Chapter 11: A Dance of Blades and Embers
Kagerō's hand, poised to deliver a simple, fatal blow to the stumbling Kakashi, never landed.
Reacting with the sheer, unadulterated instinct of a thousand battles, Kakashi twisted his body, his momentum now a liability. He didn't try to stop; he accelerated, converting the clumsy stumble into a desperate forward roll. He came up a few meters away, his heart hammering against his ribs, the feeling of his own chakra being snuffed out like a candle flame still fresh in his mind.
"Fascinating," Kagerō noted, his lazy smile tinged with genuine curiosity. "Your body moved even after your technique failed. Pure reflex. You truly are a warrior, Kakashi Hatake. What a shame."
Kakashi didn't answer. He just stared, his mind working at incredible speed. He nullified the chakra in my muscles. That means any form of chakra enhancement is a liability. It's not just ninjutsu. It's everything.
The game had changed. The man of a thousand jutsu was now a man with only one option. He tossed his useless kunai from one hand to the other. There would be no more tricks. No more misdirection. This would be a battle of pure skill. Steel and flesh against an absolute defense.
He charged.
What followed was a dance of lethal precision. Kakashi moved with a speed that was purely physical, a testament to his grueling training. He feinted high with his kunai, then dropped low, sweeping his leg at Kagerō's feet.
Kagerō didn't block. He simply took a single, elegant step back, the kick missing by a millimeter. He moved like a leaf in the wind, his motions economical and eerily predictive. He wasn't reacting to Kakashi; he was moving to where Kakashi wouldn't be.
Kakashi pressed the attack, a relentless flurry of stabs and slashes. His kunai became a blur of silver, aimed at every conceivable weak point: the throat, the eyes, the wrists. Each strike was met not with a parry, but with a subtle, infuriating evasion. Kagerō would tilt his head, shift his torso, his bandaged hands moving like flowing water to gently nudge the trajectory of Kakashi's arm, causing each deadly strike to glance harmlessly off into empty space.
It was like trying to stab a ghost.
Across the bridge, a far more brutal dance was unfolding. Sasuke was bleeding, his arm sliced open, his breathing ragged. He was on the defensive, the fiery aura of his Burning Fist the only thing keeping Yami's savage, ever-shifting coat at bay.
"Is this the power of an Uchiha?" Yami rasped, a harsh cough racking his body. He was pushing himself, the strain showing in his pale, sweat-drenched face. "Pathetic! You are not worthy of Kagerō-san's attention!"
Rashōmon: Agito! The coat morphed into a swarm of serrated blades, forcing Sasuke to leap back. He landed, punching the bridge's surface and sending a shower of heated concrete shards at Yami, a desperate attempt to create a screen.
It was useless. A massive, shield-like claw of black material erupted from the dust cloud, swatting the shards aside. Sasuke used the opening, charging through the smoke, his glowing fist aimed for Yami's chest.
Yami's eyes widened. He was too slow to bring his full shield to bear. In a split-second decision, a single, sharp tendril of his coat shot out, not to block, but to pierce.
Sasuke saw it coming. He twisted his body, but the tendril still tore through his shoulder, the pain white-hot and blinding. But he didn't stop. He roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated rage, and drove his burning fist forward.
His attack landed. He struck Yami square in the chest. But the impact wasn't what he expected. In the last moment, Yami had formed a thin, desperate layer of Rashōmon over his chest. Sasuke's fist burned through it, but the layer absorbed most of the kinetic force.
Yami was sent flying, crashing onto his back, a harsh, wet cough erupting from his lungs. The black coat writhed and then fell limp, its chakra exhausted. Sasuke stood over him, panting, his shoulder pouring blood, his own chakra reserves on empty. The fiery aura around his limbs sputtered and died.
He had won. But he was spent. He swayed on his feet, the world spinning from blood loss and exhaustion.
Kakashi and Kagerō's duel reached its peak. Kakashi, realizing he couldn't win a battle of attrition, made a gamble. He threw a handful of shuriken, a simple, textbook distraction. As Kagerō moved to evade, Kakashi was already in motion, sliding low, his kunai held in a reverse grip. He wasn't aiming for a kill. He was aiming to cripple.
He drove the kunai upward, targeting the tendons in Kagerō's knee.
Kagerō, for the first time, was forced into a real block. His hand, wrapped in bandages, shot down and clamped around Kakashi's wrist. The touch was like ice. The last vestiges of chakra in Kakashi's body vanished. But he had anticipated this.
With his other hand, Kakashi drew a second kunai. He had used the first attack to bait the grab. The real attack was with his off-hand. He thrust the second kunai towards Kagerō's throat.
It was a perfect, inescapable trap.
Kagerō's lazy smile finally widened. "Beautiful."
He didn't try to dodge the kunai. Instead, he released Kakashi's wrist and, with impossible speed, brought his own hand up. He didn't grab the blade. He didn't grab the hand.
He gently placed two fingers on the kunai itself.
The cold, deadening effect of his ability traveled through the metal. Kakashi felt it instantly, a wave of nullity that shot up his arm. But the real effect was on the kunai. Forged and sharpened with a fine layer of chakra, as all Konoha weapons were, the blade's edge seemed to… soften. The impossibly sharp steel lost its lethal integrity for a fraction of a second.
The kunai hit Kagerō's throat. And it didn't pierce. It scraped, leaving a shallow, bloody line, but it didn't have the killing power it should have.
In that moment of Kakashi's stunned disbelief, Kagerō moved. He pivoted, using Kakashi's own forward momentum against him. An elbow struck Kakashi under the jaw, snapping his head back. A knee drove into his stomach, doubling him over. A final, open-palmed strike to the chest sent the Copy Ninja flying.
Kakashi hit the ground hard, skidding to a halt at Naruto's feet, gasping for air, his body bruised and battered. He was defeated. Not by a grand jutsu, but by a simple, elegant, and absolute counter to everything he was.
Yami, seeing his master's victory, struggled to his feet, a triumphant, bloody grin on his face. "Did you see, Kagerō-san? I won… I am not weak…" He took a step, then collapsed, finally succumbing to his exhaustion and injuries.
Kagerō paid him no mind. He stood over the downed Kakashi , a single, shallow cut on his neck the only sign he had even been in a fight. He looked at Sakura, who stood trembling but resolute in front of Tazuna. Then, his one visible eye finally settled on Naruto, who hadn't moved an inch the entire time.
"And then there was one," Kagerō said, his voice holding the first hint of genuine interest. "Tell me, boy with the strange energy. Are you going to be tedious as well?"