A New Path

Sakura trudged up the stairs to the stands, her body feeling like she had just been set on fire and then left out in the cold. The Cursed Seal of Heaven was subdued, but the pain still clung to her limbs like shackles. Each step felt sluggish, her body screaming at her to stop. She clenched her fists, ignoring the burning ache.

As soon as she reached Team 7, Naruto was already in front of her, rummaging through his pouch. “Here,” he said, shoving a small healing pill into her hand. “Eat this. It’ll help with the pain and get your chakra back up.”

Sakura blinked at him, suspicious. “You didn’t get this from Lee, did you?”

Naruto frowned. “No? Why?”

“Because the last time someone took one of Guy-sensei’s healing things, they ended up in the hospital again from side effects,” she muttered, popping the pill into her mouth anyway. Immediately, warmth spread through her body, dulling the burning pain. The relief was almost overwhelming. “Huh. This actually works.”

Naruto grinned. “Of course it does! I wouldn’t give you some sketchy death pill—" He suddenly paused. "Wait. I think I wouldn’t give you some sketchy death pill..."

Sakura glared at him mid-chew.

“Oi, shut up, you idiot,” Sasuke muttered, standing near the edge of the balcony, his dark eyes locked onto the arena below.

Sakura exhaled, shaking off the exhaustion. She turned to Naruto and Harry, who both seemed to be in much better shape than her. “What’s the next match?”

Genma stepped forward in the arena, flipping his senbon in his mouth. “Next match: Uchiha Sasuke versus Sabaku no Gaara.”

The crowd rumbled with anticipation.

Sasuke tensed, eyes narrowing slightly.

Harry leaned forward, arms crossed. “This could be it.”

Naruto and Sakura exchanged a look before nodding. They turned to Sasuke.

“If the Sand is working with Orochimaru, then this match might be the signal to start the invasion,” Harry said seriously.

Sasuke gave him a blank look. “I’m aware.”

Sakura, still rubbing the soreness from her arms, added, “Don’t let your guard down. Something’s off about Gaara. We all saw it during the prelims.”

Naruto nudged Sasuke. “Don’t get sand-crushed, bastard.”

Sasuke rolled his eyes but didn’t dismiss them outright. Instead, he gave a curt nod, showing that he was actually taking their words into consideration.

It was then that Team 7 finally took in his new outfit.

Naruto stared first. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smirk. “Wait. Hold on. What is this?”

Sakura blinked, tilting her head. “Since when did you dress like that?”

Harry, standing beside them, raised an eyebrow. “Did you—did you go emo?”

There was a beat of silence before all three of them high-fived at the same time, laughing.

Sasuke’s left eye twitched. His glare shot up to them as if he could physically stab them with it.

“I can hear you,” he deadpanned.

Naruto wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Good. Then you can hear how ridiculous you look in all that black.”

Sasuke scowled, crossing his arms. He actually liked his new outfit. The blue one had been fine, but this one was better. More comfortable. He looked cool, damn it.

“I will set you on fire,” Sasuke threatened.

Harry smirked. “Pretty sure that’s Sakura’s thing now.”

Sakura grinned at Sasuke. “Don’t get distracted, emo-kun.”

Sasuke scoffed, but he turned away, shaking his head. Without another word, he leaped down into the arena, landing smoothly on his feet. His dark cloak billowed slightly as he straightened.

Across from him, Gaara stood eerily still, his arms crossed over his chest, gourd resting against his back. The tension between them was immediate.

Above, Team 7 watched intently, all humor fading.

Naruto’s grin disappeared. “Alright. Time to see how this goes.”

Sakura frowned, rubbing her arms. “Be careful, Sasuke.”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Because if this is the invasion’s starting point... we’re about to have a war on our hands.”

Kakashi stood at the edge of the observation balcony, one hand resting in his pocket while his visible eye remained locked onto the arena below. To any outside observer, he appeared relaxed—unconcerned, even. But the truth was far from that. His muscles were tense beneath his vest, coiled like a spring ready to snap. His instincts, honed by years of war and bloodshed, screamed at him that something was wrong.

This wasn’t just a match. This was the beginning of something dangerous.

His gaze flickered toward the Kage’s booth. Hiruzen-sama.

The Third Hokage sat still in his seat, watching the match unfold with a seemingly calm expression. But Kakashi knew better. He could see the way Hiruzen’s fingers curled slightly against the armrest of his chair, how his shoulders were squared in preparation rather than relaxation. He knows too.

A soft movement beside him made him glance to his right, where Asuma was leaning against the railing, arms crossed. He was chewing on his cigarette—a clear sign of stress.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Asuma muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Kakashi to hear.

Kakashi didn’t respond immediately, but his silence was enough of an answer.

Kurenai was a few feet away, her red eyes sharp as she observed the match. “Something about this isn’t right,” she murmured. “There’s been tension in the air since the start of the exam, but now… it feels suffocating.”

Kakashi exhaled softly. “That’s because this match isn’t just about promotion.” He turned his gaze back toward the arena, where Sasuke and Gaara stood opposite each other, unmoving. “This is the trigger.”

Might Guy, standing a little further down, shifted in place, his usual enthusiasm nowhere to be found. “Then we should prepare.” His voice was unusually serious, lacking its usual dramatic flair. He folded his arms, eyes narrowing as he studied Gaara. “The Kazekage is here. But if the Sand is working with Orochimaru…” His jaw clenched slightly. “Then things are about to turn ugly.”

