The air inside the temple grew thick, suffocating with unrestrained chakra. The torches lining the walls flickered violently as if struggling against an unseen force. The statues of faceless deities cracked further, their silent prayers breaking under the weight of two overwhelming presences.
Renzō and the false god stood facing one another—two beings who carried more power than any mortal should. But where one sought to possess, the other had let go.
The man in white took a step forward, the echo of his movement reverberating through the temple. His crimson eyes shimmered unnaturally, reflecting a hunger that had long since consumed his soul.
"You believe yourself beyond power," he said, his voice laced with both amusement and irritation. "But tell me, if you do not claim your strength, then why does it follow you? Why do men fear you?"
Renzō remained still. "Fear is not a measure of greatness."
The false god smirked. "No. Control is."
And with that, he moved.
Faster than sight. Faster than thought.
The very air screamed as the false god lunged, his palm aimed at Renzō's chest. A strike meant not to wound, not to harm, but to erase.
A technique stolen from ancient bloodlines. A chakra so refined that it did not destroy—it simply made things cease.
His hand struck.
But it did not touch Renzō.
For in that instant, the world itself seemed to ripple.
Time did not stop. It simply hesitated.
The false god's attack hung in the air, mere inches from Renzō's unmoving form. The sage had not stepped back. He had not countered. He had simply existed in a space the attack could not reach.
Golden eyes met crimson.
"You do not understand," Renzō murmured.
And then—
Chakra unfolded.
Not as an attack. Not as a defense.
But as a simple truth.
The temple walls groaned as an unseen force spread outward, crashing against the false god like an ocean wave. The torches died. The statues shattered. The very foundation of the temple trembled.
The false god was thrown backward, his body slamming into his obsidian throne, cracking it down the middle. He gasped, his breath ragged, his body trembling—not with pain, but with revelation.
He looked down at his own hands, once radiant with absolute power.
Now they shook.
"W-What is this?" he whispered. His voice, once filled with arrogance, now carried the weight of something he had never known.
Doubt.
Renzō slowly approached. His golden eyes did not hold anger. Nor pity. Nor superiority.
Only understanding.
"You have spent your life taking," he said softly. "Believing that to hold power is to hold dominion over others."
The false god clenched his fists. "And yet you oppose me with power!" he spat, his crimson eyes flickering with desperation. "You claim to be beyond it, but here you stand, overwhelming me with what you refuse to wield!"
Renzō shook his head. "I do not wield power."
He raised a single hand.
The air trembled again—not with violence, but with something boundless. The false god's breath caught in his throat. He had spent decades cultivating strength, bending it to his will, forcing it to obey.
But Renzō...
Renzō simply was.
"Power wields me."
The temple collapsed.
Not from an attack. Not from force.
But because the foundation of everything the false god had built—his rule, his control, his stolen divinity—could no longer stand before something greater.
The weight of a true god.
Dust filled the air. The once-mighty temple was no more.
And when the debris settled, only one man remained standing.
Renzō turned away.
Behind him, the false god lay on his knees, his breath uneven, his eyes staring blankly at the ruins around him. He was not dead. He was not wounded.
But he was defeated.
Not by strength.
But by the realization that he had never truly held it.
As Renzō descended the mountain, the first rays of dawn touched the village below. The people, who had watched in silent terror, now stared in awe. The temple—their prison—was gone.
And the man they had feared was simply walking away.
A child, the same one who had once held a rusted kunai with trembling hands, stepped forward. "You… you're leaving?"
Renzō paused. He glanced back at the mountain, where the false god remained, no longer a ruler—just a man who had lost his way.
"You are free now," Renzō said simply.
The villagers stood in stunned silence as the sage disappeared into the horizon, his golden eyes already seeking the next place where the world had need of him.
For he had no throne.
No kingdom.
No claim.
Only the path ahead.