Kitsuchi thick, muscular arms were covered with a thick layer of rock armor.
Blood seeped down the cracks in the stones, dripping onto the scorched earth and instantly evaporating into white steam.
He crashed head-on into the turret of the leading tank.
Thump!
The sound was muffled, making the surrounding air buzz.
The steel behemoth, weighing tens of tons, was forced to a stop by this brute force.
The tracks rubbed together fiercely on the ground, sparks flew everywhere, and a pungent smell of burnt rubber filled the air.
The tank slid backward a full half meter.
Two furrows, each half a foot deep, were plowed into the hard soil. The soil rolled up, revealing the yellow sand underneath.
The rocks on the Kitsuchi arm crumbled inch by inch.
Pebbles rained down on the tank's hood, creating shallow dents.
He opened his mouth, about to shout a second time.
The sound caught in his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
On either side of the turret, three manganese steel mechs guarded the mechanical heads.
The red glass eye flashed, locking onto its target.
The hydraulic motor emitted a rapid "buzzing" sound as it revved.
The mech on the left raised its rotary machine gun. The barrel preheated and rotated, leaving a trail of afterimages.
The mech on the right side ejected a high-frequency vibrating blade. The blade sliced through the air, emitting a high-frequency shriek.
The Kitsuchi gasped for breath.
His hands were still pressed against the anti-slip steel plate. Blood seeping from his palms stained the steel plate red.
He wanted to Hand Seals. His fingers had barely moved.
"Da da da da!"
The machine gun spat fire, the muzzle flash blindingly bright.
At a distance of two meters, the tungsten steel armor-piercing projectile tore his chest cavity apart.
Blood, flesh, and bone fragments sprayed backward.
It splashed into the pile of rubble three meters away and smeared onto the fractured rock face.
The shockwave blade came crashing down on him.
"Hiss."
Kitsuchi's shoulder and neck were cut off as smoothly as if he were slicing tofu.
No last words. No Chakra burst.
A mutilated corpse fell backward, landing in a mud pit next to the tracks.
Blood instantly filled the tank's track tracks, overflowing the edges.
high altitude.
The cold wind swept by like a knife.
Ōnoki was suspended in mid-air.
A thick plaster cast wrapped around his waist. The surface of the plaster was covered with yellow spots soaked with sweat.
He saw it.
He watched the blood mist erupt in front of the green tank.
Watching the Kitsuchi crumble into pieces and fall into the mud.
The string that had been taut in my mind for decades snapped on the spot.
" Kitsuchi-- "
Ōnoki let out a bloodcurdling scream.
His voice was completely hoarse, like sandpaper was being used to polish an iron pot.
Two streams of murky tears mixed with snot flowed into his white beard.
He gripped the metal armrests of the wheelchair with both hands.
The fingernails curled up and blood seeped out, dripping onto the plaster.
He stopped running away.
The 10,000 elite troops of Iwagakure were reduced to minced meat beneath the rubble.
The son died beside the tracks. He wasn't even given a complete body.
His old bones are alive, but all that's left is humiliation.
Ōnoki gritted his teeth until they shattered.
Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, splashing in the wind.
The depleted Chakra within his body was forcibly squeezed out.
The damaged meridians emitted a tearing sound as they struggled to bear the strain.
He gave up maintaining his levitation.
Chakra into the Added-Weight Rock Technique.
The person and wheelchair were transformed into a meteorite weighing tens of thousands of kilograms.
Big head down.
Braving the strong winds, it crashed straight into the black heavy command vehicle behind it.
The cold wind whipped against my face like countless tiny ice knives.
Ōnoki opened his bloodshot old eyes.
He wanted to smash himself, along with his plaster cast, through the roof of that iron car.
He perished together with Shu Shiraishi inside.
Even if I can't kill him by smashing him, I'll still splatter his blood all over him with this old bone.
Falling. The speed is increasing.
The wind whistled in my ears. The air was compressed, producing a sharp sound.
Inside the command vehicle.
The diesel generator's roar was steady.
Shu Shiraishi leaned back in the leather chair.
On the tactical screen in front of me, a red dot is falling rapidly from directly above.
The alarm sounded briefly.
"Drop."
He looked up.
Before the adjutant could speak, Shu Shiraishi kicked open the side door of the command vehicle.
Clang.
The heavy steel door slammed against the outer wall of the carriage and bounced off.
A cold wind, carrying the Yakumi, blew into the carriage.
Shu Shiraishi's legs were slightly bent.