Kakashi didn’t reply, but his mind was already running through every possible scenario. He had his suspicions about Gaara from the start, but now, he was certain. The way the boy carried himself, the feeling of his chakra—it was unnatural. And Sasuke was about to fight him.

Damn it. He had wanted to be the one to train Sasuke for this very reason. But with the Cursed Seal and Orochimaru’s influence, the Hokage had urged Kakashi to be cautious. He had agreed at the time, but now he was regretting it. Had he done enough?

A subtle shift of movement drew his attention to the side. He wasn’t the only one on edge. The ANBU. He caught a glimpse of them—shadows shifting just out of sight, but present nonetheless. Hiruzen had deployed them in advance. He was expecting an attack.

Kakashi’s fingers twitched slightly as he turned his attention back to the match. Sasuke stood with his hands at his sides, completely still, but Kakashi could see the way his muscles were tensed, prepared to react. Across from him, Gaara hadn’t moved an inch, but the sand swirling around his gourd was beginning to shift, reacting to the anticipation in the air.

The fight hadn’t even started, but Kakashi could already feel it.

This wasn’t going to be a normal match.

He felt Kurenai step closer. “Do you think they’ll attack now?” she asked, voice just above a whisper.

Kakashi didn’t look at her, but his voice was firm. “If Orochimaru has planned everything the way I think he has… then yes.”

Asuma exhaled a slow breath of smoke. “Then we better be ready.”

Might Guy nodded solemnly, his usual energy replaced with sharp focus. “If war breaks out, our priority will be the students. We need to protect them first.”

Kakashi’s eye darkened. War.

It wasn’t something he ever wanted to see again. But looking at the arena below, at the unnatural chakra radiating from Gaara, at the tensed form of Sasuke, at the weight in the air thick enough to suffocate—he knew.

There was no avoiding it.

This was the beginning.

The invasion was about to start.

A shift in the air, a flicker of movement—then, out of nowhere, a tall figure materialized beside the Third Hokage with an exaggerated sigh.

“Man, I just missed two matches? Talk about bad timing.”

Jiraiya.

The sudden arrival of the Toad Sage did not go unnoticed. Orochimaru, concealed beneath the guise of the Kazekage, remained eerily still, keeping his composure neutral. But beneath the surface, his mind reeled. His fingers flexed slightly beneath his robes, hidden from view. Jiraiya? Here?

Hiruzen turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing at his former student. “Jiraiya…” There was no shock in his voice—only mild amusement, perhaps with a tinge of exasperation. “You do have a habit of arriving unannounced.”

Jiraiya only grinned, completely at ease as he settled in beside his old sensei. “What can I say? I like to make an entrance.” He leaned back, arms behind his head, acting as if this were nothing more than a casual gathering. “I figured I’d pop in and see how things were going.” His expression turned serious for a split second as his sharp eyes flickered toward the match below. “Though… seems like I showed up just in time for something big.”

Danzo’s lone eye darkened as he observed the exchange. “You’ve been here the entire time?” His voice carried the weight of restrained irritation. “Why were we not informed of your presence?”

Koharu and Homura, seated near Danzo, were equally taken aback. They shared wary glances before Koharu spoke up, her voice laced with quiet accusation. “Why was the council not made aware of this, Lord Third?”

Hiruzen exhaled through his nose, shifting his focus back to the arena. “Because it was not your concern.”

A flicker of irritation passed through the council members, but before they could press the matter further, Jiraiya chuckled, waving a hand lazily. “Relax, relax. It’s not like I’m here for some secret operation. Just catching up with old friends.” His eyes glinted with something unreadable as he added, “Besides, I did inform certain individuals.”

Danzo’s expression hardened. “Who?”

Jiraiya grinned. “Oh, you know, Hayato Namikaze.”

Silence.

A thick, heavy tension settled over the Kage’s booth at the utterance of that name.

Orochimaru’s fingers clenched slightly beneath his robes, though outwardly, he remained expressionless. But inside, his mind was a storm of calculations and unease. Hayato Namikaze…

He knew that name all too well.

The ghost of an old battle clawed its way to the forefront of his mind. Decades ago, in his youth, he had fought against that monster—a man who bore the name Namikaze with terrifying weight. A man whose raw power had crushed him effortlessly, leaving him battered, humiliated, and broken. Even now, after all these years, the memory burned.

And he was here?

That changed everything.

Orochimaru had calculated every factor in his invasion plans. The Third Hokage was old, his council predictable, his forces divided. But Hayato? That was an unknown variable. He had been in hiding for years—so long that many assumed he had withered away, irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

But if he was here now… that meant he was watching. Waiting.

Orochimaru did not like uncertainties.

Hiruzen, aware of the sudden tension, took a slow drag of his pipe. “Jiraiya met with me personally before the start of the final stage of the Chunin Exams.” His voice was calm, but there was an undeniable weight behind his words. “Hayato was also present.”

Danzo’s grip on his cane tightened ever so slightly. “And yet, you neglected to inform us.”

