"Ridiculous."
Raizen's lips curled into a grin as he watched the Chūnin fumble with the shuriken he'd tossed. The blades clashed, ricocheting in a chaotic dance of steel. Perfect. Just the kind of messy fight he liked.
Kuwu, gripping the pierced shuriken, flicked it into the air. In the same instant, the mud beneath Raizen shifted. With a surge of chakra, he burst upward, kunai gleaming in hand. The blade tore across the Chūnin's neck before the man could react.
"Already prepared."
The Chūnin's eyes glittered with bloodlust, not surprise. He twisted midair, narrowly avoiding the strike, and slammed a fist into Raizen's head.
"Boom!"
Pain flared, but Raizen vanished in a swirl of smoke. The Chūnin blinked—Raizen had mastered disappearing and striking like a ghost.
From the corner, Madara launched three shuriken, each spinning with lethal precision. Raizen shifted into a clone, creating a perfect decoy. The Chūnin roared in fury, falling for the ruse.
"Rasengan!"
A spinning sphere of chakra slammed into the Chūnin, slamming him into a massive tree. Before he could scream, his body went limp.
Raizen gasped, legs trembling from the Chakra drain. The Rasengan had used every ounce of his energy. He sank to one knee, sweat and mud coating him.
"Haha! How's it feel, Raizen?"
Madara's voice cut through the haze. He laughed, eyes sparkling despite the blood and grime. Seeing Raizen struggle, he found instant amusement—Raizen had never made it easy for anyone to see him weak.
"Idiot," Raizen muttered, casting a side-eye at him. Madara, future tyrant in his own right, was laughing like some middle-school brat who'd found candy.
Madara's laughter froze into a glare when Raizen's words hit. He didn't care. He grabbed kunai and shuriken, checking his supply before ducking into the jungle.
"Let's go. This place isn't safe."
Madara scowled but followed, moving quietly through the dense undergrowth. The battlefield had expanded; anywhere in the jungle could hide an enemy now. Survival was a knife-edge.
After a tense crawl, they stumbled upon a hollow in a large tree. Inside, they collapsed, tending to wounds in silence. Raizen traced a finger over the scar on his arm, wincing as the pain bit through his exhaustion.
Madara, equally bloodied, adjusted his torn sleeve, but a faint grin tugged at his lips.
"I don't even know when this war will end," Raizen muttered, staring out at the shadowed jungle. Today had been a dance with death, a brutal reminder that even the strongest could fall in an instant.
Madara's expression darkened at his words. "The war… will never stop. Not in this world of killing and lies."
Raizen nodded grimly. He had learned the truth firsthand: kill to survive, and even then, you became a target for revenge. Hatred fed on hatred, blood paid for blood.
"War," Raizen whispered, letting the weight of the word settle. Today, he had finally understood what it meant. A world where survival was measured in pain, strategy, and the relentless rhythm of being hunted.