The shadow clone's maniacal laughter, following dust, then debris with human and ReDead chunks, settles in the dreary corridors. He sighs, wiping away a tear from his eye as he composes himself and stands. The unending rumble of countless Red Zetsus stampeding the halls draws nearer; he aims his pistol at the writhing Anbu on the ground. Blood leaks from the kunoichi's ears, both arms are broken, and her leg is missing due to the explosive tag. He creeps behind the disorientated Grey Beret and fires at her remaining knee joint and lower spine, then puts a round through the back of her head.
The proximity mine detonates; the Marine Contra's clone sidesteps a human-sized mass hurling through the air. Another Anbu lands, face down, struggling to gain his bearings. The duplicate extends his index and pinky finger at eye level, holding the rest down with his thumb. Electricity jolts the shinobi, locking up his limbs; he pile drives his knee into the Grey Beret's spine, eliciting a distinct crunch. He pulls the Anbu back by the collar of his military fatigues, then shoots him in the back of the head, splattering brain matter and skull fragments upon the rug.
Jim's shadow clone tracks a trail of blood along the floor before spotting an Anbu leaning against the wall for support, using an Autogun as a crutch to limp inside one of the many rooms lining the halls. He empties the magazine, firing at the shinobi, compelling him to dive into the room. The Grey Beret returns blind suppressive fire from the opening; the doppelganger takes cover behind the corner, monitoring the Anbu's actions from a half-dome safety mirror above. He holsters his pistol, pulls a scroll from his flak jacket, and times the shinobi's movements through the mirror.
He casts sensory deprivation genjutsu, rendering the scroll imperceptible to the Grey Beret, before throwing it against the wall at an angle. The parchment bounces off the border into the room as the Anbu slams the door. He sits against the entrance, replacing his Autogun's magazine. The shinobi pulls back the charging handle, chambering a round. He toggles the safety switch from full-auto to semi (single shot), unaware of the creeping terror lurching ever closer from behind a bed. The Grey Beret stands, cracks the door, and exhales, preparing for a drawn-out firefight.
The Anbu peeks through the opening and gasps; a harsh slap across his rear end causes the shinobi's eyes to bulge through his mask. He spins, swinging his rifle's shoulder stock as hard and fast as possible, coming face to face with a dark figure with bioluminescent eyes. The butt of the Autogun halts mere centimeters from the shadowy figure's temple as a paralyzing shriek freezes him in place. A ReDead lunges from the darkness, tackling and dumping the Grey Beret face down onto a queen-size mattress with a double-leg takedown.
The ReDead dispatches two swift right hooks into the screaming Anbu's ribs, "Grawmp, Grawmp," before donkey-punching him in the back of the head, "Grawmp." It wrangles him, reaching under the shinobi's neck, grappling his chin between its bony forearm and bicep, and gut-checks the hysterical Grey Beret twice more in the ribs, "Grawmp, Grawmp," The ReDead pulls the dry heaving Anbu's head up, leaning close to his ear as if to whisper, 'Boy, I'm a treat you right...' Nevertheless, the perverse creature lacks the intelligence to speak other than, "Grawmp, Grawmp, Grawmp, Grawmp, Grawmp," with each pelvic thrust, bouncing him upon the bed.
The obscene struggle settles; the grunting and groans of displeasure cease as the swift, incessant *eet-urt, eet-urt, eet-urt* of rusting bed springs takes its place. The clone would almost stalk past the dark room if not for morbid curiosity overcoming his better judgment. Feigning stoicism, he creeps toward the entrance and "gulps," bracing himself for whatever he may stumble upon. The replicate nudges the door with his pistol, allowing the dim fluorescent lights to illuminate the opening. He finds a crimson Anbu mask with a golden falcon crest lying on the floor; his eyes trail to the two rustling figures on the bed.
He shines a flashlight, but the sight before him is one no amount of preparedness can steel his nerves for; he locks eyes with a man who has a crazed feral look, glaring absolute daggers at him with bulging, bloodshot eyes resembling the pure embodiment of psychotic rage. The shinobi, appearing in his early to mid-twenties, has a head of two-toned hair, one side being black and the other half white, with matching eyebrows. His hair on the top is cut flat and styled upright with a fade on both sides and the back (military flat top). He resembles his siblings with furious, dark, bulging eyes, red with wrathfulness.
A devious smirk slithers across the shadow clone's face; the lights tinge off his glasses as he adjusts them, making his eyes appear blank, "Well, well, well… if it isn't Itama Senju, face down with another man beating his backside. Is it Saturday night already?"
