The wood chips mixed with dust looked like a throwing knife.
It slammed right into Sasori of the Red Sands's face.
A sharp splinter cut his fair right cheek.
Make a cut that's half an inch long.
The skin and flesh were torn open. Tiny beads of blood instantly seeped out and rolled down the chin.
A drop of hot blood landed on the collar of his black sand-colored cloak, leaving a small dark stain.
The scorpion did not dodge.
He didn't even blink, letting the wood chips rain down on him.
The red hair was covered in white lime powder.
His hands, suspended in mid-air, remained in a manipulating posture.
The glowing blue Chakra Threads at his fingertips had completely snapped.
The ruptured Chakra backlash surged along the meridians into the fingertips.
It hurt like being stabbed with needles in all ten fingers. My joints were trembling slightly.
Ten meters ahead.
The five-meter-tall Chakra Mecha slowly retracted its right arm.
The thick hydraulic rod emitted a dull "hiss--".
A plume of scalding white exhaust gas shot out from the pressure relief valve, dispersing the dust in the air.
Inside the mecha cockpit, the civilian Chunin released the control stick.
He ate a little too quickly and let out a loud burp.
A smell mingled with the aroma of cornbread and pickled vegetables filled the cramped metal cabin.
He reached up and scratched his back; the spot where the Chakra tube was inserted was a little itchy.
The scorpion stood there, stunned.
He slowly lowered his head, looking at the ground not far from his feet.
There lay the third-generation puppet, the culmination of six months of his painstaking work.
No, we can't call them puppets anymore.
That was a pile of rotten wood.
The once-proud Vajra wood trunk was shattered into dozens of jagged pieces of firewood.
The tube filled with deadly poison was smashed to pieces. The purplish-black venom flowed onto the cement floor, bubbling slightly.
There were also several bent, poisoned Senbon nearby.
The needle tip broke off cleanly on the ground. It was the wreckage left from hitting the steel plate.
This is the highest level of Puppet Technique in Sunagakure.
It's not even as good as a piece of paper compared to a fist weighing tens of tons of pig iron.
The scorpion's breathing stopped.
He swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed violently.
His prized mechanical interlocking mechanism. The deadly poison blade he honed day and night.
The traditional crafts that Chiyo taught him.
At this moment, it was affected by that unreasonable wind pressure.
It smashed to pieces, along with that wooden head.
The scorpion was not afraid. It did not run away.
He slowly raised his head.
A pair of amber eyes were fixed intently on the gray-blue steel monster in front of them.
The mecha's steel plates were very rough.
There was no grinding or polishing. The surface was covered with fish-scale-like gray weld seams and ridiculously large solid rivets.
Under the dim, yellowish incandescent light, the steel armor gleamed with a cold, lifeless reflection.
The air was thick with the smell of engine oil.
This isn't the smell of decaying wood.
This has a pure, violent industrial metallic feel.
Inside the thick, blast-proof glass shield on the mecha's chest.
The miniature four-element reactor is still running.
The azure Chakra swirled wildly within, like a deep-sea vortex tightly locked in an iron cage.
Blue light shone through the glass, illuminating Scorpion's blood-stained face.
The scorpion's chest began to heave violently.
The thin shoulders beneath the cloak trembled uncontrollably.
He took deep breaths, inhaling the pungent smell of engine oil into his lungs.
"It's so beautiful."
Scorpion's lips trembled as he forced out those words through clenched teeth.
Unlike wood, it is not fragile and will warp when exposed to moisture.
There's no need to carefully wax your joints.
This behemoth was built entirely of steel and an internal combustion engine.
That is the true, timeless art.
He took a step forward.
The leather boots on his feet made a dry, crisp sound as they stepped on a piece of wood.
He wanted to get closer. He wanted to touch that thick hydraulic rod.
I want to see how those gears convert Chakra into tens of tons of kinetic energy.
Before he could even take the second step...
A series of hurried, chaotic footsteps came from outside the workshop.
"Bang!"
The damaged roller shutter door was roughly lifted upwards by several hands, producing a loud metallic clanging sound.
A dozen or so blinding beams of flashlight light shone directly in.
The beam of light swept haphazardly across the workshop.
Finally, they all converged on the scorpion's body, stinging him so badly he couldn't open his eyes.
"He's there!"
A gruff voice roared.
Seven or eight Uchiha Jōkan wearing red armbands and carrying straight swords rushed in.
The Jōkan in charge ran away too fast.
One foot stepped into a muddy mess of rotten wood and venom.
My foot slipped.
He leaned back, nearly falling flat on his face. The flashlight in his hand hit the iron pillar, and the bulb shattered.
"Oh shit!"
The Jōkan swore and steadied himself by holding onto the metal frame with one hand.
He switched the straight sword to his right hand and charged towards the scorpion.
