Zeldris's eyes swept over them.
Sharp. Icy. Unblinking.
The kind of gaze that didn't look at you so much as measure your coffin.
Every ANBU still conscious froze in place.
Breath caught. Pulse spiked. Muscles locked.
No one said it—but every single one of them thought the same thing:
We're dead.
The Third Kazekage's corpse still smoldered somewhere behind Zeldris—just a reminder, in case anyone had forgotten what kind of monster they were dealing with.
This wasn't chakra. It wasn't a kekkei genkai. Hell, it didn't even feel human.
Whatever Zeldris had just done? It had cracked the ground, collapsed the dunes, and sent a dozen elite shinobi flying like they'd just tried to wrestle a hurricane.
And the wildest part?
Not a single chakra flare.
No buildup. No signs. No jutsu callouts.
Just a fist.
A very judgmental fist.
Zeldris took a step forward. Sand crunched under his foot like dry bones.
Then, casually—like he was ordering lunch—he smirked.
"What's wrong?" he asked, voice calm, cool, and deeply condescending. "This is all you've got?"
Silence.
He tilted his head, voice a little louder, a little meaner.
"Didn't you talk big earlier? Something about killing me?"
Still no answer.
Because none of them wanted to find out what happened if they did speak.
The Konoha squad leader gritted his teeth behind the mask. Sweat soaked his uniform, though the desert heat had nothing to do with it.
His brain scrambled for plans. Backup plans. Backup-backup plans.
Most of them ended with him dying.
But the leader was a survivor. A planner. A pragmatist.
Which meant the next words out of his mouth?
Lies.
"…Tsk. Don't panic," he barked, loud enough for the others to hear. "That last attack must've drained his chakra."
He didn't believe it for a second.
But hey—if it bought him five more seconds?
Worth it.
"This is our chance!" he shouted, louder now. "We strike together, we can bring him down! Focus on the mission!"
Inside?
RUN.
RUN NOW.
SACRIFICE EVERYONE IF NECESSARY.
He clapped his hands together.
"Katon—Great Fireball Technique!"
A massive fireball burst from his mouth, roaring like a demon as it tore through the air.
Another ANBU, ever loyal (and tragically optimistic), followed up instantly.
"Fūton—Wild Wind Dance!"
The gust hit the fireball mid-air, fanning the flames into a firestorm.
Together, it became a flaming meteor.
Bright. Raging. Impressive.
The squad joined in.
Lightning speared the sky. Water tore through the dunes. Earth split. A full-scale elemental symphony crashed toward Zeldris and Sasori like divine judgment.
Sasori blinked once.
Then twice.
"…Huh," he said, watching the approaching apocalypse. "That's… a lot of effort."
Zeldris?
Didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
Didn't care.
Instead, he rolled his shoulders with a little stretch, like someone about to open a pickle jar.
"Well. Finally showing a little backbone?"
He cracked his knuckles.
"But it's too late."
He raised his fist, casually—like swatting a fly.
"Because your opponent…"
CRACK.
"…is me."
The punch didn't hit the firestorm.
It hit the air.
And the air broke.
A sound like shattering glass echoed across the battlefield. White cracks snaked through space itself—veins of energy splitting reality open like a spiderweb of death.
The ANBU's attacks stopped.
Literally.
The fire, lightning, wind, water—everything froze in midair. Inches from Zeldris.
No impact.
No explosion.
Just… stopped. Like someone had hit pause on the universe.
The fireball hovered. The lightning flickered once. Then—gone.
Not absorbed.
Not countered.
Erased.
The ANBU stared, speechless.
"What… what the hell is that?" one of them breathed.
"He stopped it all… with one punch?"
"…I miss the old Zeldris," another muttered.
And that's when the squad leader made his final decision.
He turned.
And ran.
No warning. No orders.
No regret.
Just a blur of desperation and dust, sprinting into the dunes like his life depended on it—which, to be fair, it absolutely did.
"Wait, what?! He's running?!"
"Commander?!"
One of the younger ANBU blinked. "Is this part of the plan?"
Another punched him in the shoulder. "No, this is the plan now!"
They turned to flee.
Too late.
Zeldris's voice cut through the chaos like a scalpel.
"Run?"
It wasn't loud. Just… final.
"Do you think…" he stepped forward, slow, unstoppable.
"…you can escape me?"
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