Itama, now frothing at the mouth, shouts, "I'M GONNA MOUNT YOUR SKULL IN A PUBLIC URINAL AT THE HOKAGE RESIDENCE, JIMI!!"
The duplicate chuckles, "You shouldn't let your trap write checks your broke-back behind can't, nor will ever cash."
"Oh, trust me, Jimi! You'll find out *real* soon, once my brothers hear of this!!"
He narrows his eyes, "Do you think you can back that up?"
"Back it up!? I'm going to have bruises proving it, you cock-eyed mother..."
"No, no… I mean—that fruity Senju booty. Back it up, heh heh heh, yeah."
"Are you serious right now!?"
"Chalé, holmes."
"What!?"
"Itama, just pray that paralysis wears off before Red Zetsu finds and rips you a new one faster than you can say: *qué fuckin' passa*, esé." The clone closes the studio apartment door, leaving the frenzied Senju screaming his name into the darkness like an unhinged madman. Itama begins regaining control of his body, but the door opens, "Oh, by the way. Surprise, Pendejo!" The doppelganger tosses a scroll as an old radio within the kitchen crackles to life with *The Lion Sleeps Tonight*. Itama's jaw drops, gasping in horror as his eyes follow the storage utensil tumbling through the air at him.
The scroll ruptures, and another ReDead appears before the distraught Grey Beret, prolonging his paralysis with a paralyzing shriek.
"NNNOOOOOOO!!!" Itama screams as the door slams.
The shadow clone pauses midstride, perforce overhearing the commotion from within the studio apartment; his eyebrows raise as the pace of the squeaking bed springs slows, matching the song's tempo. "♪Hush, my darling. Don't fear, my darling♪" he deadpans. The replicate perishes the alarming realization from his mind, "Ugh, the urge to sing along is never more than a *whim away*..." while chaining a series of hand seals, 'Earth Style: Multi Mud Wall!' Numerous walls of Earth seal off the corridors, then reinforce the structural integrity of the complex, impeding the swarms of Red Zetsus bearing down upon their location.
'That should give my poor little hostage plenty of time to escape.' The clone suppresses his chakra and bolts down the corridors in a full sprint, silent as a ghost with each near-imperceptible movement, almost gliding through the air like the angel of death. He summons the 20cm HV Penetrator (handheld kunai launcher) from his inventory, 'slower fire rate and projectile velocity than regular small arms; I've even seen chūnin dodge, deflect, or catch the blades from the air… still, nothing in the Sovereign Colony's vast arsenal holds a candle to this weapon's reliability and ammunition capacity.'
He pulls the weapon's charging handle, chambering a kunai within the breech, then toggles the safety to full-auto. The duplicate navigates the vast halls, avoiding the ASF infantry and Red Zetsus along his path. He booby-traps or seals off his trail, using Earth Release and genjutsu. Nevertheless, the mutants close in, breaching the barricades, ceiling, and floor, while more crash through the windows, funneling in from each apartment. The flesh-eating ghouls surround him, congesting each avenue of escape, one after the other.
He pivots and sinks through an adjacent wall using Earth Release. The shadow clone aims the kunai launcher at an impending peril and fires, severing one of the cannibalistic fiend's arms before pinning the creature upon the ceiling through its chin. A group of the abominations storms down the corridor as he unleashes a full-auto barrage of chakra-conducting metal on the zombie-like creatures; a ceaseless onslaught dismembers or pins the inbound Red Zetsus against the adjacent surfaces.
Each assailant resembles an animate pin cushion the closer they come until the accumulating mass of metal impedes their movement; however, the doppelganger continues losing ground as moments after the kunai impacts a target, it sometimes dispels premature into a puff of smoke. A Red Zetsu crawls its dismembered body along the floor after him, unable to support the weight of all the chakra-conducting blades lodged into its flesh.
He grins, shifting over a few one-hand seals, "Lightning Release: Jolting Jigawatt Jutsu." Electricity surges through each mutant's body, locking up their limbs as the currents cook them from the inside out. The clone increases the voltage, resulting in the abomination's limbs bursting and bespattering their gelatinous blood. He wipes the viscous substance off his glasses, proceeding past the gory aftermath. Yet, the Red Zetsu's quivering remains lunge or grab at him, which he evades with little effort.
Around the subsequent juncture, an escape route lies ahead; he shoulders his kunai launcher, releasing several active explosive tags behind him as he lunges for an open window.
