It was the thermobaric bomb.
Sasori had followed Amamiya Kenichi's timing exactly. As ordered, he hurled the silver cylinder straight at the Eight-Tails below.
Kenichi, seeing the throw leave Sasori's hands, didn't waste even half a heartbeat. He yanked open his parachute mid-air, then poured Wind Release into it, blasting himself away from the soon-to-be ground zero as fast as he could.
He didn't get very far.
Before he could clear the blast radius, a furnace-like heatwave roared up from below, smashing into him from underneath like a titan's hammer. Under the combined force of the updraft and the parachute, Kenichi was punched upward—so hard he actually shot higher than the hot air balloon they'd launched from.
The temperature on his back spiked instantly, as if someone had pressed a red-hot brand against his spine. His lungs seized for a moment.
Yeah, okay. This thing hits harder than I calculated.
Fortunately, he was high enough that he'd stayed out of the bomb's real kill zone. Uncomfortable, yes. Fatal, no.
When he forced himself to look down again, he saw it:
A mushroom cloud blooming upward at terrifying speed.
From its base, a visible shockwave rippled out across the battlefield like the rings on a pond—except every place it passed, people and earth were blown apart, ninja tumbling like broken dolls.
"In open terrain it looks more spectacular," Kenichi muttered, rubbing his chin as the wind howled around him, "but the lethality drops a lot compared to confined spaces… Next time it's this kind of open battlefield, maybe a fuel–air bomb would be more cost-effective."
Not because thermobaric bombs were weak.
Just because, in his eyes, fuel–air bombs were cheaper per square meter of carnage.
Assuming, of course, he could get his hands on the right designs.
Thermobaric bombs were terrifying in semi-enclosed or confined spaces. Out here in the open, their vacuum effect was heavily limited. The oxygen-sucking overpressure still hit like a monster, but the "perfect kill box" effect was harder to achieve.
Still… judging by what he was seeing down there, it was more than enough.
On the ground below, in front of tens of thousands of eyes, the bomb completed its second, glorious demonstration in the ninja world.
The Eight-Tails, Gyūki, took it face-first.
Right at the epicenter, the mixed explosive slurry inside the thermobaric warhead went off, releasing instant, hellish heat and pressure.
Gyūki's roar tore through the battlefield.
Being parked directly on the blast point meant it took the entire opening shockwave and thermal pulse with its massive body. Huge patches of its outer hide were burned away in the first instant, exposing raw tissue beneath.
For a brief moment, temperatures in the core exceeded two thousand degrees. Most organic matter would've simply ceased to exist. If not for Gyūki's monstrous constitution, they'd all be eating grilled calamari and smoked beef today.
But it didn't stop at heat.
The pressure that followed was beyond brutal—on the order of hundreds of kilograms pressing down on an area no bigger than a thumbprint. Under that crushing force, Gyūki's entire bulk slammed down into the ground, pinned like a mountain being hammered into the earth.
"B–Bee! What is this jutsu?!"
The Eight-Tails' voice shook, its enormous frame trembling uncontrollably. The last time it had felt this much pain was when that damned Kurama had beaten it half to death.
But even Kurama's Tailed Beast Bombs hadn't done this.
They hurt. They leveled landscapes.
They didn't cook, crush, and suffocate you all at once.
Because that was the next part—Gyūki suddenly realized it couldn't breathe.
The air was gone.
Not thin. Not hot.
Just… gone.
It opened its mouth to inhale and got nothing. Like the world had stolen its lungs and then lit the vacuum on fire.
"I… don't… know either…"
Bee grit his teeth inside the beast. This wasn't some Kumo secret weapon. He'd never seen anything like it either.
There hadn't been any barrier this time, no defensive sealing array like in the first attack on Kumogakure. And by the time he'd realized that the tiny, unremarkable metal cylinder was more dangerous than the giant pillar of black-red lightning…
The fuse had already triggered.
The lightning strike falling from the sky had completely hijacked his attention. By the time he realized that compared to that glaring beam, the "little" object falling beside it was the real threat, it was far too late.
The result:
A deafening blast. A wall of fire. A shockwave that tried to turn the entire world inside out.
His brother had charged forward immediately, but even the Raikage's speed hadn't been enough to intercept the detonation.
In that split second before the explosion, Bee had made a single choice:
He wrapped his tentacles around A and shielded him with everything he had.
Right now, the Fourth Raikage's anger was reaching critical mass.
