Ōnoki, surrender now and I'll go easy on you with the drills!
Namikaze Raimon's eyes narrowed to amused slits as he observed the four besieged figures. They stood back-to-back in a desperate defensive square, faces etched with the grim resolve of seasoned warriors staring into an abyss of pure absurdity.
"This old man would rather die on his feet than surrender on his knees!" Ōnoki declared, his gravelly voice dripping with stubborn pride. Death before dishonor—especially this particular brand of dishonor.
"I, an old woman, have cheated death more times than I can count!" Chiyo rasped, the few remaining puppets circling her like broken guardian angels. "What is there left to fear?"
Her defiance, though fierce, was undercut by the splintered wood and torn chakra threads of her puppets.
"Heh~ Is that so?" Raimon's smile widened, a predator toying with cornered prey. These old fossils had spine; he'd give them that. But a refusal to surrender was merely a challenge to his creativity. If the threat of a blossoming rear wasn't enough… he'd just have to escalate.
"Fine. Let's see how long that pride holds. Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!"
He didn't whisper it. He declared it. And the Edo Tensei's infinite chakra, a blasphemy against the natural order, answered.
POOMF! POOMF! POOMF! POOMF!
The sound was not of individual clones, but of a continuous, thunderous detonation. The air itself seemed to fracture. One Raimon became ten. Ten became a hundred. A hundred became a thousand—then ten thousand!
In mere moments, a sea of identical smirking faces and yellow hair flooded the battlefield, their collective presence a physical weight. The scale of the conflict instantly inverted. The allied shinobi force of tens of thousands now found themselves visually outnumbered by a single man's clones.
The din of battle died instantly.
Every single fighter—Konoha defender, Sand, Stone, Cloud, or Mist attacker—froze, their blood running cold. This was a scene from a collective nightmare. Shinobi had seen Shadow Clones before, but this? This was an army sprung from one mind, each clone radiating a chakra signature that felt disconcertingly, impossibly solid.
"M-masaka…! It's the Demon of the Shinobi World's true power!""Form up! Protect the rear! DEFENSIVE FORMATION!"
Panicked shouts erupted. Years of drilled paranoia took over. Across the allied lines, shinobi scrambled, abandoning all offensive postures. They formed tight circles, backs pressed together, hands flying through seals or channeling chakra into the now seemingly pitiful Chakra-metal plates on their backsides.
Iwagakure ninja slammed their palms to the earth. "Doton: Dohō no Jutsu!" (Earth Release: Earth-Style Wall!) Sturdy walls of rock erupted behind their lines, providing a cold, stone barrier to lean against. Sunagakure puppeteers frantically maneuvered bulky, specially designed 'Anti-Raimon Barrier Puppets'—essentially mobile, armored walls—into position behind their comrades.
"Anti-Raimon Full Perimeter Defense… COMPLETE!" a seasoned Iwa jōnin bellowed, his voice tight with fear masquerading as command. A forest of tense, pale faces stared out at the encircling legion of Raimons.
On a ridge far from the main fray, the Fourth Raikage, supported by his aide and Kurotsuchi (the future Tsuchikage, here in a support role), watched through a haze of pain. His own brutal, high-speed duel with Raimon had been too fast for the rank-and-file to comprehend.
Now, they were witnessing the sheer, overwhelming scope of the threat. He groaned, a mixture of physical agony and profound despair. "It's over. The Alliance is finished."
He had seen firsthand what a single focused Raimon could do. Facing ten thousand? It was a slaughter waiting to happen.
"Who… who was the fool that brought this monster back?!" he seethed, imagining a thousand painful deaths for the perpetrator.
Far away in Otogakure, Orochimaru paused mid-sentence in a lecture to his test subjects.
"A sudden chill…? How peculiar."
He licked his lips, unconcerned, and returned to his diagrams of improved pelvic armor.
"It's indefensible. Completely indefensible," the Raikage muttered, shaking his head. The cursed legacy of the Namikaze—first Raimon, then Minato. Blights upon the shinobi world, both thankfully short-lived. The thought of facing either in their prime for long was a terror in itself.
At that moment, the thick clouds shrouding the night sky parted as if on cue. A wash of pure, silvery moonlight bathed the battlefield, illuminating the surreal standoff with theatrical clarity.
Upon Konoha's walls, the civilians and non-combatant shinobi watched with bated breath and morbid fascination. Reports of Raimon's past siege were legend. Now, they were witnessing the legend in reverse: one man besieging four nations.
"How… how does someone even train to get that strong?""If I had even a tenth of that power, the Rokudaime seat would be mine!"Whack! "Idiot! Stop daydreaming and watch! This is a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle!"
Back on the field, the Raimon legion moved as one. Tens of thousands of hands rose, weaving a series of seals that were horrifyingly familiar to veterans of the last war.
"Doton: Nyōdō Kesseki no Jutsu!" (Earth Release: Urinary Calculus Technique!)"Doton: Jinzō Kesseki no Jutsu!" (Earth Release: Kidney Stone Technique!)
