Now is the time.
Renjiro stopped retreating. Stopped dodging. Stopped playing the game of evasion and counterattack. He planted his feet on the blood-soaked earth, and he reached.
Chakra erupted.
It was not a wave—it was a pillar, a column of silver light that shot upward from his body, piercing the smoke-filled sky, scattering the clouds, illuminating the valley like a second sun. The ground beneath him cracked and cratered, unable to withstand the pressure. The air grew heavy, thick with the weight of his power, and even the flames seemed to bow away from him, as if recognising something greater.
Orochimaru stopped advancing.
His yellow eyes widened—just slightly, just enough to show that he had not anticipated this. The Kusanagi lowered, its tip pointing at the ground. The snakes that had been flooding toward Renjiro paused, their instincts screaming at them to flee.
What is this? Orochimaru thought.
He watched as the silver chakra coalesced, taking shape around Renjiro. First, ribs—a skeletal cage that formed around his body, protecting him from all sides. Then muscle and sinew, weaving themselves from light and will. Then armour—gleaming, silver, ancient in its design, covering the growing form in layers of ethereal protection.
The Susanoo manifested almost instantly.
It was not the partial, skeletal form that most Mangekyō users first achieved. It was not the rib cage stage, or the muscular stage, or the armoured stage. It was complete—a four-armed giant, fully armoured, its silver surface gleaming with the same light as the Adamantine Chains that Renjiro had inherited from his Uzumaki blood.
It towered over the valley. Its head brushed the clouds, its shoulders blocked out the stars, and its presence was so overwhelming that the fog that had clung to the battlefield evaporated in an instant.
Orochimaru stared upward.
He's either extraordinarily talented, he thought, or he's had enough time to familiarise himself with the Mangekyō to attain such a Susanoo.
The Susanoo's lower pair of arms formed seals, and from the space between its hands, Adamantine Chains emerged.
They were massive—scaled to the Susanoo's size, their links thicker than tree trunks, their surfaces gleaming like liquid mercury. They coiled through the air, their tips transforming into enormous metallic whips, each one crackling with silver lightning. And along those tips, green flames ignited—the same ethereal fire that had consumed Orochimaru's snakes, now magnified a hundredfold.
Finally, Renjiro thought, Something large enough to restrain Orochimaru.
He felt the Susanoo's weight—not physical weight, but spiritual, the burden of manifesting a god of destruction.
"Magnificent," Orochimaru breathed.
He stared upward, his face illuminated by the silver glow of the Susanoo. And then he laughed—not the cold, amused chuckle he had offered before, but a genuine, full-throated laugh that echoed across the battlefield.
Not nervous. Not afraid.
Excited.
"Mangekyō. Hashirama cells. Adamantine Chains. Chakra-draining flames. Fully armoured Susanoo." Orochimaru's voice was almost reverent. "Every impossible bloodline experiment that I have dreamed of—somehow, impossibly, all of them succeeded in one person."
His smile widened, becoming predatory.
"Very well."
He raised his arms.
"MANDA!"
BOOM.
The summoning smoke was massive—a rolling cloud that expanded across the clearing, obscuring the Susanoo, obscuring the trees, obscuring everything. The ground shook, and the air grew thick with the scent of ozone and serpent. When the smoke cleared, Manda stood coiled in the centre of the battlefield.
He was enormous—his body rivalling the Susanoo in size, his purple scales gleaming like polished armour, his yellow eyes slitted and furious. His fangs were longer than swords, his tongue flickered like a crimson whip, and his presence was so overwhelming that even the green flames seemed to dim.
"Orochimaru," Manda hissed, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the earth. "You already made me deliver the children. And now you summon me again?"
He coiled tighter, his scales scraping against the ground.
"This had better be worth it. I want hundreds of sacrifices. Thousands. I want—"
"Fight," Orochimaru snarled, his patience exhausted. "Fight, or I'll find another serpent."
Manda's eyes narrowed. He was irritated—deeply, genuinely irritated. But he recognised the enemy before him. The Susanoo. The Mangekyō. The chains of silver and fire.
This is not ordinary prey, Manda realised, his anger cooling into something more calculating. This is something else.
He launched.
The giant battle began.
