Kuro's eyes narrowed, his expression darkening as he observed the creatures with a depth of understanding that went beyond mere visual perception. Their movements were too deliberate, too synchronized to be simple wild beasts. The faint glint of mechanical components beneath their armored exteriors didn't escape his keen observation.
"Children of Cerberus," he muttered, the words carrying a weight of recognition that seemed to come from somewhere beyond the immediate moment.
Reika looked at him sharply, her combat-ready stance momentarily interrupted by confusion. "What? What are those things?"
Before Kuro could elaborate, Xero, who had already unsheathed his blade—a sleek, dark metal weapon that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it—growled with characteristic impatience. "Less talking, more fighting."
But Kuro's attention was elsewhere, his mind working at a pace that seemed to transcend the immediate chaos. His voice was low, almost to himself—a whisper that carried the weight of deep concern and growing realization.
"Could this be... the Fire Fly Corporation?"
"Fire Fly?" Reika asked, her brows furrowing. The name meant nothing to her, but the tension in Kuro's voice suggested something far more significant than a random attack.
Kuro didn't answer immediately. His mind was racing, processing information at a speed that would have been impossible for most. Fragments of memory, half-remembered conversations, and intricate connections were spinning together like an complex algorithm.
*So, this world and my world does have some connection, huh,* he thought. *If they're here, then...*
The implications were massive, potentially world-altering. But now was not the time for deep contemplation.
"We'll discuss it later," Kuro said firmly, his voice cutting through the ambient chaos. "Right now, we focus on protecting the villagers."
It was a command and a statement of purpose. No further explanation was needed. Reika and Xero didn't need additional prompting—they leapt into action, their movements fluid and precise.
The three-headed wolf-machines were formidable. Each movement was calculated, each attack a demonstration of engineered precision. Their armored bodies deflected standard kunai and shuriken, their mechanical components absorbing and redistributing kinetic energy in ways that defied traditional combat logic.
Reika was the first to adapt. Her specialized wind jutsu created razor-sharp air currents that sought out the tiny gaps in their mechanical armor. Xero's blade, seemingly alive in his hands, struck with a speed and precision that challenged the wolves' advanced targeting systems.
And Kuro? He watched, analyzed, his mind working on a level that went beyond immediate combat. These weren't mere monsters—they were a message, a signal of something far more complex brewing beneath the surface of this seemingly routine day.
The battle for the Hidden Leaf's streets had begun, and nothing would ever be the same again.
The battle erupted in the village square with a thunderous cacophony of metal, chakra, and primal fury. The three-headed wolves moved with a terrifying synchronicity that defied natural movement, their iron armor gleaming under the midday sun. Each mechanical beast was a marvel of destructive engineering—moving with a speed that blurred the line between living creature and weapon.
The wolves seemed almost too perfect, their movements a seamless dance of predatory intent. They were more than just machines; they were an extension of a higher will, a cold and calculating force that sought only to destroy. Their glowing red eyes scanned the area with eerie precision, each step deliberate, each movement lethal. Every time they struck, the sound of metal clashing against the cobblestone streets reverberated like the toll of a death knell.
Their metallic bodies deflected kunai and basic jutsu with contemptuous ease. The advanced armor was designed to absorb and redistribute kinetic energy, transforming every strike into a wasted effort. The traditional ninja tactics, honed over generations of combat, seemed utterly obsolete in the face of such engineering marvels. They were nearly indestructible, their sleek bodies contorting with fluidity and force, making them a force that would have been impossible to stop, were it not for the unexpected intervention of Reika and Xero.
Reika was the first to truly strike back, her movements a testament to hidden depths of power that had remained concealed until this moment. She raised her hands, and between her palms, a phenomenon began to take shape. A glowing red orb materialized, its surface pulsating with an energy that seemed to vibrate with raw, primordial potential. The orb wasn't just a jutsu—it was a concentrated manifestation of pure destructive power, a weapon of unimaginable scale.
With a sharp, almost primeval cry, Reika launched the orb at one of the wolves. The impact was nothing short of apocalyptic. Upon contact, the creature was completely engulfed in a crimson explosion so intense that it reduced the massive mechanical beast to molten scrap in an instant. The heat was so concentrated that nearby cobblestones began to liquefy, creating small pools of rapidly cooling stone. The sheer force of the explosion sent a shockwave that rattled nearby buildings, but it also left a smoking crater in its wake, marking the first tangible victory in what had promised to be an impossible battle.
Kuro's eyes widened in genuine shock. *What the...? I don't remember that kind of jutsu from the Naruto series, is it even Jutsu? It's more like magic, a magic as red as her hair,* he thought, his mind racing to reconcile this extraordinary display with his prior knowledge. The power that Reika wielded now was on a scale beyond anything he had imagined. It was clear now that there was far more to her than met the eye.
If Reika's attack was a demonstration of raw, concentrated power, Xero's contribution was a ballet of lethal precision. His swordsmanship transcended anything Kuro had witnessed before. Each swing of his blade left behind a faint, shimmering trail of energy—a spectral arc that cleaved through the armored wolves as though their supposedly impenetrable defenses were nothing more substantial than thin parchment.
With every strike, Xero's blade moved faster, more fluidly, his body a blur of motion as he danced across the battlefield. The wolves, for all their advanced design, seemed helpless against him. They moved to counter, but it was always too late. He was everywhere at once, his strikes surgical and relentless. It was as if the very air around him bent to his will, enabling him to exploit even the smallest opening in the wolves' defense. His attacks were not just physical—they were infused with chakra, a volatile energy that made each strike exponentially more deadly.