By then, it would be three against one, and the crisis would resolve itself!
"Die!" Haruki Murakami's hand grew brighter as chakra gathered within it, as though some transformation was taking place. At that moment, the power in his hand was as heavy as a sledgehammer.
The power of fate gathered in one place!
"Interesting." The masked ninja facing Murakami spoke softly, his tone filled with disdain, as if he did not care about Murakami's strongest attack at all.
"Then try it!" Murakami said. The light in his hand blazed as though it had reached its peak, and he slowly pressed the kunai toward the masked ninja.
"The power is decent, but still far too weak," the masked ninja said calmly beneath Murakami's attack.
Haruki Murakami was about to flare up and retort with a sarcastic remark, but suddenly, he could not speak.
Before him, the blade in his opponent's hand—an ordinary blade—suddenly burst with a dazzling blue flame.
There was no scorching heat, no blinding radiance—only an incomparably overwhelming aura and sharp edge!
Tang David!
Murakami's eyes widened as he watched the long blade snap through his hands without any resistance before piercing the glaring white light in his palm.
Whoosh.
Like a sharp needle piercing a membrane, it passed straight through without obstruction.
One arm was sliced directly in half, exposing dense white bones in a horrifying sight!
Blood flowed like money, and a piercing scream tore through the sky!
Murakami cried out and dropped to his knees in agony. He wanted to cover his bleeding right hand, but he had no idea where to start—his entire right hand was bleeding, flesh and blood hanging from the bone. Even he did not dare look at it.
His eyes were wide as he stared in disbelief at the ninja