Go After Sasuke

The air over Konoha crackled with a sickly tension, the dawn breaking with a pallor that bathed the village in an unnatural haze. Sasuke stood at the outskirts, his cloak billowing as he scanned the terrain with his Rinnegan, suspicion etched into every line of his body. The letter from Sakura—crumpled in his pocket, penned in her familiar script—had begged him to return, but it reeked of artifice. Too urgent, too perfectly timed. He’d slipped into the village under cover of night, weaving through shadows and rooftops, his Sharingan glinting with wary precision. But the moment he crossed the perimeter, he knew: they were waiting.

A pulse of chakra shimmered around him, the sky warping into a crimson haze—genjutsu. Sasuke snapped his eyes shut, his Sharingan flaring as he disrupted the illusion, twisting mid-air to evade the shadow tendrils that lashed from below—Shikamaru’s Shadow Possession Jutsu, precise and relentless. “Tch. Clever,” he muttered, his Chidori crackling to life as he struck downward, shredding the shadows before they could bind him. Figures emerged from the darkness—Shikamaru, Tsunade, Kakashi, and Konoha’s elite, their red eyes glowing with an eerie calm—and at their center stood Sakura, her medic coat tattered, her gaze too serene, too detached.

“Sasuke-kun… come home,” she called, her voice trembling with feigned vulnerability, her hand outstretched to lure him in. But he saw it—the silvery taint in her chakra, the syringe glinting in her palm, her tears too calculated. “You’re not her,” he growled, hurling a kunai at her forehead. Shikamaru’s shadows yanked her aside, but Sasuke’s point was clear: he wouldn’t fall for the bait.

The battle erupted. Tsunade charged, her fist glowing with monstrous strength, shattering the ground beneath him. Sasuke dodged, his Susanoo’s violet arm smashing her through buildings. Kakashi’s Raikiri blazed, a storm of lightning clashing with Sasuke’s Chidori in a blinding explosion. Shikamaru’s shadows struck from multiple angles, coordinating the Anbu—Torune, Yūgao, Fu—who swarmed with relentless precision. Sasuke fought fiercely, Amaterasu’s black flames erupting around him, his Susanoo cutting through dozens of thralls, but their numbers overwhelmed his every move.

From the Hokage’s tower, Baby smirked through Kakashi’s lips, his red eye narrowing. “His heart’s his weakness,” he purred, gesturing for Sakura to advance again. She stumbled forward, her torn coat slipping to reveal bruised skin, her voice a **** whisper: “Sasuke, I need you—help me.” Her red eyes glistened, her movements soft yet deliberate, the trap tightening. But Sasuke’s Sharingan pierced the ruse, and his Susanoo’s fist slammed the ground, forcing her back, the syringe clattering uselessly away.

“Enough games,” Baby hissed, Kakashi’s voice twisting with his malice. He raised a hand, and the air pulsed—Konoha’s infected responded, their chakra and life **** streaming toward him in a golden flood. Tsunade’s strength, Shikamaru’s intellect, Sakura’s precision—all fed into Kakashi’s form. His body shuddered, silver hair lengthening into wild streaks, his frame elongating into a lithe, predatory shape clad in bio-organic armor, a tail lashing behind him. His Sharingan morphed into a molten red and silver orb, his voice a resonant growl: “Behold your Master’s true power.”

The thralls collapsed, husks drained of vitality, as Baby flexed his evolved hands, lightning chakra surging into a roiling orb—a Lightning Blade fused with a **** **** Ball, its silver core crackling with destructive intent. “This ends now—your village burns with you,” he roared, hurling it at Sasuke. The Uchiha’s Susanoo flared, its violet armor thickening as he braced between Baby and Konoha, his katana merging with its blade. “I won’t let you destroy it,” he snarled, channeling every ounce of chakra into his defense. The blast struck—a cataclysmic clash of silver lightning and violet chakra—shattering Susanoo and flattening half the village in a shockwave of ruin. Sasuke flew back, crashing through rubble, his consciousness fading as blood dripped from his temple.

Baby landed amid the devastation, his laughter a dark hymn as he loomed over Sasuke’s fallen form. “You’re mine,” he purred, silver tendrils erupting from Kakashi’s mouth, abandoning the Hokage’s husk to surge into Sasuke—through his nose, ears, and wounds, burrowing deep. Sasuke jolted awake, convulsing violently, his Sharingan spinning into fractured chaos, his Rinnegan warping as Baby rewrote his mind. “No—get out!” he rasped, but his scream drowned in Baby’s velvet laughter, his will shattering beneath the invasion. His body stilled, rising with a predator’s grace, his eyes glowing a molten red as Baby flexed Sasuke’s fingers, savoring his new throne.

Turning to Sakura—bruised yet alive, her red eyes locked on him—Baby dragged her to a platform of shattered stone, tearing away her tattered coat to expose her fully.

“Time to savor my victory,” he growled through Sasuke’s lips, bending her over and thrusting into her ass with brutal ****. She howled—a raw blend of pleasure, pain, and devotion—her cry echoing as he gripped her hips, his tail coiling around her waist. “Yes, Master!” she screamed, her body yielding to his ****.

“All of you—masturbate,” he commanded, his voice a silken lash, and the surviving thralls—Tsunade, Shikamaru, Kurenai, hundreds more—obeyed, their hands moving in a frenzied worship, their red eyes rolling back.

Baby leaned close, Sasuke’s breath hot against Sakura’s ear. “You’re mine—every scream,” he whispered, thrusting deeper as her howls peaked, the crowd’s moans rising in a grotesque crescendo. “Climax with me—now!” he roared, his release tearing through Sasuke’s body as Sakura shuddered beneath him, the village erupting in a synchronized wave of ecstasy—sealing Baby’s triumph amidst the ruins, his desecration of Sakura and Konoha absolute.