"So fast!"
The sheer speed of the intruder's approach left the Mizuki clan guards at the door unable to react. The flicker of motion was too fast for even trained shinobi to register.
In the next instant, Mizuki Ryosuke was already kneeling beside Mizuki Lian, his fingers forming a quick sequence of seals as he dispelled the Genjutsu that had seized her mind. A subtle Kai! resonated through the room as Lian's vacant eyes suddenly regained focus. Without wasting a second, Ryosuke turned to Mizuki Rokka, swiftly removing the silent paralysis inflicted on her by her second uncle's ice needle.
As soon as the binding effects lifted, Rokka collapsed into Ryosuke's arms, her entire body trembling with terror.
"Ryosuke, they… Woooooo…"
She clung to him tightly, sobbing uncontrollably. Her frail frame convulsed, and her delicate hands grasped his sleeve as though letting go would mean falling into the abyss once again.
Mizuki Ryosuke felt the quivering of her body, a silent testimony to the fear she had just endured. A sharp glint of cold fury flashed in his eyes.
A single glance passed between him and Rokka, unspoken words exchanged in that moment of understanding.
Deep inside, something within Mizuki Ryosuke snapped. A silent storm of rage brewed within him, far more terrifying than any visible outburst.
"Lian, Aunt Liuhua."
His voice was eerily calm, dangerously restrained.
"Close your eyes. It will be over soon."
Hearing the command, both Lian and Rokka hesitated only for a moment before obeying, squeezing their eyes shut in trust.
Ryosuke gently placed Lian into Rokka's arms, then stood up, turning to face the intruders.
A suffocating killing intent exploded from his body like a tsunami, crashing against the room with overwhelming force. It was thick, almost tangible, a presence so suffocating that even seasoned Mizuki warriors felt their limbs go numb.
Even the four elders, who had exuded arrogance moments ago, felt their hearts tighten in their chests.
"You are Mizuki Ryosuke. We are here to—"
Elder Mizuki began to speak, but his words were sliced apart by a voice colder than the most frigid tundra.
"You like illusions, don't you?"
Ryosuke's chilling inquiry sent a shiver down the elder's spine. His old, cloudy eyes flickered with fear, as if his soul recognized imminent doom.
"Presumptuous!"
One of the Mizuki ninjas at the door, sensing the shift in atmosphere, drew his blade in a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation.
A second later, the remaining guards followed suit, their hands gripping kunai, moving to encircle Ryosuke from all sides.
The space was confined—limited room to maneuver. Ordinarily, facing such an encirclement indoors would be a death sentence for most shinobi, even those skilled in Taijutsu.
But this was Mizuki Ryosuke.
His right hand moved effortlessly, fingers blurring through a rapid sequence of one-handed seals—seals so fast that none of the enemies in the room could even process what they were seeing.
And then, everything stopped.
Ice Release Secret Technique: Mahabhatma.
An eerie stillness overtook the room. Unlike before, no frost spread across the floor, no icicles formed, no visible sign of freezing could be seen—yet time itself had stagnated.
The ripples in the tea cup remained mid-motion. The breath of those in the room hung frozen in their throats.
Even gravity itself seemed to hold its breath.
Mizuki Ryosuke walked forward unhurriedly, his every step echoing in the dead silence of the frozen world.
Elder Mizuki's pupils dilated as he found himself unable to move, his very thoughts screaming in helpless terror.
"You like illusions, don't you?"
The same question, delivered in the same deathly tone.
With a mere glance, Mizuki Ryosuke's spiritual power surged forward like a tidal wave, swallowing Elder Mizuki's fragile mind whole.
A silent scream echoed in the elder's soul. His consciousness was overwhelmed in an instant, reduced to nothing but fractured, incoherent madness.
His lips quivered, his fingers twitched, but his mind had already shattered beyond repair.
From this moment on, the former clan elder of the Mizuki family would know no peace—only endless insanity.
Death would have been a mercy.
But Ryosuke was not in a merciful mood.
He turned his attention to the second uncle, the one who had dared to silence Mizuki Rokka with an ice needle.
"You like using ice needles?"
Another whisper of impending doom.
A flicker of realization flashed in the second uncle's eyes, and he understood, too late, the fate that awaited him.
A dense formation of razor-thin ice needles materialized in the air around him, hundreds—no, thousands—of them, all hovering in silent anticipation.
Then—
PFFT!
A grotesque squelch filled the room as every single needle plunged into his flesh.
Tiny rivulets of blood trickled down, turning his robe into a tapestry of agony.
His throat moved as if to scream, but sound had abandoned him. Even that solace had been stripped away.
As if ensuring his torment would not end prematurely, Ryosuke placed a single hand over his uncle's head, releasing a small pulse of Healing Jutsu—just enough to keep him alive through the pain.
Turning his gaze to the remaining two elders, Ryosuke's chakra flared once more.
Blood-red spectral hands, massive and clawed, emerged from his back like the appendages of a vengeful specter.
CRACK!
One by one, their limbs were snapped like brittle twigs.
Squelch!
The crimson hands reached into their mouths, tearing out their tongues in a grotesque, deliberate fashion.
Even the second uncle, now little more than a human pincushion, suffered the same fate.
Yet Ryosuke made sure he didn't die. No, death was an escape they would never receive.
The bodies of the defeated, broken Mizuki elders were gathered into a single, pitiful heap.
A final, effortless toss, and the mangled collection of flesh and shattered bones was flung into the streets outside, left as a spectacle for all to see.
At last, Mizuki Ryosuke lifted Mahabhatma.
Time resumed.
The room returned to normal.
Everything that had just transpired—everything that had reduced these so-called "elders" to barely-living corpses—had occurred in the span of three minutes.
And yet, the sheer chakra expenditure required to freeze time and space so precisely had drained Ryosuke more than even his battle against Black Zetsu or the Lake of Mist.
This was the price of control.
Unlike simply unleashing Mahabhatma to kill indiscriminately, restraining its lethality to such a degree—ensuring no harm came to Lian or Rokka—required chakra reserves comparable to that of a Kage.
As the dust settled, Mizuki Rokka and Mizuki Lian finally opened their eyes.
Ryosuke stood alone in the room, his expression calm, his hands relaxed at his sides.
The corpses of their enemies were gone.
Only silence remained.
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