Ōnoki knew exactly who the man in his fifties was… He was Jiro, Dust of Death—the creator of the Dust Release, undefeated in his generation, an innovator, and the inventor of countless techniques still used unchanged to this day. Unfortunately, he also bore another infamous title: the worst teacher ever known in their lineage. It was a miracle the Dust Release hadn't been lost with his death. He hadn't died by another's hand but by his own technique—trying to disassemble and reassemble himself using Dust Release.
The departure of a man akin to Hashirama, alongside Tsunade, clearly didn't sit well with the four opponents who now stood before us.
Jiro was the first to speak, a mix of exasperation and joy in his voice. "That Kyo… well, now that the plan's ruined, clearly it's Kyo's fault for leaving…" He pointed directly at me and continued, "You—you're a practitioner of my techniques! Let's fight… I want to see how far my legacy has come with the new generations!" With that, he shot off, floating swiftly in the opposite direction Kyo and Tsunade had gone.
I had no choice but to follow him. There was no refusing a duel with an ancestor.
We found ourselves atop a cliff beside the sea, both of us hovering a few meters above the surface. The air buzzed with spiritual pressure and ancestral pride.
"Very well," Jiro said, his eyes gleaming. "I know that if you or I die in this world, we'll return—it's only a matter of time. So let's fight seriously. I want to witness how far my legacy has truly evolved."
His voice carried both anticipation and reverence, the thrill of facing a future shaped by his own invention.
Jiro, Dust of Death Vs. Ōnoki, Third Tsuchikage
Ōnoki descended slightly, concentrating chakra into his palms, the hand seals flowing from memory. "Very well. I won't underestimate a founder."
But Jiro barely looked at him, too busy shaking his hands in frustration.
"No, no, no! What are you doing with those seals? Why are you forming them like that? That's a horrible waste of energy!" he shouted, floating around Ōnoki like an annoying wasp. "Your execution is fine—clarity, precision, stable pressure… but it's so boring! Where's the life, the shape, the emotion?!"
Ōnoki frowned. "I'm performing the technique correctly."
"Correctly, yes. Artistically, no! Watch this, you stubborn fossil."
Jiro raised a single hand toward the sky and formed a floating prism that spun on its axis, generating a vibratory field that began to disintegrate the dust particles around them. Then, with the other hand, he traced a spiral figure more like calligraphy than a traditional seal.
"See this—this is the 'Tripolar Expansion through Rhythmic Convergence'… you call it 'Advanced Disintegration Technique Number Four.' You're a nomenclatural disgrace!"
"What the hell are you talking about?!" growled Ōnoki, launching his own Jinton in the shape of a cube straight at Jiro.
The attack collapsed the space in front of him… only to be elegantly deflected by a spherical form that floated as if dancing with gravity. "That shape is so linear, so… straight. How are you going to tear through the fabric of the universe with that? You need vibration, variation, a minimum of geometric decency!"
Jiro launched a composite technique: a sequence of seven interlocked geometric figures, flickering like erratic crystals. The air cracked. Each shape represented a subfrequency of disintegration. The space between them began to crumble, as if reality itself was being erased.
Ōnoki resisted with grit, but every time he tried to stabilize himself with a known technique, Jiro broke it—elegantly, unpredictably. He wasn't just stronger… he was simply more creative. Jiro's intuition let him jump from A to Z instantly, leaving Ōnoki stuck trying to go A→B→C→D. Ōnoki couldn't even grasp what was happening.
And it drove him mad.
"Stop doing that! That doesn't make any sense! That's not technique—it's improvisation!"
"Improvisation built on harmonic structural principles! This is art, not military accounting!"
In the end, Jiro defeated him not with raw power but by dismantling his techniques before they could form structure. Every Jinton from Ōnoki was countered with a new pattern that disrupted and decomposed it… until his chakra flow collapsed temporarily.
Jiro hovered triumphantly, laughing. "And now… now the real fun begins!"
"You're going to kill me?" Ōnoki groaned, tired and panting.
