Kyuushin slipped away from the Sannin-Hanzo maelstrom, weaving through the downpour to plunge into the heart of the Konoha-Amegakure clash.
A swift scan revealed Konoha's edge holding firm—outnumbered yet dictating the tempo, their assaults relentless waves crashing against Rain's defenses.
Relief settled in; barring wild cards, leaf victory loomed as certainty, the grind tilting inexorably their way.
Fate, however, dealt a curve: Amegakure's flanking squad struck from the shadows, barreling toward Konoha's exposed flank amid the deadlock's fever.
The newcomers ignited chaos—Rain shedding caution, pivoting to bites that clawed back ground from the startled Konoha lines.
Panic flickered briefly across the field, but discipline reasserted; pressure mounted steep, yet the formation held, no shattering rout in sight.
Kyuushin fished a compact scroll from his waist pouch, seals popping its seal to birth a gleaming chakra-conducting blade into his grasp. Uzumaki Masaaki's parting gift for the front lines—practical, lethal.
Soldier pills had patched some reserves, but fullness eluded; to play it smart, he opted for blade work, chakra sting minimal in the press.
Legs coiled with explosive power, propelling him into the reinforcements' hot zone. One slash felled a Rain shinobi mid-lunge, sparing a beleaguered Konoha fighter.
Gratitude barely formed on the saved man's lips before Kyuushin blurred onward, steel singing through another foe's guard—silent dispatch to the beyond, no cry escaping.
The Konoha survivor gulped, knuckles whitening on his kunai, then roared back into the fray with renewed fire.
Kyuushin vaulted high, targeting a Rain cluster thick as storm clouds, arcing over their heads. First Gate Gene Lock hummed alive, chakra sheathing the blade in a vibrant aura.
"Wind Release: Wind Blade!"
Gales infused the edge, birthing an ethereal extension—razor keen, hungering for flesh.
This tweak drew from Wind Severing Technique's blueprint, channeling its peerless slice while clinging persistent to the metal, a lasting venom.
Plummeting like judgment, Kyuushin swept the blade wide; Rain shinobi bisected at the midriff, crumpling in agonized heaps, life ebbing slow in puddles of their own making.
Onlookers paled, sweat beading cold amid the chill—flight instincts warring, but Kyuushin denied mercy, flickering through to claim each soul with finality.
Gone was the academy fresh face; back then, prowess shone, but jonin tier eluded, demanding tricks against chunin swarms.
Now? Strength, swiftness, chakra depths, jutsu finesse—all jonin caliber, some surging beyond. Facing these Rain ranks—chunin at best, fodder below—he needed no guile; just swing and reap.
Rain jonin tested him, lunging with elite snarls, but Chidori's piercing screech met them head-on—regret their only echo as they fell.
Time blurred in the red haze; pressure evaporated, leaving Kyuushin blinking at the carved path, the squad reduced to strewn remnants.
Backtracking over the carnage, numbness gripped—no thrill, no regret. War's forge dulled the soul, turning slaughter to routine.
No leisure for reflection; he ghosted to another Rain knot, sensing reserves crest full. Blade sheathed, hands clasped for the arcane.
"Water Release: Water Bullet Technique!"
C-rank simplicity, yet in his weave, it roared cataclysm—projectiles hurtling like siege shot.
Bullets hammered home: instant ends for some, explosive bursts flinging others skyward, ground or stone claiming the rest in bone-crunching aftershocks.
Dozens harvested in the salvo, Kyuushin's perimeter scoured clean; survivors quailed, advance crumbling to hesitant retreat.
Rain's sharper minds clocked the threat—no quarter for unchecked rampage. Rally cries rallied seven or eight aces, herding a mob to swarm Kyuushin in unison.
Poise unbroken, he sidestepped the opener, seals snapping as chakra erupted—a torrent laced with azure flames dancing wild around his frame.
"Water Release: Great Waterfall Technique!"
Essence transmuted to deluge, roiling vast before him, ballooning past limits before crashing forth like a living wall.
No mercy in the flood; Rain vanguard vanished in the rush, scores to hundreds swept in the blink—hundreds who'd pressed moments prior, now playthings of the current.
Adrift in the surge, they battered against rocks, slammed to unyielding earth, or drowned in the crush—combatants no more, broken shells washing away.
Hanzo, locked in his Sannin tangle afar, caught the spectacle and seethed, fury boiling over. Kyuushin's duo blasts alone neutered a tenth of Rain's muscle, a grievous hemorrhage.
Worse loomed the ripple: waters not just bodies, but spirit—the intangible glue fraying fast.
Whatever oaths or visions Hanzo dangled pre-dawn, they'd fueled Rain's fire through every Konoha scrape, morale a bulwark amplifying home turf edges.
That zeal kept them at peak, quality gap be damned—Konoha's betters forced to claw for every inch.
Kyuushin's onslaught gutted it raw, the fall stark and sudden.
No shock there; Hanzo, Rain's apex, mired by the trio's chain, left the field leaderless. Among the rest, none could blunt Kyuushin's storm.
Those seven or eight jonin charges? Hanzo's inner circle, ranks gilded in Amegakure's hierarchy—disciples carrying his weight.
Yet even they shattered against one jutsu, ripples unborn in the tide.
Some Rain eyes fixed on Kyuushin amid the melee, dread whispering: could this lone whirlwind claim the field entire?
Despair cascaded then, smothering the ranks like the rain itself—while Konoha's fire blazed hotter, cheers igniting.
Kyuushin trailed Tsunade's shadow pre-battle; word spread of the lineage. Witnessing his field-god feats now? Roars erupted, a contagion sweeping the lines.
"Lord Kyuushin, strike true!"
Voices multiplied, a thunderous chorus blanketing the chaos.
"Lord Kyuushin, strike true!"
"Lord Kyuushin, strike true!"
Faced with that onslaught, Rain fringes faltered—kunai slipping from numb grips, will evaporating in the face of the inevitable.
Konoha's triumph sealed in that moment, the war's architect standing revealed: Kyuushin, the fulcrum that tipped the scales.