A little earlier—beyond the dusty chaos of Jubei's battlefield—another deadly clash was reaching its peak.
Gaiku's uninjured right hand gripped a pale, grayish bone blade, every swing broad and merciless. His left arm, wrapped tight in blood-soaked bandages, moved like a hidden scorpion. Without warning, the bindings would split apart, spitting out short, razor-sharp bone spikes—silent, sudden—cutting off Itachi's escape routes precisely.
Itachi's Sharingan spun furiously, his vision tracking every shift of motion. Katsuyu's chakra pulsed through him, lending borrowed strength to his exhausted body, keeping him balanced on the knife's edge between survival and collapse.
But his mind never stopped calculating.
'Water Erosion jutsu has vanished. Shizune and Anko are in danger. And whoever is sustaining this chakra network from the backyard… how long can they hold out? If the enemy that disappeared resurfaces now… this fragile balance will shatter.
Captain hasn't arrived yet. I'm the only one who can turn this fight.
I can't keep defending. I have to end it.'
Resolute, Itachi slipped past another volley of bone spikes, his Sharingan locking on the hollow, sunken eyes before him. In that instant, his decision crystallized.
Genjutsu: Sharingan.
Gaiku froze mid-swing.
Darkness swallowed him whole—
A cold iron table beneath his back—
Blinding white light above—
Whispers, like venom, coiling in his ear:
"The mutation exceeds expectations… activity remains acceptable… try this."
A snake's hiss.
Crack! Pain beyond pain. His arm twisted grotesquely, bones pried loose one by one, peeled away like brittle twigs.
"AHHHHHH—!!!"
The scream ripped from his soul.
Reality bled through. Gaiku's body arched, his howl a twisted, inhuman shriek that tore through the battlefield. The Sharingan had unearthed the nightmare buried deepest within him. His blade arm trembled violently, his offense collapsed, his form frozen in torment.
Now.
Itachi lunged, swift as lightning, kunai aimed for the enemy's exposed throat.
But fear of death awakened something primal.
Gaiku's bloodshot eyes bulged, veins throbbing, locking on Itachi at arm's reach. The crushing fear of death eclipsed even the genjutsu's torment. Like a cornered beast, he abandoned everything—defense, reason, survival—his right arm slashed upward in a mad bid to drag Itachi into mutual destruction.
Pfft
At the last instant, Itachi twisted his body, avoiding a killing blow. Even so, the bone blade's eerie edge grazed his uniform at the waist, trailing a chill that gnawed at his core.
"Haaah… haaah… Let's… go to hell together!!" Gaiku spat blood, clutching at his pierced throat. Scarlet foam bubbled from his lips as he collapsed, kunai buried deep, his final breath laced with both hatred and grim relief.
Itachi glanced at his waist.
The Aoki Ninja Tool Shop combat uniform bore a one-inch gash, the protective metal plating beneath scarred. His gift—damaged. His skin chilled, but the mark was shallow. Barely a scratch.
Nothing serious.
Then—a strangled cry cut through the dust from the main battlefield. A body fell with a heavy thud.
Itachi's head snapped up. Through the haze, he saw Shizune—her right arm drenched in blood—stagger, stumble, and collapse. Instinct surged; his foot shifted to rush to her aid—
And that's when it struck.
From the shallow graze at his waist, a bone-deep coldness exploded outward. Like barbed ice picks, it burrowed through his veins and chakra, spreading fast.
It wasn't mere poison. It was alive.
The frost gnawed at his pathways, worming into his nervous system like a maggot burrowing into bone. His vision blurred, a blood-red veil draping over the world. His body grew unbearably heavy, every limb numbed, as though his very blood had turned to ice.
He tried to steady himself, but his legs felt heavy—like molten lead filling his bones, or like he was sinking into a bottomless swamp.
A violent wave of dizziness hit, and he collapsed to one knee. His kunai dug deep into the fractured stone beneath him, the only thing anchoring his reeling body.
Every breath felt like swallowing knives—air scraped down his throat and shredded into ice shards inside his lungs.
His Sharingan still glowed red, but the pupils wavered, their focus blurred by the storm raging within his body.
He clenched his teeth, forcing his head up through the dizziness. Through dust and drifting blood mist, his blurred vision fixed on the storm's center—
—
Meanwhile, in the Wasabi House backyard, along the shadowed corridor leading to the inner residence—
The air hung heavy, stagnant, thick with blood. Not even the ocean breeze could wash away the iron tang.
Water Erosion stood like a phantom risen from a swamp, the wide gourd on his back tilted forward, its mouth yawning open toward the corridor's heart where panicked figures huddled deeper inside.
From its depths, a foul tide poured forth—thick, ink-black water that reeked of rot and decay, gurgling and bubbling like something alive. It spread across the floorboards, swelling and churning, an ominous flood of filth.
Wherever the water touched, wood blackened and rotted instantly, pillars hissing as smoke curled upward. The sound—subtle, corrosive, insidious—was like death whispering.
The tide crept closer, steady and unstoppable.
Just as it was about to surge across the threshold—
Whoosh—!!!
A sharp whistle split the silence.
From atop a tall watchtower, an arrow streaked down like a falling star, an exploding tag flapping at its tail. It slammed into the floor half a step before Water Erosion's feet—right at the black tide's edge.
BOOM!!!
The world erupted in fire. A thunderous blast consumed the corridor entrance in flames, the impact scattering stone and splinters in every direction.
The foul tide screamed as the explosion ripped it apart. Black droplets hissed in the heat, burning, shrinking, evaporating into foul-smelling smoke.
The air filled with the stench of charred rot.
The shockwave made Water Erosion's floating form sway, his cloak whipping violently.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
More arrows rained down without pause—three at once, exploding in a triangular pattern around him.
On the tower parapet stood Jirocho, posture unbending. Behind him, several guards had stayed behind. Their faces were pale, but their eyes carried the same steel as their patriarch.
One nocked arrows with practiced hands. Another tied exploding tags to shafts with steady fingers. Each movement was fast, disciplined.
"Steady! Aim at his feet! Interrupt his jutsu!" Jirocho's voice cut through the thunder like iron.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Explosions erupted in rapid succession, tearing through black water, scattering filth into mist, flames climbing skyward. Shockwaves rolled through the air, dust and debris shrouding the battlefield in a storm.
"Don't stop! Suppress him!" Jirocho roared.
He seized the arrow himself, drawing back his hard bow. The string groaned under the pull, his breath calm, his eyes locked like a hawk's on the shadow writhing below.
One arrow after another rained like meteors of judgment.
Each blast drowned out the world, flames rising and fading, forcing Water Erosion back, pinning his tide of corruption at the corridor's mouth.
The black water writhed and boiled under the relentless bombardment, unable to advance, its cohesion unraveling under the chain of explosions and the furnace heat.
Even the swarms of black, dust-like insects flickered and faltered in the firelight, scattering in momentary disarray against the sheer weight of destruction.
The watchtower stood tall, while below, death itself was forced to halt.
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