"Bravo…"
Itachi whispered to himself, his Sharingan spinning, tracing every exchange between Duan and Shisui. Not even he wanted to blink, unwilling to miss the smallest detail.
Next to him, Izumi was visibly shaken. Even with her two tomoe Sharingan active, the movements of the two fighters blurred beyond recognition.
Too fast.
The same thought swept through many of the clan.
Shisui's flame-wreathed swordsmanship and phantomlike speed dazzled the crowd. Yet Duan remained immovable, a mountain of muscle and killing intent, his counters thundering with frightening precision. His back—grotesque in its muscular distortion, like a demon's face glaring at the world—only heightened the terror.
This was no ordinary duel.
From Shisui's relentless offense to Duan's seamless defense, and finally to the shattering of Shisui's blade, the tide had shifted. Duan had weathered the storm and answered with devastating force.
"Crush that traitor, Duan!"
Yashiro shouted hoarsely, eyes blood-red, as if venting his own humiliation. Inoichi and Tekka—who had both once tasted Duan's fists—still cheered wildly, as though their own revenge rode on his arms.
At the front, Fugaku's arms were folded, his voice deep with restrained awe.
"Amazing… utterly amazing."
Beside him, Mikoto's face remained tight with worry. She prayed silently that her brother's confidence would not turn reckless.
And high above, hidden in the treetops, Kakashi's lone Sharingan glimmered. He had seen enough battles to know—what came next would be decisive.
Sure enough, Shisui's expression hardened.
"Duan," he said, eyes burning, "your body is terrifying—strengthened to the absolute peak. But no flesh is without weakness."
His hands blurred through seals.
In an instant, more than a dozen Shisuis flickered into existence, circling Duan like a wheel of fire. Afterimages blurred with real speed, indistinguishable to most eyes.
Shunshin no Shisui… his clanmates whispered.
Unlike a mere Bunshin, Shisui's "Body Flicker Illusion" combined movement and afterimage, each double moving with the same speed and intensity as the original. In the open air, the technique unfolded to its terrifying extent—phantoms filling the night.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
The clones swarmed.
Duan's massive arm swept forward, air detonating with a sonic crack as three Shisuis were smashed aside—illusions. He backhanded two more, with equal futility.
None dissipated.
That was the cruel trick: even if struck, Shisui's speed allowed him to merge instantly with any afterimage, never revealing which body was true.
Then—
Shisui himself slipped from the circle, his speed cloaking him, and lashed out with a vicious kick aimed low, toward Duan's unguarded groin.
Gasps rippled through the clan.
But Duan simply collapsed backward like a felled tree, his bulk crashing down to crush attacker and phantom alike.
Shisui's brow twitched. He would not risk a mutual kill. With a flicker, his real body slipped away, leaving only another phantom beneath Duan's fall.
The assault resumed. This time, Shisui's blade—now reforged in chakra—darted at temples, eyes, joints, even the soft underside of flesh. He was aiming not at the body as a whole, but the inevitable frailties no human could erase.
He was clever. Too clever.
But Duan had begun to understand.
The so-called "phantom teleportation" was no genjutsu. It was raw speed, paired with bunshin feints. Shisui had no true shadow clones here; instead, his velocity allowed him to inhabit any afterimage at will.
To an ordinary opponent, it meant every phantom was real. Every angle, every strike, unstoppable.
But Duan was not ordinary.
He realized he didn't need to predict Shisui's real body. He only needed to guard the true vital points. For the rest of his body—his flesh was its own armor.
So he braced, blocking every vulnerable place. Fists, kicks, and steel glanced off his torso and limbs, leaving shallow burns and bruises at best.
Shisui gritted his teeth. His strikes were fast, but still couldn't pierce that fortress.
For long moments, the battlefield echoed with the pounding of fists and steel. Sparks lit the night, but neither side gave ground.
How to break this stalemate?
Duan's mind flickered toward The World. If he stopped time for five seconds, unmasking Shisui's true body would be trivial. But he dismissed it.
No. Not yet.
He would not reveal his trump card lightly, nor allow himself to grow dependent on it. To lean too much on the stand's power would dull his own growth.
Strength, he knew, had to come from himself. From his flesh, his will, his fists.
Then lightning cracked in his mind—clarity.
If he couldn't discern Shisui's body, he would destroy them all.
"ROAR!"
Duan's bellow shook the ground. His muscles swelled, skin straining, chakra flooding his veins until cords of blue energy pulsed like serpents across his flesh. His frame surged larger, every joint grinding as if a beast was awakening from its cage.
Shisui's eyes widened. Duan had dropped all defense—no longer guarding his vitals. To a shinobi, it was madness. To Shisui, it was the chance he'd been waiting for.
He blurred forward, every clone lunging in unison. His killing strike descended—
And then the answer would be revealed.