I'd advise you to stack the next couple of chapters to fully enjoy the fight.
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Seeing Renjiro's tri-wheel Mangekyō, Orochimaru's smile remained, but his pupils narrowed into tighter slits. He did not retreat.
Interesting, Orochimaru thought. So this is the eye you've been hiding. The tri-wheel pattern—different from the other Mangekyō I've encountered. More complex. More refined.
He began recalculating, not whether he could beat Renjiro; that was never in doubt, but how the Mangekyō worked.
What were its limitations? How could it be countered? And most importantly, how could it be acquired?
Don't damage the eyes, he reminded himself, his chakra coiling in preparation. Don't destroy the brain. The vessel must remain functional.
Orochimaru raised an arm, his sleeve falling back to reveal pale skin marked with seals.
Hiss.
Snakes exploded from both sleeves, a torrent of serpents that poured into the clearing like a river of scales and fangs. They were not ordinary snakes—they were summonings, chakra constructs, extensions of Orochimaru's will. Their bodies were dark, almost black, and their eyes gleamed with the same yellow intensity as their master's.
Hundreds of them. Thousands. The forest floor disappeared beneath a writhing carpet of scales, and the air filled with the sound of their hissing; a low, continuous ssssss that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Testing, Orochimaru thought, watching Renjiro's reaction. Reaction speed. Field of vision. Ability activation conditions. Mangekyō limitations.
The snakes struck.
Renjiro did not retreat. His Mangekyō narrowed, and the world around him seemed to slow, every serpent's trajectory visible, every fang's angle predictable. He could see the gaps in the swarm, the spaces between the strikes, the paths through the chaos.
But there were too many. Even with his enhanced perception, he could not dodge them all.
Bunshin no Aida.
The space around him distorted—a flicker, a shimmer, a momentary fracture in reality. One Renjiro became two. Not a shadow clone—there was no puff of smoke, no division of chakra. Simply two bodies, identical in every way, occupying the same space for an instant before separating.
The snakes struck.
They bound one Renjiro—wrapping around his arms, his legs, his torso, dragging him down into the writhing mass. But simultaneously, the other Renjiro appeared one meter away, already weaving hand signs, his expression calm, his eyes fixed on Orochimaru.
Orochimaru's eyes widened, just slightly, just enough to show that he had noticed something extraordinary.
No chakra division, he realised, his mind racing. Both bodies have the same chakra signature. Both are real. This isn't a clone technique. This is something else entirely.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
The second Renjiro exhaled a massive sphere of flame, the fireball expanding as it roared across the clearing, engulfing the swarm of snakes in an inferno. The serpents screamed; a high-pitched, terrible sound, as their bodies blackened and curled. The forest illuminated orange, the flames casting dancing shadows across the trees, and the air filled with the smell of burning scales and scorched earth.
Hundreds of snakes perished in seconds.
Orochimaru retreated, his body flowing backwards with serpentine grace, his robes trailing behind him. But even as he retreated, he attacked—his hand moving to his mouth, his jaw unhinging in a manner that should have been impossible.
Shing.
The Kusanagi erupted from his throat.
The sword was legendary—a blade that could extend to impossible lengths, that could cut through almost anything, that had tasted the blood of countless enemies. It shot toward Renjiro, its tip aimed not at his heart or his throat, but at his shoulder, his elbow, his knee.
Not fatal, Orochimaru calculated. Crippling. Immobilizing. The vessel must remain intact.
The blade struck.
It pierced through the first Renjiro, the one still bound by snakes, and the body vanished, dissolving into nothing. An afterimage. A phantom. The real Renjiro was already behind Orochimaru, a kunai in his hand, aimed directly at the Sannin's spine.
No warning, Renjiro thought, his expression cold. No hesitation.
He struck.
The kunai pierced Orochimaru's back—and kept going. There was no resistance, no blood, no flesh. The body simply split open, its skin parting like a shed garment, and a fresh Orochimaru slid out from within, his skin glistening, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
Body-Shedding Technique.
The discarded skin fell to the ground, the kunai still embedded in it, as Orochimaru reformed several meters away, his smile wider than before.
"A Mangekyō that splits presence itself," Orochimaru said, his voice carrying genuine admiration. "Not a clone. Not a substitution. Two real bodies, occupying the same space, capable of independent action." He tilted his head, his yellow eyes glittering. "You've been hiding more than Hashirama's flesh."
He paused, his smile becoming predatory.
"I'll enjoy disassembling you."
Renjiro did not respond. His mind was racing, analysing the exchange, cataloguing Orochimaru's abilities.
He identified the basic principle too quickly, Renjiro thought, a flicker of concern passing through him. Sannin-level combat IQ is absurd. He figured it out faster than I expected.
But there was also satisfaction. Orochimaru still thought this was an experiment—a test of the Mangekyō's capabilities. He was curious, fascinated, eager to understand. That meant he was underestimating the danger.