Allied Shinobi Forces
Two kunoichis prowl the wartorn hallway with dread, remaining cautious of the potential hazards around each juncture or within the many rooms lining the treacherous avenues. Upon closer examination of their surroundings, the entrances to the apartments and corridors appear fused into the enclosure via Earth Release, sealing away the mutants within. They follow a singular path of destruction, uncertain if salvation or a gruesome demise lies beyond. Much to their relief, the subsequent juncture remains clear; they carry on with their rifles ready and aiming down sight.
The everpresent haunting wails of Red Zetsus reverberate within the walls and ducts and out the vents, a horrific indication the abominations are pursuing prey. Within the reinforced barrier, an aberrant Red Zetsu smashes through the apartment's sheetrock walls, tracking the kunoichis as it tries breaking through the barricade before them.
The kunoichi of the Hidden Stone Village (Iwagakure) places her hand on the wall's surface, detecting the chakra lining the interior, "Relax, Uroko. It can't get to us," she says, reassuring her battle buddy.
"Tch, for now," the Sora no Kuni (Land of the Sky) kunoichi says, noticing the fissures forming along the structure's surface. "How much longer before the chakra holding up that wall gives?"
"It won't."
"And why is that!?"
The Iwa-nin gasps in appalling realization, "Look again; that pervert caste some foul jutsu that lets this place repair and sustain itself by feeding off our chakra!"
The Sora-nin growls in frustration, "Satō, you've *got* to be kidding me!"
"I'm not, now run!"
Satō and Uroko bolt down the passage in a full sprint as the flesh-eating ghoul keeps pace; the reinforced boundary hinders the abomination's efforts at breaking through. The Red Zetsus lay dormant throughout the corridors, inactive and immobile, struggling with primary limb function and articulation. The abominations roar and twitch as the kunoichis dash by. The aberrant Red Zetsu trails after them, breaching the unenforced walls within the apartments.
The thundering collisions behind Uroko and Satō decelerate; the flesh-eating ghouls erupt into brilliant, sapphire blue chakra flames, reducing the nigh indestructible, zombie-like creatures into freezing piles of glowing ash. However, the cold blue flames spread, dropping the temperature far below 0°C, converting the hallway into a frigid cavern of death and despair. A silhouette crawls from around the ensuing intersection; both kunoichis skid along the surface, aiming their weapons. Uroko fires, but the dark figure uses substitution jutsu.
An Anbu reappears, sitting against the wall, "Cease fire! Cease fire! I'm human!" the wounded shinobi shouts.
Uroko lowers her rifle, apologizing, then approaches the Grey Beret, "Were you bitten or scratched?"
He gasps in pain, struggling to speak, "N-no, ambushed by the enemy; she wiped most of us out, sh-she fed us to those things!" the Anbu sputters, coughing up blood. Satō and Uroko aid him as best they can, using medical ninjutsu before lifting the shinobi to his feet, carrying him by his arms over their shoulders.
Satō uses healing jutsu on the Grey Beret, "Sorry if we're a bit rough, but we've gotta move fast. You've got a name?"
He grunts, "My codename is Nightingale, but wait. My Captain's still alive; we can't leave him here to die. Not by those—monsters. I've seen what they do..."
Uroko grits her teeth, "Look, this place absorbs more of our chakra the longer we stay here, and for all we know, your Captain might have already—"
"NNNOOOOOOO!!!" a muffled cry of despair echoes throughout the halls.
'What the!? I know that voice!' Uroko turns toward the disturbance. "Woah! Alright, kid. We'll try, but we can't make any promises."
Satō shifts through a sequence of one-hand seals, "Hold on tight, everyone!"
In an unaltered portion of the complex, away from the chakra absorption technique's area of effect, the trio of ASF personnel appear before their destination in a puff of smoke—Uroko and Satō fan out, taking defensive positions, securing and observing their surroundings. Once the landing zone is clear, they locate the target destination but are thunderstruck by the commotion behind the door.
The radio station changes, blaring *Hank Williams III - Rebel Within*. Shock and confusion become dread, then outrage as Nightingale blushes, beat red with dishonor and embarrassment for his superior. Satō and Uroko share a glance of bewilderment before sitting him down.
The kunoichis flank the threshold, leaning against the wall with their weapons ready. Uroko nods at Satō; the Iwa-nin shifts position, facing the entryway, awaiting the signal to breach. Uroko taps Satō's shoulder; Satō kicks down the door—they funnel into the apartment, aiming their weapons and flashlights. They happen upon an alarming display, rendering them aghast with vacant, wide-eyed stares as their jaws drop in absolute horror.
