14.
The Stormborn Fist Moves to End It
Gaara's body hit the ground, his sand pooling weakly around him, twitching in fragmented movements.
It was over.
But Lee did not look away.
His dōjutsu remained active, burning with an unnatural glow, scanning every shift in the air, every tremor in the battlefield. His body was still ready—because he knew.
Gaara was not done yet.
Not because he had the strength to keep going.
Not because he could still fight.
But because something else had begun to move.
A deep, guttural vibration rippled through the ground, low at first, but growing, stretching into a pulse that shook the entire stadium.
Lee's eyes flickered.
There—
The chakra signatures beneath them. Alive. Stirring. Expanding.
This was no longer Gaara's power alone.
This was Shukaku.
The air thickened.
The sand that had fallen silent around Gaara's body suddenly surged again, but not in response to his will. It moved with something greater.
Something dormant no longer.
The audience felt it.
Temari's breath hitched, her fan lowering slightly.
Kankurō's hands clenched into fists.
"He's…" His voice came out strained, almost fearful. "He's going to let it out."
Up in the stands, Baki, the Jonin in charge of the Sand Siblings, stiffened.
This had gone too far.
If Gaara's transformation continued—
This wouldn't be a fight anymore.
It would be a catastrophe.
The ground beneath Gaara's fallen form began to crack. Something was pushing through.
The very sand itself trembled—not from damage, not from loss, but from something trying to escape.
The whispers in Gaara's mind grew louder.
Let me out.
Gaara's fingers twitched.
His body was broken.
His sand had failed.
And yet—
Shukaku was still there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Laughing.
Gaara's breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged movements.
He had no options left.
Except one.
The last option.
The one he had always feared.
But now—
Now, he would embrace it.
He lifted his shaking hand.
A final command.
A final submission.
And then—
Lee moved.
Faster than before.
Faster than he had in the entire fight.
Because he could not allow this to continue.
Gaara had lost.
But if Shukaku was allowed to emerge, if this battle became one between mortals and demons—
Then this would not be victory.
This would be destruction.
Lee would not let that happen.
Not here.
Not today.
And so, for the first time—
He went beyond.
A single step.
The wind vanished.
The heat spiked.
The space between them folded inward.
Lee appeared directly in front of Gaara's fallen form—before the sand could react, before Shukaku could break free, before the match could spiral beyond control.
And then—
One strike.
One, singular, absolute strike.
Not charged with elemental fury.
Not laced with Raijin Enka's chaotic destruction.
Not enhanced by any unnatural force.
Just his fist.
Just Rock Lee.
The impact connected.
Gaara's body stilled.
His breath caught.
His vision flickered.
And then—
Darkness.
The sand collapsed.
The demonic chakra—vanished.
The stadium fell silent.
And Gaara of the Sand…
Was unconscious.