Uchiha Yorin: "So you'd hidden a trump like this? As expected of the Mist's old guard."
Even without his Sharingan, Yorin could feel the near-terrifying chakra packed into the water giant before him.
This was an S-rank jutsu pushing the theoretical peak of "Kage," one foot already over the line into the realm of "super-Kage."
…
Ōnoki's best headline feat, among peers of Genji's generation, was teaming with other Tsuchikage to erase a swarm of wood-clone Susanoo shells with Dust Release: Detachment of the Primitive World Technique. That peerless erasure burned itself into anyone who saw it.
If that was Ōnoki's kept trump card, then this—surely—was Genji's.
How many years had he ground on this technique?
Thirty?
Forty?
Or longer?
Astonishing. Truly. The Mist births monsters—no wonder it's one of the Five Great Villages.
Yorin's grin went bright and feral. "Fun. This is too fun. In that case, let me try as well! Everyone clear out! If you get caught in the splash and die, that's on you! Hahahahahaha!"
Laughing, he snapped his Sharingan open—and began copying the S-rank technique.
—Most "techniques" he couldn't be bothered with. Ninety-nine percent weren't worth the seals; in the time it takes to weave hand signs, he'd rather flash-step in and take a head.
But not this time.
This one was too good not to steal.
"Foolish brat!"
Ant-like, the crowd scattered; the wrath-ruled Genji bore down, water-giant's hundred-thousand tons sweeping a palm to crush Yorin flat.
Huge, yet agile; none of the clumsy inertia of big bodies. "Think a Sharingan copy will snatch away my life's work? Naïve—far too naïve!"
A heartbeat later, the scene shattered Genji's worldview.
"Got it. Perfectly. What a beautiful art—thank you for the gift, Old Man Genji—ha, ha, hahahaha!"
Water folded up around Yorin too. In moments a water giant stood across from Genji—not just similar, but greater—bigger, heavier, meaner.
Mist's perpetual fog, the sea's breath, even the air's wet were all drawn into the giant's frame: water—and more than water—rich with natural energy, the "element" of water in the old, mystic sense.
Yorin pulled in every scrap of ocean-aspect natural energy he could feel and fed it to his ocean giant.
Still not enough—he seeded the giant's body with his thunder-forged kunai and blade edges. Those same chakra metals that make the Seven Mist Swords, loaded with thirty-two charges of Lightning Cutter, bled a storm of raiton through the giant—becoming a peerless composite technique.
Years later, in another timeline, Mei would combine with the Fourth Raikage for a Lightning-Water Dragon. This was beyond that: not paralysis, but annihilation.
Now, with a light wipe of a palm, his Thunder-Ocean Giant could mulch an entire swath of foes to paste.
"Fall back! Clear out!" Konoha's line cried, skidding back to leave the arena to the two towering beasts.
"Damn you!" Genji snarled, something like the rage of being cuckolded rising in him, and drove his water giant into Yorin's—intent on smashing this pretender to slurry.
The next instant, those megatons of tidal fist crashed down—and Yorin's giant caught it.
Fingers closed. "That all you've got? Didn't eat, old man?"
This time the old fox didn't bite; he reset in silence. Veteran's composure—Yorin's mind-games found little purchase.
Then the giants fought, and the city shook.
Flow-fists versus flow-and-lightning fists hammered each other; with every shift of footing, buildings—Kiri's round stone keeps—went down like toy blocks, battered and trampled. Even with extra bracing, seals, or sudden Water Walls, all of it was child's play against super-Kage force.
To powerless eyes, this was gods against gods—or a god against a demon.
And Yorin dominated. Speed, strength, chakra, control over water—he beat Genji clean in every column, driving him back and back.
"Why? How?!" Genji's mind balked. He could accept defeat—but not like this. To fall to his own hidden art—stolen in an eye-blink and used better? Even at his age, it was bitter beyond bearing.
"Want to know why?" Yorin answered. "Because the currents and the sea favor me more than you."
"I refuse that answer! Hraaa—!"
Whip-streams lashed out, not clear water but syrup-thick—Water Release: Water Syrup Rope Entanglement on a colossal scale, more whip than tether. A bind and a strike—he'd read the gap in speed and went first to snare.
"Fine technique—pity it's useless." The sugar-ropes slid through the Thunder Giant without bite, doing nothing.
Genji didn't say it aloud, but he had to admit: Yorin was right. The sea and flowing water were with him. If Kiri truly had a "Mandate," it lay on Uchiha Yorin.
That thought cracked the old man's core. While he reeled, Yorin drew his fist tight; thirty-two kunai budded up through the watery knuckles like spikes.
"Done attacking? Then it's my turn."
He drove the fist home. Terrible force, rending chakra, a flood of lightning slammed through—enough that even behind millions of tons of water and a fortress of chakra, pain exploded through Genji. His jutsu stuttered; the Super Headpiece Aegis collapsed, water giant shrinking as the water lost its hold and poured away.
"W-what—?!"
"Where's this flood coming from?!"
"Help! HELP!"
The civilians—who'd learned in the last fight to stay inside—burst into the streets clutching bundles, dragging spouses and children. A shinobi's battle rivals any natural disaster; left unmanaged, Kiri would drown.
The thought chilled Genji. He'd wanted to take only Yorin—he hadn't wanted to bury Kiri.
"Is this really the end?"
Despair yawned—and then Yorin moved again. The Thunder-Ocean Giant drew a blade of water; under Yorin's will the wild flood gathered, bound tight, and pitched out of Kiri—sloughing into the sea beyond.
A catastrophe that should have leveled the village was averted in a stroke.
Genji let out a long breath; at last, he bowed to fate.
"Kiri is yours," he murmured, eyes on Yorin as the Uchiha shed his jutsu and returned to a human frame.
"It always was," Yorin replied, even. "No one needs to 'recognize' that."
"High-handed… just like that man…" Genji whispered. Then he closed his eyes and let out his last breath.
In that hush, Konoha's men and New Kiri's allies moved—finishing, binding, or silencing those who cursed, pleaded, or simply collapsed. Blood and mist mixed again—but Yorin believed: this would be the last time.
The old "Blood Mist" would be buried in history's river. A new, open, striving Village Hidden in the Mist would be reborn by his hand.
~~~
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