The dull chorus of rain and thunder set a grim background as it mingled with bursts of shouting and tremors.

A light mist splashed up from the heavy downpour, swirling around the ankles. The night's shadows danced around in the gloom too, as silent lights occasionally illuminated the battlefield.

A miserable atmosphere for any, this realm would become a shinobi graveyard. It was already well on its way.

A rhythmic rush of air penetrated even this oppressing cacophony, the release of breath from a respirator. It started as one, a single breath, but the sound soon grew like in a wave, more and more respirators blasting out the ominous scream of discharged air.

Hundreds of booted steps kicked up splashes as they trod nonchalantly through the layer of water coating the ground. From the ledge where they stood, the battlefield below was naught but another target.

The floodwaters forming puddles all along the rocky plateau were an enemy only to those who did not live amidst the rain.

While shouts and explosions echoed out from below, none of Hanzō's troops spoke. In the mist and shadow his clan took up positions, awaiting their leader's orders.

But Hanzō only raised his hand up to signal a halt, drawing all eyes to him. The shinobi in the field below had still not taken notice. How pathetic.

Though his mouth could not be seen behind his combat respirator, Hanzō's eyes crinkled such that his subordinates knew a savage grin adorned his face.

Amegakure's unparalleled warlord tilted his head to look behind at those who followed him, hands now grasping his infamous kusarigama¹Sickle and weighted chain, Hanzō's iconic weapon:
.

The howling whirl of his weighted chain cut through the blustering winds as he spun it up to great speeds, punctuating the gravelly rasps of his voice,

"Suna and Konoha sure have grown bold, to fight in the rain. To fight in my Rain!" he growled out, scoffing. His troops kept their silence, but grinned behind their own masks.

Below, the uniforms of Konoha and Suna platoons could be seen dueling in squad-level combat. Their attentions were not focused on the plateau cliffs above, where Hanzō's legion had slowly surrounded them all.

Hanzō's shrewd eyes picked out the commanders, watching their formations and skills. Hardly more than chūnin clashed below, barely worth the bother for Ame's leader.

But their presence here alone spat upon the sovereignty of Hanzō's village. Rather than a challenge, a force like this was more of an insult. Basic Nara Clan stratagems, Konoha's clan-synergy war posture. Suna's puppet decoys, their Lady Chiyo's usual mass-deployed poisons coating their weaponry to maximize casualties.

Pathetic. Nothing Ame hadn't dealt with before. Just more of the same endless grind of death.

Hanzō's pride was stirred, but he held a faint hope that a worthwhile fight might still be found here.

It was a shame, as he'd heard the White Fang was to be deployed here in the south. Now that was a fight worth anticipating, especially after Konoha's latest victory against Hanzō's main man in the north, Kandachi.

But instead Hanzō was greeted with this... side show, merely hundreds of bodies to cut through,

"Watch closely, my men, and I will show you their despair in return..." Another ominous breath blasted through Hanzō's respirator as he braced his body, "Make sure none slip through the cracks, surround them all! Show them what lies Hidden in the Rain!"

With a rallying cry of support behind him, Hanzō flickered into the fray.

 

---

Men and women who fought each other to the death mere moments before turned in terror.

Voices shouted as they tried to react, yet they were all silenced.

"Hanzō!?! The Salamander has joined the battlefie- Gwargh!" - Face bashed in with a steel weight at the end of Hanzō's chain.

"Team 14, Formation D! FORMA-" - A poor Nara fool tried to regroup, sickle blade piercing through his mouth.

"Puppet Brigade - concentrate fire southeast! I repeat Southe-" - Suna's puppeteers engulfed in a swarm of explosive tags.

Hanzō's sickle swirled, wherever it fell sending great arcs of blood splashing out onto the surrounding shinobi. The shriek of his whirling chain screamed death to all who heard it amidst the downpour.

No one moved faster than The Salamander in water. There was no escape.

Hanzō's men guarding the perimeter were just an assurance, a backup. Hanzō never relied on just one plan.

There. Was. No. Escape.

Hanzō embraced the thrill of battle, time seeming to slow as his body threw itself into overdrive. These foes, their movements seemed sluggish. His blade pierced their flesh like it was paper. His strength dominated their mediocre muscle.

He dropped from above onto a squad of Konoha-nin, their unadulterated terror showing in their shaking limbs. The whirl of his chain shattered their wrists, removing all chance of a fight as their kunai fell to the ground. His sickle splashed blood from their throats.