A ReDead wearing boots with spurs and a ten-gallon hat is gripping the cowboy belt around its waist with both hands while swaying its hips, dancing in perfect sync to the awful country music. Another ReDead is on the bed, violating some poor schmuck while slapping his rear after each swift, vigorous pelvic propulsion.
The ReDead tags in the other wearing the cowboy getup; they switch. The ReDead cowboy sits on the back of Itama's head, hooking its boots under his shoulders. The ghoulish buckaroo grips the waistband of the Senju's underoos, heaving with all its might, uplifting his lower body.
Itama screams at the top of his lungs as his boxers hike high between his white and shiny, bright Japanese heinie, "OH, SWEET KAMI, WHY!?" Just as the Senju believes he can't scream any louder, the trajectory of his rear reaches the zenith of its momentum. The ReDead whirls its bony arm around before whipping its flat, cadaverous palm out and clapping Itama's cheek with a boisterous slap.
POP
The perverse fiend continues bestowing upon him the wedgie to end all wedgies while slapping his backside and riding him like a rocking horse. Standing beside the bed, crossing its arms, the other ReDead taps its foot in sync with the music's tempo, nodding its head in approval while bobbing to the beat, eager to have another go at the poor schmuck.
"FALCON KUN!! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO FALCON KUN!?" Nightingale cries. The music ends with an abrupt record scratch as both ReDeads redirect their now glowing eyes toward the trio.
The old radio crackles to life once more with, "NINETEEN NAKED NINJAS IN THE BATHHOUSE AT RAM RANCH—"
"OH, HELL NO!!" Uroko and Satō shout in unison, firing their rifles before the ReDeads can paralyze them. The rounds puncture the man-humping ghouls' skulls, leaving larger cavities in the back of their heads as blue slime and brain matter bespatters the wall behind them as they hit the ground.
"HOT, THROBIN', BADASS SAMURAI WARRIORS, WITH THEIR BIG BULGING MUSCLES EVER SO HAARD, RAMMIN' MORE NINJA BUTT OUT IN THE YAAARRD—"
Satō fires a short burst, destroying the radio, thus ending its horrendous wanton spew of smut and depravity.
Nightingale staggers to his feet, limping toward the studio apartment, "Captain Falcon, are you alright, sir!?"
"Yes! But my aching rear and honor as an Anbu Captain—is in ruins; nevertheless, thank all of you for saving what remains of it." Itama, suffering from temporary paralysis, struggles to move his body; face down on the queen-size mattress, he groans, "Ugh, Nightingale of Anbu Thirteen Echo, is that you? Can you or one of those extraordinary fair maidens hand me my mask, lying on the ground, over there?" the Senju says, covering his face in shame while pointing toward the floor with a trembling hand.
A snort, then a light chuckle, almost escapes Satō, but she manages to suppress it, "You're welcome," she says, handing Itama his mask.
Uroko shoulders her rifle, then crosses her arms, leaning against a dresser, "You know, despite everything that's gone down, you seem unusually calm. Aren't you even the least bit upset? I thought you'd be an emotional wreck after all that."
"Yeah, what gives?" Satō says, "Uroko and I both had um… well—a scuffle with one of those things, too. It broke my nose!" Due to her damaged sinuses, she speaks in a nasal voice. She lowers the bandage on her schnozz, revealing the injury.
Nightingale cringes, "Ouch—that looks quite painful."
The Anbu Captain deadpans, placing on his mask, "You too, huh? A ReDead got a few of mine, but most of them didn't survive; Malkhaz placed an explosive tag on it."
"Poor Wombat," Nightingale says, "that was no way to go."
"Re—what!?" Uroko asks.
"ReDeads," he clarifies, "They've been terrorizing the Land of Fire for years!"
Itama sighs, "Are you two familiar with a… *certain* event known as The Hyūga Incident?" Satō and Uroko's eyes widen. "I'll spare you the details, but I'm certain you've both already surmised: ReDeads and taijutsu—Do. Not. Mix." He says, with great emphasis on the last three words. The dam ruptures; Uroko erupts into uncontrollable laughter, rolling on the floor, gasping for air. Satō apologizes with great urgency on her friend's behalf. The Senju chuckles, "Oh, no. It's fine, worry not, for it couldn't have happened to a... *nicer* clan."
Nightingale shrugs, "Meh, I don't care much for slavers, either. Quite—EYEronic the main house never—SEEN it coming, though."
