The forest around the Uchiha compound was silent, but tension radiated in waves, almost tangible, pressing against the night air like the weight of an unseen storm.
Izumi's grief had erupted into fury, her newly awakened Mangekyō Sharingan blazing with crimson patterns that danced and twisted with every rapid breath she took.
The air around her shimmered slightly, charged with chakra, and the faint sound of her heartbeat thumped in rhythm with the power coursing through her veins.
Itachi, standing across from her, observed calmly, his eyes narrowing as he processed the sight of her awakening.
His own Mangekyō Sharingan pulsed with a dark aura, responding instinctively to the threat she now posed.
He had anticipated resistance, but the sudden power surge in someone so close to him—someone he had once loved—was disconcerting.
Izumi let out a roar that pierced the still night, and with a swift motion, her body launched forward like a striking serpent.
Her first taijutsu strike was precise, aiming for Itachi's chest with a spinning kick, enhanced by her new Mangekyō vision. Itachi anticipated the trajectory with inhuman precision, sidestepping the attack while releasing a counter strike aimed at her midsection.
His hand movements were swift, almost too fast for the naked eye, a blur of motion as he combined subtle telegraphed punches with chakra-enhanced speed.
The clash of their fists against chakra-imbued defenses sent ripples through the surrounding air.
Trees bent slightly as the shockwaves emanated from each strike, leaves scattering like sparks from a fire.
Izumi's Mangekyō Sharingan allowed her to predict even the subtlest movements, and she twisted midair to avoid the blow, landing lightly on the forest floor and immediately spinning into another strike.
Itachi responded with a series of rapid taijutsu counters, parrying, dodging, and striking in a fluid rhythm.
The battle became a dance of death, each movement calculated, precise, and enhanced by their Mangekyō Sharingan powers.
Izumi's time-freeze ability came into play intermittently; as Itachi attempted to land a devastating blow, she activated the temporal halt, freezing the air for several heartbeats.
She repositioned herself strategically, forcing Itachi to readjust and anticipate her new angles of attack.
The forest became a chaotic arena as ninjutsu joined the fray. Izumi summoned a barrage of fire-style techniques, each fireball propelled with lethal intent.
Itachi countered with his own jutsu, combining subtle movement with water-style techniques that turned some fireballs into harmless steam while others exploded in midair.
The two clashed, the light from the fire reflecting off the swirling red and black patterns in their eyes, creating an almost hallucinatory spectacle.
Itachi realized he could not afford to hold back. He summoned the dark aura of Tsukuyomi, weaving the intricate hand signs required for its deployment.
In an instant, he locked eyes with Izumi, attempting to trap her in the infinite torment of the genjutsu.
But Izumi, with the time-freeze ability granted by her Mangekyō Sharingan, activated it at the critical moment.
For a few seconds, the world seemed to halt, the very flow of time bending under her will, allowing her to step aside from the lethal grasp of Itachi's genjutsu.
Itachi's eyes flared in recognition. She was no ordinary opponent; the awakening of her Mangekyō Sharingan had granted her unprecedented reflexes, amplified by her time-freeze technique.
Each step she took, each maneuver, displayed perfect anticipation of his attacks. The fight escalated into a frenetic exchange of blows, both physical and chakra-based, moving across the compound with blinding speed.
Izumi's Izanagi technique also came into play, granting her a single opportunity to revive from potentially lethal strikes. She used it sparingly, weaving it into her defenses with surgical precision.
Itachi, sensing her resilience and sudden revivals, realized the depth of her abilities. His own stamina was being tested like never before.
His body bore bruises and scratches, his chakra reserves strained by constant Mangekyō activation, but he refused to yield.
Every strike, every parry, every jutsu cast was executed with lethal intent, a mixture of sorrow and necessity driving him forward.
Izumi countered with a flurry of taijutsu spins, flipping and striking, each movement underlined with her time-freeze-enhanced foresight. Fire-style jutsu exploded around them, illuminating their surroundings in an eerie glow.
Trees were scorched, branches shattered, and the ground scorched with chakra marks.
Itachi's own subtle water and shadow techniques mitigated the damage while allowing him to close the distance.
He aimed a precise blow at her torso, which Izumi barely dodged, countering with a sweeping kick that sent him sliding backward several meters.
The masked observer, Obito, watched with keen interest, eyes narrowing in appreciation at Itachi's unwavering precision and adaptability.
From a distance, Toru Uchiha and several Uchiha clan members observed the unfolding spectacle, noting every tactic, every movement, every jutsu combination.
