On the path from Takigakure to Konoha.
The forest was thick with ancient pines, their branches whispering in a low, constant hush.
Then—explosions. Sharp. Brutal. Shattering the peace.
"Found you."
Sasori's voice, flat and cold.
He retracted the puppet's arm. The arm—segmented, metallic—folded back into its torso with a series of sharp clicks. The ground and surrounding trees were left studded with a forest of poisoned needles and spines, still dripping.
He and Orochimaru had no teleportation tricks. But traveling from Amegakure hadn't taken them long.
Smoke cleared.
Two figures emerged from the dissipating haze.
Itachi Uchiha and Hyūga Tenri.
"Itachi-kun. It's been a while."
Orochimaru stood beside Sasori, a predatory gleam in his yellow eyes. He'd seen Itachi fight back in Konoha. Even then, the boy's monstrous talent had captivated him. Obsessed him.
And now, after all this time? Itachi felt… stronger.
Tenri frowned. "Orochimaru."
The Sannin's gaze never left Itachi. He spoke to Sasori without looking. "Itachi-kun is mine."
No chance for refusal. Orochimaru's hands erupted. A river of snakes—pale, sinuous, countless—surged toward Itachi.
Tenri watched, disgust twisting her features as she looked away.
A shadow dropped in front of her.
Sasori.
In his eyes, the Hyūga girl was no threat. Facing two of the most notorious shinobi in the world, the pressure on the newly-promoted jōnin Tenri and Itachi was immense.
But their nerves were ice.
The snake-river coiled around Itachi's body. The crushing force was enough to pulverize bone.
Caw.
A crow's cry.
Itachi's form shattered. Not into blood or flesh—into a storm of crows. Black feathers swirled. The birds scattered.
He reappeared behind Orochimaru.
"Fire Style: Phoenix Flower Jutsu!"
Shuriken wreathed in flame shot forward, the fire swelling with the wind, blazing toward Orochimaru's back.
Orochimaru's body dissolved into mud, spreading across the ground.
Itachi's eyes flickered. His hands were already moving. "Wind Style: Wind Wall!"
A pale cyan barrier of air solidified behind him. Orochimaru's follow-up Shuriken Shadow Clone assault clattered harmlessly against it.
Orochimaru chuckled, a wet, rasping sound. "Your reflexes are as sharp as ever, Itachi-kun."
His jaw unhinged. It split.
A torrent of thousands of vipers vomited forth from his throat. They writhed, piling over each other, covering the earth in a living, hissing carpet a meter thick.
Itachi's form leapt high, hanging in the air.
"Wind Style: Ten Thousand Wind Bindings!"
A gale erupted. Countless cyclones converged around Itachi, swirling into fierce, pale-green tornadoes. Trees were shredded instantly. The sea of snakes was ripped apart—flesh, scale, blood—painting the ground in a grotesque mosaic.
The tornadoes surged toward Orochimaru.
Orochimaru watched his attack disintegrate. He didn't rage. He grinned. Widely.
"Magnificent, Itachi-kun!"
His tongue flicked out. He pressed a palm to the gore-soaked earth. Black markings spread from his hand.
"Summoning Jutsu: Rashōmon Gate!"
A single massive gate slammed up from the ground, weathering the onslaught of wind.
In that moment of cover, Orochimaru struck. A giant serpent's maw shot from the ground, swallowing Itachi whole, dragging him into the dark, acidic stomach.
Drip. Drip.
Corrosive gastric fluid fell, melting the forest floor, leaving smoking pits.
Stay in there too long, and you'd dissolve. Completely.
"Itachi-kun, your talent… it truly astounds. To have grown so much in such a short time."
Orochimaru's voice echoed in the cavernous gut, full of naked admiration.
Itachi said nothing. His eyes scanned the pulsing, slick walls, waiting for the perfect moment.
Orochimaru didn't mind the silence. "With me, your gifts would truly flourish…"
Itachi tuned out the rest.
"Wind Release: Extreme Annihilation."
A thin, concentrated beam of pale cyan light lanced from Itachi's hand, spearing toward the stomach wall.
"Now, now, Itachi-kun, that's a waste of—"
Orochimaru's taunt died.
His golden slit-pupils constricted to pinpricks.
The green light didn't just pierce—it ate. It corroded. The stomach wall began to sizzle and blacken. The stench of burning flesh and acid filled the air.
Itachi gave Orochimaru one last, flat look, then stepped through the newly-made hole.
Orochimaru stared. Then, a slow, fanatical grin spread across his face.
According to all my research… above the Sharingan… there should be a higher evolution. I wonder, Itachi-kun… have your eyes already ascended?
While Orochimaru dueled Itachi, Tenri faced Sasori of the Red Sand.
Sasori wasted no time. The repaired Third Kazekage puppet rose beside him. Objective: end this quickly, capture the Seven-Tails Jinchūriki.
Black magnetite sand coalesced above the puppet, a dark, oppressive cloud forming into a massive hammer. It crashed down.
