TURBō!

Ishiki Kujo had been watching them closely.

So before the enemy blades could fall, Magician's Red erupted in a blinding spiral of fire—cross-shaped flames launching straight toward the two sword-wielding shinobi. In the same instant, Ishiki's hands flourished, producing a cluster of shuriken.

Though his eyes hadn't awakened the Sharingan, he unleashed the infamous Uchiha Shurikenjutsu—a technique of calculated ricochets, leveraging precision and momentum to force unpredictable trajectories. Each blade carried a deadly venom. Even a scratch could kill.

As the shuriken cut through the air, Ishiki's hands shifted into a single seal. He exhaled.

Fire Style: Great Fireball Jutsu!

But not the usual fireball.

His chakra control and training in flame manipulation had taken him beyond the standard limits. What burst from his mouth wasn't just large—it was colossal, a rolling inferno that consumed the entire path ahead.

Typical Great Fireballs relied on heat more than impact, rarely landing a direct hit. Ishiki's was different—it expanded so fast it hit like a wall of molten death before the enemy could even blink.

The two enemy swordsmen were incinerated before their feet could move—impaled mid-sprint by the poisoned shuriken, torn apart within the wave of fire.

But the remaining two enemy shinobi had finished their hand signs just in time.

Water Style: Water Dragon Jutsu!

Two dragons surged forward, merging into one enormous serpentine blast that slammed into the fireball head-on. Steam hissed in a volcanic roar. The battlefield became a boiling mist.

And out of that storm—

Zawa broke free.

His spinning body, cloaked in Magician's Red's flames, became a living drill. Flaming Fang Over Fang.

The enemy's eyes bulged in disbelief.

That wasn't a jutsu-created fire.

That was real flame. Controlled by the Stand.

How could Zawa be wrapped in it and still survive?

They panicked, fumbling for new hand signs—too late.

At their feet, Aburame Muta's kikaichū swarmed like liquid shadows, locking their legs in place. Escape jutsu required mobility—and Muta's bugs had them pinned.

Zawa struck.

His flaming spin pierced through the first Iwa-nin's chest like a red-hot screw, tearing through flesh and armor alike. When he stopped, fire peeled from his body, and behind him—

A man missing half his torso dropped in a spray of cinders, still screaming as the flames fed on the ragged hole.

The second enemy didn't waste time.

He swung a short blade toward his own thigh, aiming to sever the limb and escape via teleportation. But just as the blade met skin, a shadow burst from the flames.

Tokuma Hyūga.

The short sword cut halfway through before Tokuma struck with terrifying precision—

Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms!

Each hit sent shockwaves into the man's body. The sheer force collapsed his tenketsu and knocked him unconscious before he hit the ground.

Only now did Ishiki's massive fireball start to fade. Just as it cleared—

Clang! A gleam of steel, a blur at his back—

A cold flash struck the insects behind him.

Ishiki turned fast.

One of the previously defeated enemies had reappeared, slashing directly toward Ishiki's throat with a short blade, exploiting a precise weakness in the kikaichū shield.

Ishiki didn't look at the blade.

He looked at the attacker's eye.

A cross-shaped scar etched into the cheek. A brown iris with a pale gray cruciform pupil, surrounded by etched Latin letters:

TURBō.

He felt it in his blood—his cells humming like string wires plucked by fate. It wasn't just a dojutsu. It was divine. A relic from Steel Ball Run.

The Saint's Right Eye.

His reflexes lagged a fraction. The revelation stunned him.

The knife sliced his shoulder. He barely avoided having his throat opened.

He turned to retaliate, chakra coiling into a Rasengan—

Then stopped.

The attacker vanished into smoke. A shadow clone.

Even before Ishiki could ignite another wave of fire, the ground beneath him erupted.

Earth Style: Stone Spike Barrage.

Pillars jutted upward like the jaws of a titan—but Ishiki didn't dodge. He jumped on them.

One foot on the spike's tip, Wave Energy flowing into the stone, balancing him like a leaf on water.

From the spike below, a figure launched upward—another Iwa shinobi, blade raised toward Ishiki's—

Groin.

"...You're joking."

Ishiki flipped backward midair.

Their bodies passed each other, face-to-face. The enemy struck upward.

Ishiki deflected the blade with one palm, while the other touched the man's chest.

Chakra-Enhanced Palm Strike.

Ripple Surge.

As Ishiki landed in a gymnast's pose, arms flared, his enemy slammed into the ground with a thud—eyes rolled back, color drained, unconscious.

One jutsu had disrupted his chakra flow. The other overloaded his blood pressure and triggered instant cardiac arrest.

Ishiki stood slowly, scanning toward Magician's Red.

Something was wrong.

Only Deidara was tangled in the Stand's fire.

Kurotsuchi was gone.

On the edge of the fire field, kikaichū swarmed. Scorched insect corpses littered the ground.

"Sorry." Muta's voice came from nearby. "I couldn't stop him."

Ishiki didn't answer aloud.

He sent a Ripple pulse through the earth.

In the distance below—two fast-moving chakra signatures tunneled away.

Earth Style escape technique.

Kurotsuchi had been extracted.

But not by ordinary means.

Not by any ninja who should've been conscious.

Someone else had been in play.

And someone else had that eye.