Rin's cry tore across the battlefield just as white-hot light consumed everything in its path. The Dust Release: Detachment of the Primitive World Technique erupted outward in a blinding sphere, and where it touched earth, the ground simply ceased to exist—decomposed into nothing, leaving only a yawning circular pit.
Ōnoki held his posture, chest heaving. Sweat dripped down his temples. Even for someone of his caliber, channeling that much destructive power came at a cost. His lips curved upward as he watched the annihilation spread.
"Direct contact with Dust Release: Detachment of the Primitive World Technique should mean—"
His voice cut off. His face went pale.
Shibi Aburame moved with practiced speed, his arm shooting out to grab Rin before she could rush toward the blast radius. "Wait. Something's changed."
"But—"
"Trust me."
When the dust began to settle, Rin saw it too. Relief flooded through her like a physical force.
Ōnoki's mouth hung open. His pupils dilated, eyes wide enough to swallow the sky.
Around him, the Iwa shinobi—Han and Rōshi both—went rigid, their gazes fixed upward in open disbelief.
"The Dust Release: Detachment of the Primitive World Technique… was blocked?"
"That's impossible!"
Ōnoki's composure shattered. Decades of warfare had taught him many truths, but this scene shredded every assumption he held.
Seiran Hyuga hung suspended in midair, electricity crackling around his frame in violent blue arcs. His hair stood on end, charged with raw power. His clothes whipped around him as though caught in a hurricane. With one palm extended upward, he was holding back the erupting Dust Release—pushing against it as if it were nothing more than wind.
His eyes looked down at Ōnoki with cold, predatory indifference.
"Nothing is impossible," Seiran said, his voice carrying across the entire battlefield. "At sufficient force control, you can break molecular bonds, scatter atoms into chaos. By that same principle, you can redirect those same forces. Your own technique becomes merely an obstacle to overcome."
The revelation hit like a physical blow. Every ninja within earshot—Iwa, Konoha, everyone—stared in stunned silence. Dust Release could be blocked? The only Kekkei Tōta in existence, the technique that turned shinobi into ash, and it was halted as casually as swatting away mist?
They questioned their own eyes.
"Even if Dust Release fails, I can still end this!" Ōnoki's voice cracked with desperation. His body lifted higher, ascending to meet Seiran at altitude.
Seiran vanished.
Ōnoki's pupils shrank. In that fraction of a second, he felt it—that predatory intent closing in. His hands moved on instinct, earth rising around his fists.
"Earth Release: Rock Fist!"
The armor materialized just as a blur wrapped in electricity slammed into him. The impact was catastrophic. Ōnoki's face twisted, his body driven downward like a nail being hammered into wood. He crashed into the earth hard enough that the shockwave sent dust rolling outward for dozens of meters.
When the soil settled, he was half-buried, the rock plating shattered around him.
"My waist—" Ōnoki gasped, clutching at his spine. A sickening creak echoed from his frame.
Han and Rōshi rushed toward their leader simultaneously. Seiran's cold gaze fell upon them next, and Han felt ice slide down his spine.
He took down the Tsuchikage in a single blow. Before even considering us.
Rōshi dropped his Lava Release form and caught Ōnoki's weight. "You still breathing, old man?"
"Not finished yet." Ōnoki spat blood, his stare locked on the figure hovering above. "I underestimated you. Significantly."
The difference was palpable now. Where Seiran had once radiated controlled power like a flowing river, he now blazed like a raging torrent.
Seiran closed his eyes. A deep breath moved through his chest.
This is what atomic-level Electromagnetic Manipulation feels like.
In Tyrant Mode: Electromagnetic Sovereign, flight wasn't metal-assisted—it was pure magnetic field manipulation. Months ago, in the southern forest of the Land of Fire, he'd pushed the Eight Inner Gates to open the fourth—the Gate of Pain—reaching nanometer-level authority.
Now, he'd opened the sixth gate.
His electromagnetic range had exploded past the threshold into the atomic realm. In his perception, objects no longer appeared as solid forms. They were spheres of atoms, each held together by fundamental forces he could now manipulate directly. Reality became clay.
Rōshi's expression hardened. "Old man, we need to combine our strength. I don't think even you can handle him alone in this state."
He turned sharply. "Han! Use everything Kokuo has! No restraint! If we lose here, Iwagakure falls!"
"Understood."
Han's consciousness sank inward, into the mental space where his tailed beast dwelled.
"Kokuo. You feel his power, don't you? The one who broke your horn and burned your flesh. This is our chance for revenge."
The Four-Tailed beast's eyes burned with fury. "That bastard will pay. I'm with you, Han. Full strength."
On the other side, Rōshi closed his eyes.
"Son Goku. I'll need you."
A familiar voice rumbled back, tinged with mockery. "Still can't bring yourself to use my proper name? Fine. But I sense something in that one—something like Madara's presence. If he continues growing…"
The two shinobi opened their eyes simultaneously. Their bodies exploded outward, flesh giving way to fur and tail as they transformed into their full tailed beast forms, towering over the landscape.
Ōnoki placed both palms against the ground.
"Earth Release: Rock Golem Jutsu!"
The earth itself rose up, forming a colossal stone giant—actually taller than the two tailed beasts beside it. Seiran had only seen this technique once before, blocking Madara's Susanoo during the Fourth War. Its defensive capabilities were legendary.
Now it served as a weapon.
Seiran's lips curved slightly upward. "Monster versus monster. Convenient. I have something new to test."
He extended his palm downward, pointing at the ground beneath him.
Within a radius stretching several kilometers, every metal particle in the earth responded to his will. Iron, copper, nickel—all of it disassembled at the atomic level, then reassembled. The particles converged upward, swirling beneath his feet, coalescing into something massive.
A shadow fell across the battlefield, and the three behemoths below suddenly seemed small.
"What is that?"
"What kind of monster—"
"Is that a tailed beast? No… no tailed beast is shaped like that—"
Over a hundred meters tall. Bipedal, muscular, built like something evolution had perfected for destruction. Metal dorsal fins ran down its spine, each one sharp enough to cleave through stone. Its tail was a terrible weapon—a whip of condensed metal that sent entire clusters of shinobi flying when it twitched.
Mechanical Godzilla roared silently against the sky, and the shinobi of Iwagakure realized, for the first time, what true helplessness felt like.
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