A guttural curse ripped from Kakuzu's throat, a sound of pure, frustrated venom.
His entire combat style—a brutal symphony of surprise built on the enemy's ignorance of his capabilities—had just collapsed.
For the first time, he was the one in the dark, his every move anticipated, his every secret laid bare. His opponent hadn't faltered for a second; he had been prepared, waiting.
'When? How did my intelligence leak?'
Before the panicked thought could fully form, the masked specter was upon him again, a blur of impossible speed. The concentrated lightning in the foe's hand hummed with a lethality that made his own Lightning Release: False Darkness seem like a child's spark.
"Who the hell are you?!" Kakuzu's roar was half fury, half desperation.
Yuta remained silent, a wraith of focused intent. Words were worthless here; only action mattered.
The lightning blade flashed. Kakuzu was thrown back as if swatted by a titan, his body carving a trench in the earth.
The mask representing his Lightning Release heart survived, but a web of hairline fractures now marred its surface.
'It didn't shatter?… doesn't matter'
Yuta gave him no quarter, no moment to regroup. The air itself screamed, torn by a new, whirring shriek.
In Yuta's palm, the Rasengan warped and flattened, its form sharpening into a giant, spinning shuriken—a maelstrom of countless, microscopic chakra blades.
Mastering the Rasengan had been a feat. Imbuing it with Wind Release nature transformation had been a breakthrough born of relentless effort, resulting in the Rasenshuriken. Yet, it remained a flawed, self-destructive weapon, one he dared not throw.
But the Sage Art of The Shikkotsu Forest had rewritten the rules. In Sage Mode, such limitations were rendered obsolete.
Sage Art: Wind Release: Rasenshuriken!
"This technique…" Sakumo Hatake's whisper was a sharp exhale from the forest's edge. "By the Sage… that's overkill."
Even from a safe distance, the technique's sharp nature was palpable. The sheer, cellular-level annihilation contained within that spinning vortex was terrifying. Facing it, what could he do?
The answer was a cold, hard truth in his gut.
'Nothing. I would simply die.'
He was abruptly reminded of their mission: provide support and eliminate the rogue shinobi, Kakuzu.
'But looking at this… does he look like he needs support?'
Kakuzu had not felt the true, icy clutch of mortality since the day he ripped the forbidden scroll of Earth Grudge Fear from Takigakure's vaults.
The last time was a long forgotten nightmare, from an era when he was still a "loyal" shinobi of the Village Hidden in the Waterfall, sent on a fool's errand to assassinate the God of Shinobi, Senju Hashirama.
Even facing a mere wood clone of his, he had been hopelessly crushed. He had known that fear then.
He knew it now, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin.
The destructive promise of this incoming ninjutsu… could his stolen hearts possibly endure it?
The Rasenshuriken connected. The impact was not a single blow, but an eternity of pain.
A billion infinitesimal blades sawed at his existence from within, shredding tissue, chakra, and soul. His form was dismantled in an instant.
Yet, Yuta's vigilance did not waver. He knew an imperfect version of this technique had shattered two hearts. His own version, perfected and amplified by Sage Mode, should have been absolute death. But Kakuzu's vitality defied all reason.
From the settling cloud of debris, a grotesque, blackened horror clawed its way out.
Only one mask remained, pulsing weakly amidst a tangle of thick, black tendrils—the final, desperate configuration of the Earth Grudge Fear.
Kakuzu lived, but it was a pitiful existence, his breath a ragged, bubbling gasp.
'Retreat.' The thought, once an insult, now bloomed as his only hope. 'Such a technique must have drained him. If I can just escape… I can find new hearts. I can recover.''
Frustration boiled within him. He had more to show! More techniques! He was losing not to superior power, but to superior intelligence! His own arsenal was a known quantity, while his enemy remained a mystery.
With a snarl of defiance, Kakuzu made his move. He severed his own wrist, the stump erupting in a volley of black threads meant to impale and obscure.
He used the screen to pivot, his ravaged body screaming in protest as he pushed it to flee.
It was the signal the shadows had been awaiting. Inu, Sakumo, and the other Anbu operative materialized from the treeline, forming a silent wall that sealed every escape route.
Kakuzu's eyes widened, his pupils contracting to pinpricks. The distinctive armor and animal masks were unmistakable now.
"Konoha…" he breathed, his mind a frantic whirlwind seeking a nonexistent exit.
But in this perfect encirclement, there was none.
Click—
The soft sound of a mask being unlatched cut through the tension.
Yuta emerged from the dissipating dust, the distinctive Sage markings already fading from his skin. He removed his mask revealing a face that was, disconcertingly, still young.
'A… a boy?'
The revelation was a final, humiliating blow. He, Kakuzu, a legend of the underworld, had been brought to the brink of annihilation by a mere brat.
Yet, he could not deny the terrifying reality of the power he had just faced. That final technique belonged to a realm far beyond his years.
"Eight years ago," Yuta's voice was quiet, yet it carried the grim finality of a judge's gavel. "You ambushed a Konoha squad in the Land of Fire. The squad captain fought you, allowing his team to escape. He killed you once. But in his ignorance of your secret technique, you killed him in return."
"That man was my father."
A memory ignited in Kakuzu's mind. He remembered. It was one of the few bounties he had failed to collect, the corpse lost to Konoha's swift retaliation. The memory was tied to frustration, a job left unfinished.
Confronted by Yuta's gaze, Kakuzu mustered a final, contemptuous sneer. "A trivial job. I forgot it long ago."
"Your memory of it doesn't matter," Yuta replied, his tone flat and cold as a glacier. "Mine is all that matters."
"Kakuzu, I don't know where you've hoarded all your wealth. But it doesn't matter. I will find it."
"So now, your part in this story is over."
At the mention of his life's treasure, a spike of panic seized Kakuzu. But Yuta was a fraction of a second faster.
The serene blue of a standard Rasengan flared to life one last time. It lanced forward, and with a final, conclusive CRACK, the last mask—Kakuzu's final, wretched life—shattered into silent, unmourned oblivion.
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