The Pantheon of Nine
By: Finn Mertenz
A/N: Proton123xyz - I'm afraid to give you an exact number, because I don't want to lie. I had planned for this story to be done already, but certain chapters extended it.
I can confirm, we're incredibly close to the end, I suspect to finish by chapter 150. But again, some chapters/fights/scenes may extend the run time even longer.
For example, I still need to finish Konohamaru's arc, detailing the shinobi he's become. More than that, everything leads to Sasuke's battle with Naruto, like canon.
I don't want this story to be a million long word fest, but the ending can't be rushed. You, as the reader, deserve better, you've taken the time to read, so I'll take the time to write.
When it comes to a story, it only has as much value and weight as the reader gives it. That's why this final season is dragging so long, because I want to ending to be memorable.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN NARUTO. I DO NOT CLAIM TO OWN NARUTO.
Chapter 139: Demonic Distain! A Family Division.
Saturday 6:03am, October 25th 58SSP.
A chittering swarm of insects gnawed and washed over the thrown husk of a bisected tree. Blades of water and steel slashed through approaching beetles, held by Yōrō and Karui.
Grouped into one entity, five shinobi lept, rolled and slid from Fuu's poisonous cloud of bugs. Shibuki, Kegon, Yōrō, Karui and Omoi, moving with mirrored evasions, their feet stepped.
Weakened rock flung past them as rays from the sun sparkled upon dead and decaying fauna. A seasonal exchange, this death of nature came with the season, when autumn leaves fell.
Making room for budding anew in spring, this environment was a shadow of former beauty. Chipped and eaten by a thousand insects, carried upon flapping wings and slabs of armor.
Brought to a Perfect Possession, the slime covered pus of Chōmei howled with steep volume. Resembling an armored rhinoceros beetle, plates were blue with six green wings and one tail.
As dying trees were sliced at their stumps, they fell beneath harsh currents of wind, thrashing. Minced and diced into a dozen chunks of lumber, rickety splinters decorated the land.
A crumbling battlefield, the earth cracked while the air swelled with a thick presence of chakra. Parted by the clenched girth from Chōmei's wings, clouds of dirt polluted the skyline.
Blinded by this stiffened spiral, Omoi and Kegon were struck by insectile mandibles, impaled. The first lost his left arm, dripping blood, while the latter was cut in half at the waist.
Slain by the same joyful kunoichi Kegon once looked after, severed limbs battered the ground. Beyond the nostalgia of past memories, Fuu was gone, replaced by Chōmei's conscious.
Struggling to retain the grip upon his hilt, Omoi fell onto both knees, leaking fresh bodily ichor. Oozing from the mutilated stub on his right arm, its crimson tone stained brown grass.
Catching her partner and giving him the strength to stand, Karui barked and spat several insults. Chastising Omoi for his lack of judgment, the iconic toothpick he chewed fell loose.
Isolated in her own world, Karui winced as spread wings appeared in front of her, rapidly flapped. Halted only by twin and crossed blades of liquid, a signature technique of Taki.
Brandishing these lively weapons, Shibuki's feet broke the earth, uprooting chunks of aged rock. Baring the brunt of a demonic slash, the flowing water he commanded began to harden.
Crystalized, their edges chipped beneath Chōmei's pressure, striking with six separate mandibles. More than childhood friends, Fuu and Shibuki watched the world through similar eyes.
Both scarred by the reality of shinobi, each lost their parents to the never ending cycle of hatred. Especially Shibuki, watching his father die a noble death to defend the home he cherished.
Berthed with an identical level of resolve, the heir of Taki stood firm against the wrath of a demon. Sidestepping a damp swipe of several wings, honed and sharpened like daggers.
This was the fate all ninja endured, a life of hostility, an existence of misery, the loss of friends. In this reality, these were certain, as guaranteed as death, forever looming on the horizon.
Spewing a torrential beam from his mouth, Yōrō employed Water Style: Severing Wave Jutsu. Preforming the necessary hand seals in mere moments, his Jonin title was well-earned.
Struck by this molded geyser of liquid chakra, Chōmei's sole response was a petrifying screech. Releasing rippled waves of sound that rang, their presence was visible to the naked eye.
