Just like Kato before him, the man's heart was pierced clean through—dead before he hit the ground.
"He's too strong! We can't take him—Takahashi, run!"
The surviving Chūnin's hands flashed through seals. His body dissolved into fine sand and slipped beneath the soil, reappearing as a humanoid shape that rose up behind the Akatsuki intruder. The sand solidified, taking the ninja's form, and clamped its arms tightly around him.
Takahashi gritted his teeth and launched a speed-enhancing jutsu. His body blurred as he sprinted toward the trees.
Then—
"AHHH!"
His comrade's scream tore through the air. Takahashi's heart pounded as he pushed harder, faster—until suddenly, everything stopped.
His body froze mid-stride. His momentum vanished.
It felt as though a divine, invisible hand had seized him—an overwhelming, inescapable force pinning him in place.
He struggled desperately, but nothing worked. His chakra wouldn't flow; his body trembled helplessly, like a lamb before the slaughter.
As he was dragged backward through the air, two thoughts flashed through his mind:
First—why has this monster come to Konoha?
Second—am I about to die… like Kato?
Thk!
A bloodstained black rod punched through his chest, right through his heart.
Takahashi looked down at the spike protruding from his armor, his vision fading. He died with his eyes wide open.
Shff!
The orange-haired man leapt forward in a blur, clearing the outpost in a few silent bounds. He landed in a clearing deep in the forest.
"Gather," he said flatly.
Shff! Shff! Shff! Shff! Shff! Shff!
Six figures descended from above, each cloaked in black and red, the clouds of Akatsuki rippling in the wind.
Five of them had the same ripple-patterned eyes and orange hair as the first, though each bore a different hairstyle and expression.
The sixth was a woman with violet hair and a paper flower pinned near her ear—Konan.
And the one who had appeared first—he was their core, the leader among the Six Paths of Pain: Tendō Pain, the vessel of Nagato's will.
Expressionless, he said,
"From here, the launch point of the operation is one kilometer away. According to Kisame's report, there are thirteen hidden sentry posts and one visible patrol. All must be eliminated within ten minutes."
"Move out."
Seven shadows vanished into the forest.
Back in Konoha, the village was calm and bright under a clear blue sky.
Along one of the main streets, a little girl with her hair tied in two buns raced ahead of her grandmother, laughing.
"Grandma, come on! You're too slow!"
The smell of grilled food drifted from a skewer shop nearby, where Konohamaru's two teammates—Udon and Moegi—were sitting at the counter, munching happily on chocolate-dipped dango.
Udon nearly snorted into his food. "Man, I swear—after missions like this, it's these dango that keep me alive!" he mumbled through a full mouth.
Moegi rolled her eyes and shook her head. Unlike him, she ate her dango one piece at a time, slow and proper. "Chew thoroughly," she said primly. "That's the healthy way—and the ladylike way."
Meanwhile, at the village's Emergency Response Center, Chūnin Kotetsu Hagane grinned wickedly as he fanned out a deck of cards. "Pick one," he told his fellow guards. Four other shinobi sat around the table, half-bored, half-amused.
This was normal life in Konoha now—peace had lasted so long that even the emergency unit had grown lax.
The last real attack had been three years ago, during the Chūnin Exams—when the Sand Village's One-Tail jinchūriki, Gaara, had joined forces with Orochimaru, the traitor of Konoha itself.
It had been decades since anyone had dared to attack Konoha from the outside.
No one had the courage—or the power.
Not even the Kage of the other Great Nations, past or present, had ever risked open war with the Village Hidden in the Leaves.
So the shinobi stationed at the Emergency Response Center were, to put it bluntly, bored out of their minds. Being assigned there meant no glory, no high-paying missions, and no chance to stand out.
Boredom breeds mischief—and for these ninja, that meant endless rounds of cards.
Kotetsu Hagane, a scar cutting diagonally across his cheek, held up a hand of cards, grinning slyly.
"Alright, pick one," he said.
Across from him sat a member of the Hyūga clan, his pale Byakugan eyes half-lidded in concentration. His hand hovered uncertainly over the cards—then the veins at his temples bulged.
Byakugan, activated.
He smirked. He could see straight through the cards—right to Kotetsu's winning hand.
Kotetsu slammed his cards down on the table. "Hey! No fair! Using the Byakugan in a card game? That's cheating!"
Laughter rippled through the room.
Meanwhile, on the western edge of the village, just beyond the tall outer defense wall, the final visible watch post stood quiet.
"All clear on my patrol," one sentry reported.
"Our sector's clean too," said another.
The squad leader nodded with a grin. "Alright, then. Posts Five and Six—stay hidden. The rest of us, log your reports."
Shff!
A dark shadow dropped from the sky—silent as a ghost. Tendō Pain landed directly in front of the squad leader, less than a meter away.
"Wh—!?"
The man barely had time to gasp before Pain moved.
The black rod punched through his chest in a blur.
He died instantly.
Pain withdrew the spike. The body collapsed to the ground with a dull thud.
Somewhere far away, in the hidden chamber where Nagato sat connected to his six bodies, the scene played out through shared vision. And in his mind—unbidden—the music began.
That haunting theme from Jiraiya's final battle.
The one fans would later call "Path to the Truth."
Ethereal voices. Sacred, mournful, transcendent.
A song of gods descending, of divine judgment—and of Pain's unbearable sorrow.
Every time the Six Paths of Pain appeared, this theme echoed through memory.
But nothing compared to its first appearance—when Jiraiya fell, his life fading as that choir rose like the voice of heaven itself.
Nagato felt it now. His blood surged, his spirit burned.
The slaughter was about to begin.
The deputy commander's eyes went wide, staring at Pain in horror. That cloak—black with red clouds—could only mean one thing.
Akatsuki…!
But how? Why hadn't there been a single alert from the outer watchposts?
Unless… they were already dead.
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