“I did what I deemed necessary,” Hiruzen countered, his tone brokering no argument. His sharp eyes flickered toward Danzo, Koharu, and Homura. “Do not mistake my silence for carelessness. There are things at play here that extend beyond your grasp.”

Danzo’s expression was unreadable, but the slight twitch in his jaw spoke volumes.

Jiraiya, sensing the growing tension, stretched his arms with a casual sigh. “Man, you guys are so serious. It’s almost like you expect something bad to happen.” His voice was light, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “Not that I blame you. There’s something off about all this.”

His eyes briefly flickered toward the disguised Orochimaru.

Orochimaru held his composure, but internally, his paranoia spiked. Does he know?

For a brief moment, their eyes met. A single heartbeat stretched into eternity.

Jiraiya smirked.

Orochimaru did not react. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the arena below, watching as the match between Gaara and Sasuke finally began.

Let them talk. Let them suspect. It did not matter.

Because soon, their attention would be forced elsewhere.

The invasion was coming.

And by the time they realized it—it would already be too late.

The moment Sasuke stepped forward, the sand reacted.

A dense, impenetrable sphere of golden grains erupted around Gaara, encasing him in a flawless defense. That move already? Sasuke scowled. That meant Gaara was taking this seriously—which meant he had no reason to hold back either.

Without hesitation, he shifted his stance, lightning sparking to life in his palm. The air crackled, the distinct chirping of a thousand birds echoing throughout the stadium. Chidori.

But this wasn’t the same Chidori Kakashi had first taught him. No, through their grueling training, through the blood, sweat, and pain, Sasuke had refined it. It was no longer just a singular piercing strike—it roared, like the fury of an incoming storm, its sheer voltage distorting the very air around him. Sharper. Faster. Stronger.

The power of the Cursed Seal surged within him, seamlessly merging with his chakra, enhancing everything. His body felt lighter, his movements more precise, as if his reflexes were on overdrive. His two-tomoe Sharingan spun wildly, analyzing every grain of sand, every shift in the air, every movement.

Then—he moved.

A blur.

A flickering afterimage.

The stadium lights flickered for an instant as Sasuke vanished from sight. The next moment, the ear-piercing screech of the Chidori resonated through the air as Sasuke drove his lightning-coated hand through the sand shield.

CRACK!

A sickening crunch echoed as the Chidori shattered the hardened defense, lightning bursting through as sand sprayed in all directions. The force of the impact sent a visible shockwave rippling outward, rattling the arena.

And then—he felt it.

Flesh.

The sensation of resistance. The wet, burning heat against his hand.

Blood.

His fingers had punctured the side of Gaara’s torso, just shy of a fatal wound.

For the first time in his life—Gaara felt pain.

At first, there was nothing but silence within the cracked shell of his sand defense. But then—

A scream.

No. Not just a scream. A raw, bloodcurdling shriek.

Gaara’s voice ripped through the air, his body convulsing violently as his pupils dilated. His breathing hitched, erratic, as his entire mind and body struggled to process the impossible reality before him.

Pain. He felt pain.

His fingers clawed at his wound, shaking, trembling. Warm. Wet. His blood.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was untouchable. He was invincible. His sand had always protected him. He was born to survive, to exist above all others.

But this—this wound. This agony tore through his side.

His head spun. He could feel the cold, crawling presence at the back of his mind—the voice. Shukaku.

"Kill them. Kill them. KILL THEM ALL."

Gaara’s breath hitched. His skin tingled, his veins pulsing with the beast’s unrestrained malice.

He staggered backward, hands clutching at his skull, nails digging into his own flesh. His mind was spiraling, cracking, splintering under the weight of his own existence.

"YOU ARE WEAK! DESTROY! DESTROY!"

And then—

The ground beneath them shook.

Not from an earthquake. Not from an attack.

From Gaara.

Sand exploded outward, a tidal wave of golden grains surging like a living entity. The stadium trembled as his chakra spiked erratically, unstable, chaotic. His breath came in ragged gasps, eyes wide and bloodshot.

The moment had arrived.

The signal had been given.

And then—all hell broke loose.

The instant the ground trembled with Gaara’s unstable chakra, the Kage booth erupted into chaos.

A thunderous crash shook the stadium as an enormous summoning array flared to life, its intricate markings glowing ominously beneath the Hokage’s seat. In an instant, a colossal snake exploded forth, its scaly, armored body smashing through the wooden structure with devastating force.

The booth splintered apart, half of it collapsing in on itself as a section of the arena wall crumbled under the impact. Dust and debris filled the air, screams of panic from the civilians below echoing through the stadium.

And in the midst of the wreckage—a single figure shot into the air.

A blur of motion, his cloak billowing, a wicked smirk curling upon his lips.

The Kazekage was no more.

In his place stood Orochimaru.

His disguise peeled away, revealing his true self—the pale skin, the serpent-like golden eyes gleaming with malice, the long, ink-black hair flowing freely. His presence alone sent a chill through the air as if the very shadows recoiled at his unveiling.

Standing atop the massive serpent’s head, Orochimaru surveyed the destruction with sadistic amusement. He tilted his head, unimpressed, as his piercing gaze fell upon the two men still standing amidst the wreckage.

Hiruzen Sarutobi and Jiraiya.

He wasn’t surprised they had survived. Of course, they had.

