"Dong! Dong! Dong!"
Suddenly, the man wielding the leg-bone drumsticks began to beat furiously on the red drum strapped to his waist.
"No, no! I want him! I want to take him! He's mine!"
He shouted wildly, pounding the drum as he jumped around like an overexcited child.
Each thunderous strike made heads ache and hearts tremble. The sound was maddening.
Nearby shinobi stared, eyes twitching with each booming rhythm. The two masked figures—though their faces were hidden—gave the eerie impression that the yaksha faces on their masks were alive.
"No! Stop!" the other figure lunged forward, grappling his partner as they began to fight each other.
The surrounding ninja were stunned.
"What the—? They're fighting each other?!"
The red-masked one swung his bone drumsticks, while the black-masked one slashed with his biwa pick. Their clash was fast, violent, dazzling.
Orochimaru frowned slightly, glancing across the barrier. The Third Hokage had already brought his hands together—ready for the final battle.
Meanwhile, the two fighting Akatsuki suddenly turned in unison and lunged toward Shigeo.
Their "fight" had been nothing but a ruse to lower everyone's guard.
One attacked from the front and above, while the other flung razor-sharp picks that spiraled toward Shigeo's back and sides.
Their Shunshin (Body Flicker) speed was incredible. Before anyone could react, they were already upon him—front, back, left, right—closing in for a fatal strike.
But none of their attacks landed.
Every blow passed straight through his body as if he were a ghost sitting on the roof's edge.
"Bang!"
Shigeo's arm shot out, gripping one attacker's drumstick mid-swing. His other elbow slammed squarely into the red-masked man's face.
They had moved together in perfect sync, but one had been closer than the other—and that proximity sealed his fate.
The red yaksha's mask cracked under the blow but didn't fall off, as though it were fused to his flesh.
"Guhh… Give me back my brother!" screamed the black-masked one from afar, flinging his pick weapons toward Shigeo.
Because Shigeo still held the drumstick, the red-masked attacker couldn't break free.
The flying picks whirled like a storm of shuriken, their overlapping shadows filling the air.
Each pick seemed to multiply, enhanced by Fūton (Wind Release)—a flurry of spinning chakra blades that cut through the air.
Even the nearby ANBU were caught in the onslaught.
Some countered with Fūton barriers, others deflected with kunai.
Clangs and sparks flashed in all directions—but two were still hit, the picks piercing through flesh and drawing blood.
Despite the furious assault, not a single strike affected Shigeo.
The red-masked attacker, still clinging to his drumstick, shrieked in terror.
"Brother, are you trying to kill me?! You've always been jealous that I'm stronger! Admit it! You want me dead!"
He screamed, chakra surging as his body flared with power.
The drumstick in Shigeo's hand suddenly twitched—breaking free as if it had a will of its own, flying back into its owner's grasp.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!" The drum thundered again.
"It's you! You're jealous of my playing—you dragged me into this mess! Our mission isn't him, it's the One-Tail! Don't you understand?!" the black-masked man shouted, plucking his biwa furiously.
The discordant melody rose and fell, like a hundred wailing spirits.
The sound was harsh, grating—pure chaos in rhythm.
"Ahh!" Someone screamed, covering their ears.
Across the village, civilians and ninja alike—whether fighting or fleeing—clutched their heads in agony.
Veins bulged, eyes bloodshot. Even the Third Hokage faltered momentarily, his movements freezing under the unbearable noise.
To an outsider, it looked as if the duo had turned on each other.
But in truth, the only ones getting hurt were everyone else.
Shigeo's temples throbbed. The pounding, the screeching—it was intolerable.
"Enough already!" he shouted, voice sharp as steel. "If you want to live or die, just say it in one sentence!"
Before either could react, he released a surge of Bakuton (Explosion Release)—a massive shockwave of chakra that blasted outward.
The force rippled through the air like a detonating storm.
Several ANBU were thrown to the ground, and even the Shishienjin (Four Violet Flame Formation) barrier flickered like disturbed water.
The Sound Four maintaining the barrier at each corner were hit by the reverberation but steadied their breathing, reinforcing the jutsu with renewed focus.
Shigeo still didn't understand the full scope of the Evil Strings and Demon Drums Duo's powers—but he knew one thing: he despised the sound they made.
The two Akatsuki were hurled back by the blast, but before the smoke cleared, eerie music began again.
The vibrating chords of the biwa swelled, roaring like a spectral army charging through the air.
Some ANBU screamed in terror, clutching at their eyes and ears.
"It's genjutsu?" Orochimaru muttered, frowning.
But Shigeo's chakra nature included Mokuton (Wood Release)—and with his mastery over chakra flow, almost no illusion could trap him.
Only Kurama Yakumo's illusions had ever challenged him.
Activating his Sharingan, he immediately tracked the duo's movements as they flickered through space with Shunshin.
In one swift motion, he struck—his Jiton (Magnet Release) Magnetic Blade piercing clean through the red-masked man's chest.
The drumming stopped. Blood poured out.
The man looked down at the wound in disbelief and shrieked in a high-pitched, almost feminine voice, "Blood! Brother, I'm bleeding!"
The black-masked man's biwa shrieked in response, the sound distorting into raw, mind-breaking noise.
This wasn't illusion—it was pure sonic chaos amplified by chakra.
Shigeo's irritation peaked.
In a blur, he lunged forward, grabbed the red-masked man's shoulder, and with a twist of his body kicked out both legs toward the incoming attacker.
It was a simple kick—but the magnetic spikes embedded in his boots turned it lethal.
Pshh!Pshh!
Both strikes landed true. The so-called "big brother" was impaled by magnetic force, blood spraying into the air.
"AAAHHH!"
Their screams tore through the night. Then, a sudden gust of wind swept across the rooftop—
and both figures vanished without a trace.
At the same time, four groups of black-cloaked figures appeared at Konoha's north, south, east, and west, launching new assaults on the village.
The two brothers hadn't gone far—they were hiding in the shadows, hastily bandaging their wounds.
(End of Chapter)
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