Good, Renjiro thought. He still thinks this is an experiment. That means he's underestimating how dangerous it becomes if I land a clean hit.
Orochimaru stopped playing.
The shift was subtle—his posture changed, his chakra intensified, his smile faded into something more focused. No more testing. No more casual attacks. The Sannin was becoming serious. Not because he felt threatened, not yet, but because he was interested. Genuinely, deeply interested.
"Hidden Shadow Snake Hands."
The technique was faster this time. Much faster. Massive snakes erupted from his sleeves, their bodies thicker, their scales darker, their fangs dripping with a viscous fluid that glowed faintly in the firelight. They shot toward Renjiro with incredible speed, their trajectories unpredictable, their movements coordinated.
Renjiro's Mangekyō tracked them, but he noticed something else—the colouration of the fluid on their fangs. Different from before. Laced with chakra.
Poison, he realised. Not ordinary poison. Paralytic. One bite, and my mobility is compromised. One bite, and this fight becomes unwinnable.
He activated Bunshin no Aida.
Space distorted. One Renjiro became two, then four, then eight—each one real, each one occupying a different position, each one moving independently. The snakes struck, their fangs sinking into empty air as the Renjiros shifted, evaded, repositioned.
High-speed exchange.
The clearing became a blur of motion—snakes striking, bodies flickering, the Mangekyō's pattern spinning like a kaleidoscope.
Snakes attacked from all directions. Renjiro shifted positions, appearing behind a tree, then on its branch, then on the ground.
Orochimaru appeared behind him, Kusanagi extended. Renjiro switched locations again, the blade slicing through empty air.
The sword nearly reached his throat. Renjiro slipped away, his body flickering, his Mangekyō burning.
Fire release destroyed another wave of snakes, the flames illuminating Orochimaru's face, showing the Sannin's smile.
Renjiro appeared directly in front of Orochimaru, kunai aimed at his heart. The Sannin barely avoided it, his body twisting, his skin parting as another shed technique saved him.
They separated, breathing hard—Renjiro from exertion, Orochimaru from nothing at all.
The cost began showing.
Renjiro felt it first as a pressure behind his left eye—a dull ache, like a bruise forming deep within his skull. Then it sharpened, becoming a burning sensation, as if someone had pressed a hot coal against his optic nerve. His vision blurred for a moment, then cleared, but the pain remained.
Not yet, he thought, forcing himself to focus. I can still fight. I can still—
A thin line of blood emerged from his left eye, tracing a path down his cheek like a crimson tear.
Orochimaru noticed instantly. Nothing escaped him.
There it is, Orochimaru thought. The price. The Mangekyō's deterioration. Every use brings him closer to blindness.
He watched Renjiro's face, noting the tension in his jaw, the slight tremor in his hands—the signs of a man fighting against his own body.
He's measuring my stamina, Renjiro realised, evading another wave of snakes. Not my strength. My stamina. He knows I can't keep this up forever.
If I let this drag on—I'll be blind before I can use the second set of eyes.
He needed to end this quickly. Decisively. Or he needed to escape.
Orochimaru's thoughts ran parallel, but his focus was different.
Fascinating, he mused, his eyes tracking Renjiro's movements. No chakra division. No clone residue. No temporal lag.
He tilted his head, his smile widening.
True dual-position existence. He exists in multiple places simultaneously, sharing consciousness across all instances. The optic nerves must be extraordinary.
I need to examine them. Before degradation destroys the evidence.
Renjiro activated Bunshin no Aida repeatedly—faster, harder, more aggressively. He appeared behind Orochimaru, then to his left, then above him, each instance attacking from a different angle, each strike aimed at a vital point.
The snakes couldn't keep up. The Kusanagi couldn't track all of him. For a moment, just a moment, Renjiro had the advantage.
He drove a kunai toward Orochimaru's throat.
The Sannin caught his wrist.
Their eyes met—Mangekyō to yellow slits—and Orochimaru smiled.
"You're slowing down."
Renjiro's eyes widened. He tried to activate his ability again, but the burning in his left eye intensified, and the world swam.
The bleeding became visible—no longer a single drop, but a stream, dark against his pale skin. His vision blurred at the edges, the clarity he had enjoyed moments before fading into something less reliable.
Damn it, he thought. I'm running out of time.
Orochimaru released his wrist, stepping back. His smile was no longer amused or curious. It was confident. Predatory.
"You can't keep that up forever," he said, his voice calm, almost gentle. "Your eye is failing. Your chakra is depleting. And I haven't even begun to fight."
He spread his arms.
"And when that eye finally runs dry; when your vision fails, when your body gives out, I'll be standing over you."
Renjiro said nothing. The pain was becoming unbearable, and the blood from his eye stained his cheek, his collar, his hands.
But Orochimaru was already moving, his snakes already striking, his Kusanagi already extended.
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