He had been so close to catching the bastards behind all this. He'd baited them with a battlefield, used himself as a lure, prepared to finally drag those sky-borne cowards down by their ankles.
Instead, what did he get?
A flying madman who could counter a Tailed Beast Bomb head-on and another hidden weapon falling from orbit.
A shinobi capable of aerial strikes, powerful enough to shrug off a clash with a Tailed Beast Bomb—at the very least an elite jōnin.
Maybe even a Kage-class monster.
A Kage-level ninja who could drop explosives from hundreds of meters up.
A's mood was… not good.
The only good news was that, in the absence of a barrier, Gyūki's gigantic body had still served as an improvised shield. The Eight-Tails had tanked most of the blast and heat, so the bulk of Kumo's main force remained intact.
The rest?
Not so lucky.
Any genin unlucky enough to be within direct blast radius barely even had time to scream. They flash-boiled and disintegrated under the heat; their "defensive ninjutsu" might as well have been paper screens.
The chūnin and upper-tier shinobi had done better. A had forced them to erect layers of Earth-style walls and other defenses the moment that thing was spotted. Earth Ramparts, Sand Shields, water domes—
None of them lasted more than a heartbeat.
The blast, pressure, and heat simply crushed and ripped them apart, then hurled the ninja behind them into the air like rag dolls.
Even the ones who survived looked bad. Organs shaken and bruised, eardrums blown, blood trickling from mouths and noses, many of them lay sprawled on the ground, incapable of moving.
The Kumo forces engaged with Konoha's frontline got hit from behind—the perfect betrayal. Hot wind and pressure swept over both sides, torching clothing, armor, and flesh without caring about headbands.
Konoha's vanguard wasn't spared either. A significant number of leaf shinobi were caught off-guard and blasted aside by the shockwave or seared by the thermal pulse before they could properly react.
For a few long seconds, the entire battlefield went strangely still.
No shouting. No clanging of steel. Just the dull crackle of fires and the low moans of the wounded.
The stench of burnt meat started to spread.
It was disgusting.
And unforgettable.
"Kage-level… without a doubt."
Sarutobi Hiruzen stood far from ground zero, shockwave already long since dissipated by the time it reached his position. His ANBU had raised layered defenses on instinct, and he was unhurt.
But looking out over the ravaged plain between the armies, seeing the collapsed walls, the scorched earth, the charred bodies—
Even he felt his heart sink a little.
He was the "Professor" of Konoha. He prided himself on his knowledge of ninjutsu. He'd seen all manner of bizarre, terrifying techniques.
But nothing like this.
"Amamiya Kenichi…"
Nagato, also watching from a hidden vantage point, felt his crimson-ringed eyes narrow slightly.
He'd known that Kenichi was dangerous. He'd heard the reports: a mysterious weapon from the sky, nearly a quarter of Kumogakure obliterated.
Still, seeing it with his own eyes was different.
Impressive, he admitted inwardly. Very… impressive.
For a moment, a thought flashed across his mind:
When the time comes to "save" this rotten world…
Maybe I won't even need to use Chō Shinra Tensei.
Maybe I could just… send him.
With a few of those bombs, Konoha would cease to exist.
The idea was tempting.
But the thrill passed as quickly as it came.
Because in Nagato's mind, the calculation was simple: he wouldn't have let that thing land in the first place.
If it had been him on the receiving end, the moment that strange object crossed into his gravitational field…
One Almighty Push.
Gone.
Orochimaru, who had crept a bit closer to get a better look, had regrets.
The explosion had been a lot stronger than he'd expected. The shockwave hit his position like a wall, and the blast tore the artificial "face" off his mask, shredding the skin he'd been wearing and exposing golden hair and delicate, feminine features beneath.
He clicked his tongue.
This host body still needs a bit of reinforcement…
Beside him, Kakuzu's jaw practically hit the forest floor.
Orochimaru.
Was a woman.
Not just a woman, but a pretty one—soft features, clean lines, the sort of face that should have belonged behind a shop counter or in a noble's manor, not attached to one of the most feared shinobi in the world.
If this information ever got out, Kakuzu thought numbly…
Half the underground would probably choke on their sake.
Up above, Kenichi continued to drift on the parachute, back still tingling from the heat.
He watched the rising mushroom cloud and the devastation it had wrought.
"…So," he muttered, "who can stand in the center of a thermobaric blast and walk away?"
He glanced in the direction of the still-smoking Eight-Tails.
"Right. A werewolf."
Or in this case—one very tough octopus-bull.