One Final Masterpiece Between Sand and Leaves
Sanemi and Shinobu continued to watch the battle unfold from behind a mound of crumbled stone and shattered wood. The air around them was thick with smoke and tension, every breath laced with dust and ash.
Out of the corner of her eye, Shinobu caught a flicker of movement—no, fire. She turned her head and saw the distant skyline ablaze, flames rising high from another part of the city.
"When did that happen?" she asked, her voice edged with alarm.
Sanemi didn't look away from the battlefield. "It started a while ago. I heard explosions and thunder while we were fighting the demons. Uzui and the trio probably found the Upper Moon."
As if on cue, a deafening roar of thunder cracked through the sky, shaking the rubble beneath them.
Sanemi's grip tightened around his sword. "Yup. That's them."
Shinobu narrowed her gaze, watching the distant silhouettes clash amidst fire and ruin. "Should we go?"
Sanemi shook his head. "I'm not doing well right now. And neither are you. We would only slow down Uzui," he said as he lay against the rube. He held his ribs and winced.
Shinobu hesitated, her knuckles white around the hilt of her sword. She hated feeling useless. But Sanemi was right—her breathing was shallow, and the stinging pain in her shoulder hadn't faded since that last hit. Charging into another battle now would be reckless.
She sat down beside him, the heat of the nearby fire casting flickering shadows over her face. "Still," she muttered, "it's hard to just sit here while others are fighting for their lives."
Sanemi gave a dry, tired chuckle.
A brief silence fell between them, broken only by the distant rumble of battle and the crackling of burning buildings.
"Do you think they'll win?" Shinobu asked quietly.
Sanemi glanced at her, then back at the chaos in the distance. "Uzui's not one to go down easy. And those brats have gotten stronger." He paused, exhaling through gritted teeth. "We just have to trust them."
Their eyes turned back to the battlefield.
In the heart of the devastation, the clash rages on—Nanami against Sasori and Orochimaru. The demon's twisted form tore through the flames with feral rage, his distorted screams echoing off crumbling walls. Sasori moved like a phantom, his crimson cloak swirling around him as razor-edged threads and puppet limbs danced in deadly synchronicity. Orochimaru loomed beside him like a specter, serpents slithering from his sleeves, fangs bared in a wicked grin.
Nanami lunged again, a snarling roar ripping from his throat as he crashed through a collapsing building, swinging wildly. His body shifted mid-attack—his Demon Blood Art warping his limbs into monstrous new forms with every strike.
Sasori vaulted off Ryukan and burst through a shattered window, disappearing into the ruined structure. In the same motion, he hurled Ryukan forward like a weapon. As it flew, its armored scales shifted, reconfiguring into a long, jagged blade that slashed straight at Nanami.
Nanami's arm split open with a sickening crack, revealing a spiraling maw of jagged teeth. As Ryukan closed in, the twisted limb lashed out and engulfed the puppet in a violent snap. Metal scraped against gnashing bone as the mouth clamped down, trapping Ryukan inside.
Rather than struggle with the weight, Nanami snarled—and severed the entire limb with one brutal bite from the inner jaws. Black blood spattered the ground as the discarded arm twitched violently, now wrapped around Ryukan in a grotesque cocoon of flesh and bone. The thing pulsed, squirming with barely-contained violence.
Without sparing a glance behind him, Nanami rolled his shoulder, already regrowing a fresh limb—sleek, sinewy, and unburdened.
With a twisted grin, he hurled the new arm forward, stretching it like a whip across the war-torn street, aiming straight for the shattered window Sasori had vanished through.
But before it could reach its target, the limb was sliced clean in a single, blinding stroke.
Orochimaru appeared in mid-air, eyes glinting, and drove his heel into Nanami's chest. The impact was devastating—blasting the demon through a row of burning buildings. Walls collapsed in his wake as a thunderous shockwave rippled outward, scattering flames and rubble like leaves in a storm.
Orochimaru landed in the wreckage, cloak fluttering, and with a swift arc of his blade, sliced open the cocoon of twisted flesh. Ryukan clattered free in a spray of black blood and ash.
Orochimaru's gaze sharpened. "Try again."
From above, Sasori descended through the smoke, retrieving Ryukan with one swift motion. With practiced precision, he directed the puppet's blade toward Nanami and unleashed a rapid volley—bullet-like scales erupting from the katana in a storm of steel, each shot whistling through the air like a cannonball.