The Sandaime stood firm, staff already in hand, his battle-worn features hardened with grim resolve. His old student had returned—but this time, it was not as a wayward shinobi. This time, it was as a traitor leading an invasion against his homeland.

Beside him, Jiraiya cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. The Toad Sage’s usual laid-back demeanor was gone, replaced with a sharp, deadly focus.

Orochimaru let out a low chuckle, the sound slithering through the tension-filled air.

"You both look well, Sarutobi-sensei… Jiraiya. I would say it’s a pleasure, but…" Orochimaru’s smirk widened, his voice dripping with venom, "we all know I don’t mean that."

Sarutobi didn’t respond immediately, his sharp eyes flickering toward the corner of the wrecked booth.

As expected—Koharu, Homura, and Danzo were gone.

Political cowards.

They had disappeared the second the attack began, no doubt retreating to a “safer” position, leaving the real battle to those willing to fight for the village. It was infuriating, but not unexpected.

Jiraiya scoffed, running a hand through his hair as he gave a pointed glare toward the now-unmasked traitor.

"You know, I can’t say I’m surprised you pulled this stunt, but I’ll admit…" Jiraiya exhaled, crossing his arms, "I did think the Kazekage was actually working with you."

At this, Hiruzen’s eyes narrowed.

"Where is Rasa?" the Sandaime demanded.

Orochimaru’s golden eyes glinted, his grin stretching wider in twisted delight.

"Oh? You assumed he was my ally?" He let out a mocking laugh, his voice slithering like a snake coiling around its prey. "How amusing. No, sensei, he was far too… troublesome to work with. I killed him the moment I had the chance."

Hiruzen’s grip on his staff tightened.

Jiraiya’s expression darkened. Of course, Orochimaru had killed the Kazekage. It made sense now. The whole "alliance" between Sound and Sand had never been an equal partnership—it had always been a manipulation.

The Fourth Kazekage had likely been deemed expendable the moment Orochimaru no longer found him useful.

Orochimaru chuckled once more, tilting his head in amusement at their reactions.

"Oh, come now, Sarutobi-sensei. You should know by now—I don’t share power." His voice was smooth, condescending, dripping with amusement.

Jiraiya gritted his teeth, but before he could speak—

The signal had been given.

From below—chaos erupted.

Explosions tore through the stadium. Sand ninja turned on the Leaf. Summoning jutsu flared across the battlefield. The invasion had begun.

And at that moment—Orochimaru's smirk sharpened, his fingers forming a quick seal.

"Shall we begin, sensei?"

Sasuke’s feet barely touched the cracked stone of the ruined arena floor before he was already moving. He didn’t need anyone to tell him—staying put was not an option.

The air reeked of burning wood, blood, and scorched stone. The once-proud stadium that had housed the Chūnin Exams was now a battlefield, where shinobi clashed in brutal, unforgiving combat.

Sasuke's gaze flicked around—Leaf shinobi fought against enemy forces. A Sand Jōnin drove his kunai into a Konoha shinobi’s throat, blood spurting in a dark arc. A squad of Sound-nin overwhelmed a group of Chūnin, kunai clashing against kunai. Explosions rained down from above as summoned creatures ran rampant, crushing buildings beneath their monstrous forms.

But Sasuke wasn’t looking for any of that.

He was looking for his team.

Dodging a flurry of kunai, Sasuke leaped over a fallen shinobi’s corpse, his Sharingan spinning, tracking every movement in the battlefield. No hesitation. No stopping.

Then—he spotted them.

Naruto, Sakura, and Harry stood near the crumbling outer walls of the stadium, back to back, already fending off attackers.

Sasuke wasted no time, blurring forward.

As he landed beside them, his gaze swept over his teammates—they were unharmed, with no blood, and no injuries. Good.

"You guys okay?" he asked, his voice clipped, urgent.

Naruto gave a sharp nod. "Yeah."

Sakura rolled her sore shoulder. "For now."

Harry’s grip tightened around his katana, his green eyes scanning the battlefield with sharp focus. "We need to move."

A terrifying roar ripped through the air.

All four of them snapped their heads toward the arena.

Gaara was losing it.

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed. The sand surrounding Gaara churned violently, convulsing as if alive, twisting unnaturally around him. His breathing was erratic, his expression half-hidden by the sand that had begun to mold into something else—something monstrous.

The blood from his wound dripped onto the sand at his feet, but instead of weakness, his chakra flared, wild and suffocating.

"...Is he transforming?" Naruto muttered, his face grim.

Sakura tensed. "Transforming into what?"

Harry exhaled through his nose. "We don’t know. Every Jinchūriki transforms differently."

Sasuke clenched his fists. Whatever it is, it’s going to be a problem.

And whatever was happening right now—it had to be stopped.

Sasuke’s thoughts raced. This goes against what Kakashi said.

"Don't be heroes. Survive."

That had been Kakashi’s direct order. But what choice did they have?

The Hokage and Jiraiya were locked in combat with Orochimaru. The ANBU was being overwhelmed. Konoha shinobi were dying left and right.

And Gaara—Gaara was running.

Sasuke’s eyes widened slightly as he saw Gaara turn away, his siblings—Kankurō and Temari—moving to support him.

"They’re retreating," Harry said.

Sasuke’s gaze snapped toward them. Gaara was heading for the forest—the very heart of Konoha.

