9.

The Sand Begins to Crack

Dust blanketed the battlefield.

The force of Lee's impact had not just left a crater—it had reshaped the very arena itself. The once-flat stone flooring had collapsed inward, split apart by seismic force, the impact creating jagged fault lines that ran from the center of the battlefield all the way to the outer walls.

The audience could not process what had just happened.

For years, Gaara had been an untouchable force. His sand had never failed him. His defense had never cracked. His victories had always been absolute.

But now—

The impossible had happened.

Gaara was down.

For the first time in his life, his body had been forced into submission. His mind reeled from the shock of it, his nerves screamed from the trauma of being touched.

Touched.

Hit.

Broken.

He had never felt pain before.

Not like this.

His limbs twitched, his body struggling to process the signals running through his nerves. His sand trembled around him, unsure, faltering, the once-living entity that had always moved faster than thought now sluggish, unresponsive.

Because it, too, had felt something new.

Doubt.

Gaara's breathing came in shallow gasps, his fingers twitching against the rubble beneath him. He could taste blood in his mouth. His sand armor had been shattered in places, revealing raw skin beneath, bruised and battered from the force of the impact.

He had never bled before.

The entire stadium stood in stunned, paralyzed silence.

No one moved.

Not the proctors.

Not the spectators.

Not even the shinobi in the stands.

Because what had just happened should not have been possible.

And yet—

Lee was still standing.

Unharmed.

Unshaken.

Like he had done nothing at all.

His amber dōjutsu burned with unwavering clarity, his posture relaxed, his aura crackling with silent, restrained energy.

He had not even drawn breath from exertion.

The match had not yet begun for him.

And everyone could feel it.

Even Orochimaru, watching from above in his Kazekage disguise, felt a sliver of something unusual run through his veins.

Excitement.

Anticipation.

Fascination.

Lee was unlike anything he had accounted for.

This was not the boy who had once fought Kimimaro.

This was not the student who had relied solely on taijutsu and unwavering spirit.

This was something reborn.

Something far more dangerous.

"Guy…"

Kakashi's voice was quieter than usual, just enough for the green-clad Jonin beside him to hear.

"Do you know what's happening?"

Might Guy did not look away from the battlefield.

His usual grin, his boisterous energy—gone.

Instead, his expression was calm.

Serene.

Like he had always known this moment would come.

"I trained him to surpass human limits," he said finally, his voice lacking its usual dramatic flair. "But I never expected him to reach this."

Kakashi's lone eye remained locked on Lee, his Sharingan analyzing every subtle movement, every flicker of power radiating off of him.

But the more he looked—

The less he understood.

Lee's chakra network did not function like a normal shinobi's.

It was not a system of flowing energy, a structured pathway guiding his strength through his limbs.

No.

It was constantly shifting, evolving.

He was no longer using chakra.

He was generating it.

Like a living entity.

Like a storm.

Kakashi exhaled slowly.

This was beyond logic.

This was beyond the laws of shinobi combat.

And Gaara knew it.

Beneath the rubble, Gaara's fingers clenched into the dirt, his breathing ragged.

No.

No, this was wrong.

He was the monster.

He was the predator.

He was born to destroy.

He would not lose.

His sand reacted to his thoughts, rushing forward, reforming around him, reconstructing the armor that had been broken.

Faster than before.

Stronger.

Because now—

He would not hold back.

A deep, guttural sound rumbled from within him, not entirely human.

His chakra pulsed.

Not his own.

But something else.

Something older.

Something hungry.

The sand twisted unnaturally, its color darkening, an eerie presence filling the stadium as a second force entered the battle.

Neji inhaled sharply, his Byakugan flaring to its limits.

"This isn't just Gaara anymore."

Kankurō and Temari, watching from the stands, felt it too.

A presence they had only ever seen in nightmares.

The presence of Shukaku.

Gaara's lips curled upward.

A smile.

A real smile.

Not out of amusement.

Not out of arrogance.

But something else.

Something that sent a chill through the entire stadium.

Because Gaara had stopped being afraid.

His sand surged upward.

Expanding.

Growing.

Shaping itself into something far too large for a human to control.

The first stage of transformation.

Half of his face became corrupted, lines of demonic markings stretching over his skin, his eye turning into a golden slit.

His voice came softer now, twisted, distorted.

"You're strong," Gaara admitted.

His fingers twitched.

His sand roared to life.

"But I don't need to win."

His chakra surged.

The stadium cracked beneath his presence.

"I just need to bury you."

A monstrous hand of condensed sand formed above him, towering over the battlefield.

A killing field.

Unavoidable.

Inescapable.

Lee remained still.

Watching.

Unmoved.

Because even as the world itself seemed to tremble beneath Gaara's awakening power…

Even as Shukaku's presence seeped into the battlefield, twisting the air into something unnatural…

Even as the entire stadium fell into chaos…

Lee's eyes did not waver.

Because he had already decided.

This fight was over.

And now, he would end it.