Menma Uzumaki

The tension in the air was suffocating as Menma and Kimimaro faced each other. The training ground, still marred by the battle with the Sound Four, was silent except for the faint crackle of dark chakra that flickered around Menma like a living storm.

Kimimaro stood calm and composed, his green eyes locked onto Menma's masked face. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Interesting," he said softly. "Let's see if your strength matches your aura."

Menma tilted his head, rolling his shoulders to loosen up. His fists clenched and unclenched as the dark chakra coursed through him, amplifying his strength and sharpening his senses. "Say, have you always been this pally?" Menma said, his voice even but tinged with amusement. He could feel his own heart pounding against his ribs, a mix of adrenaline and apprehension.

Kimimaro didn't respond. Instead, he lunged forward with blinding speed, his movements almost imperceptible, a faint whistling sound the only indication of his attack.

Kimimaro's fist shot toward Menma's face, but Menma's instincts roared to life. He twisted his body, narrowly dodging the strike. The air hissed as Kimimaro's punch sliced through the space where Menma's head had been.

A thin line of blood appeared on Menma's cheek where Kimimaro grazed him.

Menma retaliated immediately, driving his knee toward Kimimaro's ribs. The impact was devastating, the force of the blow sending a shockwave through the air, kicking up dust and debris. But Kimimaro's bones extended from his ribs in an instant, forming a jagged shield that absorbed the brunt of the attack, though a pained grunt escaped his lips.

The two broke apart, their eyes locked.

"You're fast," Kimimaro said, his tone even.

Menma chuckled, dark chakra flaring around him like black fire.

He dashed forward, his footfalls so light they barely made a sound. His fist slammed into Kimimaro's forearm, the force of the punch causing the ground beneath them to crack. Kimimaro staggered slightly but recovered quickly, his bones erupting into long spikes as he slashed at Menma's side.

Menma leaped back, the tip of a bone spike grazing his cloak, tearing a small rent in the fabric. He landed gracefully, the dark chakra around him growing more intense, the air growing heavy.

Kimimaro didn't waste time. He extended his fingers, each one elongating into sharp, needle-like projectiles. With a flick of his wrist, he fired them at Menma, the faint whistling sound growing louder as they approached.

Menma's eyes narrowed. He felt the deadly precision behind each shot and knew he couldn't dodge them all. He could feel his muscles screamed in protest.

Then, instinct took over. He extended his hand, and the air around him shifted. A pulse of gravity emanated from his body, slowing the projectiles mid-flight. They hovered for a split second before clattering harmlessly to the ground.

Kimimaro's eyes widened slightly in surprise, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "Gravity manipulation... a kekkei genkai or ninjutsu?" he murmured, his voice raspy.

"I see... your abilities aren't ordinary." A faint, wet cough wracked his body for a moment, and he quickly hid it, but Menma noticed.

Menma smirked behind his mask.

"You're just figuring that out?"

The ground beneath Menma cracked as he launched himself forward with explosive force, leaving a small crater where he had been standing. His fist collided with Kimimaro's jaw, the impact sending the pale shinobi skidding backward, a spray of blood erupting from his mouth.

Kimimaro wiped a thin trail of blood from his lip, his expression unchanging, but his breathing grew more ragged. "Impressive," he said, his voice strained. "But let's see how you handle this."

He stabbed his hand into the ground, his spine rippling unnaturally as a forest of bone spikes erupted from the earth. The jagged spikes shot toward Menma in a wave, their sharp edges gleaming in the dim light, the scent of earth and blood filling the air.

Menma reacted instinctively. Dark chakra surged through his legs as he leaped into the air, flipping over the deadly spikes. But as he descended, Kimimaro was already waiting for him, a bone sword extended from his forearm, a low growl emanating from him.

Kimimaro slashed upward, aiming to catch Menma mid-air. But Menma raised his hand again, his dark chakra amplifying the gravity around him. The sudden shift in force sent Kimimaro's blade off-course, throwing him slightly off balance, giving Menma just enough time to twist his body and land behind him, narrowly avoiding the razor-sharp edge.

The moment his feet touched the ground, Menma spun and delivered a devastating roundhouse kick to Kimimaro's ribs. The impact sent Kimimaro flying, his body slamming into a nearby pillar with a sickening crack, dust and debris raining down.

Kimimaro staggered to his feet, his bones repairing the damage almost instantly, but his movements were noticeably slower, his breathing more labored. He coughed lightly, his hand brushing against his mouth, but he hid it well, though blood trickled between his fingers.

"You're holding back," Menma said, his voice cold. "Why?" He could feel the dark chakra pulsing within him, a tempting whisper promising more power.

Kimimaro didn't answer. Instead, he lunged forward again, his movements as precise and deadly as ever, but lacking their earlier speed. The two clashed in a flurry of strikes-fists, knees, and bone blades colliding in a brutal dance, the sound echoing through the damaged training ground.

Kimimaro feinted a high slash, forcing Menma to raise his arms in defense. But at the last second, Kimimaro's bone blade retracted, and he drove his knee into Menma's stomach, a faint wheezing sound escaping his lips.

The blow knocked the wind out of Menma, and he stumbled back, his hand instinctively clutching his stomach.

Kimimaro pressed the advantage, his bone spikes extending toward Menma's chest, their tips dripping with a mixture of blood and chakra.

But Menma wasn't finished.

He slammed his hand into the ground, a pulse of dark chakra rippling outward. The gravity in the area shifted violently, pulling Kimimaro's spikes downward and pinning them into the earth, the sudden force throwing him off balance. Cracks spiderwebbed across the floor from the strain.

Kimimaro's eyes widened as Menma charged forward, his fist glowing with dark energy. The punch landed squarely on Kimimaro's chest, sending him crashing into the ground, his body leaving a deep impression on the stone.

The impact left a crater in the stone, and for a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of ragged breathing and falling debris.

"

"

Menma stood over Kimimaro, his chest heaving as he catch his breath.

The dark chakra around him flickered and dimmed, its intensity fading.

Kimimaro pushed himself to his feet, his movements slower than before, his body visibly trembling. He coughed, a wet, rasping sound that echoed through the chamber. Blood splattered onto the ground, staining the pale stone red. He swayed slightly, his hand instinctively going to his chest.

Menma froze, his fists still clenched. "What the hell?" he muttered, more to himself than Kimimaro.

Kimimaro wiped his mouth, his expression calm despite the blood. "It seems my body has reached its limit for today," he said, his voice steady but faintly strained.

Menma frowned, the adrenaline draining from his body. He could feel the dark chakra within him stirring, urging him to press the attack, but he forced it down.

Kimimaro straightened, his green eyes meeting Menma's, a hint of respect flickering within them. "You're strong," he said simply. "Stronger than I expected."

Menma let out a slow breath, the tension in his body easing. "You're not so bad yourself," he said, his voice tinged with grudging respect.

The two stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the drip of blood and the faint crackle of residual chakra.

 "

"

Finally, Kimimaro turned and walked away, his steps steady despite the blood he left behind, each footfall echoing in the silence.

"

Menma watched him go, his mind racing.

 "

But as he stood there, staring at the cratered ground, one thought lingered in his mind.

 "

'I didn't win. Not really'.

 "

For now, the fight was over.