Ssshhhk—!
Sogetsu clamped both hands to his throat, trying to plug the fountain of blood. A clean cut across the carotid is a death sentence; even Tsunade would struggle to reverse it in time.
"Your eyes," Hanzo said, lifting two fingers toward the Sharingan, "I'll be taking them."
"Stop, Hanzo!"
"Water Release: Water Severing Wave!"
A crescent of high-pressure water screamed in, keen enough to split stone. Hanzo yanked his hand back and sprang away a dozen meters, then traced the attack to its source—
—and found three figures he could least afford to see.
Akatsuki.
The "young lions" who'd been stalking his throne.
"You," Hanzo grated.
"Hanzo-sama…" Yahiko's expression was a knotted ache. "So it's true. You really joined hands with Danzo."
"Do you believe me now?" Konan's ice-pale face twisted with hurt and hate. "This is the root of every misery—Hanzo. He isn't a guardian anymore. If we leave him be, he and Danzo will kill us in the end."
"Konan is right, Yahiko." Nagato stepped to her side; in his deep violet Rinnegan a hard light flashed. "That wasn't 'just a dream.' It was a warning—and it led us here to rip off Hanzo's mask."
"Konan… Nagato…" Yahiko's jaw worked—torn between reverence and fury.
"Urgh…" Hanzo pressed his temple. His thoughts felt… slow, like he'd lost hold of something important. Why are they here?
No matter. His gaze turned razor-cold. "Three sewer rats at once, then. Fine. I'll crush you together."
A whisper at the back of his skull urged him on. Kill them.
Kill them and the throne is safe. Kill them and the rain stays yours.
"Amegakure is mine."
Hanzo tore off his respirator; purple poison curled from his lips as his hair fell wild. "No one takes it from me!"
"Hanzo-sama…" Yahiko's pain curdled to anger. "I misjudged you."
He had worshiped this man, once—Ame's bulwark in chaos. But with the years, that bulwark had become a blade turned inward. Fear and slaughter hung over the village like its endless clouds.
They'd suffered enough to learn a truth: brute force wouldn't save Ame. A different road might.
He'd clung to the hope that theirs was only a clash of ideals, each side fighting for the village's future.
Now that last hope shattered.
"You've changed," Yahiko said hoarsely. "You're no hero—just a butcher who traded ideals for power."
"You stray dogs don't get to judge me!"
Hanzo surged forward. Chain hissed; the scythe scythed in a purple arc—straight for Konan.
"Konan—!" Nagato slammed his hands to the ground. "Earth Release: Earth-Style Wall!"
A thick rampart shouldered up and caught the blade.
"Paper Shuriken!"
Sheets flickered from behind the wall—dozens of crisp white blades.
"Konan, fall back!" Nagato's stomach dropped. The nightmare had shaken her to the core; she was too wound to think, charging a legend head-on. "Yahiko—stop her!"
"I'm trying! Konan, don't—this isn't why we came!"
They'd only meant to calm her, to prove the dream wrong. Somehow, everything was stampeding the other way.
Clang-clang-clang!
Hanzo spun, chain and iron weight whipping a storm that batted the paper aside. The weight tore free with a final whirl—meteor-fast—down at Konan.
Thunk-thunk-thunk—!
Three shuriken from Yahiko threaded the chain links mid-flight, jerking the weight off line. Nagato saw the gap like a jackal catches scent, chakra bursting underfoot as he closed and chopped a hand forward:
"Wind Release: Gale Palm!"
A razor-thin, invisible blade knifed for Hanzo's neck.
At the same beat, Yahiko finished his signs and drew in a breath:
"Fire Release: Flying Flames!"
Wind feeds fire; fire rides wind.
Together they sealed every exit.
"Brats," Hanzo snarled, eyes hooded with malice. "You're still too green."
Water Release: Water Body Flicker.
His form dissolved to a splash and slid away—
—only to have Nagato call his reappearance without even turning. "Konan—Yahiko—right rear, fifteen meters!"
"Hanzo!" Konan's paper unfolded into wings as she shot skyward, killing intent like frost. "If you die here—that future never happens!"
The dream's "prophecy" was unfolding, piece by piece. She couldn't bear it. She wouldn't lose them.
Cut it off at the root.
"Dance of the Shikigami!"
Her wings shattered into a storm. A monsoon of knives hammered down.
Drrrrrrrrrum—!
Stone turned to honeycomb. The buried Hanzo hadn't expected the angle; paper blades scored him open from scalp to boot. He surfaced drenched in blood and inhuman fury.
"Little vermin!" He was a ruin—clothes in ribbons, face carved raw—but the wildness in his eyes only deepened. "You've forced my hand!"
"He's going for broke—careful!" Nagato warned, chilled by the killing will pouring off him.
"Wait!" Yahiko flinched—some sixth sense screaming. "Konan, Nagato—something's wrong!"
He could feel it, even if he couldn't name it. This wasn't a fight anymore; it was a snare.
But no one could hear him now.
The nightmare had branded Konan—only Hanzo's death could save tomorrow. Nagato, leaning toward Konan's side, had come to the same conclusion.
And Hanzo saw only a group threatening his crown that had to be erased.
Everyone had their reasons.
And yet Yahiko couldn't shake it: it was all too… convenient.
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