Warning: Graphic Violence & Extreme Gore

This chapter contains explicit descriptions of dismemberment, blood, crushing injuries, rattling bones, and brutal fatalities. It is not for the faint of heart. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

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"You can throw a thousand men at me, and I'll still carve a path through them."

— Guts, Berserk

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[First Person POV: Hikari]

My boots crunched over the damp earth, the cold air biting against my face. This mission was done — the intel on Kirigakure's situation in the Land of Water was secured, the sealed scroll safe inside my pouch. All that was left was the long road back to Konoha.

I stopped mid-step, my grip tightening on the haft of my axe. The mist around me was thick — too thick for this part of the Land of Water. It clung to my skin.

Something wasn't right.

I slowed, my hand brushing the haft of my axe. My eyes scanned the treeline — and that's when I saw them.

Shapes moved between the branches. Dozens at first… then hundreds… 

They weren't hiding. They weren't even trying.

One step forward and the sky went black. A swarm of kunai and shuriken hissed through the air, blotting out the light. The ground around me bristled with steel.

Figures dropped from the branches, water rippling under their sandals as more stepped out from the treeline.

Jonin vests. Chunin flak.

I counted in seconds — then stopped. There was no point. The clearing swarmed with them. At least a thousand.

And every single one of them was looking at me.

A slow grin spread across my lips.

"Only a thousand?" I said, letting my voice carry. "And here I thought the Land of Water had an army. You must really want to die. You think this is enough to kill me?"

Then they poured out — jōnin in the front, behind them a tide of chūnin. The headbands of Kirigakure glinted in the light.

So they knew who I was. They knew my route. They came ready to drown me in numbers.

I rolled my shoulders. "Fine. I'll make this quick." I stretched, joints popping.

The ground trembled as I slammed my palm down.

Earth Release: Fang of the Cracking Mountain.

The earth beneath the front squad split with a deafening crunch, jagged spears of stone tearing upward like the jaws of some great beast. They screamed — short, sharp sounds cut off as the spikes ripped through torsos, splitting armor like wet paper. One man's body slid halfway down a spike, twitching, before his own weight tore him in two. Blood sprayed hot against my cheek.

I pulled my axe free from its strap and stepped forward.

The first jonin came in low, water blade in hand. I let him get close, and then twisted my body, swinging the axe in an arc. Bone shattered under the impact, his neck snapping before his head even left his shoulders. I didn't stop the motion — the blade bit into another man's side, splitting him from hip to armpit.

The mist reeked of iron now. 

They tried to press in, but I moved — fast. Every step was a strike, every swing a kill. My heel crushed a chūnin's knee backward with a wet pop, my elbow smashing into another's temple hard enough to dent the skull. I drove my knee into a jōnin's jaw — teeth scattered like pebbles as he fell.

Then they spat great arcs of water jutsu from every direction. I grinned. 

Wrong choice.

I poured chakra into the axe, the metal humming as Lightning Release sparked across its edge. The first stream of water hit, and the air exploded with crackling fury. The lightning leapt from my weapon into the flood, riding it back to the casters.

They didn't even have time to scream. Their bodies locked up mid-hand-seal, muscles seizing as smoke rose from their skin. The closest one's eyes burst from the pressure, white fluid running down his cheeks before he collapsed.

Someone yelled an order, and kunai rained down from the mist. I raised my free hand.

Earth Release: Stone Bulwark.

A wall surged from the ground in front of me, kunai clattering harmlessly against it. I smashed through it like paper, charging into the thick of them.

I became a storm.

One man's ribs shattered under a kick — I felt them give way under my heel. Another's skull split with the back of my axe, grey matter spraying onto his comrade's chest. 

I slammed the butt of my axe into the earth, my chakra flooding downward. The ground beneath my enemies buckled and split wide. Huge slabs of stone erupted upward like jaws, slamming shut on entire squads, crushing their bodies to pulp between grinding walls of rock.

A jonin lunged from my left — fast — but my hand shot out, catching his face. I squeezed. His skull resisted for a second, then caved in with a Crunch

, warm gore dripping between my fingers. I let him drop and brought the axe around in a brutal upward swing, catching another under the chin. His head separated from his body in a spray of blood that painted the mist crimson.

They hesitated now.

The smart ones saw what I was and began to back away. The others… well.

I stepped forward, dragging the blade along the ground, sparks dancing from my axe. My voice was low, almost a whisper.

"Is that all? I'm just getting started."

The metallic taste of blood lingered on my tongue — but it wasn't mine.

My boots sank into the soft, damp soil, now dark with crimson rivers. A dozen shinobi lay in grotesque heaps around me — arms twisted at unnatural angles, heads caved in like rotten melons. Their comrades hesitated, their confidence faltering. But hesitation on the battlefield is a death sentence.

"Still breathing? Good. That means I can kill you twice," I snarled.

(Pic)

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(A/N)

Well, it seems Viking Otis takes the crown! Time to add some fur, leather, and pure chaos to his wardrobe 😏🪓

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/pacifist01