Ding, ding, ding…
As expected of veterans hardened by war, the Hidden Mist Jonin weren't so easy to take down. They reacted instantly, some blocking, others deflecting the incoming Kunai. But in doing so, they either injured themselves or endangered their comrades.
Then, Gen vanished.
A streak of black light tore through the formation, his figure flickering between ten Mist Ninja like a phantom blade. The air itself seemed to scream from the speed. And just as suddenly, he was back on the stone where he'd started, as though he had never moved.
A beat later...
"Ahhh!"
Ten agonized cries erupted. Arms dropped like severed branches, blood arcing through the air in crimson blossoms, splattering the ground like a field of Red Spider Lilies.
Gen could have killed them outright. But that would have been too quick.
Instead, each slash from the lightning-charged Kusanagi Sword cut through arms with surgical precision, crippling, not killing. Without hands, they couldn't weave seals.
Pain robbed them of focus. In one stroke, they were reduced to dead weight on the battlefield.
The sudden reversal stunned the others who hadn't been hit.
"Th-That's the Flying Thunder God Technique!" one Mist Jonin shouted, his face pale.
"The Yellow Flash's jutsu! Everyone get away from those Kunai!"
The Mist Ninja near the glowing markers stumbled back as if they'd seen a ghost.
The Third Shinobi War hadn't ended long ago. The legend of the Flying Thunder God still haunted every veteran's memory.
"Retreat!" Hozuki Mangetsu barked. "With Flying Thunder God, he controls the field. Our mission is already lost!"
It was the only sane choice.
Restricting a space–time user required a sealing barrier, something Mist Village simply didn't have. Without it, they were lambs trapped in a storm.
Mangetsu didn't hesitate. He withdrew, the remaining Jonin and seven surviving Chunin following. The eight mutilated Chunin, left behind with their arms severed, were nothing more than sacrifices to buy time.
Gen didn't chase. Whether they ran in one group or scattered, they could no more escape him than sheep could flee a shepherd's pen.
"Tch. A shame to cut the performance short," Gen muttered, half-amused. "I haven't even shown off these new kunai properly."
He smirked, shaking his head. "No fighting spirit at all? At least try. How do you know you can't beat me unless you fight?"
He raised his hand.
"Come back."
Eight childish voices echoed in eerie unison, "Yes, Master."
The Flying Thunder God Kunai trembled, then sprouted tiny legs, scuttling across the ground like obedient soldiers. One by one, they hopped neatly back into Gen's pouch.
The mutilated Chunin stared wide-eyed, horror hollowing out their faces. Fear gnawed deeper than pain. Treated as nothing but disposable offerings, abandoned by comrades, they shook like reeds in the wind. Their souls felt as if they'd already left their bodies.
Gen saved them the trouble. With a flick of intent, he ripped their souls and lifespans away, silencing their terror forever. Then, with cold precision, he altered their corpses, erasing signs that might alert Mist's corpse handlers to the truth.
The ten who had died instantly needed no such treatment, death had erased all traces of memory.
Once the work was done, Gen pressed his hands into seals. Half his soul lifted from his body, ascending under the Spirit Transformation Technique.
Through Soul Perception, the battlefield unfolded before him.
The Mist forces hadn't scattered. Twelve ninja were fleeing together, their chakra signatures disguised by clones splitting eastward. Clever as Mangetsu was no fool.
Instead of retreating toward their own camp, they looped west, hoping to mislead pursuit.
But chakra was irrelevant to Gen's perception. Souls couldn't be divided. The deception was meaningless.
His soul returned to his body. A flash and the Flying Thunder God leapt him westward, where he mounted Suzaku. The great bird's wings beat with thunderous power as they gave chase.
Two minutes later, Gen was upon them.
"They're behind us!" Sakata Junichi shouted, panic flooding his voice. "In the sky, he's riding a summon!"
The group looked up. High above, framed by the moonlight, stood Uchiha Gen upon Suzaku's head, closing in fast.
"Damn it," Mangetsu growled, face twisted. "Even after two layers of deception, he saw through us. His sensory ability is on another level!"
"Captain, what now?" Minazuki To asked sharply.
"We can't escape. He's faster than us, and with that summon carrying him, he doesn't even burn chakra to chase. If we keep running, we'll be weaker when he catches us."
Mangetsu's eyes narrowed with cold resolve. "There's only one path left. We fight him here."
His voice was grim, but his heart burned.
Hozuki Kidōmaru had fallen to Gen. His cousin Hozuki Senjin, the previous wielder of Hiramekarei had been killed by Might Dai.
The Mist's Seven Swordsmen had already lost too much. If they couldn't survive, then they would die striking back.
Minazuki To scanned the others. "Do we stand with him?"
Kaguya Gang bared his teeth, bloodthirst flashing in his eyes. "I've had enough of running. I've only heard stories of the Flying Thunder God. Now I'll see it with my own eyes. At worst, it's death. The Kaguya don't fear that."
The others, Meina, Masayuki, nodded grimly.
But To glanced back at the Chunin trailing behind them. "Captain. They'll only hold us back. Better they scatter and take the intel home. That way, even if we fall, the Mist won't be blind."
The Chunin said nothing, but relief flickered across some faces. Gen's earlier display, crippling eight in a heartbeat, had carved shadows into their hearts.
Mangetsu nodded. "Agreed. We'll stand. You all flee. If we're defeated, the Mist must at least know what we faced."
The Chunin saluted with solemn voices. "We will complete the mission!"
Without hesitation, they broke off and scattered into the night.
From above, Gen watched, lips curling into a thin smile.
Escape? There's nowhere you can run from me.
Hands weaving into seals, his eyes burned scarlet in the night.