This time, the micro-manipulation was diabolically refined. The stones formed were not large, obstructive boulders, but tiny, jagged granules—perfect for maximum, lingering discomfort.
"Suiton: Bōchō Hozon no Jutsu!" (Water Release: Bladder Retention Technique!)"Suiton: Jinzō Jōryū no Jutsu!" (Water Release: Kidney Flush Technique!)
A wave of oppressive, physiological dread washed over the allied formation. Ten thousand bladders suddenly felt impossibly, urgently full. A deep, aching pressure built in their lower backs as their kidneys were forced into overdrive.
"Hold it! Everyone, HOLD IT!" commanders screamed, their own faces turning purple with strain. "This is his psychological warfare! Break the formation and we're done for! Think of your buttocks! Think of the DRILL!"
But biology is a ruthless master. The kidneys, puppeteered by Raimon's forbidden art, would not be denied.
"I… I can't! I'm sorry!"
One Sunagakure chūnin finally broke. A dark patch spread down his trousers as a hot stream released onto the ground. The relief was instantaneous—and then replaced by searing, white-hot agony.
"GYAAAAAAAAAAAGH—!!"He collapsed, clutching himself, his body convulsing as the microscopic, razor-edged stones began their torturous journey. He writhed in the puddle of his own making, bile rising in his throat.
"D-demon…!" he gurgled, a trembling hand reaching toward the impassive Raimon clones. "I'll… curse you… from the pure land…!"
His eyes rolled back, the pain triggering a merciful unconsciousness.
That single, horrifying collapse broke the dam—both figuratively and literally.
"I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!"
The meticulously held Anti-Raimon Formation shattered into chaos. Across the moonlit plain, a spectacle of unparalleled indignity unfolded. Tens of thousands of shinobi, from grizzled jōnin to trembling genin, succumbed. Some managed to turn away, fumbling with their pants. Others, paralyzed by the dual pressures of agony and terror, simply let go where they stood. The night air filled with the sound of rushing water and pained grunts, creating a vast, steaming, and foul-smelling moat around the allied forces.
On Konoha's wall, the reaction was a mix of stunned silence, hysterical giggles, and sheer disbelief. Most kunoichi turned away, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and disgust. A few hardened veterans and… certain enthusiastic older women… leaned forward, offering unsolicited commentary on comparative anatomy.
"Will you look at that… it's turning into a lake!"
Following behind Tsunade, Jiraiya's jaw was practically on the floor. The great sage, patron of the bathhouse, was utterly mortified.
"Yep… nope. I am officially retiring from provoking him," he mumbled, a cold sweat on his brow. "From now on, it's straight from the Hokage's office to the hot springs and back. If I see him, I'm a rock. A very unnoticeable rock."
Raimon's original body and the clones immediately surrounding Ōnoki's group had not subjected them to the humiliating jutsu. The hundreds of drills still hovered, menacingly piston-like.
"See?" all the clones surrounding the four leaders said in unison, their voices a creepy chorus. "The choice is yours. Would you prefer to join the communal… relief effort? Or savor the intimate touch of these drills?"
Ōnoki's face was purple with rage and bottled-up defiance. He still had one card to play. A forbidden, indiscriminate technique he'd hoped to avoid using amidst his own forces. But now, with his allies in disarray and his own dignity on the line…!
"Raimon! Your arrogance ends here! Perish with this land! Jinton: Genkai Hakuri no Jutsu!" (Dust Release: Detachment of the Primitive World Technique!)
A brilliant, terrifying white cube of light erupted from his hands, expanding with shocking speed—centered on himself.
"ŌNOKI YOU SELF-CENTERED OLD BASTARD!" Chiyo shrieked. With a agility that defied her age, she dove into a shallow tunnel a puppet had excavated moments before, vanishing underground just as the light consumed the space where she'd stood.
The cube expanded to a five-meter diameter before winking out of existence, leaving a perfect spherical void in the ground. Only Ōnoki remained within its epicenter, panting heavily, his arms trembling from the effort.
"Ha… haha… finally… FINALLY!" He threw his head back and roared with laughter, the sound tinged with madness and relief. "The scourge is erased! Reduced to atoms!"
Crick— "GYAH! My back!" The triumphant roar cut off into a pained yelp as his old injury, courtesy of a past Raimon kick, flared up violently. He clutched his lumbar region, but the grin of victory remained. "A small price! That demon Raimon is finally dead!"
"Ōnoki, you reckless fool! You almost turned me to dust too!" Chiyo's voice snapped as a puppet carried her out of another tunnel several meters away, covered in dirt.
"Tch. A pity it missed," Ōnoki shot back, still gripping his back, a smug and pained expression on his face. The Mizukage and Danzō were gone, sacrificed to his ultimate technique. Collateral damage.
Just as the two aged survivors began to savor their pyrrhic victory, a voice, smooth as silk and cold as the moon above, spoke from directly behind them.
"My, my… what's all the celebration about?"