Fog drifted across the inlet like a living shroud. The last cries of Gato's hired shinobi faded into silence, swallowed by the sea. Blood spread in thin rivulets along the planks, mixing with the tide.
Ren stood in the center of it all, chest rising and falling, Sharingan blazing with two tomoe. The world had never looked so sharp—every twitch of muscle, every shift of balance, every thread of intent lay bare before him.
Gojo gave a slow whistle, hands tucked casually in his pockets. "Well, well. Look who finally installed the deluxe vision package. Two tomoe, Boss. Very chic."
Zabuza rested Kubikiribōchō on his shoulder, eyes narrowing beneath his bandages. "You've got eyes worth killing for now, brat. Don't flash them unless you're ready to fight for them."
Ren steadied his breathing, eyes sliding from one corpse to another. The girl in the green dress was gone—safe, carried away by her brother. He exhaled. "Then let's use them. Gato still breathes."
Zabuza's grin was feral. "Not for long."
They moved like shadows through Wave.
The first strike was the armory by the west docks. Gato's thugs had stacked crates of blades, cudgels, and stolen kunai there, guarded by mercenaries drunk on coin.
Zabuza went first. The cleaver carved the door apart in one swing, splinters scattering like frightened birds. Inside, three guards lunged forward. Their blades barely rose before they fell, throats open, blood soaking the straw floor.
Ren slipped past the bodies, wires in hand. His Sharingan caught every trap, every false step. He knelt by the crates, cursed energy flickering along his fingertips. "Oil," he murmured. "Set to burn."
Gojo leaned against the doorway, humming. "Messy, messy. Fire hazard, boys. OSHA would be furious."
Ren lit the fuse. They left as the warehouse erupted, flames licking the sky. The blast painted the water orange.
By dawn, Wave's villagers would whisper that Gato's weapons had burned by the will of ghosts.
Next came the collectors' dens.
One by one, houses where lieutenants had hoarded coin and ledgers went dark. Zabuza cut through locks, Ren sifted through papers with surgical precision, and Gojo kept watch, redirecting every stray mercenary patrol into dead alleys where their nerves failed them.
They left no witnesses. No bodies in the street. Only silence and missing faces.
The villagers noticed. A shopkeeper found his front door unbarred, his shelves untouched. A fisherman realized no one had demanded half his catch. Mothers tucked their children in without hearing fists on the shutters.
Whispers grew. The shadows are cutting the chains.
By the third night, Gato's paranoia boiled.
In his mansion overlooking the docks, he raged at the last of his mercenaries.
"Half of you gone! My ships raided! My gold missing! And still no head of the brat with red eyes!" His voice cracked. Sweat clung to his fat jowls.
The scarred shinobi who survived the inlet fight stood stiff, bandaged and pale. "We underestimated him. He has allies. A swordsman… and something else. A man who bends the air."
Gato slammed a jeweled cane on the table. "Excuses! I pay for results!"
One mercenary muttered, "We should leave—"
Zabuza's cleaver split the table in half.
The mercenaries froze.
Gojo strolled in behind him, waving cheerfully. "Evening, gentlemen. Nice place you've got here. Shame it's about to be under new management."
At the doorway, Ren stepped through the fog. His eyes glowed crimson in the lamplight, twin tomoe spinning slowly.
"You—!" Gato sputtered. His face blanched, sweat pouring fresh. "An Uchiha? You're supposed to be dead! They said your clan was ash!"
Ren's voice was quiet, steady. "We're what remains. And you've had your last night as master here."
The mercenaries moved.
Two charged Zabuza, desperate. Steel rang against steel; their blades sparked once before his cleaver sheared them in half. A third hurled kunai at Ren—he stepped aside before the throw left the man's hand, his Sharingan drawing the line of its path before it existed. His own kunai struck true, punching into the mercenary's wrist and sending him screaming to the ground.
The scarred shinobi tried to form seals. Gojo sighed. "Nope." The man's jutsu fizzled, chakra scattering like sand.
"You—what did you—"
Gojo tilted his head. "Domain of coolness. Patent pending." He flicked the man in the chest. The body slumped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Ren's eyes never left Gato.
Gato king backed away until his spine struck the wall. His jeweled cane clattered from sweaty fingers. "Wait—wait! I can pay you! Triple what I pay them—no, ten times! You can rule Wave beside me!"
Zabuza stepped forward, cleaver glinting. "You had your chance."
Ren's voice cut cold. "Zabuza. You're my Fang. This kill is yours."
Zabuza's eyes widened a fraction. Then they narrowed, a predator's smile behind the bandages. "As you wish, Boss."
The cleaver fell.
Silence followed.
Gato's body slid from the wall, lifeless. The mansion seemed to exhale.
They stripped the ledgers, the coffers, every record of Gato's dealings. By the time the sun rose, the mansion stood empty, its doors ajar. Villagers entered cautiously, one by one.
They found no guards. No Gato. Only silence, and empty shelves where wealth once rotted.
By midday, the story had already changed.
Some said the Uchiha child struck Gato down with fire in his eyes.
Others swore a demon with a cleaver cut the merchant king in half.
Some whispered of a blindfolded man who walked through walls and left bodies behind.
Whatever the truth, Wave's chains had broken.
On the bluff that night, Ren watched the village from afar. Lanterns glowed warm. Laughter crept cautiously back into the streets.
Zabuza cleaned his blade with slow strokes, watching Ren from the corner of his eye. "You could've taken his head yourself."
Ren didn't answer immediately. His Sharingan dimmed, returning to black. "I don't need to swing every blade. I just need to point them."
Gojo grinned, lounging back on the grass. "Spoken like a future tyrant. I'm so proud."
Ren ignored him. His gaze stayed on the bridge, its half-finished ribs stretching into the night. "Gato's gone. Wave can build again. But this is just one island. The world still wears chains."
Zabuza planted the cleaver in the dirt. "Then give me names. I'll keep cutting."
Ren's lips curved, faint and sharp. "Good. Because the Eclipse Order has only just begun."
The tide rolled beneath them, whispering against the pilings. Below, villagers celebrated without knowing whose shadows had bought their freedom.
And above, three figures stood in silence, one with a sword, one with a blindfold, and one with red eyes burning in the dark—already looking past Wave, to a world still waiting to be broken.