"Swish, swish, swish!"
The Tailed Beast Balls carved brilliant arcs across the darkening sky, each one a miniature sun trailing destructive energy in its wake. Despite the remote location of their battle among the rocky mountains, Minato's enhanced perception could already visualize the catastrophic impact these weapons would have. The sparse population of this region was meaningless—the range of devastation from each blast would extend for miles in every direction, consuming everything in their path.
Towns that had stood for generations would be reduced to smoking craters. Villages where children played in the streets would become mass graves. Forests that had taken centuries to grow would be burned to ash in moments. The Tailed Beast Balls weren't just weapons—they were instruments of genocide, designed to erase entire communities from existence.
"Bang, bang, bang!"
Minato's expression had become a mask of grim determination as his hands flew through the familiar seals of the Multiple Shadow Clone Technique. The dark golden light of his sage mode blazed around each newly formed copy, their combined radiance creating a constellation of power against the apocalyptic backdrop. Without hesitation, the clones launched themselves skyward, each one racing to intercept a different Tailed Beast Ball before it could complete its deadly journey.
"Swish, swish, swish!"
The shadow clones moved through the air with supernatural grace, their feet finding purchase on platforms of condensed natural energy that materialized beneath them with each step. This was one of the most advanced applications of sage mode—the ability to manipulate the fundamental forces of life itself, turning empty air into solid footing through sheer force of will.
Each clone carried with it the full knowledge and determination of the original, their movements perfectly coordinated despite the vast distances separating them. They were racing against time itself, their enhanced speed pushed to absolute limits as they sought to reach their targets before innocent lives were lost.
Meanwhile, Minato's true form abandoned all pretense of defense, his body becoming a golden streak of light as he hurtled toward Madara with lethal intent. The time for tactical maneuvering had passed—now there was only the desperate need to end this threat before it could complete whatever dark purpose had driven it to such extremes.
But Madara's laughter echoed across the battlefield, cold and calculating as his hands shifted to form new seals. The legendary Uchiha's confidence was absolute, his expression that of a master strategist who had anticipated every possible response from his opponent.
"Haha, the biggest surprise should naturally be saved for last," Madara chuckled, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of accumulated malice.
The several giant shadows that had been manifesting behind the Outer Path Demon Statue suddenly began to converge, their ghostly forms overlapping and merging into a single point of concentrated power. The sight was both magnificent and terrifying—five legendary tailed beasts lending their strength to create something beyond the scope of normal comprehension.
"Buzz!"
The air itself seemed to vibrate as an enormous concentration of light began gathering in front of the statue's gaping maw. But this wasn't just another Tailed Beast Ball—this was something far more devastating. The sphere of compressed energy continued to grow, fed by the combined power of multiple tailed beasts, until it reached truly monstrous proportions.
When it was complete, the super-massive Tailed Beast Ball was nearly half the size of the statue itself, a miniature star that pulsed with enough raw destructive force to reshape entire landscapes. The energy it contained was beyond measurement, beyond anything that conventional ninja techniques could hope to counter.
"Bang!"
The moment of release was like witnessing the birth of a new sun. The super-massive Tailed Beast Ball erupted from the statue's mouth with such violent force that the very air around it seemed to explode, creating shockwaves that rippled outward in visible distortions. The projectile's passage through the atmosphere left a trail of superheated plasma in its wake, the sky itself seeming to burn as it carved its deadly path.
Minato's enhanced perception immediately calculated the trajectory, and what he saw made his blood run cold. The target wasn't some remote military installation or strategic location—it was Konoha itself. His home, his village, the place where his wife and son waited for his return. The place where thousands of innocent civilians lived their daily lives, unaware that death was hurtling toward them from the sky.
"With this size, it may be difficult to deal with using only clones," Minato realized, his voice tight with the strain of processing this impossible tactical situation. A normal Tailed Beast Ball required his personal intervention to neutralize safely. Something of this magnitude would need everything he had and more.
The psychological warfare was masterful in its cruelty. Madara had forced him into an impossible choice—pursue the enemy while Konoha burned, or save his village while allowing the mastermind to escape and complete his dark plans. It was the kind of calculated evil that spoke to centuries of experience in breaking the will of opponents.
