Main World.
Winter, year 29 of Konoha.
After daybreak, there was no room left to pile bodies in the Valley of the End.
It was not that no one collected the bodies, but that no one had time. The living were still fighting, and no one tended to the dead. Kumogakure's soldiers charged over their comrades' corpses, while Konoha's ninja defended from behind theirs. The bodies became cover, sandbags, and roads.
Orochimaru stood atop a pile of corpses, his golden serpent eyes narrowing slightly in the morning light.
He had already lost all feeling in his left arm, not from being struck by Lightning Release, but from losing too much blood. He had wrapped it in several layers of bandages, but they were soaked through. They were not red, but black-the black of dried blood.
His right hand still gripped his ninja blade. Its edge was covered in chips, not from cutting, but from blocking Lightning Release.
Behind him, Shinnosuke Sarutobi leaned against a huge boulder scorched by Lightning Release, the wound on his left leg still seeping blood. He had bandaged it, but the bandages could not hold. The wound was too deep, and the blood kept flowing. His face was deathly pale and his lips were cracked, but his eyes were still bright.
Orochimaru turned and glanced at him.
"Shinnosuke."
"Here."
"Can you still fight?"
"Yes."
A faint smile curled Orochimaru's lips. He was not laughing at Shinnosuke, but at himself. If a twelve-year-old child could still fight, what right did he, a grown man in his twenties, have to say he was tired?
He turned to face the far end of the gorge. Kumogakure's soldiers were gathering again. They were not charging, but gathering. They had gotten smarter. They had charged all morning and lost thousands, yet