The entire village had long since fallen. Ruined walls lay everywhere, blood flowed in rivers, and anguished cries filled the air.
He listened to the last scattered sounds of fighting in the distance, his face utterly impassive, his voice cold and devoid of humanity.
"It's nearly over. The outcome is settled. Time for us to make our entrance."
As his words fell, the Sky Screen abruptly fast-forwarded, skipping the entire night of slaughter and fighting to arrive at dawn the next day.
When the first rays of morning light pierced the gray clouds and spilled over the island, Uzushio Village, once prosperous and renowned throughout the Shinobi World, had become a deathly silent hell.
Bodies lay piled upon bodies, staining the earth and seawater red. Every home's doors had been smashed, and not a single living soul remained within the clan grounds.
The vast main branch of the Uzumaki Clan had been all but exterminated overnight.
Everyone in the Shinobi World looked up at the horrifying scene, their hearts sinking and their throats tightening. No one spoke. An oppressive silence hung over the entire world.
But the story on the Sky Screen was not over yet.
The scene shifted again, focusing on a secluded valley near the island's edge.
More than a dozen Uzumaki clanspeople, their clothes ragged and their bodies wounded, were surrounded by layers of Konoha Anbu, every escape route completely cut off.
This small group could hardly be called a fighting force. Most were young teenagers and children who still bore the innocence of childhood, while the few remaining adults were all gravely injured.
They were the young seedlings Uzushio Village had preserved through a desperate breakout, the last embers of the Uzumaki Clan.
They had escaped the multinational coalition's encirclement, but they could not escape the