Akira was too close. Sasori didn't even have time to react before Akira's fist slammed into him with overwhelming force, sending him flying off the Third Kazekage puppet. The force of the punch created a gust of wind as Sasori spiraled through the air, crashing hard into the desert floor below. Dust and debris exploded outward, leaving a crater in his wake.
As he fell, Sasori's mind reeled in disbelief. That speed, that teleportation-like movement—it was inhuman.
"How... How can there be such a terrifying Body Flicker Technique?! Could it be... Mangekyo Sharingan?"
At that time, the Flying Thunder God Technique was not well-known. The Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze, was not yet a legendary figure. So to Sasori, Akira's technique could only be attributed to the most enigmatic dojutsu he knew: the Mangekyo Sharingan.
Sasori's body hit the ground with a thunderous bang, pain erupting through his nerves as bones fractured from the impact. He gasped sharply, barely able to move.
Akira, hovering high above, flung a shuriken at the fallen Sasori. The weapon spun through the air with unerring precision, pinning Sasori's remaining good hand to the ground. Then, in a blur of light and chakra, Akira vanished from the sky, reappearing in a flash—transported by the very Flying Thunder God seal embedded in the shuriken.
Though Akira possessed a Susanoo with the ability to fly, it was not yet in its perfected form. He needed the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan to manifest the complete version capable of flight. And besides, soaring through the skies in a full Susanoo was far too conspicuous. If he wanted to conceal his abilities, Flying Thunder God was the better option.
Shuriken were common in combat. No one would suspect anything unusual. This way, he could protect the secret: that the mysterious Uchiha known as Akira had mastered the Flying Thunder God.
Sasori struggled. He tried to rise, gritting his teeth against the searing pain. The fall had shattered parts of his body, but he was still conscious, still clinging to life.
The Third Kazekage puppet, now out of control, slammed into the ground beside him with a crash, its limbs cracking apart on impact.
"What... kind of ninjutsu is that? I've never seen such speed... Is it really Mangekyo Sharingan?"
His voice was weak, barely above a whisper, yet full of awe and dread.
Akira stood tall over him, his gaze cold. His Sharingan gleamed with quiet fury.
"Think whatever you want," Akira said, his voice low. "You won't live long enough to find out."
He raised another shuriken, this one glinting menacingly in the sunlight. He took aim, prepared to end Sasori with a single, decisive blow.
But Sasori, battered and bloodied, wasn't finished yet.
With trembling effort, he raised his free hand—the one not pinned—and with a soft click, a gun-barrel-like nozzle extended from his wrist.
"Flame Release: Hell Blaze Array!"
A torrent of scorching flames erupted from the barrel. The air shimmered with heat, and the sand beneath the inferno turned to glass.
Akira, ever vigilant, had anticipated this. The instant he saw the nozzle extend, his eyes flashed with white lightning, and Susanoo materialized around him in an ethereal blue glow. The flames roared against the barrier, but even so, the intensity of the heat made Akira sweat beneath its protection.
He narrowed his eyes. So Sasori had already begun modifying his own body.
In his past life, Akira had seen glimpses of this through scattered intelligence reports and underground rumors. Sasori had claimed he hadn't used his full modifications in nearly two decades, yet contradictory accounts suggested his puppet transformation happened much later. The truth was, Sasori had already started replacing parts of his body with puppetry. Not yet a full human puppet, but close.
Akira's expression was unreadable. He had baited Sasori into revealing his trump card, pretending to strike the final blow, all to force the last of his secrets to the surface.
And now, having seen it, he couldn't help but mutter, with a strange admiration:
"As expected of Sunagakure's former Number One puppet master. You've turned your own body into a weapon. It takes either a madman or a true artist to go that far."
Even having known it was coming, witnessing it firsthand was haunting.
Sasori, drained, broken, and defeated, sighed with regret.
"The human body... is too fragile. The injuries slowed me... I couldn't react in time. If only I had made myself a complete puppet sooner... the result might have been different."
But Akira wasn't letting his guard down.
From behind him, two ethereal clones appeared—one bathed in the shadows of yin, the other glowing with the radiance of yang.
The yin clone ghosted silently toward Sasori, fusing with him. Sasori's pained expression faded into blankness, his mind slipping under Akira's control.
This was the true power of the yin illusionary clone—not to battle puppets, but to dominate minds. The technique was a manifestation of the Mangekyo Sharingan's illusion mastery, and Sasori, in his weakened state, was no match.
Satisfied that Sasori was now completely under his influence, Akira prepared to absorb him. But first, there were steps to take.
A person's chakra resided in every cell of their body. Puppeted limbs and synthetic organs wouldn't carry chakra the same way. The Samsara of Life—his Mangekyo's forbidden ability—would reject those non-living parts as useless.
He carefully began his examination, using advanced medical ninjutsu to assess the extent of Sasori's modifications.
The results were promising. Only Sasori's hands had been fully replaced with flamethrowers. Several internal organs were missing—swapped for poisoned wire, saws, and traps. But none of it would hinder what Akira intended to do.
One by one, Akira extracted the weapons, sealing them away. With his chakra-infused scalpel, he performed precise cuts, removing every foreign element. Sasori's body, under the influence of the yin clone, remained limp and unresisting.
When he finished, Sasori was riddled with holes, his body a husk.
But Akira was not done.
He summoned the yang illusionary clone, guiding it into Sasori's ruined frame. A soft glow emerged, growing brighter as the clone's restorative power activated.
In moments, flesh and bone began to knit together. White light expanded from within Sasori, limbs regrowing, organs reforming, muscle reconnecting. It was as though the body were being reborn.
The pain was unimaginable. Sasori's expression twisted—for a second, it looked as if he might regain consciousness.
Akira's Sharingan whirled, intensifying the hypnosis. Sasori's mind dulled again.
The regeneration was swift. Within minutes, Sasori's body was whole. No weapons, no puppet parts—only flesh, blood, and chakra.
Akira felt the yang clone vanish, its chakra spent. The connection returned to his eye, and with it, confirmation that Sasori's body was at peak condition—biologically equivalent to a man in his mid-twenties.
Perfect for absorption.
Akira took a breath, his gaze sharpening. He activated his Mangekyo, the tomoe shifting into a spiraling pattern unique to him.
"Infinite Rebirth: Absorption."
A vortex of energy opened, swirling hungrily. Sasori's body began to disintegrate, drawn into the void as Akira's chakra expanded, absorbing everything: body, chakra, soul, and knowledge.
As the last remnants of the great puppet master vanished into him, Akira stood in silence, the wind howling across the battlefield.
Another power claimed. Another legacy absorbed.
The path ahead was far from over.