insults. "What are you doing without your team? Where are the idiot Naruto, that pompous Sasuke, and forehead-girl Sakura supposed to be?"
"Well, we split up. I can't sense their energy anywhere… so they must be resting far away. That's why I can't find them," Goten replied with a shrug, not treating the matter with much concern. "Since you guys were close and I felt your presence, I figured you'd already have a campfire going."
The three exchanged a glance. Strange. Did he mean he could sense chakra from afar? That sort of ability could be extremely useful… though, in fairness, Team 8 already excelled in tracking.
"Does your team already have both scrolls?" Shino asked evenly, while Akamaru padded forward to sniff at Goten with great curiosity. The pup drooled uncontrollably; to him, the boy smelled… different. Not unpleasant, but not quite human either.
"I got this one," Goten said, pulling out the Earth Scroll from inside his gi. He held it out innocently, not suspecting trickery or ill will.
It was bold, but not foolish. Team 8 had already acquired their own scroll from a group of careless genin caught in their traps. They didn't need his. Still, Shino's glasses caught the reflection of the firelight as he eyed the parchment with unusual interest.
For someone who looked so silly and naïve, Goten had managed to acquire it on his own—and apparently without serious injury. That was impressive. Kiba, though reluctant, silently admitted the same.
Hinata noticed something else. Goten's hands—caked with dried blood. Her pearly eyes softened with concern. He wasn't unscathed after all.
"G-goten… you're hurt. M-may I take a look?"
Timid as ever, she fumbled a small box of ointment from her pocket. Goten glanced down, blinking at his hands as though realizing it for the first time.
"Oh, guess you're right. Didn't even notice," he said lightly, holding them out for her inspection.
Kiba looked ready to object, but stayed quiet. The boy had his own scroll and wasn't exactly their enemy right now. And besides… Hinata trusted him, strangely enough.
She wasn't wrong. She did know him—ever since that time when he, despite being a stranger, had gone out of his way to help her. That memory was enough to calm her nerves now.
Carefully, she cleaned the blood from his knuckles with a handkerchief.
"Doesn't it hurt?" she asked softly.
He shook his head, smiling.
As her hands lingered around his, Hinata felt a strange heat creep across her face. Never before had she been this close to a boy—except that one time when Goten offered to take her home. Part of her wished it was Naruto instead… though she doubted she could stand being this close to him without fainting.
When the last of the blood was wiped away, she froze in surprise. Kiba and Shino noticed too.
He wasn't hurt at all. The blood wasn't his.
"No wonder I didn't notice," Goten laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "It wasn't mine. How careless of me!"
The implication was clear—he must have beaten someone badly enough to leave himself drenched. Whoever it was, they hadn't come out in one piece. Suddenly, no one felt eager to have him as an enemy.
The camp fell into an odd silence. Shino was naturally quiet, Hinata shy, and Kiba—for once—kept his mouth shut, watching Akamaru of all things warm up to the boy.
Indeed, the pup had taken a liking to him, rolling over for belly rubs while Goten laughed heartily. Just like his brother Gohan, he had a way with animals—something Trunks had never quite managed.
Minutes later, the rich aroma of roasted fish filled the clearing. Akamaru wagged his tail eagerly, staring at the meal until Goten finally chuckled.
"Want some, buddy? Here!" he offered, tossing him a chunk.
Akamaru devoured it happily.
Kiba gawked in horror. "Hey, monkey-boy! Who do you think you are, feeding Akamaru any random garbage? In my clan, we're careful with what we feed our ninken! That's why he's so healthy. Right, Akamaru? You don't like that fish, do you?"
The pup turned, barked three sharp times.
Woof! Woof! Woof! ("Are you crazy? This is delicious!")
Kiba's face turned pale. Luckily, no one else understood him.
"Kiba, what did he say?" Hinata asked quietly.
"Oh, uh, he said he's had better scraps at home," Kiba lied with a forced grin.
"Grr! Woof! Woof!" ("Liar! Tell them the truth!")
Goten clapped his hands in delight. "Whoa, you can understand him! What did he say now?"
"That's not the point!" Kiba barked back, fists clenched, embarrassed and red-faced. "Point is, Akamaru shouldn't be eating just anything! …But fine. Just this once, he can eat whatever he wants."
Truth was, he let it go because Akamaru clearly enjoyed it. The fish was huge, practically bone-free, and good enough to restore his ninken's energy.
"Man, that hit the spot!" Goten sighed happily, patting his round belly after polishing off the rest. Around him, only the massive bones remained by the fire. "Too bad you didn't try any. I'd have shared if you asked."
"We're fine!" Kiba retorted, pulling a pouch of wild berries from his coat. "These will do. Overeating will only slow us down."
Despite himself, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling. Goten reminded him too much of Naruto… only this kid seemed far more capable. Not someone to underestimate.
