Under the dim, lifeless glow of dawn, the battlefield lay still. The fog clung to the earth, a spectral mist, blurring the edges of the trees and rocks that dotted the landscape. It felt as if the world itself held its breath.
Ryojin stood amidst it all, his figure an embodiment of defiance. His golden eyes pierced through the gray mist.
His chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of his breath, but his gaze never wavered.
"Why, Ryojin?" Joji's voice was low, yet carried a weight that seemed to deepen the very air between them. He stepped forward, his dark eyes glaring with a mix of confusion and betrayal. "Why did you betray us? Amegakure. Hanzo-sama. Everything we stood for… Why did you turn your back on all of it?"
Ryojin did not answer immediately. His gaze lingered, distant, the fire in his eyes cooling into something deeper, something more sorrowful. His lips remained tight, sealed as if the very words to answer Joji's question were a burden too heavy to carry.
Joji, persistent and relentless, took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes narrowed, studying Ryojin as if he could read the truth from his expression. "Is it about her?" Joji's voice broke slightly, and there was a tremor in his words that betrayed the mask of calm he tried to maintain. "The girl. The one who survived with you. The one who died while you…" He trailed off, as if even speaking the words would tear something inside him. "Is that why you turned your back on us? On everything we fought for?"
Ryojin's eyes flickered for a brief moment—just a flash of vulnerability—and for the first time in this entire conflict, his expression softened. There was something almost fragile in that look, something raw and painful. His hands, which had been so steady in their destruction, trembled slightly as his gaze fell to the ground.
The memories hit him like a wave.
She had been the only one, the only one to survive alongside him in that cursed laboratory. The two of them had fought for each breath, each hour, as they endured the horrific experiments Hanzo and Danzo had subjected them to. They had been shackled together in the name of power. But she... she had been the one to burn out first. The one to die slowly in the cold confines of that lab, leaving him alone with nothing but the remnants of their shared suffering.
Ryojin's fists clenched tighter, the raw agony of those memories surging through him. His lips curled into a grimace as he stared at Joji—fury flickering in the depths of his golden eyes. But it wasn't rage; it was something else. It was something deeper, a pain that had long since worn the sharp edges off.
"She... She died, Joji," Ryojin muttered, his voice almost a whisper, yet still carrying a weight that shattered the silence between them. "She died because of their experiments. Their failure. And I survived. Because I was stronger. Because I wasn't… weak like she was."
His voice faltered slightly, but he steadied it before Joji could see too much. He lifted his gaze once more, locking eyes with the man who once called him an ally. "Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted to survive while she...?"
Ryojin shook his head, the weight of his words settling heavily on his chest. His eyes were raw, a mix of pain and something darker swirling within them. His hands twitched at his sides, and for a fleeting moment, it almost seemed as if he might strike. But instead, his gaze dropped again, his shoulders heavy with the burden of everything he had never allowed himself to feel.
Joji momentarily stunned, the accusation hanging in the air. He could see the agony Ryojin tried so hard to hide beneath the surface. And in that moment, Joji's confusion faltered. He understood now—at least in part.
"So you did it for her," Joji whispered, almost to himself, as the realization cut through him like a blade. "You threw away everything, everything we stood for, for a girl who's gone. For a failed experiment. A failed dream."
Ryojin's jaw tightened, but his voice remained eerily calm as he answered. "You're wrong. I didn't do it for her. I did it because I was tired of being part of their game. I didn't betray Amegakure or Hanzo-sama. I broke free from them. And I'll never go back."
The words hung in the air, but they didn't seem to soothe the tension between them. Joji's eyes, hard and calculating, never left Ryojin's face. His mind raced with the possibilities. Betrayal. Survival. The death of a loved one. All the strings that had tied them together were unraveling now, and Joji could see the fragments of Ryojin's past—a history that had been torn apart by ambition and loss.
"You think you're free?" Joji's voice rose now, a mix of anger and disbelief. "You think you're better than us? That this is freedom? You've become a tool of your own vengeance, Ryojin. You've become nothing but a broken shadow of what you were."
Ryojin's eyes narrowed, the fire igniting once more. "I'm not free because of my vengeance, Joji," he said, his voice steady but biting. "I'm free because I chose to live. I chose to survive, even when she didn't. Even when everything else fell apart. I chose myself."
Joji stood there, unable to respond, his anger twisting into something more complicated, more visceral.
And then Ryojin's voice, quieter this time, cut through the silence once more. "I'll never apologize for surviving. Not to you. Not to anyone."
