Obito gasped, each breath a jagged blade in his throat.
His mask hung broken, cracked over a single eye. Blood matted his hair, soaked his robes. His lungs screamed. His limbs trembled. He bled chakra with every movement.
Across the battlefield of ash and ruin, Kaito stood untouched.
Still.
Composed.
Lethal.
Between them: a wasteland of crumbled stone, smoldering craters, and the echo of too much power.
Five times.
Obito had died five times in two minutes.
Each time, Izanagi pulled him back.
Each time, it took more.
Another Sharingan gone. Another piece of him burned out. Even stolen power had limits.
I just need more time.Just enough to unlock it… just enough to win.
But time was Kaito's domain.
Not his.
Across the field, Kaito spun his blade with a casual flick of the wrist. Calm cruelty burned behind his Mangekyō—two crimson eclipses set in stone.
"Still haven't figured it out?" he called. "Or are you just hoping I get bored?"
Obito gave a dry, empty laugh. His scythes scraped the ground as he steadied himself. Chains rattled like a funeral bell.
"Don't flatter yourself," he rasped. "This isn't over."
But he felt it.
Three minutes.That's all Izanagi had left.
And every "resurrection" was slower. Heavier. His body lagged. His vision warped. His thoughts came late.
Kaito didn't move. He didn't need to.
He was watching.
The way a hawk watches a dying animal.
Obito glanced to the side.
The Uchiha were regrouping.Fugaku still stood. Tekka rallied the survivors. Root had been scattered—but not crushed. Not yet.
And further off, standing in frozen hesitation—Itachi.
Blade raised.
Facing his father.
Still not moving.
But the shadows beyond them… those moved.
Danzo.
The old viper watched from behind smoke and silence, his one eye gleaming behind bandages and betrayal.
Obito drew in a shuddered breath. Pain lit his nerves like fire. But pain wasn't the threat.
Inevitability was.
Kamui still worked—but it dragged. What was once reflex now felt like swimming through tar. His edge dulled. His scythes felt heavier.
Izanagi wasn't just rewriting death anymore.
It was delaying it.
Kaito tilted his head. "Still thinking? Or just stalling?"
Obito didn't answer. He couldn't. His thoughts were slow. Slurred. He didn't need more chakra.
He needed a miracle.
"We've got fifteen minutes left in this night," Kaito said, cracking his neck. "I'll give you three."
Then he vanished.
Obito's Sharingan flared. A ripple in space—behind him.
Too slow.
He twisted—steel sang past his throat. Kamui flared just in time, the blade slicing clean through the space he'd been.
But the price landed like a blow. Chakra ripped from him.
He spun, scythe lashing out—Kaito blinked, reappeared on his left—CLANG!
Their weapons clashed. Sparks flew.
Their eyes met.
Obito's: strained. Flickering.
Kaito's: cold. Focused. Unbroken.
Only one of them was losing.
Then—movement.
From the ruins. The mist.
Danzo.
His visible eye gleamed as he gave the signal.
Root struck.
From the trees, from beneath rubble, from smoke and broken stone:
"Doton: Doryūdan!"A stone dragon ripped from the ground, jaws wide, tearing through rubble.
"Doton: Doroku Gaeshi!"Walls of earth crashed upward, boxing Kaito in.
"Katon: Karyūdan!"Fire rained from above—dragon's breath, molten and merciless.
"Fūton: Daibakufū!"A scream of wind roared across the field, shredding stone and smoke.
Kaito's silhouette vanished.
Obito threw his arm up, shielding his eyes.
White-hot light swallowed the world.
The field trembled.
And then—
Silence.
Ash rained like snow.
Obito lowered his arm.
Smoke clung to the ground, thick and gray. He scanned the haze, blinking through the sting.
Through it, he could barely see…
Nothing.
Kaito was gone.
No motion. No chakra. No silhouette.
Just—
Silence.