Hinata: Byakurenden
Sasori of the Red Sand
The four Shinobi crept through the silent darkness, their footsteps barely audible over the faint whisper of the wind shifting the sands. The walls of the Village Hidden in the Sand loomed before them like the ridged spine of some long-dead beast, their smooth surface barely discernible in the absence of moonlight. Clouds hung heavy in the sky, cloaking the night in an almost impenetrable blackness. The air itself felt thick, carrying with it a palpable tension, as if the desert itself was holding its breath.
They moved with purpose, their backs to the wall, each of them acutely aware of the danger that might be waiting on the other side. They had waited as long as they could, hoping that Kankuro might return with reinforcements. But the desert gave no answers. There was no sound, no movement, no indication of whether his mission had succeeded—or if he had even made it back at all. Whatever the truth, time was against them. Sasori's puppets were strongest in the light of day, and the rare cloud cover granted them a fleeting advantage.
They had to move now.
Gaara stood apart from the others, his gaze fixed on the towering wall in front of them. Without a word, he stepped forward and placed his hands on the stone. His fingers glided across its surface with an effortless grace, and under his touch, the wall began to crumble—not loudly, but with a soft, eerie shift. Solid stone melted into fine grains, cascading down in a silent cascade to form a perfectly arched opening.
The others slipped through quickly, one by one, into the heart of the village.
Hinata froze the moment she stepped inside, her sharp Byakugan scanning their surroundings. She had been prepared for silence, but not for the profound emptiness that greeted them. The streets were utterly deserted. The round, domed architecture of the Sand Village gave the buildings an alien quality compared to the angular, orderly designs of Konoha. Homes and businesses alike stood in eerie stillness, their shapes blending into the sandy terrain as if they had risen naturally from the earth.
And yet, it was not just the stillness that unnerved her. It was the absence of life. Even in the dead of night, the streets of Konoha would hum with quiet signs of existence—a dog barking in the distance, the faint glow of lanterns spilling warmth onto cobblestone roads, the muted rustle of leaves carried on a night breeze. Here, there was none of that. No flickering lights. No faint sounds of slumbering life. Even the air felt colder, thinner, as though the village itself had been drained of all vitality.
Hinata's throat tightened, and she unconsciously reached up to adjust the kumihimo cord tying back her hair—a nervous habit she'd picked up recently. This wasn't just an empty village. It felt like a mausoleum.
As they moved deeper into the village, the comparison between Suna and Konoha only grew starker in Hinata's mind. In Konoha, there was warmth. Even in its darkest hours, the Leaf Village had felt alive, its people banding together, its traditions enduring. Here, there was only an oppressive void. A performance had been staged earlier in the day—one of cheerful children, bustling markets, and animated conversations. But now, the puppets were gone. Ushered backstage, stored away like lifeless props.
It was a mockery of life. And the absence of even these false actors left behind an even deeper chill.
Hinata let her Byakugan sweep the village again. It wasn't just empty; it was wrong. The streets were immaculate, the buildings flawless. No signs of wear, no clutter, no marks of the people who had once lived here. It was as if Sasori's puppets had scrubbed away any trace of the village's original inhabitants, leaving behind only this sterile, lifeless shell.
She glanced at Gaara, who walked ahead of them, his movements deliberate and calm. Yet even he seemed burdened by the sight of his home reduced to this state.
Hinata's thoughts drifted to the rumors about Sasori and the other former Akatsuki members. Once, they had been rogue Shinobi with their own ambitions, their own flawed visions of the world. Now, they were generals in Amaterasu's army, her most devout followers. How had they fallen so completely under her sway? What could a goddess like Amaterasu offer that would make men like Sasori—or Obito—pledge their lives so willingly?
She tightened her fists, her own uncertainty clawing at her resolve. Was it power? Purpose? Or something deeper, something she couldn't yet understand? Kali had called Amaterasu the harbinger of the end, a force that would undo everything they knew. But Hinata couldn't help wondering—was Amaterasu truly evil? Or was she simply trying to create a world that, to her followers, seemed better than the one they lived in now?
The silence of the abandoned village was oppressive, each shadow stretching unnaturally under the faint starlight. Hinata moved cautiously, her breath shallow as she fought to steady her nerves. The weight of their mission bore down on her, every creak of wood or whisper of wind sharpening the tension in her chest. They had planned this carefully: infiltrate, strike silently, and leave without incident. But the creeping sense of unease, the hollow emptiness of the streets, was like a dark whisper in the back of her mind. Something wasn't right.
And then it happened.
Night ended, and day began—not gradually, but in an instant, the darkness shattered by a light so intense it felt like the world itself had erupted into flame. Hinata instinctively threw her arms up, shielding her eyes as a blinding white consumed her vision. It was disorienting, like a flashbang detonating at point-blank range, leaving her staggered and vulnerable. Her ears rang faintly as she blinked furiously, trying to clear the spots from her sight.
When she managed to focus again, the sight before her sent a chill racing down her spine. The village was awash in a harsh, unnatural light, as if the sun had appeared directly overhead. But this wasn't the familiar warmth of the morning sun. This light was sterile, overwhelming, and alien. It erased every shadow, bathing the village in an eerie glow that made the empty streets look even more unnatural.
Hinata turned her gaze upward, following the source of the oppressive radiance. Her breath caught as she spotted it—a second sun, suspended high above the village. It hovered like a malevolent eye, radiating an intensity that burned even from the corner of her vision. The sky around it had changed too, the stars and moon gone, replaced by an unnatural blue streaked with clouds that looked too perfect, too uniform. But only above the village. Beyond the walls, the night remained untouched.
"What the hell is that?" Naruto's voice rang out, the panic in his tone betraying the severity of the situation. He shielded his face with one arm, his other hand clenched in a fist. His outburst shattered the fragile silence, but it hardly mattered. They had been caught. The trap had been sprung.
