She walked straight into the flames, stopped the fire dragon with her telekinesis, and hurled it at the ninja who had summoned it. He screamed as the flames turned on him, burning him alive. His skin blackened and melted into a putrid mess before the daimyo's horrified eyes.
Meanwhile, the sword ninja took his chance. He plunged a blade into Makima's flank, making her bleed—or so he thought. But she turned to him, still smiling, and ripped the weapon from her flesh.
"Not bad," she commented before twisting his wrist brutally until the bone cracked and pierced the skin. The ninja screamed, but she silenced him by shoving his own sword into his throat, beheading him cleanly. His head rolled to the ground, eyes wide open, as blood gushed abundantly.
The last shinobi triggered a wave of earth with a Doton-type ninjutsu, turning the ground into a torrent of sharp rocks rushing toward Makima.
She jumped over the wave, landed in front of him, and plunged her fingers into his eyes. The ninja screamed, blinded, as she continued to push her fingers until they grated against the back of his skull. She yanked abruptly, tearing out his eyeballs in a splash of blood and viscous fluids. Then, as he stumbled, she grabbed his jaw and pulled. Half his face tore off with a morbid crack, exposing bones and raw flesh. She finished the job by smashing his skull against the wall, leaving a red and gray streak.
The room stank of death. Pieces of flesh, pools of blood, broken bones littered the floor. Makima stood in the center, bloodstains on her clothes. She stretched her arms, like after an intense workout, and glanced at the daimyo. Frozen, pale as a sheet, his mouth hanging open without making a sound. His four elite guards, seasoned veterans, had been defeated in less than two minutes, and she was still laughing.
"You saw that?" she said, approaching him, her heels echoing in the scarlet pools. "Your guard dogs weren't so bad. Too bad they didn't last longer."
The daimyo stumbled back, almost tripping over a leg.
"You're... a monster..." he stammered, his voice trembling.
"Yeah, so what?" she replied, grabbing him by the hair. Her fingers dug into his greasy hair, and she pulled him violently toward her. He tried to struggle, but it was futile. She lifted him slightly, just enough for his feet to brush the ground, then hurled him forward. His head hit the ground with a dull thud, cracking the wood. Blood flowed from his forehead, but she wasn't satisfied. She lifted him by the hair again and repeated the process, again and again, smashing his skull against the ground until his eyes rolled back and he fell, unconscious, into a pool of his own blood.
Makima let out a sigh, wiping her hands on her pants as if she'd just touched something repulsive. She turned to Mabui, frozen in a corner, her eyes wide at the carnage. "Organize something," she ordered, her tone light in contrast to the chaos around her.
"A show, a conference, call it what you want. I'll execute him in front of everyone. Let them understand who's in charge here."
She burst into laughter, a clear and almost joyful laugh, sweeping the room with her gaze. The walls were dripping with blood, pieces of brain stuck to the ceiling, and the office was once again in a deplorable state. "Damn, it's annoying," she muttered, shaking her head. "I'll really have to find a way to clean this place up?"
"And also, you can kill the prisoners in the dungeon. I'll need space for my future little games."
With a distracted kick, she sent the decapitated body of the sword ninja flying against a wall, then turned toward the door. "Come on, Mabui, get moving. We've got work to do."
...
A day later, Makima stood on the vast balcony overlooking the central square of Kumogakure. In her hands, the daimyo, half-conscious. His face was smeared with dried blood, his gaze vacant and lost.
Below, the crowd watched, torn between horror, hope, and anger. Makima addressed them with a maternal smile, strangely soothing given her past brutality.
The daimyo hung limp, like a mere sack of flesh. But he represented so much more: years of oppression, injustice, crushing taxes. Even the shinobi, though warrior elites, bent under his whims. Hatred simmered among the people.
"Look at him."
The daimyo swayed like a puppet.
"This pig has bled you dry for years. You've worked, bled, starved to fill his coffers. And him? He gorged himself. Thought he was above you. Because his blood gave him a crown."
Murmurs in the crowd. Skeptical looks. Flaming eyes.
Makima continued, shifting from gentle to relentless.
"I'm not here to chain you to another incompetent like the former Raikage. I'm here to free you."
Tense silence.
"No more taxes suffocating you. No more land reserved for nobles. Want a piece of land? Take it. Build. No one will force you to work like slaves anymore."
Clenched fists. Tears in eyes. Roaring approval among the shinobi.
Makima smiled.
"I'm not like them."
Her voice dropped,
"I am your servant. Your voice. What you want, I'll do."
She took a breath.
"And him?"
She lifted the daimyo a little higher.
"Him, he's everything you hate. He taxed you to the bone. He sold your daughters. Let your brothers die in useless wars."
The crowd roared.
A shinobi spat on the ground.
Makima felt the energy rise.
"So, here's my gift."
A casual gesture. The daimyo plummeted into the void.
His hoarse scream ended in a sound of broken bones.
Everyone rushed at him like beasts.
The daimyo's body was torn apart.
An arm ripped off. A piece of wood plunged into his throat.
Soon, nothing remained but an unrecognizable mass, drowned in blood.
Makima watched, arms crossed.
*Good, good~ They're mine now.*
She raised a hand.
Silence fell, heavy.
"This is a new era."
Her voice resonated like a vow.
"No more useless wars like Konoha, causing conflicts and then proclaiming themselves heroes. Every war enriches them. No more unnecessary wars."
[No more unnecessary wars!] The crowd roared.
Makima bowed slightly.
"I alone will be the lamb to sacrifice so that my citizens live free ~"
The crowd chanted her name, fanatical. As she turned with a slight smile.