Chapter 302– The Ashura's Battlefield (Part I)
Could Uchiha Kei simply retreat now?
Of course not. The plan had already reached this point—
how could he turn back halfway?
And besides, after all that warm-up, his blood was burning.
That hidden, primal thirst for combat had been fully awakened.
He knew why.
It wasn't madness, like Madara Uchiha or Might Guy's wild hunger for battle.
No, Kei's excitement came from something simpler—
the absolute knowledge that his enemies weren't his equals.
He wasn't a man who sought out stronger foes for glory.
He preferred to dominate, to dissect, to crush.
Reality, however, rarely gave him that luxury.
Most of his life on the battlefield had been spent walking the razor's edge—
his opponents were either on his level, or far beyond him.
Back then, every fight was survival. Every victory, a near-death.
And in his past life—before he ever became a shinobi—
he'd been taught restraint, reason, discipline.
That old fear still lingered deep in his bones.
But now…
Now he had power.
Now he had lived through war, betrayal, and blood.
And for the first time in years, he could allow that thrill to surface.
It wasn't weakness.
It was clarity.
He could feel it pulsing behind his eyes—
his newly awakened Mangekyō Sharingan, amplifying his senses,
sharpening his mind rather than clouding it.
That overwhelming emotion didn't control him.
It fueled him.
And as long as he willed it, he could crush that emotion at any moment.
He was in complete control.
Watching the swirling fog of steam rise from where fire met water,
Kei smiled faintly beneath his mask.
"Perfect cover."
He leapt into the air, fingers weaving through seals mid-flight.
"Fire Release: Great Dragon Fire Techniqu!"
Four roaring dragons of flame coiled into existence,
their scales glimmering red and gold against the mist.
They dove down with him like falling stars,
crashing into the Mist ranks with devastating speed.
Screams erupted from the fog.
Even Ao's sharp eyes couldn't follow the movement in this suffocating haze.
Within seconds, chaos swallowed the field again.
Kei descended among them—
a blur of crimson and steel—
his blade flashing once, twice, thrice—
each strike claiming another life.
The Mist shinobi fought blind,
their senses overwhelmed by heat and fear.
Every few seconds, a body fell silently,
followed by another and another.
The psychological toll was crushing.
Many could no longer stop their hands from trembling.
"We can't let him keep this up!" Ao roared, gritting his teeth.
His Byakugan pulsed with veins as he watched the slaughter unfold.
No one else could see through the fog—
but he could.
And what he saw terrified him.
That masked man wasn't fighting like a human being.
He was moving through the ranks like a predator among prey.
If they didn't stop him now,
the entire Genji detachment would be annihilated.
And if that happened…
even the Fourth Mizukage might not forgive it.
Ao didn't hesitate.
He formed seals in rapid succession.
"All Wind Release users, with me!" he shouted.
"Blow this damned mist away!"
He joined the jutsu himself, exhaling a blast of sharp, cutting wind.
The irony stung.
For decades, the Mist had embraced fog as their greatest ally.
They had perfected Hidden Mist Technique to use it as their shield.
Now, that very mist was their prison.
It masked the movements of their enemy—
a devil wearing an Uchiha's mask.
The same fog they once commanded now hid their executioner.
Kei heard Ao's shout through the chaos.
He cut down another attacker, then stopped moving entirely.
Not from exhaustion—
but because he didn't need to move anymore.
The battlefield had already adjusted to him.
He could sense it:
fear had crippled his enemies' instincts.
Even the strong ones—he could see it in their chakra—
were holding back, hesitant to cast jutsu for fear of friendly fire.
Kei didn't pity them.
Their hesitation was his greatest weapon.
He tilted his head slightly as the mist began to thin.
The remaining Mist forces regrouped ahead of him—
battered, disoriented, but burning with anger.
Dozens had already fallen in mere minutes.
Each death was a wound not just to their pride,
but to the resources of an entire nation.
He understood that too well.
A village might have tens of thousands of citizens—
but trained shinobi were rare, precious.
Even Konoha, the mightiest of the Five Great Villages,
had fewer than a hundred true jōnin.
To lose so many in one night…
would make any leader bleed inside.
"Who are you?" Ao demanded, his voice tight with fury.
"Why have you come to the Mist? What is it you want?"
Kei tilted his head.
"What I came for is already done," he replied coolly.
"But it seems you're not inclined to let me leave."
"Do you still think you can leave?"
