The atmosphere grew heavier than before.
Danzo Shimura, a man who had lived his life in the shadows, a man who had built his existence on hatred and manipulation, found himself standing before something he despised the most.
And that something… was not an abstract idea.
It was a living, breathing Uchiha.
It was Indra Uchiha.
Danzo's jaw clenched tight, his teeth grinding so hard that faint cracks could almost be heard. His aged, wrinkled face twisted into something vile, a grotesque mask of hatred. The veins in his forehead pulsed, and his one visible eye—sharp and filled with venom—burned with the fury of a beast cornered.
Indra had defeated him earlier in the battle. Not with effort. Not with exhaustion. Not even with desperation.
No.
Indra had defeated him with a mocking smile carved across his lips, his crimson Sharingan spinning lazily, and his Kusanagi sword dripping with the blood of Root operatives who had fallen like insects before him.
For a man like Danzo—who had devoted his entire life to suppressing and controlling the Uchiha clan—this was not just a defeat.
It was humiliation.
And humiliation was something he could never forgive.
Indra, standing calmly amidst corpses and shadows, tilted his head. His Sharingan gleamed, catching every twitch of Danzo's hateful expression. Then, almost playfully, Indra dragged the edge of his Kusanagi sword across the blood-soaked clothes of a fallen Root shinobi. Slowly, deliberately, he wiped the blade clean, as though purifying it for another round of carnage.
The sound of fabric tearing echoed in the air.
That simple act of casual disrespect stabbed at Danzo's pride more than any wound could. His chest rose and fell like a raging bull. His hands trembled, not out of fear, but because he was suppressing the overwhelming urge to lunge forward and tear Indra apart.
Indra, however, simply smirked. His crimson eyes reflected Danzo's distorted face.
"You should be grateful, old man," Indra's voice dripped with malice, calm and cruel. "I used your subordinate's clothes to clean my blade. At least their corpses serve a purpose, unlike you."
The words hit Danzo harder than a kunai to the chest.
His rage boiled over.
Danzo, the man who prided himself on composure, restraint, and manipulation, could no longer contain himself. His eyes turned bloodthirsty, burning with a madness that made even the Root members at the sidelines stiffen in unease.
He no longer looked like a schemer.
He looked like a predator, ready to kill.
And without hesitation, Danzo rushed toward Indra, his sandals pounding against the dirt with a speed belying his age. His cloak fluttered violently behind him, his hand already weaving the first signs of a jutsu.
Indra, however, stood his ground.
His lips curled into an evil grin. His sword tilted to the side, ready to strike.
The moment Danzo closed in, he exhaled sharply, his chest filling with power. His chakra surged, twisting violently around him. His fingers snapped into seals, and with a sudden gust, he unleashed his opening attack.
"Wind Release: Vacuum Sphere!"
A violent torrent of compressed air burst forth from Danzo's mouth. Several deadly, invisible bullets of wind tore through the battlefield, sharp enough to slice stone and flesh alike. The air whistled, screaming with lethal precision as the vacuum bullets rushed toward Indra.
But Indra…
He simply lifted his Kusanagi sword and twirled it effortlessly, the blade flashing under the faint moonlight. His body moved with unnatural grace, his Sharingan reading the trajectory of each wind bullet.
Clang!
Clang!
Shhhh!
The blade sliced through the air, deflecting some, redirecting others, while his feet shifted just enough to let a few fly past his body harmlessly. His movements were fluid, almost lazy, but they were precise.
Not a single bullet struck him.
Dust kicked up as the attack ripped into the ground behind him, leaving deep gashes across the battlefield.
Indra yawned. Actually yawned. His mouth opened wide, showing his utter boredom as Danzo attacked with genuine killing intent.
"Is that it?" Indra mocked, his voice cutting like a kunai dipped in venom. "You come rushing at me, you spit out some wind, and you expect me to be impressed? Haaah… pathetic."
Danzo's face flushed red, not from exhaustion, but from rage.
His teeth ground together. "You insolent brat…!"
Indra tilted his head again, his grin widening. "Show me something real, Danzo. Show me your cards. Or else… if I get bored, I'll just kill you."
His words echoed across the battlefield, shaking even the Root members who still stood alive. Itachi, who was watching from the shadows, narrowed his eyes. The taunts, the confidence, the arrogance—it wasn't just provocation. Indra meant every word.
Danzo's chest rose violently.
His hands clenched into fists.
And then, under the stunned gazes of the Root shinobi and the widened eyes of Itachi… Danzo unleashed something that was supposed to be impossible.
