A didn't answer Azula's question right away, mostly because his brain had just finished buffering and was finally processing the absolute chaos around him.
When he got teleported here, his danger sense went off like a fire alarm. He felt Azula mid-kill, and there was zero time to scan the area, assess the vibe, or even wonder what he'd have for dinner.
He just acted straight hands, and now...
He was looking at what had to be at least a hundred bodies scattered across the field like some kind of horror movie set.
He let out a heavy sigh. I'm too late.
Still, a small, cold part of him knew the truth: this wasn't even the worst-case scenario. With Azula and Tsunade running around, ten minutes should've produced way more than a hundred bodies.
That meant Kumo-nin actually did something extraordinary—they stood their ground. No one ran nor folded.
They died like real shinobi.
He finally broke the silence with a dry, sarcastic tone. "Should I be flattered? Getting praise by a fourteen-year-old only a few years older than my son?"
Little did he know, in about a decade, this exact moment—this exact roast—would be remembered as the greatest highlights of his entire career.
But nobody knew that right now. Except maybe Azula, who just nodded like he'd made an excellent point.
"Honestly? Yeah. I don't praise people every day. And this isn't even the first time I've complimented you. You should add that to your resume."
That tone, that look. That unholy amount of confidence.
A suddenly remembered exactly why he couldn't stand her.
She was too sharp. Too smooth, too... much.
He wasn't here for the verbal sparring. "Save the poetry. You realize what you've done, right? Is Konoha trying to shatter the entire balance of the ninja world?"
Before she could answer, he waved a hand. "Actually, forget it. Politics is out the window. You showed up here with that Senju brat probably because of that. I never thought I'd see the day an Uchiha hid behind Flying Raijin like a coward. What's the matter, soon as things heat up, you'll just zip away?"
Azula tilted her head, amused before smiling.
Not a nice smile.
"Sounds like a skill issue, Raikage-sama."
The words landed like a slap.
"If you didn't have the skills to back it up, maybe you shouldn't have started a war. Or was that the plan all along? Throw bodies at Konoha until your resources even out? Maybe you're hoping for a pity funds from the Daimyō after this because honestly, starting a war with us? Everyone knows that's just suicide with extra steps."
The bodies around them weren't helping his case. Neither were the whispers about Konoha's current lineup of absolute monsters.
Tsunade nodded, arms crossed, eyes cold. "Exactly. Honestly, they should be grateful the village is busy. Otherwise, I'd have made sure every single loss they've given us was paid back in full."
She wasn't joking. You could feel it.
Her hatred for Kumo wasn't some surface-level rivalry. It was personal. They killed her father and her second uncle.
And growing up with Azula meant she'd absorbed a very specific mindset: you don't just take losses, you return them.
So no. She didn't feel bad about the bodies.
The utter emptiness in Azula's eyes as she regarded the lives she'd just extinguished, combined with the pure hatred radiating from Tsunade hit A right in the feels.
Here he was, hoping for some Madara-and-Hashirama level dynamic, some mutual respect between warriors, and instead he got... this. Two young women who looked at him like he was an inconvenient bug. Didn't feel too hot, honestly.
"Beating that washed-up Kiri failure has clearly gone to your heads," He declared, his voice carrying absolute conviction. "But you little brats are seriously underestimating me. And underestimating Kumo."
And just like that, he slammed back into his Lightning Release Chakra Mode.
Those few seconds of conversation were perfect because they gave him just enough time to catch his breath after his high-speed express trip to the station, ten minutes of full-throttle Raikage movement weren't a joke no matter if he was one of the few Ninjas with the most stamina.
Azula responded in kind, her own chakra mode flaring to life. Tsunade, meanwhile, wisely bounced backward.
With the Raikage's dramatic arrival, the encirclement had essentially dissolved, Kumo-nin scrambling to position themselves behind what they clearly viewed as their ultimate security blanket, their maximum-security walking fortress of a leader.
Not that Tsunade was going anywhere. She had no intention of jumping into this fight, Azula looked way too excited about it, like a kid who'd just spotted the world's largest candy store, but she positioned herself perfectly in the backline, ready to introduce herself to anyone foolish enough to try interfering.
A raised eyebrow at this formation. He had thoughts, many thoughts. But he kept them to himself because he wasn't stupid.
Solo against Azula? Maybe fifty-fifty? Solo against Tsunade? Solid sixty-forty in his favor. But both of them together?
Those odds dropped to a humiliating ten-ninety, and the Third Raikage hadn't survived this long by ignoring basic math.
Then they moved.
One moment, standing. The next, nothing but bluish-white light and screaming lightning for the assembled shinobi to process.
Azula was fully locked in now, her Sharingan pushed to absolute maximum overdrive, because this was the MAN.
"FOUR-FINGER NUKITE!" A roared, because apparently shouting your attack names before using them was still mandatory shinobi etiquette.
Azula had long since stopped questioning this. Ninjas, she'd learned, were weirdly committed to their dramatic traditions.