Manda moved first—his body uncoiling with explosive speed, his massive form crashing across the battlefield. The ground trembled, trees flattened, and the Rashōmon gate groaned as his tail slammed against its iron surface. He coiled around the Susanoo, his scales grinding against its armour, his body constricting with the force of a collapsing mountain.
The Susanoo's upper arms seized the serpent.
The lower arms punched.
BOOM. CRACK. THOOM.
The impact was devastating—shockwaves radiated outward, flattening the forest for hundreds of meters in every direction. The ground cratered, dust and debris rising in a mushroom cloud. Manda's body convulsed, the constriction loosening, and the Susanoo used the opening to free one of its arms.
The chains lashed.
They wrapped around Manda's throat, his torso, his coils—the green flames igniting along their length, sinking into his scales, seeking his chakra.
Manda screamed.
It was not a sound of physical pain—the flames did not burn his flesh, did not sear his scales. They attacked something deeper: his chakra. His reserves began to drain, the energy flowing from his body into the chains, into the Susanoo, into Renjiro. The summoning contract that bound him to Orochimaru began to destabilise, its inscriptions flickering and fading.
What is this? Manda thought, panic rising in his ancient consciousness. This doesn't hurt physically. Something is eating my energy—my very essence.
Orochimaru felt it too. Through the summoning contract, through the connection that bound him to Manda, he felt his chakra disappearing. Not being destroyed—being siphoned. The flames were attacking the contract itself, draining the spiritual energy that kept the serpent bound to his will.
"You're burning my summon's soul," Orochimaru said, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "Cruel. Efficient."
He smiled.
"I approve."
Inside the Susanoo, Renjiro made one last offer.
"We can still end this," he said, his voice echoing from the giant. "Take the deal, Orochimaru. The Hashirama cells. The knowledge. You've seen enough to know I'm serious."
He paused.
"Neither of us gains much from continuing."
Orochimaru's sneer was audible.
"After everything you've shown me?" he said. "Why would I settle for a deal when I can have all of it?"
Manda had reached his breaking point.
He did not care about Orochimaru's obsession. Did not care about Renjiro's secrets. Did not care about the Susanoo or the Mangekyō or the green flames that were eating his soul. He cared only about survival.
"Enough!"
He released a massive cloud of venom—a thick, yellow mist that flooded the battlefield, obscuring vision, choking the air. The Susanoo's flames flickered, struggling against the poison, and Manda used the distraction to break free.
He tore himself from the chains, scales ripping, blood spraying. The summoning contract flickered one final time, and then—smoke.
POOF.
Manda vanished, his massive form dissolving into the ether, leaving behind only the echo of his final curse.
"Next time, die alone, Orochimaru!"
The battlefield fell silent.
The Susanoo remained standing, its silver armor gleaming in the dim light, its green flames still flickering along the chains. The venom mist began to dissipate, carried away by the night wind. And Orochimaru stood alone, his yellow eyes fixed on the giant before him.
Then he began to laugh.
It was not the laugh of a man who had been defeated, or frustrated, or even annoyed. It was the laugh of someone who had finally found something worth destroying—or worth becoming.
Renjiro watched from inside the Susanoo, his new Mangekyō spinning. The battle had taken everything from him—his chakra, his stamina, his original eyes. But he still had this. The Susanoo. The chains. The flames.
One threat removed, he thought. Now for the other.
But Orochimaru was not finished.
The transformation began.
Orochimaru's skin split—not in the controlled, precise manner of the Body-Shedding Technique, but in a violent, tearing eruption. Flesh peeled away, revealing white scales beneath—gleaming, pristine, ancient. His limbs twisted, stretched, reformed. His spine elongated, his jaw unhinged, and his eyes—those yellow, slitted eyes—remained fixed on Renjiro throughout the horror.
The human form tore apart like a discarded cocoon.
White scales emerged—endless coils, massive segments, a serpent body that dwarfed even the snakes he had summoned. The transformation continued, the creature growing, expanding, until it was dozens of meters long—larger than most summons, larger than anything Renjiro had ever faced.
And at the head of this colossal serpent, Orochimaru's face stretched across the scales, his expression one of dark amusement.
Renjiro felt genuine caution for the first time in the battle.
He's monstrous, he thought. But a snake is still a snake. I can bind it. The chains can hold it.
=====
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