The scorpion stood in the light, motionless.
They didn't even put on a show of resistance.
The Chakra Threads on his ten fingers were completely gone.
He was still tilting his head, trying to avoid the bright beam of the flashlight, wanting to get a better look at the mecha.
"Hold him down!"
Three Uchiha Jōkan rushed forward.
Two thick arms locked tightly around the scorpion's shoulders.
Press down suddenly.
The scorpion stumbled.
"Thump."
His knees slammed heavily onto the cement floor, which was covered in gray water and broken glass.
A shard of glass pierced his trouser leg, breaking his skin.
A Jōkan's knee slammed into Scorpion's back.
They pinned him firmly to the ground.
His cheek was pressed against the cold cement floor. Sewage covered half of his face. His wounds, stained with dirty water, burned with pain.
"Behave yourself!" The Jōkan roughly grabbed his arms.
Cut them behind your back.
"Crackling."
A heavy clanging of iron chains rang out.
A thick, black iron chain wrapped three times around the scorpion's arm, the clasp firmly locked.
He was bound hand and foot, so tightly that his bones ached.
"Search!"
The Jōkan's rough hands groped inside Scorpion's cloak.
He took out all the small bamboo tubes containing poison and puppet scrolls and threw them on the ground.
The bamboo tube rolled into the puddle.
The scorpion lay in the muddy water.
His face was being firmly pressed down. His breathing was heavy.
But he didn't struggle. He didn't even utter a single curse.
He turned his face to the side.
His line of sight was directly at the mecha ten meters away.
The mech's heavy metal tracks came to a stop at the edge of his line of sight.
The cast iron track plates were still covered in yellow mud and black engine oil from the construction site.
The massive meshing teeth of the gear set are exposed to the air.
It was covered with a thick layer of butter.
Because of the punch just now, a faint wisp of white steam was still rising from the gear.
The scorpion's eyes were wide open, and the area around them was bloodshot.
He stared intently at the track.
There was no fear of being captured in his eyes, nor any frustration at failing his mission.
It's all a perverted obsession.
That was a fanatical, almost distorted, morbid state resulting from seeing creations of a higher dimension.
His mouth was open, and saliva mixed with muddy water was dripping down the corners of his mouth.
"The gear ratio is wrong... With such wide tracks, how much torque would the drive shaft need to handle...?"
He lay prone in the mud, muttering to himself like a madman.
Two rows of White Fang bit their own lips.
His tongue licked the blood flowing from the wound. The taste of blood excited him even more.
His body trembled slightly on the cold cement floor.
"Is this kid crazy? What's he muttering about?"
The Jōkan holding him down frowned and tightened his grip, making the chains even more constricted.
A series of unhurried footsteps came from outside the workshop.
The dull thud of military boots stepping on scrap metal. One step, then another.
The Uchiha Jōkan who were making a ruckus around them immediately quieted down.
The Jōkan made way for them.
They all bowed their heads. " Lord Hokage."
Shu Shiraishi walked into the workshop.
He was wearing that black jacket, his hands in his pockets.
His gaze passed over the scattered pieces of wood and landed on the red-haired boy who was being held down on the ground.
Shu Shiraishi walked over and stopped next to Scorpion's head.
The toe of the military boot was only half a foot away from the scorpion's nose.
It was still covered in mud and grime that had accumulated during the daytime inspection of the sewers.
"Let go," Shu Shiraishi said.
The Jōkan who was stepping on the scorpion's back immediately withdrew his foot and took two steps back.
But the chains couldn't be untied.
The scorpion remained lying on the ground.
He didn't look up at the tyrant who ruled Konoha.
His neck was twisted, his gaze passing over the military boots, still fixed on the mech tracks in the distance.
Without even blinking.
Shu Shiraishi looked down at him.
Sasori of the Red Sands from Sunagakure. He's the madman from the original story who turns people into puppets.
His mind was consumed by the pursuit of timeless art.
Dealing with this kind of tech fanatic.
Knives and power are useless. We must use truth to break through.
Shu Shiraishi pulled his right hand out of his jacket pocket.
He was holding a piece of parchment folded into a square.
His finger trembled.
The parchment unfolded.
It is covered with a dense array of transmission gears and complex hydraulic pipeline circuits.
There is also a complete formula for Chakra energy conversion.
The lines are bold, drawn entirely with charcoal.
Shu Shiraishi remained silent.
He loosened his grip.
The parchment paper floated briefly in the murky air of the workshop.
It drifted down slowly.
It landed precisely next to Scorpion's clean, white face, which was pressed against the cement floor and covered in mud.
The edge of the paper even touched the dust on the tip of the scorpion's nose.
A complex structural diagram of gears and hydraulic transmissions.
It was clearly reflected in Scorpion's amber pupils.