Konoha burned on four fronts.
In the command tent, Sarutobi Hiruzen and the high council worked like a single mind, adjusting formations, shifting squads, and sending orders to every battlefield. The weight of the war sat on their shoulders.
Far from the village, Orochimaru held the line against Kumogakure in the north. The enemy had already torn through the Land of Hot Springs and was pressing against the Fire Country's border.
In the west, Jiraiya commanded the armies clashing in the Land of Grass, Tsunade at his side as deputy commander. Her hemophobia, once crippling, had been blunted by her own mastery of medical ninjutsu — Pigments; her vision muted the crimson red color, her sense of smell dulled to the metallic scent of blood.
In the east, the Uchiha and Hyuga clan heads led the fight against Kirigakure, whose forces had swept in from the Land of Whirlpools.
This war was different from the others. If even one front collapsed, the chain reaction could shatter Konoha completely.
That was why Namikaze Minato became the village's most mobile weapon — a golden flash racing between battlefields, always appearing where the line was about to break. Against Iwa or Kumo, his arrival alone could crush fifty enemy shinobi in seconds. Now, with Konoha's own walls under threat, there was no question where he would go.
The distant roar of combat drew him to Mount Kikyo.
Smoke curled from broken treetops. Ten Jonin from Kumogakure and Sunagakure had Hiruzen Sarutobi surrounded on a rocky hillside, moving with the precision of a hunting pack.
No Kage-level shinobi had joined the raid — a deliberate choice, to keep their strongest safe and to tie down Konoha's elsewhere. But ten Jonin working as one could still be deadly.
They hadn't expected their prey to be the Sarutobi Hiruzen of his prime. Staff spinning, jutsu flowing without pause, the Professor of Ninjutsu danced through their attacks, trading blows with all ten and injuring four without taking so much as a scratch.
The fight had settled into a dangerous balance, until the air rippled, and Minato was there.
No warning. No sound. Just the flash.
Four throats opened in unison, steel whispering through flesh before their owners even knew he was behind them. The survivors faltered, their formation collapsing.
Hiruzen didn't waste the opening. Four shadow clones burst into existence, their hands already weaving seals. The Five Styles: Great Chain Explosion tore through the hillside, consuming five Jonin in a storm of fire, wind, water, earth, and lightning.
The last man standing turned to flee but met Minato's kunai.
Breathing hard, the two Konoha leaders exchanged a few clipped words. Minato blurred away toward Kikyo Castle, while Hiruzen split his clones to reinforce other squads.
Inside the castle, chaos reigned. Buildings lay in splinters, smoke curling from shattered roofs.
Enemy shinobi slipped through streets and courtyards, striking at any defender they could find. Konoha's numbers were thin, their job simple, hold the line until the tide turned. With Minato cutting through the enemy like a blade, and Hiruzen now free to move, the balance was shifting.
Far from the castle walls, Uchiha Gen hunted. The war beyond his trees was distant noise. Here, in the deep woods, the Soul-Soul Fruit made him king.
Seven kills in, he had stopped chasing prey. Instead, he built traps. Souls whispered into the oldest trees, their bark hardening, their branches flexing like claws. His hunting grounds took shape... a place where any intruder, friend or foe, could be strangled before they knew the forest was alive.
A squad of Sunagakure Genin blundered into his range. The still trunks rippled. Roots and branches surged, snaring bodies mid-step. Screams cut short as souls were drawn out, their life fading to nothing. The bodies sagged in the wood's grip.
Gen patrolled the edges, watching, collecting.
Souls taken from human corpses couldn't be placed into other humans, but they could feed his Homies — the living tools he'd forged.
Tree-Homies thrived as long as their stolen lifespan lasted; when the clock ran out, he reclaimed every scrap of power they held.
The coalition's discipline cracked as news of the defeats spread. Fear scattered them, and those who fled only ran into Gen's trees. Most didn't even draw a weapon before they were bound.
A few regained their composure, enough to resist, but not enough to escape the fear-tinged illusions he cast before ripping the soul free.
By the time the sun dropped low, the enemy was finished. Some surrendered, some lay dead, the rest were hunted through the forests by Konoha squads returning from the front lines. Few would leave Fire Country alive.
Gen tallied his harvest in silence.
Sixty-nine souls. All ninja. Most were Genin, but even their spirits burned brighter than those of civilians. He wondered, distantly, how much stronger they were; but he had never wasted the fruit's power on ordinary prey to find out.
When the last tree released its burden, he turned toward Mount Kikyo. He had been gone for hours. Long enough for others to think he'd fallen.