Sakura inhaled sharply. "If he transforms in there..."

"We’re screwed," Naruto finished.

A tense silence fell over them.

Then Sasuke made his decision.

"Damn it."

His fists clenched, knuckles white. "We have to follow them."

"...That’s a stupid idea," Naruto deadpanned.

"It’s the only idea," Harry countered, stepping forward. "If Gaara fully transforms, Konoha might not be standing by the end of the day."

Naruto bit his lip, looking around at the burning ruins of his home. People are dying.

"...Tch," Naruto growled, raking a hand through his hair. "Damn it, fine. But if we die, I’m haunting your ass, Sasuke."

Sakura sighed, adjusting the grip on her fans. "I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this."

Sasuke was already moving.

No hesitation. No looking back.

The four Genin broke into a sprint, weaving through the flames and bodies littering the streets.

The scent of blood, smoke, and burning flesh filled their lungs.

The battle for Konoha raged on behind them.

But their fight had only just begun.

The sky was choked with smoke and embers, the scent of blood and fire thick in the air. Beneath them, Konoha burned. The once-great stadium lay in ruins, its stone walls shattered, its people fleeing in terror.

And at the heart of it all—stood three of the most legendary shinobi of their time.

Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Professor.

Jiraiya, the Toad Sage.

Orochimaru, the Rogue Serpent.

Hiruzen’s sharp gaze locked onto the giant snake beneath Orochimaru. The beast’s massive coils crushed rooftops with each shift of its weight, its golden eyes locked onto them, fangs dripping with venom potent enough to dissolve the stone.

They couldn’t fight Orochimaru properly while that thing was still in play. It wasn’t just a threat—it was a distraction, a battlefield advantage that gave Orochimaru the high ground in every sense of the word.

Jiraiya scoffed, wiping a smear of dirt from his cheek. “Tch. Of course, you’d bring a damn snake. Guess I’ll have to even the odds.”

With a sharp bite of his thumb, Jiraiya slammed his hand onto the rooftop.

"Summoning Jutsu—Toad!"

A massive plume of smoke erupted beside them, shaking the battlefield. When the haze cleared, a giant orange toad stood tall, its serrated blade held firm in one webbed hand.

The toad gave a deep, rumbling croak, staring down the monstrous serpent with narrowed eyes. “Hmph. Big snake. Should’ve brought two.”

Orochimaru, still standing atop his snake’s head, let out a mocking chuckle. “Bringing in your pets, Jiraiya? How very like you.”

Hiruzen remained silent, but his fingers clenched the fabric of his Hokage robes.

Then, in one swift motion, he shrugged them off, letting the weighty ceremonial cloth drop to the cracked stone.

It would only slow him down.

Orochimaru’s smirk widened. With a simple thought, his snake lunged forward—a blurry mass of fangs and scales.

Jiraiya’s toad met it head-on, raising its blade as the serpent struck. The sound of metal against scale echoed like a thunderclap as the two titanic creatures collided.

Meanwhile, Orochimaru moved.

The moment his snake engaged the toad, Orochimaru raced down the length of its body—a blur of motion, faster than the eye could track.

He closed the distance in an instant.

Jiraiya barely had time to react before Orochimaru was on top of him, kunai flashing in the dim light.

A flurry of strikes. Blades clashing.

Orochimaru’s movements were inhuman—his body bending and twisting unnaturally, dodging counterattacks at impossible angles. His serpentine flexibility let him strike from unexpected directions, slipping past Jiraiya’s defenses like a shadow in the dark.

Hiruzen intervened, his staff striking like lightning. Orochimaru barely dodged in time, the wind from the impact ruffling his cloak.

“Tsk,” Orochimaru clicked his tongue. “Still sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, sensei?”

Hiruzen narrowed his eyes. “You’ve lost the right to call me that, Orochimaru.”

The fight shifted.

Now it was two against one.

With an unspoken understanding, Hiruzen and Jiraiya moved in tandem.

Hiruzen pressed forward, his adamantine staff a blur of strikes, each one capable of crushing stone. Orochimaru weaved between them, but the space to dodge was rapidly shrinking.

Jiraiya fought dirty.

A sudden kick to the knee. A palm strike to the ribs. A mouthful of oil spat directly at Orochimaru’s face.

The snake Sannin hissed, jumping back just as Jiraiya formed a single seal.

"Fire Release: Flame Bullet!"

A torrent of fire erupted from Jiraiya’s mouth—not aimed at Orochimaru, but at his snake.

Orochimaru’s eyes widened.

Hiruzen didn’t hesitate. The moment he realized what Jiraiya was doing, he mirrored the technique.

"Fire Release: Dragon Flame Bullet!"

The two fire jutsu merged, combining into a roaring inferno.

The snake shrieked.

Flames devoured its massive body, its scales blistering, flesh burning. The stench of charred meat filled the air as the beast thrashed wildly, collapsing buildings in its agony.

Orochimaru had no choice.

He jumped.

Launching himself off the dying snake, he flipped through the air, landing lightly on an untouched rooftop.

His expression was unreadable.

Then—he laughed.

Low and mocking.

Even as the flames consumed his summon, even as his plans unraveled before him, Orochimaru laughed.

And the battle was far from over.

Orochimaru stood atop the cracked rooftop, his gaze sweeping across the destruction below. The burning carcass of his snake smoldered, its death marking the end of his initial battlefield advantage.

