Chapter 31: Shattering Illusions
BOOM!
The air itself seemed to rupture from the strain. Concentric rings of visible, concussive force blasted outwards, kicking up a storm of dust and debris from the already shattered floor. The ground trembled. A murmur, the first breach of silence, rippled through the watching ANBU. What kind of clash was this? The Boar ninja's Expansion Jutsu was known for its instantaneous, overwhelming force.
But the Rakshasa? His frame was lean, almost slight beneath the uniform. He couldn't be old, likely younger than most here. His power made no visual sense.
In the arena, the two were locked in a titanic stalemate, fist to giant fist.
"Not… bad… strength!" the Boar grunted from behind his mask, the strain evident in his voice.
"Is this all yours?" Ragnar's reply was flat, devoid of exertion, filtered to a cold monotone by his mask.
"What do you mean?" the Boar growled, confused and angered by the taunt.
Ragnar didn't answer with words. His arm, pressed against the immense force, twisted at a subtle, unnatural angle. A low chant, almost inaudible, left his lips.
"Spiral Force."
He activated the preliminary compression principle from Tsunade's scroll. Power was drawn from his legs, his core, his back—every muscle group—and spiraled inward, funneled with violent intent into the single point of his blackened fist. The compression was crude, maybe 12%, but it was a focused multiplier.
He took a half-step back, breaking the deadlock not by yielding, but by gathering momentum, then drove forward again.
The Boar ninja felt it immediately. The monolithic resistance of the black fist didn't just hold; it suddenly became a vortex. His own tremendous force wasn't being stopped; it was being dispersed, shredded into chaotic streams that flowed uselessly around the central point of impact.
BANG-CRACK!
An explosive burst of double-helix air currents erupted from their point of contact. The Boar ninja's eyes widened behind his mask as his giant arm, unable to withstand the strange, penetrating force, was violently repelled. His balance shattered, his massive body was lifted and thrown back.
THUD!
He hit the ground hard, skidding several meters. As he landed, the chakra sustaining the Expansion Jutsu failed. His arms shrank back to normal size, the sleeves of his uniform now torn to rags. The skin on his forearms was mottled with angry, spiraling red welts, as if the force had corkscrewed into his flesh.
The surrounding ANBU stared, the silent verdict clear. The Boar had lost.
"I yield," the Boar said, pushing himself up, his voice tight with pain and bewilderment. He examined his arms, the weird, twisting injuries a testament to the bizarre power he'd just faced.
Ragnar offered no explanation. The two formed the seal of reconciliation, and the duel was formally ended.
*Ding! Experience +20!*
*Ding! Experience +50!*
*Ding! Experience +60!*
*Ding! Experience +200!*
The notifications cascaded in his mind. A quick tally put the total gain near 500 EXP. His balance now stood at 1,300/10,000—enough to consider upgrading one of his Level 2 Haki abilities. The taste of rapid growth from real combat was potent.
Emboldened, Ragnar remained in the center of the scarred arena. The Boar's rank on the dark roster was solidly in the middle tier (50-100). His defeat gave the Rakshasa mask immediate credibility. For a moment, no one moved to challenge.
Then, a new operative stepped forward. This one was closer to Ragnar's own build, his age indeterminate behind a featureless mask painted a solid, glossy crimson red—a "Red Face."
No words were exchanged. The opposition seal was formed.
The Red Face attacked first, kunai in hand, his movement a direct, efficient burst of speed. He closed the dozen-meter gap and struck, the blade weaving a sharp, black pattern in the air aimed at vital points—throat, arteries, eyes.
Ragnar evaded twice with minimal shifts, then decided to end the blade play. He didn't retreat. Instead, he pivoted and drove a hardened black fist directly at the incoming kunai.
CRACK!
The steel blade shattered against the Armament Haki. The follow-through force connected with the Red Face's chest, sending him stumbling back to land heavily on the ground.
Too easy. Ragnar's instincts flared. This was ANBU. No one fell that simply.
As expected, the body of the Red Face on the ground dissolved into a puff of white smoke—a basic clone.
"An illusion user," Ragnar realized. His Observation Haki prickled a half-second later. A true crisis approached from his blind spot.
