Ren drew a kunai, activating his Sharingan right after, keeping his eyes locked on the opponent who apparently was called Kimimaro.
The forest around them seemed to hold its breath. The air carried that scent of damp earth and crushed leaves, and the silence between the trees was broken only by the low sound of Ren's own blood pounding in his ears. Even so, none of that truly mattered. The world had shrunk down to two things: the distance between them, and the way Kimimaro moved.
Ren caught the subtle motions the other made—almost imperceptible to anyone without the Sharingan. A tiny shift in weight, hips slightly aligned, a posture far too relaxed for someone about to attack. Kimimaro didn't look anxious, or tense, or rushed. He looked… ready. Not the kind of ready that comes from courage, but the kind that comes from certainty.
When they closed in, Kimimaro threw a punch with his right hand. It was simple, direct—almost like he was testing something. Ren reacted by lifting his left hand to block, and at the same time, with his other hand, he slashed with the kunai toward the abdomen.
Ren's intent was clear: stop the strike and punish the opening. He'd done it before. He'd seen enemies hesitate when a counterattack came in the exact instant of the block. It was a clean exchange—and for a brief moment, it seemed like it would be exactly that.
But in the next instant, Ren felt something was wrong.
Kimimaro didn't react to any of his movements, as if he already knew none of them would work.
Ren tried to adjust on instinct—change the angle, pull his body back, correct the cut…—but time didn't cooperate. In that same instant, a bone sprouted from Kimimaro's fist, piercing straight through Ren's palm.
The pain hit so fast it almost didn't register as pain at first—it was a blunt shock, a tear in reality. Then it exploded, and Ren's senses vanished for a second before snapping back, dragged by the violence of having his palm punched through. His body froze for a fraction of an instant, like it needed confirmation that it was real. Warm blood ran down his hand, and the burning took over everything.
At the same time, Ren's kunai met resistance.
Bones rose along Kimimaro's abdomen at the exact moment of impact, forming a hard plate.
The blade scraped, failed to sink in, and was knocked aside.
Ren's eyes widened, and for a moment his mind tried to force that into something familiar: armor? protection? substitution? anything. But the answer was in what he was seeing—this wasn't external. This was Kimimaro himself. His body was shaping bone as if it were the most natural thing in combat.
Ren reacted fast, yanking his hand off the bone with a rough motion and using Shunshin no Jutsu to create distance. The world "jumped" with him, and for a second everything turned unstable—blurred trees, the ground rushing up, air slicing his face—until he reappeared several meters back, his chest rising and falling faster.
His left hand throbbed as if it had a heart of its own. It hurt to open his fingers, hurt to close them, hurt even to feel the air. Blood kept running, and Ren knew that if he left it like that for too long, his body would collect the debt.
Kimimaro, on the other hand, didn't even look like he'd really moved. The bone layer over his abdomen no longer drew attention like before, because what drew attention now was the fact that he wasn't in any hurry at all.
"This resistance is useless. The moment Orochimaru-sama wanted you, your fate was already decided. And you should be grateful for that."
Ren didn't pay attention to the speech. Not because he didn't understand it, but because hearing it changed nothing. Answering changed nothing. What mattered was surviving.
He quickly cut a strip of his shirt with his right hand and tied it around his left to slow the bleeding. The fabric tightened against his skin, and the pressure stung, but it helped keep the flow in check. The cloth started turning damp almost immediately.
Ren pulled harder, tightened more, ignored the pain—because the alternative was worse.
He tested his hand for a second: he could still move his fingers, still feel them, still had control. Limited, but there. It was enough.
Kimimaro, seeing he wouldn't get an answer, simply raised both hands. From his fingers, bones began to sprout.
The movement was grotesque and, at the same time, terrifyingly natural. As if it wasn't a transformation, just a choice. As if his body obeyed rules he himself had written.
"Teshi Sendan."
Ten bone projectiles fired toward Ren.
The Sharingan went to work, reading their trajectories. Ren saw invisible lines in the air—not literally, but as if his brain drew out the possible paths of each white spike. One aimed for his chest. Another, his shoulder. Others came to cover escape angles, like the attack wasn't "shoot," but "box in."
Ren moved, evading the projectiles.
He didn't run in a straight line. He shifted in small changes of direction, taking advantage of the gaps between each spike—the exact space that exists because no attack can occupy everything at once. Even so, it was tight. One bone passed close enough to his arm that Ren felt the wind cut his skin. Another slammed into the ground with a dry crack.
