The battlefield was still dripping with blood. Broken bodies of Root operatives lay scattered like discarded dolls, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the night sky. The metallic scent of iron clung to the air, heavy, suffocating, and unshakable.
Danzo Shimura stood among the corpses of his carefully groomed subordinates, his face twisted into a hideous mask of fury. His eyes, usually calm and calculating with the false air of a loyal elder of the village, now burned with the raw crimson flame of murderous intent. His chest rose and fell heavily, not from exhaustion but from rage—rage that his loyal Root operatives had been cut down like fodder, rage that his carefully hidden influence had been exposed in blood, rage that one boy, a Uchiha, dared to trample upon everything he had built.
Indra, however, did not share in that fury. He stood with his kusanagi sword lazily dangling in his right hand, its blade gleaming wet with the blood of the fifty Root members he had butchered moments ago. Calm and composed, he bent down, grabbed a piece of cloth from one of the fallen Root bodies, and with deliberate slowness began wiping the crimson stains off his blade.
The sound of steel being cleaned against fabric echoed in the dead silence.
Shhhk… shhhk…
The image was casual, almost insulting—like a predator mocking a caged beast. Indra didn't even spare Danzo a glance as he polished his blade until it gleamed under the faint moonlight.
This simple act fanned Danzo's fury further. His lips curled, and his one visible eye narrowed into a slit, glowing with unrestrained bloodlust. The wrinkles on his face deepened as his jaw clenched. He was a man who had survived countless wars, who had plotted in shadows for decades, but at this very moment, all his political masks fell apart.
All that remained was the feral instinct of a cornered animal—an animal that wanted nothing more than to rip its enemy apart.
"You… Uchiha brat…" Danzo's voice trembled with wrath, thick with venom. "I should have ended your existence the moment you were born. Now, I'll tear you apart with my own hands. You dare mock Root… you dare mock me!"
Indra finally lifted his gaze, smirk curling across his lips. His eyes—dark and sharp like the abyss—met Danzo's glare without fear, without hesitation, only amusement.
"You wished you killed me long ago, old dog?" Indra's voice was smooth, mocking, dripping with disdain. "Then come try now. Let's see if you're worthy to even die at my sword."
That sentence was the spark that ignited the storm.
Danzo moved first. His sandals crushed the soil beneath him as he lunged forward with surprising speed for a man of his age. Chakra surged violently around him, a wild torrent of Wind Release nature transformation coating his arm. His right hand extended, fingers spread like a claw, sharp enough to slice flesh from bone.
The air whistled with the lethal sharpness of his Wind Release-enhanced strike.
Indra's smirk deepened. His body moved with fluid grace, sword snapping up to intercept.
CLANG!
Steel met chakra-forged wind. Sparks burst into the air, scattering like embers from a raging fire. The clash shook the ground beneath them, sending vibrations crawling across the battlefield.
Danzo snarled, pushing his weight forward. Indra, unfazed, shifted his stance and parried, redirecting the strike with calculated precision. He sidestepped in the same motion, pivoting on his heel, and swung his kusanagi in a downward arc aimed at Danzo's exposed flank.
The old war hawk reacted instantly, rolling away and slamming his palm against the ground. Chakra surged beneath his feet, propelling him back with a burst of speed. Dust exploded around him as he skidded to a stop, his lone eye narrowing further.
Indra straightened, blade still dripping faint streaks of blood from the earlier massacre, and chuckled lowly.
"Is that all, Danzo? For someone who dares to call himself the shadow of Konoha, you fight like a scared mutt."
The words cut sharper than steel. Danzo's rage erupted further. Chakra flared wildly around his body, his presence now suffocating, sharp, oppressive like the weight of a storm about to break. He wove a series of rapid hand signs, each motion practiced, sharp, deadly.
"Wind Style: Vacuum Bullet!"
He exhaled sharply, sending dozens of invisible compressed wind bullets shooting across the battlefield. Each projectile whistled through the air, carrying enough force to pierce stone and tear flesh to shreds.
Indra's Sharingan spun alive, the three tomoe whirling like blood-soaked blades. His vision slowed, every bullet stretched into clarity, each trajectory etched in crimson light. With surgical precision, his body weaved and flowed between the attacks. His kusanagi flashed, slicing through a few projectiles that flew too close, sparks dancing as steel cut through compressed air.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The ground erupted wherever the bullets landed, craters forming in rapid succession. Soil and dust were thrown into the air, cloaking the battlefield in smoke.
Through the haze, Danzo's figure appeared again, charging like a beast with wind-chakra wrapped around his kunai, aiming for Indra's throat.