Tenri's body flowed. She bent at an impossible angle, using the force to launch herself high into the air. Her fist, now a hammer of flesh and bone, aimed straight for Sasori.
Poisoned spines, needles, and the puppet's scorpion-like tail stabbed at her from all sides.
She had to stop. The veins around her eyes bulged.
"Kaiten!"
A vortex of violent chakra erupted, deflecting every projectile.
Now she was on the defensive. Giant weapons of magnetite sand—blades, drills, waves—came in a relentless, suffocating barrage. Tenri danced. She weaved. Her movements were fluid, impossibly agile.
He was a puppeteer. She had to reach his real body.
Hyūga Gentle Fist targeted chakra points and meridians. Against a wooden puppet? Useless.
So she pushed forward, a white blur against the black sand.
The magnetite sand dispersed into a choking, fog-like cloud of microscopic particles, trying to blind her, slow her, shred her.
But Tenri was a Hyūga. Her footwork was flawless. And among the techniques he had taught her were ones dedicated purely to movement.
Like a startled swan. Like a coiling dragon.
Her steps were mist, unpredictable, breathtakingly fast.
Despite the sand's interference, the distance closed.
Now.
Tenri's fist drew back. An ordinary fist, yet the air around it warped with the promise of cataclysmic force.
Sasori's instincts screamed. The Third Kazekage puppet shot back, interposing itself between him and the blow.
CRACK.
The sound came from the puppet's chest. An invisible shockwave blasted outwards.
In Sasori's vision, the priceless, irreplaceable Third Kazekage puppet… exploded. Not just broke. Disintegrated into a cloud of unmendable splinters and dust.
A microsecond of stunned hesitation.
Tenri seized it. The follow-up punch drove straight into Sasori's chest.
BOOM.
The earth beneath Sasori's feet cratered, spider-webbing with cracks. His body was launched like a cannonball, smashing deep into the rocky face of a distant hillside. A web of fractures spread across the exposed stone.
Tenri let out a harsh, shaky breath. She wiped sweat from her brow.
Two punches. That was her current limit for those devastating strikes.
But looking at the crater in the hillside… anyone who took a direct hit like that shouldn't be getting up. If they weren't dead, they were crippled.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
A stiff, mechanical footstep.
Tenri's blood ran cold. She whirled toward the impact site.
The figure that emerged… she'd never seen it before.
No.
It wasn't a person.
Her Byakugan saw no chakra network, no tenketsu points. Only interwoven steel wires, reinforced plates, and hollow spaces.
Her pupils dilated. Her palms went slick with cold sweat.
Two punches spent. Her main arsenal—the Gentle Fist—was useless against… that. No pressure points. No chakra pathways. Just… wood and wire and metal.
"You damaged my art," the figure stated, Sasori's voice emanating from it. The face was younger, cold, and utterly lifeless. "You will replace it."
Chakra strings glowed at his fingertips. Two giant, rapidly spinning blade-saws unfolded from his back with a terrifying whirrrr that set teeth on edge. From his opened chest cavity, a black iron chain shot out like a striking serpent, aimed for Tenri's heart.
Tenri's expression hardened into grim resolve. She glanced toward Itachi's fight.
Orochimaru was one of the Legendary Three for a reason. Beating him was a monumental task.
She looked back. Itachi was in a bitter struggle of his own. She wouldn't drag him down. She'd known the risks when she took this mission.
So be it. Death was an option.
Tenri's body became a streak of light. She closed the distance in an instant.
The spinning saws descended, one high, one low, aiming to slice her into three clean pieces. Tenri arched backwards, her body spinning in mid-air, slipping through the deadly gap. The lunging black chain whistled past her cheek.
Sasori raised an arm. A pipe in his palm ignited, spewing a torrent of flame hot enough to melt stone.
"Kaiten!"
Tenri reacted, the defensive sphere deflecting the blaze.
But Sasori's assault didn't pause. It was relentless, mechanical, endless. Flames from one palm, a corrosive chemical spray from the other. Tenri spun, Kaiten after Kaiten, but the frequency and speed were unsustainable against a foe with limitless ammunition.
"Ah—!"
A spasm of pain twisted Tenri's face.
A stray spray of liquid caught her ankle. The white bandages blackened, smoldered, turned to ash. The skin and flesh beneath sizzled, corroding away in seconds to reveal glistening, white bone.
Her leg buckled, trembling with agony. She clenched her jaw, tasting copper.
Sasori watched her stubborn struggle, his eyes empty.
"Time's up."
The words held no emotion.
A primal chill shot down Tenri's spine.
A vast shadow fell over her.
She looked up, slowly. Her pupils shrank to dots.
The sky was filled with puppets. Row upon row. Rank upon rank. A silent, hovering army.
They covered the sky. There was no end to them.
Cold sweat traced a path down her temple.
Despair, cold and heavy, settled in her heart like a final, crushing stone.
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