Divided by this surge of noise, Yōrō's technique fluttered, devolved into drained droplets of wet. Using this water as a smokescreen, Shibuki charged, splashing stray blobs upon his face.
The Hero's Water, its properties radiated throughout Shibuki's core, more fuel for his daring will. A conviction, eager and ready to sacrifice anything for his village, home and country.
However, this testament of strength was pitted against its greatest threat, memories of old friendship. On the outside, Chōmei raged, but the 4th Sukage knew that Fuu rested inside.
Meanwhile.
Sacrifice, an occurring trend and part of the shinobi world, engraved upon the endless cycle. Countless names and faces were lost to this concept, as concrete as the ebbed flow of time.
More than Minato or Kushina, Choji and Kurenai, Shino with Kiba also gave up their lives. But to what end? Fleeting and idealistic notions that fell upon Idate's flattened shoulders.
Once a shinobi of Konoha, that life was left behind, reigning as Daimyo for the Land of Tea. Earned and inspired by the distinct clan name he carried, the pride of all Morino, long forgotten.
Utilizing the skill of a ninja, Idate was crouched over Ibiki's bloodied outline, stained with gore. The fabled bandana he always wore was matted beneath blood, torn from his scarred scalp.
"Remember the sacrifices that brought you here..." Ibiki's words were etched.
Spoken before strife, ages ago, their meaning harkened back to Idate's innocent upbringing. Back then, he held no idea that his parents fell on the battlefield, raised only by his brother.
Barely floating atop planks of driftwood, the flak jacket of his village was burnt and singed. Taking the brunt of Gyūki's rampage, Idate was safe, at the startling cost of his limp sibling.
Even now, broken and seared, Ibiki's prime goal was the safety of Idate, the brother he loved. Preforming the same rite as his mother and father, sacrifice rung truest of all with the Morino.
A moment behind the head of their squad, Kotetsu, Izumo and Bekkō rippled the waves below. Beholden to the death of their commander, three Chunin were robbed of their Jonin.
Unable to delay, inked bloats of black ooze spread across the ocean, pouring from Gyūki's girth. Mighty and ancient, aquatic and slick, his power was surpassed only by the Nine Tails.
Now, faced against a brigade of shinobi, the tentacled mass of an Oxen Octopus loomed high. Held up by twin and muscular limbs, Suigetsu was gone, a willing host for his Tailed Beast.
Losing such a steadfast and loyal ally, Ao recoiled at the sight, an old opponent from past battle. Enemies during the 2nd Shinobi War, their status changed to allies, faced with demons.
They really are siblings. Ao made the final connection.
In reality, Ao considered Idate to be a Morino in name only, nothing compared to his older brother. The last surviving member of his clan, their end seemed certain, inscribed in time.
"Step up! Don't stutter!" Bekkō encouraged.
Following the lead of their elder companion, Izumo and Kotetsu sought to protect Ibiki's corpse. Instead, Idate stood fast in front of them. steadily gripping the sacred hilt he inherited.
Coated and covered by arcs of lightning, the water below was sizzled beneath pulsating static. The Sword of the Thunder God, a blade once wielded by the 2nd Hokage himself.
Its purpose was now honed and imbued by a member of Konoha's clan, the dwindling Morino. Surpassing his brother in all but resolve, Ibiki knew one act was needed to push him onward.
That deed was the sacrifice he expressed, giving everything for the beloved brother he cherished. Forced to understand the barred weight of a lonely life, Idate lost two separate families.
First the Wasabi clan, and now his own birthed tribe, the sole connection he held was the world. Citizens, civilians, merchants and traders he regularly welcomed to his electronic village.
Threatened by the same foe that struck his brother down, trepidation was drained while ire hardened. There could be no retreat or withdrawal, like the past, because that time was gone.
Idate couldn't be some flailed loser, unworthy of title, family, village or nation, a quiet disgrace. He sought to glorify, to stand as his brother did, to sacrifice like the entirety of his clan.
The focus on an approaching limb, Gyūki's advance parted the ocean, revealing a naked bedrock. Swinging a clenched fist, knuckles were parried by Idate's sword, bathed in blue.
