Chapter 220: A Dance of Blood and Dust
Confronted with the lethal, high-pressure water jet, Ren's mind worked with the cold clarity of a supercomputer. He had studied Jiraiya's capabilities extensively; this technique, wielded by the female toad Shima, was a known variable. The moment the hair bindings had tightened, he had already begun his countermove. There was no hesitation, only the instantaneous activation of his most potent defense.
His left eye, the Mangekyō Sharingan, blazed like a crimson star. "Domain Expansion: Temporal Shackles!"
An invisible dome of distorted space erupted around him. The world within its boundaries groaned under the strain of altered physics. The water jet, a line of liquid moving faster than sound, struck the edge of the domain. The result was surreal: the portion outside the barrier continued its path, carving a deep furrow in the earth, while the section that penetrated the domain's boundary instantly slowed to a glacial crawl. It lost all momentum and cohesion, breaking apart into shimmering, suspended globules that drifted lazily to the ground like a bizarre, localized rain.
"This is the time-slowing ninjutsu the intel warned about," Jiraiya muttered, his Sage-enhanced perception analyzing the scene with growing dread. "Any matter, any attack, is rendered inert upon entry. How can we breach a defense that nullifies the very concept of speed?"
"Every technique has a weakness, little Jiraiya," Fukasaku croaked urgently from his shoulder. "We must create an opportunity he cannot anticipate, an attack he does not see coming."
"Against an opponent like this, finding such an opening is nearly impossible!" Jiraiya retorted, his mind racing through his vast arsenal.
The two elder toads leaned in, whispering a rapid, complex plan into his ear. As they spoke, Jiraiya's furrowed brow began to smooth, a grim light of understanding dawning in his eyes.
Whatever scheme you three old relics are concocting, it ends now, Ren thought, his patience wearing thin. He clenched his fists, his chakra flaring violently. He threw his head back, and a complex, blood-red sigil—a matrix of his own design—flashed into existence around his feet. "Blood Release: Crimson Eruption!"
A torrent of pure, physical energy, visible as a wave of searing scarlet vapor, exploded outwards from the sigil. It wasn't fire or lightning, but concentrated life force given destructive form. The wave washed over the chakra-infused hair bindings, not burning them, but violently eroding their structural integrity. The strands snapped and withered to dust in an instant, freeing Ren.
"Had that water jet not been so swift, I would have used this from the start," Ren mused, rolling his shoulders. "An excellent technique for breaking seals and bonds when hand signs are unavailable."
But as he regained his footing, he saw Jiraiya already high in the air, having used the distraction to gain elevation.
"Sage Art: Dust Cloud!" Shima cried out, her cheeks puffing. A hurricane-force gust erupted from her mouth, not aimed at Ren, but at the ground. It whipped up a colossal cloud of dust, debris, and ash, engulfing the entire battlefield in an impenetrable, choking fog. The moonlit night over Konoha was blotted out, reducing visibility to zero.
Jiraiya, now in freefall, kicked his geta together twice. Clack-clack! "Sage Art: Hair Barrier Sensing!" His long white hair flared out around him in a spherical wave, each strand acting as a sensitive receptor, painting a perfect, three-dimensional image of his surroundings within the dust storm.
Obscuring vision to set up a sneak attack? A classic, if predictable, tactic, Ren mused, bringing a sleeve to his face. But before he could use his Sharingan to pierce the veil, a new assault began.
Ribbit... Croak... Ribbit...
A chorus of frog croaks, unnaturally resonant and layered with potent genjutsu chakra, pierced the air. The sound bypassed his ears, vibrating directly within his skull. For a fraction of a second, Ren's consciousness wavered, the world tilting on its axis. A sharp, psychic pain lanced through his mind, a testament to the technique's power, but it also served to jolt him back to full alertness.
An auditory genjutsu... The Frog Song. Without prior knowledge of its mechanics, this would be a battle-ender, he acknowledged. But I am no ordinary shinobi. I carry the knowledge of a world that documented your every move.
Instead of trying to dispel the illusion through conventional means, Ren acted on his meta-knowledge. He knew the technique required the two toads to remain stationary and focused. He needed to break their concentration, not the genjutsu itself.
Chakra flooded into the Ryūko, causing the steel to glow with a malevolent, bloody light that cut through the dusty gloom. He took a single, powerful leap into the air, high above the cloud of dust.
"Blade Secret Technique: Mountain-Sundering Cataclysm!"
He descended like a meteor, plunging the glowing blade directly into the earth below. The effect was not a simple explosion, but a localized earthquake. The ground for dozens of meters shattered like glass, a web of fissures radiating out from the impact point. From these deep cracks, geysers of crimson, chakra-fueled flame erupted, scorching the air and blasting the entire dust cloud away in a single, violent shockwave.
"Ugh!" Jiraiya, still within the dissipating cloud, was caught off-guard by the sheer concussive force. The impact rattled his organs, and a coppery taste filled his mouth. On his shoulders, Fukasaku and Shima were thrown from their rhythm, their harmonized Frog Song cutting off abruptly.
As the air cleared, Ren stood at the epicenter of his own destruction, the bloody aura around him thicker and more palpable than before. The scent of iron and ozone was heavy on him, making him seem less a man and more an incarnate demon of slaughter.
"It seems your little song and dance is over," Ren said, his voice a low, mocking hum. "Now, shouldn't it be my turn to perform?"
"Hahaha...! You arrogant little—" Jiraiya's bold laugh was meant to mask his pain and rally his spirit. But it was cut short, strangled in his throat.
Shink!
The sound was clean and sharp. The tip of a blood-red blade erupted from the center of Jiraiya's chest.
His eyes widened in pure, uncomprehending shock. The laughter died. He looked down, dumbfounded, at the steel that had just pierced his lung and heart. On his shoulders, Fukasaku and Shima stared, their minds refusing to process the sight for a critical second before their voices erupted in unified horror.
"L-LITTLE JIRAIYA!"
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