Hinata squinted, utilizing her Nichiren Byakugan to pierce through the glaring light. She focused her enhanced vision on the false sun, her heart pounding as the enormity of the situation began to dawn on her. The radiance was almost too much, even for her advanced sight, and she had to fight to keep her focus steady.
At first, Hinata thought it might be some enormous celestial jutsu, an unnatural weapon brought to life. She had seen Sasuke's Chibaku Tensei with her own eyes, so the idea of manipulating a false star didn't seem impossible. But this was different—something far beyond even the most powerful techniques she had ever encountered. As her Nichiren Byakugan adjusted to the overwhelming glare, she found it wasn't an object or a weapon at all.
It was a figure.
At the very center of the blinding light was the unmistakable form of a woman. Her posture was regal, her silhouette radiant, and every detail exuded an aura of power and divinity. Her long hair, black as the void, cascaded down her back like silken waves, each strand shimmering faintly in the ethereal glow that surrounded her. Her robes—an impossibly intricate silk kimono—flowed around her as though alive, the patterns of crimson, gold, and black weaving together like molten lava. The fabric seemed to repel the very air, as if the world itself dared not touch it.
Hinata's breath caught in her throat. The figure's presence was overwhelming, suffocating, and impossibly real. Every detail of her appearance was perfect, flawless to the point of being unnerving. Her tanned skin glowed faintly, kissed by a light that didn't seem to come from any natural source. And her face—symmetrical to an unnatural degree—was as beautiful as it was alien, with bold red lips curved faintly into an unreadable expression.
And then there were her eyes.
The figure's eyes were unmistakably like the Byakugan, yet they were something far more terrifying. They glowed a deep pinkish-red, like embers buried in ash, radiating a suffocating power that seemed to pierce through Hinata's very soul. There was no flaw, no imperfection in their form—only an overwhelming, godlike presence that made her chest tighten with dread.
Hinata's breath caught as she stared, frozen in place. The regal posture, the radiant silhouette, the sheer weight of the figure's presence—it could only mean one thing. The light of the false sun seemed to intensify around her, casting the village into sharp, unnatural clarity.
Her voice wavered, barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "Amaterasu," she whispered, the name falling from her lips like a prayer laced with fear. The Sun Goddess herself had descended.
The response came from everywhere and nowhere at once, a chorus of tones that overlapped and harmonized eerily, surrounding them in every conceivable direction. "Not quite, but your words honor me," it said. Before Hinata could react, the sound of creaking wood filled the air, followed by the harsh clatter of limbs striking stone.
The doors of every building around them burst open simultaneously, swinging wide with unnerving synchronicity. From the dark thresholds emerged the puppets, their joints clicking and rattling as they moved into the open. These weren't the lifelike marionettes from earlier in the day, milling about and mimicking human life. No, these puppets were stripped of the pretense of normalcy, their empty eyes glowing faintly in the false sunlight as they turned toward the intruders.
Hinata's breath caught as she scanned the area with her Byakugan. Every house had a seal inscribed along its frame, faint lines of chakra connecting the doorways to hidden mechanisms. These weren't ordinary seals; they had been hiding the puppets in plain sight, each door a trap ready to spring. Sasori hadn't simply hidden his creations—he had staged their "return" like the start of a macabre play.
Now they were surrounded, the empty streets suddenly teeming with motion. Hundreds of puppets marched into the artificial daylight, their wooden limbs moving with unnatural fluidity. Every step brought a fresh wave of dread.
Sasuke's voice broke through the rising tension. "I don't suppose you care to explain?" His tone was sharp, controlled, yet beneath it was a quiet edge of frustration. He shifted into a defensive stance, his back pressed against Naruto's as they formed a circle with Hinata and Gaara. The faint click of a mechanism sounded as the seal on Sasuke's shoulder opened, natural energy already beginning to gather into him.
"I don't mind answering," came the reply, spoken by a puppet to their left, its voice dripping with mock courtesy. Before anyone could react, a second puppet on the opposite side continued. "But you should know—bidding for time works both ways." A third puppet near Hinata took up the words, its head swiveling to face her with a sharp crack. "The longer you stall, the more of my creations will join us."
Hinata's pulse quickened. The puppets spoke with one voice, their movements so precise it was impossible to tell which was truly speaking. It was as if Sasori himself had become omnipresent, his will inhabiting every creation at once.
Naruto growled low in his throat, Kurama's chakra flickering around him as he reached for natural energy. His whisker marks darkened, and his eyes shifted to slitted orange. "There's a lot of these guys," he muttered. "Hinata, how many are we dealing with?"
"Too many," Hinata answered, her Nichiren Byakugan revealing wave after wave of puppets spilling from the shadows of alleys and doorways. "And there are more coming."
"…You're scared of us." Gaara's voice cut through the mounting dread, low and dangerous. His transformation was subtle but no less terrifying. Dark circles appeared around his eyes, a sign of his own Sage Mode activating. Sand swirled at his feet, a low hiss accompanying his every step as his chakra rose. His expression shifted into a chilling grin, reminiscent of the terrifying boy Hinata had once fought. "And you should be. This is my village, and I'll have it back. Either willingly or by blood."
One of the puppets stepped forward, its head twisting unnaturally to look at Gaara. "Unfortunately for you, I have no more blood to give," it said, the voice dripping with mockery. Another puppet picked up where the first left off. "So if any blood is to spill today, it can only be yours." As one, the puppets took a synchronized step forward, their wooden limbs creaking ominously.
"What did you mean when you said that wasn't Amaterasu?" Hinata asked quickly, her voice edged with desperation. Every second felt heavier now, each moment filled with the knowledge that more puppets were closing in.
"Ah yes, do you like it?" A puppet near the front tilted its head upward, its arms spreading wide in mock reverence to the false sun above. "It's my masterpiece," it continued, its voice trembling with something akin to reverence. Another puppet spoke from the opposite side. "The most beautiful, powerful puppet I have ever created. A being of unmatched perfection, crafted in the very visage of the Sun Goddess herself."
