The dunes trembled under a restless desert wind as Sunagakure's army assembled. When the Third Kazekage finally raised his hand, hundreds of shinobi moved like one. Their formation spread in concentric waves around the canyon that housed the creature the reports called a "monster."
Lock watched from a distant ridge, crouched low beneath the burning sky. His mask reflected the faint shimmer of the desert heat.
So, it begins.
Sunagakure had been preparing for this for weeks. Now their forces moved with surgical precision — three divisions, each taking position to strike the canyon in rotation. Lock could sense the coordinated chakra flares as command signals pulsed across the battlefield.
He crept closer, hugging the shadows between rocks until he could overlook the canyon entrance. The valley beyond was shrouded in swirling dust, but even from this distance, he could feel the raw pressure radiating from within.
The chakra beast was awake.
If the Sand shinobi defeated it first, the reward — or the danger — would be theirs. And that was unacceptable.
Lock's eyes narrowed. I can't let them finish it. That creature's power belongs in no one's hands.
Still, rushing in now would be suicide. He could see hundreds of shinobi arrayed outside the canyon — medics, support teams, sensory units. The main assault force had already entered, vanishing into the dust-filled gorge.
He crouched against a boulder, mind racing. "I need a way inside," he murmured. "But not yet. Let them burn their chakra first."
Patience. Timing. That's what separated an assassin from a fool.
If this battle went anything like the ones he'd seen before, Sunagakure's forces would rotate their units every fifteen minutes. The first wave would test the creature, the second would adapt, the third would press the advantage. That pattern would open a gap — his chance to slip in unseen.
He smirked faintly. If I pull this off in front of hundreds of Sand shinobi… even the Bingo Book won't know what to call me.
But before he could sink deeper into that thought, the desert erupted.
"BOOM!"
The shockwave hit like thunder. The ground quaked beneath his hands as dust burst into the sky. A massive roar echoed through the canyon — deep, guttural, and powerful enough to make the very air vibrate.
Lock's eyes widened. "That's it… the chakra beast."
Even from afar, he could tell this wasn't the work of any ordinary creature. The chakra density pouring from the valley was monstrous — primal, thick, oppressive. It reminded him of stories about the tailed beasts, and for a moment, he understood why the Third Hokage had been concerned.
Fifteen minutes passed before the first Sand division retreated from the canyon. They emerged limping, bloodied, and dragging their wounded. Medics rushed to meet them, pouring healing chakra into torn flesh. Some carried bodies — shinobi who would never return home.
Lock watched silently, lips pressed into a thin line. That thing's tearing through them.
Moments later, the next division charged in — another wave of Sand shinobi disappearing into the canyon's throat. Explosions echoed within seconds, followed by another earth-shaking bellow.
The second rotation ended as the first did — with the survivors stumbling back out, many half-conscious, several missing limbs.
Lock exhaled, feeling a chill crawl up his spine despite the desert heat. "Five hundred shinobi… and they're still being crushed."
He had underestimated the creature. Even if it wasn't intelligent, its sheer strength and endurance made it nearly unstoppable. Its chakra pulsed like molten fire through the canyon, steady and endless.
Even the Nine-Tails didn't fight like this, he thought grimly. If that thing ever left the valley, this entire region would vanish beneath its steps.
And yet… the Sand ninjas kept coming. Driven by orders, by fear, by the Kazekage's ambition.
Lock shook his head in disbelief. They're obsessed. They're losing men by the dozen, and they still won't stop.
But that obsession worked in his favor. Every casualty, every blast of ninjutsu, every ounce of chakra they burned brought him closer to his chance.
"Keep fighting," he whispered. "Wear it down for me."
Another half hour passed. Then, through the chaos, he heard something different — a surge of shouting, the sound of celebration. The Sand forces were cheering.
His muscles tensed. "No…"
If they had found the creature's weakness, or worse, wounded it critically, it might fall before he arrived.
He clenched his fists. "I can't wait anymore."
Lock's eyes flashed behind his mask. In one fluid motion, he vanished from the ridge, flickering from shadow to shadow as he approached the battlefield perimeter.
The Sand camp was chaotic. He could see groups of shinobi rotating between combat and recovery, medics working frantically. Near one section of tents, a small cluster of soldiers had slipped away — heading for the dunes to relieve themselves before their next rotation.
Lock followed, his chakra suppressed so completely he left no trace.
When one of the men stopped a short distance from camp, the assassin moved.
A whisper of air — then nothing.
Lock appeared behind the man, one arm around his throat, the other drawing a kunai in a silent arc. Warm blood sprayed once, then stilled. The body slumped soundlessly into his grasp.
He lowered it gently, eyes cold. "Sorry," he murmured. "Wrong place, wrong time."
With a single hand seal, he activated the Transformation Jutsu, his form rippling until his body matched the fallen Sand shinobi perfectly.
"Boom."
A puff of smoke vanished on the wind, leaving behind nothing but another faceless soldier walking back toward the encampment — and the real Lock, hidden behind the mask of his enemy, moving closer to the valley where the monster waited.
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