A hush fell upon the stage.
Suspended in the space between time and eternity, the battlefield manifested: a serene yet ominous valley bathed in the scarlet hue of a sun that never set. Cherry blossoms drifted lazily in the breeze, each petal shimmering with reiki and chakra, whispering of peace that no longer existed.
On one side stood a wanderer with a reversed blade.
On the other, a shinobi whose eyes told stories darker than death.
The omniscient voice returned, commanding all with its godlike tone:
"Let the battle begin."
The Battlefield
The terrain was an ethereal fusion of Kyoto and the Uchiha Hideout. Torii gates split by kunai and sakabato, fading shadows of the past etched into stone. The air tasted of burning incense and lingering regret. Red moons hovered overhead, mirroring the blood that would soon fall.
Kenshin Himura, the Hitokiri Battosai, stepped into the center, his hakama rustling softly. The sakabato glowed faintly at his side. His expression was calm, but his eyes—a deep amber—carried the weight of ten thousand deaths.
Across from him, Itachi Uchiha descended slowly from a swirl of crows. The moment his feet touched the ground, genjutsu illusions flickered in the air. His Mangekyou Sharingan spun lazily, but its power pulsed like a storm restrained.
They faced one another. No words exchanged.
They didn't need them.
First Movement
Kenshin moved first.
A flicker.
The sakabato flashed.
A slash of wind echoed across the valley as he dashed toward Itachi with godlike speed. His Hiten Mitsurugi-ryū technique surged to life, the air around him trembling. The blade stopped just short of Itachi's throat—but the Itachi that stood there dissolved into crows.
The real Itachi appeared behind him.
"Tsukuyomi."
Kenshin's world darkened.
He stood in an endless field of corpses—faces he remembered, faces he had slain. Tomoe. Kiyosato. Countless nameless men. His blade stained red, his hands unable to wash the blood away.
Time warped.
For what felt like three days, Kenshin relived his sins.
But then—a ripple.
His eyes flared.
"I chose to never kill again. Your illusions can't change that."
He slashed the illusion apart with a single draw.
The genjutsu shattered.
Blood dripped from Kenshin's brow, but he stood tall.
Itachi narrowed his eyes.
"To break Tsukuyomi with will alone... Impressive."
Second Clash
They clashed again.
Blade met kunai. Sparks flew. Wind howled.
Kenshin struck with Ryūtsuisen, a descending arc of power from the sky. Itachi met it with a wall of black flames—Amaterasu. The flames scorched the ground, devouring everything. Kenshin twirled midair, using Hiten Mitsurugi's agility to ricochet off a nearby stone column, barely evading the inferno.
The sky split as their powers surged.
Itachi, breathing steadily, summoned the Susanoo.
The colossal spectral warrior towered over the battlefield, ethereal and divine, armored in spectral red. In its hand: the Totsuka Blade, capable of sealing anything it pierced.
Kenshin landed with grace, staring up at the godlike being.
Still, he drew his blade.
The Crimson Duel
Susanoo slashed downward.
Kenshin vanished.
He reappeared above the avatar's head, the sky parting with his speed. He executed Kuzu-ryūsen — nine strikes, nine vital points, all at once. The blows rained down on Susanoo's form. The god deflected each one with its Yata Mirror.
But Kenshin wasn't done.
He channeled every ounce of his strength into one final technique.
"Amakakeru Ryuu no Hirameki!"
A cyclone of force exploded from his blade. A sonic boom tore through the heavens. The technique twisted through the shield, catching Itachi off-guard.
The Susanoo cracked.
Itachi fell backward, coughing blood.
Yet—he stood again.
Itachi's Final Strategy
Itachi raised his hands.
"Izanami."
The battlefield shimmered.
Kenshin suddenly felt disoriented.
He slashed.
The world reset.
He dodged.
It reset again.
No matter what move he made, he returned to the beginning of the loop.
Itachi stood there calmly.
"Izanami traps those who deny themselves. Do you believe you've changed? Do you believe you deserve peace?"
Kenshin gritted his teeth.
And smiled.
"I do. Because I made peace with who I was and who I want to be."
The loop broke.
Final Exchange
Both men stood across from each other.
Silent.
Bleeding.
Kenshin lowered his blade. Not because he couldn't fight.
But because he believed he didn't need to.
Itachi paused. For the first time, doubt flickered in his gaze.
But duty overruled all.
Susanoo rose again.
Kenshin tightened his grip.
One final clash erupted— a storm of fire, light, steel, and sorrow.
Neither held back.
Neither compromised.
In the center of the storm, two crimson souls danced their final waltz.
To be continued...