Content Warning: This chapter contains extremely graphic violence, gore, and descriptions of death. Expect explicit detail of dismemberment, blood, and battlefield brutality. Reader discretion is heavily advised.

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"I am the storm, brother. The first and the last. The enemy will break upon me like water."

— Euron Greyjoy,Game of Thrones

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

The nearest jōnin surged forward, his sword aimed for my throat. I stepped in, I caught the blade in my bare hand, and twisting until his wrist snapped with a wet crack. 

"Ahhhhhhgh!" he cried at the top of his lungs, clutching his broken wrist.

I drove my forehead into his face — bone shattered, and his teeth sprayed into the air. He fell to his knees, blood pumping from his crushed nose and split gums.

I didn't wait. My foot came down like a hammer, caving his skull into the mud.

More came. Chūnin in pairs, they were hoping numbers would save them. Their hands blurred through seals and jets of water surged toward me.

I smirked. Perfect.

Lightning chakra burned through my veins, crackling into my axe. The blade howled, arcs of blue-white fury dancing along the metal. When the water touched it, the charge exploded outward. Screams erupted as the shock tore through their bodies, muscles locking mid-stride, eyes rolling back. The weaker ones dropped dead instantly, steam rising from their twitching forms.

One jōnin was still moving — barely. His body smoked, but he raised a kunai and stumbled toward me. I met him halfway.

My axe came down in a vertical arc. The edge split his collarbone, and continued through his ribcage, and didn't stop until it bit into the ground beneath him. His two halves collapsed away from each other, steaming intestines spilling free from his body.

Blood splattered across my cheek, warm and sticky. I didn't wipe it away.

The enemy finally broke formation, realizing that sheer numbers wouldn't be enough. They spread out, trying to flank me. Clever… but not clever enough.

I slammed my palm to the earth. "Earth Release!"

Spears of stone erupted in every direction. Screams tore through the air as shinobi were impaled.

Blood rained down from the sky

A kunai whistled past my ear, nicking my skin. I turned in time to see three jōnin rushing me, their chakra flaring dangerously.

I dropped low, letting the first swing pass overhead, then lunged forward with a shoulder smash that cracked his ribs like dry sticks. My elbow drove backward into another's throat; he gagged, eyes bulging, before collapsing with his windpipe crushed as he clutched desperately for air.

The last came at me with a tanto, but my axe met him mid-swing. The blade cut through his forearm like paper, severing the weapon along with the hand. He screamed — until my boot connected with his jaw, tearing it halfway off his face.

I looked around. Corpses everywhere. The once-green field was now red.

But still…they kept coming.

"Fine," I growled, gripping my axe tighter. "Let's see how many of you I can bury before sunset."

I spun my axe in my hand, the weight of it a familiar comfort, the hum of lightning chakra still crawling along its edge. My boots dug into the churned mud, the scent of blood and ozone was thick in the air. Bodies littered the ground—some still twitching, most not. But they kept coming.

Good.

My lips curled into a smirk. "Still think you can take me?" I said, my voice cutting through the chaos.

Three jōnin darted forward, hands blurring through seals.

"Water Style: Water Dragon Bullet!" The serpentine torrents roared toward me, teeth bared.

I slammed my palm into the ground. "Earth Release—Rising Stone Walls!" Jagged slabs erupted, splitting the incoming dragons into harmless spray. I didn't wait for the steam to clear. My legs coiled, and I was already moving—axe flashing, lightning dancing.

The first jonin barely registered my presence before the blade split him from shoulder to hip, his rib cage cracking open, a spray of crimson painting the mist. I caught the second with a rising kick under his chin, the impact snapping his neck back at an unnatural angle, jaw shattering, blood spraying in an arc.

The third—he tried to run. I drove a spike of stone through his spine before he could even scream.

More were circling. Chunin mostly. Brave… or stupid. I wrenched my axe free from a corpse, chakra surging into my arms. I swung low, the lightning crackling as it met flesh. Limbs came off in clean, searing cuts.

A hand grabbed my ankle from the mud—half a man, still alive somehow. I didn't even look as I brought my heel down on his skull. Bone and brain gave way with a wet pop.

"Pathetic," I spat.

Still, they came.

A kunai scraped across my forearm — a shallow cut. I grabbed the attacker by the throat with both hands and squeezed until his trachea collapsed. His eyes bulged. I threw him aside like trash.

More rushed me—twenty, thirty at once. I waded into them like a storm, every blow breaking something—an arm, a jaw, a ribcage. My fists split skin, my kicks shattered bones. The earth cracked under the force of my strikes.

I plant my feet, feeling the earth beneath me like an old friend. My fingers tighten around the haft of my axe. The weight is nothing to me—it's an extension of my own will. The circle of shinobi tightens, their eyes calculating. They're waiting for a weakness.

I give them something else instead.

With a sharp inhale, I raise the axe high above my head. My muscles coil like steel cables, the edge of the axe gleaming in the faint mist. I can hear one of them mutter something about "Get her now."—poor fool.

I slam the axe down.

BOOOM.

The world detonates.

The axe head bit into the ground, and the earth screamed. Stone fractures under the blow, splitting apart in jagged lines. The shockwave explodes outward in every direction. The ground heaves beneath us, throwing bodies into the air like ragdolls. The front line of jōnin never even screamed — the force shattered their ribcages instantly, blood erupting from their mouths before they hit the dirt.

I watched the rippling wave roll outward, smashing through shinobi ranks. Legs snapped. Skulls cracked open as they slammed into each other or the ground. One poor bastard's eyes bulged just before the concussion ruptured something inside — he collapsed without a sound. The air itself felt thick with the smell of blood.

Chunks of earth and stone rained back down around me, pinging off my armor and shoulders. The axe in my hands turned to dust as it disintegrated. I smirked at the survivors as they scrambled to stand, shaking and bleeding.

Then, as if the thought hit them all at once — they broke.

And they ran.

Good.

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(A/N)

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