"That thing's a puppet?" Naruto squinted into the blazing light, his voice laced with disbelief. Even as Kurama flooded him with natural energy, he couldn't make out the figure at the center of the sun. What he could feel, though, was enough to make him uneasy.
"To call it a mere puppet shows the depths of your ignorance." A new puppet sneered, its tone condescending. "But you, Hyūga Hinata, you can see her, can't you? You've faced her before. Tell me—" All the puppets turned toward her at once, their heads swiveling unnervingly in her direction. "Is she not perfect? Down to the last detail?"
Hinata's throat tightened. Her Byakugan focused on the figure within the light, and her heart sank. It was her—Amaterasu in every detail. The way she stood, the impossible beauty, the suffocating aura of authority. Even knowing it was Sasori's creation, Hinata couldn't suppress the primal fear clawing at her chest.
"…She's certainly a convincing replica," she admitted, her voice soft with dread. "You've outdone yourself. But what makes this your greatest piece?"
The puppets stilled, as if pondering her question. Then, one by one, they began to move again, each speaking a fragment of Sasori's answer. "Amaterasu is eternal. Unchanging. Perfect." Another puppet continued, its head tilting skyward. "She is the ultimate muse, her existence proof of art that transcends time and space." A third puppet finished, its voice trembling with fervor. "This is my magnum opus, the culmination of a lifetime of searching for perfection. And now, through her inspiration, I have achieved it."
The puppets raised their arms in unison, a gesture of prayer to the false sun. Above, the blazing light seemed to grow brighter, more oppressive. Hinata glanced around, her pulse quickening. The streets were filling with more puppets, each one moving as if guided by the light itself.
Naruto stepped closer to Hinata, his orange eyes narrowing as Kurama's chakra flared. "So we gotta destroy that sun, right?" he whispered, though there was little point in secrecy now.
Hinata nodded slowly, her gaze locked on the radiant figure above. "Yes," she said, her voice firm. "That's most likely his true body."
The clatter of wooden limbs paused for a moment, replaced by a voice that rang out with a teasing, familiar lilt. "Now, now. Don't be so hasty, Hinata-kun!" The voice was casual, almost playful, and all four of them turned sharply toward the source, instantly recognizing it. It was a voice they hadn't heard since the Chūnin Exams: Yakushi Kabuto.
He emerged from the crowd of puppets, clad in the unmistakable black-and-red cloak of the Akatsuki. His smile was unassuming, almost friendly, as if they were old acquaintances meeting under different circumstances. The faint glint of his glasses caught the false sunlight, obscuring his eyes, but his demeanor was as unnervingly composed as ever.
Traveling behind him was another figure, though it could barely be called human anymore. A white-haired man with piercing red eyes stumbled into view, his head unmistakably that of a human. However, the rest of his body had been replaced with an ornate puppet construct, its joints clicking unnervingly with each step. Metal braces bound his head to the wooden frame, and his mouth was gagged with a strange device that muffled any attempts at speech. Despite his helpless state, his fiery eyes burned with unrelenting fury, darting between Kabuto and the Konoha Shinobi.
"Ah, don't mind Hidan here," Kabuto said casually, waving a hand as if dismissing an unruly pet. "He's still a bit temperamental, but useful nonetheless. I've made some… modifications to ensure he remains cooperative." His tone was light, but the cruelty beneath his words was palpable.
As Kabuto's arm emerged from within his cloak, Hinata's blood ran cold. His right arm was grotesque, a patchwork creation that fused human flesh with unnatural grafts. It bore a striking resemblance to Naruto's wooden arm, infused with Asura's genetics, but it was far more sinister. The surface was lined with eyes, each one unblinking and disturbingly familiar. They weren't just any eyes—they were Byakugan.
Kabuto raised the arm higher, letting the eyes glint in the harsh light. "Oh, this?" he said, smiling faintly. "Do you like it? A little gift from Obito, by way of Danzo's experiments. Of course, I've made some… adjustments. It's quite the enhancement, wouldn't you say?"
Hinata's breath hitched as her gaze locked onto Kabuto's arm. At first, her mind rebelled against the sight. No… they couldn't be. Her trembling hands rose to her mouth as if to stifle the thought, but her Byakugan told her the undeniable truth. Those eyes—her clan's eyes—were embedded grotesquely into his stolen arm, their milky gaze dull yet horrifyingly alive. "This isn't possible…" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "They… they can't be…"
Kabuto tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "Oh? Denial doesn't suit you, Hinata-kun. Surely the White Lotus of Konoha can recognize her own clan's eyes. Or is this the first time you've truly looked at what you've lost?"
Her breath quickened, and the trembling in her hands spread to her entire body. Denial gave way to fury, an eruption of heat and chakra coursing through her. "How dare you…" she growled, her voice low but filled with venom. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, the knuckles whitening as her anger flared. Violet chakra shimmered around her, wild and untamed, causing the sand beneath her feet to swirl in a chaotic storm.
"You dare desecrate the legacy of my clan…" Her words gained strength, cutting through the tension like a blade. She took a step forward, her aura intensifying. "Those were my family's eyes!"
Kabuto's smile only widened, his condescension palpable. "Ah, there it is. That famous Hyūga pride. How charming. Though I must say, this temper of yours is… unbecoming." He adjusted his glasses, revealing the faint glow of Byakugan implanted in his own sockets. "But yes, you're quite right. These Byakugan—your family's—are exquisite. Your clan's loss is my gain, wouldn't you agree?" His sneer twisted like a knife in Hinata's gut. He was savoring this—her reaction, her hesitation—the raw anguish he'd undoubtedly come here to provoke. No, not just to provoke. To exploit.
Hinata's breath hitched, her fists trembling at her sides. She knew this was deliberate, that Kabuto had been sent to shatter her focus, to drag her attention away from the monstrous false sun looming overhead. And it was working.
