War was like a meat grinder that never stopped, greedily devouring lives and hope.
Several more months had passed since the defense of the Forest Barrier and the subsequent pursuit of the long-blade wielders. Far from diminishing, the Second Shinobi World War showed every sign of growing fiercer.
The sprawling front stretched across the Land of Fire's borders like an enormous mill of flesh and blood, relentlessly consuming Konoha's younger generation. Urgent dispatches from beleaguered outposts flew toward the village like snowflakes, and the frontline commanders had come to share an unspoken understanding of their desperate shortage of manpower.
Under these circumstances, keeping Sakumo assigned to a team seemed to have become a luxury, and he was sent out on solo missions more and more often.
Most of the time, the Hatake squad's three youngsters were left to complete their missions on their own.
Even so, the White Fang Squad continued to display striking efficiency and strength, taking on missions at an extraordinary rate and rushing almost nonstop between hotspots along the eastern front.
Raids, reconnaissance, escorts, targeted eliminations... every mission was a dance on a knife's edge, and brushing shoulders with death had become routine.
That relentless, high-intensity pace of combat was like the harshest whetstone, rapidly honing Shinji's raw potential.
His once somewhat slight frame had grown straight and sturdy, its contours more sharply defined. Nearly all the boyish softness had faded from his face, replaced by a composure and resolve beyond his years (or, put another way, the cute little boy had passed his expiration date and grown rough around the edges). Only in battle did his black eyes erupt with the madness and absurdity unique to the Uchiha.
He wielded the Sharingan with ever greater ease, its motion tracking and perceptiveness honed to their limits through