Naruto: The Senju After the Age of Gods

Inside the Land of Rivers, Hikaru stood amid a field of ruins—eyes locked on Chiyo in the distance.

This place had been utterly pulverized by the two of them.

Crater after crater pocked the ground, and puppet wreckage littered everything in sight. The battlefield alone was proof of how savage their clash had been.

The moment Chiyo sent her puppets surging forward, Hikaru had answered with Flying Thunder God.

But Chiyo kept her distance—just far enough that he couldn’t lure her into the seed-marked zone he’d prepared.

So instead, he was forced to grind through her puppets here, one after another.

Chiyo, naturally, was cautious.

A puppet master didn’t let someone like Tsunade get close—not after nearly watching her own line collapse under a single punch per puppet back then. That lesson hadn’t faded.

Hikaru wasn’t Tsunade—he didn’t have that absurd monster-strength.

But his speed—

and that ghostly Flying Thunder God—

were things Tsunade couldn’t replicate.

Tsunade’s attacks were visible, but impossible to block. You survived by dodging.

Hikaru’s attacks weren’t even visible.

You couldn’t defend what you couldn’t see—couldn’t dodge what you didn’t know was there.

So Chiyo kept a wide buffer at all times, shield-type puppets orbiting her like a moving wall.

If Hikaru leaned forward, she retreated.

If he backed off, she didn’t chase—she probed with puppets instead.

That approach cost her dozens of puppets in minutes—

but it also bought her something more valuable.

Information.

Hikaru noticed it too.

He stood atop broken stone and scattered puppet limbs, then shook his head lightly.

"Chiyo-sama... you really are something. Looks like you’ve figured out a few things."

"Correct," Chiyo said, a hint of satisfaction in her voice—though her guard never dropped.

"I’ve always wondered something."

She stared at him through the dust and heat shimmer.

"Why did the Fourth Hokage require kunai as anchors for Flying Thunder God? Even the Second Hokage did the same."

Her eyes narrowed.

"But now I understand."

"You’ve modified it."

"A genius modification."

"You’ve turned Flying Thunder God into a domain—a fixed area where you become something like a god."

Chiyo’s tone grew sharper with every word, like she was pinning him to a board.

"No wonder they couldn’t touch you."

"No wonder you slaughtered an entire crowd and walked out without a scratch."

"And no wonder even Viper couldn’t escape you."

She exhaled, cold and steady.

"You’re impressive. Truly."

Then the blade turned.

"But that setup creates a cost."

"Your mobility collapses."

"You didn’t chase because you needed time to build it—it isn’t instant."

"And the maximum range..." Chiyo’s gaze hardened. "About forty meters."

She said it with certainty.

Hikaru smiled faintly—and nodded.

He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t deny it.

Chiyo really was a terrifying shinobi.

Strength mattered, yes.

But in the end, shinobi fought with brains as much as blades.

And that clarity of mind—this kind of probing, this kind of triangulation—

was exactly why veterans survived.

"Yeah," Hikaru admitted calmly. "That’s right."

Chiyo’s hands came together.

A heavy wave of puppets rose up again, dense enough to darken the ground with moving shadows.

"So I only need to keep distance," she said. "And your fight with me is loud enough to draw more Suna shinobi. You can’t escape."

"That’s true," Hikaru sighed. "But..."

He reached into his pouch and drew out dozens of kunai.

Half in one hand. Half in the other.

"Why are you so sure I didn’t leave myself a way out?"

He raised his eyes, warm and almost courteous.

"And if you know how the Second Hokage and the Fourth Hokage used Flying Thunder God..."

"Why assume I can’t use it the same way?"

Chiyo didn’t answer.

She’d seen his earlier battles. She knew the kunai-and-teleport logic.

But she was gambling.

Gambling that he wouldn’t simply vanish.

Because if he ran now, she’d lose the only chance she had left—

not just to stop him...

but to ask what she needed to ask.

Hikaru’s smile brightened under the sun.

"If Chiyo-sama wants to see my ’other’ Flying Thunder God methods..."

"Then I won’t disappoint you."

He tilted his head slightly, as if reminiscing.

"By the way—last time I met a really interesting puppet user."

"Skilled. Twisted."

"And... connected to you."

Chiyo’s expression snapped tight.

"You... what did you say?"

"Oh?" Hikaru blinked, as if surprised. Then he spread his hands with theatrical regret.

