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Chapter 334-Mirror
🕑 Added 2024-12-31 23:37:13 +0000 UTCRenjiro’s eyes widened as he watched the Chidori crackle to life in Sone’s left hand.
'How...?' Renjiro thought.
The thought barely formed before his instincts screamed at him. Sone’s smirk widened, his body leaning forward as he thrust the Chidori straight at Renjiro’s chest, aiming for his heart with deadly precision.
Renjiro reacted on pure instinct, his body twisting sharply to the right. The motion wasn’t perfect—Sone’s attack grazed his left ribs, and the searing pain of the lightning tore through him. He gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out, as his figure flickered out of Sone’s immediate range.
The aftershock of the Chidori’s strike reverberated through his chest as he landed several meters away, clutching his side. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his shirt, but his accelerated healing was already kicking in. The wound began to close, threads of flesh knitting together beneath his hand.
“That’s some impressive resilience,” Sone drawled, his tone almost mocking. He stood straight, shaking the remnants of the Chidori off his hand like water, before casually rolling his shoulders. “But tell me, how did it feel? Knowing your own technique can be used against you?”
Renjiro’s crimson eyes narrowed, his breath coming in short bursts. His mind raced.
'How the hell did he do that?'
Even with the Sharingan, instantaneous copying of a jutsu was nearly impossible.
'Was it because it’s lightning chakra nature?'
He didn’t have long to ponder. Sone surged forward again, his fists now encased in crackling lightning, twin Chidoris dancing across his hands. “Come on, show me more!” he demanded, his voice laced with an unsettling eagerness.
Renjiro dodged to the side, his movements fluid despite the lingering pain in his ribs. He raised his arms to block as Sone’s punches rained down on him, each strike crackling with electrical energy. Sparks flew with every contact, the corridor lighting up in bursts of blue and white.
'Why didn’t he copy the Rasengan?' Renjiro wondered, his thoughts interspersed with the effort of fending off Sone’s relentless attacks. 'Maybe it has its own limits…'
Sone’s smirk deepened as if sensing Renjiro’s inner turmoil. “What’s wrong? No flashy jutsu this time? Afraid I’ll steal those too?” He swung a punch at Renjiro’s head, the motion augmented by a mirrored backhand strike from his other hand.
Renjiro deflected the first blow with his forearm, then ducked under the second, his body moving with the grace of a seasoned fighter. He had already made his decision.
'If he can copy or reflect my ninjutsu, then I’ll just stick to taijutsu.'
Sone seemed to catch on to Renjiro’s plan almost immediately. “Oh? Resorting to fists now, are we?” His grin turned feral. “Let me show you how futile that is.”
Renjiro darted forward, closing the distance with a spinning kick aimed at Sone’s midsection. The attack was fast, but Sone was faster. He mirrored Renjiro’s movement, executing an identical spinning kick from the opposite direction. Their legs collided mid-air with a resounding crack!, the force of the impact sending both of them skidding backward.
'What was that?' Renjiro thought, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed Sone’s movements. 'It’s not just copying. It’s... mirroring.'
Renjiro landed in a crouch, his muscles coiling like springs. His Sharingan spun faster, taking in every minute detail of Sone’s stance and movement. He stood and wiped sweat from his brow, his lips pressed into a tight line.
Sone didn’t give him time to dwell on the thought. He lunged again, his fists a blur as he unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks. Renjiro blocked and countered, but every strike he made was met with an equally precise mirrored response. Each movement of Sone’s felt pre-calculated, as if he were two steps ahead.
“You’re good,” Sone admitted, his tone light. “But you’re predictable. That’s the thing about taijutsu—it’s all patterns. And I’m very good at patterns.”
Renjiro’s frustration mounted as their fight dragged on. He attempted a quick feint, pretending to aim for Sone’s head before pivoting to strike his knee. But Sone anticipated the move, his mirrored block coming from an unexpected angle that threw Renjiro off balance. His opponent’s timing was uncanny, almost unnatural.
Sone capitalized immediately, driving his elbow into Renjiro’s shoulder and following it up with a spinning kick that sent him crashing into the wall.
"Boom!"
The impact left cracks spiderwebbing across the surface. Renjiro pushed himself up, shaking off the daze as his healing factor worked overtime. Pain flared across his shoulder, but the familiar sensation of his chakra mending the injury brought him back into focus.
“You’re annoying,” he muttered, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.
“And you’re holding back,” Sone replied, tilting his head. “I’ve seen it. That ridiculous healing of yours—you could probably fight me all day. So why don’t we make things interesting?”
Renjiro activated a genjutsu, his Sharingan spinning as he cast an illusion designed to immobilize Sone. The hallway seemed to distort, shadows elongating as ghostly hands reached for Sone from every direction. A low hum filled the air as the hands closed in.
Sone paused for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a single pulse of his chakra, the genjutsu shattered like glass. The oppressive air of the illusion dissipated, leaving only the faint afterimage of the technique.
“Nice try,” he said, his smirk returning. “But genjutsu doesn’t work on me. Too many mirrors in my head, you see.”
Renjiro cursed under his breath. His options were dwindling. 'I can’t use ninjutsu, genjutsu’s out, and taijutsu’s playing right into his hands. What now?'
Sone surged forward, his attacks faster and more relentless. Renjiro deflected a flurry of strikes, his arms burning from the repeated impacts. Sone’s mirrored movements were no longer mere counters—they were evolving, turning into something more fluid and aggressive.
'Why didn’t I realize this before?'
Sone’s movements grew more fluid, his strikes more precise. His attacks felt less like counters and more like preemptive strikes, as if he could predict Renjiro’s actions before he made them. The Double Reflection was more than just a mirroring technique—it was a battle strategy designed to overwhelm and disorient.
“I can see it in your eyes,” Sone taunted, his voice low and mocking. “You’re starting to figure it out. But it’s too late now.”
Renjiro snarled, his frustration boiling over. He needed more power. His chakra surged as he opened the first of the Eight Gates, skipping the second. And finally, the third. His muscles bulged, his skin flushed red, and the air around him rippled with raw energy.
“Let’s see you mirror this,” he growled.
The boost in speed and strength allowed Renjiro to press the offensive, his strikes coming faster and harder than before. For a moment, it seemed like he was gaining the upper hand. Sone’s smirk faltered as he was forced to block and dodge, his movements less fluid than before.
But Sone adjusted quickly. He mirrored Renjiro’s enhanced movements with uncanny precision, his body adapting to the increased speed and power as though it were second nature. Each block, each counter, was a perfect echo of Renjiro’s new form.
“You think raw strength will save you?” Sone asked, his tone dripping with disdain. “You’re just making it easier for me to read you.”
Renjiro shifted tactics, combining erratic movements with feints. He spun low, using his momentum to sweep at Sone’s legs, but Sone countered, leaping over the strike and delivering a crushing axe kick aimed at Renjiro’s shoulder. Renjiro rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the floor beneath Sone’s kick shattered, sending shards of stone flying.
The fight reached its peak, the corridor shaking under the force of their clashes. Renjiro was giving everything he had, but Sone remained an unyielding wall, his Double Reflection turning every attack back on him.
Then Renjiro’s head snapped up, his Sharingan picking up new chakra signatures approaching fast. His heart sank. He could feel the weight of their presence, their killing intent sharp and unmistakable.
“Reinforcements,” he muttered.
Sone grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “You’re out of time.”
A second S-rank shinobi and three jounin appeared at the end of the hallway, their presence tilting the already lopsided battle even further against Renjiro. He gritted his teeth, his mind racing for a way out.
The odds were against him, but Renjiro wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