A nearby squad noticed, attempting to reinforce with long-range Suiton blasts.

As if they could rival Hanzō's Katon...

Before they had even begun to target him, Hanzō had already thrown handsigns for a jutsu of his own,

"Behold! Superior shinobi cannot be overcome by mere underlings! Katon: Kaen Senpū!²Fire Release: Flame Whirlwind"

A great spiraling firebomb collided with the approaching Suiton, evaporating it instantly and deflecting the steam to trail around the flames. The flames surged forward undeterred, exploding and immolating the squad where they stood. Their death screams were just as much of confusion as they were of pain. In instants, they were silenced.

The spiraling motion was Hanzō's signature counter to weak ninjutsu. His mastery demonstrated through decades of combat experience, such that even a weaker element can overpower its counter. Direction, shape, transformation, throughput - Hanzō's insight grasped every advantage when fighting with ninjutsu, and lesser shinobi failed to even comprehend his prowess with Katon.

Who would expect the man who fought amidst water to wield fire as his primary affinity? Even now after all these years, few knew this secret. Hanzō's Katon was better trained than his Suiton.

The light of his flames sparked a general retreat. Both Suna and Konoha fled the flooded field, survivors leaving hundreds of bloodied corpses behind to stain the waters red.

But they would not escape - not until Hanzō's blade had touched all of them at least once. The salamander poison coating his blade would do the rest.

"GWAHAHA!" A harsh cackle leaked out from under his breath, "The sight of real flames is all it takes to send the Great Nations fleeing back home! Yet you all dare lay waste to my homeland!"

As Hanzō shouted this, a single blade nicked his respirator as it flew past his cheek. Of course, Hanzō had tilted his head to avoid, but a wire must have been attached to subtly divert the trajectory. Clever, but poorly executed.

"Hooh? Perhaps there might be a single opponent worth fighting here after all. To lay a single blow on me, no matter how small, is something thousands have failed to do before."

The Salamander's eyes glimmered as he turned and brandished his blade at the distant foe.

A Suna-nin stood weakly panting in the rain, wearing commander's attire covered in soot. His cloth headdress had burned away to reveal shaggy red hair. He held only one hand aloft towards Hanzō as The Salamander's eyes detected the remnants of a chakra thread dissipating from his fingers.

Hanzō's eyebrows rose as he observed closer.

The Suna shinobi was... the Puppet Brigade commander - one of the first people Hanzo had targeted. Covered in ash like he was, he must have escaped the explosive tags. How, then? That was not something many people had survived. What tricks did he have up his sleeves?

He must have sacrificed his puppets to shield himself... but even then... one arm?

But there was more. Hanzō knew for sure that he'd sliced every one of those blasted puppeteers with his poisoned blade - just to make sure none of Chiyo's ilk survived to spread poison. He was a poison user himself, and knew what havoc even a single one could wreak.

That's when Hanzō noticed-

A severed arm lay some distance behind the red-haired puppeteer, discolored with Hanzō's poison.

"Hooh? You would had to have severed that arm in instants to avoid my poison circulating..."

As Hanzō turned his attention back to the survivor, he noticed another surprise. Concealed behind the wounded man's frame, a Suna kunoichi with long dark-brown hair stood bracing him, applying medical ninjutsu to the severed stump of the puppeteer's shoulder. She too was covered in ash and a few burns, though her limbs were all intact.

"Hoh-hooooh?" Hanzō drawled in understanding, "What's more, knowing you were poisoned, you protected the only one who could save you. Within instants, both of you acted to save each other and perform a counterattack. Even if it was futile, I admire your resolve. This is the conviction of a true fighter! This is what I expect from true foes!"

The red-haired Suna shinobi collapsed to his knees rather anticlimactically, while the exhausted kunoichi stumbled to brace and keep treating him. Hanzō doubted she had even heard his words by the look of concentration on her face.

True, the man would likely die of blood-loss anyway. So...

"In exchange for your names, this once I will spare you from death by my hand."

Turning his back to them, Hanzō prepared to depart, "Speak! I shall let all know that Suna had nought but two who survived my wrath here!"

"...Hitori." The kunoichi's mellow voice wavered, full of worry and tension as she treated her comrade.

"S-" gasped the fallen man over the sounds of heavy rain, "Satsuki!"

Hanzō closed his eyes and released a long breath through his respirator. As he flickered into the rain, he left them with parting words,

"Satsuki, Hitori! Be stronger should fate have us meet again!"