---
The wind rustled through the trees, and for a moment, neither man moved. Joji, still reeling, looked at Ryojin as if seeing him for the first time—really seeing him. The man standing before him, the one who had betrayed everything they had fought for, was not the same person who had once stood beside him.
There were thirty-seven orphans standing at Ryojin's side, their eyes wide with terror, their hands trembling as they gripped makeshift weapons—rusted kunai, shattered blades, broken branches. Their ragged clothes were stained with blood, their limbs stiff from exhaustion, their faces pale from the horror they had witnessed.
Weak. Untrained. Terrified.
But they had something that the Amegakure ninjas did not—a will to fight for survival, even if they had no real hope of victory. Their terror and desperation, their ragged breaths in the cold morning air, seemed to blur with the memory of a world they would never know again. It was in their eyes—those frightened, desperate eyes—that Ryojin saw something both familiar and foreign. He saw himself.
But they weren't the ones Ryojin was concerned about. Not really. The orphans were already marked for death. They were already gone, in his mind. The real target, the real blood that would make this morning worth the wait, was still out there.
Joji's voice sliced through the mist again. "Is this what you wanted, Ryojin? To sacrifice them all for your own selfishness"
Ryojin didn't answer. His eyes were fixed ahead, and they narrowed as the scene before him became sharper, clearer. Over fifty Amegakure ninjas stood poised at the edge of the clearing, their presence like a storm cloud on the horizon, oppressive and inevitable. The elite of Amegakure—Jonin and Chunin alike—stood in tight formation. Their cold eyes glinted, their weapons drawn and ready. Some of them, like Joji, had been part of Ryojin's past. Part of his family. But there was no room for that sentiment here.
The air buzzed with the scent of blood, burnt flesh, and the quiet tension before the storm. The battle had already claimed so much—the orphans had bled, and the ground was soaked in their blood—but Ryojin hadn't truly begun yet. Not until the Amegakure ninjas felt his fury.
Joji took a step forward, his voice a growl of disbelief. "You won't get away with this Ryojin."
Ryojin didn't even flinch. He tilted his head slightly, a smirk crossing his lips as he looked from Joji to the approaching ninjas.
"I'm counting on it," he said, his voice low and dangerous. He turned, looking at the thirty-seven orphans, all of them too afraid to speak, too afraid to move. "The time for running is over. Fight. Or die."
He turned back to Joji, and the cruel smirk never left his lips. "Survival's a funny thing. It has a way of making monsters out of men."
And then the ground exploded beneath their feet.
The first wave of Amegakure ninjas rushed forward, their footsteps heavy and synchronized, as if their movements had been rehearsed long before this moment. Their eyes were cold, their resolve absolute, and for a moment, it seemed that their sheer numbers would crush everything in their path. Fifty or more against thirty-seven orphans, barely trained and far from prepared.
Ryojin's gaze flickered, his golden eyes narrowing, focusing. His chains unraveled from his wrists, stretching out like snakes, winding and twisting through the air with a purpose all their own. The first group of Amegakure Jonin rushed in, blades flashing, eyes dead set on their target. They were met with a fury they hadn't expected.
Ryojin's chains lashed out, wrapping around the first ninja's neck and pulling him off his feet, slamming his body into the ground with a sickening crack. Another chain lashed across the air, catching a second ninja by the torso, pulling him into the firestorm of destruction Ryojin had started.
Boom!
Explosive tags exploded in all directions, fire and smoke bursting across the battlefield,
The ground cracked open, sending a cloud of dust into the air. The stench of sulfur filled the air as the first round of explosions blasted the trees into splinters.
Ryojin stood unmoved. His blood sang. The rush of battle—of chaos—was something he thrived on. There was no hesitation. No fear. Just the sweet, violent release of destruction.
"Let's do this," he muttered under his breath, barely audible.
"Charge!" Ryojin screamed, his voice a war cry that cut through the chaos like a blade. His chains snapped through the air, tearing through the flesh of another enemy, reducing them to nothing more than a heap of mangled remains. His golden eyes glinted with a savage hunger—this was his world. This was the fight he had been waiting for.
The orphans hesitated at first—many of them frozen in fear—but then they rushed forward. Some threw kunai, some unleashed whatever meager techniques they had learned, while others simply ran headlong into the fray, knowing they would not survive but doing so to ensure that their comrades might have a chance.
They fought like animals, their desperation palpable, their movements clumsy but fueled by a burning need to live, to escape.
His chains—They lashed across the battlefield, pulling the first few Amegakure Chunin-Jonin into the flames with brutal force. The chain wrapped around a man's neck, tearing through flesh as he was dragged, screaming, into the inferno of fire that ignited along the chain.
