Naruto : Blazing Legend

Chapter 31: The Chasm

The examination arena has now transformed into a battlefield graveyard. What had once been solid footing was now a expanse of churned mud that clung to boots and made every step a struggle. Hanazuki collapsed to one knee, her chest heaving as the last dregs of her chakra ran out out. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on her shoulders, making even the simple act of staying upright feel monumental. Only Rei managed to stumble over to her side, his own movements sluggish and unsteady.

"Pathetic," Orochimaru's voice carried across the battlefield, cold and cutting. His yellow eyes found Jiraiya on the observation mound, still locked in heated argument with the Third Hokage. "That fool Jiraiya, brought low by a mere Genin. How utterly disappointing."

Unlike his teammate, Orochimaru's hands remained whole and functional. His fingers moved as he formed seals, drawing from chakra reserves that seemed bottomless compared to the flickering embers left in the young shinobi before him. These children had fought with admirable tenacity, but their bodies were failing them now—muscles trembling from overexertion, breath coming in ragged gasps, the metallic taste of blood coating their tongues.

Without warning, Orochimaru raised both hands, and the earth around them seemed to writhe with malevolent life. Dozens of serpents burst forth from his sleeves in a grotesque cascade of scales and fangs—the Hidden Shadow Multi-Snake Hand, amplified to twice its normal ferocity. The snakes moved with intelligence, coiling around limbs and throats with crushing force.

Shirakumo Hayama's chakra blade sang through the air, its sharp edge slicing through several of the attacking serpents. For a moment, hope flared in his chest as he managed to free two of his trapped comrades. But that hope died as quickly as it had been born.

The severed snake bodies detonated.

The Evil Snake Wrist Explosion technique chained seamlessly from the first, and the training ground erupted in a symphony of destruction. Bodies were flung through the air like broken dolls, some landing with sickening thuds in the mud, others crying out in pain as shrapnel tore through flesh. The smoke that followed carried with it the copper scent of blood and the bitter taste of defeat.

Hayama had felt so clever, so confident in his ability to counter Orochimaru's techniques. The chakra blade had cut through the snakes so easily—surely he could press the advantage, maybe even land a decisive blow. But as the smoke cleared and revealed the carnage around him, reality crashed down like a physical weight. His throat constricted as he counted the survivors.

Five. Out of nearly two dozen Genin, only five remained standing.

Himself. Uchiha Izumiyama, swaying on his feet but still conscious. A Nara clan member, his shadow already stretching defensively across the ground. The Akimichi boy, his usually cheerful face now grim with determination. And Rei, who had arrived just in time to witness the massacre.

The others lay scattered across the battlefield—some unconscious, others clutching wounds that painted the mud a deeper shade of crimson. They weren't dead, but the sight of their broken forms was a stark reminder of how easily they could have been. Orochimaru had shown mercy, and somehow that felt more terrifying than outright brutality.

More smoke billowed across the field as Orochimaru performed another summoning. When it cleared, five massive serpents emerged, each easily the size of a building. Their eyes gleamed with an alien intelligence as they fixed on their assigned targets, tongues flicking out to taste the fear that hung heavy in the air.

Rei had been rushing forward to engage Orochimaru directly, but the sight of the multi-snake hand made him reconsider. Every technique the Sannin employed seemed to have hidden depths, cruel surprises waiting for the unwary. Sure enough, the explosion had proven his caution justified, but now he faced a different problem entirely.

The serpent that slithered toward him was larger than any he'd ever seen, its scales shining like polished obsidian. When it opened its maw, he expected fangs and venom. Instead, a concentrated jet of water slammed into his chest with the force of a battering ram, sending him tumbling across the muddy ground. Every bone in his body ached as he rolled to a stop, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

Orochimaru's summons can use jutsu too, he realized with growing dread. The anime never showed us everything about these creatures.

Pain lanced through his ribs as he forced himself upright, just in time to roll away from the serpent's massive tail as it whipped through the space where his head had been. The creature was barely twenty meters away now, close enough that he could see its hunger in the eyes and smell the musk of its ancient scales.

Desperation drove him to activate his Sharingan again, the tomoe spinning as they tracked the serpent's movements. When it reared back to spit another water blast, he moved with the enhanced reflexes the dojutsu provided, appearing on the creature's head in a blur of motion. Five explosive tags found their way onto the serpent's skull before he vanished again, leaving behind only the bitter tang of prepared paper bombs.

The beast's pride was wounded more than its flesh. A mere human had dared to touch it, to treat it as nothing more than a stepping stone. With a roar that shook the ground, it lunged forward, massive jaws open wide enough to swallow a grown man whole.

Rei didn't even turn to watch as he formed the detonation seal. Behind him, the explosion painted the sky in brilliant orange, and chunks of serpent flesh rained down on the muddy battlefield.

Orochimaru's lips curved in something that might have been a smile as he watched the young Uchiha dispatch his summon with such efficiency. The boy had potential—raw, unrefined, but undeniably present. Still, this little game had gone on long enough.

The Kusanagi sword emerged from Orochimaru's throat in a display that would have turned stomachs if the remaining Genin hadn't already been numbed by the horrors they'd witnessed. The legendary blade gleamed with an inner light, its edge sharp enough to cut through reality itself.