Her mind screamed at her to concentrate on Amaterasu, to block out Kabuto's voice, but how could she? How could she ignore this?
The faces of her fallen clansmen flashed before her eyes—six branch members who had trusted her, who had placed their faith in her vision for a better future. Now they were gone. Murdered. Their eyes torn from their skulls and implanted into the wretch standing before her.
Her stomach churned as she stared at him, at the grotesque lattice of veins surrounding the Byakugan embedded in his flesh. They didn't belong to him. They shouldn't belong to him.
This was her fault.
No matter how much she tried to push the thought away, it clung to her like poison. She had given Neji the Moonfire Elixir—the key to removing the Caged-Bird Seal—and then left her clan the instructions to synthesize more of it. Her actions had freed them. Had given them hope.
And now they were dead.
Because of her.
Hinata's vision blurred, the weight of her guilt pressing down like a stone. This wasn't what she had wanted—this wasn't supposed to happen. But the evidence was right in front of her, staring back at her through stolen eyes.
Kabuto grinned wider, as if he could see her resolve unraveling. "Such a shame," he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "They believed in you, didn't they? Believed you could protect them." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with malice. "But look at them now. Their eyes serve a better master."
Hinata flinched, her knuckles going white. She hated him—hated the way he twisted the truth into something jagged and cruel. But worse than that, she hated the small, insidious voice in her own head that agreed with him.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, each beat echoing the weight of her responsibility. The pain, the guilt, the sheer helplessness of it all threatened to choke her. Her chakra surged uncontrollably, unlocking the First Gate of the Eight Inner Gates without a second thought.
The air around her cracked with energy as the violet aura engulfed her fully, her shrine maiden robes whipping violently in the tempest she had created. Her ponytail, secured by Naruto's orange kumihimo cord, lashed behind her like a banner of defiance.
Her voice was a snarl now, raw and trembling with emotion. "You… monster! Those eyes belonged to people who lived and died with honor. How dare you treat them like tools for your twisted experiments!"
Kabuto chuckled, his voice maddeningly calm in the face of her fury. "Such righteous indignation. But tell me, Hinata-kun, are you angry at me… or yourself? After all, isn't this the result of your choices? Your actions?"
Hinata's heart sank for just a moment. A flicker of guilt pierced her rage, but she shoved it aside. She refused to let his words take root. Instead, she stepped forward, her chakra surging even higher. "You'll pay for this," she spat, her voice trembling but resolute. "For every life you've desecrated, for every eye you've stolen. You'll pay."
Naruto stepped forward, his voice sharp and concerned. "Hinata, calm down!" He positioned himself between her and Kabuto, his own chakra flaring as he prepared to intercept her if necessary. "This isn't the time to lose your head!"
The air grew heavy as Kabuto bit his thumb, a smirk playing on his lips. "Now, now, I'm only just getting started, Naruto-kun," he said casually, bending down to press his bloody hand into the sand. "I was brought here specifically to deal with all three of you. Orochimaru-sama had hoped to use this jutsu during our unfortunate invasion of Konoha, but someone—" his eyes darted mockingly to Hinata, "—rudely interrupted before it could be unveiled. Fortunately, I've perfected it for this moment."
A summoning seal spread from Kabuto's hand, dark ink spiraling outward like roots burrowing into the sand. From the center of the seal, two large, rectangular structures began to rise. Dust poured off their surfaces, revealing the unmistakable shape of coffins, their wood weathered and inscribed with intricate seals.
"No way," Sasuke muttered, his usual composure cracking as his Sharingan focused on the coffins. Naruto froze mid-step, his bravado replaced by a rare seriousness as he sensed the dense chakra radiating from within. Even Gaara's sand shifted uneasily, responding to the rising tension.
The coffins creaked as their lids fell away, hitting the sand with a heavy thud. And then they stepped out.
Naruto's eyes widened in disbelief. "Those are—!"
Sasuke finished the sentence, his voice taut with recognition. "The First and Second Hokage."
Kabuto straightened, his smug grin stretching wider as he gestured grandly to his summons. "Edo Tensei," he announced, pride dripping from his tone. "The Reanimation Jutsu. A masterpiece designed by none other than the Nidaime Hokage, whom you now see before you. These immortal warriors possess infinite chakra and regenerative abilities, making them unstoppable. I trust you'll find them… entertaining."
The First Hokage, Senju Hashirama, stepped out first, his presence commanding even in death. His chakra was immense, suffocating in its sheer vitality, like a great forest coming to life around him. His hair flowed in dark, thick waves, and his dark eyes, though duller than they had been in life, still sparkled with warmth and curiosity.
Beside him was his younger brother, Senju Tobirama, the Nidaime Hokage. His stark white hair and sharp, calculating gaze radiated precision. His aura was cold, exacting, like a blade honed to perfection. The contrast between the two brothers was stark, even in their undead forms.
Tobirama flexed his fingers experimentally, his eyes narrowing as he inspected his reanimated body. The faint glow of the Edo Tensei chakra shimmered around him, the seal inscriptions etched faintly into his skin. He let out a low murmur, his voice heavy with disdain. "The jutsu I created… reduced to this." His tone grew sharper, a flicker of anger breaking through his normally cold demeanor. "To think I'd be summoned by my own work."
Hashirama, standing beside him, tilted his head slightly as he scanned his surroundings. His expression was calm, but curiosity danced behind his eyes. "Well, this is certainly… unexpected," he said, his voice rich and warm, carrying the authority of a man once revered as a god among shinobi. He moved his arms and flexed his shoulders, testing the limitations of his reanimated body. "I didn't expect to be standing in Sunagakure of all places—though I must admit, it's a strange feeling to be summoned by someone else's will."
Kabuto chuckled darkly, stepping forward with an air of smug confidence. His fingers moved into a single seal, the control talisman for the Edo Tensei glowing faintly in response. "Oh, I assure you, I'm more than capable of keeping you two in line," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "I've made… improvements. Amaterasu-sama's blessings have elevated this jutsu beyond even your imagination, Tobirama-dono. You'll find my control quite formidable."
