He's already mastered natural energy?
The thought had barely surfaced in Orochimaru's mind when a creeping dread crawled up his spine like a cold-blooded thing awakening.
Pain seared through his shoulder before he could act. His gaze snapped toward the source—his flesh was carbonizing into char, and a flash of crimson streaked past his vision. Ishiki Kujo's right hand.
Crimson Ripple Overdrive!
Far hotter than any Katon technique, the momentary touch carried heat that warped the air. Orochimaru understood instantly, but the realization came too late. A surge of brutal force crashed through his body.
A massive hand seized him, and along with it, a strange, invasive power coursed into his system, beelining for his heart and lungs.
The ambush left no time for countermeasures. Blood rushed violently to his heart, and the sudden pressure sent his mind spinning into paralysis.
Pain engulfed every nerve.
Ishiki had aimed the Crimson Ripple Overdrive at Orochimaru's head, but the serpent had managed to dodge just enough—still, his shoulder had taken the full brunt.
Wave energy under Sage Mode—after being tempered by Red Magician—had been pushed to its upper limit. Not quite on Kars' level, but closing in fast.
The moment it touched, Orochimaru's shoulder sizzled and blackened.
In the same breath, Ishiki's other hand cleaved through white mist, gripped Orochimaru's body, and surged Ripple directly into his bloodstream.
He hadn't used heat—not directly. Heat's range was too narrow. But using Ripple to manipulate blood flow—causing heart paralysis, overloading the brain with oxygen—was the optimal method to render Orochimaru defenseless in an instant.
The Sannin flailed like a ragdoll in Ishiki's grip, whipped around like noodles being tossed in boiling water.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Explosions rang through the sky—Orochimaru's body slamming into compressed air with such force it ruptured sound. Blood sprayed, and every pulse of Ripple wore him down further.
But then—
Orochimaru changed.
Ishiki's grip was forced open as something massive burst from Orochimaru's flesh—a colossal white serpent surged forward, ramming Ishiki away with sheer mass.
In that moment, the golden marks faded from Ishiki's face—Sage Mode time had expired.
As powerful as Sage Mode was, maintaining it required continual natural energy absorption.
Ishiki's brief activation hadn't drawn in nearly enough. He had, at best, under a minute—especially after triggering the Sage Art: Rasengan.
He lacked support mechanisms. No chakra battery to draw nature energy from. No pre-summoned clones stashed away to absorb in his stead. He hadn't expected to encounter a wild Orochimaru in the open wilderness.
Under the Weather Report Stand's passive control, Ishiki retreated swiftly, gold eyes calculating.
Hand seals flicked into formation. One palm slammed forward.
Summoning Jutsu: President!
Far off, Orochimaru had transformed fully—a massive white snake with eight heads, rivaling a Tailed Beast in scale. Before such a monstrosity, Ishiki looked like a grain of sand.
This was Orochimaru's ultimate S-Rank jutsu: the Art of Yamata, his final form. Eight heads. Eight tails. Pure abomination.
This called for backup.
He summoned and shouted: "Yūryo, out—I've got something tasty."
Yūryo's burning form shot from the crimson gem, a beast of fire and malice. But its smirk twisted to horror the moment it laid eyes on the Yamata-no-Orochi barreling toward them.
Three massive heads lunged straight for Ishiki.
No trickery. No flashy ninjutsu. Just brute force meant to smash everything flat. Ishiki estimated that one hit would leave him shattered.
"This is your idea of a snack?!" Yūryo roared, erupting in a corona of flame.
If it had known this was the "treat," it would've stayed inside the President's chamber.
But it only grumbled. The summoning scrolls stashed in the chamber—and one slung across Ishiki's back—simultaneously released their seals.
A flood of chakra poured into Yūryo.
And in the blink of an eye, an enormous flaming Nekomata materialized before Ishiki, claws igniting as it lashed at one of the incoming snake heads.
"I'll buy time. You gather natural energy," Yūryo growled.
Ishiki wanted to use Weather Report to assist Yūryo. His brain spun, searching for a meteorological effect to manipulate—perhaps The Fool, another Stand—but rain would only hamper them. Both he and Yūryo fought with fire.
So instead, he commanded his Stand to trigger friction in the atmosphere, igniting a roaring blaze around the Yamata.
Manipulating sand or similar elements? Useless in this brawl.
Yūryo was already engaged in a brutal dance with the Yamata. The white serpent didn't care about burns—it fought like a beast possessed, willing to tear chunks of Yūryo's flaming flesh even as its scales blackened and peeled.
Yūryo retaliated fiercely. Chakra surged in its core, modulating in a 2-Yang/8-Yin ratio. A deep blue-and-light blue Tailed Beast Bomb formed and blasted toward Yamata.
But Yamata didn't dodge.
One head detached and swallowed the bomb whole.
BOOM!
The explosion blew the head to pieces. Snake flesh collapsed, smoldering.
But before Yūryo could celebrate, new flesh had already begun knitting itself where the head had been.
As more fire-chakra tore from Yūryo's body, the restored serpent head lunged back in, jaws wide, raking across its chest.
"Hurry the hell up—I can't keep this up! That thing's regen is insane!" Yūryo shouted, stumbling back. The bombs it formed were now molten fireballs—less explosive, more incendiary.
Since Tailed Beast Bombs didn't work, it would burn Yamata down slowly.
The serpent's blows hadn't landed anything fatal yet, but the raw force was enough to push Yūryo back step by step.
From one of Yamata's heads, Orochimaru's pale, battered form emerged.
He froze the moment he saw the Two-Tails.
This was no illusion. Ishiki hadn't just tamed a Tailed Beast—he'd weaponized it.
Even before the advent of jinchūriki, such a feat would've shattered the shinobi world. And now? In an age where perfect jinchūriki were rarities?
Orochimaru began to reconsider.
Perhaps this boy wasn't meant to be his pawn.
Perhaps Ishiki Kujo... should be his ally.
And yet—he clenched his jaw. He was one of the Three Legendary Sannin of Konoha.
Was he really going to let some punk ride on his head like a war banner?