The air over the Kumo border was already a tapestry of suffering. Matatabi, the Two-Tails, was a blazing scar of blue fury upon the land, her roars shredding the sky and her flames turning the very rivers to steam. The partially transformed Gyūki was a mountain of thrashing crimson pain, its roars a bass counterpoint of agony and rage as Killer Bee fought a desperate, internal war for control.
The Kumo shinobi were less an army and more a swarm of ants trying to cage two falling stars, their barriers flickering and dying, their lightning techniques absorbed or deflected by the colossal chakra presences.
It was into this maelstrom that the third cataclysm arrived.
It did not come with a roar, but with a hiss. A low, pervasive sound that seemed to emanate from the ground itself, a sibilant whisper that promised decay. Then, the earth beneath a squad of Kumo barrier specialists bulged upwards, not with force, but with a sickening, gelatinous swell. It burst open with a wet, tearing squelch, and from the wound in the world, Saiken, the Six-Tails, erupted.
It was a vision of grotesque, slug-like majesty. Its pale, segmented body, glistening with corrosive mucus, uncoiled to a staggering height, dwarfing even Gyūki's partial form. Six powerful tails, tipped with openings that wept acidic slime, lashed the air. Its single, pupil-less eye glowed with a vacant, malevolent green light, and from its entire body, a thick, corrosive mist began to billow outwards, a white, choking fog that smelled of rotting flesh and vinegar.
The shockwave that rippled through the combatants was not physical, but psychic. The Kumo shinobi, already at the breaking point, stared in utter, soul-crushing disbelief. This was not part of the calculus. This was a nightmare layering upon a nightmare.
From his position, desperately trying to coordinate a retreat, Ayy's voice tore from his throat, raw with a fresh wave of horror. "The Six-Tails! By the gods… that's Kiri's beast! What is it doing here?!" His mind, reeling from what he had earlier sensed, now faced their physical, rampaging proof.
On the distant ridge, the Sannin's detached observation snapped into sharp focus. Tsunade and Orochimaru exchanged a single, lightning-fast glance. This was no natural occurrence. A jinchuriki did not simply appear and transform on a rival nation's doorstep.
"The seal was broken from the outside," Orochimaru murmured, his golden eyes alight with a clinical, unholy interest. "Precisely. Expertly. This is not a loss of control. This is a forced release."
But the most visceral reaction came from within the crimson chakra cloak of the Eight-Tails. Killer Bee, his body a conduit of searing pain, felt Saiken's chakra like a physical blow to his soul. It was a cold, oily, insidious pressure that slithered over Gyūki's raw, burning rage.
The battle, which had been a destructive duel, now became a chaotic, three-way apocalypse. Saiken, driven by the alien will implanted by Madara, let out a gurgling, watery roar and charged. It did not target the Kumo shinobi or the Sannin. It barreled directly toward Matatabi, its primary, instinctual rival.
The collision was a symphony of elemental annihilation. Saiken's body, wreathed in corrosive mist, slammed into Matatabi's flank. Where the blazing blue flames met the acidic mucus, the world screeched in protest. Vast plumes of superheated, toxic steam exploded outward, scalding everything in a half-mile radius. The very rock beneath them melted and boiled, creating instant lakes of glass and acid.
Matatabi, her feral intelligence recognising a dire threat, retaliated with pure instinct. She spun, unleashing two point-blank Blue Cat Fireballs. The spheres of condensed blue flame, hot enough to vaporise steel, shot toward Saiken's face.
But the Six-Tails was ready. It opened its maw and expelled a torrent of thick, neutralising mucus. The fireballs struck the gelatinous wall with a deafening hiss, their incredible heat instantly quenched, transformed into more billowing, poisonous steam that blotted out the sun.
The shockwaves from their clash rippled outwards, igniting forests and flattening what few structures remained. In the midst of this, the partially transformed Gyūki, caught between the two, became a victim of its own desperate defence.