Even Indra, watching from a hidden vantage point, smiled knowingly. "She has potential," he murmured, "but she will be mine eventually."
The battle escalated further. Izumi, feeling cornered, intensified her attacks.
She combined taijutsu with sudden bursts of fire-style jutsu, each attack designed to exploit any weakness she could find in Itachi's defense.
He responded with subtle, calculated strikes, countering with genjutsu laced into physical attacks, aiming to disrupt her rhythm.
Each blow left a lasting impact on their bodies; bruises, cuts, and minor burns adorned them both, yet neither faltered.
Izumi activated another time-freeze, manipulating her position instantaneously behind Itachi and landing a powerful kick aimed at his back.
But Itachi, anticipating the timing with his own Mangekyō perception, shifted mid-air, redirecting the force into the ground.
The impact cracked the earth beneath them, sending tremors outward, scattering debris in a wide radius.
The clash continued relentlessly, the atmosphere charged with intense chakra emissions.
Itachi, his condition worsening with every passing moment, maintained focus despite the mounting exhaustion.
His strikes were calculated to end the fight swiftly, yet the presence of Mangekyō-enhanced reflexes and time-manipulation in his opponent prolonged the duel far beyond what he had anticipated.
Izumi's screams of anger and grief merged with the clash of their physical strikes, creating a haunting symphony of destruction.
She launched herself skyward, spinning in a midair tornado of fire-infused chakra, aiming to overwhelm Itachi from above.
He countered with a simultaneous Tsukuyomi activation, aiming to trap her in a mental labyrinth, only for Izumi to manipulate time briefly, stepping outside the flow of his genjutsu.
The sheer ingenuity of her maneuvers forced Itachi to adapt on the fly, each response draining more of his limited energy reserves.
At a critical point, Itachi feigned exhaustion, drawing Izumi in closer.
She lunged, expecting a finishing blow, only to be countered by a perfectly timed counter-strike, knocking her several meters back.
She landed with grace, her Mangekyō patterns pulsating with fury and determination.
Her eyes reflected the bloody moon above, mirroring the rage and despair she felt at the loss of her mother and the betrayal she perceived in Itachi's actions.
The final sequence began with a rapid exchange of jutsu and taijutsu. Fireballs collided with water streams, both enhanced with chakra-infused strikes.
Time-freeze sequences from Izumi created small pockets of temporal displacement, yet Itachi anticipated these disruptions with precise timing, his strikes threading the needle between paused moments.
The forest around them bore the marks of their relentless combat; scorched earth, broken trees, and shattered stones littered the battlefield.
Finally, Itachi, with a calculated effort, exploited a brief lapse in Izumi's defensive timing.
He unleashed a combination of Mangekyō-enhanced taijutsu strikes, followed by a strategic genjutsu overlay, forcing her into a corner.
Despite her immense abilities, the cumulative fatigue, chakra depletion, and strategic foresight of Itachi left her vulnerable.
She fell, defeated but still alive, her breathing ragged, her body covered in bruises and burns, her Mangekyō Sharingan still blazing defiantly.
Itachi stood, his own body battered and drained, but he maintained posture, a silent testament to his endurance and resolve. His vision flickered with exhaustion, yet he remained vigilant.
The night remained heavy with tension, the battlefield scarred from the duel, the red glow of the bloody moon above casting long, ominous shadows.
The forest had witnessed a clash of prodigies, each testing limits and pushing beyond.
Itachi, despite his injuries, remained standing, a silent figure of unyielding resolve, while Izumi, defeated but alive, caught her breath and processed the extent of her own powers and the overwhelming force she had faced.
Dust hung thick in the air, the acrid scent of scorched earth mixing with the metallic tang of blood.
Izumi's body trembled as she knelt on the shattered stone ground, her palms pressing against the cracks that radiated from their earlier clash.
Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, each inhale searing her lungs like hot coals.
Her knees screamed with pain, her arms were heavy as lead, and her vision swam in a haze of exhaustion — yet her Mangekyō Sharingan still spun with defiant brilliance.
Every muscle in her body told her to stop. Every nerve begged her to surrender.
But the image of her mother — lying lifeless, the warmth gone from her skin — burned deeper than any physical pain.
Slowly, painfully, she forced herself to rise. First one foot, then the other. Her legs shook under the weight of her own body, yet her spine straightened, unbending like tempered steel.
Itachi, standing a few meters away, watched her with unreadable eyes. His breath was steady but slightly uneven — a subtle rhythm that betrayed the strain from their battle so far.