No matter.

He would simply make a new one.

But right now, he had other matters to attend to.

His golden eyes flickered toward Hiruzen and Jiraiya, both standing amidst the flames, watchful and ready. They had worked together seamlessly—almost as if they had never stopped fighting alongside each other. It was frustrating.

But Orochimaru had long since learned patience.

If brute force wouldn’t work… then deception would.

With a fluid motion, Orochimaru bit down on his thumb and slammed his palm onto the rooftop.

"Summoning Jutsu—Corpse Clone!"

From the blood-soaked seal, his own body began to emerge—flesh forming, muscle weaving itself into existence. It was not a simple shadow clone; it was a solid, physical double—one created through forbidden techniques that fused organic matter into a functional, battle-ready form.

As soon as the clone fully materialized, it launched forward.

Jiraiya reacted instantly, rushing to engage it.

The clone’s movements were flawless—Orochimaru’s exact fighting style, without hesitation or restraint. It twisted unnaturally, dodging a punch from Jiraiya before its hand morphed into a serpentine blade, aiming straight for his throat.

Jiraiya barely managed to duck, delivering a forceful kick to the clone’s side. The impact should have sent it flying—but it barely flinched.

"The hell—?" Jiraiya scowled as he landed.

Hiruzen’s staff swung toward its ribs, the force behind it enough to shatter stone. But the clone bent backward at an unnatural angle, dodging just in time.

This wasn’t a normal clone. It could take damage.

It was an undead copy—one that could endure far more than a shadow clone ever could.

While Hiruzen and Jiraiya were occupied, Orochimaru moved silently.

His hands blurred through a sequence of hand seals.

Tiger → Snake → Dog → Dragon → Rat → Ox → Horse → Snake → Tiger → Clap.

His chakra flared, dark and unnatural, as he bit his thumb and pressed his palm onto a separate summoning seal.

The Reanimation Jutsu.

A forbidden experiment, one he had never tested in full.

Until now.

Before him, two coffins began to rise from the ground.

Slowly. Painfully slow.

The jutsu wasn't perfected yet. It required time.

The time that the clone would buy for him.

As the wood of the coffins creaked and groaned, Orochimaru’s eyes gleamed.

"Soon..."

His trump card was almost ready.

And Konoha’s greatest nightmare was about to begin.

Hiruzen’s sharp eyes locked onto the rising coffins, their wooden exteriors grinding against the earth with an ominous creak. His breath hitched.

"He’s summoning something—"

Something unnatural. Something vile.

"Jiraiya!" The Third Hokage’s voice boomed with authority, leaving no room for hesitation. "Stop him! Now!"

Jiraiya, who had just narrowly avoided a strike from Orochimaru’s twisted, undead clone, barely needed the command.

"On it!" he barked, breaking away from the clone and darting toward Orochimaru at full speed.

Hiruzen shifted his stance, gripping Enma—his adamantine staff—as the clone lunged at him again, its unnatural body twisting in ways that defied logic.

The Sandaime gritted his teeth. He could no longer afford to be gentle.

Jiraiya closed the distance in a heartbeat, fists crackling with chakra.

Orochimaru’s golden eyes flickered, annoyed but unfazed. He twisted his body just enough to avoid a direct hit, his arms still locked in the intricate hand seal.

"Persistent as ever, I see," Orochimaru hissed, fangs bared.

Jiraiya’s punch clipped his shoulder, sending the Snake Sannin skidding back. But his hands never left the seal.

"What the hell are you trying to pull, Orochimaru?" Jiraiya growled, planting himself between Orochimaru and the coffins.

The two coffins continued to rise.

Inch by inch.

Jiraiya lunged again, this time going for a crippling strike—aiming to break Orochimaru’s fingers, to sever the jutsu mid-cast.

But Orochimaru’s neck suddenly stretched, elongating like a serpent.

His fanged mouth lunged forward, aiming for Jiraiya’s throat.

Jiraiya barely had time to react. With a quick twist, he brought his arm up, blocking the sharp fangs before they could sink into his flesh.

"Tch—freakin' snake tricks!" he grunted as Orochimaru’s mouth was unlatched and recoiled back to its original place.

The coffins groaned louder.

Jiraiya’s eyes flicked to them for half a second—a mistake.

Orochimaru struck.

With inhuman speed, his leg shot out, slamming into Jiraiya’s ribs. The impact sent the Toad Sage skidding backward, his sandals carving deep trenches into the stone.

Orochimaru licked his lips, pleased.

"Still falling for feints, Jiraiya?" His voice was mocking, but his focus never wavered.

His hands were still locked in the summoning seal.

Jiraiya spat blood onto the ground and wiped his mouth. "Tch. You're lucky I didn't have a full meal before this, or I'd be throwing up all over your creepy ass."

His opponent rolled his eyes. "Charming, as always."

Jiraiya cracked his knuckles. "Alright, enough of this crap."

He slammed his hands together and inhaled deeply.

"Fire Release: Toad Oil Flame Bullet!"

A massive torrent of oil shot from his mouth, instantly ignited by a wave of searing flames.

The fiery attack roared toward Orochimaru, but the Snake Sannin simply twisted his body, dodging to the side with unnatural grace.