His hand slammed onto the ground.
"Wood Release!"
The earth trembled as thick wooden roots shot upward, tearing apart the battlefield like giant serpents awakening from their slumber. Jagged branches erupted violently, rushing straight at Indra with crushing force.
Itachi's eyes widened in disbelief. "Wood Release…?!"
It wasn't possible.
Wood Release was supposed to belong only to the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju. And yet, here it was, erupting from the hands of Danzo Shimura.
The Root operatives, too, could barely conceal their surprise. None of them had seen their leader reveal this hidden weapon before.
But Indra…
Indra didn't even flinch. His Sharingan glowed brighter, and his lips parted into another evil grin.
"Finally…" Indra muttered. "Finally, you've stopped pretending."
The thick branches rushed toward him. Their shadows swallowed the battlefield. The ground cracked, splitting apart under the force of Danzo's stolen power.
But Indra did not step back.
Instead, he raised his hand and formed quick seals. Chakra swelled in his chest, burning hot, hotter than molten steel.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
The night lit up as a massive ball of flame erupted from Indra's mouth. The fire roared, its heat scorching the air. It collided with the oncoming wooden branches, igniting them instantly.
BOOOOM!
The explosion was massive. Flames consumed the wood, reducing it to ash, while sparks flew like fireworks. The battlefield was bathed in a hellish glow of red and orange.
Itachi shielded his eyes.
The Root members staggered backward.
But Indra stood firm, his sword at his side, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Your Wood Release," Indra mocked, "is like a cheap imitation. Hashirama's Wood Release was a 4K masterpiece. Yours?"
He twirled his sword in his hand and smirked. "144p quality trash."
The insult struck harder than the flames.
Danzo's heart pounded in his chest. He had thought his stolen Wood Release would shock Indra, maybe even overwhelm him. But Indra had reduced it to nothing more than a joke.
Rage twisted his face once more.
"Don't underestimate me!" Danzo roared, his chakra flaring violently as more wood erupted from the ground, even larger than before.
Indra raised his Kusanagi sword, its steel catching the glow of the fire. His Sharingan locked onto Danzo, his grin stretching wider.
"Come then, old man," Indra said, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Entertain me… before I get bored and end you."
And with that, the battle raged once more.
The clash of Wood Release against Fire, the whistle of wind jutsu against the slash of steel, the battlefield was torn apart piece by piece. Sparks of chakra, fire, and broken wood filled the night, while Indra and Danzo stood at the center of it all, predator against predator.
The fight had only just begun.
The battlefield was already cracked and burned from the previous exchanges, the stench of scorched earth and splintered wood filling the air. Smoke rose from patches of flame that had not yet died down, heat still rippling like a living beast across the ruined ground.
Danzo Shimura stood amidst it, his chest heaving, his bandaged face tight with suppressed rage. His remaining Root members dared not move, watching in frozen disbelief as their leader, the man who had taught them never to falter, was being openly mocked. Itachi, leaning against a broken stone with his body weakened from earlier injuries, could only stare as his Sharingan trembled.
Indra Uchiha stood there, calm, his Kusanagi sword glinting faintly in the dim light. Not a single scratch marred his skin. His crimson Sharingan eyes reflected Danzo's fury as though mocking his existence itself.
Danzo's voice broke the silence, filled with venom.
"You dare… mock me, Uchiha filth?! You dare think you can toy with me as though I am some child?!"
Indra tilted his head lazily, yawning again, the deliberate insult stinging deeper than any blade.
"Your words are as hollow as your attacks, old man. Show me something real—or I'll end this farce. Don't bore me any longer."
That smirk—that arrogant curve of Indra's lips—burned itself into Danzo's mind like acid.
Danzo gritted his teeth until they nearly cracked. His chakra surged violently, the earth trembling under his feet as roots burst out once again, thicker and sharper than before. The pale wood writhed like serpents, dozens of spikes lashing forward in unison, aiming to impale Indra from every possible angle.
"WOOD RELEASE: ROOT BINDING SPEARS!"
The attack surged, a storm of wooden spikes cutting through the air with whistling force. The Root members gasped at the sight, unable to believe their leader still possessed such hidden power.
But Indra did not flinch. His Sharingan spun slowly, tracking each spear, each trajectory. His body moved with precise elegance—sidestepping one, deflecting another with the flat of his Kusanagi sword, weaving through the barrage as if he were dancing. His movements were fluid, effortless, almost playful.