"Ninja Art: Darkness Genjutsu!" a cold voice whispered, seeming to come from inside his own skull.
Ragnar's pupils contracted. The world around him didn't just go black; it was erased. The faint light of the crystals, the silhouettes of the watching ANBU, the scarred floor—all were swallowed by an absolute, consuming void. He felt weightless, adrift in a sensory deprivation chamber of the mind. No sight, no sound from the outside, not even the feel of the air on his skin.
A genjutsu that severs the five senses. He analyzed coldly, a part of him detached. Unlike Uchiha Shirou's direct mental assault, which Conqueror's Haki could shatter, this was a prison built on his own perceptions. He was locked inside himself.
SWISH!
A projectile cut through the sensory void. He couldn't see it, but his Observation Haki painted its trajectory—a shuriken aimed at his shoulder. He leaned, and it passed harmlessly through where he had been.
More followed in rapid succession. Shuriken barrage. Logical choice in total darkness. A cruel smile touched his lips behind the mask. But you don't know about my other eyes.
He weaved through the invisible storm with an almost casual grace, each dodge precise, each movement economical.
This clearly unsettled the caster. Silence stretched in the artificial darkness.
"Use all your tricks. This cage won't hold me," Ragnar stated, his voice calm in the nothingness.
The Red Face in the shadows hesitated, then whispered another incantation, his voice laced with focus. "Genjutsu: Golden Binding Technique."
Ragnar felt no external bonds. But suddenly, the connection between his mind and his muscles frayed. He willed his arm to move, but the command dissolved before it reached the limb. The genjutsu was now interfering with his internal chakra flow, paralyzing him from within.
Two-layered genjutsu. Competent.
Shuffle… shuffle…
Footsteps, deliberate and soft, approached in the absolute dark. A shadow darker than the void resolved. The Red Face ninja stood before him. And now, in the heart of the illusion, Ragnar could see—two glowing, crimson pupils shone from behind the red mask. No tomoe, just vivid, hypnotic red.
Red eyes. Illusion specialists. The Yuhi Clan. The identification clicked. Trapped by a double illusion, Ragnar's pulse remained steady.
"You lose," the Red Face stated, a kunai materializing in his hand, its point hovering a centimeter from Ragnar's throat.
"Oh?"
"You shouldn't have come this close," Ragnar said, a hint of something dangerous entering his otherwise flat tone.
"What—?" The Red Face began, confusion breaking his cold demeanor.
"Conqueror's… Haki."
Ragnar didn't shout. He focused. His eyes, invisible behind the Rakshasa mask, sharpened. An invisible, psychic tsunami erupted from him, a wave of pure, coercive will.
The artificial darkness of the genjutsu met the overwhelming pressure and shattered like glass. Light, sound, the sensation of solid ground—all rushed back in a disorienting flood. The world returned, but tinged with a gray, oppressive weight. The ANBU operatives around the ring flinched, a collective wave of unease passing through them as the edges of the Haki brushed their spirits.
But the main force was directed forward.
The Red Face ninja stared into the eye-slits of the Rakshasa mask. The Conqueror's Haki hit him not as a physical blow, but as a fundamental assault on his presence. His heart stuttered. His fighting spirit, his very will to stand as an opponent, evaporated like morning dew under a desert sun. A primal, knee-buckling awe filled him.
His legs gave way. He dropped to one knee, the kunai falling from his nerveless fingers to clatter on the stone. He was defeated, not by a technique, but by the sheer, terrifying weight of another's will.
The arena was utterly silent, save for the ragged breath of the kneeling ninja.
(End of Chapter)
✨If you're enjoying this story, consider supporting me on Patreon —
Patreon.com/TofuChan 20% off for a week
💕Patreon members get early access to chapters, bonus content, and voting power on future ideas.💕
Every bit of support helps me write more and faster. Thank you so much for reading! 🥰
✨✨ I'll release an extra chapter for every 5 reviews! ✨✨🥳🥳 For every 50 power stones! 🥳🥳
Lets hit the goal of 30 Patreon Members now for 5 Extra Chapters 💕
I believe we can do it! We are at 16 members currently.
Next Goal 200 Power Stones