It's normal for height to change after five years apart, so Chiyo didn't suspect anything from the puppet clone's appearance.
What truly shocked her was the puppet Scorpion's sudden use of Magnet Release—not through the body of the Third Kazekage puppet, but innately, as if it were his own.
She frowned, stepping forward slightly. "You shouldn't be able to use Magnet Release. That was the Third Kazekage's ability. Not only can you float using it, but you're even controlling his Iron Sand..."
Her voice trembled with realization. "Then it's true. You really were involved in the Kazekage's disappearance. Did you somehow... steal his power?"
The puppet clone, operated by Akira, tilted its head and sneered. "Don't act innocent, Granny Chiyo. You already know why I took the Third Kazekage."
Chiyo's suspicions were confirmed. She had known for years that Sasori had been obsessed with turning humans into puppets—a gruesome fascination he'd once practiced on his childhood friends. Leaving the village had only given him the freedom to collect powerful shinobi and harvest their unique abilities for his experiments.
But turning the Kazekage, the protector of their people, into a puppet?
"Sasori! Leaving the village was shameful enough, but betraying your people and murdering the Kazekage? You've gone beyond redemption!"
Chiyo's voice rang out across the dunes. "You've truly become a monster. I won't let you escape today."
The puppet Scorpion scoffed. "You're still clinging to the past, old woman? Do you really think you can avenge the Kazekage at your age? Shouldn't you be resting?"
His tone was casual, dismissive. He hovered midair effortlessly, the Iron Sand swirling like a storm around him. Chiyo could sense his arrogance—and his confidence in flight meant he believed escape was always an option.
But Chiyo stood tall. "Even if I die here, I will stop you. If I can prevent another tragedy, I will count it as atonement—for failing to raise my grandson right!"
Her fury turned into resolve. She had buried her grief long ago, but now, standing before the embodiment of her failure, it returned tenfold.
Akira, through the puppet, responded coolly. "I didn't plan on killing anyone. I only wanted to reclaim what's mine—the Kazekage's Iron Sand. But if you insist on standing in my way, then allow me to show you the power I've gained."
With that, he reached behind the puppet and removed a scroll from the rack strapped to its back. With a burst of chakra, ten puppets emerged, summoned not with chakra strings, but with floating Iron Sand infused into their joints.
The Iron Sand not only animated them but allowed them to levitate like their master. It was an eerie sight: ten airborne puppets, drifting as if swimming through the sky.
Chiyo's eyes widened. "Controlling puppets using Magnet Release... No one in the village ever thought of this. Always so clever, even as a child."
But admiration was fleeting. She quickly raised her sleeve and produced her own scroll. With a single practiced motion, she summoned the legendary Ten Puppets of Chikamatsu.
She knew Sasori's strength intimately. From the start, she had no intention of holding back.
Even with his innovation, puppet performance relied on construction, not just control. And her puppets, built with generations of knowledge and refined through countless battles, were superior in craftsmanship.
If this was the extent of Sasori's ability, she had confidence she could stop him.
The opposing lines of ten puppets hovered in the air, forming a standoff.
But time was not on Akira's side.
The puppet clone's Yin Seal was opened—chakra would now slowly bleed away. He had to finish this quickly.
So he made the first move. The puppet Scorpion surged forward. Chiyo's fingers danced instantly, and the Ten Puppets of Chikamatsu launched into synchronized defense.
The two puppet masters didn't speak. Their creations clashed midair in a dazzling, deadly display. Iron clashed with wood, chakra blades met shields, and poison mist clouded the wind.
Sand Shinobi nearby watched, slack-jawed. Some of them were puppeteers, but they had never seen anything like this.
It didn't look like a duel. It looked like two armies waging war.
To the stunned Sand Shinobi, it was a reminder: both Chiyo and Sasori possessed the strength to decimate entire villages.
But they weren't here to spectate.
This wasn't a fair fight. It was their chance to recapture a dangerous rogue.
