From a jagged cliffside perch, a small orange-haired kid cautiously craned his neck, eyes widening at the frenzy unfolding below, his voice a hushed burst of awe:
"Ninja clashing right near our spot—and that's Hanzo down there with Konoha forces?"
A purple-haired girl peeked out beside him, her whisper laced with quiet wonder. "Shinobi power hits like a storm—raw and unstoppable."
They fixed on the trio of Konoha mentors encircling Hanzo in a tense ring, then spotted a peer-aged ninja on a distant front unleashing a sweeping jutsu that reshaped the entire field in a rush of elements.
The orange-haired boy bobbed his head, conviction steady. "Looks like Konoha's sealing this war tight."
Tucked behind, a dark red-haired boy locked onto the leaf emblem flashing in the chaos, breath catching sharp—memories flooding of intruders with that mark storming his home, claiming his parents in a blur of violence.
Moments stretched as the other two stayed glued to the spectacle; finally, he murmured, clutching a limp puppy close, "We should move—too risky hanging here."
The orange-haired one twisted back, noting the grief in the redhead's grip, and gave a solemn nod before guiding them silently away from the edge.
The combatants below remained oblivious to the hidden witnesses, locked in their brutal dance.
Perched on a weathered boulder, Hanzo eyed the trio of young Konoha shinobi ahead, their breaths ragged, bodies leaning on one another just to stay upright amid the wreckage.
Echoes of victorious Konoha shouts drifted on the wind, but to Hanzo, they rang hollow, stirring a deep chill of defeat—the lifelong pursuit now fractured, at least halfway lost in the mud.
Not long back, he'd crushed the Land of Iron's defenses, hauling away crates of vital resources, his certainty blazing: Rain's ascent ignited at last.
Yet shadows of greater powers maneuvered them into the crosshairs of the Five Great Nations' titan, the Land of Fire—Konoha's unyielding might.
Hope flickered undimmed in Hanzo; he wagered the leaf wouldn't bare its full fangs here, reserves dispatched to Rain's quagmire far from elite core.
Topple this wave, and Rain could extract tribute from Fire's coffers—a true leap, foundations solidifying in the fallout.
From war's spark, he'd schemed relentlessly: erode Konoha's ranks, sever supply veins, draw them deep into Rain's sodden core where home turf turned predator.
Every angle exploited, flaws aside—victory tantalizingly close—until a mere youth, dismissed as irrelevant, unraveled the tapestry thread by thread.
Hanzo's stare drifted to Kyuushin afar, bathed in his comrades' adoring roars. No venom lingered now; the end loomed clear, threads severed beyond repair.
Earlier retreat might've salvaged scraps of Rain's might. Even in defeat today, Hanzo's fire endured—ambition's embers unquenched, ready to smolder anew.
Eyes shifting to the propped-up three, his voice cut direct: "Konoha claims this war, most likely. Walk away—live."
"Most likely" hung ironic; sharp eyes saw Rain's spirit shattered, kunai limp in trembling hands. Leaf's triumph inevitable, etched in the downpour.
Arrogance threaded his words still—as ninja, his blade hadn't dulled. Outnumbered three-to-one, summons crashing the field, he'd wielded superior force to repel their beasts, leaving the mentors bloodied and broken.
Jiraiya bristled, wounds screaming yet defiance roaring louder. "Pity's not on the menu—we're geared for more rounds!"
"Quiet down, Jiraiya!" Tsunade snapped, steadying his sway. Prior hits had battered him; then, shielding her as Creation Rebirth faltered, he'd eaten Hanzo's Exploding Tag Barrier full-force—teetering on collapse now.
Hanzo's gaze stayed cool, words dripping patronage: "Strength gleams in you three—enduring this crucible. Henceforth, bear the mark: Konoha's Legendary Sannin. Claim it proudly, forged in near-death's forge—thrive on that legacy."
Pivoting, he scanned Kyuushin distant; chest wound throbbed anew, frost's bite lingering like a promise unfulfilled.
Kyuushin sensed the close too, striding nearer to catch Hanzo's tone shift to near-reverence: "And you, leaf's ice-wielding prodigy—nearly flipped a standard clash solo. That chill echoes your village's founder, the shinobi god Senju Hashirama. Little Hashirama fits the bill sharp."
The moniker carried an undercurrent of spite to Kyuushin, but he met it with a grin, unflinching: "Senior Hanzo tangled three foes, carving deep scars on my mentors with barely a scratch in return. That prowess eclipses the Five Kage's league. No god status needed—demi-god of the shinobi world suits just fine."
Hanzo's features twitched at the pivot, but silence held; his ploy soured from the start.
Slaying Kyuushin eluded now, yet the label sowed seeds—other nations hearing "Little Hashirama" would hunt relentless, blades drawn.
Kyuushin flipped it seamless: god-tier weight crushed bearers; even demi-god whispers amplified threats, four nations' eyes narrowing tighter.
Hanzo conceded the field to Konoha; leaf forces held blades, permitting Rain remnants to withdraw under his shadow—no purge, mercy in the mire.
Their Rain incursion aimed to bleed the enemy dry. Kyuushin alone tallied three to four hundred Rain fallen; the rest chipped in four to five hundred more.
Over half Rain's warriors erased in the clash—mission not just met, but shattered beyond measure.
War's toll cut both ways: Konoha mourned a hundred lost, survivors etched in wounds, Rain's numbers a stubborn tide.
Even a pillar like Sarutobi Shin'ya, jonin elite among the three captains, perished in a Rain swarm—their lone bright spot amid the rout.
Kyuushin noted Tsunade's drain, stepping up to summon Katsuyu. Casualties swelled high; the slug manifested grander, a healing tide for the throng.
Distant, Hanzo watched the youth muster energy for such a colossal call, then glanced at his hollowed Rain entourage—a sigh escaped, first since dawn's fury ignited.