His cloak was torn in several places, faint lines of blood marking where Izumi's strikes had grazed him despite his skill.
"Izumi," he said quietly, his tone devoid of cruelty yet firm, "you can't win this fight."
She said nothing.
Her eyes narrowed, and the intricate pattern of her Mangekyō Sharingan seemed to glow even more vividly under the moonlight. "I won't stop," she whispered, her voice rough yet resolute. "Not until I make you pay."
A faint flicker passed through Itachi's gaze — not pity, but something close to reluctant acknowledgment.
Before either could speak again, the tension snapped.
Izumi lunged forward with explosive speed, her foot slamming against the ground with such force that fragments of stone shot into the air.
Her kunai flashed in her right hand, her left forming rapid seals.
Itachi moved to intercept, their blades clashing with a metallic ring that split the night.
Sparks erupted between them as they pushed against each other, their faces close enough for her to see the faint sheen of sweat along his jawline.
She shifted her stance, sliding under his guard and twisting into a sharp upward slash. He blocked at the last second, but her momentum drove him back a step.
Izumi's Mangekyō flared. The world seemed to slow for her — not full time-freeze yet, but her perception sharpened to a razor's edge.
She could see the subtle twitch in his wrist before he countered, the faint tightening in his shoulders before he turned.
Kunai strikes became a blur, each parried and countered in a fluid dance of steel.
Their footsteps echoed like war drums on the fractured ground.
The pressure between them was suffocating, each exchange measured in fractions of a second, each strike carrying the weight of deadly intent.
Finally, Itachi caught her wrist mid-swing, twisting sharply. Izumi bit back a cry of pain and used the momentum to spin, slamming her heel into his side.
The impact made him grunt — the first sound of pain from him since the fight began.
But he didn't falter.
In one smooth motion, he retaliated with a rapid sequence of hand seals.
"Fire Style: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique!"
A volley of blazing fireballs erupted toward her, each one weaving unpredictably. Izumi's Mangekyō spun faster — and in an instant, she froze time.
The world turned silent. The flicker of flames stopped mid-air, embers hanging motionless like suspended stars.
Izumi moved through the stillness, weaving around the deadly projectiles with careful precision. Her hand tightened on her kunai as she closed the distance to him.
She swung — but the moment her blade neared his chest, time resumed.
Itachi's own Mangekyō whirled, and her vision fractured into a surreal, colorless world.
Tsukuyomi.
The blood-red sky above shifted, the world twisting into a nightmare of Itachi's making. He stood before her, countless copies of himself appearing, each holding a blade.
For anyone else, the genjutsu would have been inescapable. But Izumi's mind snapped into clarity.
Her Mangekyō flared once more, and the same stillness fell over the illusory world.
She stepped backward out of the frozen moment, forcing her way out of Tsukuyomi's grasp. The illusion cracked like glass around her, and she stumbled back into reality — just in time to see Itachi's expression shift in surprise.
Without hesitation, she charged again, her hands a blur of steel and seals. Kunai clashed, fire roared, and the ground beneath them became a canvas of scorched marks and shattered stone.
Their movements blurred into near invisibility. It was no longer a battle of simple skill — it was two Mangekyō users pushing each other to the brink.
But even with her fierce determination, fatigue was taking its toll. Her strikes slowed by the smallest fraction, and Itachi, ever perceptive, noticed.
He adjusted his rhythm, his counterattacks sharper and faster. A kunai grazed her cheek, another caught her sleeve.
Finally, with a decisive strike, he knocked the kunai from her grip and followed with a kick to her midsection.
She crashed to the ground, gasping for air, her body screaming in protest.
Above her, Itachi's shadow fell, his breathing heavy but controlled. Blood ran down the side of his face from a cut she had managed earlier, his clothes scorched and torn. Yet his stance remained firm, his eyes unwavering.
From the distance, Obito watched in silence, his gaze lingering on Itachi with something akin to respect.
Toru Uchiha and several others remained hidden in the shadows, their expressions grim as they observed the battle's conclusion.
And further away, leaning casually against a tree, Indra Uchiha's lips curled into a faint smile. His eyes glimmered with interest as he watched Izumi struggle to push herself up again.
"This girl…" he thought, his tone almost amused. "She has potential. More than most. She will be mine."
The battlefield lay in tense silence, the night wind carrying the faint scent of blood and ash — a silent witness to the clash of two unyielding wills.
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End of Chapter
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