After releasing the super-massive attack, Madara's smile broadened with satisfaction as he turned away from the battle, his body already beginning to move toward Nagato's location. The legendary Uchiha's confidence was absolute—he had studied the Flying Thunder God technique extensively during his conflicts with the Second Hokage, and he understood its fundamental limitations.
"Although Minato improved the Flying Thunder God Technique," Madara mused as he departed, "the most basic principles are still based on Tobirama's original design. And I know exactly how to counter those principles."
The admission carried with it the weight of historical knowledge that spanned generations of conflict. Madara had fought against the technique's creator, had studied its strengths and weaknesses through direct combat experience. Whatever improvements Minato had made, they couldn't completely overcome the fundamental constraints that governed all space-time ninjutsu.
"Damn it!"
The curse that escaped Minato's lips carried all the frustration and rage of a man forced to choose between two impossible alternatives. He could only watch as Madara's figure receded into the distance, moving with the casual confidence of someone who knew his opponent's hands were tied.
But there was no real choice to be made. Minato was the Fourth Hokage, the protector of his people, and he would not allow Konoha to burn while he pursued personal vendettas. With a surge of desperate speed, he launched himself skyward, his body becoming a golden comet as he raced to intercept the super-massive Tailed Beast Ball.
The projectile's speed was tremendous, enhanced by the force of its launch and the sheer momentum of its massive size. Even with his sage-enhanced velocity, Minato could barely keep pace with it, the gap between them closing with agonizing slowness as precious seconds ticked away.
At the same time, his shadow clones were engaged in their own desperate battles across the sky, each one racing to intercept a different Tailed Beast Ball before it could reach its intended target. The coordination required was staggering—maintaining perfect awareness of multiple high-speed interceptions while simultaneously pushing his true body to its absolute limits.
"Swish!"
Just as the super-massive Tailed Beast Ball reached the edge of the rocky mountain range, Minato's true form finally managed to intercept it. The effort had pushed him beyond all reasonable limits, his sage mode aura flickering with the strain of maintaining such intense focus while coordinating multiple simultaneous actions.
The projectile hung in the air before him like a captured star, its surface writhing with compressed energy that made the very atmosphere around it shimmer with heat distortion. This close, he could feel the malevolent power it contained, the raw destructive force that could erase his village from existence in a single blinding flash.
"Whoosh!"
Behind Minato, a massive chakra claw manifested from his sage mode aura, its dark golden surface shot through with intricate black patterns that seemed to pulse with their own inner life. These weren't just random markings—they were sealing formulae of incredible complexity, space-time manipulation techniques that had taken him years to perfect.
The black lines spread outward from the chakra claw like living things, expanding across the sky until they formed a barrier that dwarfed even the super-massive Tailed Beast Ball. This was the ultimate expression of his improved Flying Thunder God technique—not just the ability to teleport objects through space, but to create dimensional rifts large enough to swallow attacks of unprecedented scale.
The Tailed Beast Ball crashed into the barrier with the force of a colliding planet, its massive energy signature beginning to distort and waver as it was drawn into the dimensional rift. The process was far from gentle—reality itself seemed to groan under the strain of containing such overwhelming power, space and time bending in ways that made Minato's enhanced perception reel with vertigo.
Gradually, inexorably, the super-massive projectile was consumed by the barrier, its destructive energy scattered across distant dimensions where it could harm no one. The technique required every ounce of Minato's concentration and skill, pushing his mastery of space-time ninjutsu beyond all previous limits.
Simultaneously, across the sky, his shadow clones completed their own interceptions. Each smaller Tailed Beast Ball vanished into dimensional rifts, their condensed chakra dispersed harmlessly into the void. The coordination required was beyond the capability of any normal ninja—only someone with Minato's unique combination of speed, spatial awareness, and tactical genius could have managed such a feat.
When the last of the projectiles had been neutralized, the shadow clones dispersed, their mission complete. Minato's true body flickered and reappeared at the site of his previous battle with Madara, his sage mode aura noticeably dimmer from the tremendous expenditure of energy required for the mass interception.
But there was no time to rest or recover. His enhanced perception immediately detected the familiar presence of the invisible clone that had returned to harass him, forcing him to dodge and weave even as he processed the tactical situation. The attack came from an impossible angle, striking at space that should have been empty but somehow contained a malevolent presence.
Minato evaded the assault with practiced efficiency, his body already in motion toward Nagato's location even as he avoided the dimensional strike. But his heart sank as he realized how much time had passed—Madara's chakra signature was already dangerously close to the Akatsuki leader's position.
