The steam had barely begun to drift across the clearing before it thickened, a heavy white curtain that even the torrential rain struggled to pierce.
Vision was zero. For any normal ninja, the world had become a blank canvas. But for Ui, whose sensing relied on the bio-electrical presence of living things rather than traditional chakra detection, the enemy was as clear as a beacon.
Without a moment's hesitation, he plunged into the mist.
This visual isolation, though seemingly accidental, provided Ui with a distinct tactical edge. He moved like a ghost within the whiteout. From the outside, one could only see flickering bursts of lightning, the sudden flare of elemental clashes, and the occasional shuriken spinning out of the fog at random angles.
The sounds were a chaotic symphony of crackling electricity, hissing steam, and the sharp ring of steel on steel.
Minutes passed. Ui eventually vaulted back out of the mist, his breathing heavy. As the continuous Fire Style ceased, the steam began to dissipate under the relentless rain.
Thanks to his sensory advantage, Ui had held a slight upper hand in the exchange. He was uninjured, but the realization was bitter: he hadn't dealt a single decisive blow.
"Your Lightning Style is powerful, no doubt," the masked Fuma rasped, his voice steady. "But its flaw is glaring. Maintaining that level of output consumes a massive amount of chakra. Simply put, your style isn't built for a war of attrition."
The mercenary scanned the churned mud. Sparks of residual electricity still flickered in the puddles. He had sustained only minor abrasions; not a single wound was deep enough to cause significant bleeding.
Indeed, the Chidori Nagashi surrounding Ui had dimmed considerably. By the end of that mist-shrouded brawl, his movements had noticeably slowed.
"I never planned for a long fight," Ui countered, though his voice was punctuated by tired gasps. It was a classic display of stubbornness—the kind that usually precedes a total chakra collapse. "I'll finish you before my tank runs dry."
"And how long do you think you have left? Two minutes? One? Thirty seconds?"
The mercenary seemed finished with talk. He lunged.
Using his left foot as a pivot, he spun his entire body, channeling the momentum into a devastating roundhouse kick aimed directly at Ui's neck.
Ui snapped his arms up in a cross-guard, surging what remained of his lightning into his forearms. He wasn't trying to paralyze the man anymore—he had realized early on that the Fuma had a high natural resistance to electrical shocks. He was just trying to survive the impact.
The blow landed, but it wasn't as heavy as Ui expected.
Shit.
The force didn't go from right to left; it went from front to back. The mercenary had sacrificed the power of the kick to shove Ui backward, intentionally launching him into the air.
Ui twisted his body mid-flight, his eyes widening. Waiting at his landing point was another figure. Or rather, a Water Clone.
The clone's hands were already finished with the seals.
"Water Style: Water Pillar Wire!"
Coils of pressurized water lashed out, binding Ui's limbs tightly as he hit the ground.
"A Water Clone... you set this up the moment you dropped those large shuriken, didn't you? You used a combination of Clone and Transformation jutsus on the discarded tools."
Despite being bound, Ui remained eerily calm. He had already deconstructed the trick. His sensing ability tracked life-forms, not chakra constructs, which was why the clone had remained invisible to his "radar."
The mercenary tilted his head, intrigued by the boy's composure. "You don't seem to fear death."
"It's not that I don't fear it," Ui replied steadily. "It's just that I'm not going to die. You really think a parlor trick like this can hold me?"
"Is that so? Because I think this is where your story ends!"
The Fuma's voice turned cold. As the Water Clone maintained the constriction, the leader stepped forward to finish the job personally. He kicked one of the massive Fuma Shuriken into the air, caught it by the center ring, and with a flick of his wrist, set the four blades spinning with a lethal hum.
At that size, a direct hit wouldn't just cut; it would bifurcate.
"Let me tell you something," Ui said, his voice calm even as the blades approached. "As long as a ninja's hands can still form a seal, they aren't 'caught'."
When he had realized he was about to be bound mid-air, his only priority had been ensuring his hands were pressed together.
The spinning shuriken was inches from his chest.
"Boar → Dog → Bird → Monkey → Ram!"
The seals were simple—the universal sequence for a Summoning. But Ui wasn't calling a crow or a hound. He was using a specific defensive summoning he had "borrowed" from the Scroll of Seals, a technique once wielded by the First Hokage himself.
"Ninja Art: Summoning: Rashomon!"