Rain began to fall again, a cold, relentless drizzle that seeped into the bones and made the already stifling air in the valley almost suffocating.
Danzo Shimura tugged at his collar, his face betraying a faint irritation at the damp chill.
"How goes the advance?"
A masked ANBU with a painted cat face stepped forward.
"We’re facing stubborn resistance from Akatsuki at the Amekage Building, but the breakthrough should come soon."
"The hour of the Snake."
Danzo gave a curt nod, then turned his gaze toward the three figures locked in battle down in the valley.
"Looks like Sakumo Hatake really is getting old. He still hasn’t finished the job after all this time. We might as well give him a little help. Bring it out."
The masked ninja bowed and retreated.
"A ninja must always be prepared for sacrifice," Danzo remarked coldly, his eyes fixed on the fighting below as if he were already looking at three corpses.
Down in the valley, the clash was reaching its fever pitch.
Still tangled in chains, Yahiko was yanked violently through the air, giving Sakumo Hatake just enough momentum to land lightly and steady himself. Nagato lunged, blade flashing, but Sakumo drew his own sword and parried with practiced ease.
A flurry of metallic clashes rang out—steel on steel, fast as a summer storm. In a heartbeat, Sakumo found an opening, knocking Nagato’s blade from his hands. When it came to swordplay, Nagato was leagues behind a true master.
Sensing his chance, Sakumo pressed the attack—only to feel his body suddenly wrenched backward. He glanced over his shoulder: somehow, Yahiko had broken free of the chains and was now pulling him back with a surge of gravity.
Spinning through the air, Sakumo flung a kunai at Yahiko. Pulled by the gravitational force, the kunai shot forward even faster than normal.
The kunai buried itself in Yahiko’s left shoulder. He didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he swung his blade straight for Sakumo’s neck.
Sakumo reacted instantly. In a blur, he snapped his sword up, the back of the blade pressed to his own neck, edge out, perfectly intercepting the deadly strike.
Then, crouching low, Sakumo summoned all his core strength and flipped—a full 180-degree aerial cartwheel. In a blink, offense and defense reversed as he brought his blade crashing down toward Yahiko’s head.
Yahiko barely managed to block, reeling from the force.
This was classic Sakumo Hatake—relentless close-quarters combat, overwhelming his enemies with pure taijutsu and flawless swordsmanship, never giving them a moment to form hand seals. (The author, truth be told, never liked the later Naruto style where ninjutsu could be called out and fired off instantly.)
Against such raw physical power, Yahiko didn’t stand a chance. Within five seconds, Sakumo found his opening and landed a brutal front kick.
The impact was monstrous. Yahiko flew back over ten meters, his blade lost somewhere in the mud. His chest felt like it had been crushed—he was sure several ribs were broken.
Nagato scrambled to his side, half crawling, half stumbling.
Yahiko coughed up a mouthful of blood, trying to rise, but the pain in his ribs was overwhelming. He collapsed again, propping himself up on his elbows.
"Nagato, I... I’m done for. Their target... is me. You... have to run!"
"No! Come on—let me help you!"
But Yahiko slapped him, hard.
"Fragments... must’ve... pierced my lung. I... can’t breathe. I can’t... walk. You... run. I’ll hold him off. Don’t... forget our dream. Take care... of Konan."
With sheer willpower, he forced himself upright, ready to throw himself at Sakumo Hatake one last time.
"I respect your resolve," Sakumo said quietly, shaking his head. "If we weren’t on opposite sides, I’d gladly call you a friend. What a waste."
He stepped forward, blade poised.
Suddenly—a piercing whistle split the air. Sakumo whirled, sword automatically coming up to block.
But it was too late. A short spear punched clean through his chest.
"Eight... Ox... Crossbow!"
Eyes wide with disbelief, Sakumo stared at the shaft embedded in his body. He looked up—both sides of the valley were lined with hundreds of massive crossbow machines, all aimed down.
Sakumo roared, anguish and fury in his voice, before his massive frame toppled to the ground.
"Impressive—so the Craftsmen Country’s ultimate weapon lives up to its name. Fire at will."
With a flick of his wrist, Danzo gave the order.
Hundreds of crossbows unleashed at once. The valley thundered with the twang of bowstrings as a storm of short spears tore through the air, shrieking toward Yahiko and Nagato.
With the last of his strength, Yahiko rolled over, pinning Nagato beneath him, arms locked to leave a gap.
A spear rammed into Yahiko’s abdomen, the force making his whole body shudder. Still, he stubbornly held himself up, refusing to collapse, determined to shield Nagato from the deadly barrage.
A second spear pierced his chest. Agony twisted his features, blood bubbling in his throat as his punctured lung robbed him of breath.
Blood poured over Nagato’s face and body, but Yahiko refused to let go.
A third. A fourth. A fifth...
Spears punched through his thigh, his shoulder. The clarity in his eyes faded, turning dull and gray.
But those hands—those hands still held.
Nagato’s eyes went wide, his mind blank, ears deaf to everything but the pounding of his own heart.
His heart ached so much it felt like it might tear in two.
(How many floors can a bag of rice carry!)
Somehow, his purple Rinnegan was already brimming with tears, those mesmerizing pupils trembling as a tidal wave of power threatened to erupt.
"Hmm, impressive firepower, but the reload is a nightmare—not very practical. That’s enough. Send someone to collect the bodies. Oh, and Sakumo Hatake’s remains—cremate them immediately. He’s a hero, after all. The village will want a proper memorial. I’ll check on the front lines."
Danzo watched from above, satisfied as he counted at least five spears in Yahiko’s body.
He turned away, at last at ease.
A hundred ANBU shinobi slid down the muddy slopes, stones and water skittering in their wake.
The story isn’t over...
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