The race was on, and every second counted.
High atop the shattered remains of what had once been a proud mountain, Nagato stood like a figure from a nightmare. The rocky plateau beneath his feet was scorched and broken, testament to the fierce battle that had raged here between conflicting wills. His red hair, once vibrant with the legendary vitality of the Uzumaki clan, now showed streaks of premature white at the roots—the price of pushing his depleted body beyond all reasonable limits.
His right hand, completely overtaken by the alien black substance that was Black Zetsu, clenched his left wrist with crushing force. The contrast was stark and disturbing—one hand still recognizably human, the other transformed into something that belonged to no natural creature. The battle for control of his body was visible in every tense line of his posture, every tremor that ran through his exhausted frame.
"What a tough guy!" Black Zetsu's voice emerged from Nagato's throat, distorted by frustration and grudging respect. The dark entity had expected this possession to be simple, a matter of overwhelming a weakened host through superior will and ancient power.
Instead, it had encountered resistance unlike anything in its vast experience. Even members of the Uzumaki clan, renowned for their incredible life force and stubborn determination, should have succumbed by now. The extraction of the Outer Path Demon Statue and the captured tailed beasts should have left Nagato too weak to resist.
"But he's holding on through sheer willpower alone," Black Zetsu snarled internally, its ancient consciousness struggling to comprehend such tenacity. "How is this possible?"
The answer lay in something that transcended mere physical strength or chakra reserves. Nagato's will had been forged in the crucible of unimaginable loss and suffering, tempered by years of bearing responsibility for choices that had cost countless lives. That same strength that had allowed him to endure the burden of hosting multiple tailed beasts now served as an unbreachable fortress against the entity's influence.
More crucially, Nagato had learned from their initial encounter. The power of his remaining Rinnegan was focused inward now, creating barriers and countermeasures that made possession exponentially more difficult. Where before Black Zetsu had been able to simply overwhelm his defenses, now it faced layer upon layer of spiritual resistance that adapted and evolved with each attempted assault.
"Didn't you plan to kill Minato Namikaze, destroy Konoha, and become a guide for the world not long ago?" Black Zetsu tried a different approach, its words carrying the weight of psychological manipulation honed over millennia. "These are things you can't accomplish, but Master Madara can do them for you. Give me your other eye, and your vision can still be realized."
The temptation was real, and Black Zetsu could sense the way it resonated with the deeper parts of Nagato's psyche. The Akatsuki leader had indeed harbored such ambitions, had genuinely believed that only through overwhelming power could true peace be achieved. The logical part of his mind could see the twisted wisdom in the entity's words.
But Nagato's expression remained unmoved, his face a mask of determination that no amount of psychological pressure could crack. The months since his defeat at Minato's hands had given him time to reflect, to recognize the fundamental flaws in his previous philosophy.
"I will not be used by you again," Nagato declared, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "Although the mistakes I made cannot be undone, at least now I have not exhausted all my strength."
The admission was both confession and declaration—an acknowledgment of past failures coupled with the resolve to prevent future ones. He had been a pawn in Madara's game for far too long, his genuine desire for peace twisted into an instrument of oppression and terror.
"Without this eye, even Uchiha Madara can be dealt with by Minato-san!" Nagato roared, his facial features contorting with the effort of resistance. The transformation was visible and disturbing—the stress of fighting both his body's possession and his own physical limitations was pushing him beyond all sustainable limits.
His hair continued to whiten at an alarming rate, the legendary Uzumaki vitality burning itself out like a candle in a hurricane. But with each strand that lost its color, his resolve seemed to strengthen rather than weaken. This was the final expenditure of a life force that had sustained him through impossible trials, and he would not waste it on anything less than preventing catastrophe.
His almost exhausted strength began to return in a surge of desperate energy, drawn from reserves that should not have existed. The clamped left hand gradually began to move closer to his eye socket, his fingers trembling with the effort required to overcome Black Zetsu's physical control.
The plan was simple but absolute—if he could destroy the remaining Rinnegan, then Madara's resurrection would remain incomplete. The legendary Uchiha would still be formidable, but not unstoppably so. Minato would have a fighting chance to prevent whatever apocalyptic scheme required both eyes to complete.