The stench of burning flesh was thick in the air, but Ryojin didn't flinch. He didn't care. This was the life he wanted. This was the world he craved.
"Die!" he roared, his voice a savage howl that cut through the carnage.
"Hold your ground!" Joji shouted to his remaining men, his voice rising over the chaos. His hands made a series of hand signs, and a few ninjas from the backline began forming barriers, summoning water techniques to try and block Ryojin's onslaught. But it was too late.
The battlefield had already become a hellscape of fire, smoke, and blood. Ryojin was everywhere, his chains snapping and lashing with brutal efficiency. His eyes, glowing with the fiery intensity of a man driven to survive, locked onto Joji's figure as he stood at the rear of his forces, desperately trying to maintain control.
The orphans, desperate and untrained, charged forward behind him. They were nothing more than cannon fodder, their bodies expendable.
"Fight!" he screamed once more, his voice a command to the orphans and a challenge to Amegakure. "This is how we live! THIS is how we survive!"
One orphan screamed, throwing an explosive tag in the direction of a group of Amegakure Chunin. It detonated, sending dirt and debris flying. But even as it went off, one of the Chunin turned with cold, efficient grace, a kunai sinking deep into the orphan's stomach. The boy's scream was cut off with a gurgle of blood.
Ryojin's smirk only deepened.
He lashed out with the chains again, this time dragging a Chunin into a violent explosion. The body disintegrated, nothing left but charred bones and a faint smell of burning meat.
"Is that all?" Ryojin growled, his voice low with disdain.
"Come on! You're gonna die anyway! Might as well put up a fight!"
Ryojin taunted, his voice loud and mocking, as he dashed forward, tearing through a Chunin with a snap of his chains. Blood sprayed across his face, but he wiped it off with a cruel grin. This was the way things were supposed to be.
The orphans around him were faltering now. The blood, the chaos—it was too much for them. Their bodies were weak, and their minds were shattering under the pressure. But they were still charging, trying desperately to hold their own. Weak, desperate animals, trying to stay alive.
The smallest of the orphans, a girl barely fourteen, threw herself into the fray, her kunai clumsy in her hands. A Jonin caught sight of her, moving to dispatch her with a swift slash of his blade. Ryojin's eyes locked onto the movement.
With a snarl, he moved forward, his chains lashing out and wrapping around the Jonin's neck, lifting him off the ground. There was no grace, no finesse. This wasn't about precision; it was about crushing them all.
"That's mine." Ryojin growled as he ripped the Jonin's body into the dirt with a sickening thud.
The girl stumbled back, her eyes wide with shock, her kunai still gripped tightly in her hand. Ryojin didn't spare her another glance. He wasn't here to save anyone. He was here for the fight, for the thrill of tearing through their ranks. They were just tools—tools to die for his amusement.
"Keep fighting. Or die. Your choice." Ryojin spat, before his attention snapped back to the battlefield.
The gate Closing. But Ryojin knew it was pointless. He knew they were too weak. The Amegakure ninjas were closing in. The sound of explosions, screams, and dying breaths filled the air.
But for Ryojin, it was only a reminder of the chaos he thrived in. He wanted more of it. More destruction. More violence.
"No escape. Just death." He muttered, watching as the orphans were slaughtered one by one. Some of them fought, desperate and hopeless, while others ran, only to be cut down before they could even make it ten feet.
A boy, no older than fifteen, dashed forward, his body moving with a determination born of pure terror. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath ragged, but he was still going. He was trying to make it to the gate. Trying to escape.
Ryojin didn't care. His eyes narrowed as the boy broke through the smoke. One of the Jonin moved to intercept him, and with a snap of Ryojin's chains, the Jonin was flung away with explosive force.
The boy didn't hesitate. He ran faster.
Ryojin followed, his chains spinning through the air in a deadly arc. One last play.
"Run. Try it. See how far you get." Ryojin laughed, a brutal, manic sound that filled the air.
Ryojin was a force of nature. He didn't care about the gate. He didn't care about escape. What mattered was that he broke them all.
The final clash was inevitable.
The orphans were too few now. The Amegakure ninjas too many. They had lost.
But Ryojin—Ryojin was still fighting.
His chains lashed out, tearing through another Ninja, his body crashing to the ground in a twisted heap. Blood painted the earth around him, but Ryojin's grin never wavered. He was unstoppable. He was chaos incarnate.
The gates, though, were closed.
But Ryojin didn't stop. He would never stop.
They had no choice but to follow him.