Hatake Gintama's gaze hardened. Lightning crackled across his skin, crawling up his arms like living serpents until his entire body gleamed with blue light. To the onlookers, he looked less like a man and more like a wrathful god.
"Lightning Style: Thunder Slash!"
Electric arcs danced down the short blade in his hands. With a single motion, he charged. The air split before him with a sharp hiss.
Across the courtyard, the old patriarch—Hatake Resuke—moved with surprising swiftness. His hand fell to his hip, and steel flashed. The blade tore free of the earth like a streak of light.
"Tch."
Metal met metal.
"Clang! Clang! Clang!"
The rhythm of their duel became almost musical—two masters conversing in sparks and blood. Dozens of strikes blurred into hundreds. The clang of steel echoed through the ruined compound.
Then—two intersecting flashes of light.
"Cross Slash!"
A roar tore through the silence. Gintama was sent flying, blood splattering across the ground. He crashed through a building that split cleanly in half.
He staggered out of the wreckage, smoke and debris swirling around him. Twin gashes ran diagonally across his torso, blood streaming freely.
"...As expected of the patriarch. Even old, his Cross Slash still bites deep."
He exhaled sharply, tightened his grip, and the lightning returned—wrapping his frame like armor, crackling louder, hungrier.
Then he moved.
Faster than sight, he became a thunder dragon tearing through the night.
"Lightning Dragon—Ikazuchi!"
The sound of slicing air merged with thunder as he closed the distance.
Resuke's eyes flared. His blade became a blur of afterimages, cutting through the storm. Two brilliant arcs crossed the sky, splitting the night open.
When the light faded, Gintama was on one knee, panting. The patriarch still stood—trembling, but upright. Blood ran down his forearm, dripping from his fingers to the dirt.
"You fight like a true shinobi," Resuke said, voice calm despite the pain. "You've earned that title."
Gintama's lightning had already done its work—Resuke's arm hung uselessly at his side, paralyzed. The old samurai smiled faintly.
If it were a duel between swordsmen, it would've been dishonorable. But Gintama wasn't a samurai. He was a ninja. A ninja's victory wasn't about pride—it was about survival.
Still, something else felt wrong.
Resuke's breathing slowed. His expression shifted from calm to realization. Lightning began crawling across his chest, spreading.
"When...?" he muttered.
Gintama's pale face lifted. "Every strike. Every clash. My Lightning Chakra seeped in little by little. The buildup was too small to notice at first. But once it reached critical flow—"
He gestured. "—your body shuts down."
Resuke's entire frame stiffened, paralyzed from the inside out.
Despite victory, Gintama's body trembled. The patriarch's sword aura had shredded his defenses, leaving him bleeding beneath his lightning cloak. He could barely stand.
"Even without chakra, you reached this strength through sheer training…" Gintama muttered. "If you'd been born in another era, you'd stand with legends."
He stepped forward. The blade in his hand rose, steady despite the shaking.
"Patriarch… you've lost."
Resuke closed his eyes, a faint, peaceful smile forming. "Yeah. I lost."
Then, softly: "Don't hesitate. End it."
The courtyard froze.
Samurai and ninja alike shouted in protest. Even those who'd opposed him—ninja loyal to the reform faction—hesitated. No one wanted to see the old patriarch die like this.
But before anyone could move, the Third Elder barked an order.
From the crowd, five masked ninja burst forth, blades drawn.
Their intent was clear.
"Stop them!" someone screamed—but it was too late.
Gintama could barely lift his sword. Resuke couldn't even move. The five assassins' kunai gleamed under the moonlight as they closed in.
"Typical," a voice muttered lazily from the rooftops.
A smirk. A flicker of chakra.
Raizen.
The air twisted—then exploded in red light.
A crimson skeleton of chakra rose around Gintama and Resuke, ribs of energy flaring outward. The assassins froze mid-step as killing intent washed over them.
At the front of that burning aura stood a boy in black, his eyes glowing scarlet like molten glass.
"...You really thought I'd let them die here?" Raizen said, his voice low, carrying through the storm.
The night trembled.