Crackled by the collision of such magnitude, Idate's ceremonial robes were raggedly blown aside. Revealing the blackened attire of a full-bodied jumpsuit, its fabric was tightly woven.
Hoping to fill the shoes that Ibiki left, Idate's ferocious resolve was matched against Gyūki's fury. Cocooned and enveloped by tangible arcs of azure, each beam struck a large tentacle.
Bridging this onslaught with gushed liquid, Chōjūrō weaved through several seals, swiftly moved. As cheeks bulged and air merged with chakra in his stomach, the sun shone above.
Propelled like a torrential geyser, wet droplets littered roaring waves, a battlefield on the ocean. Taking advantage of this surge, Idate's electric manipulation infected adjacent water.
Berthed and corralled, swirling around the Sword of the Thunder God, a column of liquid swelled. Bisecting the lumbered hulk of a looming tentacle, its sensory organs were sliced.
Bleeding black ink instead of blood, its density was dispelled by Idate's aura, tangible and bright. Retracted and replaced, Gyūki's fist took the place of his wounded barb, bearing down.
Sundering a crater into existence, its girth carved a capping hole into the ocean, exposing coral. Originally directed at Idate, this youthful Daimyo evaded its lethal and twisted impact.
More than one singular opponent, the Eight Tails faced several shinobi at once, a leisure act of skill. The second strongest of all siblings, Gyūki was humble than most, especially Kurama.
Receiving the brunt of this demonic pride, Idate's own prestige was on the line, weighted like lead. Losing Ibiki, Aiden, and Jirōchō, the whole of his life had endured loss, unending.
This endless train and burden was destined to stop, the driving goal and factor behind his will. Fabric rustled as hair wildly parted, highlighting vibrant pupils of brown, like jewels.
A depiction of fraught and distress, ninja from Konoha joined sides with neighboring nations. Three countries rallied against the invasion of a demon, putting past grudges aside.
Meanwhile.
Resembling beacons of violet, Naruto's twin gaze was lined by the raised collar from his attire. Casually seated atop an unshingled roof, legs freely dangled, basked in a gentle breeze.
Bathed beneath a morning sun, the sight below was littered with pulverized pillars and pebbles. Guy fought Duy, the 4th Raikage engaged his predecessor and Deidara molded clay.
All in their efforts to usurp Naruto's domination of the dead, the prized creation of Tobirama. A pinnacle of Fūinjutsu, this degree of summoning managed to warp departed souls of the dead.
Elder rock and cement eroded beneath sweeping gales of wind, a mother-daughter confrontation. Even metallic edges clashed, each wielded by Kisame and Yagura, dispersing sparks.
This was the startling sight etched upon Uzushio, an aged capital many Uzumaki once called home. Now, predated ruins fractured, diluted by echoed and reverberated sounds of battle.
Flipping with reclined movement, Temari lunged over demolished homes, holding her fan like a shield. Fighting without any attachment to the ground, Karura's palms jabbed in haste.
Battered against the hand-held alloy of her daughter, scalps of dirty blond sparkled below the sun. Rising high as moments passed, their conflict was exposed by shining rays of yellow.
Swept and sliced, swung and swiped, Temari's fan snapped shut, swapped into an aluminum staff. Beaten and deflected by unfeeling hands, swift attacks failed to land upon her mother.
A forced enactment, ushered by rippled eyes of purple, Karura twirled over her daughter's slash. Moving without control, shins were flung against Temari's cheek, bruised and blue.
Rocketed back, the stick shift of her fan saved Temari from a stray pipe of rusted iron, corroded. Reaching to aid, Deidara's attempt was severed by an explosion of particularized dust.
"Just like you! Always distracted!" Ōnoki sneered.
Muffled by clasped palms, a retraction of flesh molded a crystal-clear triangle into existence. Propelled by chakra, this mirage of light divided a makeshift cloak of clay, dissolved.
Scrambling to evade, Deidara rolled aside a broken street light, hiding behind salted steel. Bricked and cemented roads splintered below A's advance, pitted against the 3rd Raikage.