But the name-drop triggered something. Three key facts, crystal clear in her memory:
Fact One: This man's lightning armor was so ridiculously durable it had tanked a direct Tailed Beast Bomb from the Eight-Tails. Also Naruto's Rasenshuriken, the attack that detonates into countless microscopic wind blades, so many that even the Sharingan gave up trying to count them. His defense was basically the bane of the 'no ball'.
Fact Two: His One-Finger Nukite—the 'ultimate spear' had pierced through that same Eight-Tails' chakra cloak and then through his own absurdly defensive lightning armor. The man could apparently punch through his own invincibility.
Make it make sense.
Fact Three: Black Lightning. The stuff Darui had built his entire career around, the technique that eventually made him the Fifth Raikage. And this guy just... had it.
Probably as a casual side technique.
Unbreakable defense, perfect piercing, and black lightning. Any single one of these abilities made someone a Kage candidate.
All three together? The Third Raikage was basically a walking cheater, a paradox wrapped in lightning with a bad attitude.
These thoughts zipped through Azula's mind in under half a second, her body moving on pure instinct while her brain caught up.
She wasn't convinced the Four-Finger would actually break her armor, but she wasn't eager to find out either. Damage was damage, and she had standards.
She dodged.
At the same time, she gathered chakra to her arms, shaping her own lightning spear in response. The strike landed clean—
And did absolutely nothing.
Azula didn't even flinch when her lightning dissipated against his skin. She'd already tested this theory a while ago and disappointment was for people who failed to do their homework.
The Raikage tanked her attack like he'd just stubbed his toe instead of eating lightning that would turn most Kage into ash sculptures.
They locked eyes and in that moment, they both understood the same terrible truth: this was going to be fun.
In terms of raw speed, it'll be a draw. They'd run laps around each other until the cows came home and died of old age.
But Azula was slippery—twisting through the air like lightning given form, her Sharingan analyzing in every twitch of his muscles before they could fire.
Meanwhile, the Raikage hit like a meteor with personal issues, and his skin might as well have been forged in the core of a star.
His durability was giving her a headache. Her Sharingan was giving him an aneurysm. He'd wind up for something devastating, something that could actually hurt her, and she'd read it in his kneecaps three seconds before he threw it.
Dancing around the apocalypse, one centimeter at a time.
My theory was right, she thought, redirecting another bolt of lightning straight into his chest. Any other ninja would be decorating the landscape right now. The Raikage just staggered backward through the forest, using trees as break pads. This isn't just chakra armor anymore. He's built himself a force field.
He came back instantly, rocketing toward her with all that lovely momentum. His fist screamed toward her face, close enough that she could count the calluses, and she waited until the last possible nanosecond before sliding aside like water around a stone.
Her foot, already humming with enough lightning to power a small city, caught him right in the spine as he sailed past. His own speed plus her power should have sent him into orbit. Instead, he just stumbled through the snow like a grumpy bear who'd tripped over a root.
Completely, impossibly unscathed.
Fine then.
She smiled, the kind that meant her brain was firing on all cylinders and the world was about to get very interesting for someone.
This is what chakra nature transformation looks like when you take it to its absolute breaking point.
But here's the thing about Azula: she didn't just want to win. She wanted to understand. Any idiot could blast their way through a problem. She wanted to take it apart, figure out what made it tick, and then use that knowledge to make her enemies weep.
So she watched, analyzed and theorized.
Theory One: The Tesla Coil Approach. Imagine ionizing the air around your body until it becomes a constant electrical field, a repulsion layer that says 'no' to anything stupid enough to get close. She'd tried to do it once. Nearly melted her own nervous system into soup.
Apparently, you need a body that's been bred for generations to handle this kind of abuse. The Raikage's ancestors clearly had better hobbies than hers.
Theory Two: The Walking Railgun. This one made her laugh when she first thought of it.
Moving electricity creates magnetic fields, basic Maxwell's equations. If you generate enough current, you're not just wearing lightning, you're wearing a localized magnetosphere.
Every punch becomes a railgun shot and every defense becomes an electromagnetic 'get lost' field wrapped around your skin like a second atmosphere.
Theory Three: The Hybrid.
A high-voltage scream wrapped in magnetic pressure, each feeding the other until you're basically wearing a small star.
Which one is it, old man?
She hated admitting that her body couldn't do this. Hated it with the burning fire of a thousand suns. She'd trained since birth, pushed herself past every limit, and some people just... had the hardware she couldn't manufacture.
But that's why she had the software.
Her mind was already spinning through countermeasures, each more delicious than the last. A dozen ways to shatter his pretty shield, ranging from 'elegant' to 'cruel' to 'he won't see this coming because he probably can't pronounce 'electromagnetic induction'.
Which method should I try first?
The Raikage's fist caught her mid-thought landing a solid connection, going through three boulders and a small hill before she stopped laughing.
Perfect.
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
Yo, didn't manage to write a chapter yesterday but here's this one