"Why is my waist burning?"
The thought dissolved into white-hot agony. The Earth Style: Rock Armor crumbled away, exposing flesh beneath, and the tall Iwa shinobi's face drained of color.
"You... Is this the Gentle Fist?" he gasped.
"Probably not in the traditional sense," Seiran replied calmly.
This was Magnetic Storm Palm 2.0—a fusion of his electromagnetic principles with the internal damage mechanics of the Gentle Fist. Where the original version dealt shock and impact damage, this iteration channeled the magnetic storm's destructive force from within. The Rock Armor hadn't stood a chance; it shattered because the damage originated inside.
Seiran had never believed in rigid technique boundaries. True power came from combining methods in ways others wouldn't imagine.
The Iwa shinobi groaned and collapsed, his body failing him.
Seiran's attention snapped toward Rin. Her battle had escalated into a desperate dance—the Iwa swordsman pressing a relentless assault, forcing her back step by step.
Then her attacker seized an opening.
His blade sang toward her head with lethal intent. "Die!"
The world seemed to pause.
A kunai flashed into his throat. Blood erupted. The sword carved through empty air, severing only a lock of black hair as the man's body went rigid, his eyes widening with shock. Red foam bubbled from his lips as slender fingers twisted the kunai free.
Rin stood motionless, her Sharingan blazing—a single black tomoe rotating slowly in its crimson depths.
Seiran reached her just in time to catch his breath.
"You alright?"
"You were right," Rin said flatly, shaking blood from the kunai. "Only when death brushes close do the eyes truly open."
"Congratulations," Seiran managed, relief flooding through him before a troubling thought crept in. Awakened before her ninth birthday. A true prodigy. If I stay this close to her...
He pushed the thought away. It wouldn't happen.
"What about Anko?" Rin asked.
Across the field, an answer came in the form of a horrifying scream. Black insects erupted beneath Shimoto's feet, devouring him from the ground up. His agonized wail cut short when Anko collapsed nearby, exhausted but alive.
Shibi Aburame emerged onto the battlefield, studying his three students with obvious approval.
"You performed admirably. Defeating shinobi of that caliber speaks volumes about your potential."
"No," Anko said quietly, her head bowed. "Seiran and Rin did the work. I barely contributed."
"You underestimate yourself. Your opponent was losing before I intervened. Victory would have been yours."
Anko remained silent, unconvinced.
"Shibi-sensei," Seiran interrupted, "we should check the materials."
They approached the carriage. Seiran lifted the cover—and his stomach dropped.
Empty wooden boxes. Nothing more.
"We were deceived. The supplies were switched long ago," Shibi said grimly. His eyes hardened. He'd been focused on keeping his students safe while the real threat slipped away.
Seiran activated his Byakugan. Nearly a kilometer distant, a chunin fled across open grassland, a massive scroll strapped to his back, growing smaller by the second.
"Eight hundred meters, heading northeast," Seiran reported.
Shibi Aburame's shoulders sagged. "Even if we fail this mission, I'll take responsibility with the Third Hokage. You've all done well enough."
"Wait," Seiran said. "Can you lift me five meters using your insects?"
"You're asking that now?" Shibi raised an eyebrow but nodded. "If you insist, I can manage it. Though I'm curious what you intend."
"Please trust me."
Shibi Aburame extended his palm. Countless black insects erupted from his body, spiraling upward to form a trembling platform beneath Seiran's feet, hoisting him skyward. At five meters, they steadied.
"Higher," Seiran requested.
The platform rose another meter.
"What exactly are you planning?" Shibi asked, genuine concern in his voice.
Seiran pulled a scroll from his pocket, hope glinting in his eyes. He unfurled it with deliberate care.
"First real deployment of the Armstrong: Electromagnetic Railgun. Don't fail me now."
The white mist cleared.
A strange metal crossbow materialized in his hands, its surface gleaming with lethal precision.
Below, Rin's eyes widened. "The summoning scroll! Finally!"
Shibi stared at the device, genuinely baffled. Not a bow. Not a crossbow. Something entirely different. An electromagnetic cannon.
Seiran took a steadying breath. He loaded a metal arrow onto the bowstring and began channeling electromagnetic charge. His eyes, sharp with concentration, fixed on the distant black speck—barely visible now against the grassland.
His Byakugan calculated angles, air resistance, gravity. Wind speed. Humidity. All variables fed into the targeting solution.
The bowstring hummed with building energy.
Target locked.
His fingers released.
The arrow became lightning—a brilliant blue arc that vanished almost before it left the string, accompanied by a sharp, definitive crack that echoed across the grassland.
"Strike true," Seiran whispered.
---
Ash had almost convinced himself he'd escaped. The scroll felt heavy on his back, reassuring. Two dead teammates was a catastrophe, but returning with the actual materials would salvage the mission. He'd warn Ōnoki about that terrifying white-eyed child. That kid was absolutely unacceptable—a threat that needed elimination before he matured further.
The thought barely formed when the world erupted behind him.
He turned just in time to see it.
A metal arrow wrapped in crackling electricity, streaking toward him like a falling star. No hand signs. No buildup. Just instant, absolute death.
His scream died in his throat.
The arrow pierced completely through him, shredded the scroll on his back, and buried itself deep into the earth. His body fell like a puppet with cut strings.
Seiran stood motionless on the insect platform, the electromagnetic railgun lowering to his side. The faintest smile crossed his lips as he murmured to himself.
"Target eliminated."