Menma stood still—his breath even, his gaze locked on the three enemies directly in front of him. From the corners of the battlefield, he sensed three more closing in fast. The illusionists had realized the truth: he was immune to their genjutsu.
That meant the real battle was just beginning.
If he waited any longer, they'd tighten the noose around him. He'd be cornered—surrounded by six skilled shinobi.
So he moved.
Menma loosened the tension in his legs, letting gravity pull him forward until he was right on the edge of balance. Then—bang—he exploded off the ground like a cannonball, launching toward the strongest target in front of him.
He didn't forget to drop two smoke bombs mid-sprint, thick clouds billowing up behind him.
Shinudarou, no stranger to Menma's tricks, immediately stepped back, launching a barrage of kunai and shuriken into the smoke. He listened—sharp, calculating—for the sound of movement. Something was approaching. Fast.
Two meters.
He raised his blade—ready.
Then—two spinning shuriken burst out of the smoke… colliding mid-air and falling to the ground, lifeless.
A feint.
Where's the boy?!
Shinudarou turned toward Simon, the likely target—injured, weaker. But the slight movement of the smoke to the left made him flinch again. He adjusted—no, it was just a strip of cloth wrapped around a kunai.
Too late.
Clang!
Steel met steel.
Menma wasn't attacking Shinudarou.
He had gone for Jacob—the second-strongest of the group. The one no one would expect him to prioritize. The moment of hesitation was all he needed.
Sword in hand, Menma came down with a brutal, downward slash. A blow filled with weight, chakra, and pure killing intent. Jacob raised his blade to block, but it was vertical.
A mistake.
Anyone trained by Phantom or Raven would've turned away.
Menma used the vertical guard as a lever, springing off the clash, lifting himself into the air with ease. His body twisted midair. His free hand gripped Jacob's face and yanked it down, pulling the man's upper body forward, exposing his back.
Vulnerable. Wide open.
Menma raised the blade for the killing strike—
But Shinudarou moved.
Despite his heavy armor and fatigue, the team leader leapt across the field in time to intercept. His blade knocked Menma away with a powerful clash—but as he did—
Shunk!
A hidden shuriken fell from above—buried deep into Jacob's shoulder.
A trap.
Menma had thrown it earlier. A delayed kill.
The boy landed hard but clean, sliding across the ground without pause. No hesitation. No celebration. He shot off again, sprinting straight toward one of the illusion specialists.
Shinudarou cursed and followed, Simon right beside him.
The illusionist raised a kunai with one hand, forming seals with the other. Chakra flooded from his body—far too much. It was going to be a high-level trap.
Menma didn't let him finish.
He threw three shuriken, each in a unique arc, followed by a kunai tied with a crimson tag—the kind Kakashi had taught him to modify.
The illusionist readied his kunai to deflect.
Then—BOOM.
The tag exploded mid-air.
Before the kunai even reached him.
The sudden blast sent the shuriken flying forward—like bullets.
It was a trick Menma invented himself. In this world where no one used proper bullets or grenades, it worked wonders.
The illusion ninja was hit with two in the shoulder and thigh before he could react. The last pinned him in place—and that's when Menma came through the flames.
He passed through fire like a demon—untouched.
Shinudarou, approaching from the side, skidded to a stop.
He ran through fire? Through his own blast?!
The boy didn't even flinch.
And on the other side—
The illusion ninja lay slumped against a tree. Riddled with holes. Still breathing—barely.
Until a kunai buried itself in his heart.
Quick. Precise. Mercy.
Menma didn't stop.
He was already engaging the next one—another sealing specialist. Sword and fist in perfect sync.
The sword flew up, spinning—
A fist collided with an arm.
A kick buckled a knee.
His hand caught the spinning blade mid-air—and stabbed down, straight through the man's shoulder and into his heart.
Gone.
Again.
Only four remained.
Two wounded. One barely standing. And one—Shinudarou—too alone to matter.
But even that silence didn't last.
Menma was already turning toward the final illusion ninja when Shinudarou, Simon, and Jacob charged him from three angles at once.
An attack with no escape.
Menma charged toward the last illusion ninja, but in the corner of his mind—his instincts screamed.
Three chakra signatures.
Behind him.
Fast.
He spun, just in time to face them—
Simon's strike aiming low at his leg.
Jacob's blade lunging straight for his chest.
Shinudarou's heavy sword swinging down from above—right at his face.
Three angles. One second.
No escape.
