The young man shifted, a touch of languor in his movements as he drew the tanto from the scabbard at his waist. “Orochimaru,” he drawled, his voice carrying a certain ease, an indifference that made his partner’s eyebrow twitch in irritation. The order came with a sidelong glance, cool and measured. “Go find Danzo. I can manage this lot on my own.” There was hesitation, a beat, before Orochimaru allowed his serpentine tongue to slip across his lips.
“…Very well.”
And then he was gone, sinking into the stone floor as though it was water, leaving the young Uchiha alone, surrounded by a full quarter of Konoha’s ANBU. Watching, Hashirama shook his head, unable to contain his sigh. Confidence and arrogance, he mused, were separated by such a fine line; and arrogance, too, shared a thin boundary with stupidity.
“If you’d paid attention in your history lessons,” Hashirama began, his voice carrying across the courtyard, “you’d know that possessing the Nine-Tails chakra amounts to nothing here. Convincing the Kyuubi to lend you some of his power—well, that’s impressive in itself, but child…” Hashirama’s eyes softened. “Nothing good can come from this.”
The boy remained silent, letting the words drift past him. The tanto twirled in his fingers, blade glinting as he spun it lazily, his stance almost nonchalant. His high-collared kimono fluttered in the stiff breeze, his silken hair catching the light—it was only now that Hashirama truly noticed the attire: traditional, deep blue, geta on his feet. Old-school. Uchiha.
“I don’t want to hurt you, child,” Hashirama tried again, his voice carrying a weight that spoke of desperation—a plea.
Tobirama, standing at his brother’s side, had no patience for it. His weapon already unsheathed, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “He’s beyond saving, brother.”
Hashirama sighed once more, a sense of despair washing over him. Where had it all gone wrong? A promising young seed, lost to darkness—it was more than he could bear. He called on his chakra, Senjutsu energy flowing through him, and dark markings formed on his face, an expression of his resolve.
“Sage Art!” he cried, and opposite him, the fiery cloak of the Nine-Tails’ chakra that enveloped Sasuke seemed to falter for just a moment—a flicker of hesitation—before the boy moved. There was no warning beyond that; he simply vanished.
Hashirama sensed it first—the potent surge of chakra to his right—before seeing the blur of movement. The air displaced, pressure building, a thunderous clap as the boy reached transonic speed. Hashirama twisted, feeling the brush of air as the tanto skimmed past his neck, Sasuke’s crimson eyes catching his for a fraction of a second, trying—and failing—to entrap him in a genjutsu.
“Wood Release: Great Forest Technique!” Still off balance, Hashirama thrust his fist forward, chakra erupting as it gave birth to branches that shot forth, transforming into sharpened stakes. The young Uchiha slammed his foot into the earth, a wall of rock rising to meet the wooden barrage, detonating on contact, the explosion obscuring Hashirama’s view.
A shadow flickered, and the First Hokage swiped at it, dispelling it. A clone. The realization barely had time to register before the boy himself emerged—silent, swift—the tanto aimed at his throat. Hashirama twisted, catching the blade with his forearm, the force of the blow driving him back, his feet gouging furrows into the earth. He gritted his teeth, charging back into the fray, his hands already weaving signs.
“Wood Clone Technique!” he called, and four duplicates of himself peeled off, joining the rush towards the boy who had propelled himself from Tobirama’s back and was now assaulting Hiruzen. The ANBU scrambled, their ranks thinning rapidly; five of them had fallen already.
Only three seconds had passed.
Hashirama gritted his teeth, his clones working in tandem to push the boy back, to force him away from the weaker combatants. He could sense Tobirama and Hiruzen, their presence a constant, unyielding pressure on either side—a united front. They needed an opening, just one.
Hashirama called on his chakra, punching the ground. “Wood Release!” A bulge of earth erupted, transforming into deadly roots that tore towards the Uchiha. Tobirama followed up with a torrent of water, and Hiruzen added his lightning—a perfect blend of elements, seamless.
