"Otsutsuki Akira."
The voice came from behind him, carrying a chill like deep-winter well water.
Otsutsuki Akira spun around abruptly, his robes cutting a sharp arc through the air.
Uchiha Akira stood at the edge of the altar, his golden pupils looking down at him from above.
Uchiha Itachi and Hyuga Neji stood to either side, their crimson and azure Tenseigans locking onto him at once, yet he did not spare either of them a glance.
His gaze was nailed firmly to Uchiha Akira.
It was this man—the lower-realm insect who shared his name. At first, he had not considered him worthy of notice.
Later, the golden figure in the prophecy had made him wary, and he had listed Uchiha Akira as a threat.
Then Ten-Rō appeared, and he had decided that the Ten-Tails Clan was more dangerous than a mortal who had stolen the Otsutsuki Bloodline.
He had deployed most of his forces to hunt Ten-Rō, leaving less than half his men to deal with Uchiha Akira.
The facts proved that he had miscalculated every step.
Uchiha Akira was like a lion that had grown wild and untamed, charging across the chessboard he had thought was foolproof and crushing his pieces one by one.
Ten-Rō had died by his hand. All ten Ōtsutsuki had died by his hand.
Now, that lion stood before him, and he had personally sealed off even his own escape route.
"Uchiha Akira, no matter how powerful you are, you will die here today! The God of Ōtsutsuki will descend and bring you despair!"
The last trace of hope churned in his eyes.
The golden rift overhead was slowly opening, and Shibai's phantom was about to descend.
"Let Shibai Ōtsutsuki descend?"
Uchiha Akira glanced at the rift, a curve tugging at the corner of his