The military boots stomped hard on the metal soles.
A footprint dented the iron plate, producing a rattling, tooth-grinding sound.
He looked like a black cannonball.
He leaped out to meet the falling Ōnoki.
The black trench coat fluttered in the air.
Ōnoki looked at the figure approaching him.
A crazed, sinister grin spread across the old man's face.
He opened his arms, wanting to hold onto the man who had destroyed everything for him.
The two collided in mid-air, more than ten meters above the ground.
There was no Chakra.
Shu Shiraishi extended his right hand, which was wearing a black leather glove.
Spread your five fingers.
He slapped Ōnoki's wrinkled and bloodstained face.
"Snap."
The leather gloves clung to the shriveled flesh.
His five fingers tightened instantly like iron clamps, gripping Ōnoki's cheek tightly.
The bridge of his nose made a crisp sound and collapsed.
The force of the violent descent.
With a single pinch from Shu Shiraishi, he was forced to stop in mid-air.
Ōnoki flailed his arms wildly, only managing to scratch the sleeve of the trench coat. The fabric slipped under his fingernails.
Shu Shiraishi's eyes were as cold as cast iron.
Engage your core muscles. Your right arm muscles bulge high beneath your black short-sleeved shirt.
He pinched Ōnoki's face.
It completed a forced turn in mid-air.
Big head down.
He grabbed Ōnoki and slammed him hard into the scorched earth.
The wind direction reversed.
Ōnoki's face was being pinched, and he couldn't speak.
Only a desperate gurgling sound came from my throat. The scenery before my eyes rushed past.
"Bang!"
Their bodies crashed heavily onto the wilderness.
It created a sand pit two meters in diameter. Kitsuchi flew everywhere.
Dust rose a foot high.
Ōnoki landed on his back.
The plaster shell struck the hard soil, creating several long cracks.
Shu Shiraishi rode on Ōnoki's back.
He released his grip on her face. Two streaks of blood were stained on his leather gloves.
He raised his right leg.
His knees sank heavily downwards.
Aiming at the already broken lower back area of Ōnoki.
"Click."
A crisp, resounding cracking sound as if a bone had been broken.
It drowned out the distant roar of tanks, sounding clear and piercing across the empty wilderness.
Ōnoki's spine was completely split in two by this knee strike.
The broken bone pierced the plaster cast.
It also pierced the skin and flesh.
Dark red blood instantly soaked through the white cloth on his back, spreading across the Kitsuchi.
Ōnoki opened his mouth wide.
All the air in his lungs was forced out, leaving him unable to make a sound.
Both eyes bulged out of their sockets, and were bloodshot.
Shu Shiraishi stood up.
The military boots crunched and squeaked as they stepped on the blood-stained plaster shell.
He took out a piece of white cotton cloth and slowly wiped the bloodstains off his leather gloves.
In the pit.
Ōnoki was like an old dog with its spine broken.
They lay sprawled in the mud and rubble.
My lower body has completely lost sensation. I can't even twitch.
He was staring with his toothless mouth open.
"Vomit."
Mouthful after mouthful of blood gushed from his throat as if it were free.
Blood flowed from the corner of his mouth into his neck, obscuring his white beard. A large red patch appeared on his chest.
He rolled his eyes.
Look upwards.
Shu Shiraishi's black military boots were pressing firmly on his withered chest.
The mud on the soles of his boots rubbed against his tattered clothes, bringing a chilling sense of oppression.
The madness in Ōnoki's eyes dissipated.
All that remained was the deepest despair and utter desolation.
The village is gone. Ten thousand elite soldiers are dead. My son is dead.
He doesn't even have the right to die together with others.
He could only lie at the feet of his enemy, vomiting blood.
Shu Shiraishi casually tossed the dirty white cloth aside.
A piece of cloth fell onto Ōnoki's face, covering his tearful eye.
The cotton cloth absorbed the blood and slowly turned red.
Shu Shiraishi didn't look down at him.
Looking beyond the deep pit, my gaze fell upon the roaring army of machines ahead.
The tanks formed a steel Great Wall. Gun barrels billowed smoke, and tracks turned relentlessly.
He raised his hand and pressed it against the communication microphone at his collar.
The voice was cold, and it traveled throughout the entire army via radio waves.
The military boot ground against his chest, and Ōnoki spat out another mouthful of blood.
" Iwagakure, not a blade of grass remains."
Shu Shiraishi gazed into the distance.
"Everyone who's still breathing will be sent to labor camps!"