The battlefield crackled with energy as she prepared to unleash her most powerful attack yet. But even as she gathered her strength, a nagging doubt lingered at the back of her mind. Could she really outlast this endless tide of puppets?
She wouldn't let herself believe otherwise. Not yet.
Naruto stood amidst the battlefield, her blade Ryjin crackling faintly, its once-brilliant arcs of lightning now dimming. Around her, the remnants of Sasori's puppet army lay scattered, wooden limbs and shattered joints littering the icy ground. Her frilly black dress, barely touched, fluttered in the cold breeze. She brushed a strand of synthetic hair from her face and stared at Sasori with an almost bored expression.
"That's it?" she asked, her monotone voice dripping with mockery. "All those puppets cut down like butter, and here I am, barely breaking a—" she paused, "well, ink, I guess. No sweat to break, after all. Dattebayo."
Sasori, standing a distance away, chuckled softly, his hands folded inside his cloak.
Naruto's sapphire eyes narrowed. "What's so funny, doll-obsessed guy? Your toys are all broken."
"You think I was just wasting my precious puppets," Sasori said, his voice low, calculated, "just for you to destroy?"
Naruto tilted her head, her expression blank but her tone mildly mocking. "Yes. Maybe? You seem pretty dramatic. Dattebayo."
Sasori's lips curled into a smirk. "No. Don't you see something… unusual?"
Naruto blinked, her gaze sweeping the battlefield. Shattered wood, scattered weapons, nothing seemed out of place—until she noticed the black sand pooling around her feet. It was faint at first, but as her synthetic eyes adjusted, she realized the sand had been leaking from the destroyed puppets, gathering silently throughout the fight.
"So?" she said, unimpressed.
Sasori raised a hand, his fingers twitching. "Iron Sand: Iron Grip."
The black sand around her surged, rising like a living tide and wrapping itself around her legs, arms, and torso in an instant. It was cold and heavy, pinning her in place as more of it slithered up her frame, binding her tightly.
Naruto stared at the sand engulfing her body with a blank expression. "Oh, cool," she remarked. "But still useless."
Sasori's brow arched slightly. "Oh?"
Naruto's hands twitched, lightning crackling to life around her fingers. With a mechanical hum, she unleashed a burst of Raiton chakra, sending electric currents coursing through the Iron Sand. The black particles shuddered violently before falling lifelessly to the ground.
"There," Naruto said, brushing off imaginary dust. "Problem solved. Dattebayo."
Sasori's grin widened, a glint of amusement in his crimson eyes.
"Is that a nervous smile, doll-obsessed guy?" Naruto asked, her tone flat.
"No," Sasori replied calmly. "It's just that you're so… stupid."
Naruto blinked. "Huh?"
"The sand was poisoned."
Naruto tilted her head again, her tone dismissive. "I'm immune to poison. Unless it's Lee's socks—those are toxic enough to wipe out a village. Dattebayo."
From the distance, still engaged in a battle to protect the film set, Lee's muffled cry of indignation reached them.
Sasori chuckled softly. "You really think so, don't you?"
Before Naruto could retort, a warning echoed in her mind.
-Warning. Bitch spoke suddenly, her synthetic voice calm but urgent. -Foreign substance detected in system.
Naruto blinked again, this time in confusion. "Huh?"
-Initiating rectification process.-
"Huh? Dattebayo?"
Suddenly, steam began to hiss from her body, rising from the gaps in her synthetic joints and vents. Her movements became stiff, jerky, as though her internal systems were fighting against something.
Naruto's sapphire eyes flared briefly before she straightened up, her voice confident as ever. "Looks like your little trick failed. Dattebayo."
Sasori tilted his head, his smirk unwavering. "Really?"
There was a long pause before Bitch's voice returned in Naruto's mind.
-Rectifications failed.-
"What—" Naruto began, but her words were cut short as her body convulsed violently. She fell to her knees, ink spilling from her mouth and nose in dark, viscous streams.
Her hands clawed at the ground, her usually steady frame shaking uncontrollably. Every movement was jerky, unnatural, as if she were a marionette whose strings were being cut one by one.
Sasori watched her with detached interest, his smirk turning into a satisfied grin. "A doll without strings is still just a doll," he said quietly.