High above the mountain plateau, Konan's figure moved through the air with the ethereal grace of her paper-based techniques. Her form was wrapped in wings of precisely folded origami, each sheet serving as both shield and weapon as she engaged in a desperate aerial battle against an opponent she could barely perceive.
The Second Tsuchikage's Dust Release techniques cut through the air around her with lethal precision, forcing her into an exhausting dance of evasion and counterattack. Without her partner's sensory abilities to guide her, she was fighting blind against an enemy who could become invisible at will. Each dodge was a gamble, each movement potentially her last.
Her paper wings, once pristine and perfectly arranged, now showed the signs of extended combat. Tears and burns marred their surfaces where enemy attacks had come too close, and several of the larger feathers hung loose and tattered. The beautiful technique that had once made her appear angelic now marked her as wounded and desperate.
But even in her current state, Konan's enhanced vision caught sight of something that filled her with hope. In the distant sky, a massive black barrier had appeared, its surface rippling with spatial distortions as it consumed the super-massive Tailed Beast Ball that had been aimed at Konoha. The technique was unmistakably Minato's work—only the Fourth Hokage possessed the skill to create dimensional rifts of such tremendous scale.
"He did it," she breathed, relief flooding through her exhausted frame. "Konoha is safe."
But even as that fear was alleviated, a new one took its place. Her enhanced perception, trained through years of partnership with some of the most dangerous ninja in the world, detected a presence approaching at tremendous speed. The chakra signature was unmistakable, carrying with it the weight of legend and the promise of destruction.
"Oh no!" Konan's face changed in shock as the realization hit her. The figure racing toward their position definitely wasn't Minato—the Fourth Hokage's chakra signature had a distinctive warmth and vibrancy that this presence utterly lacked.
"His target is Nagato!" she realized with growing horror. Every tactical instinct she possessed screamed that this was the endgame—the moment when all of Madara's machinations would come to fruition.
Without hesitation, Konan raised her arms skyward, her remaining chakra flowing into the creation of new paper constructs. White origami began to fall like snow around her, each sheet precisely folded and infused with her will. This would be her final technique, the last barrier she could place between Nagato and the ancient evil that sought to claim him.
But before she could complete the formation, another attack came from the darkness behind her. The Second Tsuchikage's timing was perfect, his invisible form striking at the exact moment when she was most vulnerable. Konan was forced to abandon her defensive preparations, throwing herself to the side in a desperate evasion that left her off-balance and exposed.
The choice was stark and immediate—continue fighting her aerial opponent, or rush to Nagato's defense while he was at his most vulnerable. For Konan, there was no choice at all. Her partner needed her, and no amount of personal danger would prevent her from answering that call.
She turned away from the Second Tsuchikage entirely, her paper wings folding as she dove toward the mountain plateau where Nagato made his final stand. The decision left her completely vulnerable to attack from behind, but it also allowed her to achieve maximum speed as she raced against time itself.
The Tsuchikage pursued her relentlessly, his invisible form launching attack after attack at her exposed back. Konan no longer tried to fight back or mount any meaningful defense—she simply did her best to avoid the most lethal strikes while maintaining her desperate flight toward Nagato's position.
Gradually, the accumulated damage began to tell. Her thin red lips became stained with blood from internal injuries, her paper wings developing new tears with each near-miss. The beautiful technique that had once made her seem invincible now served only to keep her airborne long enough to reach her destination.
But even flying at her maximum speed, her progress seemed agonizingly slow compared to the figure racing up the mountainside below. Both of them were converging on Nagato's position, but it was becoming clear that Madara would arrive first.
The race was almost over, and the consequences of losing were too terrible to contemplate.
"You damned kid!" Black Zetsu's voice carried centuries of accumulated frustration as Nagato's resistance continued to hold firm. The ancient entity had expected this possession to be a simple matter of overwhelming a weakened host, but instead it had encountered willpower that seemed to strengthen rather than weaken under pressure.
With agonizing slowness, the two fingers of Nagato's left hand continued their approach toward his remaining eye. Each millimeter of progress required tremendous effort, the battle for control of his own body pushing him beyond all previous limits. But the distance was closing, and with it, the possibility of preventing Madara's complete resurrection.
"Bang!"