A degree of combat beyond normal shinobi, Kage-level conflict rang, ravaging the landscape. Aura's of emerald clashed, permeating the air as Guy and Duy wrestled with popped joints.
Huddled knuckles smashed while shin-struck-shin, moving with identical jabs, kicks and swings. Yagura himself parried the growling outline of Samehada, wielding a large stave of iron.
With the appearance of a hook-curved club, this twisted end withheld Kisame's staggering strikes. Water gushed as muscles flailed, hair parted as droplets of liquid spewed from a maw.
Living beings faced by the undead, their own reserves of chakra and breathe were fleeting. Unlike their resurrected predecessors, they actually tired from exhaustion, held to a fine limit.
Engaged in this battle to conquer chaos, its length continued to spread, taking hours to complete. Attaining the fabled status of Hashirama and Madara, their conflict raged all night.
Blown back by an eruption of dust, Deidara's back impacted the crumbled wall of an ancient home. Following this defeat, Temari was blindsided a second time by her mother, hit by wind.
Kisame, A and Guy all suffered similar attacks, each thrown by the reincarnated foes they fought. Plummeting through the crumbled tile of a collapsed wall, the Five Kage stirred.
"There are three iterations of the Akatsuki..." Naruto spoke with a whisper.
Forever hanging with no forethought or emotion, dead legs swung beneath gentle gusts of wind. The only defining trait, a pair of Rinnegan glistened like a freshly dug jewel of amethyst.
Brought into conception by Yahiko, the truest host of 'Pain', a fallen friend to Konan and Nagato. Their original intent was the dissolution of war, the end of conflict, to stop the cycle of hate.
This outcome was brought to ruin by Obito's untimely intervention, manipulating the shadows. Scarred, Nagato gave a second birth to the Akatsuki, slaughtering Hanzo, the man he blamed.
Eventually, Nagato's own death, at the hands of disease, caused a third formation to take shape. In secret, more than words or wisdom, Nagato's soul was pulled and merged with Naruto.
Another slot in the puzzle of peace, every inception possessed the same identifying trait, clouds. Crimson with white swirls, their fabled cloaks were adorned with five distinct spirals.
"And, this single seal is a constant occurrence..." He poked his chest.
Symbolic and vibrant, the number of clouds coincided with the Great Nations, instigators of war. The scarlet color they bore was another product of conflict, the appearance of bodily gore.
"Signifying the innocent blood shed by shinobi." Thunder cracked the morning sky.
Trailed by an instant hail of rain, the horizon was devoid of clouds, but tinted by grey haze. Evolving into the acoustic resonance of trickled water, bombarding disheveled rock and concrete.
"I've had enough of your talk!" A's nose flared.
Rising with bulked shoulders and muscular biceps, his rigid chest rose and fell with breathe. The golden vambraces he wore were tarnished, nicked and chipped from lethal battle.
Snickering in self-proclaimed joy, Deidara wiped the dirt from his torn bodysuit, black as coal. Guy's own attire was singed and cut, ripped and stretched from excursions of chakra.
Matching this exhaustion, two of Temari's pigtails unraveled from the band that held them. Even Kisame was bruised beneath lays of dust and sprinkled water, a victim of Yagura.
Cackling like a madman, jagged teeth were bared as gills gashed, sucking moisture from mist. Sharing the enthusiasm of its host, Samehada shredded its final vestige of cloth.
Briefly knocked from his status of strength, Guy swiftly unlocked the 5th Gate, Gate of Closing. Obtaining such a sudden swell of power, a stream of blood poured from both nostrils.
Enveloped by a pulsating sphere of green, white eyes held no pupil, flooded and bloodshot. There was no turning back for this shepherd of Konoha, not in the face of the man he idolized.
Cherished memories, prized moments and celebrated events paved the path to this outcome. The destined path Naruto walked, its end would herald a new beginning, a new world.
Meanwhile.
Orange leaves fell, rustling below gentle currents of eroding wind before touching the ground. A tranquil sight, sleeping trees surrounded a barren grove of withered grass, faded brown.
