As the clock inched toward ten, Ishiki Kujo stirred from his hidden perch.
Without exposing himself, he slipped through the forest shadows, led by his own Shadow Clone — a silent wraith in the dark.
Swift, deliberate, cutting through the trees like a thrown kunai, Ishiki reached the vicinity of his pre-selected target squad.
No hesitation.
As he moved, his hands blurred into seals.
And at the stroke of ten —
Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!
His clone melted into cover behind a thick tree. Ishiki himself stood proudly atop another trunk, hands at his mouth, channeling chakra.
With a roar, a massive sphere of searing flame erupted from his lips, blazing downward toward the Kumo-nin encampment below.
This was no half-measure.
This was the full power of the Uchiha Disc — no suppression, no holding back.
A fireball larger than anything he'd launched before, hurtling like a falling sun toward the resting squad.
Through prior surveillance, Ishiki already knew: only the squad captain possessed Chūnin-level skill; the rest were fledgling Genin — green, untested.
Perfect prey.
And this location was perfect too — even if reinforcements responded, only two squads at most could reach him quickly, and neither of them packed serious firepower.
The Great Fireball lit up the night like a second moon. In its falling light, Ishiki could see —
Only the captain and one alert Genin managed to react, diving away in desperation.
The two others, caught still in their sleep, never even had time to scream before the inferno swallowed them whole.
The Chūnin, his instincts sharp, didn't waste time fighting back. Instead, he pulled a flare launcher from his pouch and fired a signal into the sky — even as two other signals bloomed elsewhere.
Too late.
The whisper of wind behind him, the flash of chakra —
An ambush!
The Kumo-nin captain turned in terror.
And there they were —
Pale, all-seeing Byakugan eyes, glinting inches from his face.
Doom.
That single thought was all the Chūnin had time for.
His defensive motion was effortlessly parried. A chakra-laden palm, deceptively soft, tapped into his chest.
Gentle Fist Art: Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms!
The Hyūga Clan's secret art, perfectly synchronizing with Byakugan vision to strike an opponent's chakra network, sealing or disrupting their flow.
Ishiki's clone wasn't here to toy with him —
He was here to cripple.
The clone's hands moved like a river in flood — sixteen precise strikes fell in under a breath, slamming into the Chūnin's chakra points.
Locked.
Severed.
Helpless.
On the final strike, the clone twisted his wrist, a kunai flashing into existence like a conjured death.
It plunged into the Kumo-nin's chest — a splash of crimson bloomed.
The clone kicked backward, flinging an explosive tag as he retreated.
BOOM!
The whole sequence, from first strike to final explosion, took less than five seconds.
When the smoke cleared, only a mangled, unrecognizable corpse remained.
Elsewhere, Ishiki himself had already slain the final Genin.
Returning silently to his clone's side, Ishiki scanned the area with the Byakugan, quickly marking points onto a field map.
No words.
Only action.
Ishiki and his clone then pivoted, sprinting toward a new target — another squad, isolated from the others.
Meanwhile, the clone's vision captured a sudden change inside the shack.
Uchiha Shisui had entered the battlefield.
Moving with blinding speed, Shisui inspected the butchered spy's body.
Outside, waves of hidden Kumogakure shinobi surged into place — ambushes long prepared, traps snapping shut.
The night sky flashed with signal flares, but the guards around the shack remained rooted, iron-willed.
Inside, Shisui moved like lightning.
Before anyone could react, he ripped the explosive tags from the spy's body and triggered Body Flicker Technique, disappearing an instant before the tags detonated.
When he reappeared, he was untouched.
The shack bore the brunt of the explosion, a crater yawning where a wall once stood.
The gathered Kumo-nin wore grim expressions.
They had just witnessed Uchiha Shisui, the Teleporting Demon, firsthand.
Returning inside, Shisui sighed.
His short blade gleamed under the moonlight as he unsheathed it.
In a single stroke, he severed the spy's head.
Wrapping it carefully in a stained bedsheet, Shisui slung the bundle at his side.
His Sharingan spun lazily in his eyes as he strode out of the shack, fearless.
The clone relayed every moment to Ishiki.
Ishiki's own face grew darker by the second.
If their harassment operation couldn't split the enemy forces enough to relieve Shisui, what was even the point?
The grim implications of the earlier intelligence weighed heavily.
He stopped moving.
The clone's Byakugan scanned in every direction.
Seconds ticked past. Then —
Decision.
Retreat.
Fast.
Ishiki broke contact before any reinforcements could pin him down.
He didn't worry for Shisui.
That genius from the Uchiha Clan needed no help from the likes of him.
If anything, Ishiki realized, this battlefield would only elevate Shisui's legend — eclipsing even his storied feats from the Third Great Ninja War.
Besides, Ishiki reasoned, he'd annihilated one squad already, and baited three more into disarray.
Not bad for a Genin.
A thin, cold smile tugged at his lips.
He ran faster, slipping through the trees like smoke.
The Byakugan revealed paths between enemy patrols, exploiting the chaos at Kuroku Mountain perfectly.
His retreat was flawless.
By the dead of night, Ishiki made it back to Mount Myōjin.
No other teammates had returned yet.
Scanning with the Byakugan confirmed the area was secure.
Ishiki dispelled his clone.
The inserted Disc popped free from the collapsing body — he caught it one-handed and sealed it carefully back into the storage scroll.
Only then did he relax, settling into the boughs of a large tree, vanishing once more into patient stillness.
Waiting.
Watching.
As the sky paled toward dawn, he spotted a raven fluttering overhead — the secret messenger of the mission.
Not long after, two battered figures stumbled into view — Aoba, wounded but alive, and Mirinae, disheveled and grimy.
A fresh clone snapped into existence, intercepting them and demanding identification codes.
Only when their responses matched did Ishiki drop from his perch.
He strode quickly to Aoba, checking his wounds.
Broken ribs.
A slashed arm.
Nothing fatal.
Ishiki allowed himself a thin nod.
The night was far from over — but they had survived.