Chapter 242: The Veteran's End
The Fifth Mizukage, Terumi Mei, pushed herself up from the cratered earth, her body a symphony of pain. Every movement was a fresh agony, her fine robes torn and dust-covered, a vivid trickle of blood painting a stark line from her lip to her chin. She was hurt, badly.
Gazing upward, she found Uchiha Ren hovering in the air where she had been moments before, his expression one of cold amusement. The realization struck her like a physical blow.
Damn it! she cursed inwardly, her mind reeling. The Flying Thunder God Technique! I was so focused on his visual prowess I forgot the legends about his mastery of space-time ninjutsu! What a fatal oversight!
Ren had indeed teleported. The moment she had committed to her Lava Release, he had vanished, reappearing directly behind her in a flicker of impossible speed. The Susanoo's fist, a manifestation of pure, condensed chakra, had connected with the force of a meteor strike, hurling her from the sky. No one, not even a Kage, could walk away from such a blow unscathed.
The Mizukage's injury sent shockwaves through the already desperate battle. Her guards, Chōjūrō and Ao, whose attention was perpetually split between their own fights and their leader's safety, saw her fall. A spike of sheer, cold dread pierced their hearts, and in that critical moment, their focus shattered.
In a duel between elite shinobi, a single distraction is a death sentence. Suigetsu and Jūgo were not the type to offer mercy.
"HAHAHA! DIE!"
Jūgo's roar was a guttural, inhuman thing. The Curse Mark's influence had fully consumed him, erasing the last vestiges of his gentle nature and replacing it with a berserker's bloodlust. His attacks, already ferocious, became a relentless, savage onslaught.
His opponent, Ao, had been on the back foot from the start. Now, with his mind reeling from the Mizukage's fall, his defense crumbled. He failed to parry a brutal swing from Jūgo's bone-reinforced arm. The impact lifted him off his feet, blood spraying from his mouth as he was hurled backward. He crashed into the torn earth and skidded to a stop, his body broken, his vision blurring.
He tried to push himself up, but his limbs refused to obey. I... is this the end?... How... unfortunate... Lady Mizukage... His final, fading thought was not for himself, but for the leader he had failed to protect.
Jūgo stalked toward the fallen veteran, a predator closing in on wounded prey. A cruel, twisted grin split his face. He bent down, one massive hand closing around Ao's throat, lifting him like a ragdoll. The other hand clamped onto the man's head.
"HAHAHA! DIE!"
A sickening, wet CRACK echoed across the battlefield, a sound that seemed to freeze the very air. Jūgo twisted with brutal, final force. Ao's head was wrenched from his shoulders with a grotesque tear. A fountain of arterial blood erupted, drenching Jūgo's monstrous form in crimson. The berserker didn't flinch; he reveled in it, his tongue darting out to taste the coppery spray, his laughter echoing like a demon's from the depths of hell.
The scene was one of pure nightmare: a blood-soaked behemoth holding a headless corpse in one hand and a severed head in the other, laughing amidst the devastation.
"SENIOR AO!"
Chōjūrō's scream was a raw, heart-wrenching shard of grief. He had seen it. The respected, stern senior who had guided him was gone, murdered in the most horrific way imaginable. A maelstrom of emotions—white-hot rage, bottomless sorrow, and paralyzing terror—consumed him, finally coalescing into a roar of pure, unadulterated hatred.
"Heh," Suigetsu commented from nearby, a flicker of disgust crossing his own features as he watched Jūgo. "Distracted by your buddy's death? You're just begging to join him. And Jūgo... still a disgusting freak. That's why I can't stand him."
"YOU BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU ALL!"
Chōjūrō was transformed. The timid, insecure boy was gone, burned away by the fires of vengeance. His world had narrowed to a single, driving purpose: kill the enemy before him, then tear the monster Jūgo apart.
With a roar that tore at his throat, he launched himself at Suigetsu, his attacks fueled by a desperate, reckless strength. The Hiramekarei sang through the air, its chakra glow brighter, its strikes faster and more powerful than ever before. For a moment, fueled by his grief-stricken frenzy, he actually pressed Suigetsu back.
But rage is a fleeting fuel. It could not bridge the fundamental gap in their experience and cold-blooded skill. Suigetsu, after weathering the initial storm, regained his footing. His defense solidified, his counters became sharper. He was a duelist facing a grief-maddened brawler.
Clang! Clang! SHING!
With a powerful, two-handed swing of the Kubikiribōchō, Suigetsu smashed the Hiramekarei aside, forcing Chōjūrō to stumble back, his guard broken.
"Tch!" Suigetsu spat, his shark-like grin returning. "Is this all one of the famed Seven Ninja Swordsmen is worth? You're a disgrace to that blade. But don't worry, this ends now. I'll be taking those twin swords off your corpse."
"GO TO HELL!"
Spurred by the taunt, Chōjūrō poured every last ounce of his chakra, his life force, into the Hiramekarei. The weapon blazed with a blinding, silver light, the chakra condensing not into a beam, but a massive, spinning disc of raw energy at the blades' tips. It hummed with terrifying power, distorting the air around it. The sheer, volatile pressure emanating from the technique made even Suigetsu's smirk vanish, his grip tightening on his own sword as he adopted a true, defensive stance.
Chōjūrō's eyes, burning with tears and hatred, were locked solely on him. This was a final, all-or-nothing attack.
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