Chapter 13: The Clash Begins - Part 1
POV: Shikamaru
The emergency flare burst against the southwestern sky like a crimson star, painting the forest canopy in shades of blood and desperation. Shikamaru watched it bloom and fade from his position in the trees, already calculating trajectories and response times with the cold precision that had kept Team 10 alive through missions that should have killed them all.
"Asuma-sensei's in trouble."
The thought carried weight beyond simple tactical assessment. His teacher—the man who'd shown him that strength wasn't just about power, but about protecting what mattered—was facing something dangerous enough to warrant emergency protocols. Something that had made one of Konoha's elite jonin call for immediate backup.
"Move out," Shikamaru called to Izumo and Kotetsu, the chunin assigned to their patrol. "Combat formation, maximum speed."
They dropped from the trees like falling leaves, hitting the forest floor at a dead sprint. Behind them, more flares were rising—the coordinated response of a village that had learned to take threats seriously. But Shikamaru's team was closest, which meant they'd arrive first.
"Which means we get to be the ones who die if this goes badly."
The clearing opened ahead of them like a wound carved into the forest, and Shikamaru's tactical mind catalogued threats with mechanical efficiency. Two figures in black cloaks adorned with red clouds stood in the center of the space, weapons drawn and expressions promising violence. Between them and the treeline, Asuma fought with the desperate precision of someone who knew he was outmatched.
The larger Akatsuki member moved like liquid death, threads extending from his arms to strangle terrain and bend reality to his will. Earth jutsu on a scale that spoke of decades of experience, each technique precisely calculated to maximize lethality. His partner was smaller but infinitely more disturbing—a silver-haired man with a three-bladed scythe who laughed while bleeding from wounds that should have been fatal.
"Immortals. We're fighting actual immortals."
Hidan's scythe carved crimson arcs through the air, each swing accompanied by delighted laughter that made Shikamaru's skin crawl. Blood splattered across the clearing—some of it Asuma's, most of it Hidan's own, drawn from wounds that closed as fast as they opened. The man was enjoying this, treating combat like a religious experience.
Which, according to intelligence reports, it probably was.
Kakuzu coordinated the assault with calculating precision, his earth masks floating like mechanical vultures around the battlefield. Lightning crackled between his fingers, fire bloomed from his secondary mouths, and through it all his expression never changed. Professional execution, nothing more or less.
"Asuma can't win this. Neither can we. We need a miracle."
That's when reality stuttered.
The air rippled like heat shimmer, colors draining away for an impossible instant before snapping back to full saturation. In that moment of temporal displacement, a figure appeared in the clearing's center—not arriving, just suddenly present, as if he'd always been there and everyone else had simply failed to notice.
The civilian. Kole Sato, the strange handyman who'd been generating increasingly unusual intelligence reports. Diamond wire glinted in his hands like captured starlight, and his expression carried the grim determination of someone walking into hell with open eyes.
"How did he find us? How did he know to come?"
But questions could wait. The civilian's arrival had shifted the battlefield's geometry, turning a hopeless fight into something that might approach survivable. Shikamaru's shadows lanced out to support the new arrival, binding Hidan's legs just long enough for the diamond wire to find its mark.
POV: Kole
"Found you, you bastard!"
The words tore from Kole's throat as time stopped around him, four precious seconds of frozen reality in which to position himself for maximum impact. The blood compass had led him true—southwest through thirty miles of forest, following a trail only he could sense until the sounds of battle drew him to this clearing where heroes fought monsters.
"Asuma's still alive. Still fighting. I'm not too late."
Diamond wire uncoiled from his hands like a striking serpent, each strand sharp enough to cut through steel and souls in equal measure. In stopped time, he could position the attack perfectly—around Hidan's scythe arm, angled to slice through bone and muscle with surgical precision.
Time resumed with audible whiplash.
The wire coiled around Hidan mid-swing, monofilament edges biting deep enough to scrape bone. The immortal's laugh cut off in a grunt of surprised pain as his weapon arm was nearly severed, blood spraying in arterial jets that painted the clearing crimson.
"The teleporting civilian!" Hidan's grin was brilliant with madness and delight. "Lord Jashin will love your sacrifice!"
"Not teleporting, you psychotic bastard. Time manipulation. But I'm not about to explain the difference."
They clashed in the center of the clearing, immortal monster against alchemical anomaly. Hidan's scythe carved deadly arcs through air while Kole transmuted ground into obstacles, raising stone spears and earth barriers with desperate efficiency. Each time the weapon came too close, he stopped time for fractions of seconds—just enough to redirect killing blows into harmless swings.
"This isn't about winning. It's about buying time. Keeping Asuma alive long enough for backup to arrive."
But even as he fought, Kole could feel eyes on him. Kakuzu had pulled back from his engagement with Asuma, studying the new arrival with calculating interest. The way a scientist might examine an interesting specimen.
"Hidan," Kakuzu's voice cut through the sounds of battle like a blade. "Separate him from the others. I want him intact."
Shit.
The realization hit Kole like ice water. This wasn't about Asuma anymore—it was about him. Every impossible ability he'd demonstrated, every violation of natural law witnessed by ANBU observers, every report filed in Konoha's intelligence database. Akatsuki had noticed the anomaly, and they wanted to study it.
"Every power use paints a target on my back. And now that target's visible from orbit."
Masks hummed around Kakuzu as the immortal prepared devastating jutsu, elemental chakra building to levels that would level the forest. Behind him, Asuma struggled to his feet, blood running from wounds that spoke of how badly outmatched he'd been.
"Fall back!" Asuma roared, voice carrying battlefield authority despite his injuries. "Protect the civilian!"
"The irony tastes like blood."
Kole had come here to save them, but they were trying to save him. The reversal was both touching and terrifying—touching because it spoke to the kind of people Konoha's ninja were, terrifying because it meant his cover was blown beyond any hope of repair.
The diamond wire had severed Hidan's arm twice now, each time slicing through bone and muscle with mechanical precision. But within minutes, the limb reattached itself with wet, organic sounds that spoke of immortality operating on principles Kole didn't want to understand.
"Can't kill him. Can barely slow him down. And Kakuzu's getting ready to end this fight permanently."
Blood ran from his nose and ears, the cost of repeated time stops accumulating like interest on a debt he couldn't afford to pay. His nervous system was beginning to rebel against the impossible demands he'd placed on it, vision graying at the edges as consciousness threatened to abandon him entirely.
"Hold on. Just hold on long enough to get them out alive."
But even as he fought, Kole could see the mathematics of the situation working against them. Hidan was infinitely patient, content to trade wounds that healed for wounds that didn't. Kakuzu was building to attacks that would level the battlefield entirely. And backup was still minutes away—minutes they didn't have.
"This is where preparation meets reality's brutal edge."
The Entity had given him tools to fight immortals, but tools without skill were just elaborate ways to die. He was improvising against opponents who'd had decades to perfect their coordination, playing a game where the rules were written in blood and the stakes were measured in lives.
Around them, the forest burned with the fury of elemental jutsu unleashed without restraint. Somewhere in the distance, reinforcements were coming. But distance was measured in time, and time was the one resource none of them could afford to waste.
"Save who you can. Fight for every second. Make the cost of victory higher than they want to pay."
It wasn't much of a strategy, but it was all he had. Sometimes, in wars between gods and mortals, survival was its own form of victory.
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