Chapter 8: The Light That Shatters Space

For a long, horrible second, neither the Third Kazekage nor Sasori breathed.

Not because they were holding back—because their brains had quietly short-circuited trying to process what they'd just seen.

Space… cracked.

Not sand. Not chakra. Not some overhyped genjutsu.

Reality itself just folded in on Zeldris's fist like it owed him money.

The Kazekage's thoughts were a mess of static and disbelief.

That's not chakra. That's not even ninjutsu. What the hell did I just see?!

Zeldris, still standing at the epicenter, looked unbothered. Like he'd just bent the laws of physics to grab a coffee.

And then—

The barrage of iron sand needles—thousands of them—finally caught up, screaming toward him like they had a grudge.

They never reached him.

Instead, the space before his fist shimmered again. The needles halted mid-flight, suspended in a web of glowing fractures—frozen like flies in amber.

Not one touched him.

The Kazekage gawked. "W-What… what is this?!"

Gone was the haughty Kage tone. Now he just sounded like a man watching a math problem eat his dog.

Sasori, equally floored, muttered under his breath:

"Is this… Muji ninjutsu? No, no—this is something older. Ancient. Forgotten."

Then, quieter, darker:

This boy… could become my masterpiece. My ultimate puppet.

Let the two of them kill each other, he thought, his grin twitching into place.

And when the dust settles, I'll claim what's left.

Meanwhile, the Kazekage managed to stuff his confusion back into a box labeled Ignore for Now and tried to regain his composure. His pride—cracked but not yet shattered—flared to life.

"You think a parlor trick makes you untouchable?" he barked. "Fine. Let's see how you handle this!"

"Magnet Release: Sand Iron Knot Attack!"

The desert responded with violence. Iron sand exploded into monstrous shapes—spiked lances, jagged blades, twisting drills of death—all hurtling toward Zeldris like he'd insulted their mother.

It was loud. It was lethal. It was impressive.

It also stopped—again—inches from Zeldris's face.

Suspended in fractured space. Motionless. Powerless.

The Kazekage's pupils shrank to pinpricks.

"…No. Not again."

Zeldris's eyes finally flicked up, cool and detached.

"You done?"

The Kazekage tensed.

Zeldris tilted his head slightly, cracking his neck.

"Great. My turn."

The dim white glow around his fist flared—whooshed into brilliance, forming a condensed, radiant orb of energy in his palm. It pulsed with weight. With finality.

And then—

BOOM.

He threw it.

No wind-up. No dramatics. Just a flick of his wrist and suddenly the world was screaming.

The orb sliced through the iron constructs like smoke, tore the earth as it passed, and split the sky with sheer pressure.

Sasori's mouth parted slightly.

That's not a technique. That's a divine middle finger to everything we know about combat.

The Kazekage knew. Oh, he knew.

His instincts screamed louder than his pride.

"If that hits me—I die."

Desperation took over.

"Magnet Release: Sand Iron Shield!!"

A massive iron wall slammed up in front of him, thick and reinforced—his most durable defense.

The orb struck.

No explosion. Just—

Cracks.

White, glowing fractures spread through the shield like roots under frost.

The Kazekage's blood ran cold.

"It's… it's breaking it apart?!"

CRACK—CRACK—CRASH!!

The wall shattered.

The orb surged through and collided with the Kazekage's chest like a truck powered by spite and physics-breaking nonsense.

BOOM.

He flew.

Not fell. Not staggered. He flew. Backwards. Arms flailing, blood arcing out of his mouth mid-air like a tragic fountain.

POW.

He landed several hundred meters away, bouncing across the sand and leaving a nice, dramatic crater as a calling card.

His body twitched. Once.

His ribs were definitely shattered. Lungs? Probably arguing with each other about quitting. Vision? Optional.

He tried to rise.

He did not rise.

He lay there, blinking at the sky, wondering if he could pretend to be dead long enough for Zeldris to get bored and leave.

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