The Amegakure commander had no choice but to disengage. With a grunt, he shoved back, forcing his sword against Mereoleona's blazing fist to propel himself away.
The instant he created distance, the fire chakra around her hand reached its peak. Her fist ignited with a brilliance that lit the battlefield—and then a massive beam of fire erupted from it, tearing through the rain like a scorching lance.
The commander's instincts screamed at him. He released his sword on the spot, the weapon's blade now glowing red-orange from the sheer heat of her strike. Without a moment's hesitation, he sprinted aside, pouring every ounce of speed into escaping the blast.
But Mereoleona was already a step ahead. She had anticipated his escape route. The moment she unleashed her attack, she pivoted, redirecting the fiery beam along the exact trajectory he had chosen.
The commander's eyes narrowed. He wasn't just any shinobi—he was a Jonin commander of Amegakure, one of their finest. At the last possible instant, he twisted his body, rolling through the mud as the beam scorched past, the searing heat licking his skin.
He had evaded annihilation by a hair's breadth.
The fiery beam carved a path of devastation through the battlefield. Trees ignited instantly, reduced to blackened ash, and two Amegakure shinobi were caught in its wrath. One, too slow to dodge, had the upper half of his body obliterated in a single flash. Another leapt in desperation, only for the beam to consume his legs, leaving nothing but a charred corpse that fell lifeless from the air.
Mereoleona spared them not a single glance. Her eyes locked only on the commander, who had narrowly avoided death.
What he failed to notice was that her other hand blazed with equal intensity. Fire chakra surged in her left fist, condensing to a white-hot brilliance. With a sharp punching motion, she unleashed another searing beam straight at him.
This time, escape by speed was impossible. The commander's eyes widened—he had only one option. His form flickered and vanished, replaced by a chunk of wood that was instantly consumed, burning away into nothingness as if it had never existed.
Mereoleona's head snapped toward the new chakra presence the moment he reappeared. Without hesitation, she launched forward, her fiery aura trailing behind her like the tail of a comet.
The commander's teeth clenched as he cursed under his breath. "Damn it… why is her fire intensity increasing with each moment?"
What he didn't understand was simple yet terrifying. The more Mereoleona was tested, the more her fury burned. And with her nature—fiery in spirit as much as in chakra—that rage only served to stoke her flames higher and hotter.
The Amegakure commander realized he could not keep retreating. His hands blurred through a rapid sequence of seals, and he roared, "Water Release: Water Wave Technique!"
A massive surge of water erupted forward, a roaring wall that threatened to swallow everything in its path.
Mereoleona's eyes blazed with defiance. "Come on—let's see who wins!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the storm.
Her flames flared violently, and she hurled herself into the onrushing wave. Fire and water clashed with a deafening hiss, steam exploding outward and blanketing the battlefield. The torrent pressed against her, smothering her blaze, dimming it to flickering embers.
But the fire never went out.
Step by step, she forced her way through, her will burning hotter than the water could quench. Even when only the faintest flames clung to her body, her conviction drove her forward.
Then, out of the boiling mist, she burst forth—only a few meters from the commander.
"Calidus Brachium!" she roared.
Her fists ignited, unleashing a furious barrage of fiery bursts. Each strike detonated like a miniature explosion, hammering into the commander at point-blank range. He had no time to counter, no chance to escape. The relentless blows scorched his flesh, shattered his guard, and finally hurled him into the ground with crushing force.
When the barrage ended, the commander lay broken and burned, utterly powerless beneath the weight of her flames.
The commander lay broken, his body scorched and battered. He had never expected Mereoleona to pierce through his Water Wave—minutes earlier, that same technique had driven her back with ease.
Now she stood over him, her fiery aura still simmering, her shadow falling across his defeated form. She stepped closer and taunted with a smirk, "So… will you still say fire is weaker than water?"
The commander's chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Blood dripped from his lips as he forced out the words: "I… I guess not… not if you are the one wielding fire."
For a moment, Mereoleona's smile softened. "It's been a long time since I fought so heartily. Thanks… for giving me a good fight."
She raised her hand, flames coalescing into a blazing arrow. Without hesitation, she released it. The fiery projectile struck the commander's chest, burning clean through. His eyes dimmed, and his body slumped lifelessly to the ground.
At that moment, Erza appeared beside her, her sword still slick with blood. "You've burned through a lot of chakra," she said firmly. "Go and rest. We'll take care of the rest."
Mereoleona shook her head, her grin returning. "Don't worry, Onee-san. I'm not that fragile. These Amegakure shinobi aren't even worth the effort it takes to warm up. Killing them will be no trouble at all."
Erza gave a short nod, then wordlessly turned back toward the battlefield, her blade already swinging toward the next group of Amegakure shinobi.
Mereoleona inhaled deeply, letting her breaths steady as the heat radiating from her body dimmed slightly. Then her eyes sharpened. Without hesitation, she charged into the fray against the remaining Chunin and Genin, cutting through their ranks with ruthless precision. The higher-ranked Jonin, meanwhile, were already locked in desperate battles with her brothers and sisters.
Elsewhere, another clash shook the field. Gildarts faced off against his own Jonin opponent. The Ame shinobi unleashed a flurry of Water Release techniques, torrents roaring across the ground, followed by enormous shuriken—his signature weapon of choice.
But none of it mattered.
Each attack, whether ninjutsu or steel, was undone the moment it reached Gildarts. With a casual sweep of his hand, his Crush Magic reduced everything to harmless fragments—jutsu dissolved into harmless water rain, weapons crumbled into tiny floating cubes.
The Jonin's frustration grew with each failed attempt. He dared not close the distance, for he knew the truth: if Gildarts could shatter ninjutsu and weapons so easily, then his own body would fare no better. One touch in close combat would mean certain death.
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