"Foolish," Orochimaru chuckled, eyes glinting.

Jiraiya grinned. "Who said I was aiming for you?"

Orochimaru’s smirk faltered.

The flames had engulfed the ground around the coffins. If Jiraiya couldn't stop the jutsu directly, he'd burn the summons before they could emerge.

Orochimaru’s brows furrowed in irritation as he clicked his tongue.

"That was clever, Jiraiya. A bit crude—but clever."

He twisted his fingers into another seal.

"Water Release: Great Water Formation!"

A burst of water erupted from beneath his feet, drowning the fire instantly.

Jiraiya cursed under his breath.

The coffins were still rising.

And Orochimaru had no intention of stopping.

Hiruzen dodged another strike, feeling the strain in his muscles.

The clone was relentless, moving with the precision of the Orochimaru he once knew—but without hesitation, without fear, without a limit to its endurance.

The Sandaime, however, was still human.

"Enough of this!"

Hiruzen slammed Enma into the clone’s gut, sending it crashing into the rubble. Without missing a beat, he spun the staff over his head and brought it down like a hammer.

CRACK!

The clone shattered into flesh and bone fragments.

But it wasn't dead.

The grotesque mass of flesh began to pull itself back together.

"Tch—damn unnatural thing," Hiruzen muttered.

But he couldn’t focus on the clone anymore.

He turned toward the rising coffins, his expression darkening.

"Orochimaru... what have you done?"

The wooden slabs shuddered.

And then—

The lids began to open.

The heavy creak of wood echoed ominously as the lids of the three coffins slid open, revealing figures that had once stood at the pinnacle of Konoha’s power. The First Hokage, Hashirama Senju, the man hailed as the God of Shinobi. The Second Hokage, Tobirama Senju, is the mastermind behind many of the Leaf’s most formidable jutsu. And last, the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze, the Yellow Flash, who had singlehandedly shaped the outcome of the Third Great Shinobi War.

Their forms, unnaturally stiff, bore the unmistakable pallor of death. Though their eyes were dull and their expressions vacant, the sheer pressure of their presence made the air heavy with tension. The battlefield shifted. The tide of the invasion had changed.

Orochimaru’s smirk widened, eyes gleaming with twisted delight. “Now then,” he said, voice thick with amusement, “kill Jiraiya.”

Without hesitation, the three Hokage sprang into action, blurring forward with lethal intent. Jiraiya barely had time to react as a flash of movement closed in on him—his instincts screamed at him to dodge, but he knew there was no outrunning them. His mind raced, thoughts colliding in a desperate scramble for a countermeasure, but before he could move—

CLANG!

A burst of chakra pulsed through the air as three simultaneous strikes met an immovable force. Jiraiya’s eyes widened as a single figure stood between him and death, blocking the combined attacks of the reanimated Hokage with effortless precision.

Hayato Namikaze.

Orochimaru’s confidence wavered the instant he laid eyes on him. His grin faltered, and his pupils narrowed. Him? Here?

Hayato remained calm, his posture steady as he held off all three legendary shinobi without so much as a flinch. His golden eyes, sharp with quiet authority, flickered toward Jiraiya. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice composed as if he weren’t singlehandedly stopping three of the strongest Hokage from slaughtering them.

Jiraiya let out a slow breath, his heartbeat steadying. “Heh… close call.” He glanced at the dead Hokage, then back at Hayato. “You always had a knack for showing up exactly when needed.”

There was no humor in Hayato’s expression. His focus remained on their enemies—on the unnatural stillness of their faces, the way their bodies moved like marionettes. Though they showed no outward emotion, their voices carried an undertone, something beneath the surface.

A flicker of recognition crossed Minato’s face. His voice was quiet, and distant, but it reached Hayato nonetheless.

“…Uncle.”

It wasn’t just acknowledgment. There was something else. A quiet sadness, something bitter laced within the word.

Minato had always known Hayato as an unwavering constant in his life—brilliant, formidable, and ever-elusive. But now, standing before him, Minato saw what time had done. His uncle had aged, his hair had more silver strands, and though his power was undiminished, there was a weight to him. A weight that had not been there before.

Hiruzen, who had been holding his breath since the moment the coffins opened, finally exhaled. Relief flooded him. “Hayato…” he murmured, his hands tightening into fists. We might just have a chance.

Orochimaru, however, grit his teeth. His fingers twitched in irritation. Hayato’s presence had thrown an unpredictable factor into the equation. And Orochimaru hated unpredictability.

But he wouldn’t falter. Not now.

“Kill them,” Orochimaru ordered again, his voice sharper this time.

The reanimated Hokage did not hesitate.

The battle resumed.

Temari and Kankuro moved swiftly through the forest, the weight of their mission pressing down on them like an iron shackle. Gaara, unsteady and teetering on the brink of transformation, staggered between them, his breathing ragged. His sand twitched, shifting erratically around him as though mirroring his unstable state of mind. They were following orders—they had to. Suna’s entire plan depended on this.

And yet…

Temari tightened her grip on Gaara’s arm, her gut churning with unease. Every instinct in her screamed that this was a mistake, that taking Gaara further into the heart of Konoha was a disaster waiting to happen. But disobeying orders wasn’t an option. The alternative—the punishment that would follow—was worse.

Then, without warning—

WHAM!