"Kill you? Don't be ridiculous! I'm going to teach you! Look, let's start with the triple-vibration spiral! Come on, old man!"
Ōnoki wanted to scream. Jiro was right beside him, drawing impossible shapes in the air while trying to correct his style with incomprehensible rambling.
"Is this my punishment for being so strict in teaching my grandchildren? You are hell, Jiro!"
Jiro, Dust of Death Vs. Ōnoki, Third Tsuchikage → Winner: Jiro, Dust of Death
<<<< o >>>>
Gaara couldn't believe how swiftly his opponents had split the battlefield, isolating two of their allies in separate fights. Now, only A, Takama, Mifune, and himself remained—facing three adversaries of unknown power.
Everything escalated the moment the ocean surged to life, rising unnaturally and rushing toward them like a living beast. And yet, Gaara only smiled. Ever since Shukaku had left his body, the world had begun to heal him—body and soul. It was both a blessing and a punishment, one he accepted without regret. The life force that was supposed to be drained to sustain his resurrection had been temporarily suspended, allowing him to fight in this war.
His connection to sand was no longer a burden but a clarity. When he raised his hand, his chakra surged through the landscape, and his will shaped the beach around him—above and beneath the water. A massive wave of sand surged upward to meet the wall of water with equal force.
When the clash ended, the battlefield had changed. Gaara stood calmly atop his sand, his cloak fluttering. His opponent hovered effortlessly over the now-churning sea. Around them, allies and debris were carried away by a turbulent fusion of saltwater and sand.
The man smiled, clearly satisfied by the outcome. "My name is Aoi of the Deep Waters. I've never faced anyone like you… and in this setting, I feel like this fight was destined. You weren't supposed to be my opponent today—it was meant to be the Raikage. But when I saw your profile… I knew."
Gaara responded with action. From beneath the submerged sand under Aoi's feet, projectiles launched upward in a surprise attack, aiming to end the battle in one decisive moment. But to his shock, the water reacted similarly—jets of pressurized liquid countered the attack, breaking through the sand and clashing violently.
Instinctively, Gaara's sand twisted defensively, shielding him from the underwater assault. And before his eyes, the water around Aoi responded in kind—moving with intent, as if guided by a will.
Aoi grinned, the excitement in his eyes unmistakable. "Isn't it fascinating? It's not every day that two warriors protected by elemental spirits face each other in a death match. Just this… makes the entire war worthwhile."
The duel began in earnest.
Wave and dune. Torrent and avalanche. Whirlpools became claws, dunes turned into spears. Neither warrior relented—each maneuver was mirrored, each rhythm disrupted then answered. Aoi danced atop the water, bending the tides into monstrous appendages, serpentine towers of liquid spiraling toward Gaara like sentient beasts. One resembled a kraken, another a coiling wave with eyes of pressure at its center.
Gaara rose calmly, his sand forming a vast rotating sphere around him—a miniature desert orbiting his body, casting tendrils that hardened into piercing thorns. When Aoi's waves crashed, Gaara's sphere absorbed and reshaped them, then sent a retaliation in the form of twin colossi—golems of iron-infused sand, each as tall as a ship's mast.
The sea howled. The desert roared. For a brief moment, the entire coastline blurred—sky, sand, and sea becoming a single cyclone of power.
And then, silence.
The wind died. The water calmed. The colossi crumbled. Both stood in place.
Aoi hovered over a thin platform of liquid still trembling from strain. Gaara stood in a shallow crater, his sand still tide around his feet.
Aoi exhaled slowly. "You feel it too, don't you? Our techniques are in balance. I can't reach your core. You won't breach mine."
Gaara's eyes softened as he nodded. "A deadlock. This fight ends without a victor."
A beat of stillness.
Then Aoi smirked. "No... by the rules of this engagement, the defender prevails by not allowing my advance."
Gaara gave no reply. But his sand relaxed—lowering the walls, releasing the pressure.
Two elemental guardians. Two philosophies. One unbroken tide.
Aoi of the Deep Waters Vs Gaara of the Sand, the Fifth Kazekage → Result: Stalemate (Defender's Victory by Technicality)