Shanks's blade carved through the storm, and the aftermath of his strike was immediate. Ibuse's massive frame was hurled backwards, its colossal body slamming into the earth and rolling violently across the battlefield. Each impact tore trenches into the soaked ground, sending mud and debris flying in every direction.
Hanzo, perched atop the salamander's head, was forced to abandon his position. With no choice but to act, he leapt away, landing lightly upon the churned earth as his summon crashed and rolled behind him.
The sheer force of the attack didn't stop with Ibuse. A violent gust of wind exploded outward, born from the raw power behind Shanks's swing. Trees splintered and toppled under the pressure, the ground itself ripped apart in furrows as if plowed by some invisible giant. The battlefield groaned beneath the weight of his strike, a silent testament to the strength he carried.
After tumbling for dozens of meters, Ibuse finally skidded to a halt. The beast let out a guttural roar as it steadied itself, its massive body quivering with fury. Across its thick hide stretched a long, diagonal wound—the mark of Shanks's attack, deep and bleeding despite the creature's resilience. It was burning with rage as it fixed its senses on its opponent.
With a single, powerful leap, Ibuse dove into the ground. Soil and stone erupted around it as its bulk disappeared beneath the surface, burrowing at terrifying speed.
Yet Shanks remained calm, his crimson hair plastered to his face by the rain, his expression unreadable. He could feel the vibrations long before Ibuse resurfaced—the ripples in the ground, the subtle shifts in the air. His Observation Haki sharpened his senses to every detail.
The earth burst open a heartbeat later. Ibuse erupted upward, its massive jaws gaping wide, intent on swallowing him whole. But Shanks had already moved. In a blur, he shifted aside, slipping past the assault with effortless precision. The salamander's enormous maw snapped shut on empty air, its teeth grinding against nothing as Shanks reappeared just out of reach.
Undeterred, Ibuse whipped its head around with startling speed, unleashing a torrent of thick, purple mist from its maw. The poisonous cloud spread rapidly, curling through the rain and blanketing the battlefield in a suffocating haze.
Shanks's silhouette was quickly consumed by the miasma. Yet even as the venomous fog coiled around him, his stance did not waver. His aura cut through the mist, his movements steady, unaffected—as though the poison dared not touch him.
Before he could press his advantage against Ibuse, however, a shadow flashed before him. Hanzo, moving with the speed of the Body Flicker Technique, appeared directly in his path.
Steel met steel in the next instant. Shanks's sword collided with Hanzo's sickle, the clash erupting in a burst of sparks. The shockwave from their strike rippled outward, flattening grass, bending trees, and driving the mist back momentarily. The sheer force of their confrontation shook the battlefield, a storm within a storm.
Hanzo pressed forward with raw strength, driving Shanks back with the weight of his weapon. Sparks scattered between their clashing blades before Shanks allowed the force to carry him several steps backward. His boots skidded lightly against the sodden earth, water splashing with each retreating step.
It wasn't a loss of strength—far from it. Shanks had no intention of locking into a prolonged contest with Hanzo just yet. His stance had been set for an attack against Ibuse, not for this sudden interruption, and so he shifted deliberately, readjusting his footing and balance. The retreat was not defeat—it was precision.
But the moment his boots touched down again, the battlefield shifted. From the ground beneath him, sheets of explosive tags suddenly unfurled like sinister flowers. In the blink of an eye, dozens of the seals clung to the earth, creeping up his legs, wrapping around him in an attempt to swallow him whole in fire and destruction.
For anyone else, the trap would have been absolute.
Yet Shanks's eyes narrowed calmly, his senses sharpened through Observation Haki. He had felt the disturbance in the chakra-laced earth before the seals even surfaced. The figure of Shanks caught in the tags shimmered—and then dissolved into mist, fading away like a mirage.
In truth, he was already several meters farther back, his true form stepping lightly through the rain, his blade once again steady at his side. The image left behind was nothing more than an afterimage, the product of his unique movement technique, executed with speed so refined it seemed unnatural.
Hanzo's sharp gaze followed him, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant admiration.
"You're impressive," he admitted, his voice carrying over the storm. "To evade my trap so easily… a trap I wove meticulously during my battle with your brothers and sisters. Even a Kage from the great villages would struggle to escape once ensnared by it. And yet you slipped past as though you knew it was there from the beginning—before it even sprung."
Shanks offered no reply to Hanzo's words. His silence was answer enough.
A heartbeat later, the trap in front of him ignited. Explosive tags flared in unison, detonating with thunderous booms that shook the battlefield. Shockwaves ripped through the ground, scattering dirt and shattering what little vegetation remained nearby. A billowing cloud of smoke surged upward, thick and suffocating—yet it was quickly thinned by the unceasing rain, the storm tearing holes through the haze.
Out of that shifting veil, Hanzo emerged, moving at a blistering speed. His figure cut through the smoke like a spear, weapon poised to strike.
But Shanks was already in motion. His crimson blur surged forward, meeting Hanzo head-on. Sword met scythe in a blinding clash of sparks, the sound of steel ringing again and again through the storm.
Their movements blurred, leaving ghostly afterimages scattered across the battlefield. Each collision rattled the earth, gouging fresh potholes into the ground. The few trees still standing were reduced to splinters, their trunks shredded under the force of stray shockwaves. With every exchange, the land bore deeper scars, as though the battlefield itself struggled to withstand the weight of their power.
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