At the same time, Ren coated his kunai with lightning chakra and threw it toward Kimimaro.
Electricity crackled around the blade, and the weapon gained a frightening speed. The air seemed to tear along its path. Ren put strength into it, put intention into it, put everything into the throw—like speed alone could make up for the difference between them.
For an instant, he believed it might at least force Kimimaro to retreat.
Even if it didn't injure, even if it didn't kill, it had to provoke a reaction.
But Kimimaro simply formed another bone with his hand and used it to knock the kunai away with extreme ease.
The impact sent the metal flying off, and the sound was… wrong. It wasn't the sound of something breaking. It was the sound of something being denied. As if the kunai had been nothing but a disposable annoyance.
Ren felt irritation rise, but he turned it into movement. He used the opening and started forming hand seals.
His speed was reduced because of the injury, but he forced himself through it anyway. Each seal demanded his fingers lock into place, demanded obedience—and his left hand didn't want to obey. The bandage restricted him, the pain interfered, the sense of weakness threatened to seep into his mind.
Ren ignored it.
He completed the final seal with extra effort and drew air into his chest, feeling chakra rise—hot, like a flame about to be born.
"Katon: Hōsenka no Jutsu."
Several fireballs surged toward Kimimaro.
The flames lit up the space for an instant, staining the forest's green with orange and yellow. Heat washed over Ren's face, and the sound of fire rushing forward filled the silence as if nature itself recoiled from it. It was an attack meant to pressure, to dominate space, to force defense.
Kimimaro only snorted and advanced.
He looked like he was dancing as he dodged.
It wasn't a desperate dodge, or a rough leap, or a sprint away. It was fluid. He moved with minimal precision, slipping by centimeters, as if each fireball were just another predictable obstacle. His expression didn't change. No fear, no urgency—only the same serenity that made Ren feel like he was fighting something on a different level.
Ren advanced too, fixing his gaze on Kimimaro's eyes.
It was a risk to close in again after what happened to his hand. Ren knew that. But backing up and backing up only meant being cornered, losing ground, losing control—becoming prey.
And more than anything, Ren needed a moment of opening—and the most real opening was the instant the enemy believed he'd already won.
Kimimaro met Ren's eyes, and in that same moment, his awareness was pulled elsewhere.
Ren's Sharingan served as the medium. Ren cast a genjutsu.
It wasn't grand, not an elaborate illusion that changed the entire scene. It was simple and direct, because it was all he could do with an injured hand under the crushing pressure of that fight. It was only enough to yank Kimimaro out of his perfect flow, to break the continuous line of movement, to create an instant of pause.
Ren seized the chance.
He drew three more kunai wedged between his fingers and threw them at vital points.
The blades sliced through the air in rapid succession—fast, precise. Ren aimed where it should hurt, where it should end. He aimed with the cold focus of someone who knew that if he missed, he wouldn't get a second clean chance.
When Kimimaro's consciousness snapped back, the kunai were already on him.
But the expression he showed next made Ren go still.
Kimimaro simply smiled and did nothing.
No dodge. No obvious block. No rush.
It was as if he were watching something inevitable—and it still wasn't his own death.
When the kunai struck his body, they stopped advancing immediately, as if something had blocked them.
The metal trembled for a moment, caught. It didn't sink in, didn't tear. It stopped as if it had hit a solid structure that shouldn't exist inside a human body.
"What?"
Ren's eyes widened.
He tried to predict, tried to analyze—and still couldn't. His Sharingan spun, catching details, but it couldn't find the logic he needed. It was as if the very concept of "hitting" didn't apply against someone who could change his own anatomy at the instant of impact.
Kimimaro kept smiling, and his calm became something almost suffocating.
"None of your attacks can hurt me. I have absolute control over my bones. If this is all you have, then this fight is already over."
Ren's expression darkened.
He knew there was a gap between them, but he'd still hoped there was at least a chance. Even if it was small, even if it was a ridiculous opening, even if it was the enemy making a mistake—anything that proved he wasn't completely doomed in this encounter.
But looking at those useless kunai, and at Kimimaro standing there, untouched, as if nothing had happened…
Ren understood.
Apparently, he'd been wrong all along.
(Early access chapters: see the bio.)