Tobirama's chakra flared for an instant, a sharp, icy surge radiating from him as he tested the bindings of Kabuto's control. His teeth clenched, and his eyes narrowed with palpable anger as his body froze mid-motion, unable to move further. "You've bound me tightly," he growled, his voice low and venomous. "But don't think for a moment you'll manage the same with my brother."
Hashirama glanced at his younger brother, his expression softening with a faint, awkward chuckle. "Sorry, little brother," he said with a wry smile, his tone tinged with a reluctant resignation. "It seems he's not bluffing. This control is… impressive. I can't even feel a sliver of freedom to move on my own."
Kabuto's smile widened, his glasses glinting in the artificial sunlight of the false sun above them. "You flatter me, Hashirama-dono," he said, his voice almost mocking in its feigned humility. "With power like mine, combined with the gifts of the Sun Goddess, even the so-called gods of shinobi must bow to my will."
For a moment, no one moved. Kabuto's words hung in the air, their weight pressing down like the relentless heat of the false sun. Naruto's eyes flickered between the resurrected Hokage and Kabuto, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. Sasuke's gaze narrowed, his visible Sharingan glowing with a sharp, calculating intensity, while his mechanical arm twitched subtly, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Beside them, Hinata's breath caught in her throat, her violet aura shimmering faintly as her eyes darted toward the looming figures of the First and Second Hokage, their presence as suffocating as it was awe-inspiring.
Naruto exhaled sharply, breaking the silence as his fiery determination surged back to the forefront. He stepped forward, shaking off the lingering shock as if shedding a heavy weight. "So what if they're Hokage?" he declared, his voice ringing with confidence and defiance. "I'm gonna be the Sixth! Beating my predecessors is just common sense!" He slammed his fist into his open palm, his grin wide and full of youthful bravado. His aura burned bright, the sheer force of his will radiating outward like a beacon, dispelling the oppressive tension with his unshakable resolve.
Hashirama's face lit up with genuine delight, his earlier tension giving way to an expression of pure joy. "The Sixth Hokage?" he repeated, his voice brimming with excitement. "That means there's been a Fourth and Fifth! The village has flourished! Oh, how wonderful!" His eyes sparkled with pride, and for a moment, his presence felt less like an overwhelming god of shinobi and more like a kind grandfather marveling at his family's achievements.
Naruto blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected reaction. His bravado faltered for a second, his grin shifting into an awkward smile. "Uh… yeah. It's been pretty great, actually," he said, scratching the back of his head. But he quickly rallied, his voice regaining its vigor. "And the guy standing next to me? He's the younger brother of the Fifth Hokage!"
Tobirama's sharp gaze snapped to Sasuke with the precision of a blade, his eyes narrowing as his features hardened. "An Uchiha," he said, his tone cold and measured, each word weighted with significance. There was no malice in his voice, but the edge was unmistakable. His piercing stare lingered, dissecting Sasuke as if searching for something in him.
Sasuke stiffened, his body tensing under the intensity of Tobirama's scrutiny. His visible Sharingan spun warily, a faint gleam of crimson against the shadows. He could feel Tobirama's attention bearing down on him like a predator assessing its prey, and the weight of that gaze was suffocating. Yet Sasuke met it head-on, his own expression resolute and unyielding. The Uchiha pride that ran deep in his veins would not allow him to flinch, no matter how imposing the figure before him.
Hashirama's gaze flickered between Naruto and Sasuke, his enthusiasm undimmed by the subtle tension in the air. "Well, this is shaping up to be quite the meeting!" he said with a hearty laugh, though there was a hint of curiosity in his voice as he looked at Sasuke. "The younger brother of a Hokage, and an Uchiha at that! The village must have grown strong with you all at its heart."
Naruto's grin widened, emboldened by Hashirama's praise. "You better believe it! And we're about to prove just how strong we've become!" He glanced at Sasuke, his energy infectious. "Right, Sasuke?"
Sasuke didn't respond right away, his focus still locked on Tobirama. But after a tense pause, he finally spoke, his voice low and firm. "Right." It was a simple word, but it carried the weight of his resolve.
Kabuto's smug grin only widened as he watched the exchange, savoring every reaction like a connoisseur sampling fine wine. "Oh, this is just delightful," he mused, his tone dripping with mockery. "To see the future of Konoha standing so proudly before its past… Truly, history in the making." He adjusted his glasses, the glint obscuring his eyes as he gestured toward the Hokage. "Shall we see which era truly reigns supreme?"
Just before Kabuto could give the command for the Edo Tensei Hokages to leap into action, a booming voice echoed across the desolate streets, commanding everyone's attention.
"Hold it right there!" Kankuro roared, his voice filled with fierce determination. All eyes turned toward the source of the interruption, and what they saw made Kabuto's smug smile falter. Kankuro stood atop the village wall, flanked by a massive force of shinobi—nearly a hundred strong. It was as if the entire remaining strength of the Sunagakure had risen in unison, their resolve like a tangible force.
Kankuro had combed the vast desert, rallying every scattered ninja who had once called Suna their home. He had spent hours gathering every warrior in hiding, convincing them of the necessity of this final stand. The sight of the false sun blazing over their village had spurred them onward, a symbol of the oppression they refused to yield to. These shinobi had lost their homes, but not their will to fight. Sunagakure might have been taken, but their spirit remained unbroken.
As they scaled the walls and surged into the village, Kankuro's army arrived just in time. They saw the gathering storm of battle below, the Konoha shinobi standing their ground against Sasori's forces. The fight hadn't begun yet, but the tension was palpable. Kankuro wasted no time.
"You'll pay for what you've done to our home!" Kankuro bellowed, throwing his arm forward. "Sunagakure stands united! We take it back tonight, or we die trying!"