But Indra was already there—his blade was a silver flash, intercepting the kunai with pinpoint accuracy. The impact rang loud, echoing into the night.
The two locked eyes again—Danzo's filled with venomous hatred, Indra's glittering with mocking amusement.
"You fight like a cornered rat, Danzo," Indra whispered coldly, voice dripping with disdain. "And rats deserve to be crushed."
With a twist of his wrist, Indra redirected the kunai, then lashed out with a swift kick. His foot slammed into Danzo's chest with bone-shaking force. The elder staggered backward, coughing violently as air burst out of his lungs.
Indra didn't give him time to recover. He surged forward, blade slicing in a relentless storm. His movements were elegant yet merciless, each strike carrying killing intent, each swing of his sword designed to end lives. His kenjutsu was flawless, perfected to a degree that even veteran shinobi would tremble before it.
Danzo defended desperately, parrying with kunai, dodging with bursts of chakra, using Wind Release to reinforce his body. But no matter how he moved, Indra's strikes always pressed closer, always threatened to cut him down.
The battlefield became a blur of sparks, wind, and steel.
Clang! Slash! Whirr!
The kusanagi whistled as it carved arcs of death through the air. Danzo's kunai shattered under its relentless force, fragments scattering into the dirt.
Blood began to seep from shallow cuts across Danzo's arms and shoulders, each one a testament to Indra's precision. But the old hawk's eyes never faltered; his fury only grew.
"You arrogant child…!" Danzo spat, blood mixing with saliva at the corner of his lips. "You think the Uchiha name makes you invincible? I'll rip that pride from your corpse!"
Indra only chuckled darkly, eyes gleaming like a predator enjoying the hunt.
"You can try, Danzo," he replied smoothly, raising his blade once more. "But you'll die trying."
And with that, their clash intensified.
Wind Release and kenjutsu collided again and again. Each strike split the air, each clash sent shockwaves rippling through the ground. The battlefield shook as if the earth itself could no longer withstand their wrath.
The moon above bore silent witness, its pale glow illuminating the dance of death below—an old war hawk clinging desperately to power, and a young Uchiha drenched in arrogance and cruelty, yet wielding strength so sharp it tore through everything in his path.
The battle was far from over.
The blood, the fury, the storm—it was only just beginning.
The clash between Danzo and Indra had reached a terrifying intensity.
Danzo's face was drenched in sweat, veins popping across his forehead, his expression twisted with pure rage and bloodlust. His single visible eye carried nothing but the intention to kill, to destroy the young Uchiha who had just humiliated him by slaughtering his Root forces without mercy. That same eye now looked upon Indra like a predator locking onto its prey.
But Indra—calm, collected, and carrying the aura of superiority—only smirked at Danzo. His Kusanagi sword gleamed under the dim light of the battlefield, its blade dripping faintly with the blood of the Root members who had fallen before it. Without hesitation, Indra took a step forward and cleaned the blade against the torn clothing of a dead Root operative lying nearby.
The sound of fabric tearing as the blade dragged across it echoed, sharp and cold. Danzo's teeth gnashed in fury at the sheer disrespect. His rage boiled over, and in a violent outburst he roared as he dashed forward, his body surging with chakra, his movements heavy with the killing intent of a war-hardened shinobi.
Indra lifted his sword lazily, that same mocking smirk carved across his lips. "So, the old dog finally bares his fangs," he whispered with cruel amusement.
Danzo closed the distance in an instant, weaving rapid hand signs with frightening precision. "Wind Release: Vacuum Bullet!" he bellowed, releasing a series of compressed wind bullets that cut through the air like invisible blades.
The atmosphere itself seemed to hiss as those projectiles shredded towards Indra. The ground beneath them cracked from the sheer force, debris scattering in all directions.
But Indra was already moving. His body blurred as he sidestepped, his Kusanagi sword flashing in arcs of silver light. With perfect precision and flawless kenjutsu mastery, Indra sliced the incoming projectiles apart. Each swing of his sword cut through the compressed blasts, dispersing them into harmless gusts of air.
Danzo's eyes widened slightly—just slightly—but he immediately masked it with another ferocious scowl. He pushed forward again, his fingers forming more seals. "Wind Release: Vacuum Great Sphere!" he roared, releasing an enormous ball of compressed air.
The attack screamed forward, tearing up the earth beneath it as though nature itself was being split apart. Dust and stone erupted, creating a deadly storm that surged straight toward Indra.
But Indra only tightened his grip on the Kusanagi, his golden Sharingan glinting menacingly. He stepped forward, the blade poised, and slashed downward with all his strength.
BOOOOM!