"So," Goten asked suddenly, his expression sharpening, "what do you plan to do tomorrow? If I were you, I'd head straight for the tower at dawn. It's only three kilometers from here."
"Why do you recommend that?" Hinata asked when the others didn't. Shino remained silent as usual, and Kiba was still reeling from being given "advice" by the monkey-boy.
"It's safer that way. I can still sense some very dark presences out there, though they're not as close to the tower as you are."
"Do you mean that boy with the gourd?" Shino's voice broke through the quiet.
The words struck a chord. A chill ran down Kiba's spine as the memory of that horrific afternoon returned. That boy—the one with the kanji for "love" on his forehead—was a monster. He had slaughtered three examinees in cold blood, for no reason beyond his own twisted pleasure. Akamaru whimpered, trembling violently before diving into Kiba's jacket for safety.
Hinata lowered her head, stricken. She'd almost managed to forget… but now Shino had reminded her of that terrible sight. The brutal killings. The moment Gaara sensed their hiding spot, and nearly murdered them as well, only dissuaded at the last moment by his own teammates.
Never had she been so terrified. Tears welled unbidden, one sliding silently down her cheek.
Before it could fall, a warm finger brushed it away. Goten.
Startled, she looked up into his reassuring smile.
"Don't worry," he said softly. "He won't be able to harm you."
"H-how can you be so sure?" she whispered, her hands tightening nervously.
"Because he and his team just arrived at the tower," Goten answered calmly. "They're in for a little surprise."
"I'm not even surprised," Trunks said calmly, springing to his feet from his half-seated position. "I always knew you'd be the first to show up… though you took your sweet time."
The Saiyan completely ignored Kankuro and Temari, locking his stern gaze onto the boy with the gourd. His stare was so intense that, if looks could kill, Gaara would already have been reduced to ashes in the middle of a smoking crater.
The redhead, as usual, did nothing. He just stood there with his arms crossed, silent, his expression unreadable. The stillness stretched on until it felt eternal—until at last his thin lips parted to speak.
"What a pleasant surprise. I didn't think I'd kill anyone else today. I'm in luck, though—under the full moon, blood takes on such a beautiful color."
"If anyone dies tonight, it'll be you, you damned murderer!" Trunks snapped, matching Gaara's posture by crossing his own arms. The presence of the boy was revolting—almost demonic. Something about him felt deeply wrong, not to mention the overwhelming chakra radiating from him. "Just hand me the scroll and nothing has to happen."
"Don't make us laugh, kid!" Kankuro sneered, stepping forward. "You don't know who you're dealing with! Not even with your whole team could you stand a chance against us. Alone like this? You're already dead."
But Trunks didn't hear him. He was obsessed, focused solely on Gaara, as if nothing else mattered. The others were irrelevant; the red-haired shinobi was the only real threat in his eyes.
Temari, however, wasn't so sure. She shifted uneasily, glancing from one side to the other. It had taken all her effort earlier to persuade Gaara not to slaughter a group of hidden genin, and this kid had just made the same mistake—staring Gaara down with fire in his eyes and even threatening him. To her, it was as good as a death sentence.
Her gaze flickered back to Trunks, running over him from head to toe. He really was handsome, more than she'd like to admit. In another situation, she might have actually asked him out. And that, more than anything, was what pained her: that someone like him was about to die. What a waste it would be for the girls of her village.
She stepped closer, until only a couple of meters separated them.
"Please, just leave. You really don't know what you're getting into." Her words weren't a threat, nor any sort of intimidation. They were genuine. Temari truly pitied him, and she wanted to warn him for his own sake. "Run. Now."
Her voice was barely more than a whisper, carried away almost completely by the night breeze. Even so, Trunks was struck by her tone. His blue eyes widened slightly in surprise.
Now that she was standing right in front of him, he couldn't help but notice her properly. She was beautiful, undeniably so—though, in his mind, not quite as lovely as Ino. Still, Temari had something Ino didn't: a stronger build, curves toned with strength. Where Ino was too skinny for his taste, Temari was tall, athletic, with firm thighs and the frame of a young woman already hardened by training. She reminded him more of Tenten than anyone else.
"What do you mean, leave?" Trunks asked, shaking his head to rid himself of distracting thoughts.
"Gaara will kill you," she whispered, even more quietly this time, desperate to keep her brothers from hearing. "We already have both scrolls. But if you hand me yours, maybe—just maybe—my brother will let you live."
"What are you muttering about, Temari?" Gaara's voice cut in from behind her, cold and sharp, making her shiver.
Her blood ran cold. Her stomach twisted violently. And before she could think of an answer—
"She's talking to me, idiot! If you want to know so badly, bring your scroll over here and I'll tell you!" Trunks shouted back.
"You fool! Do you have a death wish?!" Temari hissed, grabbing Trunks roughly by the collar of his gi with both hands. "Get out of here right now! This isn't a game!"