Kabuto's smile returned, but there was a flicker of annoyance in his gaze. "Well, isn't this a touching display of loyalty," he sneered. "But no matter how many of you gather, you won't change the outcome. Numbers alone won't save you." He adjusted his glasses and sighed. "Hidan, it seems your talents are required after all."
With a flick of his hand, Kabuto unclipped the muzzle gagging the head of Hidan, still affixed to the grotesque puppet body. The moment the restraint was removed, a torrent of profanity erupted from Hidan's mouth.
"If you think I'm gonna fight for your fake-ass goddess, you've got another thing coming!" Hidan screamed, his red eyes blazing with fury. He lunged forward, snapping his jaws in a futile attempt to reach Kabuto's throat. "Jashin is the only god, you hear me? When I get my body back, I'm gonna shove my scythe so far down your throat, you'll be choking on your intestines, you slimy little snake fuck!"
Kabuto didn't flinch, though he grimaced at the sheer volume of Hidan's tirade. "Yes, yes. How lovely. Sasori-sama, kindly get him away from me."
At Kabuto's request, the puppet body carrying Hidan's head began to march toward the assembled Sunagakure shinobi. Hidan continued his tirade, cursing and threatening anyone within earshot. But before the puppet could get too far, a bullet of sand shot through the air, whistling past its head. The puppet jerked back just in time, avoiding the direct hit, but the sand projectile found its mark on another puppet behind it, punching a clean hole through its chest.
The damaged puppet faltered for a moment, staring blankly at the gaping hole in its torso before crumpling to the ground. Its lifeless remains were a grim reminder that these were no ordinary enemies. Gaara stood with his arm extended, his expression cold and resolute. The sand swirling around his feet responded to his will, ready for more.
That single shot was the spark that ignited the battle.
"Attack!" Kankuro roared, his voice ringing out like a battle cry. His arm swung forward, and the gathered Sunanin leapt from the village walls with a battle cry that echoed through the streets of Sunagakure, each shinobi charging into the fray with unwavering resolve.
The scene they descended upon was surreal: a false sun blazing in the sky, casting a harsh, unnatural light over an army of puppets, their wooden limbs clattering in eerie unison. At the center of it all was the puppeteer, the one who had stolen their home and their pride—Sasori.
But there was no hesitation. Pride and desperation surged through the Sunanin as they barreled toward their enemy. For many, this was more than a fight—it was a chance to reclaim their dignity, to remind the world that the spirit of the Sand Village was not so easily crushed.
The puppets nearest to them were caught off guard. Their focus had been singularly trained on the Konoha shinobi, and the sudden assault from the Sunanin blindsided them. Weapons and jutsu of every kind tore through the first wave, shredding dozens of puppets into splinters and gears. Elemental jutsu illuminated the battlefield, bursts of fire, water, wind, and lightning striking true.
Kankuro led the charge, leaping into the fray without hesitation, even without the puppets that had once been his pride. Sasori had stolen them, stripping him of his tools and his legacy, but that loss only hardened his resolve. Puppetless, he fought alongside his comrades, his fists and kunai striking with unrelenting determination. This was the Sunagakure he knew—a village of survivors, fighters who refused to back down, even when the odds were stacked against them.
Yet, even as they made their stand, a cold dread settled in Kankuro's chest. Sasori had underestimated them, yes, but he had far more puppets than they could ever hope to destroy. The hundred they had annihilated were nothing compared to the thousands that remained.
The tide of battle shifted as Sasori's retaliation began.
"Dodge, you idiots!" a voice roared from within the chaos. It was Hidan's—his warning came just in time to save the Sunanin from certain death. A metallic tail lashed out like a scorpion's stinger, striking with deadly speed. Though it missed its fatal mark, several shinobi were grazed, their cries of pain cutting through the clamor of battle.
Kankuro's eyes snapped to the source of the attack: Hiruko, Sasori's infamous battle puppet. It was grotesque, a hulking, hunched-over creation that scuttled across the sand like some monstrous turtle. Its tail loomed behind it, gleaming with fresh blood and poised to strike again.
"Damn it," Kankuro cursed under his breath, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his kunai tighter. Hiruko loomed ahead like a grotesque sentinel of death, its scorpion-like tail swaying menacingly in the air. Hiruko wasn't just a puppet—it was a reminder of the devastation Sasori had inflicted upon their village, a living mockery of the strength they once thought untouchable.
But Hiruko was only the beginning of the nightmare.
Kankuro's eyes flicked to the sand, catching sight of the intricate seals etched into its surface. Lines of chakra glowed faintly under the harsh glare of the false sunlight, connecting in a complex pattern that radiated outward from a central point. He didn't fully grasp what the markings meant, but the foreboding air around them sent a chill crawling up his spine. Whatever it was, it wasn't good.
Above the glowing circle stood the puppet holding Hidan's head, its posture unnervingly rigid as though it were presenting a macabre offering. Around it, a group of other puppets moved with methodical precision, completing the final lines of the seal in perfect synchronization. The wooden figures knelt and etched the finishing touches into the sand with sharp, pointed fingers, their movements as fluid as a living artist's hand.
Kankuro's gut twisted as he watched. "What the hell are they doing?" he muttered under his breath, gripping his kunai tightly. His instincts screamed at him to intervene, but he hesitated, unsure of what he was witnessing.
Before he could act, one of the puppets stepped forward, its blank, lifeless face tilted toward Hidan's head. It reached out with stiff, mechanical fingers and forced his jaw open, ignoring his furious attempts to resist. Hidan's crimson eyes blazed with rage as his head thrashed violently, but the puppet's unyielding grip held firm, silencing his guttural curses.
"Get your hands off me, you goddamned pieces of scrap!" Hidan spat, his voice thick with venom, but it was no use. The puppet holding his head forced his jaw open even wider, its wooden fingers digging into his flesh with unrelenting pressure. Hiruko's tail dipped low, its razor-sharp tip glinting menacingly as it moved with precision toward its target. The metallic appendage dragged across Hidan's tongue with deliberate slowness, leaving a vivid streak of blood smeared onto it.