Recognizing this, the Sand Shinobi leapt into action. Wind Release jutsu erupted in unison, blending with kunai laced in poison. Their goal was clear: overwhelm and subdue Sasori.
Akira had expected this.
Back at the orphanage, where Yakushi Kabuto's clone was linked to the puppet, he smirked.
With a single command, the puppet Scorpion summoned the Iron Sand surrounding it into a sphere, completely enclosing itself in a seamless black orb.
An Iron Sand Sphere—Gaara's old defensive trick, reborn and deadlier.
Thousands of jutsu attacks converged, but many were misdirected or collided midair due to overcrowding. The few that landed merely scorched or bounced off the hardened magnetic defense.
Inside the sphere, Akira calmly observed through sensory jutsu.
This was the power gap between a Kage-level fighter and ordinary shinobi. Their desperate barrage barely scratched his defenses.
Genin knew only the basics. Chunin wielded flashy but limited techniques. Few among them posed real danger.
It reminded him of legends: the Third Raikage fending off ten thousand enemies. The Third Kazekage, his puppet base, had been of similar caliber.
Why should his defenses fall to these ants?
Then he made his move.
The Iron Sand Sphere dissolved, and black particles burst outward, swirling into dozens of elegant weapons—blades, spears, razors—all suspended midair.
They didn't strike. Not yet.
Instead, they floated ominously, weaving patterns through the sky, aimed just enough to threaten without killing.
The Sand Shinobi scattered in panic, some tripping over themselves as they retreated. None dared to attack again.
Akira had shifted the momentum. The puppet clone hovered above them all, its Iron Sand dominating the battlefield.
And so, with the sun high overhead and shadows stretching across the sands, the confrontation teetered on the edge of carnage.
Whether it was Chiyo or the Sand ninjas, all of them were locked in a fierce struggle, unable to free up their hands to mount a decisive attack against the puppet Sasori. The battlefield was chaos, Iron Sand twisting and whirling like a living storm, ten puppets flanking from all angles. But amid the confusion, there was still one person who had yet to make a move. One threat lingered in the shadows—Ebizo.
The old strategist hadn't moved a muscle, hidden amidst the landscape, watching, calculating, and waiting. He was waiting for Sasori to show a flaw. Finally, that opportunity came. Sasori had focused entirely on pressing his assault against Chiyo and the bulk of the Sand forces.
Ebizo flicked his finger.
From within the chest of his concealed puppet, a hailstorm of hidden weapons launched silently but deadly, aimed directly at Sasori's heart-core. Ebizo's eyes narrowed as he predicted the trajectory with surgical precision. He believed, with all his decades of battlefield experience, that this would be the killing blow.
But just before the barrage struck, Sasori's head turned sharply.
A mocking smile curled across his lips.
He stretched out one hand, palm facing outward.
With a low hum, a glowing blue chakra shield unfurled like an umbrella—the infamous Kikō Jungeki. The attack collided with it in a burst of metallic sparks, nullified.
This shield had once belonged to an elite Jonin puppeteer, its components seized by Akira half a year ago. At the time, Akira hadn't been able to properly utilize the puppet it came from. Instead, he disassembled the puppet's forearms, affixed them to his own custom armguards, and forced the technique to work.
But the design had flaws. While the shield could protect the wielder, the hands remained exposed—a critical vulnerability. Akira had tested it only once and nearly paid the price. Since then, the components had stayed shelved.
Until now.
After inheriting Sasori's memories, Akira had developed new methods of puppet integration. With full understanding of the original intent and function, he reengineered the Kikō Jungeki and embedded it into his puppet clone. He no longer feared damaging the arms—they could always be rebuilt.
Chiyo and Ebizo both recognized the sudden transformation.
Their eyes narrowed.
That design. That chakra flow. That precise modification.
