Five kilometers from the main battlefield, where the fighting had reached its crescendo, an Iwa demolition squad moved like shadows beneath the grassland. Twenty elite shinobi, each one a master of their craft. The Iwa forces called them the Demolition Death Squad—a name earned through countless brushes with death and a specialization that set them apart: the ability to convert chakra into explosive clay.
"Move faster!" The command cut through the underground passage, urgent and sharp. Kai, captain of the demolition squad, led from the front. His spiky hair and the standard-issue uniform marked him as a jonin of the highest caliber. "Lord Rōshi is tying down Konoha's main force on the front line. Their camp defenses will be skeleton crew at best. If we strike now, they won't know what hit them."
The squad responded with a chorus of affirmations, excitement crackling through their chakra. The prospect of tearing through a Konoha base camp, of hearing the screams and seeing the chaos—it fueled them. Since the war's beginning, Iwa had suffered one humiliation after another. Even Han, the Five-Tails jinchuriki, had taken serious injuries. This mission represented their chance to strike back, to add a victory to their tally.
"Stay sharp!" Kai barked, pleased with their energy. High morale meant higher success rates in missions like this—missions where a single mistake meant death.
But as they moved forward, a figure flickered through his mind unbidden: Deidara.
Kai's jaw tightened. That kid was a prodigy, no question about it—the grandson of Third Tsuchikage Ōnoki himself, already demonstrating mastery of explosive clay techniques that surpassed the village's traditional methods. He was inventing new ones by the week. Under normal circumstances, he'd be positioned to lead a squad like this to legendary status.
It was a waste.
The kid was an idiot, plain and simple. He'd hurl clay explosives into the village, watch the panic spread through the chaos, and call it art. Art? The whole thing was ridiculous. If he had the skill to bomb his own village, why not strike at Sunagakure instead?
Kai sighed. Only Ōnoki's indulgence kept him from throttling the brat. As someone who understood explosives on a fundamental level, Kai couldn't stomach that kid's philosophy.
Before deploying, he'd heard Deidara was busy inventing some new technique involving clay and village toilets. Ōnoki had more patience than Kai could muster.
The squad emerged beneath the Konoha camp perimeter. Kai swept his senses across the surface—sparse patrols, thin coverage.
"Perfect," he murmured. "Ōnoki read the situation correctly. With Rōshi leading the assault on the front lines, Konoha's remaining defenders are stretched too thin."
They slipped past the outer sensors and detection seals, moving under the camp itself. A direct assault on the gates would be wasteful. Kai's plan was far more elegant: infiltrate the camp proper, plant the explosives from within, and detonate everything simultaneously. The entire installation would come down in seconds.
With most of Konoha's ninjas committed to the front, it was feasible.
After pinpointing their location, Kai gestured for the team to surface.
Tents and supply caches bearing the Konoha insignia materialized above them.
"Infiltration successful," Kai breathed, a grim smile crossing his face. "Move now, before the remaining defenders notice. Prepare the charges."
"Yes, sir!" His squad moved into position, anticipation sharpening their movements.
---
Kilometers away, Seiran went rigid.
His Byakugan swept across the grassland in a blur of white, locking onto the distant Konoha camp. Through the dojutsu's all-seeing gaze, he watched dark-clothed figures materialize within the perimeter—perhaps a dozen of them, moving with practiced efficiency, clearly arranging something.
The distance was too great to make out specifics, but the intention was unmistakable.
So that's the play.
Seiran's breath caught. This was why Iwa had thrown everything at him, why Rōshi had led a desperate charge—not to win, but to buy time. A coordinated strike at the camp's heart while the main defenses were occupied. Brilliant strategy. But they'd miscalculated one critical factor.
His Byakugan's range had expanded to seven kilometers. A distance few in the Hyuga Clan itself could match. The moment those Iwa operatives broke ground, he'd seen them.
Seiran shot skyward, his Electromagnetic Manipulation grasping the air itself. Silver liquid flowed from his body, coalescing into the unmistakable silhouette of a sniper rifle. He gripped it firmly, positioning himself as a fixed point in the void.
Five kilometers. The distance from his position to the Konoha camp. A bow wouldn't have the velocity to cross that gap reliably. But a rifle—a rifle could sing.
He raised the weapon, its muzzle pointed toward the distant tents. Faint electricity crackled around it, a hum of building power.
Below, Rōshi caught sight of him and flinched. "That range," the Five-Tails jinchuriki muttered in shock. "That's supposed to be your limit—"
Seiran's eye narrowed to a slit.
Wind vectors. Gravitational acceleration. Byakugan angle corrections. Target acquired.
He pulled the trigger.
A lance of blue light erupted from the silver muzzle, a thunderbolt made flesh, crossing five kilometers in the span of three breaths.
At the Konoha camp, an Iwa demolition specialist planting a clay charge detonated mid-motion. His body simply ceased to exist, replaced by a spray of crimson that painted his companions in gore.
Kai spun, his pupils dilating. "Who is—"
Seiran fired again.
And again.
The Grim Reaper had found his range.
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