Chapter 5

Author: I have mock exams at the moment, so I'm sorry I can't update very often. But as soon as it ends, I promise regual updates :)

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Weeks flowed like sand through an hourglass, each grain marking Free's unyielding journey toward mastery. His corporeal vessel had become a symphony of fluid motions, a dance of reflexes that transcended the boundaries of mere physicality. Mind and body were no longer separate entities; they existed in a harmonious union.

However, the most profound transformation had occurred within his grasp of the enigmatic art known as [Cursed Energy Manipulation.] Its initial appearance had been deceptive, resembling a dormant ember rather than a raging flame. Yet, as Free's understanding deepened and his practice intensified, its latent power gradually unraveled.

At first, the cursed technique seemed inconsequential, like a whisper amidst a cacophony. But over time, its effects began to take shape, a gradual metamorphosis akin to a caterpillar's evolution into a butterfly. It was as if Free possessed an intrinsic connection to this sinister energy, an innate familiarity that defied explanation.

The issue of energy leakage, once an exasperating obstacle, was gradually receding. With heightened proficiency, Free learned to harness his modest reservoir of Cursed Energy more efficiently. Every ounce of energy was valuable, each expenditure a calculated investment. Through meticulous discipline, he achieved a delicate equilibrium between consumption and conservation.

With sword in hand, Free's transformation was unveiled in his combat prowess. He flawlessly deflected an oncoming strike, the weapon an extension of his will. His body moved with a grace that defied his human form, a testament to his rigorous training regimen. In a heartbeat, his stance shifted, and his feet wove an intricate pattern on the ground.

Cursed Energy coursed through him, a sinister force channeling through his veins. As his feet pressed against the earth, a small ethereal ball materialized—a concentrated orb of pure, malevolent energy. It hovered briefly, an otherworldly creation, before Free lunged forward.

The ephemeral sphere burst like a bubble, a controlled detonation that propelled him like an arrow released from a bowstring. His velocity surged, a calculated burst of acceleration that caught his opponent off-guard. Surprise flickered across the opponent's face, swiftly replaced by an instinctual panic as he grappled with the unexpected change in circumstance.

It was a fatal misstep. Free's body lowered, a predator closing in on its prey. His leg swept with practiced precision, a calculated strike that disrupted his opponent's balance. The sound of bone shattering filled the air, a chilling symphony of fracture and impact. The opponent staggered, the ground a cruel and unforgiving bed as he fell backwards.

Before gravity could claim him entirely, Free moved like a shadow beneath him. In one fluid motion, his leg connected with the opponent's back, a brutal punctuation that echoed with a sickening crack. Pain erupted, a crescendo of agony intermingled with the desperate cries of a shattered spirit.

Medics materialized like guardian angels, a collective breath exhaled as they swooped in to retrieve the fallen combatant. Amidst this tableau of pain and relief, Free retrieved his sword from the earth. Its blade gleamed, stained with the undeniable proof of his ruthless efficacy.

Yet, in the aftermath of this brutal dance, an unseen presence lingered, an observer shrouded in the recesses of shadows. Free sensed it, a weighty gaze that bore into his very essence. He exhaled wearily, a silent acknowledgment of the eyes that bore witness to his deeds.

"He's a diamond in the rough," a voice murmured from behind a translucent barrier, its contours warped and blurred. Another figure, barely discernible, nodded in solemn agreement.

"Indeed, but have you not also noticed?" The question hung in the air, pregnant with implications. The first figure remained still, a specter of mystery, before finally speaking in measured tones.

"Yes, an absence of discernible Chakra signature. He appears almost lifeless, devoid of the energetic resonance that marks the living. However, such details are inconsequential. If he has the potential to become a weapon, that is all that matters."

A glimmer of crimson ignited within the observer's eyes, a trio of tomoes materializing like arcane symbols in the night.

"Initiate phase two," the figure declared, its voice a harbinger of dark intent.

"Yes, Lord Mizukage"