Just as Shanks shifted backward, evading Fuguki's last strike, Kazumi seized the opening. Channeling dense chakra into his twin blades, he executed a powerful hammer technique—his dual sword now encased in solidified chakra that gave it the weight, shape and impact of a massive war hammer.
Kazumi brought the weapon down with tremendous force.
Shanks raised his own blade, now sheathed in crackling lightning, and intercepted the blow. The moment their weapons clashed, a violent surge of energy rippled out, distorting the air with a thunderous shockwave.
Even as he held off Kazumi's chakra-infused attack, Shanks sensed another threat closing in—thanks to his sharpened Observation Haki. From behind, Jūzō Biwa was approaching fast, his giant blade Kubikiribōchō already mid-swing, aiming to cleave through Shanks with a fatal vertical slash.
In a flash of motion, Shanks reacted. Pivoting smoothly out of his current stance, he tilted backward into an arcing spin, evading the overhead slash by mere inches. His counterattack was immediate and lethal—his sword slicing through the air toward Jūzō's neck with deadly precision.
But just as his blade neared its target, another chakra presence surged in from the side.
Fuguki.
He had abandoned stealth and closed the distance rapidly, Samehada now fully unwrapped and writhing in anticipation. The sword's grotesque barbs gleamed in the moonlight, its scaled surface alive with hunger.
Shanks reacted instantly, aborting his attack on Jūzō mid-swing and adjusting his sword's path to intercept Samehada. Steel clashed with living blade, and the sheer weight behind Fuguki's swing pushed Shanks back violently.
He skidded across the field, his boots carving shallow trenches into the earth as he fought to regain his balance.
Dust swirled around him.
Finally stopping, Shanks stood upright once more—his breathing even, his expression calm—but his eyes now glowed with intensity. His sword, still cloaked in crackling lightning, hummed with suppressed power.
Across the field, the three swordsmen of the Mist regrouped, standing side by side, their eyes locked on Shanks. They were beginning to understand that this was no ordinary one-armed swordsman. Each of them bore the strength of an elite Jonin or higher, yet none had managed to land a decisive blow.
Shanks's gaze narrowed slightly as a new thought took root in his mind.
It seems that partially activating the Lightning Release: Thunder God's Sword Technique—just the base level speed boost—won't be enough to handle all three of them together.
A spark of blue lightning surged more violently down the edge of his blade.
Time to stop holding back.
After coming to a decision, Shanks swiftly began forming a new sequence of hand seals with his right hand—each movement sharp and deliberate. In response, the blue lightning enveloping his sword surged up his arm, racing across his shoulder and down his body in a spreading current. Within seconds, arcs of light crackled and danced across his entire form.
Now fully cloaked in lightning, Shanks radiated an overwhelming presence, his body glowing faintly with a bluish hue under the night sky. The air itself buzzed with electric energy, vibrating from the buildup of chakra and tension.
Across the field, Fuguki, Jūzō, and Kazumi watched closely, their expressions sharpening. They weren't about to sit idly by and let their opponent complete a high-level technique.
"He's intensifying the jutsu," Fuguki muttered grimly.
"No time to waste," Jūzō snapped, raising Kubikiribōchō as he charged.
The three Mist swordsmen darted forward, aiming to strike Shanks down before the transformation could complete.
But they were a breath too late.
Just as they neared striking range, the activation sequence finished.
A sudden burst of lightning exploded outward from Shanks. The light blue aura surrounding him instantly turned blood-red—crackling and pulsing with a far more sinister energy. Red bolts shot outward in wild arcs, searing through the air with a high-pitched shriek. The ground beneath his feet cracked, and the very space around him distorted momentarily from the sheer pressure.
Simultaneously, a massive wave of Conqueror's Haki erupted from Shanks—this time, not restrained.
The red lightning was more than just chakra now; it was fused with his will, his spirit—an extension of his very soul. The energy surged outward, and the three Mist swordsmen were caught in the shockwave.