Nanami crashed through the last building with a guttural snarl, skidding to a stop amid twisted beams and burning debris. His body twitched unnaturally as it began to mend itself—ribs snapping back into place, flesh crawling over bone like worms finding home.
He looked up.
The storm of scales descended on him like a hail of razors. Nanami's body twisted, contorted, broke apart, and reformed with each dodge—limbs splitting into jagged blades, his torso hollowing into a maw that absorbed the incoming fire. Still, some pierced through, embedding into his regenerating skin like metal thorns.
He hissed, blood boiling with rage.
"You think that little trick scares me?" Nanami bellowed, his voice warping. His entire upper body bloated and split, forming rows of mouths that howled in unison. From one of them, a thick tendril launched upward—barbed and lashing, arcing straight toward Sasori in the air.
Sasori rotated mid-air, cloak fluttering as he countered. Chakra threads flicked from his fingers, barely visible in the firelight. They whipped through the air and wrapped around the tendril mid-flight, yanking it taut with a sharp snap. The barbs scraped harmlessly off his cloak as he spun Ryukan in his other hand, slicing down the middle of the tendril and severing it in a spray of steaming black blood.
Orochimaru lunged in again, fast as a serpent's strike, blade low and gleaming.
Nanami whipped around, caught off guard by the sudden approach. But before Orochimaru's blade could pierce him, his chest split open—not from planning, but desperation. Flesh warped and peeled back to reveal a pulsating orb of raw muscle and nerve. It pulsed once.
Then it exploded.
A shockwave of twisted flesh and hot gore blasted outward, catching Orochimaru mid-swing. The detonation launched the Sannin across the plaza, slamming him into a shattered column.
Sasori didn't hesitate. From the air, he flicked his fingers, and chakra threads snaked down like wire-thin tendrils, weaving toward Nanami's exposed side. The threads latched onto debris, redirecting falling stone, and then snapped tight around Nanami's regenerating tendrils.
Nanami snarled, yanking against the threads, only for Sasori to twist in midair—Ryukan followed suit, descending like a hawk with its katana drawn. In one clean stroke, Ryukan sliced through two of Nanami's monstrous limbs.
Black blood sprayed.
But Nanami didn't falter. He hissed, more feral than ever, as new arms burst from his torso in a sickening snap of muscle and bone. His regenerating form shimmered with power, and his eyes locked onto Sasori above.
"I'll pull your strings next," he growled.
Sasori didn't blink. "You're welcome to try."
Without warning, Nanami's body rippled and shifted, muscle reshaping into a sleek, predatory form. In an instant, he took the shape of a massive cheetah, his body low and taut with deadly speed. He dashed forward, claws scraping across the stone as he bounded up the walls of a burning building, using the ruined city like a jungle gym.
He shot toward Sasori like a missile, weaving through the falling ash and debris, fangs bared, eyes locked on his target.
Sasori raised a leg and intercepted with a brutal upper kick, slamming into Nanami's jaw with enough force to send him flipping backward in the air.
As Nanami twisted midair, Sasori's palm split open.
Three rapid-fire bullets exploded out—small, precise, and deadly. They struck true: one slammed into the side of Nanami's head, another pierced near his heart, and the third hit just above the collarbone. The force sent his mutated body spiraling violently, shedding flesh mid-flight.
The cheetah form melted away like wax under a flame, sloughing off in chunks as Nanami's true core reformed again—this time as a massive serpent, black-scaled and coiling with rage. His jaw unhinged, and he lunged, aiming to swallow Sasori whole in one swift strike.
Sasori reacted in an instant.
With a flick of his fingers, glowing blue chakra threads shot out and attached to a massive slab of debris nearby. He yanked it toward himself, not as a shield, but as a launching platform. The concrete slammed into him just as Nanami's fanged jaws closed in, and Sasori used the impact to his advantage.
He kicked off the slab with perfect timing, propelling himself backward through the air, narrowly avoiding being swallowed whole.
Nanami bit down on the debris instead, crushing it to gravel between his monstrous teeth without so much as flinching. Still mid-air, he spun with terrifying agility, his massive tail whipping around in a blur.
Sasori was slammed into the ground with a deafening crack, the impact sending a shockwave of debris in every direction. A small crater formed beneath him, jagged edges of stone protruding as dust rose in thick clouds. For a moment, everything was still.
But Sasori didn't stay down.
