Renjiro studied the creature from inside the Susanoo, his Mangekyō spinning, his breathing ragged.
He raised the Susanoo's arms, preparing to strike.
Orochimaru moved.
The white serpent launched forward with terrifying speed—not the sluggish, ponderous movement of a creature its size, but the lightning-fast strike of a predator that had perfected the art of ambush. The ground shook, the air screamed, and the Susanoo barely had time to brace before the serpent's massive head slammed into its chest.
CRACK.
The impact was devastating. The Susanoo staggered, its silver armour spiderwebbing with fractures, and Renjiro felt the shockwave travel up through the construct, into his body, rattling his teeth and blurring his vision.
Faster than Manda, he realised, his eyes widening. Faster than any summon I've ever faced. How is something that large so fast?
Orochimaru's thoughts were calm, almost amused, as he coiled for another strike.
Stop thinking of me as a summon, he mused, his serpentine lips curling into a smile. Stop thinking of me as a man. I am the predator. I am the evolution. I am beyond your categories.
He struck again—this time, not at the Susanoo's chest, but at its legs.
The tactical assault was precise, devastating. Orochimaru's massive body whipped around the Susanoo's lower limbs, his coils tightening, his scales grinding against the silver armour. He did not attack the torso, did not attack Renjiro directly. He targeted the foundation—the legs that supported the giant's weight, the structural weak points that kept the Susanoo standing.
GRIND. CRACK. POP.
The Susanoo staggered, its balance compromised. The ground beneath its feet crumbled, unable to support the shifting weight. Renjiro felt the construct groan, its chakra framework straining, and he pumped more energy into it, trying to stabilise, trying to hold.
He's not trying to overpower it, Renjiro realised, a cold dread settling into his stomach. He's trying to collapse it. Bring the giant down. Leave me vulnerable.
Orochimaru opened his jaws.
A massive torrent of venom erupted from his throat—white-green, viscous, hissing as it flooded across the battlefield. It was not ordinary poison; it was chakra-corrosive, a substance that attacked the very bonds that held the Susanoo together. The venom splashed against the silver armour, and where it touched, the chakra framework began dissolving.
Renjiro felt the Susanoo weaken—not the gradual depletion of chakra, but the active destruction of its structural integrity. He pumped more energy into the construct, repairing damaged sections as fast as they corroded, but the venom was faster.
This isn't ordinary poison, he thought, his heart pounding. It's quickly eating the chakra framework itself. I can't out-repair this forever.
Orochimaru coiled around the Susanoo.
The white serpent wrapped its massive body around the silver giant—once, twice, three times—squeezing with the force of a collapsing mountain. The Susanoo's armour groaned, cracks spreading across its surface, silver plates fracturing and falling. Renjiro felt the strain feed back into him, his body convulsing, blood running from both eyes.
Break the shell, Orochimaru thought, his coils tightening. Then consume the boy.
Renjiro roared.
It was not a sound of pain, but of defiance—the first real emotional outburst he had allowed himself in the battle. His chakra surged, and the Susanoo's four arms thrust outward simultaneously.
Adamantine Chains erupted.
Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Silver links with golden undertones exploded from the Susanoo's body, filling the battlefield like a tidal wave of metal. They wrapped around Orochimaru's neck, his coils, his jaws, his body—weaving a net of sealing energy that covered the white serpent from head to tail.
The chains were not merely restraints. They were sealing instruments, inherited from the Uzumaki clan, designed to bind even the mightiest of creatures. And now, amplified by the Susanoo's power and the green flames of the Mangekyō, they were something more.
Orochimaru's eyes widened—the first genuine surprise he had shown in the battle.
What—
The chains tightened. The green flames ignited along their length, spreading across the serpent's body, and the draining began. His chakra reserves, already depleted by the battle, began to bleed away. His body weakened. His movements slowed.
The battlefield became a web of emerald light, and the white serpent was trapped at its centre.
"GOT YOU."
Renjiro's voice echoed from inside the Susanoo, raw with exhaustion and triumph.
"YOU CANNOT SEAL ME!"