But the boy vanished before they connected, reappearing meters away.
Was that—
Hashirama’s thought was cut short as his eyes met Sasuke’s once more. But this time, no genjutsu came—instead, a single-handed ram seal, and Hashirama felt the world slow. Clones began to peel from Sasuke’s form as a flame ignited in his maw—a Fireball Jutsu, perhaps? No. Not that. There was something wrong.
“Wood Release: World of Trees Wall!”
Hashirama slammed his palm to the ground, branches weaving into a net-like barrier. Yet, as if in mockery of his efforts, one of the boy’s clones, still in the process of separating from its creator, reached up with chakra-coated digits to stab the Uchiha’s abdomen.
Then as if switching a dial, it turned.
The sea of flames pouring out of the boy’s mouth suddenly condensed, narrowing into a white-hot beam the thickness of a finger. As the beam took shape, a high-pitched followed, a whining noise that grew in intensity, followed by an ominous crackling sound—akin to radio static—and an echoing reverb.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Hashirama’s eyes widened as the focused stream of volatile chakra chewed through his barrier in milliseconds.
Oh—
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Tobirama watched, his eyes narrowing as Hashirama’s form was vaporized by the beam that continued on to destroy a cluster of buildings in the distance. The First Hokage—the strongest among them—reduced to ash in a matter of seconds. Two minutes, that was all it would take him to reform. Yet, in a battle like this, two minutes was an eternity.
The boy had to die.
Now.
Tobirama moved, ducking under a slash, taking a kick to the shoulder as he pushed forward. His hands flashed through seals, and a jet of water erupted towards Sasuke. To his right, Hiruzen hurled tiles infused with chakra—explosive projectiles.
The boy countered, fire meeting water, earth blocking Hiruzen’s assault. Dust and steam clouded the air, but Tobirama didn’t falter. He charged in, sensing his opponent’s chakra, his blade descending to cleave him in two.
The Uchiha’s hand shot up, catching the blade—a prosthetic, bone-white. “Tobirama,” the boy drawled, mockery evident in his tone. “You never learn, do you?”
Tobirama tried to pull away, only to realize he was ensnared—shadow possession. He cursed inwardly, wondering why the boy would risk immobilizing himself in such a chaotic battle—then he heard it. The sound of combat beyond the dust screen, clones. His heart sank.
Another clone stepped from the shadows, a smile playing across its lips. “I owe you for last time,” it said, the voice eerily calm. In the shadows of its kimono, Tobirama spied layers of explosive tags plastered on bare skin.
Fuc—
“Mutually Multiplying Explosive Tags!”
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Tsunade drew chakra from her core, letting it pool in her heel as she leaped, soaring thirty meters into the air. The world narrowed to a point, the ruby-red crystalline surface of the barrier jutsu imprisoning her fellow sannin below. She spun, her body a blur of power, her heel coming down with an axe kick that splintered the crystal upon impact. A heartbeat later, hairline cracks spread through the structure before it collapsed entirely, and Tsunade leapt away, watching as the dust swirled, waiting for what would emerge.
She exhaled, a sigh of relief slipping past her lips as the dust cleared, revealing three figures. Her relief was short-lived, however, as her eyes caught sight of the small orange-clad figure cradled in Jiraiya’s arms.
"What happened to him?" she demanded, rushing forward, her hands already reaching for Naruto, fingers searching for his pulse.
"He’s fine," Jiraiya grunted, letting her take the boy from him. "That Uchiha kid jumped us. Took some of the Kyuubi’s chakra. Naruto’s alive—somehow the brat managed to extract nearly all of the Nine-Tails’ chakra without killing him."
Tsunade’s shoulders slumped, her eyes closing for just a moment as relief washed over her. She handed Naruto off to Shizune, her focus shifting to Jiraiya, her gaze hardening as the reality of the situation began to settle in.