Seated atop a moss-covered rock, Sasuke's white kimono was stained, blemished by emerald. Gazing at the sky with unfettered pupils of blue, strands of black hair jutted outwards.
"596, 597, 598, 599..." Lee counted aloud.
In the midst of rigorous exercise, this ninja of Konoha sweated with exhaustion and fatigue. Sighing as she brushed mud from her butt, Tenten was accompanied by her teammates.
Patrolling the northern border across the Land of Fire, their assignment was slow and quiet. Blind to all disturbance outside their ears, they knew nothing of Naruto's Five Kage ambush.
"Just give it a rest already." Tenten begged.
Dramatically rolling to her side, she faceplanted Neji's lap, shouting words that went unheard. Earning nothing but a thumbs up in reply, Lee grinned with pearl white teeth, glimmering.
"Never! Not while our village is in danger!" Lee smirked.
"Don't forget, we're the ones that'll bring Naruto back!" His words caused silence.
Stuck in the past, Rock lee still saw Naruto as a child from their youth, the friend he cared for. Contrary to the deadly, rogue shinobi he now was, declaring open war upon the world.
"Calm down for a moment, you'll have a stroke." Neji scowled.
A pristine depiction, Team Sasuke reflected off an adjacent pond, illuminated by rays of sunlight. A long way from their village, the distinct forests of their nation surrounded them.
Losing so much, these Genin students were the only thing Sasuke had left, diamonds in the rut. Managing to blossom a resilient smile, Tenten laughed as Lee wallowed beside Neji.
Sasuke's break in demeanor was abruptly halted by a screeching flock of crows, flapping fast. Breaking the tree-line, this host of black held a thousand Sharingan eyes, spiraled red.
Shedding plucked feathers, their quilled outlines were distilled by Sasuke's speed, surging forth. Weaving hand seals beyond eyesight, puffed cheeks promptly gushed with fiery embers.
Unleashing Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu, the husked trees in front of him burnt like dried driftwood. Torching the birds that followed, seared cinders fell upon him, easily swatted aside.
Narrowly comprehending a blur of speed, Sasuke hurriedly unsheathed his grass-cutter blade. Parried by an edged tantō, Shisui stood upright with grey sclerae, brought back from the dead.
Keeping the strength of a Sage at bay, Shisui's redeemed muscles had no limit or reservation. A reanimated zombie, mind and soul were attached, melded beneath Naruto's chakra.
Lost in a mental stupor, the son of Fugaku was blindsided by a fierce kick upside his scalp. Launched back, six trees snapped under his weight, buried below chipped bark and lumber.
Readily jumping to aid their sensei, Lee, Tenten and Neji halted behind a crackled veil of fire. As black as obsidian, soot poised the nearby landscape, disformed and blotted out.
Forever close in life, in death, Itachi and Shisui were inseparable, friends since the beginning. Even now, dropped into a timeline they hardly recognized, their teamwork was flawless.
"I'm sure he's okay..." Shisui muttered.
Straining to scrub needle-pricked black hair, his movements were his own, granted free will. Missing both natural eyes, this revived Uchiha possessed none of his famous Sharingan.
Instead, their voided pupils were replaced by makeshift orbs, colored grey and unappealing. Adorned in a free-flowing black robe, its fabric stretched over all limbs, peered by a tantō.
"It'll take more than that to finish my baby brother." Itachi's sickness was gone.
Past the crippling illness that handicapped his life, this Uchiha was cured of its deadly affect. Able to speak without coughing, breath without bleeding and walk without exhaustion.
Outmaneuvering her gasped teammates, Tenten vertically scaled a tree with chakra control. Pulling a scroll from the tan pouch around the back of her waist, its seal was unlatched.
Spreading the page open, black kanji was scribbled upon it, glowing vibrant with azure light. Cloaked by puffs of smoke, a hail of shuriken shot loose, swirling in unfettered unison.
Sidestepped with no effort, Shisui caught a bundle with eased fingertips, lazily spun to a still. Snagged by Itachi, a singular blade was thrown by one hand, triple the rate of its arrival.
Weaving eight separate seals in seconds below count, Ninja Art: Shuriken Shadow Clone Jutsu. An A-rank technique, its vested aura took shape of his attack, swiftly multiplying.
