The world was tilted on a fifty-five-degree axis, and Naruto's legs felt as though they were filled with molten lead.
They had passed Step 2,000 long ago, leaving behind the freezing rain of the fjord's lower levels. The air had transitioned into a heavy, blinding slush that clumped to Naruto's orange jumpsuit, soaking through the fabric and making every movement feel twice as heavy.
The wet orange fabric gave off a faint, damp smell of wool and old detergent, a comforting scent that was being rapidly extinguished by the sterile, metallic bite of the coming storm.
To their right, the massive iron penstock pipe hummed with a deep, industrial vibration—a rhythmic thrum that carried the mountain's meltwater down toward the ghost port.
Shish-shish-shish.
A new sound cut through the howl of the wind—a rhythmic, metallic grinding of steel on frosted iron.
"Above us!" Neji barked, his voice sharp enough to pierce the gloom.
Naruto looked up, squinting against the stinging slush. Mizore Fuyukuma was dropping down from the mist, but he wasn't on the stairs. He was crouched low on his chakra-shielded snowboard, using the smooth, curved surface of the penstock pipe like a rail. He was picking up speed with terrifying efficiency, the blue light of his Chakra Armor sparking violently against the rime-covered iron.
Skreee-shhh.
The snowboard didn't just slide; it shrieked, the friction creating a smell of scorched ozone and pulverized ice that hung in the frozen air.
He wasn't just a ninja; he was a bullet train made of steel and spite, fueled by gravity and tech.
"Filming the velocity!" Makino's voice echoed from a landing further up. The Director was practically hanging off the railing, his eyes wide with that manic, Herzog-ian fire. "Yomu, track the blur! Capture the crushing weight of the mechanical beast as it descends upon the fragile flesh! This is the poetry of the steam age!"
Makino's scarf whipped against his face—snap-snap-snap—the sound as sharp as a firing squad against the echoing granite.
"He's coming in too fast!" Naruto yelled, his feet slipping on the slush-covered wood. "Neji, if he hits us at that speed, we're going over the edge!"
Neji's Byakugan flared, the veins around his temples bulging as he tracked the blue-shifted chakra flow within Mizore's armor. "He's using the pipe to ground his excess energy. He thinks the momentum makes him unstoppable."
With a sudden burst of speed, Neji leaped from the wooden stairs onto the vibrating iron pipe. His balance was perfect despite the steep incline and the slick coating of ice. "Naruto! Brace the impact! I will disrupt the flow!"
Brace it? Is he crazy? Naruto didn't have time to argue. He reached deep into that mental 'Box' Sylvie had mentioned—the place where the bad stuff stayed—but he pushed past the anger. He needed focus. He needed to be a wall.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
Six clones erupted in a burst of smoke, piling onto the pipe behind Naruto. They linked arms, digging their heels into the rime ice and the rivets of the pipe, forming a human chain.
The iron was so cold it felt sticky, the frozen rime tearing at the skin of Naruto's palms as he gripped the rivet heads.
Naruto could feel his heart hammering against his ribs—not from fear, but from the sheer adrenaline of the vertical drop yawning open behind them.
The abyss behind him smelled of nothing—a vast, empty vacuum of freezing air that seemed to pull at his heels.
Mizore let out a guttural laugh, his circular purple eyebrows twitching as he neared. "Out of the way, Konoha trash! You can't stop the momentum of the Snow!"
"Now!" Neji roared.
Neji didn't use a flashy Rotation. He moved with a surgical precision that made Naruto's head spin. As the snowboard reached him, Neji struck. Eight Trigrams: Vacuum Palm. The strike wasn't aimed at Mizore's chest, but at the lead hinge of the board where it interfaced with the armor's power supply.
The blue light of the armor flickered. The kinetic energy didn't vanish, but the guidance system died. The "train" was now off the rails.
Then, the collision hit.
It felt like a mountain had decided to sit on Naruto's chest. The impact was a brutal, bone-jarring THUD.
A spray of frozen slush erupted between them, the ice crystals stinging Naruto's face like shards of glass.
His clones screamed as the force rippled through their line, their feet sliding back inches, then feet, toward the empty twilight of the fjord below.
"NOT... YET!" Naruto gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the cold iron of the pipe until the skin broke and his blood froze against the metal.
The smell of raw iron and fresh blood hit him, sharp and hot in a world that had turned entirely grey.
The pipe groaned—a deep urrr-gh—as the energy of the stop dissipated into the mountain's foundations.
He could feel the heat of the clones' chakra bracing him, a collective stubbornness that refused to give an inch more. They weren't just absorbing the impact; they were stealing it, turning themselves into an anchor against the machine.
Neji didn't let up. He slid under Mizore's guard, his fingers striking the armor's pressure points with the speed of a cobra. "Gentle Fist: Art of the Throat!"
Mizore's eyes bugged out as the chakra flow to his board was severed completely. The snowboard caught on a patch of rime ice, the friction suddenly returning with a violent, screeching wail of metal on metal.
The "train" stopped.
The sudden loss of momentum sent Mizore tumbling forward. Naruto grabbed the front of the heavy blue-and-white armor with his bare hands, his clones pushing from behind to provide the final, crushing resistance.
"End of the line, Snow-man!" Naruto yelled, his voice echoing off the granite cliffs.
With a collective heave, the Naruto-chain redirected the remaining kinetic energy. Mizore didn't just fall; he was launched. He spun off the iron pipe, a flailing mess of heavy metal and purple hair, disappearing into the mist of the fjord with a shriek that was quickly swallowed by the wind.
Naruto collapsed onto the pipe, his lungs burning and his hands raw. The damp cold of the fjord soaked through his cloak, heavier and crueler than dry snow.
"We... we did it," he panted, looking up at Neji.
Neji stood upright, his breathing steady, though his pale eyes remained fixed on the mist below. "He fell a thousand feet. The armor will protect his vitals, but the impact against the water will be absolute. He is out of the fight."
"Good enough for me," Naruto muttered, hauling himself back toward the safety of the creaking wooden stairs. "Let's get the Princess to the top before the next one tries to ride a pipe at us."
The climb continued.
Step 3,000 was ahead.
The slush was turning to hard, rime ice, and the air tasted of frost and feral power.
Every breath now felt like swallowing a mouthful of needles, the moisture in his lungs threatening to turn to rime.