With inhuman precision, he pushed himself up, rising from the rubble as if the impact hadn't fazed him. His movements were smooth, mechanical—but his face... the faintest creak of metal echoed through the air as his expression shifted. A long, faint crack ran down his cheek, the lines of his puppet features warping slightly under the strain. A small piece of metal—a chipped plate of his cheek—fell to the ground with a dull clink, landing softly in the rubble.
The puppet master's gaze was cold and calculating as he looked up, tracking Nanami's massive serpentine form, the creature twisting through the air above him.
In a split second, Sasori's fingers twitched—he let go of the control of his puppets, allowing them to momentarily hang suspended in the air, forgotten in the chaos. With his hands coming together in a fluid, practiced motion, he began weaving through hand seals.
The air around Sasori thickened, crackling with the oppressive energy of his chakra. An ominous, dark aura radiated from him, pooling like a storm cloud, ready to unleash devastation. His breath slowed, and his eyes locked onto Nanami as the battlefield became still,with only the sound of distant explosions breaking the eerie silence.
Sasori lowered his arms to his sides, eyes narrowing as he observed Nanami's shifting form. Without hesitation, he opened his mouth, unleashing a flurry of iron sand threads. They shot out with a high-pitched whir, piercing through the air like arrows, and pierced Nanami's body in multiple places, embedding deep within his flesh. The strings tightened, pulling taut with a sickening snap.
With a sharp, mechanical click, Sasori clenched his teeth together, and the sand threads ignited in flames, roaring to life as they burned through Nanami's form. The fire crept up the demon's body, causing the monster to twist and howl in agony as the searing heat consumed him.
Sasori's grip on the threads tightened, his jaw snapping down as he bit into them, his metal teeth scraping against the threads. He jerked his hand downward, attempting to swing Nanami to the ground with all his strength.
But in an instant, Nanami's form shifted. He melted and morphed into a smaller, more agile version of himself, a flaming, writhing mass. His body hit the ground with a deafening thud, the flames intensifying as the heat radiated out in all directions. The fire clung to him, scorching and burning, yet Nanami didn't falter—his regenerative powers quickly replaced the damage.
Sasori, undeterred, held onto the iron threads with an iron grip, his hands covered in ash and soot. The iron threads twisted and curled, like living entities, floating around Sasori's body, taking on the form of a defensive shield, hovering close to his form, ready to strike again.
Nanami's form began to twist once again, his body shifting like a melted skin, preparing to adapt to the attack. But before he could fully complete his transformation, a sudden strike from behind interrupted him. Orochimaru appeared out of the shadows, his foot landing with precision as he kicked Nanami toward Sasori.
In a blur of motion, Sasori's iron threads snapped into place, piercing through Nanami's small, contorting form with the deadly precision of a thousand needles. The threads sunk deep into Nanami's body, anchoring him in place as the threads burned through his flesh. The demon shrieked, the flames licking at his twisted form as he writhed in agony.
Orochimaru stepped back, his snake-like eyes observing the scene with mild amusement. "Not bad," he said, his voice smooth and laced with dark amusement. "I would have thought you'd be weakening by now, but you're still full of surprises, aren't you?" He chuckled softly, the sound eerie in the silent aftermath of the battle.
The first rays of the rising sun began to filter through the destruction, casting a bloody light across the wreckage. Orochimaru's eyes narrowed, his expression softening with mock disappointment. "Well," he sighed, "looks like the fun's over." His lips curled into a teasing grin. "Such a shame. I was just getting started."
The battle raged on in the distance, but there was a shift in the air. The ground trembled slightly beneath their feet, and for a moment, everything seemed to fall into a strange stillness. The noise from the fighting grew faint, almost as if the wind had stolen away the sounds of battle.
Sanemi shifted uncomfortably against the rubble, eyes still fixed on the horizon, though his expression had hardened. Something had changed. He could feel it in his bones. The battle was reaching its climax.
Shinobu, ever observant, stood a little straighter, her eyes narrowing as she watched the scene unfold. The faint outline of Sasori and Orochimaru in the distance caught her attention. Her gaze flickered to the sky as the first hints of dawn began to break, the soft glow of the sunrise casting an eerie light over the battlefield.
Sanemi growled low under his breath, his hands flexing as if itching for action. "Looks like it's over," he muttered, the words heavy with the weight of what had just happened.