"The kid jumped you two?" she asked, her eyes darting from Jiraiya to Yamato as they all raced toward the Hokage Rock. Then, suddenly, her frown deepened as she felt it—the sinister, unfamiliar chakra ahead, radiating like a beacon. "Sasuke Uchiha," Yamato murmured, his already hard expression deepening further. The thought that a mere boy could wield such power unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
"Actually," Jiraiya said, snapping her from her thoughts, "it was his clone. He had help—two kunoichis. One of them used crystals, some kind of Kekkei Genkai. The other, Fire Release. Names were Guren and Kage. Both elite jonin, at the very least."
Jiraiya continued, his expression darkening. "The way that Uchiha kid extracted the Nine-Tails’ chakra—it unnerves me. But it won’t matter in the end. Thinking the Kyuubi’s chakra could put him on equal footing with the First… it’s just wishful thinking—"
The words died in his throat. Tsunade’s head snapped up, her eyes widening at the sudden, violent flash of power. The Hokage Rock loomed in the distance, and the sky lit up as a lance of molten energy erased a figure from the fight.
She felt it—the sudden, terrifying absence of her grandfather’s chakra.
No—
“Snap out of it!” Jiraiya’s growl cut through her shock, his pace quickening as she lagged behind. “Lord First is functionally immortal. His body will reform in minutes.”
Yes… Immortal. How could I forget?
Tsunade shook her head, pushing forward, her focus narrowing once again—but then the hillside shook, the ground beneath her trembling, the sky echoing with an unending chain of explosions, and she felt it—another signature snuffed out, gone. Her granduncle had been neutralised as well.
For a moment, Jiraiya’s stoic mask cracked, unease bleeding into his expression.
“…Shit,” he breathed.
“Shit,” Tsunade echoed.
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Hiruzen slid to a stop, his sandals grinding against the earth, firing a bolt of water from his mouth that tore through the last of Sasuke's shadow clones. He raised his head, gaze turned toward the hillside where the explosions rolled in a slow cascade, a hillside come down in ruin, the Hokage compound a broken heap beneath it. He stood there, panting lightly, his breath the only measure of his exhaustion. The air settled, the echoes of the blasts dimming, and a cloud of dust and smog hung over the earth, thinning until a dark iridescent glow bled through the pall. Hiruzen could feel the cold then, a chill that worked up his spine, his bones knowing something before his mind did. The dust settled and the shape became clear.
The boy sat atop a dislodged boulder, cross-legged, his eyes holding a languid gaze. He had sworn vengeance on this village, and he was making good on that promise. He did not move as Hiruzen approached, as Jiraiya and Tsunade took their place beside him. The boy rose, slow, deliberate, and the Susanoo—that skeletal ribcage of black and orange chakra—rose with him, enfolding him in its spectral protection.
And then it changed. Without warning, the bones grew, darkened, mass and form gathering, twisting into something monstrous. The serpentine spine rose, three heads fusing from it. The first, a human skull, adorned with wings of bone that curled like a crown. The second, a featureless plane, cold and unreadable, six dark magatamas carved into its surface. The third, a hollow void, impossible to comprehend, to even look upon. Three pairs of skeletal forelimbs emerged, long hip bones extending backward, each with three pairs of skeletal hind limbs, nine tails flicking behind. The thing fell forward, resting on its forelimbs, wings sprouting from its back, a grotesque bloom of bone and chakra. Threads of that malevolent energy twisted over its form, pulling muscle into being, wrapping it in the semblance of flesh, in armour of scale. Masks appeared, ghastly adornments: a shinigami's grimace on the right, a tengu's sneer on the left, and in the centre, a bone-white fox skull, its mouth agape in a perpetual howl.
It moved then, gliding forward, unnatural, the kind of motion that makes men doubt their eyes. Hiruzen felt the instinct to step back, a heartbeat away from acting on it. He knew this was no ordinary foe. Despite the bulk, despite the grotesque mass, there was something in the way it moved that spoke of speed, of terrible swiftness. The boy had birthed a creature of nightmare, something chimeric, dragonic...
Something evil.