Boom.
The ground split open and a figure vaulted high from the fissure. Vincent.
He was hauling a slab of rock far larger than his own frame. With one brutal swing he hurled it between the two clashing figures and knocked them well apart.
Kid, you are alright.
Relief loosened Jiraiya's chest. He had already begun to mourn Vincent and blame himself. Seeing the boy alive and unbowed steadied him.
You okay.
Vincent only shook his head and fixed the Deva Path with a glacial stare.
Not dead yet.
Pain's eyes flashed at Vincent's reappearance, a hitch of panic that he crushed an instant later. His gaze cooled to steel.
Come take your death.
Vincent did not answer. He heaved the boulder straight at the Deva Path, its surface sheathed in roaring flame. The wind fanned the blaze until the rock glowed and howled through the air.
Pain sprang and twisted, preternaturally agile, and the flaming mass crashed past.
Stubborn life.
He spun on his heel. He ran.
Vincent lunged after him without a thought.
Watching them vanish, Jiraiya felt a deep and heavy helplessness. His Sage chakra was almost gone. If he chased recklessly he would not threaten the Deva Path. He would only drag Vincent down.
Husband.
Shima dropped from his shoulder and gathered Fukasaku's limp body into her arms. She pushed chakra into him again and again. It seeped out of the wounds like water through a sieve.
Jiraiya came to her side, guilt burning low and steady. Granny Shima, I should not have called you here.
This was my mission. I dragged the elders into it. They saved my life more than once and now one of them was dead.
It is his fate, maybe. Shima hugged the small body tighter.
Do you want me to send you back to Mount Myoboku.
No. Like this is fine.
Her eyes hardened. She stared toward the trees where Vincent and Pain had gone. I want to see the boy cut down the one who killed my husband. After that…
She could not finish. She held Fukasaku and bowed her head.
Alright.
Jiraiya bowed deeply to them both, turned, and ran after Vincent.
Vincent hunted the Deva Path through the forest. The two of them wove between trunks like shadows.
Cracks boomed behind Pain, one after another. Vincent's urgency sharpened to a point. He had seen Fukasaku fall. He wanted Pain's head.
He plowed through an ancient tree and kept going, armor of Armament Haki wrapped tight around him. Nothing could slow him.
Another giant trunk exploded to splinters. Chips of wood peppered his clothes and skin. He did not spare them a glance. He fixed on Pain's back and bore down.
Where do you think you are going.
Pain skimmed low, touching down with the lightest steps and launching far ahead. Vincent tore along like a bulldozer, trees toppling in his wake. The gap shrank. Vincent drew his fist to his hip and let power coil.
A glide step, a burst forward.
Serious Punch.
His strike hammered down with annihilating force, straight for Pain's spine.
Death brushed the Deva Path. He did not dare turn. His hands flung wide.
Shinra Tensei.
Repulsion ballooned from him in a transparent shell. Vincent's punch had weight enough to carve a print into the air. It warped the barrier, caving it inward.
Watching the fist chew closer, Pain panicked. Chakra flooded. He forced every drop of strength into that denting wall.
Then he let the backlash take him and threw himself away from the impact.
The punch collapsed the barrier's bulge. Pain tumbled, grabbed the air, and steadied midflight, spitting lances of light at Vincent.
Sparks skittered across Vincent's chest and arms. He did not slow.
What is he made of, iron.
The thought flickered wild in Pain's mind. Vincent was already there. Another punch thundered in.
Shinra Tensei was on cooldown. Pain ripped a storm of black receivers from his sleeves and wrapped himself in a cage.
The blow hit. Webs of cracks spread in an instant, raced across every rod.
A brittle snap like teeth on ice. The shell shattered.
It bought him the one heartbeat he needed.
Shinra Tensei.
The wall slammed out. Vincent's punch stalled and the force hurled him back.
Pain snapped his wrists and flung two receivers like javelins, each aimed for a killing point.
They struck Vincent with a pair of clean, bell-like pings. Hairline cracks striped the tips. His skin showed no mark.
Vincent rose without hurry and never took his eyes off Pain. He bent, plucked both rods from the dirt, and did something that made Pain's blood go cold.
Vincent set the receivers to his own chest and drove them in.
Metal screamed. Sparks leapt. The rods buckled, then burst in his hands.
He dusted black grit from his palms, cocked an eyebrow, and gave Pain a small, contemptuous smile.
Killing the body is one thing. Breaking the will is the endgame.
----------------------------------------------------
The deeper he goes, the more the truth unravels. Don't wait read ahead and witness Vincent's rise before the world catches up!
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