Shinobu's gaze didn't waver from the distant figures. She wasn't as certain. "Not yet," she replied quietly, but even she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted in the battle. Nanami had been a force to be reckoned with, but the combined strength of Sasori and Orochimaru was something else entirely.
The sun crept higher, its rays slicing through the smoke and ash that hung in the air, illuminating the wreckage of what had once been a vibrant city. The contrast between the light of dawn and the destruction below was almost haunting.
Sanemi's jaw tightened. "Didn't think they'd get this far," he muttered, more to himself than to Shinobu. The rising sun made the scene even more surreal, like some kind of final act before the curtain closed.
Shinobu's lips curled into a small, thoughtful frown. "They're stronger than we thought," she murmured, her voice steady but betraying a hint of reluctant respect. "Orochimaru and Sasori... they're a dangerous combination."
Sanemi didn't answer right away. Instead, he let his eyes scan the horizon, watching the last of the battle play out. There was a brief flash of movement as Sasori and Orochimaru stood victorious, the sun's rays glinting off Sasori's puppet core as it caught the light.
"Is it over?" Shinobu asked, her voice low, as if unsure whether she truly wanted to know the answer.
Sanemi's eyes darkened as he gritted his teeth. "For now," he said, the finality in his voice unmistakable.
The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the quiet of the sunrise settling around them, broken only by the distant sounds of the final skirmish. The weight of the fight ahead was clear—this wasn't the end, only the beginning of a new chapter. And in that new chapter, Sasori and Orochimaru would play a far more central role than either of them had expected.
The sun continued its climb into the sky, and the battle that had just been won seemed distant, a memory fading with the rising light.
Nanami's twisted, burning form writhed against the iron threads that pierced him. Each movement sent embers trailing from his scorched body, his once-powerful limbs now twitching with spasms of fading strength. The demon's eyes, wild and full of hate just moments ago, flickered—something deeper settling behind them now.
The threads coiled tighter around him, crackling with residual heat and chakra. Sasori stood still, arm outstretched, the floating strands responding to his will. Orochimaru lingered a few steps behind, watching with quiet satisfaction as the flames cast long shadows across the ruins.
Nanami snarled, a broken, guttural sound that choked in his throat. His regeneration was failing—too much damage, too fast. His body was collapsing under the weight of its own power. The sun, now rising fully behind Sasori and Orochimaru, caught the edge of his face, casting it in pale gold.
"You think this is victory?" he rasped, voice cracked and barely holding together. "Killing me won't stop what's coming. I protected them... I gave them hope—"
"False hope," Sasori cut in, his voice as cold as steel. "Built on blood and delusion."
Nanami's jaw clenched. He tried to lunge, but the iron threads held firm, suspending him midair like a grotesque marionette. His body spasmed again—more flame than flesh now. His breath came in short, rattling gasps.
From beneath the ash and charred skin, he began to laugh—a hollow, bitter sound. "I should've killed you first... Puppet. Snake. You don't understand. I was loved. I am eternal..."
Orochimaru tilted his head, almost curious. "So dramatic," he murmured. "But even your eternity ends when the sun comes up."
Sasori said nothing. He only pulled his hand back, the threads responding like lightning. They surged through Nanami's body, exploding outward in a burst of molten sparks.
Nanami's form finally gave out—his body crumpling in on itself like burnt paper. The fire roared once more and then went still. Only ash remained, floating gently through the morning light.
The battlefield was quiet.
Sasori slowly lowered his hand. The iron threads curled around him like lazy serpents before retracting into his cloak. He didn't say a word.
Orochimaru let out a slow, satisfied breath. "Well... That was beautiful."
There was no joy in the victory—only a silence that weighed heavily in the rising sun. Whatever Nanami had been—monster, protector, father—it had come to an end.
And somewhere, not far from the battlefield, his children felt it. The ones that lived.
Ash still floated in the air when Sasori turned toward Orochimaru, the glow of the rising sun catching the thin line running down his cheek. His expression was unreadable—but his next move wasn't.
Without warning, he snapped his hand forward, iron threads whipping out like snakes. Orochimaru's smile didn't falter. "Still holding a grudge, hmm?"
Sasori lunged, the threads striking with blinding speed. Orochimaru tilted his body just enough, evading the strikes with liquid grace as they tore into the rubble behind him.
"Let's get back to the important bit," Sasori said coldly, his voice low and sharp like glass.
He attacked again, threads lashing like scythes. Orochimaru leapt back, hands casually tucked behind him, weaving through the air like a shadow.