No room to dodge. No space to block. Nothing in his stance could defend him from this perfectly timed assault.
Any normal person would die here.
But Menma wasn't normal.
And a voice—no, a feeling—deep inside him, roared something crazy into his soul.
A gamble.
A risk.
A move so reckless, so stupid, it made even him pause for a breath.
And then—
He did it.
His red eye flared, brighter than ever—chakra flooding into it, slowing the world around him. Time stretched. Each breath became a minute. Each heartbeat, a drumbeat in a silent world.
He let the sword in his hand drop—falling to the dirt just in front of his leg.
His mouth opened.
His palms spread wide.
Then—he moved.
Every muscle in his legs, arms, and jaw—pushed to their absolute limit.
And just at the perfect moment...
CLANG!!!
A roar of steel against steel.
---
Inside the seal, both Minato and Kurama froze. Jaws slack. Eyes wide.
Minato stammered, "Did he—did he just—"
Kurama didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
"What the hell is this brat?!"
High above, even Obito nearly fell from the sky.
His Mangekyō Sharingan—running at full capacity—still hadn't predicted that.
Even he wouldn't have dared to do what the devil below just did.
---
But no one was more shocked than the three attackers themselves.
They had given it everything.
They had struck with lethal intent.
And yet—
He stopped them. All three.
---
Simon's strike?
Blocked with the fallen sword's flat side. The perfect deflection—timed to the millisecond.
Jacob's thrust?
Caught.
Menma had palmed the blade itself, pressing it in with both hands before it could even scratch his chest. His chakra-coated skin hissed, but he held firm.
Shinudarou's vertical death blow?
Bitten.
Yes—bitten.
Menma's teeth clamped down on the sword just before it split his head in half.
The full power of a jonin's swing—stopped.
By.
A.
Bite.
What kind of monster was this child?!
Shinudarou's mind screamed. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
CRACK.
BANG.
Two distinct sounds rang across the field.
Julian's short sword—
Broken.
Shinudarou's full-length blade—
Shattered in half.
The fragments clattered to the ground like bones.
Menma jumped back in the next instant, tossing one of the stolen pouches down at their feet as he flipped away.
Hisssss...
The sound was unmistakable.
Explosion tags.
Everyone's face went pale.
They leapt back instinctively—but Jacob and Simon, knowing Shinudarou couldn't move fast enough, threw themselves in front of him.
BOOOOOOOM!!!
A deafening explosion rocked the entire training ground, shaking the barrier itself to its core. Smoke blanketed the field. A windless silence followed.
---
Cough! Cough!
Shinudarou blinked, dazed.
His ears rang.
His eyes struggled to focus.
His hands searched for ground.
The last thing he remembered—was being bitten.
He pushed himself up slowly, chest heaving, limbs heavy.
Then—
He felt the blood.
It was everywhere.
He looked down.
And saw the bodies.
Simon.
Jacob.
Their corpses slumped over him—twisted, broken.
One had a kunai lodged in the side of his throat.
The other was scorched, ribs exposed, no longer breathing.
They'd shielded him.
And paid for it with their lives.
His head spun.
They were gone.
Two of his last three comrades—gone.
---
A scream pierced the air.
He turned in horror, looking up just in time—
Menma, red eye blazing, soaked in blood, was driving his blade into the last illusion ninja, clean through the chest.
The man convulsed—then collapsed to the dirt.
Dead.
Menma turned.
And looked straight at him.
Slowly, wordlessly, he began to walk toward Shinudarou.
A god of death in the shape of a boy.
But—
He suddenly stopped.
And turned.
His gaze snapped sideways, narrowing in focus.
Sensing something.
Something… else.
Something worse.
Menma's glowing red eye narrowed. His breath slowed.
Something was wrong.
He shifted his gaze instinctively—and then he saw it.
The barrier had been broken.
From the opening stepped ANBU Black Ops—cloaked in black, their porcelain masks gleaming like silent ghosts in the moonlight. They didn't rush. They didn't speak. They just surrounded the battlefield in silence, fanning out in a methodical circle that enclosed both Menma and Shinudarou at its center.
No one needed to say a word—
Menma understood everything.
Konoha had been watching all along. Waiting.
These ANBU weren't here to save him.
They were here to clean up.
To erase what was left.
His body tensed.
And when he looked toward the center of the group, his suspicions were confirmed—
Danzo Shimura stepped into view.
That cold, calculating expression.
The one who always operated from the shadows.