As the tail retracted, it scraped the sides of Hidan's mouth, slicing into his cheeks and widening his grin grotesquely. Blood trickled down from the fresh wounds, pooling at the corners of his mouth before dripping onto the sand below. His head jerked violently, but his thrashing only made the cuts deeper, the grotesque image of his bloodied, forcibly grinning face adding to the terror of the moment.
The effect was immediate—and horrifying.
A strangled scream ripped through the battlefield as one of the Sunanin who had been nicked by Hiruko's tail dropped to their knees. Their mouth split open, flesh tearing as though an invisible blade had sliced their cheeks apart. The same happened to another, and then another, each wound grotesquely mirroring the cut on Hidan's own face. Blood poured freely, staining the sand beneath them as the shinobi clutched their faces in agony.
And then came the blades.
The puppets surrounding Hidan descended like vultures, their wooden limbs moving with eerie coordination. Swords, kunai, and spears pierced Hidan's puppet body from all angles, each strike deliberate and unrelenting. The sound was sickening: wood cracking under the force of the attacks, steel grinding against the puppet's joints. Hidan's head flailed helplessly, his curses devolving into guttural growls, his crimson eyes burning with fury as his body jerked under the assault.
But Hidan's puppet body wasn't truly injured. The real damage was elsewhere.
The Sunanin struck by Hiruko's tail collapsed one by one, their bodies convulsing as the invisible wounds carved into them mirrored every blade that struck Hidan. Blood sprayed into the air as the shinobi fell, their uniforms shredded and flesh torn as if by phantom weapons. One man gasped for breath as a spear drove through Hidan's chest—and an identical wound erupted through his own. Another woman screamed as a puppet's blade slashed Hidan's throat, her own neck splitting open with a spray of crimson.
Kankuro's stomach churned as the scene unfolded. It was grotesque, obscene, a display of cruelty beyond comprehension. His fingers dug into his palms, his mind racing as he watched the lifeless puppets carry out their grim work.
"Shit!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. His eyes darted to the nearest group of shinobi, his urgency barely contained. "We need to take him down! Now!"
But the battlefield was chaos. The Sunanin were spread thin, each warrior locked in desperate combat with Sasori's seemingly endless horde of puppets. Kankuro could only rally a handful of shinobi to his side as he charged toward Hidan, determined to stop the blood-soaked ritual from claiming any more lives.
Before they could reach him, ten puppets clad in white landed in their path. Kankuro skidded to a halt, his heart sinking as he recognized them. Chiyo's puppets.
Each was an intricate masterpiece of craftsmanship, a haunting reflection of Sunagakure's legacy. Their white lacquered armor gleamed under the false sunlight, pristine and untouched by the chaos around them. The puppets were humanoid in shape but unnervingly exaggerated, their elongated limbs ending in sharp, blade-like fingers. Some carried massive, segmented weapons—a whip of interlocking blades, a flail with a spiked ball that shimmered with residual poison. Others had compartments on their torsos, faintly glowing with dormant traps that Kankuro knew could release clouds of poisonous gas or launch a hail of senbon.
Chiyo had once wielded these puppets with grace and precision, using them to topple entire fortresses and strike fear into her enemies. Each puppet moved with fluidity and purpose, a testament to her mastery of the art. But now, under Sasori's control, their movements were almost mechanical, devoid of the subtle humanity Chiyo had imbued them with.
The sight of them, twisted to serve their creator's murderer, filled Kankuro with a deep, burning rage. He clenched his fists, his voice raw with fury. "Out of my way!" he roared, charging forward despite the odds.
Blades clashed against wooden limbs. Kankuro's every move was calculated, his mind racing as he tried to outmaneuver the creations of a master far beyond his own skill. But the stakes were too high for hesitation. Hidan's puppet body was already being swapped out, his head attached to a new frame, while Hiruko's tail lashed out again, collecting fresh blood from another group of hapless shinobi.
Kankuro gritted his teeth, pushing through the wave of despair that threatened to engulf him. "Keep fighting!" he shouted to his comrades, his voice a beacon of hope amidst the storm. "We're taking back our home!"
But as the battle raged on, the cost of their desperation became painfully clear. The Sunanin were outnumbered and outmatched, their pride and determination pitted against an enemy that felt no pain, no fear, and no hesitation. Kankuro could only hope that their resolve would be enough to turn the tide.
The pounding footsteps of the Sunanin army echoed across the battlefield, sending faint, rhythmic tremors through the sand. Each step, each jutsu, each clash of steel and wood rippled through the terrain in microscopic shockwaves. To most, these vibrations were insignificant, lost in the chaos of the moment. But not to Gaara. As the Sage of the Desert, he felt each ripple as though it were a heartbeat, an unspoken language of the land that only he could understand. The desert whispered to him, the vibrations painting a vivid picture of the battlefield.
He could feel the desperation of his people, their determination to reclaim their home, and the unyielding courage that propelled them forward despite the overwhelming odds. Every step they took spoke of pride and resolve, a silent declaration that they would rather die fighting than live as outcasts.
And then there were the puppets.
Their movements were precise and unfeeling, devoid of the chaotic rhythm of life. Where the Sunanin charged with the fire of human emotion, the puppets advanced with cold, mechanical efficiency. They felt… wrong. Gaara had fought countless enemies in his life, and even the most hardened killers carried emotions into battle—confidence, anger, fear. These puppets carried none of that. They were lifeless extensions of Sasori's will, and for the first time in a long while, Gaara felt a sliver of unease.
Even the faces of those he had killed in his darker days remained etched in his memory, tied to the emotions they carried in their final moments. Fear, rage, defiance—he remembered them all. The only exception had been Hinata. Their battle during the Chūnin Exams had been unlike anything else. She had started afraid, trembling in the face of his overwhelming power, but as their fight progressed, her fear had melted into something else: sadness, pity, and finally, an unshakable resolve. It had made her human in a way that stood apart from all his other opponents.
