Obito gasped for air, each breath scraping his throat raw. His cracked mask hung crooked over one eye. Robes burned, torn, soaked in blood and ash. Across the ruined battlefield, Kaito stood untouched—still, composed, lethal.
Between them stretched a wasteland of crumbled stone and smoldering debris, the ground scarred by overwhelming chakra.
Five times.
Obito had died five times in two minutes.
Each time, Izanagi had pulled him back.
But each resurrection cost him—chakra drained from the stolen wellspring of Hashirama's cells… and another Sharingan lost forever.
Even stolen power had limits.
I just need more time, Obito thought, swaying. Just a little more... to unlock that second Mangekyō technique.
But time wasn't on his side.
The truth stood in front of him: Kaito had surpassed him.
A space-time jutsu with no seals, no delay—just willpower and chakra. No warning, no counter. That kind of power made him a nightmare.
"Three more minutes," Obito muttered. His voice rasped like sand on steel. Four minutes left on Izanagi. And every death now bled more than chakra. It was stripping him—his body, his edge, his mind.
His frame buckled under the strain. Vision frayed like an old photo. His reactions dulled, sluggish. He felt himself fading.
Kaito didn't move. He simply spun his blade with casual ease, its edge glinting in the haze. His eyes burned with calm cruelty.
"Still haven't figured it out?" he called, voice smooth and mocking. "Or are you just hoping I get bored?"
Obito gave a dry, hollow laugh. He shifted, scythes scraping stone, chains rattling.
"Don't flatter yourself," he growled. "This isn't over."
Kaito shrugged, unconcerned. His eyes scanned the field beyond.
The Uchiha were regathering, scattered but alive after the ambush by Root. Off in the distance, Itachi stood frozen, sword raised against his father, Fugaku—hesitation thick in the air.
And beyond even them… Danzo. Hidden. Watching. Waiting.
Obito drew in a sharp breath. Pain lit every nerve. Blood trailed down his arm, soaking into torn fabric. But pain didn't matter. Not now.
He couldn't afford to show weakness.
Not with Kaito watching.
Around him, the air shimmered with residual chakra. Heat clung like a second skin. Smoke rose from shattered stone. The stench of blood, fire, and burnt flesh filled every breath.
Kamui had saved him, again and again. But it dragged now—like walking through mud. What used to be reflex now cost him more than chakra. It cost resolve.
His head throbbed. His vision warped.
Not just fatigue.
Inevitability.
Tekka and the surviving Uchiha raced toward the compound's heart, their eyes flicking toward the duel. This wasn't just a fight.
It was a reckoning.
Obito's thoughts circled back. Four minutes left. Four minutes of borrowed life. Izanagi rewrote death—but at a steep cost.
And I'm almost blind.
He hesitated. His fingers twitched. Instinct screamed to activate it again, but his mind resisted.
If he wasted it now, what would be left?
Danzo still moved in the dark. Itachi was unreadable. And Kaito's limits were still unknown.
Damn it.
His hands curled into fists, white-knuckled and slick with blood. He'd become a god through augmentation, deception, and power.
But right now, he was breaking.
"Still haven't figured out how to beat me?" Kaito taunted, spinning his blade lazily. "Or are you finally considering retreat?"
Obito forced a laugh, chains rattling as he adjusted his grip on the scythes. "Don't celebrate too soon. This battle is far from over."
Kaito simply shrugged, his attention briefly flickering to other parts of the compound. The Uchiha forces had dealt with the Root operatives and were now regrouping. Meanwhile, Itachi stood frozen before Fugaku, blade raised in hesitation.
He glanced toward the battlefield's edge—where shadows moved.
Danzo.
The true battlefield wasn't just power. It was control. Survival. Legacy.
"We've got fifteen minutes," Kaito said, cracking his neck. "I'll indulge you a little longer."
Then he vanished.
The air warped behind Obito—a ripple of heat.
Behind me!
He turned—but too slowly. His body resisted. Heavy. Lagging.
Kamui flared a split second before Kaito's blade reached his throat. Obito phased just in time, steel slicing air.
But the cost hit like a hammer, draining him deeper.
It hurts more now.
He swung instinctively, his right scythe lashing out. Kaito had already shifted, appearing on Obito's other side, blade thrusting. Obito barely caught it with his left scythe. Sparks exploded on impact.
Their eyes locked—Obito's filled with desperation, Kaito's calm and focused.
Only one of them was broken.
Then, the shadows moved.
Danzo watched intently from the shadows. The moment Kaito reappeared from his "God's Presnece" technique, Danzo gave the signal.
Root operatives emerged from all directions, unleashing a coordinated barrage of jutsu:
And then—jutsu:
"Doton: Doryūdan!"A dragon of stone erupted from the ground, roaring as it tore through the earth.
"Doton: Doroku Gaeshi!"Walls of rock shot upward, boxing Kaito in.
"Katon: Karyūdan!"Fire poured from the sky—searing, molten, shaped like a dragon's breath.
"Fūton: Daibakufū!"A shrieking wind exploded across the battlefield, flinging debris like shrapnel.
Smoke swallowed the field. The air turned white-hot, blinding.
Obito shielded his eyes, staggering back. Through the smoke, he could barely make out Kaito's silhouette—
Then even that disappeared.
Consumed by fire, wind, and earth.
Silence followed.