The man who valued "peace" over humanity.
Obito, floating in the sky, watched in complete silence now—his earlier amusement replaced with something colder. Below him, Toby had already vanished into the wind, slinking away before anyone could mark his scent.
Danzo's boots crunched softly in the dirt. He scanned the field—his eye catching the broken bodies of his own manipulated enemies, the flames, the blood, the absolute silence... and one boy standing.
Unharmed. Unmoved. Unforgivable.
This boy must not live.
Danzo knew it now.
If Menma survived, the foundation of Konoha's system—the system Danzo had shaped—would collapse beneath the weight of its own lies.
This child was a fracture.
A rebellion given form.
Danzo raised his hand.
And in that moment, Menma did too.
Chakra surged behind the gates in his body—three spheres fully prepared, pressure building at a terrifying pace.
He was seconds away from opening five gates.
And once he did—he would charge Danzo directly. Either kill him on the spot or break through and escape into the village, find Snow, and flee Konoha together.
His jaw clenched. Muscles tightened. The air around him warped.
It was going to begin—
Until a broken, wet cough cut through the moment.
"Hah… hahahaha… HAHAHA!"
Menma froze.
He turned toward the sound.
Shinudarou.
Collapsed. Bleeding. Broken.
Laughing.
Blood bubbled from his lips as he forced himself up slightly on one elbow. His face was pale, drained, but his eyes burned with venomous madness.
"Hahaha... What a show! Konoha... you're so blind..." he choked out.
"You have a creature like this… and instead of shaping it, guiding it... you try to kill it?" He coughed, crimson flecking his lips. "How laughable…"
He spat blood to the side.
"Well, if you want him dead so badly, I figure you won't mind if I break him a little more first. Right?"
His words struck a nerve in Menma.
A chilling silence overtook the field.
Menma's chest grew tight. His fists clenched at his sides.
His instincts screamed.
No.
Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't—
Shinudarou grinned like a devil. "You're in for bad luck, kid."
"Today, you officially lost everything."
He reached behind his broken armor and pulled out a bloodstained scroll.
Menma's heart dropped.
"No…" he whispered.
He had already begun to fear it.
Already denied it.
She's fine.
She's in the Hatake mansion. She's waiting for me. She's eating her favorite snacks. I promised her.
I'll be back soon... I'll take her away from here.
But the moment Shinudarou opened the scroll, pressed his bleeding palm to the seal—
And released it—
Menma's world broke.
There, floating in the space above the scroll, was a small, white furred object—stained red. Blood soaked the fur like ink in snow.
A lock of fur.
A torn ribbon.
Something once soft—now tainted.
Snow.
His legs weakened.
His hand trembled.
The seal space ruptured.
---
Inside Menma's subconscious, Kurama's head shot up—eyes wide in alarm.
The chakra—
It was changing.
Growing. Spreading. Turning into something entirely different.
It wasn't just rage.
It was grief.
It was the death of reason.
Kurama immediately stepped between Minato and the growing waves of violent chakra, forming a barrier.
"You feel that?" Kurama muttered, his tone dark. "That—is why I kept saving and keeping his heart alive. Every time he breaks... this happens."
He looked at the sky above them, where the space cracked and swirled like a storm about to tear open.
"If we don't stop him now..."
" This world is going to reset itself. From ash."
Minato said nothing.
He couldn't.
He could only watch.
Watch as his son's heart shattered in silence.
---
Back on the battlefield, the chakra around Menma twisted like a tornado. The air vibrated. A scream caught in his throat but never made it out. His eye glowed like molten lava.
And Shinudarou laughed louder.
"Hahaha! That's right! That's the look! You should've seen it sooner!"
He raised his arms wide, reveling in the destruction, the chaos, the death.
"I should've crushed that stupid little fox in front of you!"
" You think you're strong? You're nothing! Nothing but another failure of fate!"
He coughed violently—blood now pouring from his mouth. But the madness never left his grin.
"Fourth Raikage… I've done what I could."
He looked to the stars above, eyes blurring.
"The rest… depends on fate."
---
And then the world saw it.
That night—under a fractured moon, amidst the wreckage of betrayal and blood—the world witnessed the birth of something it never expected:
The Tenth Tailed Beast.
A being not born of chakra fragments or mythology.
But of blood.
Of flesh.
Of heartbreak.
Of Menma.
And the moment it emerged—
the world knew.
If this monster wasn't stopped now,
there would be nothing left to rebuild.
....