The sight that met their eyes sent chills down their spines.
The ground beneath their feet had collapsed into a funnel shape. The debris from the already ruined buildings found a point of release, pouring in a torrent into the gaping sinkhole.
It was as if someone had poked a hole in the bottom of a sandbox. With a single prod, all the sand had begun draining into the void below.
Countless stones cascaded into the deep pit. The thunderous roar of their descent filled their ears, sounding like some gargantuan beast grinding its meal.
"What's going on?"
"Why did the ground suddenly collapse?"
The ninjas continued to flicker away from the center of the collapse, their eyes fixed on the distance with alarm and confusion.
But it was like a tidal wave crashing upon the shore, shattering into a chaotic frenzy of spray and foam. An uncontrollable gust of wind whipped up a dust cloud over ten meters high, simultaneously obscuring their view.
Only when the rumbling from within the dust cloud gradually subsided did they stop, staring intently at its center. Raindrops fell from their brows, shattering on hands that were still forming seals. Instinct screamed that something was inside…
The last remaining lights had gone out. The darkness of the rainy night descended. No one panicked, but no one spoke either. An eerie silence fell, broken only by the sound of breathing and the storm.
"Could Kumo be behind this?"
Chōza stared grimly at the dust cloud, stealing a glance at Toroi in the distance. The Kumo ninja's burned and bloody face also wore a look of intense gravity.
'So, was it still the work of Iwagakure?
But what was the point?'
"Se… Senior Chōza."
Just as Chōza was lost in thought, a voice sounded beside him.
The trembling voice seemed to carry a hint of… fear.
He turned instinctively. Beside him, Hyūga Kumokawa had his Byakugan activated, staring fixedly into the distance. A drop, whether rainwater or sweat, gathered at his temple, traced a path down his jaw, and fell.
"Something… is coming out!" Kumokawa's voice shook.
At that very moment, lightning struck the night sky, forked branches of electricity spreading across it like veins.
Under the illumination of that blinding white flash, within the distant dust cloud, a figure flickered into view for an instant, then vanished.
BOOM!
Thunder rumbled from the far reaches of the night sky. This clap felt particularly deafening, as if the heavens themselves were expressing fury and disgust.
Why the fury?
They didn't need to guess. The answer was walking out to meet them.
Tap… tap…
The footsteps were crisp and ethereal, carrying no special quality yet resonating directly in their minds. Each step set the air vibrating, a tremor that ran through eardrums, scalps, even bones.
Reflected in their pupils, a figure emerged, walking slowly.
They finally saw the approaching form clearly. A set of robes, black as the storm-ridden night itself, like staring into a patch of empty, formless shadow—a shadow that exuded an aura of fear, decay, and abyssal depth.
Only the eyes… those blue-white eyes, glowing faintly within the shadows, seemed to be suppressing something.
"..."
At this moment, a sudden intuition, source unknown, seized Toroi.
Even if he attacked now, his blade would only slice through that flowing black shadow. It wouldn't be stained with a single drop of blood or shred of flesh.
And he had always trusted his intuition. His entire body tensed.
'That thing… isn't right.'
"You…"
Ryōma narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to speak.
The Root ninjas before him instinctively raised their hands, gripping their kunai and short swords…
At that instant, those previously empty, unfocused eyes seemed to finally find a target. They shifted towards Ryōma's direction. A hand lifted and gently swept out.
"Scatter!"
A chill shot up Ryōma's spine, so bone-deep and intangible it caused the insects within him to writhe in agitation. He roared the command without hesitation, leaping back.
Sssst.
An invisible blade of wind, shaped like a crescent moon. The air before it was torn open in a line, a several-meter-long arc of light extending instantly, sweeping towards the Root ninjas standing there.
The Root ninjas, who had just begun to move, froze as if solidified. They were abruptly, inexplicably rooted to the spot, their expressions beneath their masks turning blank. Time itself seemed to hang suspended for that fleeting moment.
Gradually, the parted air currents began to slowly flow back together. The whistle of the slashing wind was drawn out long and thin.
Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!
In the next moment, they felt a torrent of wind surge past like a horizontally sweeping blade. The figures "standing" before them were cleaved in two at the chest by an invisible scythe.
The upper halves of the Root ninjas, severed from their torsos, slid to the ground. Their expressions, visible for a moment, were filled with utter bewilderment and confusion before they fell, like blood-red wheat cut down by a scythe.
The blood from their severed bodies erupted skyward in a geyser, a downpour of chilling crimson that drenched the rainy night. It quickly pooled into a vast, spreading lake of blood, reflecting the stunned faces of everyone present.
"AHHHHH!!!"
The bisected Root ninjas didn't die instantly. Agonizing pain finally traveled along their nerves to their central systems, unleashing a chorus of utterly shrill, terrified screams that tore through the air.
"What… what kind of technique was that?"
"Wind Release?"
The screams seemed to jolt everyone awake. Chōza snapped back to reality, his entire body shuddering with a cold tremor. "You've got to be kidding me…" he muttered. "How is that even possible?"
A distance of several hundred meters… covered in barely a second… How had that thing done it?!
Copious amounts of horrifying blood continued to gush forth like arterial fountains, a sticky, crimson flood that swallowed their vision, painting the world in a grotesque, eerie scarlet.
The sounds of wind, rain, thunder, and agonized shrieks melded together, forming a macabre accompaniment for the devil's cruel spectacle.
In the distance, the figure slowly raised its hands, spreading them wide. The black robes billowed out like great wings.
"Slaughter, death, blood, hatred, fear, despair, pain, screams, wails…"
The hoarse voice started low, then rose step by step until it reached a pitch of audible pleasure. It whispered, "What another clamorous night."
It seemed he truly was treating the Root ninjas' screams as music. He had deliberately kept them from dying instantly. The sheer terror, madness, and perverse joy in his words sent shivers through everyone present.
Forked lightning flashed within the dark clouds once more, bleaching the world in shades of gray and white, illuminating their pale, horrified faces.
They had no idea who or what stood before them, but that didn't stop them from understanding the stark reality.
'Monster.'
This sudden arrival was undoubtedly a monster!
A monster that fed on slaughter, death, despair, pain, and screams… and possessed the power to harvest them.
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