Before Ao could respond, a shorter figure beside him—
a young woman with sharp eyes and copper hair—
stepped forward.
"After killing our people and stealing our bloodline?
Do you really think you can just walk away?"
Kei's Sharingan flickered faintly.
"Oh? So it's you… Terumī Mei, isn't it?"
The smirk beneath his mask was audible.
"A little girl like you speaks for the Mist now?
Tell me—has your village truly fallen this far?"
Ao's expression tightened.
He didn't scold her, didn't stop her.
Instead, he felt an unexpected flash of admiration.
She has courage.
He, on the other hand, had almost hesitated.
For a moment, he'd actually considered letting the stranger leave alive.
But Mei's words reminded him—
this man had slaughtered their comrades,
kidnapped their clan's bloodline,
and mocked their pride.
To let him go now would be an unforgivable humiliation.
If word of this reached the wider shinobi world,
the Mist's reputation would crumble.
Genji's authority would collapse overnight.
That could not be allowed.
"Young Mei speaks for all of us," Ao said coldly.
"No matter how strong you are, don't underestimate our resolve.
The Mist does not forgive.
You've crossed a line—
and you will pay for it."
"The Hidden Mist," he shouted, "is no place beyond justice!"
"Water Release: Water Severing Slash!"
"Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms!"
Meanwhile, on the flanks—
Kenta Imai and Ayaka Hyūga had run into their own skirmish.
Though outnumbered, they were hardly struggling.
Ayaka's strikes were crisp, controlled, precise;
her Byakugan catching every movement around her.
She was panting, yes—but unshaken.
Kenta, by contrast, was a storm.
His blade flashed like lightning,
each swing faster than the last,
each cut leaving another Mist shinobi down.
He fought with a style opposite to Kei's—
less elegance, more raw speed and precision.
His chakra surged endlessly, his recovery near-instantaneous.
For every foe that struck at him, two fell in return.
The two regrouped after the brief clash,
Kenta slinging the young Kaguya child—Kimimaro—over his shoulder.
"You holding up?" he asked.
Ayaka took a steadying breath. "It's… manageable."
"Good." Kenta exhaled and forced a small smile.
"Don't rush it. We've got the boy. That's all that matters."
Ayaka shot him a look of dry amusement.
"Strange hearing words like that from you.
It doesn't sound right."
"Then pretend it came from the captain," Kenta said.
She fell silent for a moment—
then shook her head.
"If it were him saying it…
maybe I'd believe it."
Her voice was soft, thoughtful.
Kei had long since outgrown what either of them imagined possible.
Even now, as they fought, both of them couldn't help glancing his way.
What they saw filled them with awe—and dread.
He was no longer merely strong.
He was transcendent.
Half-Uchiha, half-Senju in potential—
his body already fifty percent merged with the power once belonging to gods.
And even holding back,
he was carving through an army like a force of nature.
A single man, standing against hundreds—
an Ashura among mortals.
Ayaka sighed quietly. "If it's him, I'd believe.
But he'd never say it aloud."
Kenta nodded. "Yeah. He always leaves half his thoughts unsaid."
Then his expression changed.
He froze mid-step.
Ayaka stiffened too.
Their gazes turned at once toward the distant battlefield.
Because they both felt it.
A surge of chakra so vast, so suffocatingly dark,
that it made their hearts lurch.
Even Kenta, whose sensory skills were unmatched,
felt his skin crawl.
That chakra—cold, monstrous, and overwhelming—
was erupting from Kei's location.
Stronger, darker, and heavier
than even the chakra that had flooded Konoha on the night of the Nine-Tails.
"Now!" Ao's voice rang out like a war drum.
"Kill him! Bring him down!"
The Mist shinobi surged forward in a unified roar.
Reinforcements poured in from every side—
elite troops, ANBU, even those under the Fourth Mizukage's direct command.
Hundreds of them.
All converging on a single point—
the black-cloaked man with the spiral mask.
Kei exhaled once, softly.
Then, slowly, his posture straightened.
The faint smirk beneath his mask vanished,
replaced by something cold.
The air around him began to hum.
His chakra stirred like a rising tide.
"Fine," he murmured, his voice calm and deadly quiet.
"Let's see how far I can push this body."
And as his eyes ignited scarlet once more,
the battlefield was swallowed by light—and the Ashura finally awakened.
Up until now, Kei had been holding back.
Every strike, every movement, every burst of chakra—
he'd kept it all contained, his output carefully measured.