"You once said," Orochimaru called out, "that you'd be eternal—whether by living endlessly or becoming something that defies time itself. You believed art could outlast life."
Sasori's teeth clicked together, chakra threads exploding from his sleeves in a wide arc. Orochimaru twisted midair, landing atop a broken pillar.
"But look at your legacy now!" he went on, louder, dodging a set of razor-like tendrils that shattered stone where he once stood. "You're not remembered as the man who changed the level of puppetry. Not as the best puppeteer of our world. Not even as the greatest."
Sasori's eye twitched. The iron threads spun behind him, circling like a predator ready to strike."You're remembered as one of the greatest," Orochimaru said with mock sympathy, smiling thinly. "A genius... but not a god."
"Shut up," Sasori snapped. His threads flew, stabbing into the ground where Orochimaru had been a split second ago.
"You hid inside your puppets, inside your art, thinking that would make you eternal." Orochimaru ducked under a scything strike, a ripple of wind passing through his cloak. "But real immortality isn't in stillness. It's in evolution."
Sasori stood still now, his threads twitching slightly in the air like they were eager to rip through something.
Orochimaru's voice dropped to something darker. "Work with me again. Help me change the world—for real this time. Or rot with the rest of your precious dolls in history's attic."
For a moment, silence. A single breeze stirred the ashes of Nanami's remains between them.
"You once dreamed of rewriting the very fabric of battle," he continued, circling slowly. "But now?" He glanced at the fading scorch marks and ashes that once were Nanami. "You're a relic. Feared, yes. Revered, occasionally. But not... followed."
Sasori didn't move, though the tremble in his iron threads betrayed him. They danced like nerves under tension.
"You could be more than memory, Sasori. Not a man remembered, but a man felt, even centuries from now. As a force. As a movement."
His voice dipped to a whisper, close enough now to see the faint shimmer of chakra behind Sasori's eyes.
"You still have something the rest of them don't. You terrify them." Orochimaru's smile widened. "That means you matter. Even now."
Sasori's jaw tightened. He looked past Orochimaru, toward the dawn breaking over the bloodstained city. Toward the rising smoke. Toward what he was supposed to protect—and what he never truly believed in.
"Your strings weren't meant to protect," Orochimaru said, softly now. "They were meant to control."
Orochimaru stepped down from the rubble, the sunlight casting jagged shadows across his pale features. His words slithered through the smoke like poison.
"You once dreamed of revolution. Puppets beyond flesh. Art that outlasts gods." He paced slowly, circling Sasori. "But they don't call you a visionary anymore. They call you a weapon. A ghost. A forgotten relic."
Sasori remained still, the crack down his cheek catching the sunlight like a scar carved by time itself.
"You're not feared because you endured," Orochimaru said, voice dipping low. "You're feared because no one knew how to replace you. That fear is power. You can still use it."
Sasori's eyes narrowed. The iron threads hovering at his sides began to calm, orbiting slowly like fragments of a dying star.
Orochimaru's smile widened. "Let's rebuild everything they tried to erase. Sculpt a new legacy from their bones. What do you say, Sasori of the Red Sand? One final masterpiece... together?"
Sasori hesitated. Then, he extended his hand.
At that moment, a shout cracked through the smoke.
"Sasori!!"
Shinobu burst through the debris, lungs burning, eyes locked on him. "Wait—!"
Sasori's head turned slightly, eyes meeting hers—just for a moment.
Long enough to see her desperation. The disbelief. The hurt
The world blurred around her as she ran. The smoke stung her eyes, but the silhouette ahead was all she could see. Just a few more steps—
But he didn't hesitate.
Their hands clasped. Sand swirled violently at their feet, mixed with falling leaves that rode the rising wind. In a flash of sand. leaves and chakra, they vanished into the light of the rising sun.
Shinobu lunged, arm outstretched—fingers brushing nothing but heat and grit.
"No..."
She stumbled forward, catching herself beside the lone object left behind.
Sasori's sword, embedded in the ground.
Still warm.
She dropped to her knees beside it, reaching out—but stopped, hovering just above the hilt.
The wind lifted her hair as the sunlight burned away the last of the smoke. Around her, the city lay in ruins. But all she could see was the space where he had stood. The weight of what had just happened anchored her to the earth.
"...You idiot," she whispered.
A final gust of wind swept past, and the last grains of sand slipped through her fingers.