Kaito's smirk deepened. He had no reason to hide these eyes anymore.
Even if Obito understood his Mangekyō's abilities, understanding and countering were two different things.
Obito's red eye gleamed beneath his mask. He knew Kaito was a threat—not just to him, but to everything he'd built. There was no time to hesitate. Izanagi's timer was counting down.
He attacked.
Obito's scythe cut through the air in a vicious arc. Kaito's hand flicked to his sword, steel flashing as he drew the blade in one fluid motion.
Neither relied on ninjutsu—not when their space-time abilities left no room for error. One slip meant wasting chakra or worse, an opening for a fatal strike.
Their weapons clashed in a burst of sparks.
Steel screeched as Kaito twisted his wrist, redirecting the scythe's force. But Obito phased mid-motion, warping behind Kaito, scythe streaking toward his ribs.
Kaito vanished.
Steel met steel again, this time at Obito's back. Obito phased just in time, but Kaito was ready. His blade slashed downward, then twisted at the last second toward Obito's legs.
Obito's Sharingan spun frantically. He barely evaded.
Tch. His Kamui was slipping—activating just a fraction slower than usual.
That spiral Mangekyō pattern wasn't just for show. Kaito's ability was interfering somehow.
But figuring out the details mid-battle was a dangerous gamble.
Their weapons blurred in the moonlight, each strike inches from death. Kaito's swordsmanship was relentless—not just skill, but instinct. His movements flowed like a rhythm, unpredictable yet precise.
Obito fought back hard. His Kamui and Hashirama-enhanced strength made him formidable, but Kaito pressed him, matching his every move. Sparks danced between them as they clashed, the sheer force tearing into the earth beneath their feet.
Cracked ground, scorched earth, and splintered trees littered the battlefield.
Obito's strikes grew faster, more aggressive. Time was running out.
"I need to push him—force a mistake before Izanagi ends."
Kaito, however, was playing a different game.
He sidestepped an aggressive swing, stepping into Obito's space and locking him in close range.
"What's wrong?" Kaito taunted, voice calm despite the storm of blades. "Feeling the pressure?"
Obito's grip on his scythe tightened.
"He's stalling... trying to burn out Izanagi."
He scowled. He'd fallen for this strategy before—against Minato.
Frustration flared. With renewed aggression, Obito lunged. A kunai flashed from his hand as his body flickered—half-phased, half-solid—his scythe carving through the air toward Kaito's head.
But Kaito's eyes gleamed.
The clock-hand tomoe turned.
Obito felt it—that unnatural distortion of time.
Kamui lagged again—a heartbeat too slow.
"If I mistime this..."
Kaito moved.
His sword blurred, a silver streak slicing toward Obito's torso.
Obito's Sharingan spun.
Too late.
Steel bit deep. Blood sprayed into the night air.
Obito staggered back, fingers pressing over the wound. It wasn't fatal—but it was real.
"Izanagi... didn't activate fast enough?"
His teeth clenched. Something was wrong.
Kaito exhaled slowly, his blade glistening with blood.
"I see it now," he said, watching Obito's labored breath and shifting stance. "You're feeling it, aren't you? The lag."
Obito stayed silent.
Kaito's Mangekyō spun slowly, hypnotically.
"That's the problem with absolute power," Kaito murmured. "You've never had to fight with real consequences. Your Kamui? Your Izanagi?"
His smirk widened.
"I'm taking those advantages away from you. One second at a time."
Obito's pulse thundered in his ears. He wasn't used to feeling this vulnerable.
And Kaito knew it.
The battle had shifted.
Now, Obito wasn't hunting Kaito.
Kaito was hunting him.