11. Sharks will eat their own kind.

Boom!
A burst of flames erupted. The force of the exploding detonation tag hurled Zabuza through the air, blood gushing from his wounds.
He crashed heavily to the ground, his body soaked in blood, his organs seemingly twisted out of place, his consciousness teetering on the edge of oblivion—he was as good as dead.
Yet Zabuza’s will to survive was astonishingly fierce.
With a sharp whistle, he summoned the last of his strength and fired the signal flare in his hand. It streaked skyward, trailing a long ribbon of crimson light, his final hope of rescue.
But in the next moment, that fragile flame of hope was mercilessly extinguished.
A blue, shark-shaped water bullet shot up from the forest. With an elegant leap, it opened its jaws in midair and swallowed the signal flare whole.
It was over.
Witnessing this, Zabuza’s face turned ashen.
“Kisame Hoshigaki...”
He gazed at the familiar figure emerging from behind the trees, bitterly murmuring the name from his throat.
Kisame stepped forward, halting five or six meters from Zabuza.
A seasoned hunter, after landing a fatal shot, will let the wounded prey flee, trailing it patiently from afar to avoid a desperate counterattack.
This pursuit can last hours, until the prey finally succumbs to blood loss.
Though Kisame’s strength far surpassed Zabuza’s, he had remained hidden in the shadows, following his injured quarry until Zabuza was spent, before launching his ambush.
His caution was extreme, never allowing his enemy even the faintest chance to turn the tables.
“You truly are… a despicable creature.”
Zabuza lay on the ground, looking up at Kisame with a tragic, bitter smile.
He had lost in this jungle where only the strong survive, but he could not accept his defeat. Even in his final moments, he stubbornly believed his power exceeded Kisame’s.
“You and I are the same,” Kisame said quietly, “but sharks, to survive, will devour their own kind.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Kisame formed seals with practiced ease, summoning several sharks. Their gaping jaws closed around Zabuza, tearing him apart and devouring him completely.
These were real sharks, contracted long ago as summoning beasts by the Hoshigaki clan.
Whether used to attack enemies, relay information, or dispose of corpses, these creatures were invaluable.
With the hiss of dissipating smoke, Kisame released the summoning jutsu and walked to the spot where Zabuza’s corpse had been.
On the ground, only a pool of blood remained, along with a bulging shinobi tool pouch.
Kisame picked it up; inside, besides shuriken and detonation tags, there were several forehead protectors from Sand Village shinobi, and a hefty sum of two hundred thousand ryo.
Gathering his spoils, Kisame turned and made his way to the riverbank.
With a splash, he slipped into the water.
Sand shinobi had been sabotaging bridges and dams across the Land of Water; to track them, searching along the waterways was the optimal approach.
Though his adversaries were cunning, Kisame had his own methods.
He performed the summoning jutsu again, calling forth hundreds of sharks, commanding them to scatter into rivers and lakes, probing the intricate network of waterways throughout the Land of Water.
Sharks possess extraordinarily keen senses of smell. The sharks contracted by the Hoshigaki clan could detect the scent of blood from several kilometers away.
In this way, whenever Mist and Sand shinobi clashed somewhere, Kisame would receive information from his sharks and know at once.
Beneath the water,
Kisame, once submerged, no longer restrained himself. He unleashed the Shark Tail Lightning Whip, darting forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.
Hours later,
Kisame surfaced, gazing at a destroyed bridge not far off, its ruins collapsing into the river, sending up huge waves.
On the shattered span, over a dozen Sand and Mist shinobi fought fiercely, ninjutsu exploding, weapons clashing, their shouts and screams interwoven.
Kisame had no intention of intervening.
His target was not among them.
He dove beneath the surface once more, silently passing beneath the feet of both sides, hurrying toward the next battlefield.
Two hours passed.
The light faded as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the night gradually descended.
A thunderous explosion erupted in the distant woods, a dazzling flare of fire shooting skyward.
“Hm?”
Kisame surfaced again, emitting a low sound of surprise.
From that direction, he sensed multiple chakra signatures—at least several jonin engaged in battle.
Kisame tightened his muscles, retracting his shark tail, then came ashore, stealthily approaching the site of the explosion.
Reaching the outskirts of the battlefield,
He saw many Sand shinobi, bound to trees by steel wires, bleeding and dying in agony—a favorite torture method of Kurisame Chanmaru.
Not far away, a large crater smoldered, thick with the scent of gunpowder. At its edge lay several charred, destroyed corpses of Sand shinobi.
This was the work of the Exploding Blade Spray.
Additionally, Kisame noted Mist shinobi lying dead, their bodies shriveled dry, all moisture evaporated from within, transformed into mummified husks.
Such deaths were the handiwork of Yekura, master of the Scorch Release.
Around him, corpses hung strangled, blasted and burned, desiccated into dry shells—each more horrific than the last. In the deepening night, the scene was chilling, terrifying to the extreme.
This was the true ninja battlefield.
Kisame pressed deeper, entering the heart of the forest, and as expected, spotted several familiar figures.
By now, the main forces of Mist and Sand were nearly wiped out.
On the Mist side, only Kurisame Chanmaru and Munashi Jinpachi—the “Merciless Duo”—remained. On the Sand side, besides Yekura, only one surviving Anbu jonin stood.
The two sides engaged in a 2v2 confrontation.
“Hahaha, die for me!”
Munashi Jinpachi, wild-eyed like a madman of war, swept the Exploding Blade Spray before him, summoning a torrent of detonation tags to explode ahead.
The Exploding Blade Spray was an extremely dangerous and hard-to-master ninja sword. If its wielder miscalculated the number of tags released, it could injure not only the enemy but themselves.
Munashi Jinpachi was a master, wielding it with reckless abandon and perfect skill.
Boom!
Amid a series of explosions, Yekura and the Sand Anbu dared not face him head-on, retreating with each exchange.
“Careful, your footing!”
Yekura suddenly shouted a warning to his comrade, but it was already too late.
With a rapid hiss, steel wires sprang from the ground where the Sand Anbu landed, closing instantly and severing his legs.
Long Blade Shinobi Art: Earth Spider Stitch.
“Aah!”
The Sand Anbu screamed in agony, but his cry was cut short—
Long Blade Needle shot from the side, piercing straight through his neck.