The sound of heavy impact echoed across the mountain plateau as a figure landed with tremendous force, the rocky surface shattering under the violence of his arrival. Clouds of dust and debris billowed outward from the point of impact, obscuring the newcomer's form but not the aura of overwhelming power that emanated from his position.
"Swoosh! Swoosh!"
Two black rods shot out from the settling dust cloud with deadly precision, their trajectory perfectly calculated to strike Nagato's left arm just as his fingers neared their target. The weapons weren't just physical projectiles—they carried with them a stream of chakra so alien and overwhelming that it bypassed all of Nagato's defenses.
The moment the rods pierced his flesh, Nagato's left hand froze in place, held immobile by a power that he couldn't hope to resist. The chakra flowing through the weapons was unmistakably that of the Sage of Six Paths, enhanced and corrupted by centuries of accumulated malice.
"Ahhh!" Nagato's scream of pain and frustration echoed across the mountainside, the sound carrying all the weight of hopes dashed and plans thwarted. He had been so close, mere inches away from destroying the eye that would complete Madara's resurrection.
But even as agony raced through his body, his remaining eye remained fixed on the figure emerging from the dust cloud. The Rinnegan's enhanced perception allowed him to see with perfect clarity as someone with identical eyes stared back at him, the purple irises rippling with otherworldly power.
"Uchiha Madara," Nagato said, his voice carrying the weight of recognition and resignation. The legendary figure stood before him like something from a nightmare, his presence so overwhelming that it seemed to distort the very air around him.
At that moment, a wolf-like figure appeared in the air above them, accompanied by a shower of white origami that fell like snow around the plateau. Konan landed between Nagato and their enemy with graceful desperation, her paper wings spreading wide in a futile gesture of protection.
"Konan!" Nagato's voice cracked with emotion as he saw the condition of his oldest friend and closest ally. Her pale face was streaked with blood, her breathing labored from exhaustion and injury. She had pushed herself beyond all reasonable limits to reach his side, and the cost was written in every line of her trembling form.
"Nagato," Konan replied softly, turning to give him a smile that was both sad and infinitely tender. Despite everything they had endured, despite all the mistakes and misunderstandings that had brought them to this point, her devotion remained absolute.
"I told you I'd always follow you," she said, her voice carrying the weight of a promise made in childhood and honored through decades of hardship.
In the settling dust, Madara stepped forward with casual confidence, his gaze moving between the wounded pair with the calculating assessment of a predator evaluating weakened prey. His expression was one of cold amusement, as if their desperate defiance was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"What's the point of standing in front of me when you're so seriously injured?" Madara asked, his voice carrying the casual cruelty of someone who had long since ceased to view other people as anything more than obstacles or tools.
In his enhanced perception, Konan's strength barely registered as a threat. She was exhausted, wounded, and operating at a fraction of her normal capabilities. Against any ordinary opponent, her determination might have been enough to make a difference. Against Uchiha Madara, it was merely a gesture.
"You can't protect him," Madara stated with absolute certainty, his tone carrying the weight of undeniable fact.
But Konan wasn't looking at him. Instead, she raised her head with tremendous effort, her beautiful eyes focusing on the origami that still floated through the air around them. With movements that spoke of incredible will despite her exhaustion, she guided the paper sheets into a specific formation—a signal that would be visible from great distances to anyone who knew how to interpret it.
"Please, you must come quickly," she whispered, her words directed not at Madara but at someone far away who might still be able to change the outcome of this desperate situation.
"The Fourth Hokage!" she called out, her voice carrying across the mountainside with surprising strength. Her hand reached into her pouch, retrieving a blood-stained stone marked with a complex pattern that suddenly began to pulse with faint light.
The Flying Thunder God seal had been placed there during one of their previous encounters, a precautionary measure that none of them had expected to use. But now it represented their only hope—a direct connection to the one person who might be able to stand against the legend that threatened to destroy them all.
"Swish!"
The response was immediate and overwhelming. A figure wreathed in divine robes materialized directly in front of Konan and Nagato, his arrival accompanied by a surge of dark golden light that pushed back the oppressive atmosphere Madara had created. The Fourth Hokage stood like a guardian deity, his cross-shaped pupils blazing with sage-enhanced power as he faced down the resurrected legend.
The pair of eyes that met Madara's gaze were filled with a grim determination that matched the Uchiha's own, promising that this final confrontation would be unlike anything that had come before. The ultimate battle for the future of the ninja world was about to begin.
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