The scene that made everyone's skin crawl unfolded right before their eyes.
The ground beneath their feet had caved inward like a funnel, and the buildings already reduced to rubble by the earlier explosion finally found their breaking point. They all poured into the gaping sinkhole.
It was as if someone had punched a hole through the bottom of a sandbox. One light poke, and every grain of sand collapsed into the void below.
Countless boulders tumbled into the pit with a deafening roar that filled their ears, sounding like some colossal beast grinding its food between massive jaws.
"What's happening?"
"Why did the ground just collapse like that?"
Everyone kept using Body Flicker to pull back from the center of the sinkhole, their eyes fixed on the distance with wary suspicion.
But then, like a massive wave slamming the sea, the roar and spray exploded into a chaotic frenzy. An uncontrollable gust whipped up a wall of smoke and dust dozens of meters high, completely blinding them.
Only when the rumbling inside the cloud finally died down did they stop moving. They stood frozen, staring hard at the heart of the haze. Rainwater streamed from their temples and splashed across the hands still locked in seals. Instinct screamed that something was in there…
The last remaining lights had gone out. The rainy night's darkness closed in. No one panicked. No one spoke. Everything sank into a deathly hush, broken only by the sound of breathing and the steady drum of wind and rain.
"Was that the Hidden Cloud Village's doing?"
Akimichi Dōtō stared gravely into the smoke, stealing a glance at Troy in the distance. Even through the mangled mess of the man's face, the same heavy expression stared back.
So it really was those bastards from the Hidden Stone Village?
But what would they gain from it?
"D-Dōtō-senpai…"
Just as doubt crept into Akimichi Dōtō's mind, a voice reached him from the side.
It trembled, carrying a clear thread of fear.
He turned instinctively. There stood Hyūga Kumokawa, Byakugan blazing, eyes locked on the distance. A single droplet—rain or sweat, impossible to tell—slid from his temple, traced his jaw, and fell.
"Something's coming out!" Hyūga Kumokawa whispered, voice shaking.
Lightning cracked across the night sky at that exact moment, branching forks spreading like pale veins.
In the blinding white glare, a silhouette flickered deep inside the distant smoke.
BOOM!
Thunder rolled in from far away, louder than any before, as if the heavens themselves were roaring in fury and disgust.
Fury at what?
No one had to guess. The answer was already walking toward them.
Tap… tap…
The footsteps rang clear and strangely resonant. Nothing odd about the sound, yet it drove straight into the soul. Each step made the air itself vibrate, setting eardrums, scalps, and even bones trembling in unison.
In the reflection of their wide eyes, a figure stepped slowly into view.
They finally saw him clearly: a man in pitch-black robes that blended perfectly with the stormy night, like staring into an empty shadow that radiated pure dread, rot, and the abyss.
Only his eyes—those pale blue-white eyes—glowed faintly in the darkness, as though holding something back.
"…"
Troy suddenly felt a gut-deep instinct flare to life, one he couldn't trace or explain.
Even if he attacked right now, his blade would only slice through that flowing black shadow. It would never touch blood or flesh.
He had always trusted his instincts. His whole body went rigid.
That guy… was wrong.
"You…" Aburame Ryūma narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak.
The Root shinobi in front of him instinctively raised their hands, gripping kunai and tantō.
In that instant, the figure's previously vacant, unfocused gaze sharpened, locking onto Aburame Ryūma. He lifted one hand and gave a casual wave.
"Move!"
Aburame Ryūma felt his scalp go numb. A bone-chilling, invisible cold surged through him, sending every insect in his body into a frenzy. He bellowed and leaped back without a second thought.
Shing.
An invisible wind blade, shaped like a perfect crescent moon, tore the air apart in front of him. The slash stretched several meters in an arc of light and swept straight toward the cluster of Root shinobi.
The Root operatives who had been about to act froze mid-motion, as if time itself had locked them in place. Their masked faces went slack with shock. For that single heartbeat, the world seemed to stop.
Slowly, the parted air rushed back in. The screech of the invisible blade stretched out long and thin.
Splat. Splat. Splat.
The next instant felt like a storm-driven blade slicing clean across the chest. The standing figures were cut in half at the torso.
The upper bodies of the Root shinobi separated from their legs. Their eyes wide with confusion and helplessness, the severed torsos slid to the ground—exactly like blood-red stalks of wheat sliced down by a sickle.
Blood erupted skyward from the gaping waist wounds, showering the rainy night in a cold, crimson downpour.
It pooled quickly into a slick lake of blood that mirrored every stunned face around it.
"AAAAAHH!!!"
The bisected Root shinobi didn't die instantly. Agony finally reached their nerves, and their blood-curdling, terrified screams tore through the air.
"What… what kind of jutsu was that?"
"Wind Release?"
The screams snapped everyone back to reality. Akimichi Dōtō jolted, a violent shiver running through him as he muttered, "You've got to be kidding me… How could anything have that kind of power?"
Hundreds of meters in a single second—how the hell had he done it?!
More blood kept gushing out in thick, arterial spurts, flooding their vision with sticky scarlet. Everywhere they looked was a grotesque, bewitching red.
Wind, rain, thunder, and agonized wails merged into one horrific symphony, like a demon's twisted soundtrack for torture.
In the distance, the figure slowly raised his arms and spread them wide. His black robe flared out like massive wings.
"Slaughter… death… blood… hatred… fear… despair… pain… screams… wails…"
The hoarse voice climbed from a low murmur into clear, unmistakable delight as he whispered, "Another noisy night."
He really was treating the Root shinobi's screams like background music. He had deliberately kept them alive just long enough to suffer. The pure terror, madness, and joy in his words sent ice down everyone's spines.
Forked lightning flashed through the clouds again, washing the world in pale gray. The thunder lit up their ashen faces.
They had no idea who this man was or where he had come from, but one fact needed no explanation.
He was a monster.
The creature that had just appeared was nothing less than a monster—one that fed on slaughter, death, blood, hatred, fear, despair, pain, and screams, and possessed the power to make it all real.
***
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