They had seen it before—Chiyo had installed a similar prosthetic on herself after losing her arm in battle. Sasori had once fitted a close comrade with such an arm. This wasn't mere replacement; it was augmentation. Purposeful evolution.
The puppet clone turned its head and looked directly at Ebizo.
"Did you think I'd forgotten about you?" it said coldly. "I've always known you to be a lurking shadow, the master of ambushes. I've been watching you."
Ebizo's gut twisted. From Sasori's memories—now Akira's—he knew Ebizo was not a fighter who challenged opponents head-on. He was a predator who waited for weakness, who struck from behind when defenses were down.
But Akira had long prepared for this. The regeneration core, built partially from a Tree Clone, had advanced sensory capabilities. Even amid the battle's chaos, he had sensed Ebizo's killing intent.
Ebizo scowled. He had underestimated the clone's awareness, its precision. But all was not lost. He wasn't planning to win in a flash. He knew Sasori was preoccupied, juggling dozens of enemies and manipulating iron sand while also commanding ten separate puppets. Surely even a genius would begin to falter.
He lunged forward, calculating the angles. His two puppets surged ahead, attacking from opposite flanks, hidden blades and chains striking in synchronized harmony.
Sasori didn't flinch.
From behind him, a scorpion-like tail whipped through the air and struck both puppets with stunning force, sending them skidding back.
Ebizo's eyes widened.
That tail—that wasn't a modification born from necessity. It was an enhancement for offense, a declaration of power. Sasori hadn't just replaced lost parts; he had reshaped himself for war.
And it wasn't over.
The puppet clone reached up and tore off its cloak.
It fell to the ground, revealing the full extent of its transformation.
From the scroll rack on its back, two spiral-arm mechanisms unfurled, each lined with retractable blades. Like armguards, they locked onto the puppet's arms. The tail coiled behind him, twitching in anticipation. The entire figure now resembled a monstrous humanoid scorpion—deadly, precise, and alien.
It was the very essence of Sasori—not just in name, but in form.
Originally, Sasori had been known for his attachment to Hiruko, the hunched puppet armor that crawled and struck like a beast. Now that armor was gone—destroyed by Akira. In its place, he had designed a new shell, a true homage to the Scorpion.
The modifications weren't purely aesthetic. They were built from battle-tested parts. Blades seized from fallen Sand puppeteers. Launchers embedded into the forearms. Mechanisms rebuilt and enhanced by Akira's understanding.
Chiyo and Ebizo stood aghast.
Ebizo realized the terrifying truth—this puppet's internal organs had likely been removed entirely to make room for all these weapons. Sasori hadn't just modified his body. He had hollowed it out, sacrificing humanity for perfection.
Still, Ebizo rallied. He sent his puppets forward again. They danced, darted, struck from angles honed through decades of war.
But it was like trying to catch a shadow.
The puppet Sasori countered effortlessly, weapons erupting from unexpected ports, slashing and blocking simultaneously. His body seemed to sense every move, reacting with inhuman synchronicity. There were no openings.
Ebizo's concentration was absolute, yet it wasn't enough.
He was fighting only one of Sasori's puppets. The real enemy—Akira—was still controlling the Iron Sand, commanding ten other puppets to engage Chiyo and the others, maintaining pressure on every front.
Ebizo choked on disbelief.
This shouldn't be possible.
"How... how can one mind control so much at once? How can he keep up with it all?"
The puppet clone answered with action.
Blades screeched through the air. The tail lashed with surgical precision. Ebizo deflected one attack, then another—but it was clear: he was being tested. Played with.
And above all, studied.
Akira wasn't just fighting.
He was experimenting.
He had brought Sasori's legend back to life for a single purpose:
To see if it was enough to match a Kage.
And if it wasn't, he would learn. Adapt. Improve.
Ebizo fought with everything he had, sweat pouring from his brow, muscles aching with age. But deep down, he knew:
This was no longer about family.
This was the future of puppet warfare.
And they were already too late to stop it.