Across the war-torn fields of the Land of Grass, the echoes of death rang like a cursed melody. Screams of perishing shinobi filled the night, drowned beneath the clash of steel and the roar of destructive jutsu. Flames from blazing Katon techniques devoured the grasslands, leaving behind a scorched earth thick with the stench of smoke and burnt chakra. Blood soaked into the soil, bodies of fallen ninja from both sides scattered like broken dolls across the battlefield.
This was no ordinary skirmish.
It was the doing of Iwagakure.
Under the cover of darkness, the Stone Village launched a full-scale assault against the Konoha forces stationed along the border. Though the Hidden Leaf had anticipated an attack, they hadn't expected this—a relentless wave of Iwa shinobi, overwhelming in number and sheer force.
Still, the Leaf nin fought valiantly. They held the line with everything they had, each clash costing them blood and breath. Many Konoha shinobi laid down their lives not in vain, but to buy precious time—for others to retreat and establish a secondary defense line deeper within Fire Country territory.
Their sacrifice left the Land of Grass completely vulnerable. With Konoha's forces in withdrawal, the road to the Leaf Village lay open—an enticing invitation for Iwagakure's armies. Though the journey would still be perilous, the morale among Iwa's ranks was high. Victory felt tangible. For them, this was the beginning of the end—for Konoha.
But even victorious soldiers are still human. They need food, water, and rest. After such a brutal first night, the Iwa forces made only minor progress into Fire Country. Their supply lines lagged behind, slowing the advance.
Not everyone was idling, however.
Deep within the forest, a small unit of elite Iwa shinobi soared from branch to branch, their chakra signatures expertly suppressed. Leading the charge was a man cloaked in white—the Tsuchikage himself, Arano. To his left and right, two elite Jōnin, his personal guards, matched his pace with silent discipline.
Their destination: a small Konoha encampment, hastily constructed by the retreating Leaf forces. The troops stationed there were exhausted—wounded, low on chakra, their morale frayed thin. Having barely escaped with their lives, they had neither the strength nor awareness to anticipate what approached them in the shadows.
Arano halted atop a tall tree branch, peering down at the flickering lights of the camp.
"They won't see us coming," he murmured.
He turned to his guards, his voice calm but commanding. "Stay back. I'll handle this alone."
The two Jōnin didn't argue. They bowed their heads slightly and disappeared into the canopy, standing by.
Arano extended his hands, making a single silent seal. The ground beneath the camp trembled slightly—too subtle to notice. Then the air filled with chakra.
A moment later, the Tsuchikage whispered: "Sekkotsu Senbon no Jutsu" — Rock Fracture Needle Technique.
A thousand sharp, shimmering needles made from condensed, reinforced stone materialized above him, levitating in place like deadly stars. Then—without mercy—they launched downward at impossible speeds.
The result was instant carnage.
The defensive perimeter shattered. Tents ripped apart like paper. Trees were impaled, shredded by the high-velocity stone rain. The earth erupted with screams as many Konoha shinobi were skewered where they stood—some didn't even have time to scream.
Only a handful survived—the fastest, the most aware. They scrambled into a defensive circle, weapons drawn, hearts pounding. They grit their teeth, determined to avenge their comrades… even if it meant certain death.
But this was no ordinary foe.
From the shadows stepped a towering figure. Cloaked in the traditional white of a Kage, the man wore the Iwagakure headband with pride. His brown eyes, calm and calculating, swept over the scene without emotion. Brown hair framed a stoic face, etched with the weight of leadership and war.
The surviving Leaf shinobi froze in terror.
They weren't facing a Jōnin. Not an ANBU. Not even an elite commander.
They were facing Arano, the Second Tsuchikage, the most powerful shinobi in the Land of Earth.
A wave of fear swept over them, stealing their breath.
Arano didn't give them long to react.
In a single stomp, the earth beneath the Konoha ninja twisted, rippling like water before rising—transforming into deadly stone spikes. They shot upward with brutal force. Caught off guard, most of the ninja were impaled instantly, their screams cut short in a splash of blood.
A few remained—wounded, barely standing.
They looked up at the Tsuchikage with wide eyes, trembling. They didn't know how to fight this… monster.
Arano spoke softly, his voice like stone grinding against steel.
"Don't look at me like that. I won't move. I won't even raise a hand. Do you know why?"
He stepped forward slowly, his gaze piercing through them.
"Because you're already dead."
Suddenly, the surviving Konoha ninja tried to move—tried to retreat—but their legs wouldn't respond. They looked down in horror.
The earth had shifted while they were distracted, forming clamps of solid rock, wrapping around their legs like shackles. They were trapped.
Helpless.
The ground itself began to move again, rising slowly over their bodies like a stone wave. Cries of terror filled the forest as the manipulated earth engulfed them—bones snapping, flesh torn apart—until all that remained was a mound of bloodstained rock and silence.
A crimson mist hung in the air.
From the shadows, Arano's first guard emerged. He knelt beside the Tsuchikage with reverence.
"You called, Lord Tsuchikage?"
Arano didn't look at him. His eyes were still on the ruined camp.
"Send word to all units. Weaken Konoha. Break them before they can send reinforcements. The weaker they are… the easier it will be to end this war."
The Jōnin bowed deeply.
"It will be done."