Yūzō Hōzuki's last gambit was laid bare under the Sharingan's gaze.
Gen shifted his stance, locking eyes with his opponent.
A subtle ripple of killing intent ran through the air as his genjutsu flared and at the same time, the Wind-Flame Sword thrust straight for the man's heart.
But Yūzō was a veteran. In the instant before the illusion could take hold, his eyes liquefied, dissolving into clear water, and the rest of his body followed. The blade met only steam and the hiss of evaporating chakra.
Tch… slippery.
Yūzō reformed a few meters away, already weaving hand seals, only to abort them immediately as the Kusanagi's gleaming tip shot toward his chest once more, extending unnaturally fast.
Bloodshot eyes narrowing, he twisted away, barely dodging. The blade retracted in a flash, and Gen was already upon him, each strike of the golden-hot sword aimed for a vital point.
There was no room to breathe, let alone weave seals. No nearby water source meant every strike's heat would leech the moisture from Yūzō's body.
Two clean hits could end him before he even formed a jutsu.
Panic began to creep in. I should have used Water Release the moment we clashed… Even a simple C-rank jutsu would have bought him space. Instead, he had opened with shuriken and wasting precious seconds he could never reclaim.
The sword's heat was suffocating, its edge merciless.
Sweat beaded down Yūzō's brow, his muscles growing sluggish. Worse, he had to constantly avert his gaze from the spinning tomoe, lest he fall into genjutsu.
And then, inevitably he slipped.
Sharingan: Genjutsu.
This time, he was a fraction too slow. His limbs locked. The Wind-Flame Sword's arc blazed through the air and severed his right arm in a single stroke.
Steam hissed from the wound, the high temperature cauterizing flesh in an instant, filling the air with a sickening scent of roasted meat.
"Aaahhh!" The scream broke him free from the illusion, only for his vision to fill with the incoming blade. Fear stabbed deeper than pain.
The power of the Soul-Soul Fruit surged, and Gen ripped both soul and lifespan from Yūzō's body. Then, with no pause, he drove the sword down, splitting the skull and burning brain and bone alike to ash.
The body collapsed with a dull thud.
Gen exhaled slowly. If he'd led with Water Release and with the sea this close this fight could have gone differently.
Yūzō's water-merging ability in combination with high-level Water Release could have made him nearly impossible to kill without Lightning Release.
That was why Gen had concealed his Sharingan and clan emblem at the outset. If the Mist-nin had known he was Uchiha, shuriken would have never been his opening move. Instead, Yūzō had made a fatal strategic error.
And he wasn't the only one. On the battlefield, even a small miscalculation could be a death sentence.
Following the scent of salt, Gen moved swiftly.
Within thirty seconds, the ocean stretched out before him; sunlight flashing off rolling waves, the cries of distant seagulls riding the breeze.
He crouched at the water's edge and dipped his hand in. The sea was cool, but no draining weakness gripped him. No loss of strength.
A slow grin spread across his face. So… I'm not bound by the sea's curse.
Was it the nature of this world? The quirk of a dimensional journey? Or something else entirely? Whatever the reason, it was an advantage he'd keep.
He rose and began pursuing the retreating Mist shinobi along the coastline.
Ten minutes later, faint signs of passage, flattened grass and bent stalks, led him to a cliff's edge. Far below, jagged rocks jutted from foaming surf, the winding shoreline offering countless hiding spots.
He withdrew, popped a soldier pill into his mouth, and sat cross-legged until strength and chakra returned.
When ready, he pulled three kunai, each with a paper tag, and hurled them into suspected hiding points.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Smoke and debris filled the air.
Three Mist-nin burst from cover; one from the explosions and two from other crannies in the cliffside, leaping away across the rocks below.
Gen's lips curved. Found you.
He raced along the cliff, then dove down at a flatter stretch.
Realizing escape was impossible, the trio turned and attacked.
Water Release: Water Wave!
Water Release: Water Shotgun!
Water Release: Water Whip!
A crashing tide, needle-fast water bullets, and snapping whips converged, churning mud and spray into a wall of violence.
Gen blurred skyward, chest swelling.
Fire Release: Great Fire Annihilation!
A massive golden-orange fireball roared from his mouth, plummeting like a meteor. The Mist-nin scattered, but the fire spread upon impact, boiling seawater and devouring everything in its path.
Their screams tore through the smoke.
When the flames died, two lay charred and still. The third twitched weakly—until Gen harvested his soul and lifespan.
Without looking back, he leapt up the cliff and resumed the hunt.
The pursuit raged for hours, driving deep into the Land of Whirlpools. Darkness finally drew the chase to a close; the coastline littered with Mist corpses, those too slow, too weak, or too unwise to survive.
That night, in the temporary Konoha camp, the air buzzed with talk. Everywhere, shinobi murmured the same thought:
The war is as good as over.