As a time traveler,
Duan had long known the true extent of Kamui's ability. The flurry of attacks he had launched against Obito wasn't reckless aggression—it was deliberate bait, designed to create false openings.
Obito took it, and—fatally—closed the distance for hand-to-hand combat without the slightest guard against Duan's hidden trump card.
Now—
Smashing~ Varudo!
In an instant—
The power of time-stop erupted from Duan's body, expanding through the entire battlefield at a speed that eclipsed light itself. Color drained from the world, leaving only shades of lifeless gray.
The Nanhe River's current froze mid-flow.
On the sidelines, Itachi's eyes widened in alarm, thinking his uncle was about to lose to the masked man.
The spiraling vortex of Kamui's activated space distortion hung perfectly still in the air, its rippling edge suspended like frozen glass.
First second of the stop.
Duan snapped the binding chains apart and turned toward Obito Uchiha. Most of Obito's body was already phasing into the Kamui dimension—untouchable—except for one part: his hands.
Kamui's greatest danger lay in its passive defense; Obito could phase through attacks automatically, nullifying almost anything. But the flaw was old and clear—when launching his own strike, he had to materialize.
Years ago, on the Night of the Nine Tails, the Fourth Hokage, Namikaze Minato, had exploited that exact weakness. With a perfectly timed Hiraishin Level Two and Rasengan, Minato forced Obito into retreat.
Since then, Obito had grown far more cautious, relying on feints and misdirection, rarely dropping his intangibility unless absolutely certain of safety.
And yet—this time—he'd been deceived.
He had exposed himself.
Second second of the stop.
Without hesitation, Duan's bare hands clamped onto Obito's wrists like iron and yanked him forward with brutal force.
Time resumed.
A sharp tear split the air—the sickening sound of flesh and sinew parting.
In that instant, both of Obito's arms tore free from their sockets, ripped away in a single, unstoppable motion. Kamui's vortex unraveled and dissipated.
Obito stumbled back, step after step, until he lost his balance and fell.
"You…"
His voice trembled as he looked up, bloodshot eyes locking on Duan in disbelief. The composure he had worn like a mask shattered completely.
He couldn't comprehend it—how Duan had flipped the battle in a heartbeat, or how his invincible ability had failed him so completely.
For all his bluster, Obito's confidence was brittle. He had hidden behind Kamui and the name "Uchiha Madara," letting the mask and illusion of invulnerability do the work. But when someone pierced that illusion, the frightened, uncertain boy from long ago resurfaced.
Fear overtook him.
Phew—
Space warped once again. Without a word of defiance, Obito triggered Kamui and vanished, fleeing in disgrace.
Duan, victorious, only shook his head. The moment had been too tight to aim for a fatal blow. Even with more time—five seconds, perhaps longer—killing Obito outright would have been difficult.
After all, Obito had another trump card—Izanagi.
In the original timeline, even Konan's perfectly laid trap of six hundred billion explosive tags had failed to kill him; Kamui and Izanagi together created an almost untouchable defense.
That was why Duan had chosen to cripple instead of kill—ripping away both arms.
Obito was gravely injured now and would likely lie low for a while. The severed limbs, pale and bloodless, oozed not red but the chalky seep of Hashirama's transplanted cells—priceless research material in their own right.
The fight had been worth it.
Itachi stood frozen, his Sharingan wide, the image of his uncle tearing off Obito's arms burned into his mind. Only when Duan approached carrying the grisly trophies did Itachi jolt back to awareness.
"Uncle… uncle," he called.
"Itachi, did you observe the masked man's ability?" Duan asked, his tone testing.
After a pause, Itachi replied, "He called his Sharingan a Mangekyō. That eye uses some form of space-time ninjutsu—phasing into another dimension, leaving only an untouchable illusion behind. But when he attacks, he exposes an opening."
"Correct," Duan nodded, approving his nephew's analysis. "A frightening power. As long as he doesn't strike, he's nearly invincible. Even if you know the weakness, you can't guard against what you can't predict."
And yet—Itachi's mind turned this over—such a foe had still been defeated by his uncle. The battle had shifted so suddenly it was as if the most intense scene in a film had been cut out entirely, replaced by an abrupt ending.
There was something Duan wasn't telling him. Something about his true ability.
Before Itachi could press further, Duan said quietly, "Don't tell anyone what happened tonight. Understood?"
"Yes, Uncle," Itachi answered without hesitation.
They left together, walking the riverside path.
Not long after, a shadow emerged from the trees—Uchiha Yashiro.
He had come at the masked man's invitation, expecting to watch Duan be subdued. Instead, he had witnessed the opposite.
One truth crystallized in his mind: this "Uchiha Madara" was a fraud. The real Madara would never have lost.
But Duan's strength… Duan might even rival the clan's top prodigy, Uchiha Shisui.
For the first time, Yashiro considered the unthinkable—supporting Duan's radical vision. If Duan could unite the clan and lead a coup, perhaps they truly could overthrow Konoha's leadership and build a village ruled by Uchiha.
The thought stirred anticipation in his chest.
The next clan meeting was only weeks away. There, moderates and radicals would clash. If the radicals triumphed, Yashiro knew who he would follow.
Moonlight shimmered over the Nanhe River.
Duan noticed Itachi's downcast, thoughtful gaze. His clever nephew was piecing things together. Twice now, Duan had revealed glimpses of his time-stopping power in front of him.
Could Itachi figure it out?