Efficiency over spectacle.
Control over destruction.
But that restraint had reached its limit.
If he kept fighting like this,
his stamina would drain faster than his chakra reserves.
And surrounded as he was—dozens of Mist shinobi closing in within ten meters—
he couldn't afford to waste another breath.
Kei inhaled deeply.
Behind the spiral mask, his three-tomoe Sharingan spun—
then twisted, reshaping into the jagged pattern of the Mangekyō.
A suffocating wave of chakra burst outward,
dark and cold as the depths of the ocean.
Ao froze mid-step, his Byakugan flaring in alarm.
Every Mist shinobi within reach felt it too—
the suffocating pressure of something inhuman.
But they were too close to stop now.
Dozens of blades, charged with chakra,
came crashing toward Kei from every direction.
He didn't move.
Not even a step.
He simply lifted his head.
And as the storm of steel descended,
a low, mocking chuckle escaped from beneath his mask.
"...Heh."
The blades never reached him.
A black tide of chakra exploded from his body,
thick and oily like ink,
swirling upward and outward with terrifying force.
Within seconds, that darkness took shape—
A towering skeleton of chakra,
its hollow eyes burning like dying embers.
It screamed, a sound that made the air itself shudder.
Then, with a single swing of its massive arm,
it swept through the Mist ranks like a hurricane.
Ao, along with every shinobi within its reach,
was hurled backward as if struck by an invisible hammer.
Kei stood motionless at the center of it all.
Two fingers raised in a single seal,
his chakra spiraling faster, thicker, denser.
The skeletal giant around him began to evolve.
Flesh and tendons rippled into being,
armor formed across its limbs like molten steel,
and an ethereal weapon materialized in its grasp.
In the space of a heartbeat,
a towering, armored titan—ten meters tall, glowing with dark crimson light—
loomed over the battlefield like an Ashura from hell.
"What… what is that?!"
"Are you kidding me?!"
"Is this—some kind of demon?!"
The Mist forces faltered.
Even hardened veterans stumbled back.
They had never seen this technique before—
never witnessed the true terror of Susanoo.
But they didn't need to understand it.
Instinct alone screamed that they were facing something
beyond mortal power.
Ao's jaw tightened as he glared at the colossal figure.
He hadn't imagined this.
He couldn't have imagined it.
How could one man summon a monster like that?
Even for the Uchiha… this was beyond reason.
"Don't panic!"
A sharp, commanding voice cut through the chaos.
Terumī Mei stepped forward, her long hair clinging to her damp face,
eyes blazing with focus.
"His size is his weakness!" she shouted.
"The bigger he is, the slower he moves!
Use ninjutsu—pin him down and close the distance!
We'll bring that thing down together!"
Her words struck like a spark in the darkness.
"Y-Yeah! She's right!" someone shouted.
"Let's hit him while he's open!"
One by one, the Mist shinobi regained their nerve,
rallying behind Mei's steady voice.
Ao blinked, momentarily stunned.
This girl… this child… had the natural air of a leader.
Even amid terror, her courage held the line.
Kei's gaze flicked toward her.
Behind his mask, his lips curved slightly.
"So that's her," he murmured to himself.
"The future Fifth Mizukage."
Even he had to admit—
her poise, her clarity, her command of others—
they were remarkable.
It was no wonder that, in the years to come,
she would lead the Mist from its shadows and chaos.
But for now…
She was still his enemy.
And Uchiha Kei did not spare his enemies.
---
"Interesting," he said softly.
His voice had changed—
low, rasping, hollow—
like the whisper of a ghost through steel.
Mei's eyes narrowed.
"Are you afraid?" she challenged.
"Take off that ugly mask—
or should I tear it off your corpse myself?"
Kei tilted his head, the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.
"Confident, aren't you?"
He raised his hand, resting it against Susanoo's massive sword.
"But confidence…"
His eyes gleamed scarlet.
"...makes the game so much more fun."
With a sound like cracking thunder,
the colossal Susanoo drew its blade.
The earth trembled beneath its weight.
Kei's chakra flared once more—
And then, suddenly—
He stopped.
His body stiffened,
his head tilting ever so slightly to one side—
as if something had caught his attention.
"…What?" he murmured beneath his breath.
Even through the storm of chaos,
something about that moment felt off—
as though the air itself had shifted.
And for the first time since the battle began,
Kei hesitated.
---