The blade collided with the mass of compressed wind, splitting it in half. The force of the impact tore through the battlefield, a shockwave blasting outward with destructive force. Trees snapped like twigs. The corpses of the Root operatives were thrown about like ragdolls. The ground itself split, leaving deep scars where the pressure tore through.
Through the chaos, Indra emerged, his smirk even wider than before. "Is this all the mighty Danzo can muster?" he mocked, his voice dripping with ridicule.
Danzo's anger spiked further. His hands blurred through seals again, his chakra erupting violently. "You arrogant brat! I'll crush you!" he shouted, releasing another barrage of wind attacks. His body twisted and moved with decades of battlefield experience, every strike aimed with precision and deadly intention.
Yet Indra met every attack head-on.
His Kusanagi sword sliced through the air with flawless control. He spun, slashed, and deflected every gust, every invisible blade, and every projectile with a grace that bordered on perfection. His movements were like a storm contained within a single man, his blade singing as it cut through the air.
Danzo grew desperate, his attacks becoming more and more violent, his chakra expenditure immense. He lunged forward, his arm coated in wind chakra to sharpen his strike.
But Indra met him mid-charge, their weapons clashing. Sparks exploded as blade met blade, the ringing metallic echo reverberating through the battlefield. Danzo pressed down with all his strength, his muscles trembling with exertion, his eye burning with fury.
Indra, however, didn't even flinch. His smirk widened. With a sudden surge of strength, he twisted his blade, knocking Danzo's strike aside effortlessly.
Danzo staggered back, barely catching himself, but Indra didn't let him breathe. He darted forward, the Kusanagi flashing with lethal intent. His strikes came in a relentless flurry—slashes aimed at Danzo's arms, legs, torso, throat—every strike carrying precision and the intent to kill.
Danzo's body twisted desperately, barely avoiding fatal blows. His arms raised to block, his kunai drawn in defense, his wind chakra flaring wildly as he tried to push Indra back.
But it was useless.
Indra's swordsmanship was overwhelming. Each clash sent Danzo reeling. Every blocked strike left him trembling under the sheer weight of Indra's attacks. Cuts began to appear across his arms and chest, blood spraying as the Kusanagi's edge grazed him again and again.
Danzo gritted his teeth, his breath ragged, his movements becoming sloppy under the relentless assault. Indra's golden Sharingan glinted like the eyes of a predator, reading every twitch of Danzo's muscles, predicting every desperate counterattack before it even began.
Then—Indra saw his opening.
With a sudden burst of speed, he slipped past Danzo's guard, his blade slashing across the older man's side. Blood erupted, spraying into the air. Danzo stumbled, clutching his side, his face twisting in pain.
Indra stepped back calmly, raising his blade once more, its edge now stained with Danzo's blood. "This is the man who dares to call himself righteous? Pathetic," he said coldly.
Danzo's body shook, his rage only intensifying. His chakra flared violently, the very ground cracking beneath him as he forced his battered body to stand tall once more. "I won't… I won't let you win, Uchiha brat!" he roared, his voice shaking with both fury and desperation.
He surged forward again, his hands weaving more seals. This time, his attacks were even more ferocious, wind blades sharper and faster, his movements frantic with the desperation of a man unwilling to accept defeat.
But Indra remained unshaken. He countered every strike, his blade a blur, his movements fluid and graceful. Sparks flew as steel met steel, gusts of air exploded as techniques collided with sword arcs.
The battlefield became a storm of chaos—wind tearing through earth, steel ringing through the air, blood staining the ground.
Finally, Indra began to press harder. His attacks came faster, his strikes heavier. Danzo's body trembled under the sheer intensity, his movements faltering. His eye widened with panic as he realized he was being completely overwhelmed.
With one final clash, Indra twisted his blade and sent Danzo's weapon flying from his hand. The kunai spun through the air before embedding itself uselessly into the dirt.
Danzo froze, his chest heaving, his body battered and bloodied, sweat dripping down his face. He stood there, unarmed, staring into the golden Sharingan eyes of Indra Uchiha.
Indra raised the Kusanagi sword slowly, his smirk cruel and victorious. The blade glimmered ominously in the dim light, pointed directly at Danzo's throat.
"You lose, old dog," Indra said softly, his voice sharp as a blade.
Danzo's body trembled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had been defeated—completely, utterly, miserably.
From the side, Itachi watched, his body broken and bloodied from earlier, his eyes wide in disbelief. To see Danzo—the man who carried such influence and power in Konoha—fall before Indra's sword so utterly was beyond shocking.
Indra smirked, his golden Sharingan gleaming with satisfaction as he loomed over his defeated opponent.
The battle was over. Danzo had lost. Indra stood victorious.
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End of Chapter
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