"So you haven’t confirmed it."

"In that case..." he sighed. "I probably shouldn’t share such critical classified intelligence."

His eyes curved into a gentle smile.

"After all..."

"I’m a man with ANBU professional ethics."

The moment his words landed—

the kunai left his hands.

Far away in the Land of Wind, Murashima Takumi’s group stared at the message capsule in stunned silence.

Their luck was absurd.

The hawk’s letter wasn’t ciphered.

Maybe things had been too chaotic.

Maybe the code-handler was already dead.

Either way, it was plain text.

Which meant they could read it.

And the moment they did—

their brains nearly stopped.

Nightingale had killed over a hundred people.

Not just border garrison shinobi—ANBU too.

Names they recognized.

Viper.

Vulture.

Dead.

And now Nightingale had vanished—likely breaking through entirely.

It made no sense.

It was impossible.

Even Takumi—machine-like Takumi—couldn’t hide the shock.

He ran the comparison in his mind.

If he were Nightingale, trapped in that situation...

could he break out while killing over a hundred, including two ANBU squads?

In the end, Takumi shook his head.

No.

He could escape, maybe.

But slaughter them like that?

Not a chance.

He forced the thoughts down, smothering them until his mind returned to cold clarity.

Thinking about it helped nothing.

He turned and continued toward the Land of Rivers.

If Nightingale had likely escaped, there was no reason to stay.

Leaving fast—before they were accidentally dragged into this storm—was the correct move.

Back in the ruins, the instant Hikaru’s kunai flew, Chiyo’s body went rigid.

Kunai plus Flying Thunder God—

that was the shinobi world’s single most consistent understanding of the technique.

So she reacted immediately.

Her fingers flicked faster.

Chakra threads snapped tight.

Dozens—then hundreds—of puppets moved in precise coordination.

Some surged forward to kill Hikaru.

Others peeled off to intercept the kunai.

Hikaru vanished the instant the kunai left his grip—

but it wasn’t Flying Thunder God.

It was pure Body Flicker.

Yet his Body Flicker was so fast, to the naked eye it looked almost identical to teleportation.

"Boom!"

A single slash shattered a puppet.

Hikaru twisted—

more kunai flew.

Then his body blurred again—

and he reappeared in the opposite direction of where he’d thrown them.

Chiyo couldn’t match that pace.

She’d just redirected attention toward those scattered kunai—

when Hikaru materialized elsewhere and began breaking puppets one by one before she could re-anchor them.

"He’s not teleporting to them..." Chiyo realized, teeth grinding.

"Is he refusing on purpose?"

"Or are the kunai a bluff?"

It didn’t matter.

Hikaru’s "slower" pace—without using teleport directly—

was still terrifyingly fast by Sunagakure standards.

How was his chakra still this full?

How was his stamina still this steady?

He’d fought nonstop.

He’d slaughtered over a hundred.

He’d summoned a giant beast.

And yet he still moved like this—

still attacked like this—

still looked like he could go another hour.

Chiyo couldn’t understand it.

But she could do one thing:

force him into mistakes.

She ordered her puppets to unleash wide-area ninjutsu, layered with projectile volleys.

She knew it might be wasted—he could simply run outside the coverage.

And she knew it strained her chakra.

But if she didn’t—

her puppets would be cleaned out in minutes.

Then—

"Whum—whum—WHUM!"

Several battered kunai punched through the ninjutsu haze and scattered around her.

They looked scorched and scraped—damaged by the wave of techniques.

Chiyo’s heart tightened.

She immediately snapped her guards into motion.

Four close-range defensive puppets slapped the kunai away one after another.

Yet—

no teleport.

Chiyo froze for a fraction of a second.

"Still not using it?"

Her eyes sharpened, scanning the battlefield.

The kunai flight speeds were uneven.

Her interceptions weren’t instantaneous.

There was absolutely enough time for a teleport.

So why didn’t he?

"Is it really... just misdirection?"

Chiyo focused on Hikaru—still at the edge, weaving through jutsu and weapons, blade flashing—

and then her vision stuttered.

Hikaru disappeared.

And a split-second later—

a chain of violent impacts detonated at her side.

The sound arrived like thunder.

And with it—

the horrifying sensation that the four puppets closest to her had, almost simultaneously...

gone silent.

Their chakra-thread feedback—

vanished.

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