Standing stationary on the oaken hull of a limp branch, Tenten dove behind a husked stump. Uprooted by a stout kick from Lee, its deep roots tore chunks of earth loose, propelled.
Striking this blob of debris in midair, Neji's Byakugan enflamed itself, encircled by stark veins. One piece of wood splintered into a hundred shards, cropping the landscape in turmoil.
Bisected by this vortex of oak, vacuumed air was swallowed by obsidian flames, spewing ash. Burning at extreme temperatures, dried grass caught ablaze, blown by chaotic currents.
Ignited into a forest fire, howling embers blew in every direction, immune to water or rain. The ceaseless cinders of Amaterasu, bellowed, poisoning the horizon beneath clouds of black.
"Leaf Hurricane!" Lee boomed.
Surging forth in rapid rotation, arms crossed as legs swung, piercing Itachi's thickened smudge. Ensnared by naked palms, Shisui grappled this young orphan of Konoha, tossed aside.
Prodigy's of old, facing a new generation of shinobi, Uchiha from the past beheld a grim reality. Their clan was gone, the 3rd Hokage was dead and the ninja world suffered from war.
Muscles popped as Itachi leisurely caught Neji's flattened palm, thrust like the head of a hammer. Swept and sweeping, each jab was deflected, brushed away with no second thought.
Tripped by his target, Neji fell to the ground, hurriedly scuffed and blemished by clouts of dust. Kicked in the stomach, Itachi sent his attacker backwards, careening against boulders.
Reaching with an outstretched hand, fingertips were zapped by stray bolts of lightning from above. Emerging from this twilight of static, Sasuke's eyes were as red as glinted rubies.
A singular tantō halted this lethal advance, maneuvered by a snickering Uchiha with laughter. Strained by this sound, a jutted kick was its sole response, battering Shisui's scalp.
Briefly staggering, this immortal corpse felt no pain, proud of the young shinobi he fought. But this elder figure was ignored by Sasuke, focused only on his resurrected brother.
The same sibling that destroyed their clan, Itachi felt a world away, brought back from the dead. Now, joined by Shisui, they faced the Uchiha they once trained, and his new squad.
Meanwhile.
Speckled sand and glinted dust collided beneath a blazing sun, baking the Land of Wind below. Brother fought brother as sweltering heat eroded the landscape, forcing Baki to sweat.
Becoming the demon that Suna always saw him as, Gaara was no more, summiting to Shukaku. With twitched and glowing fingertips, Kankūro directed his father with chakra thread.
Surviving the previous sphere of energy propelled towards him, Rasa's firstborn remained stalwart. Bolstered by Matsuri, her degree of Earth Style aided in their assault to oust Shukaku.
Pressed palms yanked preexisting columns of stone from their spot, vertically slammed into a wall. This feat absorbed a gigantic swale of sand, summoned like a tsunami of grains.
With sandaled feet coated by azure chakra, Kankūro scaled this mountainous obstruction in haste. Leaping over the crescent peak, hands were perpetually held high, cloaked by sapphire.
Flying high over ethereal strings, Rasa hovered behind his son, glaring with a lifeless face and eyes. Resting in the world beyond, the 4th Kazekage still managed to watch his children.
Not the estranged trio he left behind, but rival brothers, fighting to the very death in his own land. The air itself turned hot, permeated by hours of conflict, stretching through the day.
A year ago, nothing was the same, and everything was different, appearing like a mirage of the past. Still, Shukaku and Kankūro lunged at one another, each intent to slay their foe.
Preforming a feat lethal to most, Kankūro engaged the dreaded One Tails in staggering Taijutsu. With mirrored movements, Rasa followed his lead, catching hurled fists of tainted sand.
Detaching his right wrist, a blade quickly sprung loose, cutting a deep gash across Shukaku's chest. Replaced in an instant, by twice its girth, the wound he carved didn't last long.
Swatted aside, the 4th Kazekage was separated from his son, losing all ability to move or fight. Even this didn't halt Kankūro, placing a well-timed kick against Shukaku's grained skull.