"Gah!" Jūzō grunted, staggering as a bolt of red lightning struck him across the chest. Fuguki and Kazumi also recoiled, each forced to retreat several steps as they felt the blast rip through them—not just physically, but spiritually.
It wasn't the same as being hit by an ordinary lightning jutsu. It wasn't the voltage or the burn—it was something deeper. A piercing, almost intangible pain that reverberated inside their minds and hearts, making their senses spin and their instincts scream.
Jūzō's eyes narrowed as he steadied himself. "That wasn't just any lightning," he growled, breathing hard. "That was an attack on the soul."
Fuguki wiped a bit of blood from the edge of his mouth and nodded grimly. "Definitely. The lightning struck the body, yes, but that... that was more. It pierced my spirit. He's mixing his chakra with something else... some kind of spiritual force."
Kazumi, blinking rapidly as the residual energy lingered in his body, muttered, "So that's why it hurt so much. I thought the bolts were too thin to cause any damage... but it wasn't their size—it was their nature. Subtle, but vicious."
The three regrouped, now wary in a different way. They had known Shanks was strong—but this? This was something different. Something rare.
Before them stood Shanks Uzumaki, red lightning surging from his form like tendrils of a living storm, his sword humming with deadly anticipation, and his aura heavy with resolve.
For the first time, the three Swordsmen of the Mist began to wonder if they were truly ready to face this storm head-on.
Jūzō's expression had turned grim, his brows furrowing as he analyzed the situation with growing concern. "Yes… you're right," he muttered, his voice low and steady. "The pain we just felt—it was mild, yes. But it's not about how it feels now. If this battle drags on for too long, and we keep getting struck by those red lightning bolts, the damage will accumulate—not just to our bodies, but to our souls. If I had to quantify it… we'd probably last two, maybe three hours at most. After that, we wouldn't even have thirty percent of our strength left. And I'm not talking about chakra exhaustion. I mean pure spiritual degradation."
Fuguki nodded sharply, his grip tightening around Samehada. "Agreed. This isn't a matter of just brute force anymore. We need to limit his ability to use that lightning ninjutsu. If we let him continue layering his Conqueror's Haki over his Lightning Release… he'll grind us down slowly and efficiently. We might be Swordsmen of the Mist, but even we can't win a battle of attrition against an attack that weakens our very essence."
Kazumi stayed silent, but his tense stance and flickering eyes showed he shared the same realization. This wasn't just a high-level ninjutsu user—they were up against something far more refined, something they hadn't planned for: a technique that could bypass durability and defenses and slowly dismantle even a hardened warrior from the inside out.
Shanks stood calmly across the battlefield, his form cloaked in red lightning that sparked in every direction like branches of a living storm. His breathing was slow and even, and his grip on the hilt of his sword was relaxed—but every line of his body radiated deadly focus.
He wasn't surprised by their hesitation. He had seen this effect before.
A year ago, during his first experiments with layering his Conqueror's Haki over Lightning Release, he hadn't noticed anything remarkable beyond the cosmetic change in the lightning's color. It had turned red, certainly dramatic, but he thought that was all.
Then one afternoon during training, a rabbit had wandered too close to his test area. A bolt of stray red lightning arced out and struck the creature. It didn't die—at least, not physically. But when it regained consciousness, its behavior had changed. It was twitchy, confused, almost broken. The event stuck with Shanks. That wasn't normal lightning damage.
It had sparked a theory. What if his Conqueror's Haki, when combined with his elemental chakra, was interacting with the spirit—rather than just the body?
Over the months, he'd tested it further. Animals. Low-level bandits. He observed the same subtle but telling patterns: mental confusion, hesitation, a glassy look in the eyes. The stronger the opponent, the weaker the effect—but it was there, gnawing at the edge of their will.
That's when Shanks realized that his technique wasn't just a tool of destruction. It was psychological warfare. It didn't kill. It eroded.
And now, facing three of the most dangerous swordsmen from Kirigakure, Shanks was watching that erosion begin.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, letting the lightning hum louder as another red spark cracked across his shoulder. This wasn't a battle of brute strength. It was a countdown—and he had already started the clock.
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