"Hmm, whoever was guarding the gate must've been bribed to turn a *blind eye* that night because those things just waltzed in the compound as if they owned the place or something."
"And during a clan meeting, of all times, too."
"Must've been a branch house member; any of them would've done it had an opportunity presented itself." Itama tries sitting but falls back onto his stomach, yelping in pain, "It's like sitting on a heap of hot embers with a wicked Charlie horse on both creases where my thighs meet the lower buttocks!"
Satō smirks, "I know a bit of medical ninjutsu; I can take a look if you want."
The Anbu Captain accepts the Stone kunoichi's aid, desperate for relief, "Very well."
"Alright, drop them."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your pants, dude. Drop them. Those undies, too, while you're at it."
"Oh, alright then," the Senju shimmies the garments down to his thighs. Satō readies the Mystic Palm Technique. Nightingale and the kunoichis gasp at the sight before them, wincing in sympathy at the condition of his bruised, swelling, red junie cakes. "Surly, it isn't that bad… is it?"
"Um, I can alleviate the inflammation, but you probably ain't gonna shit right for a week!" Satō says. 'You better thank whatever deity you pray to that those things were as smooth as a Ken doll down there!' The healing-jutsu's emerald hue shimmers around her hands, vibrating them as she reaches closer. 'Oh, so the rumors *are* true; even the males tramp stamp their clan's insignia...' Itama's eyes almost bulge through his mask. He relaxes, recognizing the instantaneous results of a skillful medical practitioner. "I'm increasing the intensity to hasten the process."
The Anbu Captain gives Satō a thumbs up. Her hands rattle like a barbershop vibration massager, startling him as he clenches those cheeks.
"Try to relax; the procedure is almost complete."
The Senju shudders, 'The Hidden Stone Village's medical remedies are indeed bizarre, but effective, nonetheless.'
Grinning ear to ear, Uroko is drooling and blushing beat-red with a bloody nose, staring in lecherous astonishment, 'booty-booty, booty-booty rockin' everywhere!!'
Nightingale groans, rolling his eyes, 'I'm going to have severe PTSD after this!'
The room trembles, alerting the ASF personnel; dishes and cookware quake before falling over. Itama pulls up his trousers and prepares for combat, taking a defensive position along with the other shinobi in the studio apartment. The persistent tremor's magnitude expedites with every thunderous collision approaching their location.
"Oh, great. It followed us," Uroko says.
Nonchalant, the Anbu Captain redirects his attention towards the loudening disturbance: "Yes, I had sensed it too a while back, but I was uncertain of what slowed it down."
"Chakra exhaustion, perhaps," Satō says, "Malkhaz used some strange technique that siphoned their chakra into the walls. Draining every last bit until nothing remains seems to be the only way to put them down for good."
The Senju gasps. 'Was that what you were trying to tell us all along, Jimi?'
"How's everyone doing on chakra and ammunition?" Uroko asks.
Nightingale racks his sidearm's pistol slide, "I've got one round left, but I was saving it for myself."
"I see… stand back, everyone; I'll take it from here," the Anbu Captain says. After giving his Autogun away to Nightingale, he widens his stance, concentrating an enormous amount of chakra into his fist. The air around Itama's arm whirrs and distorts from the immense heat accumulating around the limb. Dense steam emanates around his fist as he amplifies the jutsu. The aberrant Red Zetsu smashes through the wall; before it emerges from the smoke, He unleashes his charged attack, "Fire Style: Falcon—PUNCH!!"
The Senju's flaming fist rockets forward; the friction in the air mimics a screeching falcon before his fist concaves the abomination's skull. The overwhelming force of the blow generates a massive falcon-shaped explosion, projecting the aberrant Red Zetsu into the sky with a sonic boom before it disappears as a brilliant twinkle in the distance. "Yes!" the Anbu Captain cheers, resting his fist on his hip before giving the abomination a two-finger salute, "Show me your moves!"
Dead Man's Hand Shadow Clones
The explosive tags detonate, generating a tremendous fireball that projects Jim's shadow clone from the high-rise apartment complex. He somersaults through the air, "It's TIME for re-VENGE!!" and lands a three-point pose before a few shinobi. The thunderstruck foot soldiers ready their projectile-based jutsu and long-range weapons, but razor-sharp stone lances irrupt from the ground, skewering the poor souls like helpless pigs at a Hawaiian lūʻau.
