Domain Expansion: Gluttony Hell

Orochimaru's gaze fixed intently on every detail of Fuma's transformed body. His pale face gradually flushed with excitement, a strange radiance shining through.

The massive black wings that darkened the skies, the powerful and muscular physique, the ominous and violent crimson aura, and the serpentine tail that lashed about like a living dragon—all of it came together in a body nearly a hundred meters tall, exuding an oppressive presence.

This was the true form of Fuma in his [Gluttonous Beast Mode].

Rather than merely unleashing the latent energy hidden within his flesh, it seemed more accurate to say that this was his natural state, his body shedding any remaining pretense of humanity.

"A perfect organism… This is it! This is the perfection I've been searching for! Transcending the fragile shell of humanity, reaching the very depths of genetic potential, and becoming an immortal being!"

Orochimaru's eyes followed Fuma's retreating figure with undisguised admiration, his voice trembling with fervor.

For him, Fuma wasn't just an anomaly—he was a pioneer, a living testament to breaking past the limits of human existence.

Orochimaru longed to share this revelation with a kindred spirit. However, scanning the faces of the shinobi around him, he found no one who met his lofty standards.

Disappointed, he shook his head and allowed himself to savor this epiphany in solitude.

Beside him, Minato remained inscrutable, while Nawaki could only manage a repeated "Amazing…" in awe. Behind them, the Mist ninja muttered nervously, their hardened expressions betraying their inner turmoil.

"How I wish I could stop this petty war," Orochimaru murmured wistfully. "If only to sit down and discuss Fuma's techniques in detail."

"This endless bloodshed among shinobi… It's nothing more than seasoning for an otherwise bland existence. But it pales in comparison to the pursuit of what truly matters."

With a sigh, Orochimaru released a breath of stale air, the gleam of ambition in his eyes momentarily dimming as he sank into a state of zen-like calm. The recent air raids and petty squabbles no longer seemed to interest him.

Minato and Nawaki exchanged confused glances. They were impressed by Fuma's form but didn't understand why the usually composed Orochimaru had been so thoroughly shaken.

For them, this was just an exceptionally powerful technique. Throughout history, the shinobi world had seen many individuals whose strength surpassed even Fuma's. Figures like the First Hokage, who had demonstrated divine-like abilities, were well-documented legends.

In fact, scrolls passed down in Nawaki's clan recorded Hashirama Senju's feats as unparalleled in their might, a standard Fuma still couldn't reach.

But Orochimaru's fascination wasn't surface-level—it was rooted in something deeper.

"He's not a Jinchuriki, yet Fuma can achieve this form. That means his cells—or perhaps even his life essence—have undergone transformations beyond my comprehension."

"It's possible he's reached the same level as the immortal-tailed beasts themselves…"

"This is fundamentally different from a Jinchuriki. Those who host tailed beasts only borrow their power; their genes and bodies remain inherently weak. Fuma, on the other hand, has achieved a qualitative change—a transformation far more precious than anything Hashirama or Madara ever attained."

Unlike those great figures who wielded immense power but remained bound by their mortal shells, Fuma appeared to have touched the correct path of true evolution.

Orochimaru's life's work revolved around mastering every jutsu in existence, uncovering the secrets behind chakra, and awakening the untapped potential hidden within the human body.

To achieve this grand ambition, he needed time—boundless time, free from the constraints of mortality.

For Orochimaru, the intricacies of jutsu or the raw destruction they could unleash were secondary. His true obsession lay in breaking free of the human body's shackles and reaching the next stage of existence.

The likes of Hashirama's "True Several Thousand Hands" or Madara's 'Complete Body Susano'o" were undoubtedly extraordinary, revered as unreachable pinnacles by most shinobi. But all those who wielded such godlike powers faced the same unavoidable question:

"No matter how strong you are, can you achieve immortality?"

This was the ultimate sorrow of the strong. It was also the great equalizer of the shinobi world.

A warrior powerful enough to level nations might still perish before a humble farmer who spent his days tending to fields in the Fire Country's countryside.

No matter the depths of their chakra reserves, the brilliance of their techniques, or the purity of their bloodline, no shinobi could escape the invisible barrier of mortality.

Their lives were like fleeting comets, briefly illuminating the sky but vanishing all too quickly. Even those who left indelible marks on history could never extend their time.

"Why is it like this? How can someone wield such power and yet fail to extend their life? Is this truly an insurmountable challenge?"

The shinobi world, consumed by endless wars, had never stopped to ponder such a question. It was a luxury few could afford. During the Warring States Period, life expectancy for shinobi rarely exceeded thirty years.

