The leading jonin had survived a world war, fought against missing-nin with bounties that could buy small villages, and stared down summoned beasts the size of buildings. He thought he had seen everything combat could offer.
Then the Uzumaki child.
One moment, the boy stood there with that infuriating lazy expression, black staff held loosely in one hand. The next moment—nothing.
The jonin's brain, honed by decades of combat, screamed warnings a fraction of a second too late.
BOOM!
Agony exploded beneath his jaw with such devastating force that his teeth cracked, his tongue bit nearly through, and his entire nervous system went white with shock. The world spun in dizzying circles as he was launched backward like a stone from a slingshot, his body tumbling through the air in an uncontrolled spiral.
He crashed into three of his fellow shinobi with bone-crushing impact, the tangle of bodies skidding across the water's surface before splashing beneath the waves in a chaos of flailing limbs and desperate gasps.
When he managed to surface, coughing blood and seawater, his first coherent thought was simple and terrifying:That was just a punch.
For Elric, the battle had shifted into a strange state of hyperawareness. Time seemed to slow, each enemy's movements telegraphed with crystalline clarity.
The Karma mark embedded in his being carried with it something far more valuable than raw strength: the combat experience of a being who had fought for millennia.
Every muscle movement, every shift in weight, every preparatory breath before a technique—his body read them all with the casual ease of someone reading a children's book. It was the difference between someone who had trained for years and someone who had perfected their craft across thousands of years and countless battlefields.
A shinobi charged from his right flank, tanto raised for a downward strike. Elric's body moved before his conscious mind even registered the threat, the black staff whipping around in a tight arc.
He had meant to simply knock the man unconscious. A tap to the temple, maybe, or a strike to a pressure point that would shut down his motor functions without permanent damage.
The ninja's head exploded like an overripe melon.
Blood and brain matter sprayed in a grotesque arc, painting the faces of nearby shinobi with warm gore. The headless corpse stood for one moment before toppling forward into the crimson-stained water.
"It seems I'm using too much force,"
"My bad."
The battle experience was one thing, but controlling his newfound strength was proving more difficult than anticipated. It was like trying to write calligraphy while wearing heavy gauntlets—the precision was there, but the execution needed refinement.
A Kumogakure jonin, watching his comrade's gruesome death with wide eyes, made a decision. "Fall back! Use ninjutsu from range! Don't engage in close combat!"
His warning came just in time. Several shinobi who had been preparing to rush forward skidded to stops, their survival instincts overriding their battle fervor.
The jonin's hands blurred through seals with practiced precision—Tiger, Rat, Dog, Ox, Rabbit, Tiger. His chest swelled as he gathered chakra, compressing and igniting it within his lungs. "Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
A massive sphere of roiling flame erupted from his mouth, easily fifteen feet in diameter, the heat so intense it boiled the mist around it. The technique screamed toward Elric.
Elric's response was simple.
He struck the ocean surface with his black staff.
The impact sent a shockwave through the water, and a wall of liquid rose in response—a towering barrier of seawater that climbed twenty feet high, easily matching the scale of a high-level water release technique.
The fireball collided with the water wall explosion of elemental forces. Superheated steam burst outward in all directions, thick white mist that consumed the battlefield in seconds. Visibility dropped to less than five feet. Sounds became muffled and distorted.
"Sound off!" someone shouted in the mist. "Don't lose formation!"
A chunin from Kirigakure stood frozen in the steam, his heart hammering as he tried to orient himself. His hands moved through seals on muscle memory alone—he would use a wind technique to clear the mist, regain visibility.
The black rod punched through his shoulder before he completed the third seal.
The pain was immediate and excruciating, but worse than the pain was what followed—a complete and total absence. His chakra, which had been flowing through his coils just a moment before, simply... stopped. The pathways were sealed, blocked by whatever technique the rod carried.
Without chakra, his water-walking ability vanished instantly.
He dropped like a stone, plunging beneath the surface with a desperate gasp. Seawater filled his mouth as he struggled, his arms flailing uselessly. The rod in his shoulder made swimming nearly impossible. He managed to break the surface, coughing and choking, his vision blurred by salt water and panic.
A small foot descended from the mist above, growing rapidly larger in his field of vision.
"Stop! I surren—"
The foot connected with his face, and consciousness fled.
Meanwhile, in Konohagakure
The Hokage's office.
Hiruzen Sarutobi paced like a caged tiger, his pipe abandoned on the desk. The Third Hokage's weathered features were drawn with worry, deep lines etched by stress and lack of sleep. His ceremonial robes swished with each agitated turn.
Meanwhile, Danzo Shimura sat on the sofa with calm, sipping tea as if this were a pleasant social call.
"Sarutobi, you worry too much," Danzo said, his voice carrying that familiar cold confidence that had always set Hiruzen's teeth on edge. He took a measured sip of tea before continuing, his visible eye never leaving his old rival's face. "There's no problem with losing five or six Uzumaki clan members during the chaos of war. These things happen. Regrettable, but... necessary for the greater good."
He set his cup down. "Those three villages are competent. Ruthless, but competent. They might have already finished the job by now. Uzushiogakure will fall, the sealing techniques will be secured."
Hiruzen's frown deepened, his instincts screaming that something was fundamentally wrong with this entire situation. Danzo's plan had seemed sound on paper—stand aside, let the other villages bloody themselves against Uzushio, then step in as the concerned ally to pick up the pieces and refugees.
But the unease in his gut refused to settle.
"I don't like this, Danzo," he said quietly, stopping his pacing to stare out the window at the village below. "The Uzumaki have been our allies for generations. Abandoning them to—"
The office door exploded inward.
An ANBU operative materialized in the doorway, his usual perfect composure shattered. Even through the porcelain mask, urgency radiated from every line of his body. He was breathing hard, as if he'd run the entire way from wherever he'd received the message.
Hiruzen spun around, his full attention locked on the messenger. Every muscle in his body tensed. "Report. What happened?"
The ANBU operative took a deep breath, and for just a moment, Hiruzen could see his hands trembling.
"Urgent news from the surveillance team monitoring the Uzushiogakure situation, Lord Hokage."
"Speak."
Another breath. The ANBU's voice, when it came, carried the weight of something impossible.
"The coalition force has been defeated. All ten thousand shinobi. Most have been captured alive, including..." He paused, as if his brain still couldn't quite process the information he was delivering. "Including all three Kage."
Silence crashed into the room.
Then—
"WHAT THE FUCK!"
"WHAT THE FUCK!"
Danzo's teacup slipped from nerveless fingers, shattering against the floor in a spray of porcelain and lukewarm tea.
You guys can check out my patreon with 20 advance chapter, and want to support this story.
patreon.com/LMStar666