Seeing Saiken about to overpower Matatabi, a flicker of kinship—or perhaps just a strategic desire not to face the victor alone—made Bee and Gyūki act. A massive, chakra-formed tentacle swept down like a god's whip, aiming to smash Saiken away from the Two-Tails. The impact was colossal.
"KRA-BOOM!"
The ground quaked. But the victory was pyrrhic. Saiken's corrosive chakra was a passive, ever-present defence. The moment the tentacle made contact, the acidic slime coating the Six-Tails' body ate into it. The sound was a sickening, rapid crackle as the crimson chakra dissolved, the psychic feedback feeling like a hot wire being dragged through Bee's nervous system.
Gyūki recoiled with a roar of pain, the tentacle flickering and destabilising, now half its previous size.
The terrain was no longer a battlefield; it was a death zone. The ground was a patchwork of burning blue flames, bubbling pools of acid that ate down to the bedrock, and glassy craters from the initial clashes. The air was unbreathable—a mixture of superheated ozone, corrosive vapor, and choking smoke. The few remaining Kumo shinobi were not fighting; they were dying, caught in crossfires or dissolved where they stood.
The Sannin were forced into a full retreat, leaping back to a higher, more distant ridge. The dilemma was clear on their faces. To stay was to witness a historic, catastrophic event. To leave was to abandon intelligence on three tailed beasts in conflict.
"This is no longer our mission," Jiraiya stated, his voice grim. "This is a disaster."
"It is an unprecedented experiment," Orochimaru countered, his eyes glued to the spectacle. "The interaction of three distinct Bijuu chakras… the results are… fascinating."
Below, Ayy's voice was a hoarse, breaking instrument of command. "Fall back! All units, full retreat! Do not engage! Bee!" he screamed, his lightning armour flaring as he dodged a wave of acidic slime. "Hold on! Don't let it out! We can't survive it!"
Inside the maelstrom, Killer Bee was losing. He was on his knees within the chakra cloak, blood pouring from his nose and ears.
'Not yet…' he whispered, his mental voice a frayed thread. 'Gyūki… don't you dare let go… I'm not… done rapping yet…'
The balance of power had decisively shifted. Saiken, perhaps the best-suited of the three for a war of attrition, now dominated the field. Its corrosive mist was slowly enveloping the area, forcing Matatabi to constantly expend chakra to keep her flames from being extinguished. Gyūki was crippled, defensive, and bleeding chakra. With another gurgling roar of triumph, Saiken reared up, gathering a massive, high-density Slime Bullet between its tails. The air itself seemed to curdle around the technique.
It fired.
The projectile wasn't fast, but it was immense and inevitable. It struck the ground between Matatabi and Gyūki. The resulting explosion wasn't of force, but of dissolution.
A wave of concentrated acid erupted, washing over both beasts. Matatabi screeched as patches of her fiery form were doused and eaten away, her brilliant blue light dimming. Gyūki roared, its protective chakra shell eroding violently under the corrosive onslaught.
Saiken towered over them both, wreathed in its victorious, toxic mist, its vacant eye surveying the devastation it had wrought. The very clouds above began to tear apart, ripped asunder by the conflicting chakra shockwaves.
On the ridge, even Orochimaru was shaken from his clinical fascination. "This balance of power… it is unsustainable," he muttered. "The ecosystem of conflict is collapsing."
The scene was set for absolute ruin. The Two-Tails was faltering, the Eight-Tails was on the verge of being forcibly sealed or destroyed along with its host, and the Six-Tails stood unopposed.
But as the acidic mist began to coalesce for a final, annihilating strike, a new light pierced the gloom. From the far southern horizon, a massive chakra flare erupted—a brilliant, cold blue star of Ice Release, followed moments later by a familiar, furious crackle of golden lightning tearing through the sky. They were still miles away, but their intent was as clear as a declaration of war.
Hiroshi, the Third Mizukage, and Ay, the Third Raikage, were coming.
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