Most died by assassination or vendetta rather than natural causes. Orochimaru, however, was born into a relative golden age of peace, which gave him ample time to reflect.

The premature loss of his parents further deepened his obsession with the length of life.

As the Third Hokage's disciple, Orochimaru had access to unparalleled resources and applied his keen intellect to uncover a chilling truth.

After scouring ancient texts and historical records, he discovered that throughout shinobi history, regardless of their strength, no individual had ever surpassed the apparent lifespan limit of 120 years. Even those who had mastered chakra fared no better than ordinary civilians.

Not even Hashirama Senju, revered as the God of Shinobi, could escape this fate. Despite his unparalleled healing abilities and cells teeming with vitality, he still died prematurely under mysterious circumstances.

Even Mito Uzumaki, with her mastery of the Yin Seal and the resilient vitality of the Uzumaki Clan, failed to extend her lifespan significantly.

If no path forward existed, Orochimaru resolved to forge one himself.

He turned his sights to the Ryuchi Cave, seeking to merge the genetics of the legendary serpents with his own cells and ascend to a form resembling the mythical, immortal Yamata no Orochi.

In Orochimaru's vision, once perfected, this technique would transform him into a godlike being, transcending all shinobi.

But now, standing before him was Fuma—a kindred spirit who had chosen a similar path yet had already ventured far beyond Orochimaru's current reach.

Orochimaru's tongue flicked out, his lips curling in an almost predatory grin. To those familiar with him, this gesture was unmistakable—it signaled his intense excitement.

At that moment, Orochimaru felt the same stirring curiosity Tsunade had once expressed toward Fuma's cells. However, his interest wasn't in transplanting them into himself but in uncovering their secrets.

As a scientist, Orochimaru wasn't content to reap the fruits of another's labor. He sought to surpass Fuma and carve out his unique path to immortality.

Meanwhile, behind Orochimaru, the rogue Mist ninja stood frozen, their faces pale and shifting rapidly between awe and dread.

Whatever hidden ambitions they harbored had been erased at the sight of Fuma's overwhelming display of power. In an instant, they replaced their schemes with masks of feigned loyalty.

Though Orochimaru had warned them he had powerful allies, they had dismissed it as a bluff. After all, what support could a rogue ninja, estranged from Konoha, truly command? To them, Orochimaru's rebellion seemed like a lone wolf's desperate venture.

Yet now, watching Fuma's monstrous form, these same shinobi trembled, their perceptions shattered. If such a figure truly backed Orochimaru, even the Third Mizukage would likely be crushed in battle.

Each of them silently vowed allegiance, fearing they might miss their chance to win Fuma's favor. Were he present, they'd have prostrated themselves without hesitation.

The renegade Mist ninja, broken by hunger and exile, had long abandoned any semblance of morality. Their unvarnished desperation presented a raw and unforgiving lesson for Nawaki, a brutal education in the stark realities of the world.

........

With the arrival of "Fuma", the air was alive with movement as the airborne forces of the Sky Ninja performed dazzling aerial maneuvers, darting through the sky like a swarm of mosquitoes.

The leader of the Sky Ninja narrowed his eyes, his pupils contracting. Snatching up the radio at his side, he barked out orders with grim determination:

"All air units, listen up! Empty your magazines and drop every bomb you've got. Show this monster the full power of the Sky Ninja!"

"Don't panic! A beast of this size is nothing but a sitting duck. Maintain your formations and stay sharp—there's no way it can take us down!"

"Understood!"

With a collective cry of affirmation, the Sky Ninja raised their weaponized ninja tools, their fingers tightening on the triggers.

"Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!"

The roar of gunfire echoed across the heavens, an endless cacophony of bullets ripping through the air. The Sky Ninja surrounded Fuma in a vast circular formation, their firepower creating a deadly hailstorm aimed directly at him.

Fuma, however, did not evade. Instead, he stood there calmly, almost contemplatively, as if savoring the sensation of the bullets ricocheting harmlessly off his body.

"Crack, crack, crack!"

The bullets were thwarted mere meters from his imposing frame, their momentum nullified by the dense aura of blood-red energy swirling around him.

Through narrowed eyes, Fuma analyzed the incoming projectiles, dissecting their design in an instant. Then, he shook his head in mild disappointment.

"So, these so-called ninja firearms are just tools for channeling chakra like crude gunpowder. A stopgap measure for those who lack the talent to wield proper ninjutsu," he muttered to himself.

To a ninja of even mid-chunin rank, their own body would serve as a far superior chakra converter, enabling them to unleash jutsu far deadlier than any bullet.

