The commander of the Amegakure battalion narrowed his eyes at the distant caravan. "There's a sensory ninja among them," he told the other Jonin in a low, firm voice. "Otherwise, they wouldn't have halted so far away and immediately formed up. Our ambush has been exposed."
Before his words could settle, movement caught his eye. The commander and his fellow Jonin saw the Uzumaki siblings breaking into a sprint toward them. His tone sharpened. "Incoming!"
Though only ten figures approached, not a single Ame shinobi dared take them lightly. Even a lion fights with all its strength against a rabbit — and these were no rabbits. The commander gave a subtle hand signal. "Hold positions. Strike at the right moment."
The order rippled through the ranks, and each ninja steadied themselves for impact.
Meanwhile, the Uzumaki siblings closed in, splitting apart in perfect synchrony under Erza's direction. Their first objective: the Jonin commanding the ambush.
Makima, sprinting toward her chosen opponent, halted just a few meters away. She crouched, pressing her palm firmly to the ground. "Multiple Summoning Jutsu!" she called, her voice ringing across the battlefield.
In an instant, multiple summoned beasts materialized behind Makima in puffs of smoke. Towering above the rest was a massive white tiger — Frosty — his aura colder and fiercer than it had been three years ago.
Frosty loosed a thunderous roar, his sheer presence pressing down on the Ame forces like a heavy storm.
Makima's voice cut through the tension. "All of you — flush out those hiding in ambush. Leave anyone already locked in combat with my brothers and sisters. Do not interfere."
The summons gave curt nods or low growls of assent before scattering. Panthers slipped into the underbrush, hawks soared upward, and Frosty padded forward with lethal grace, each moving in perfect accord with her command.
With the battlefield now in motion, Makima turned back to her target. She drew the twin daggers strapped to her ankles, the steel glinting in the light, and charged.
The Amegakure Jonin met her head-on. Their clash was a blur — blades flashing, bodies weaving, steel ringing out in a rapid ding-ding-ding that echoed across the field.
As the exchange dragged on, the Jonin's confidence wavered. How is this possible? Her speed… her taijutsu… she's matching me blow for blow. His thoughts grew more frantic. Damn it, I'm being held in check by a girl barely fourteen or fifteen!
What he didn't know — what might have shattered his composure completely — was that Makima was only thirteen.
Unable to gain the upper hand in close combat, the Amegakure Jonin changed tactics. In a brief clash, he shoved Makima back, then vaulted onto the high branch of a nearby tree.
Perched above, his hands blurred through a rapid sequence of seals. "Water Release: Water Fang Bullet!" he barked, unleashing a volley of small, high-pressure jets that screamed through the air like deadly bullets.
Makima didn't flinch. Behind her, four gleaming adamantine chains erupted into motion, their pointed, crystal-hard tips whipping forward like living serpents. They intercepted the incoming water rounds mid-flight, shattering them one after another. The destructive force that could have pulverized stone was rendered harmless under the relentless defence of the chains.
But they didn't stop there. The chains surged upward toward the Jonin, snapping and striking with lethal intent. Forced into a defensive scramble, he leapt from branch to branch, twisting aside or meeting the attacks with his kunai, each block jarring his arms.
Elsewhere, the battlefield was a storm of claws, fangs, and chaos. Makima's summons tore through the ambushers with ruthless precision. Those foolish enough to try binding the beasts with wire or cord found themselves either ripped from their footing by sheer brute strength, or momentarily successful—only to be met by Frosty's intervention.
The great white tiger crashed through their lines like a living avalanche, his roars shaking the air. Any who dared restrain his allies were cut down in a spray of blood and steel, their bodies tossed aside as if they weighed nothing.
Every attempt the Ame shinobi made to bind a summon ended the same way — Frosty was there, a white blur of muscle and frost, tearing through their lines before the cords could tighten. It didn't take long for the enemy to realize the truth: as long as Frosty roamed free, none of their traps would hold.
Soon, he became their primary target. Orders were barked, movements synchronized, and attacks came in relentless waves. Frosty met them all with tooth, claw, and freezing breath, but even his immense strength had limits. After a grueling series of feints, strikes, and coordinated assaults, it finally took fifteen Amegakure shinobi working in perfect unison to bring him down, thick iron wires crisscrossing around his frame and anchoring him to the ground.
A murmur of triumph began to spread among the captors—until the air around Frosty shimmered with killing intent.
An ice shard materialized in front of his forehead. Then another. And another. Within seconds, nearly ten jagged, crystalline spears floated in the cold air, glinting with lethal promise.
With a sudden twist, Frosty snapped his head toward one flank — toward the cluster of shinobi gripping the cords. The shards shot forward like a blizzard given form. Three men dropped instantly, their bodies skewered before they could even cry out. Two more staggered away, narrowly avoiding death but forced to abandon their hold.
With the bindings weakened, Frosty let out a roar that split the battlefield. Muscles coiled, and the remaining cords snapped under his power.
He was free again — and his rampage resumed with twice the fury.
Not far from Frosty's rampage, Guy was locked in a brutal exchange with an Amegakure jōnin. His opponent's hands blurred through a flurry of seals before unleashing a surging torrent. "Water Release: Wild Water Wave!"
The roaring stream tore across the battlefield—only to be met by an even greater wall of water. Guy had mirrored the technique perfectly, his chakra surging with overwhelming force. He had activated his ultimate skill, Lucifer, not only copying the Jonin's attack but amplifying it to devastating effect.
The collision sent the enemy's wave collapsing back upon him. The force slammed into the Jonin like a hammer, hurling him several meters through the air before he crashed to the ground.
Dazed and coughing, he forced himself to his knees, bracing for Guy's follow-up strike from the front—where any normal opponent would press the advantage.
Instead, his eyes widened in confusion at the cold shadow looming over him. Before he could turn, a claw burst through his back, the sharp tips erupting from his chest in a spray of blood.
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