Despite her harsh tone, Trunks caught something else in her voice—fear. She was trembling ever so slightly, biting her lower lip, beads of sweat forming along her forehead.
Could Gaara really be that dangerous? That unstable?
Two seconds later, he got his answer.
"If you don't move aside right this instant… I'll kill you with him."
He wasn't just unstable. He was a monster. A little demon in human form.
Both Temari and Trunks froze, eyes wide in shock. Temari's grip on his gi only tightened in fear.
"Would he really kill his own sister?" Trunks thought, chilled to the bone. "He's insane. Completely insane!"
Not since Majin Buu had Trunks seen such senseless cruelty. A shiver of genuine dread crawled down his spine. Acting quickly, he gripped Temari's wrists and forced her to release him, then pulled her behind his body in one smooth motion, shielding her as if she weighed nothing at all.
"Hey, you! Get out of here!" he barked at Kankuro. "I don't want you getting hurt too!"
Kankuro flinched at his tone. For an idiot, this kid had guts. But against Gaara? Not a chance. A simple taijutsu brawler like this didn't stand a prayer.
Silence fell over the siblings. They all knew what was coming: a massacre.
Temari backed away, step by step, putting distance between herself and the Saiyan. She wasn't retreating because Trunks asked her to—she was retreating to avoid being caught in the crossfire… or drenched in blood.
Meanwhile, Trunks crouched down and picked up a stone about the size of a golf ball. He had a suspicion and wanted to test it. He was convinced Gaara's speed wasn't the source of his confidence. He'd felt his vile chakra moving through the forest earlier, and it wasn't fast at all. He'd even sensed three lives suddenly vanish nearby—genin Gaara must have slaughtered.
Now here Gaara stood, arms folded, unmoving, not even in a combat stance. Why so confident? Trunks had an idea.
From just twenty meters away, he hurled the stone straight at Gaara's face. If he dodged it, that would mean his reflexes were sharper than Trunks believed.
Kankuro smirked cynically."He's throwing a rock? At Gaara? What an idiot. This kid's begging for death—"
CRAAAACK!
The sound snapped through the night. Gaara's head whipped violently backward, nearly knocking him off his feet. His automatic sand shield rose up far too late, completely useless.
"Wh-what the hell just happened?!" Temari gasped, eyes wide, struggling to comprehend.
Then she saw it: a massive crack across Gaara's forehead. His "skin" was crumbling, grains of sand trickling from the wound.
"So the sand protects you," Trunks muttered with a half-smile. "That's why you were so confident. But it won't help if it moves that slowly."
Temari and Kankuro were stunned speechless. The stone had vanished from sight the instant Trunks threw it. His arm hadn't even seemed to move. They only realized what happened when they saw Gaara reel backward.
The Saiyan had thrown it faster than lightning—faster than the sand could ever hope to react.
"H-hey, are you alright? What's happening to your face?" Trunks asked, pointing nervously at Gaara as cracks spread further across his mask-like armor.
"You forced Gaara to use his sand armor," Temari whispered, eyes glued to her brother. "If anything breaks through his shield, the sand coats his body directly as armor."
"Got it. So that's why he's never been injured in a mission," Trunks said, eyes narrowing. "I just hope it holds up long enough…"
The words had barely left his mouth before he vanished.
Not ran. Not dodged. Simply disappeared.
Everyone thought he'd used some jutsu to escape. They were wrong.
In the blink of an eye, Trunks was in front of Gaara, grinning, and drove a blinding punch straight into his face.
Gaara only realized what happened once he was airborne, armor shattering like glass, hurled through the forest like a ragdoll. Trees splintered and exploded under his body as though they were made of paper.
Then came the deafening boom as he crashed into the ground, shaking the earth and cracking the tower's windows.
Kankuro went pale as death. Temari's jaw dropped. They couldn't believe what they'd just seen.
Someone had hit Gaara twice.
"If you don't hand me the scroll, I'll hit him again," Trunks warned coldly, now standing near where Gaara's broken body lay.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" a new voice roared from the tower.
It was Hayate Gekkō, the sickly-looking examiner, hacking his usual dry cough as he stepped outside. He'd felt the tremor, seen the windows shatter, and came down to investigate.
Trunks barely spared him a glance. His focus stayed on Gaara, whose sand armor was cracked to pieces all over his body. Even one blow had nearly destroyed him. If not for that defense, every bone in his body would have been shattered.
"Kankuro, if you hand him that scroll… I'll kill you too."
Gaara's threat made the puppet-user swallow hard, sweat dripping as his lips trembled. He'd heard it before—but that didn't make it any less terrifying.
Trunks cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders with a wolfish grin.
"Just as I thought… that armor of yours isn't so tough. Everyone else in this damn forest has had their fight… except me. Now it's my turn!"