"Prepare the cluster bombs!" the Sky Ninja leader barked, his voice sharp. "Group all explosive charges together and ready the formation!"

"Yes, sir!"

Hundreds of spherical bombs, each the size of a small jug and marked with the character for "explosion", were launched. These devices bore the unmistakable power of enhanced explosive tags.

As the bombs descended, Fuma observed them with a spark of interest, his attention drawn to the intricacy of their design.

"Fascinating," he murmured. "A standardized production line… this means the Sky Ninja must have an advanced logistical network supporting them. Impressive."

The sheer number of explosives raining down suggested that their backers possessed extraordinary resources.

"A single unit can casually expend hundreds of bombs of this magnitude... Whoever funds them must have incredibly deep pockets," Fuma mused.

More importantly, these weapons represented a potential solution to one of the greatest weaknesses in the ninja world: the lack of effective countermeasures against aerial threats.

"If leveraged correctly," he thought, "this technology could revolutionize conventional warfare. I might not even have to get my hands dirty in the future."

The Sky Ninja, oblivious to his musings, shouted in unison:

"This is the power of the Sky Ninja! Witness the might that will crush everything before it!"

Their hands blurred through a series of seals.

"Ninjutsu: Cluster Bomb Technique!"

The smaller explosives combined mid-air into massive, city-flattening bombs, which hurtled down toward Fuma.

"BOOM!!"

A terrifying explosion erupted, the resulting inferno engulfing the battlefield in dense smoke. Even the distant sea trembled, disturbed by the sheer force of the blast.

Mist ninjas shielded themselves from the shockwave, their faces pale as they anxiously scanned the smoke-filled horizon for any sign of Fuma.

"Hmph… That arrogant beast—size alone doesn't make him invincible," the Sky Ninja leader sneered. "The power of the heavens is beyond the grasp of primitive savages. Surrender to us and accept your fate!"

In their arrogance, the Sky Ninja directed their reverence toward the massive stone visage adorning their floating fortress, bowing in near worship.

The Mist rebels, on the other hand, could only gape in terror. "Where did these people come from? If they've had such power for decades, why have they remained hidden?"

For them, the devastation caused by the Sky Ninja's weaponry was unimaginable. Such a force, unleashed upon a village, would leave nothing but ruins in its wake.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of clapping echoed through the smoke.

"Clap… clap… clap…"

As the haze cleared, Fuma emerged unscathed, his form towering and unbothered.

"Impressive," he said, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "You've managed to replicate the destructive power of a small tailed beast bomb. And your mobility far surpasses that of the cumbersome bijuu."

Though his tone was complimentary, his uninjured state made his words sting.

The Sky Ninja were frozen in disbelief.

"Impossible! He's unharmed?!"

Meanwhile, the Mist defectors, emboldened by this display of power, roared in excitement. "This is it! Fuma is invincible! We've finally found a true savior!"

Even the loyal bloodline ninja under Orochimaru's command couldn't hide their shock.

Standing among them, Orochimaru's lips curled into a wide grin. "So, it's true," he murmured. "Fuma, you've discovered the path to godhood. In just one year, your power has grown beyond comprehension."

One year ago, Fuma had struggled to block the Two-Tails' Tailed Beast Bomb, his armor cracking under the strain. Now, such an attack seemed trivial to him.

"But enough," Fuma said, his tone shifting to one of boredom. "If you have no other tricks to show me, I'll take my turn now. Unless you'd prefer to demonstrate something else?"

The Sky Ninja leader trembled, sweat pouring down his face. "Don't be fooled! Fire another round of cluster bombs! He has to be bluffing!"

Fuma sighed softly. Pressing his palms together, he whispered:

[Domain Expansion: Gluttony Hell]

A surge of black smoke and crimson blood mist erupted from Fuma, spreading across the battlefield like a massive dome. Within this domain, the eerie red and black energy consumed everything it touched.

Ninja caught within the mist found their bodies withering, their chakra drained, and their flesh stripped away until only bleached skeletons remained.

The Sky Ninja, realizing the futility of their efforts, screamed in despair. Even their strongest wind-style jutsu failed to dispel the dense mist.

As the black smoke thickened, serpentine dragons of blood-red energy coiled through the air, devouring any remaining resistance.

What few survivors remained could do nothing but stare in horror as Fuma's domain consumed all.

For the Mist defectors and loyalists alike, this display was a chilling reminder of Fuma's overwhelming might. Even Orochimaru, Kushina, Minato, and Nawaki were left stunned by the sheer spectacle of destruction.

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