Mereoleona instantly realized the danger. If she remained in the blast zone any longer, escape would become nearly impossible. Determined to break free, she lashed her adamantine fire chains into the ground, using their force like coiled springs to propel herself high into the sky.
But before she could rise far, the air whistled with fresh danger. A volley of kunai, each one tied with explosive tags, streaked toward her from multiple angles. It was Hanzo again—relentless, precise, and determined to cut off every path of escape.
At that moment, Antares saw the attack unfolding. With his speed, he knew he could reach Mereoleona in time. If he struck her out of the blast radius, she would survive—but he himself would be caught in the middle of the deadly storm.
Yet Antares didn't flinch. Not a trace of fear crossed his face. His confidence in his own defence was absolute.
In a blur, he moved. The battlefield seemed to tremble as his form vanished and reappeared beside Mereoleona, right inside the danger zone. Explosive tags ignited around them, detonating in a chain of violent blasts. Fire and smoke consumed the area, shockwaves rippling outward.
The blasts struck him directly, hammering his body with relentless force. But Antares stood tall. His entire frame was sheathed in golden-red dragon scales that gleamed even through the flames. The scales absorbed the worst of the explosions, leaving him unscathed.
Reaching Mereoleona, he seized her with one arm and hurled her out of the deadly radius, his movements precise and deliberate.
From a distance, Hanzo's eyes narrowed. His kunai assault ceased abruptly. He had been certain that Mereoleona could not escape, yet this sudden turn had defied his expectations.
Now his gaze fixed sharply on Antares. The outer layer of scales covering the young Uzumaki's body caught the light, shining like a natural armour. Hanzo studied them intently, his expression unreadable.
He acknowledged the defence for what it was—formidable, beyond ordinary means of protection. But in his mind a single thought burned: could even those scales withstand the full destructive might of his explosive tags?
Hanzo was eager to find out.
Hanzo's eyes lingered on the gleaming scales of Antares, his mind already calculating. The defence was formidable—perhaps enough to shrug off even the fiercest of his explosive tags. But whether those scales could truly withstand the full extent of his power was a question that stirred his curiosity.
He was just about to test it when the battlefield shifted again. The fight with the ten Uzumaki clan members still raged around him. Though a few had been wounded under his relentless assault, most were still pressing forward, refusing to yield. The chaos left Hanzo no chance to leisurely study Antares' resilience—every moment carried the threat of another strike.
It was then that Gildarts moved. Having witnessed Antares endure the torrent of explosions, he seized the opening without hesitation. In a flash, he appeared a few meters behind Hanzo, careful to maintain a safe distance. The positioning was precise—far enough to avoid an immediate counter, yet close enough to deny Hanzo the chance to escape before the spell landed.
His fist was already clenched when he appeared. With a decisive motion, Gildarts thrust his arm forward. The air cracked apart as a white grid line shot out, slicing toward Hanzo at blinding speed.
Hanzo's instincts flared. He spun around, catching sight of the strange lattice rushing toward him. At first glance, it seemed simple—merely a faint shimmer of lines in the air. But the killing intent it carried was unmistakable. If he endured this head-on, without defence, death was certain.
Channelling chakra through every muscle and into his weapon, Hanzo raised his kusarigama in front of him. The white grid struck a heartbeat later.
The sound of rending space filled the battlefield. Cubic cut marks spread across his clothing, and his upper garments shredded apart, fluttering to the ground in neat fragments. Shallow red lines—thin grid-shaped cuts—etched themselves into his exposed flesh.
Hanzo let out a measured breath, relief flickering in his gaze. He had strengthened his body just in time. Without that reinforcement, both he and his weapon would have been reduced to cubes.
Across from him, Gildarts straightened. He was unsurprised by the result. Crush Magic was devastating, but against someone of Hanzo's strength and chakra reserves, the attack would never carve as deeply as against lesser foes. Still, the shallow cuts proved a point—Hanzo's body was not invulnerable.
Hanzo steadied himself after withstanding the effects of Gildarts' Crush Magic, faint crimson grid marks still etched across his exposed skin. His clothes hung in shredded fragments, his upper body revealed, but his stance remained firm and unshaken.
His sharp gaze turned back to Gildarts, a flicker of curiosity in his otherwise cold eyes.
"What kind of ninjutsu did you use—or, to be precise, what kind of kekkei genkai did you wield just now?"
Gildarts, calm and composed despite the tension, replied evenly.
"It is called Crush Magic."
Hanzo's lips curved into the faintest of smirks as he recalled the strange sensation that had carved into him. He gave a small nod.
"A befitting name indeed… for a move that shatters all it touches."
But before either could act further, a voice pierced the battlefield.
"Onii-chan, move aside!"
The shout belonged to Renji. Trusting his brother without hesitation, Gildarts shifted smoothly out of the way, opening Hanzo's line of sight.
Renji stepped forward, his presence burning with resolve. In his left hand he held a glowing yellow-blue orb that pulsed with raw energy, while in his right he gripped his sword. Without pause, he pressed the orb into the blade.
The sword blazed to life, glowing with radiant yellow energy that crackled and hummed in the air. Sparks trailed from its edge as Renji raised it high, then slashed downward in one decisive swing.
"Hado 32: Ōkasen!"
From the blade erupted a colossal wave of yellow energy, racing toward Hanzo with astonishing speed. The ground trembled beneath its passage, the air vibrating from its sheer force.
Hanzo's eyes narrowed. He understood the trap instantly. To his flanks, Benimaru had already recovered and stood ready, anticipation clear in his stance. Behind him loomed Gildarts, waiting for the slightest slip. And further off, the half-red, half-white-haired boy—Todoroki—watched intently, prepared to strike.
If Hanzo dodged, he would be funneled into one of them, leaving himself vulnerable to multiple attacks at once. That was something he could not afford.
So he braced himself.
His kusarigama rose to meet the attack as the wave of energy slammed into him, thunder echoing as light and steel clashed. The sheer force dragged him backward, his heels tearing trenches into the ground. For a moment, the battlefield shuddered under the clash.
Then the wave dissipated.
Hanzo emerged, unmoved except for the backward steps, his body unharmed. His defense had held.
But before he could draw his next breath, the earth around him cracked and roared.
From the ground surged a massive wall of ice, jagged and towering, encasing him in a crystalline prison. The temperature plummeted as Todoroki extended his hand, his white half glowing with chilling power. Within moments, a mountain of ice locked down on Hanzo, sealing him in a frozen cage.
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