The world was a blur of grey tile and throbbing red agony.
Sasuke lay propped against the cold stone wall, cradling his shattered left wrist. The pain wasn't a sharp sensation anymore; it was a heavy, nauseating drumbeat that synced with the pulsing of the chakra armor across the room. The air tasted of copper and burned ozone—the scent of his failed Chidori still lingering like a bad joke.
In the center of the arena, Dotō Kazahana was a monolith of black steel and violet silk. He held Koyuki effortlessly in the crook of one massive, armored arm. She dangled there, limp, a broken doll in the grip of an industrial press.
"Naruto!" Sylvie's scream was shrill, cutting through the ringing in Sasuke's ears.
The blonde idiot launched himself forward.
It wasn't a technique. It wasn't a strategy. It was a raw, suicidal lunge. The gear-shaped device on Naruto's stomach shrieked—REEEE-zzzt—as he forced chakra through a blocked system.
Dotō didn't even turn his body. He simply extended his free arm, the black gauntlet hissing as the hydraulic pistons engaged.
"It's pointless," Dotō rumbled.
WHAM.
The impact was sickening. It sounded wet, like a sledgehammer hitting a side of beef.
Naruto didn't fly; he was launched. His body skipped once off the polished floor, a stone across a pond, before slamming into the far wall with a force that cracked the masonry. He hit harder than Sasuke had. Much harder. He slid down the wall and lay still, a heap of orange amid the dust.
"Your chakra is completely sealed!" Dotō announced, his voice amplified by the suit's speakers. "You are running on fumes, boy. Biological waste."
Kakashi and Anko blurred into motion, desperate to intervene, but a wall of ice erupted from the floor. Nadare stepped out from behind it, his heavy gut heaving with laughter.
"Don't be impatient," the Snow ninja sneered. "The Director hasn't called 'cut' yet."
To Sasuke's right, Tenten recoiled, her hand trembling over her weapon scroll. Neji sneered, his Byakugan fixated on the unassailable math of the enemy's defense. They were paralyzed by the sheer gap in hardware.
Sasuke gritted his teeth, the enamel grinding audibly. Move, he commanded his legs. Stand up.
But his body felt like it was filled with lead. He was grounded.
Through the haze of pain, he saw Sylvie dart across his peripheral vision. She didn't run to Naruto. She ran behind the frozen Tenten. Sasuke's heightened hearing caught the frantic whisper, sharp and urgent.
"When I give the signal—don't look—burst the pipes above us," Sylvie hissed, her eyes darting to the ceiling where the industrial conduits groaned under the pressure of the geothermal steam.
Dotō turned his back on the carnage, adjusting his grip on the Princess. The blue tubing on his chest pulsed with a satisfied, rhythmic thrum-thrum.
"Come, Koyuki," Dotō said, walking toward the exit behind the throne. "Beyond the rainbow. The treasure awaits."
Skritch.
The sound came from the rubble pile across the room.
Sasuke's eyes widened.
Naruto was standing up.
He shouldn't be moving. His ribs should be powder. The device on his stomach was glowing a violent, angry crimson, vibrating so hard the casing was starting to smoke.
"Heh..." Naruto rasped.
The air in the room grew heavy. It wasn't the cold pressure of the ice; it was hot, oily, and corrosive. Bubbles of red chakra began to leak from Naruto's skin, mixing with the blue static of the suppression device. The metal gear whined, trying to contain the surge, but the teeth were stripping.
Naruto lifted his head. His eyes were no longer blue. The pupils had elongated into vertical, feral slits, burning red in the dim light.
Something inside Sasuke snapped. It was quieter than his wrist, but far more permanent.
He looked at his own broken hand. He looked at the monster rising from the dust.
I broke, Sasuke realized, the thought cold and absolute. He didn't.
The comparison ravaged his mind. The Chidori—his perfect assassination technique—had failed, absorbed like water into a sponge. Yet he knew, with sickening certainty, that Naruto's Rasengan would have torn that armor apart. The Cursed Mark on his neck lay dormant, a false promise of power.
But whatever that was... whatever lived inside the dobe... it was stronger.
Naruto took a step, the floor tiles cracking under his sandal.
I am weak.
Sasuke slammed his good fist into the stone floor, the physical pain a welcome distraction from the humiliation burning through his veins.