Orochimaru's voice was distorted through his serpent jaws, but the fury was unmistakable. He thrashed against the chains, his massive body convulsing, but the links held. The green flames flared brighter, draining his chakra faster, and the sealing effects reinforced both the physical restraints and the spiritual attack.
If I stay trapped, Orochimaru realised, his mind racing, I lose. The flames will drain me completely. The chains will hold me until I have nothing left.
He made a desperate choice.
The outer skin split.
The white serpent's body tore open—not along the lines of the chains, but along the seams of its own anatomy. The massive form began to shed, to abandon, to escape. The chains tightened around empty scales, around discarded flesh, around a husk that no longer contained the Sannin's consciousness.
Orochimaru launched from the serpent's mouth.
Human-formed, missile-fast, he shot toward the Susanoo's core—toward Renjiro himself. His target was not the construct, not the chains, not the flames. His target was the boy inside, the vessel that held all the power.
If I take the body now, Orochimaru thought, his spectral form already beginning the Living Corpse Reincarnation, everything becomes mine. The eyes. The chains. The flames. The Susanoo. Everything.
Pale spectral snakes emerged from his body—white, writhing, reaching toward Renjiro. His soul was partially exposed, the technique already activating, the transfer already beginning.
Renjiro saw it.
Not chakra. Not flesh. Him. Orochimaru's actual spiritual form, the source of his immortality, the core of his existence. The pale snakes were reaching for him, trying to pull his own soul from his body, trying to claim what was not theirs.
You were always going to try, Renjiro thought, his expression hardening. I expected this.
He activated Purge of the Wicked—not through the chains, not through the Susanoo, not through external flames. Directly. From his own body.
Green fire erupted from his skin, from his eyes, from his very soul.
The flames collided with the white spectral snakes, and the technique attacked.
Not Orochimaru. Not his body. The technique. The formula. The chakra matrix that made Living Corpse Reincarnation possible. The green fire burned through the ritual, destabilising its structure, unravelling its seals, corrupting its pathways.
The white snakes began to disintegrate.
Orochimaru felt it—a sensation he had not experienced in decades. Fear. True, genuine fear. His immortality, his greatest creation, was being unmade before his eyes. The soul-transfer structure collapsed, the ritual rejected him, and his spirit was forced back into his body.
CRACK.
He was launched backwards, his body tumbling across the cratered earth, smoke rising from his charred robes. The green flames lingered on his skin, still burning, still draining, still reminding him that he was mortal.
For the first time in the battle, Orochimaru fell.
He dropped to one knee, his breathing ragged, his chakra depleted, his body covered in burns and wounds. His yellow eyes, once gleaming with amusement and curiosity, now held something else. Something that looked almost like reverence.
You burned my immortality, Orochimaru thought, staring at the damaged Susanoo, at the boy bleeding from both eyes inside it. Even the Third couldn't do that.
"You burned my immortality," he said aloud, his voice hoarse, almost reverent. "Even the Third Hokage couldn't do that."
He looked up.
"What the Hell are you?"
Renjiro stood inside the damaged Susanoo, his body barely standing, his new Mangekyō flickering, his chakra nearly exhausted. Blood ran from both eyes, tracing crimson rivers down his cheeks, and his arms trembled from the strain of maintaining the construct.
"Someone who won't let you take anything else from this world," he replied, his voice weak but steady.
The battlefield was silent.
The Susanoo was cracked and smoking, its silver armour pitted and scarred. The chain web still burned with green flames, their glow casting emerald shadows across the wasteland. The shed serpent husk lay discarded, its scales already fading, its massive form already dissolving into chakra mist.
And between them—the Sannin kneeling, the young commander standing—the distance was no longer measured in meters, but in will.
I felt his soul recoil, Renjiro thought, his internal voice a whisper. He's not unkillable. He's not beyond death. One more push. Just one more.
But I don't know if I have it.
Orochimaru stared at the boy, and something unfamiliar crept into his consciousness. Not curiosity. Not amusement. Not even hunger.
Fear.
I miscalculated. The specimen became the predator. I need to survive. I need to study this. But not now. Not tonight. Not like this.
=====
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