Incendiary munitions rain down, encircling the ASF foot soldiers before igniting and setting them all ablaze—an immediate barrage of mortars whistles through the air, hurtling danger close at the Marine Contra's clone. He speeds into an underdeveloped portion of the mega-city, taking cover within a lush jungle, thus concealing himself from the incoming shells.
The duplicate zigzags through the dense foliage, silent as a ghost, ambushing and immobilizing any Red Zetsus along his path; a swift blur accelerates toward the clone's head. He strengthens his hand with chakra and catches the inbound object. A summoning turtle pokes its head from the shell, trying to bite off his thumb; he flicks the animal in the head, knocking it unconscious. The doppelganger redirects his attention toward its summoner and a group of shinobi charging across a bridge after him—in a straight line.
He enhances his foot with chakra before dropping the turtle and kicking it at the advancing assassins. One after the other, each ASF foot soldier tumbles off the bridge into the canal; an adjacent display panel buzzes to life, almost startling him as it displays *1up*. He dashes across the overpass; however, the irate soggy-nin all arise from the water, throwing kunai with explosive tags attached at the bridge columns, collapsing the structure. The shadow clone summersaults in the air, landing on the other side, but stumbles into an ambush of sniper fire. Several well-placed high-velocity rounds whiz through the air yet pass through without dispelling him.
A Sky shinobi, looking through the telescopic sights of his rifle, clamors at the sheer absurdity that befalls him, "That was a direct hit! How is she still standing!?" A whisper behind the infantryman sends a chill slithering down his spine.
"Bunshin no Jutsu…" the replicate says before knocking the Sora-nin out with a prompt chop to the back of his neck. He uses teleportation jutsu; in rapid succession, each sniper falls from the trees with active explosive tags on their backs, killing and maiming their comrades below. The Marine Contra's clone snatches a messenger bird carrying a satchel marked with the letter *S*. He breaks the falcon's neck with a quick thumb jerk, then removes the scroll from the bag.
The duplicate deactivates the booby trap, safeguarding the parchment before plundering its precious booty. After upgrading the Handheld Kunai Launcher into a Spread Gun, a sword slides from the shadow clone's sleeve into his hand. He uses substitution jutsu to avoid the shuriken turrets rising from the ground. The doppelganger shoulders the 20cm HVS (High Velocity *Spread*) Penetrator; he uses the blade to deflect inbound spinning projectiles while hurling kunai, armed with explosive tags to destroy the turrets.
With a visual on his target, he uses teleportation jutsu to increase his speed while synthesizing a rapid chain of one-hand seals, "Ninja Art: Cascading Crescendo!" The mortar team of Sky-shinobi, disorientated by a blinding flash, each hit the dirt before a hasty succession of their severed heads follows suit. He blitzes the commanding officer, plunging his fist through the Sora-nin's body, grasping the spinal cord, and paralyzing the shinobi's upper body with Lightning Release.
The officer's arms and head fall limp; he cries in pain with tears trailing down his face, "Why won't you just kill me already!?" he sobs.
"Because I prefer my meat shields within bullet-blocking distance." The clone rushes forward through oncoming machinegun fire that riddles the shinobi with hot lead; the rounds mangle the officer's body, tearing off his limbs. The replicate slaps an explosive tag on the Sora-nin's back before kicking him into a machinegun nest and diving for cover. The explosive detonates, throwing dust, debris, and body parts in the air. He sheaths his blade, drawing the Spread Kunai Launcher.
The shadow clone suppresses his chakra, using genjutsu to conceal himself among the disorientated ASF personnel writhing from severe blast trauma. He hoses down the trench with an overwhelming cascade of kunai, mutilating, skewering, and transfixing severed limbs or entire shinobi against the wooden walkways and vertical surfaces. The duplicate places remote detonation tags in every cavern, opening, or pillbox he stumbles across, leaving nothing but a gruesome trail of death and destruction in his wake.
With a single hand seal, he detonates each tag, eradicating any remaining ASF foot soldiers or burying them alive in what remains of the trench. The dirt beneath his feet trembles; not far off, the haunting wails of thousands of Red Zetsus draw closer from the city to the jungle.
'That seems to have done the trick,' the ground rumbles enough to almost register as a minor quake on a Richter scale. Straight away, ASF munitions irrupt towards the incoming hordes, raining absolute hell upon the flesh-eating ghouls. The Marine Contra's clone laughs, 'That won't be enough to stop them, dummies. But now—now I know where you—ALL—are!' He crosses his index and middle fingers over one another, "Shadow Clone Jutsu!" More shadow clones appear and approach a towed howitzer.