Gripping the ankle of his attacker, the One Tails tossed him like a ragdoll, saved only by Matsuri. Missing the prized hat he normally wore, Kankūro's scalp was layered beneath dirt.
"If one isn't enough..." Sasori spoke up.
Addled behind a veil of smoke, Sasori summoned the wooden corpse of San, the 3rd Kazekage. Like the Suna shinobi he rushed to help, this former rogue ninja had his own Kazekage puppet.
Once known by a darker title, he left that behind, convinced and redeemed by Sakura's words. 'The Red Sand' was gone, replaced by a kind-hearted man who cared for his families legacy.
Gifted the father he momentarily lost, Kankūro swiftly turned the table upon his demonic brother. Iron and golden dust melted into a singular wave, foreign and discolored in a hundred spots.
Unable to overpower such a ferocious wave, Shukaku was buried and flattened, soundly muffled. An impressive display, this beast of insanity refused to stay down for long, breaking free.
Geysers of pulverized dust poured from lumbering shoulders, draping the earth with mixed grains. The eruption of a chorus dampened their fall, poisoning the air with thick resonance.
Diluted by the strength of two Kage, Rasa and San were controlled and directed by chakra threads. Both distinguished leaders of Suna in their own right, their powers joined together.
The specialty of their techniques was tested time-and-time again, embroiled against the One Tails. More than one demon, Shukaku fought alongside the environment itself, a vast desert.
Evaporating and reappearing over a dozen times, this speed of engrained sand dodged all puppets. An engorged behemoth in appearance, the One Tails possessed the grace of a racoon.
Also rabid and hateful, he hissed and shrieked with every attack, wildly swiping at his opponents. Razored claws slashed against wooden limbs, secured only by chakra, flickering resistance.
For the first time in a decade, Sasori fought for something other than himself, risking everything. Protecting Suna and its inhabitants, just like the parents he loved and looked up too.
Kankūro and Matsuri also bet life and limb, contorting streams of gold dust and ravines of earth. To rid the world of the Akatsuki, all nations rallied as one, united by singular hatred.
A height of battle far beyond fledglings, Kage-level Jutsu rang and soared, deforming the land. Boulders were thrown like pebbles as entire landscapes were sundered like a playground.
Confrontation beyond the comprehension of Genin, this battle rocked the visible landscape. Sasori's flak jacket was layered beneath sand, sprinkled throughout crisp currents of wind.
Part-puppet himself, Sasori's oaken arm withstood a chaotic strike from Shukaku, debilitating. Both masters of Kugutsu, Kankūro's puppet of the 4th Kazekage complimented his predecessor.
San and Rasa, two Kage from the Land of Wind brought to bare against its traitorous jinchūriki. Even Matsuri added her own resolve, determined to avenge the family she lost to Gaara.
This was constant in the shinobi world, blame was forever laid at the feet of others, more hatred. The same demon Suna mocked, belittled and feared now changed into their nightmare.
So much had been lost, families drowned in sand, or crushed by primordial distain and death. Sasori, Kankūro and Matsuri were shaped by this reality, the truth that all shinobi suffered.
Clogged by endless grains, the mobile joints of Rasa and San were jammed, unable to move. Forcibly abandoned, these puppets were separated from their handlers, plummeting still.
Striking plains of sand, Shukaku's laughter spread, rebounding off distant pillars of rock. Demolishing the mountain Baki stood upon, the battle below continued to stretch forth.
On a lower level of combat, Matsuri was swept aside, buried beneath sight and weighted sand. Sasori's right limb splintered as he held his demonic foe at bay, disintegrated to shards.
An extended shin swept in a horizontal slash, hitting the One Tailed demon Kankūro fought. Two legends of Kugutsu, once enemies, now served the same village, nation and ninja cause.
Deformations of earth crumbled, shifting into a bottomless crevasse of grain, beyond the sun. A thousand pebbles sundered what little landscape remained, splicing through visible air.
Against all of this, Shukaku's opposition was unfazed, giving life and love for their country. Surrounding the rabid spirit they faced, chakra threads were used to improve their balance.
Tangled by this web of colors, the dreaded One Tails roared, briefly imprisoned by hued streams. However, these lines of azure and scarlet were severed as quickly as they appeared.
