"Damn. That's a big bug."
Jinghang stared up at the hovering insect-beast, genuinely impressed by the sheer size of it.
Chōmei's massive head swiveled toward him.
The sound erupted from its mandibles—shrill, furious, offended.
Jinghang grinned. "Oh, you heard that? What, did I say something wrong?" He spread his hands innocently. "I mean... you are a bug. A really, really big bug, sure, but—"
Chōmei's wings became a blur. The buzzing intensified—louder, faster, angrier. Its massive body swayed left and right with insect-like agility, completely unbothered by its size.
Then it charged.
The horn on its head—sharp, gleaming, deadly—aimed straight for Jinghang's chest.
Horn Attack. A named technique. Chōmei had used it against Madara once.
It hadn't worked then, either.
Jinghang's first instinct was to teleport. Easy. Clean. But then—
A grin spread across his face.
Let's have some fun.
He didn't move. Didn't flicker. Just stood there, eyes locked on that horn, watching it grow closer—
At the last possible second, Jinghang dropped. The horn whistled past his head, close enough to feel the displaced air.
Then he rose, twisting mid-motion, and clamped the horn under his armpit.
Blue light exploded across his body.
Sage markings blazed across his face—sharp, angular, like war paint. His chakra surged, visible as a crackling aura. The Iron Truth-Seeking Orbs beneath his feet hummed with power.
Xuanyuan Tomb Sage Mode.
Jinghang's arms flexed.
The entire Seven-Tails—thirty meters of chitin, wings, and rage—came off the ground.
Suspended. Mid-air. Held by one man standing on floating spheres.
The battlefield went silent.
Every shinobi—Suna, Konoha, Kumo, Taki—stopped fighting. Stared.
"He's holding it—"
"That's a Tailed Beast—"
"What the fuck—"
Amemiya's jaw hung open. He knew Fū's strength. Knew what it took to even contain him. And Jinghang was just... manhandling the Seven-Tails like it was a training dummy.
The gap between us isn't a gap. It's a chasm.
A claw raked across his face.
"Eyes on me, old man!"
Yugito's grin was feral, blue flames wreathing her hands. Five bloody lines opened across Amemiya's cheek.
"You little—" He snapped back to focus, blocking her follow-up strike. "Brat!"
Above the Battlefield
Once. Twice. Building momentum like an Olympic hammer thrower.
Then he released.
Chōmei shot across the sky like a meteor—tumbling, wings flailing uselessly—and slammed into the desert.
Sand erupted in a geyser. The impact crater was massive. Chōmei lay at the center, wings twitching, struggling to right itself.
Jinghang floated above, arms crossed. Watching.
Chōmei's wings buzzed. It managed to flip over, compound eyes glowing with fury.
Jinghang smirked. Flicked his cloak dramatically. Pointed down at the beast.
Then he beckoned—one finger, curling inward.
Chōmei's wings became a roar. Six afterimages. The sound was deafening—like a helicopter gunship at full throttle. Air pressure rippled outward in visible waves.
A living missile. Shrieking. Horn-first.
Jinghang lifted the edge of his cloak. Held it like a matador's cape.
Jinghang's hands moved.
Iron sand erupted from his pouch, condensing mid-air into a shape—
Ten feet wide. Solid iron. Chakra-reinforced.
Jinghang's stance shifted. Feet planted. Hips rotating. Hands gripping the handle like a baseball bat.
The sound was thunderous. The fly swatter connected with Chōmei's face—full force, full speed—and the Seven-Tails reversed direction.
The second impact was even worse. Chōmei hit the sand so hard it bounced, then collapsed in a heap. Wings splayed. Limbs twitching.
It couldn't even get up.
Jinghang descended. Slowly. Deliberately.
In his hand, a sphere formed. Blue and gold. Spinning. Screaming with compressed wind chakra.
"Wind Release: Great Ball Rasenshuriken!"
The sphere drilled into Chōmei's abdomen—the soft, segmented joint between beetle torso and dragonfly tail.
The weak point.
"Copper head, iron tail, tofu waist," as the saying went. Chōmei's design was flawed. The Sage of Six Paths had made it half-beetle, half-dragonfly, and the connection between them was vulnerable.
The Rasenshuriken shredded through it.
Chōmei split in half.
The scream was inhuman. The upper body arched like a dying insect. The lower half thrashed blindly, spraying yellow hemolymph in thick, viscous streams.
Jinghang got drenched.
"Ugh. Disgusting." He pulled off his goggles. Peeled off his mask and tossed it aside. The cloak followed. He wiped the lenses clean, put the goggles back on. "Good thing I wore protection."
Jinghang froze.
The voice was deep. Resonant. Coming from Chōmei's severed upper half.
"You've gone too far. You're playing with fire."
Jinghang blinked. "Oh. You can talk."
Chōmei's six appendages reached back. Grabbed its lower half. Pressed it against the upper body.
The flesh writhed. Chitin plates shifted, interlocking. The wound sealed—not perfectly, but functionally. A thick scar remained, but Chōmei was whole again.
"Huh." Jinghang tilted his head. "Insect regeneration. Neat trick."
"I'M GOING TO TEAR YOU APART!"
Chōmei's six eyes blazed. Chakra radiated outward in waves—thick, oppressive, furious.
Jinghang pointed at it.
"You know the last Bijū that talked to me like that?"
Chōmei hesitated.
"Kurama. The Nine-Tails." Jinghang's grin turned cold. "I ripped out half his intestines. Then I sealed him."
Chōmei took a step back.
Jinghang's grin widened. He pointed at the scar on Chōmei's abdomen.
"That mark? That's mine. When you tell people about it—and you will—you say: 'The Third Kazekage gave me this.' Wear it with pride, bug. It's the only glory you'll ever have."
Its wings wouldn't move.
Iron sand coated its body. Thick. Heavy. Immobilizing.
Jinghang raised one hand.
"Magnet Release: Iron Sand Great Funeral."
The sand compressed.
[Author's Note: 100,000 words! Milestone achieved! Drop your book title suggestions below—let's brainstorm!]
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