"…Your turn…"
The deep rasp scraped the air like metal dragged over glass. It made Umezono Chizu and Daigo's skin pebble.
What is this?
Possibilities flashed through Chizu's mind, then fell apart. An exam gone wrong? A hidden invader? Every candidate and proctor slaughtered—in the middle of Konoha?
Who could do this under the Leaf's nose?
A cold tide of killing intent rolled toward them—thick enough to feel. The three Sand genin looked up in the same instant and met the butcher's eyes: a dull, blood-red glare like a serrated blade.
The cleaver's jagged edge scraped the stone floor, spitting sparks as the butcher walked through the field of remains. Each step landed like a hammer on their chests.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Even the air felt like needles, pricking their nerves in rhythm with that tread. The coppery stink of blood clawed up their throats. Terror surged.
"Run—run!" their third teammate—quiet until now—snapped, yanking them back to sense. "Move!"
Right. Run. Why were they still frozen?
"Go!" Chizu flashed through seals, dragged in a breath. "Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!"
A gale tore through the hall—dust and grit billowed up in a thick, roiling wall, hiding everything in choking haze.
"Now!" Chizu shouted, bolting for the door with his two teammates.
He glanced back—just in time to see a rust-stained hammer descend, almost lazily, onto Kota's head.
A dull whump.
Kota dropped where he stood.
Warm wetness spattered Chizu and Daigo's cheeks. The sour, metallic stink turned both their faces a chalky white.
"Kota—!"
No answer. He wouldn't be answering anything again.
"Move!" Daigo barked, dragging Chizu forward. The bundle strapped across Daigo's back came free with the tug—a compact wooden human-shaped puppet, limbs jointed with precision.
Click-click-click.
Daigo's fingers danced; chakra threads winked into being. The puppet's arms snapped up. Dark tubes locked into place in both palms.
A storm of needles shrieked across the floor toward the butcher.
Thud-thud-thud.
The needles punched deep. The hulking body shuddered and took a few heavy steps back, red blooming across the apron.
"Don't look back!" Daigo hauled Chizu toward the door, breath ragged. But the killing aura was right behind them again—pressing, relentless.
Screee—
The cleaver's serrations rasped louder, closer.
Ten meters to the door—five—three—
They threw themselves at the exit—hands outstretched, fingers grazing wood—
The door didn't budge.
"What—won't—open?" Chizu gasped, horror dawning.
"Move." Daigo gathered chakra and drove a punch into the planks.
Boom.
Ripples spread across the wood like rings in water.
"A barrier," Daigo said, sweat beading on his brow. "There's a barrier on it."
A thin line of light glowed at the door's edge. Hope—so close it hurt.
Screee—screee—
The butcher came on, cleaver grinding furrows in the stone as he walked.
"We fight," Daigo said through his teeth, hands flaring with threads. "Chizu—together!"
The puppet juddered, then skated low across the floor toward the butcher. Chizu forced the fear down, flung a spread of shuriken, and snapped through seals.
"Wind Release: Linked Blades!"
The shuriken struck home—then wind-honed edges bit deeper, carving lines across the butcher's torso. Blood spattered.
Click-click-click.
The puppet's jaw snapped open; purple mist jetted out and billowed, swallowing the butcher whole.
"Sand's special blend," Daigo said, yanking hard on his threads. "And this!"
Compartments popped along the puppet's arms and chest. A torrent of hidden weapons screamed into the fog from every angle—needles, darts, spikes, a hail that rattled the stone.
Chizu drew a deep breath, gathered every shred of chakra he could muster, and exhaled.
"Wind Release: Grand Air Cannon!"
Hyper-compressed air detonated into the purple cloud like artillery shells, each impact hammering the shadow inside.
"He's done," Chizu panted, convinced. "He has to be—"
"—ah… ah…"
Breath heaved in his chest. He stared into the thinning poison fog—and his face slowly froze.
"No… way…"
The butcher walked out of the mist.
Holes the size of bowls punched clear through his torso. Blood ran down in sheets. Needles and spikes bristled from his flesh.
Still he came on—steady, unstoppable, like a machine that didn't know how to fall.
"…Your turn."
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