Then came the fire. Indra exhaled sharply, his chest expanding as he gathered chakra.
"Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu!"
A massive fireball roared into existence, its blazing light painting the night in crimson. It slammed into the oncoming wood, incinerating the branches instantly, smoke and ash scattering like snow.
The Root members shielded their eyes from the heat, but Indra simply walked forward through the flames, his sword trailing casually at his side. His mocking tone cut deeper than the fire itself.
"Pathetic. Even with Hashirama's stolen gift, you're nothing more than a worm pretending to be a dragon. This is the extent of your 'Wood Release'? Truly laughable."
Danzo's face twisted, veins bulging with rage.
"Do not… compare me to a worm, boy!"
His chakra surged again, this time mixing with slicing currents of air. His hands flew into signs.
"Wind Release: Vacuum Bullets!"
A barrage of invisible, razor-sharp wind bullets fired at rapid speed, whistling through the battlefield, tearing into stone and dirt with explosive force. Dozens of them, relentless, aimed to shred Indra apart from multiple directions.
Indra's eyes gleamed crimson. With a simple movement, he deflected the first few with his sword, the blade sparking faintly as it cut through the currents. He bent backward with inhuman grace, letting another volley fly past his face, the gust tearing strands of his dark hair.
And then he moved.
In a flash, Indra dashed forward, his sword carving through the oncoming wind. Sparks erupted as metal clashed against chakra. He slipped between the storm of bullets, his Sharingan predicting each one before it even left Danzo's hand.
He reached the elder in a blink. The Kusanagi's edge kissed Danzo's bandaged shoulder, slicing cloth and skin alike, crimson splattering across the ground.
Danzo staggered back, clutching his wound. His fury burned hotter.
"You… insolent Uchiha brat…!"
Indra licked the blood from the sword's edge with casual disdain, his eyes never leaving Danzo's.
"Still alive? Good. I was beginning to fear you'd collapse too early. Continue entertaining me, Danzo. At least try to be worth my time."
The mockery was unbearable. Danzo's breaths grew heavier, his body trembling with rage. His chakra flared once more, this time combining both elements. The ground beneath Indra split apart violently as wooden tendrils shot out, twisting into massive spikes, while wind chakra coated them, sharpening their edges into lethal blades.
"WOOD RELEASE: WIND-BLADED PRISON!"
The sharpened wooden constructs closed in from all sides, slashing with wind-enhanced edges strong enough to cut through steel. The ground shook under their weight, the air filled with a howling chorus of blades.
The Root operatives gasped. Even they had never seen their leader unleash such a combined technique before.
But Indra's expression never changed. Calm. Mocking. His Sharingan spun faster.
He thrust his hand forward, weaving signs in rapid succession.
"Katon: Hōsenka no Jutsu!"
Dozens of flaming projectiles erupted from his mouth, each one homing toward the wooden prison. The fireballs collided, exploding into an inferno that devoured the wood instantly. Charred splinters scattered across the battlefield.
Through the blazing wreckage, Indra's figure walked unharmed, his sword dragging against the ground, sparks flying with each step.
Danzo's breathing grew ragged. His attacks… useless. His wood crumbled like brittle paper, his wind slashes predicted and deflected with ease. The fiery gaze of the Uchiha mocked his every movement, every desperate attempt.
Indra yawned again, tapping the flat of his sword against his shoulder.
"Still useless. Perhaps you should show me the rest of your stolen tricks, Danzo. Or do you plan to keep disappointing me until I decide to kill you out of pity?"
Danzo's eyes widened, bloodshot with fury. His fists clenched so tightly the veins bulged. His chakra surged once more, tearing at the earth, his will refusing to bow.
The Root members and Itachi watched in silent awe and horror. The air itself felt heavy, charged with fury and arrogance, a battlefield between hatred and supremacy.
Indra smirked, eyes gleaming.
"Dance for me, Danzo. Show me your rage. Show me how much of Hashirama you've stolen—and how little it matters against me."
The battlefield shook once again as the two figures clashed in the center, the sound of steel meeting wind, fire devouring wood, and hatred feeding hatred echoing through the ruined night.
And yet—Indra still controlled the fight completely, toying with his opponent, his smirk never fading.
The battle raged on, fire and wind colliding, wood shattering under flame, as Danzo pushed himself further into desperation.
And the chapter closed here—Danzo panting, blood dripping from fresh wounds, eyes filled with fury, while Indra stood tall, his smirk carved into the battlefield itself, crimson eyes gleaming with superiority.
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End of Chapter
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