Corroded by these heated rays, interior flesh was exposed by sunlight, gleaming down from above. Patched and sporadic, Gaara's body was the hollow core for Shukau's tainted rage.
With a granular forearm, its surface stretched out, taking hold of Sasori's throat and squeezing. Splicing this grained limb, Kankūro's thread held the honed edge of a sharpened blade.
Once distant and alone, these twins of Kugutsu tugged with mirrored movements, constricting. Hardening their thread, they skewered and cut chunks of grain, skinning Shukaku.
Howling aloud, sand shriveled as earthen concrete collapsed, spewing glassed chunks of plasma. Snipping the threads that connected them, Sasori was propelled, thrown beyond rock.
Only Baki remained stalwart, intercepting the singed shards that flung towards his prized student. Stabbed in a dozen separate spots, stiffened wind blew his rigid defense, overwhelmed.
Blindsided and barreled, Kankūro scrambled to catch his sensei, losing grip below endless grain. Erupting into a cataclysmic geyser of soot, ash and chakra, inked blood rained down.
Still, the crazed pitch of Shukaku rang, partially deformed, losing mass, shape and stoic form. Streamed and freefalling, Gaara's natural and naked left arm was revealed, hung limp.
An escalation that stretched throughout the day, all participants approached total exhaustion. Even the reserves of a demon had their limit, giving rise to tussled tufts of crimson hair.
While mortals gasped for breathe, Sasori's sole limb took hold of the ground before lunging. Directing a well-timed kick, his wooden heel struck Shukaku's temple, loosening more sand.
Rushing to shove Baki's bloodied corpse aside, Kankūro was stricken by the sight he bore. Never a moment to waste, he forced trembling legs to move, stomping over shifting grains.
Budding anew embers of blue atop each finger, he used them to gather surrounding stones. Chunked in unison, they collided and crashed against Shukaku's scalp, saving Sasori strife.
The reality of the situation still weighed upon Sasori, no matter the respite he daringly received. Pitted against the undeniable fury of a tailed beast, their was no compensating its hatred.
This collision gave him the determination to unzip his flak jacket, throwing it to sand below. Implanted in the left side of his chest, a core of living flesh was distilled and throbbing.
Emblazoned with the scarlet kanji for scorpion, swollen veins engorged around its surface. Attaining the same bulged appearance as a Byakugan, powered with acclaimed streams of chakra.
A year ago, Sasori would've use this power for his own purposes, and the desires he imposed. But this selfishness was forever changed by Sakura, restoring the fortitude he lost long ago.
Taking hold of his heart, it was the last remaining shred of Sasori's humanity, scarcely intact. Twisting it inside its slot, viewable layers of red protruded, tinting the horizon and skyline.
Time and time again, Kankūro panted to evade swept lines and canals of engrained sand. Ensnared by friendly fire, Sasori pulled him to safety, chunked to the side of this extensive battle.
Baki had fallen, Matsuri was buried, Kankūro was crippled and Sasori had lost an ample arm. In the face of such crushing realization, even Shukaku stood upon his last leg, barely covered.
Previous clumps of sand continued to fall from Gaara's skin, scarred, scraped and splatted red. Narrowly half of Shukaku's residing presence remained, sprawled over his right torso.
His left eye was closed and human, while the right was rabid, demonic and twisted by old rage. Portions of Gaara's crimson scalp rested beside the twitching and sandy ear of a demon.
Both red-haired shinobi of Suna, tormented in youth by the harsh realities of the ninja world. Sasori and Gaara stood on opposing sides of battle, defined by their own dreams and goals.
Igniting the colored kanji upon his chest, this core of living flesh emanated untamed power. Containing the same explosive might as Deidara's clay, this final tissue of cells imploded.
Fumed and stretched, the radiation from this blast tore through hinged joints, spewing splinters. Caught by the eye of this storm, Shukaku himself was sundered by fiery soot and ash.
Fueled by the last shred of Sasori, the shockwave from his core instantly carved a canyon. Like both parents, his aged grandma and Komushi before him, he gave up everything for Suna.