The air around everyone sizzled. The ground itself split and cracked, as if trying to resist the force of the transformation.
B—once a ninja with white hair and sunglasses perched over his face—was gone. Something else had been born from within him. His chakra expanded outward, red and dark and alive.
The shinobi who had been trading blows scattered; their skirmish dissolved into nothing. This was no longer their fight. Now everything depended on the commanders.
If Orochimaru held, the Konoha forces might yet survive. If the A–B duo prevailed, Kumo would rejoice and the mines would fall.
Hearts trembled. Hair rose along necks. Ears twitched at every thunderous boom that echoed across the field.
A huge dust cloud billowed upward, cloaking the ground and swallowing the battlefield whole. For a second, neither side could see—only hear the devastation.
Then a scream rose from within the dust. No—more than a scream: a feral roar that ripped through the haze and turned stomachs to ice. Lesser shinobi staggered, clutching at their ears; some collapsed to the ground.
The roar was only the beginning. A new assault hit them—an overwhelming tide of terror and hatred that shoved at their instincts and screamed run.
They looked up with glazed eyes and froze. Standing in the center of the field, towering above everything like a forest of trunks fused together, was a monstrous, octopus-like being. Limbs—thick as trunks—splayed outward, each dotted with bulbous pores and rimed in a slick, oily sheen. It rose and dominated, a living mountain of muscle and chakra.
For a heartbeat the Kumo forces almost lost their minds—until someone's voice cut through panic. That's one of our own—our Jinchūriki, Lord B.
The realization steadied them; the creature was not an enemy but one of theirs. Relief and pride flickered across the ranks, though caution kept them from celebrating. They retreated a careful step, instincts telling them to keep distance from power they barely understood.
Orochimaru looked at the towering form and felt no surprise—only a ripple of professional interest.
Yeah, a perfect Jinchūriki. Rumor or not, it's clear now. He flexed his fingers and tried to sense the flow of chakra.
The eight-tails' energy surged—immense, dense, almost viscous. Even he felt sweat bead along his temple.
His eyes found A at B's side, smiling with that arrogant, arrogant pride that came from being the village's living spear. "Try to fight us now, you cunning snake", A taunted, voice brimming with challenge rather than plea.
Orochimaru's expression didn't change. The moment he saw the eight-tails in full, he understood the yawning gap in combat potential.
With the Raikage scion present, the battlefield balance had tilted. His jaw tightened. Especially with that pesky scion of the Raikage here, he thought.
He sensed his chakra draining and—without hesitation—sent a signal to his summoning. Few noticed. The Raikage didn't sense it. The tailed beast did—but it was already too late.
With a soft puff, Orochimaru vanished, folding his presence into a teleportation to the Ryūchi Cave, his sage refuge.
......
Kyojiro took a ragged breath and felt his chakra ebbing to the brittle edge. He blinked, saw the eight-tailed form in the haze, and his expression shifted—his fingers twitched like a man awakening to an impossible sight.
How the hell can this guy even be stopped? Should I support him—can I even? Even weary and barely standing, Kyojiro pushed himself up and gripped his katana. The headless corpses of his enemies lay like macabre flags across the scorched earth behind him.
Then, like a bad joke he wasn't ready for, he saw Orochimaru vanish in a faint curl of smoke. His katana nearly slipped free from his hand. The fuck.
The normally composed Uchiha couldn't help but curse. Panic flashed through him, but adrenaline dragooned him back into the moment.
His eyes scoured the field for the remaining shinobi—the Konoha soldiers standing shell-shocked and hollowed by grief.
The conclusion settled in even the weakest minds: their commander, the one who faced Kumo's strongest, had just left them to die.
"Arghh!" Kyojiro roared—a mixture of frustration, pain, and a righteous fury he'd never felt so cleanly before. All these people are going to die now… Orochimaru!!!
B—having reverted back to his human shape—regarded the despairing Konoha ranks with cold contempt. "Execute these fools. Let's take this mine, brother."
He flicked a hand and the sounds of steel falling—kunai, swords, knives—clattered as exhausted Konoha shinobi let go of their weapons.
They were experienced; the look in their eyes said they understood the situation was hopeless.
Amid their silent, bitter resignation, one figure refused to break. Fiery hair matted with blood, Kyojiro planted himself between the commanders and the routed men.
He shouted straight at the Kumogakure officers, voice raw and ragged. "Kumogakure—who said the fight was over? I am still standing!"
His voice carried—gruff, stubborn, and painfully human. He looked over the collapsing Konoha shinobi and felt his decision harden into steel. I can't beat them all. But I must try. I must give it my all.
He set his feet, widened his stance, held his katana in an upward guard. The Sharingan blazed, the crimson spins faster and angrier than before, each rotation feeding him a clarity that no exhaustion could choke.
He inhaled, filling his lungs and tired limbs with the breath of battle—energy, the metallic tang of blood in the air, ozone and smoke, the tang of burnt earth.
Across the field, A watched him with cold interest. "An Uchiha?" he muttered, curious.
Kyojiro didn't bother with subterfuge. "Shinobi—run. Right now. I'll keep them occupied. Run!" he bellowed.
Shinohara—the steady one who had been keeping count and watching Kyojiro's contribution—was the first to move.
He had seen the magnitude of Kyojiro's work: he had taken on five Jōnin and survived.
His breath steadied. His voice, which had been a whisper, became command. "Shinobi—what are you waiting for? Run!"
Hope flickered like a match in the dirt. The soldiers hesitated, exchanged looks, then nodded. They began to move—uncertain, but moving.
Respect and doubt warred on their faces.
Before they could fully pivot, a shadow of lightning streaked across the scene. A's bored voice sliced into their ears. "Who gave you that permission?"
Shinohara turned—too slow. A's hand lashed out toward his face, aimed to end him. Despair pressed close, but then something like a bright flare cut through the dread.
A single phrase echoed across the field—clean, terrible, and absolute.
"Ninth Form—Rengoku."
.....
Hehehe, I bet y'all didn't expect this chapter did you ;), I foreshadowed it last chapter btw, Anyways.. As Sunday is here, let me tell y'all something.
The story will continuing in a direction that I honestly think would lead to an epic ending- I can't say much.. But please have patience in the future if you think you can't make sense of the upcoming plot ..
Now peace out buddies ;)