"Now!"
Saitama's chakra surged violently. A visible layer of crackling lightning enveloped his body—Lightning Release Chakra Mode—coating his frame in a thin, flickering armor of electricity.
Three steps became two as Saitama accelerated, closing the distance to the puppet in a flash. Lightning sparked along the blade in his hand with a sharp crackle.
At this speed, no ordinary puppet user could keep up. The Sand shinobi barely managed to twitch her fingers before Saitama stomped down on the puppet's head.
"Zzt!"
A scorched, black footprint was left behind. With a flicker, Saitama vanished and reappeared two meters behind the puppet master, blade at the ready.
His pupils narrowed as the tomoe in his newly awakened Sharingan spun slowly. He locked eyes on the enemy, frustration simmering—he had wasted too much time on this one.
Seeing him charge, the puppet master smiled with unsettling confidence. Her face twisted into a wide, smug grin.
The puppet loomed behind Saitama. The master stood before him. But something felt off. A sharp twinge of instinct shot through Saitama's nerves.
A ninja's sixth sense could be frighteningly accurate—and this time, he trusted it.
Just as he was about to close in, Saitama suddenly veered right, accelerating mid-step.
At that precise moment, the puppet behind him transformed.
"Crack!"
"Whooosh—!"
A fissure split open along the puppet's tail. Thick, purple gas erupted from within, spreading under the sun with a seductive, unnatural shimmer.
"Zzzzzzt!"
Everything the mist touched began to corrode. Even the sand was stained with a strange, viscous luster, like melted glass.
Saitama's eyes narrowed, and without hesitation, he darted out of range.
"Tch?"
The puppet master gave a surprised grunt. She hadn't expected Saitama to retreat when he was so close to landing a blow.
But then—the gas began drifting her way.
With a flash of concern, she leapt away in the opposite direction from Saitama. Even she didn't want to touch that gas.
And that's when the unexpected happened.
"Flash!"
Saitama's blade appeared beside her, lightning dancing along the steel—death striking in an instant.
"What!?"
Panic twisted her face. She had just seen Saitama retreat—how was he suddenly beside her?
She turned in disbelief—and saw another Saitama.
"A Shadow Clone!? When—? During the poison gas release?"
Realization dawned in her eyes. But it was too late.
"Schlik—!"
The blade, infused with lightning chakra, carved through her neck with a sizzle. Her head hit the sand a heartbeat later.
Before Saitama could inspect his kill—
"Screech!"
A sudden attack! He turned sharply. The bird puppet was still active!
"Poof!"
The Saitama it struck vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving behind black, crackling fluid.
The real Saitama, watching from afar, instantly realized the puppet master was still alive. With blade in hand, he dashed toward the puppet, just as it paused—thrown off by the clone's disappearance.
The puppet's wings stirred. Hidden mechanisms whirred.
Too slow.
Saitama closed the remaining distance in a flash.
"Krrsh!"
His blade tore through the puppet's wings, severing it mid-air and slamming it to the ground.
"Whir—click-click-click!"
The puppet's body opened. Dozens of hidden weapons locked into place, ready to fire.
"Too late!"
Saitama snarled, chakra surging. Lightning exploded around him. His entire frame glowed with raw energy.
"ZAAAP!"
The sword struck again—cleaving deep into the puppet's core. Its weapon systems sputtered and died.
A trail of blood oozed from the broken shell.
Saitama crouched atop the puppet, retrieving his blade. Crimson liquid, wrapped in lightning, hissed softly before vanishing off the steel.
"Crack!"
He leapt down—revealing the real puppet master inside the contraption, her body half-hidden and grotesquely torn.
From brow to belly, she had been cleaved straight through—the way pigs are split at slaughter.
"Phew…"
Saitama let out a deep breath. That fight had been close. Too close.
Only at the last second had he realized the puppet master had hidden herself inside her own weapon.
It took nerves of steel to unleash poisonous gas point-blank. Saitama had suspected it wasn't the main body the moment she didn't flinch.
During that two-second lull, he'd made his move: clone jutsu and a hunch.
"The most dangerous place… is the safest," he muttered.
It had paid off.
Now, the battlefield was still boiling around him. The puppet master's body lay still, and Sand shinobi nearby stared in disbelief.
Apparently, she'd held a high rank—her death left a clear void.
"This fight…"
Saitama glanced around. Many of the comrades who had charged forward with him were now gone, lost in the chaos.
"Is just the beginning."
"Boom!"
A powerful kick sent a large enemy flying. In one smooth motion, Saitama followed up—his blade slicing into the enemy's back, lightning surging into their spine.
"Tch!"
Another Sand shinobi tried to sneak behind him—throwing poisoned kunai.
"Zing!"
Saitama's blade flicked sideways. A spark of lightning, a metallic clang, and the projectiles dropped uselessly to the sand.
He turned toward the attacker.
"No second chances."
The shinobi paled. His sneak attack had not only failed—it had drawn the wrath of a demon.
"Don't come any closer!" he shouted, panicked, stumbling back.
Saitama didn't respond. Expressionless, silent, sword in hand—he advanced.
"Krrsssh!"
The enemy's kunai snapped in two, followed by the man himself.
Red splashed the sand.
On this battlefield of mostly chūnin, Saitama moved like a storm—his Lightning Release granting him speed, reflexes, and precision far beyond theirs.
He was a walking calamity.
"Ahh!" "Guh!"
The nearby Sand-nin tried to hold their ground—but one by one, they clutched their throats, fell to their knees, and were finished off by supporting Konoha ninja.
One of the Konoha shinobi nodded gratefully to Saitama before rushing off to assist another battlefront.
But this war was far from over.
In the distance, Saitama's eyes narrowed. Though dust and sand blocked his view, he could sense the chakra—and the tremors in the earth.
Orochimaru and Rasa were fighting.
"That battle… will decide this war."
If Orochimaru won, morale would surge. If he lost, the entire Konoha front would collapse.
Rasa was still young for a Kazekage, and his reputation not yet fully formed—but he was no lightweight.
Orochimaru, however, was a legend. Konoha's pillar. Their general.
"Saitama, head east!"
A voice cut through the din. It was Uchiha Lin.
"Leave this area to the others—our jōnin are surrounded there and need backup!"
Lin disappeared into the distance, trailed by a group of Konoha's elite.
Saitama's lightning flared. He maintained his Lightning Chakra Mode, the current racing across his body, keeping his cells alert and burning.
With his sword in hand and purpose in his eyes, he turned east.
The battle continued.
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