Orochimaru's gut twisted as Hanzo's presence swelled, a tidal force eclipsing his prior menace, pressure mounting like an unseen storm front.
He conceded the point: Hanzo held back from slaying the trio, their status as the Third Hokage's prized students a shield of sorts. For bystanders like Kyuushin? No such reprieve—collateral in the Demi-God's unyielding calculus.
Fresh intel painted Kyuushin as their shared pupil, a bond that might rally vengeance if severed. Yet to Hanzo, such fallout registered as minor thorns—irksome, but distant from true peril.
Future reprisals? He'd brush them aside; the Sannin lacked the stature to demand parity, their growth unproven against his etched legend.
Should Hanzo commit and claim Kyuushin, repercussions stayed light—yet in this war's brutal ledger, that single loss could cascade into triumph or rout.
Their charge shifted now: not mere containment, but a bulwark around the youth who'd ignited Hanzo's lethal fixation. Optimal play? Ramp the strain until the leader fixated solely on them, Kyuushin forgotten in the grind.
Orochimaru grasped the stakes; Tsunade, as mentor, wore them heavier, her restraint shattering like fragile ice.
Seals blurred through her fingers, diamond-shaped marks blooming from beneath her hitai-ate, spiderwebbing across skin in inky trails.
Her aura ignited fiercer, wounds from the prior tussle knitting seamless, fatigue evaporating in a rush of renewed vigor.
Orochimaru shot her a sidelong glance, intrigue flickering amid the chaos—no queries now, battle's tempo unforgiving. He and Jiraiya flanked her tight, a triangle forged in urgency.
"I'll lead the charge—probe his defenses; you two strike the openings as they flare," Tsunade murmured, voice a steel whisper cutting the din.
Jiraiya's eyes widened, protest bubbling, but she surged ahead, a comet in the rain-lashed gloom.
"Monster Strength Fist!"
The opener exploded with raw power, her fist a battering ram hurtling forward—yet velocity lagged Hanzo's ethereal blur. He ghosted aside, scythe whipping in a silver arc toward her extended limb.
Shock rippled through the onlookers: Tsunade neither parried nor twisted away, steel biting deep into muscle, grating against bone in a spray of red.
"Tsunade!" Jiraiya's cry cracked, body coiling to intervene.
"Haaah!"
Mortal flesh would've crumpled, arm rendered useless in the cleave—but Tsunade bellowed defiance, ignoring the agony. She clamped the embedded blade, anchor turning liability to leverage, then unleashed a devastating snap-kick square at Hanzo's solar plexus.
"Painful Sky Leg!"
The veteran, seasoned through countless frays, reeled at the audacity—unorthodox, unyielding. Impact launched him backward, airborne and off-balance. Mid-flight, a casual flick recalled the scythe, wrenching it free from her grip.
Clarity hit: blood poured unchecked, the gash severing channels and scoring bone deep, a ruinous toll.
Touching down, Hanzo's sneer curled beneath the mask—her strike landed, true, but his edge drew far redder, the exchange a net win in the ledger of pain.
Anticipation faltered; Tsunade barreled in relentless, the mangled arm thrusting forward as prime weapon once more.
The limb gleamed pristine—no sag, no tremor, as if the maiming dissolved in ether. Absent the crimson streaks, genjutsu whispers might've taken root.
"Clash!"
Hanzo barely raised his guard, footing unsteady post-landing. Tsunade's onslaught hammered through, propelling him in another uncontrolled spin.
"Crash!"
No mid-air correction this time; he cratered into a monolithic boulder, form vanishing into fractured stone, embedded like a felled tree.
"Tsunade, what the—"
Jiraiya skidded up, words tumbling, but her glare silenced him, a wall of unyielding resolve.
"Sync with me now—flank and hammer home. Clear?" Her tone brooked no debate, low and laced with command.
Orochimaru eyed the flawless arm, a nod his silent accord—no elaboration amid the fray.
Hanzo excavated himself from the rubble, shards cascading, his stare locking on Tsunade with renewed calculation.
"Rumors spoke of Senju Hashirama mending mid-brawl, seals be damned. Granddaughter—do you carry that legacy in blood and will alike?"
Tsunade's scoff cut sharp. "I claim his lineage and fire both. Long as breath fills me, my student stands untouched."
Hanzo surveyed the resolute trio, the math crystallizing: dismantle them fully, or the brat slips his noose. Fine—shatter the barrier, test if Konoha's war machine outpaces his blade's verdict.
Eyes slitting to predatory slits, distractions evaporated. Scythe reclaimed, a light shake set chains humming; then, vanishing in a flicker.
"Swish!"
Body Flicker propelled him to Jiraiya's blind side, velocity a notch beyond prior bursts—blinding, lethal.
Jiraiya twisted on instinct, evasion a hair's breadth from disaster. Orochimaru countered seamlessly, arms flaring as serpentine horde erupted, coiling to ensnare.
"Hidden Shadow Snake Hands!"
Hanzo dissolved into motion anew, rematerializing at Jiraiya's flank, blade slicing in a bid to end the sage swift.
Better one crippled than all grazed—sever the link, and their triad fractured, openings yawning wide.
Jiraiya proved no novice; against the blitz, he thrashed his mane, strands elongating into needle-tipped spikes, a white bramble wall.
"Ninjutsu: Needle Jizo!"
The barrier clashed true, sparks flying as scythe met hair, momentum blunted. Undeterred, Hanzo pivoted wrist—the chained reaper whipping in orbital fury, looping Jiraiya thrice over.
Links cinched iron-tight; another surge hurled the bound sage earthward in a punishing arc.
"Thud!"
Impact boomed, Jiraiya's grunt underscoring the toll—bruises blooming, ribs protesting.
Tsunade pounced on the scythe's absence, fist rocketing unerring. Hanzo recoiled, dodge primed—but fangs sank into ankles, Orochimaru's vipers anchoring him fast.
No escape; he braced, absorbing the full brunt once more, body hurtling back in a ragdoll tumble. Orochimaru capitalized, hauling Jiraiya upright amid the swirl.
The white-haired shinobi clutched ribs, lip bloodied—a testament to the slam's vicious kiss, internals rattled hard.
Yet as their melee devolved into frenzy, the broader battlefield stirred, tides shifting in subtle, seismic ways.