Now, as he felt her presence beside him, her emotions were different. Rage and despair rolled off her like waves, crackling through the sand beneath her feet. She was human, unmistakably so, and yet her power had grown to such heights that it threatened to blur that line.
In contrast, Sasori's presence was nothing but a void.
Gaara tightened his fist, the sand around him rising in response to his will. He couldn't help but wonder: could they even defeat something that lacked a soul?
He didn't have the luxury of dwelling on the question for long.
A flash of movement, faster than the desert winds, drew his attention. Senju Tobirama—the Nidaime Hokage—appeared beside Sasuke, so swift and silent that Gaara barely registered his movement. The air seemed to warp around him as he moved, his presence cold and sharp, like a blade slicing through the battlefield.
"Looks like our fight is going to have to be elsewhere," Tobirama said, his voice like frost. Before he could react, Tobirama placed a hand on Sasuke's shoulder. In the blink of an eye, both were gone, leaving nothing but a faint ripple in the sand where they had stood.
"What the—where did they go?" Naruto's voice rang out, laced with frustration. He turned, scanning the battlefield for any sign of his missing comrade.
That momentary distraction was all Hashirama needed.
"Unfortunately, you have me to worry about," the Shodai Hokage said, his voice tinged with quiet sadness. Before Naruto could respond, Hashirama was upon him, his hand closing around Naruto's face with the gentleness of a father scolding a child. But the strength behind that grip was anything but gentle.
With a spin and a subtle push, Hashirama sent Naruto hurtling across the village. The force of the throw created a series of sonic booms, and tidal waves of sand marked Naruto's trajectory as he crashed through building after building. Each impact sent debris flying, leaving a trail of destruction that stretched beyond their sight.
"Hey, Kabuto," one of Sasori's puppets snapped, its wooden head swiveling unnaturally to fix its lifeless gaze on the rogue medic. The voice was flat, yet brimming with irritation, a sharp contrast to the chaotic battlefield around them. "Try not to cause too much collateral damage, would you? This village is filled with my puppets, and I'd rather not have them obliterated by your recklessness."
The statement was punctuated by the groan of collapsing buildings in the distance, Hashirama's earlier throw having decimated rows of puppets with its sheer force. Limbs and shattered wooden fragments littered the sand, their lifeless remains a stark testament to the overwhelming power that had just been unleashed.
Kabuto turned to the puppet with an exaggerated shrug, his chuckle carrying a note of mock regret. "Ah, my sincerest apologies!" he said, adjusting his glasses, the false light reflecting off the lenses and obscuring his eyes. "It's hard to keep the First Hokage in check, you know. The man's power is in a league of its own, as I'm sure you're painfully aware."
Hashirama, as if on cue, crouched slightly before launching himself into the air with a force that sent another shockwave rippling across the sand. The ground beneath his feet fractured, creating a small crater as waves of sand erupted outward like ripples from a stone dropped in a pond.
The resulting shockwave tore through nearby puppets, reducing several to splinters. Sasori's silence was palpable, but his annoyance was unmistakable, conveyed through the subtle shifts in the puppets around him, each one tilting their heads toward Kabuto as if to accuse him of carelessness.
Kabuto, far from repentant, raised a hand in mock surrender. "See? What did I tell you? It's like trying to leash a wild Bijū!" He chuckled again, clearly amused with himself as Hashirama disappeared into the distance, chasing after the trail of destruction he had left in his wake.
Sasori's puppet turned its gaze back to the battlefield, the wooden mouth curling into a grimace. "Just keep him focused on the targets. I won't have my masterpiece ruined by your clumsy theatrics." The voice was venomous, underscored by a barely contained disdain for Kabuto's chaotic methods.
"Of course, of course," Kabuto replied, his grin widening. "I'll do my best to minimize the damage. Though," he added with a smirk, "perhaps you should have considered reinforcing your toys." His taunt hung in the air for a moment, but Kabuto's attention quickly shifted, his confidence unwavering as he turned toward Hinata.
She stepped forward, her footsteps steady despite the maelstrom of emotions swirling within her. Her aura radiated a quiet intensity, the violet hue of her chakra shimmering faintly around her shrine maiden robes. For a brief moment, the chaos of the battlefield seemed to fade, the charged atmosphere narrowing to just the two of them.
"I'm sorry," Hinata said softly, her voice calm but carrying a weight of unspoken determination. Her gaze remained fixed on Kabuto, even as she spoke to Gaara. "I can't ignore him. I'll deal with him quickly and return to help you. I promise."
Gaara didn't respond immediately. His attention shifted upward, his sharp, golden eyes locking onto the false sun that loomed over the battlefield. The puppet of Amaterasu glimmered at its center, a flawless mimicry of the goddess that cast an oppressive light over his village. It was their true target, but standing between Gaara and that goal were two figures that made his breath hitch.
The puppet versions of the Sandaime Kazekage and the Yondaime Kazekage—the village's past leaders, his own father among them—emerged from the fray. Their intricate construction and precise movements made it clear that Sasori had spared no effort in their creation. They were far more than ordinary puppets; they were weapons designed to honor and mock their namesakes in equal measure.
Gaara's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he turned back to Hinata, his voice steady but heavy with the burden of what lay ahead. "Are you sure that's a promise you're able to keep?"
Hinata stopped, her lavender eyes meeting his golden ones. She took a deep breath, her aura flaring brighter with renewed resolve. "I never go back on my word," she said, her voice unwavering, her conviction clear. "That's my Nindo—my Ninja way."
Gaara held her gaze for a moment longer before nodding, his own determination solidifying. Without another word, he turned back to the towering puppets blocking his path, the weight of his village's history pressing down on him as he prepared to face the shadows of the past, a task that would require every ounce of the power he had gained as the Sage of the Desert.