Tatsuro sat silently atop the high wall of Fort Ashvale, his eyes scanning the horizon. The thick fog that wrapped the valley like a living cloak obscured everything but the faintest outlines of the distant forest, where the winds whispered of danger. His heart beat steady, the pulse of a man who had lived countless years in a world torn apart by war.
Behind him, the fortress roared with the noise of daily activity: smiths hammering away at weapons, children playing under the supervision of the older clan members, the rhythmic thumping of training. Raikō, now a young man with chakra control that surpassed even the greatest shinobi of his generation, walked up to him, his steps silent, yet filled with a purpose.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Raikō asked, his sharp eyes narrowing. The world was holding its breath.
Tatsuro didn't need to answer. His Eyes of Continuum had already told him the story unfolding: The whispers of an army in the east, creeping toward their newly established stronghold. They wore the same black robes, those with sigils from the underworld—likely remnants of the cult that had attacked Izuna. But this time, their presence was more than a fleeting shadow. It was a warning.
He turned to face Raikō, his expression unreadable. "Prepare the clan. We leave at dawn."
Raikō nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'll gather the warriors."
Dawn.
Ashvale had never seen such a sight. Under the cold, gray sky, the Tatsugan clan stood in formation, their hearts set aflame by the coming battle. Guts, now fully recovered, stood at the front, his eyes flickering with the intense need for action. Kaede, Takeshi, and Elder Rin each stood in their places, silent but resolute.
Tatsuro, the anchor, moved with the ease of one who had faced far greater challenges. His clan had become more than just his family—they were his legacy. Each member carried with them the strength of not only their own bloodline but of the past, of the anime characters who had joined them in every generation. They were more than warriors. They were a living testament to his will.
"Let them come," Tatsuro muttered.
By midday, the battle began.
They struck first—raiders in the distance, coming down from the trees in waves. Their faces obscured by masks, their bodies wrapped in bandages that fluttered in the wind like tattered flags of defiance. Tatsuro's chakra stirred within him, and he could feel the surge of ancient techniques awakened by the pull of the seal he carried.
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique!" Guts shouted, his hands forming the seal in an instant. A burst of flame erupted from his mouth, lighting the fog in bright, menacing red.
The raiders scattered.
"Water Style: Water Dragon Jutsu!" Kaede called, her voice steady despite the chaos. A massive water dragon surged forward, smashing through the ranks of the enemies with brutal force.
But the raiders had their own tricks.
From the front, a leader emerged. A man tall, unnaturally thin, and draped in dark robes. His eyes glowed a ghastly green, and his hands cracked the air like the sound of shattering bones. His chakra flickered like flame in a storm, dark and twisted.
"Jashinists!" Guts snarled. "I should have known."
The man raised a hand, a ritualistic chant leaving his lips. The air itself seemed to warp.
"Cursed Seal: Bloodborne Wrath!"
From his outstretched fingers, a wave of black energy surged forward, dissolving the water dragon in its path. It struck Kaede, sending her hurtling backward. She hit the ground with a scream, her body trembling as the energy tore at her skin.
Tatsuro's eyes narrowed. The curse was unlike any he had ever felt. It wasn't just chakra; it was a fusion of ancient magic and bloodlust. But there was something familiar about it. Something he had seen before.
Tatsuro moved swiftly. His hands blurred through the air as he unleashed his own offensive technique, a combination of elemental chakra and the hidden seals buried deep within his clan's secrets. "Earth Style: World's Spine!" he called, slamming his hands to the ground.
The earth beneath them erupted, rising into jagged spikes that impaled the raiders' frontlines, sending them sprawling backward. The cursed energy flickered as the earth held the enemies in place. Tatsuro's gaze landed on the Jashinist leader, his expression fierce, determined.
It was then that Izuna appeared.
He came out of the shadows, his eyes still wild with the aftershocks of the curse that had nearly destroyed him. His Sharingan spun, a fire that burned within him now more than ever. With a roar, he leaped into the fray, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision.
The leader of the raiders turned toward him, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "So, the Uchiha joins the fray. How predictable."
Izuna's eyes flashed with fury. "You don't know who you're dealing with."
The battle raged for hours, a brutal clash of wills, chakra, and blood. Tatsuro's warriors, the Tatsugan, proved themselves once again, but the enemy's numbers were overwhelming. Kaede recovered just in time to unleash another Water Dragon, while Takeshi shattered their rear flank with a combination of wind and lightning techniques.
But it was Raikō who struck the final blow.
The battle slowed. The battlefield became a nightmare of bodies, the smell of iron and earth filling the air. The leader of the Jashinists stood, his body trembling with the last vestiges of his cursed ritual, but Raikō's voice cut through the chaos.
"Raikō's Vow!"
A single strike of his fist, powered by chakra and resolve, shattered the Jashinist leader's skull. The enemy's leader fell, his body disintegrating into ash.
By nightfall, the battle was over.
The survivors gathered around a fire, the somber glow of the flames casting long shadows on their faces. Raikō stood beside Tatsuro, looking over the fallen enemies with a mix of triumph and sorrow.
"We've won," Raikō said softly.
"But at what cost?" Tatsuro replied. His eyes flickered toward the horizon. "The war is just beginning."