Tap... tap...
Blood soaked through Biwa Jūzō's clothes, trickling down his pant legs and leaving a crimson trail with every heavy step he took.
Having fled the battlefield, the massive blood loss was finally catching up to him. His pace became staggered, his movements sluggish, and a thick fog of dizziness clouded his vision.
Only the searing agony of his wounds kept him from slipping into unconsciousness. He knew with grim certainty: if he collapsed here, he would never see tomorrow's sun.
The path back to his hideout was too long, and there were no doctors in these woods. Jūzō realized he likely wouldn't make it out of this forest alive.
Facing the end, fragments of his childhood flickered through his mind—life before he became a shinobi. It had been a life of poverty, yet in his final moments, he realized those lean years were the only time he had been truly happy.
Maybe... if I hadn't become a ninja, things would have turned out okay.
His strength spent, Jūzō leaned against a massive tree and slowly slid down to the ground. Kakashi's Chidori hadn't hit his heart, but a wound of that magnitude was a death sentence without immediate aid.
That he had walked this far was a testament to a willpower that bordered on the monstrous.
As his consciousness wavered, his thoughts became a chaotic blur of childhood nostalgia and the bloody slaughter of his career. His gaze lost its focus, drifting into the void.
"Heh heh heh..."
"You really are in a pathetic state, aren't you?"
"Senior."
A light chuckle drifted down from the branches of the giant tree he was leaning against. Jūzō's eyes snapped open. Adrenaline surged through his dying nerves as he grabbed the Executioner's Blade and swung it in a savage arc behind him.
Flash!
The massive tree was cleaved in two. As the trunk groaned and began to tilt, two figures flickered down from above, landing gracefully on the dirt before him.
Jūzō squinted through the haze. He saw a muscular man with a Mist headband worn at a rakish angle, and beside him stood a smaller, masked ninja.
The mask was a "faceless" design with the Mist village emblem carved into the forehead—the standard-issue gear for the Kirigakure ANBU. But it was the man beside the mask that Jūzō recognized instantly.
The rising star of the Mist, the man known as the "Demon of the Hidden Mist"—Momochi Zabuza.
Though Zabuza had not yet earned a spot in the Seven Ninja Swordsmen due to the lack of a blade, his combat prowess was undeniable. He was a powerhouse recognized even by the Mizukage.
"Tch..." Jūzō spat, his face pale from blood loss. "The village's lapdogs..."
An intense bitterness filled him. In his current state, he couldn't hope to defeat these two. If he had died by Kakashi's hand, he could accept it—survival of the fittest was the law he lived by. But to be scavenged by a junior while he was crippled? His pride couldn't stomach it.
"Senior, your wounds are deep," Zabuza said, keeping his distance. He appraised Jūzō's condition with a cold, calculating eye.
He didn't move to attack immediately; he was waiting for the tiger to bleed out. "Rest easy. Just hand over the Executioner's Blade. I promise that after you're gone, I'll use it to avenge you."
"The Executioner's Blade?!" Jūzō chuckled darkly. "So that's your game. Zabuza... I've heard of you. You're talented, but you aren't fit to hold this sword. You aren't stronger than me."
Jūzō tightened his grip on the hilt, his eyes burning with killing intent. To the Seven Ninja Swordsmen, their blades were more than weapons—they were their souls, their glory, and the proof of their existence.
Every swordsman had paid a terrible price for their blade, often murdering mentors or slaughtering comrades. Unless he was dead, Jūzō would never let go.
"Not fit?" Zabuza shrugged. "Say what you want. Once you're dead, the sword belongs to me anyway."
Zabuza was a man raised in the "Bloody Mist." He wasn't about to let insults goad him into a reckless fight with a dying elite. He and the ANBU operative simply stood there, waiting for Jūzō's life to flicker out.
The Final Struggle
Jūzō knew time was against him. He had to act now. He locked his sights on the smaller ANBU operative.
Kill one first!
With a roar that tore at his lungs, Jūzō lunged. Every step sent lightning bolts of pain through his body, twisting his face into a demonic mask.
"Die!!"
He swung the massive blade at the ANBU's neck.
"Haku!" Zabuza barked. Simultaneously, Zabuza drew a standard-issue straight blade and flickered to Jūzō's side, aiming for Jūzō's throat.
He wasn't trying to block for his partner; he was using a trade-off of lives to force Jūzō to break his momentum.
Jūzō ignored the threat to his own life. He leaned into the swing, committing 100% of his remaining strength. He was prepared to trade his life for the kill.
Zabuza's blade slashed across Jūzō's back, opening a long, shallow gash, but Jūzō didn't flinch. His Executioner's Blade was inches from the ANBU's throat when—Clang!
A mirror of solid ice materialized out of thin air, blocking the strike. The impact vibrated up Jūzō's arms, numbing them.
"This is... a Bloodline Limit!"
The boy hadn't even used hand seals. Before Jūzō could recover, frost began to creep from the ice mirror onto the blade, trying to freeze it in place. Jūzō ripped the sword back and kicked out at Haku's stomach while swinging his blade to fend off Zabuza.
Zabuza raised his straight blade to parry, but his standard weapon was no match for a Ninja Tool of the Seven. The Executioner's Blade shattered Zabuza's sword instantly, the edge continuing toward Zabuza's chest.
"Tch!"
Just as Zabuza was about to be cut down, another ice mirror appeared, absorbing the blow. Zabuza seized the opening, thrusting the broken remains of his sword deep into Jūzō's abdomen.
Jūzō stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was bleeding from his chest, his back, and now his stomach. He didn't know how to bypass the ice defense, and his strength was fading fast.
"As expected," Zabuza muttered, his hands beginning to weave seals.
Haku vanished into an ice mirror, and suddenly, a dome of mirrors surrounded Jūzō. From every angle, Haku rained down senbon (needles), while reflections of Zabuza appeared in the mirrors, confusing Jūzō's senses.
"What is this?!" Jūzō swung wildly, but he couldn't even crack the ice.
Water Style: Water Dragon Bullet!
From behind a wall of ice, Zabuza finished his seals. A massive dragon of water erupted, surging through the gaps in the mirrors toward the exhausted Jūzō.
Jūzō raised his broken blade one last time, a futile gesture against a high-level ninjutsu. In his state, this hit would be his end.
As the freezing water roared toward him, Jūzō suddenly felt a warm, firm hand rest lightly on the small of his back.
The world flickered.
The roaring water dragon and the walls of ice were gone, replaced by a quiet, dense thicket of trees several hundred meters away.
"This... what...?"
Jūzō turned his head slowly, his heart hammering in his chest. He found himself looking directly into a pair of brilliant, iridescent Tenseigan eyes.
"Long time no see..."
"Biwa Jūzō."
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