A blur of movement, impossibly fast, shot toward them. Kankuro barely had time to register something streaking through the air before pain exploded in his skull. A powerful kick connected with the side of his head, sending him flying backward. His body slammed into a tree with a sickening crack, his breath leaving him in a sharp gasp.

Temari barely had time to react, her instincts screaming at her to reach for her fan, when another force hit her—hard.

CRACK!

Naruto’s foot buried itself into her back with brutal efficiency, sending her careening through two thick trees before she finally crashed into the ground. A pained grunt escaped her lips as she forced herself to push up on trembling arms, her vision swimming.

Gaara tumbled from her grip, landing on the grass with an unnatural stillness.

Team 7 regrouped, standing together in perfect formation. Sakura landed lightly beside Harry, kunai drawn. Sasuke was already in a stance, eyes locked onto Gaara with cautious precision. Naruto, expression serious, clenched his fists, his blue eyes flickering toward Gaara’s still form.

“We can’t let him transform here,” Naruto said, his voice edged with urgency. “If he does, the whole village is screwed.”

Temari, coughing as she wiped blood from her lip, forced herself to her feet. “That’s the point,” she spat venomously. Her fan, half-opened, was already prepared to strike. Kankuro, groaning as he pried himself off the tree, reached for his puppets with a grimace.

But neither of them mattered at that moment.

Because Gaara wasn’t looking at them anymore.

He was fixated solely on Naruto.

His breath hitched, his body trembling violently, and the sand around him began convulsing, writhing as if in agony. But then—something changed.

Gaara’s sand—his ever-present shield, the very thing that protected him, that acted of its own will—flinched.

It recoiled.

Defensive.

Refusing to move forward.

Temari’s eyes widened in horror. “Gaara…?”

Kankuro stiffened. He had never seen Gaara’s sand react like this before.

Inside Gaara, deep within his subconscious, Shukaku howled. The One-Tail lashed against its cage, its chakra thrashing wildly. But it wasn’t just the usual bloodlust. No—this was different.

It was fear.

Naruto’s very presence sent the beast into a frenzied, erratic spiral. It refused to settle, refused to stabilize. The oppressive weight of Naruto’s chakra—the same chakra that belonged to him—sent Shukaku into a panicked, defensive rage.

Gaara’s fingers clawed at his head as pain erupted through his skull. His pupils shrank, and his breath hitched. He had no words—only an overwhelming, all-consuming need to destroy the thing making Shukaku react like this.

His body twisted unnaturally, breath ragged. And then, in a low, unhinged whisper, he spoke.

“…Uzumaki…”

Then he lunged.

Naruto barely had time to register Gaara's movement before—

WHAM!

Sakura shoved him with all her strength, sending him stumbling backward just as Gaara’s sand struck.

Her scream was drowned out by the sickening sound of her body being launched through the air, crashing through one tree after another before disappearing into the dense forest. Leaves and splintered bark rained down in her wake.

“Sakura—!” Naruto's breath caught, his gut twisting in sheer panic, but he didn’t get the chance to move.

A deep, guttural roar tore through the battlefield.

Gaara convulsed violently, his fingers digging into his skull as waves of sand erupted from the ground. The transformation was instant—quicker than anything they had ever seen before.

The air trembled as Shukaku took form, its massive, sand-covered body rising like a living mountain. The sheer scale of it was terrifying—easily as large as the monstrous snake they had faced in the Forest of Death. But this wasn’t just some summon.

This was a tailed beast.

Its jagged, spiraled markings twisted around its monstrous frame, its tail coiling behind it like a living whip. Its eyes—wild, glowing yellow slits—gleamed with unrestrained malice.

And at the very top, standing atop the beast’s head, was Gaara. Or at least—what was left of him.

The entire right side of his face had morphed, overtaken by Shukaku’s features—jagged, monstrous, and barely human. His expression was void of reason, his body trembling as the sheer force of the transformation overwhelmed him.

He wasn’t in control anymore.

The one-tailed beast was.

Kankuro and Temari stared up in pure horror.

“N-No way…” Temari whispered, staggering back a step. Even she had never seen Gaara transform this far before. This wasn’t part of the plan.

Kankuro swallowed hard, reaching for his puppet. “We have to get him back now—”

“Not happening.”

Kankuro barely had time to react before Harry moved.

Lightning sparked as Harry shot forward, sword in hand. In one swift motion, he struck, forcing Kankuro to dodge, barely managing to pull his puppet in front of him.

Temari, gritting her teeth, swung her fan, sending a slicing gust toward Naruto—

Only for Sasuke to intercept, fire igniting in his palm as he countered with a blast of flame, the two jutsu colliding in an explosion of heat and wind.

They had no choice.

They had to fight.

Above them, Shukaku’s monstrous laughter shook the forest.

Naruto clenched his fists, staring up at the towering beast, determination burning in his gut.

“Sasuke! Harry!” Naruto barked, not taking his eyes off Gaara. “You guys handle those two—I’ll deal with him.”

Sasuke barely spared him a glance, already moving to intercept Temari’s next attack. “Try not to die, dobe.”

Harry, lightning crackling along his sword, exhaled sharply. “We’ll hold them off. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Naruto grinned, cracking his knuckles. “No promises.”

And with that, he charged straight for Shukaku.