"So Uncle Snake finally gets serious," Rei muttered, recognizing the weapon from old stories and forbidden texts. Jiraiya's humiliating defeat had made it clear that the Sannin wouldn't allow themselves to be truly beaten by mere Genin. This was about to become a lesson in the vast chasm that separated them from true power.

The lesson began immediately. Hayama having dispatched his own serpent through sheer determination and chakra blade work, appeared behind Orochimaru with his sword raised high. It was a perfect strike, executed with all the skill of a promising young shinobi. The Kusanagi sword met it with casual ease, and Hayama watched in horror as his chakra blade—supposedly capable of cutting through steel—was sliced clean through like paper.

He jerked backward, but not before the legendary sword had cut half a centimeter into his weapon. Another second of contact and it would have been his hand following the blade's edge.

Rei arrived at that moment, his broken katana already in position for a Sword Drawing technique. He'd studied the technique obsessively, practicing the draw-cut-sheath sequence until it was faster than thought itself. But against the Kusanagi sword, all his training meant nothing. The blade shattered on contact, leaving him with nothing but a useless hilt and the bitter taste of inadequacy.

"Impossible," Hayama breathed, staring at his ruined weapon. "What kind of blade can cut through chakra metal like it's made of paper?"

They both knew the answer. This was what separated the legendary shinobi from everyone else—not just superior technique or larger chakra reserves, but access to tools and knowledge that elevated them beyond normal human limitations.

"I've got one technique left," Rei whispered, channeling a thread of chakra to make his words audible only to Hayama. "I'll create an opening. Be ready."

Hayama nodded grimly. Around them, the other survivors had already fallen. The Ino-Shika-Cho pair lay unconscious, overcome by their serpent's venomous breath. Izumiyama was being carried away by medical-nin, his Sharingan eyes rolled back as snake toxins ravaged his system.

An Uchiha offering himself as bait for a clan-less ninja, Hayama thought with dark humor. What strange times we live in.

But he could see the resolve in Rei's eyes, the same determination that had driven him to face impossible odds all day. The least he could do was make that sacrifice count.

Rei charged forward, channeling his Sharingan's copied knowledge into one final gambit. The Crescent Moon Dance unfolded around him—not the broken version most people knew, but the true technique that required shadow clones. Three identical figures rushed Orochimaru from different angles, each wielding a fragment of broken blade with deadly intent.

The Kusanagi sword extended like a striking serpent, its impossible reach allowing Orochimaru to sweep through all three clones with a single, casual motion. They burst into smoke and disappointment, revealing that none had been the real Rei.

"All shadow clones?" Orochimaru mused, though his tone suggested more amusement than concern.

"TRUE VACUUM BLADE!"

Hayama's technique was everything he had left—years of training and natural talent condensed into three perfectly formed wind blades that screamed through the air with enough force to level buildings. Behind them came Rei's final gambit, a Great Dragon Fire technique that turned the air itself into a roaring inferno.

For a moment, it seemed like it might be enough. The combined attack bore down on Orochimaru with the fury of nature itself, wind and fire combining into something greater than the sum of its parts.

Then Orochimaru raised a single hand, and the earth itself rose to meet their attack.

Rashomon—the First Hokage's legendary defensive technique—materialized as if summoned from the depths of the earth itself. The massive gate bore the carved visage of a demon, its maw open wide to devour their hopes along with their techniques. Wind and fire disappeared into that terrible mouth without leaving so much as a scorch mark on the ancient wood.

"Is that the First's Rashomon?"

"Orochimaru learned that technique?"

"They say Hashirama-sama could summon five gates at once..."

The voices from the observation platform seemed to come from another world, full of academic interest and political calculation. Down here in the mud and blood, such things felt distant and meaningless.

Sarutobi Hiruzen smiled like a man who'd just discovered a new favorite grandchild. These young shinobi had pushed his student to use techniques he'd never even known Orochimaru possessed. They would make fine additions to his ANBU corps, perhaps even special jounin with the right guidance. He could already imagine them standing at his side, thoroughly indoctrinated in the Will of Fire.

But those grand plans felt hollow to the two broken figures lying in the mud below.

"We surrender," Rei said, his voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears. There was no shame in it—only the exhausted acceptance of someone who had truly given everything and found it wanting. "Please don't trouble yourself further, Lord Orochimaru."

He closed his eyes and let the darkness take him, waiting for the medical-nin to carry him away to a hospital bed where he could contemplate the vast chasm that separated aspiration from reality.

Orochimaru looked down at the two young shinobi, their bodies still and broken but their spirits unbroken by the demonstration of absolute power. "Sensible children," he murmured, his voice carrying notes of something that might have been respect. Or perhaps it was merely the satisfaction of a teacher whose lesson had been properly received.

As he turned away, the Kusanagi sword disappeared back into the depths of his throat, leaving behind only the memory of its terrible perfection. The gap between their world and his remained as vast as ever, a chasm that could only be crossed through years of sacrifice, suffering, and the kind of choices that left permanent marks on one's soul.

The strong would continue to grow stronger, while the weak learned to accept their place in the shadows.

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