The full-body Susanoo descended with deliberate slowness, cloaked in a majestic armor of ethereal violet flame. Within its core, Naruto and Sasuke stood side by side, silent yet resolved. From their elevated vantage point, they saw her—Hinata—calm and radiant, her golden threads swirling around her like strands of celestial fate. Below her, and beneath them, stood Madara, his gaze seething with unmasked hatred and the intoxicating thrill of vengeance.
The Susanoo's descent was not just a maneuver—it was a silent answer to Madara's invitation. One final descent into the storm.
"Hinata… those golden threads around you look seriously amazing," Naruto remarked through the telepathic link, his voice as casual as ever, though a touch of awe colored his tone.
"Would you like me to assist in this phase of the battle?" Hinata's voice was tranquil, almost serene. Like the calm wind that precedes the fury of a storm.
Sasuke responded first, his tone razor-sharp. "We can handle it. As long as Naruto and I fight together."
Naruto exhaled softly, his grin crooked. "Are you sure about that? 'Cause the chakra he's radiating... that's just plain insane."
Hinata's reply carried certainty. "You don't need to defeat him outright. Just guide him close to where Black Zetsu will be... he'll take care of the rest. Let Madara discover that particular surprise himself."
Naruto's tone lifted, the usual brightness returning. "Heh, that shouldn't be hard. I can feel him already—he's closing in. Guess he doesn't wanna miss the finale."
"You've wounded Madara more than you think. He's watching you now with something rare for him—respect," Hinata added, her tone thoughtful.
Sasuke gave a faint, wry smile. "Good. It would be disappointing if he fell for Naruto's tricks again."
The Susanoo finally touched down, its titanic feet cracking the earth beneath them. Slowly, like mist burning away under sunlight, the mighty armor dissolved. Left standing were two figures, bathed in opposing auras of storm and flame.
Madara's face twisted with ecstatic conviction. "I am the savior of this world! At last, true peace will reign!"
Sasuke didn't flinch. His voice cut through the madness like a blade. "Don't worry. We'll wake everyone from the lie that is your dream."
Madara's smile faded. His features hardened, his killing intent rising. "I take it you won't be foolish enough to fight me separately this time."
In the silence that followed, Sasuke reached out through their shared link. "He has four clones. Limbo. Hidden from normal sight."
"Yeah… I can't see them either," Naruto replied mentally, his tone sharpening. "But I feel them."
Then, aloud, Sasuke tilted his head toward his comrade with a smirk. "So… want to go first, or should I?"
Naruto's grin spread instantly, a flash of light igniting behind his eyes as the sage markings appeared—bold, fierce, undeniable. The lines on his face thickened, his pupils turned to toad-like slits, and his aura deepened. In one smooth motion, he summoned the cloak of chakra granted by Hagoromo, the cloak of the Six Paths—its luminous, golden brilliance coiling around his body like a second skin.
He inhaled once, deeply, and the cadence of his breath changed. The Wind Breath flowed through him—natural, instinctive, divine. With a mere flicker of will, four identical clones burst into existence at his sides, no seals required. They didn't wait for a signal. All five Narutos moved as one—disappearing in an explosion of wind and golden light, racing toward their unseen targets with the force of a hurricane. Their movement was a dance of speed and grace, like the breath of a god made flesh.
Behind him, Sasuke moved with equal purpose. Lightning crackled at his heels as he activated his Lightning Breath, the air hissing with unnatural pressure. His right eye spun, revealing the Mangekyō Sharingan, while the Rinnegan in his left eye pulsed with gravitational power. A faint, regal violet aura surged from his frame, wrapping around him like coiled serpents of thunder.
Around him, four clones emerged in synchronized bursts of static. Each drew a katana without a word. Instantly, the blades were consumed in condensed black flames—Amaterasu concentrated to a terrifying density—crackling with streaks of black lightning that danced along the edges.
The ground around them trembled as the cursed fire surged, taking shape, not randomly, but with purpose. The flames responded to Sasuke's will, forming into crystalline black prisms, unnatural and beautiful, hovering with ominous intensity. Then, as if guided by unseen hands, the prisms launched forward, carving through the battlefield like cursed meteors, chasing down a fate only Sasuke could see.
Four of the Narutos from the battlefield shot forward in synchronized blurs of wind and golden chakra, targeting the invisible threats scattered across the battlefield—Madara's Limbo clones, displaced in another plane of reality. As each Naruto reached their target, the expected clash never came. Instead, their strikes passed straight through their opponents as if they were phantoms. Each Naruto stumbled forward momentarily, eyes widening in confusion.
Madara didn't miss a beat. He countered instantly, unleashing retaliatory strikes that could've leveled mountains—but they were met with nothing. Each Naruto clone evaded the deadly blows with supernatural grace, their senses attuned to something beyond normal perception.
They adapted.
The first Naruto shifted tactics, conjuring sleek, aerodynamic blades of wind infused with sage chakra. He hurled them toward his unseen opponent—sharp, silent missiles of precision. But the Limbo clone dodged them with eerie accuracy, reacting with the same visual prowess as the real Madara.
The second Naruto answered with a more brute-force approach: a swirling Rasengan augmented by the full might of the wind element. He lunged forward and struck—only to see the spiraling sphere slip through the clone's body harmlessly. No contact. No feedback.
The third Naruto didn't bother to engage. He accelerated instead, channeling the full velocity of his Wind Breath to launch past the phantasm and hurtle toward the real Madara. His instinct said the illusion wasn't worth the energy.
The fourth Naruto slowed… centered… and then moved.
Frog Kumite.
His strike was sudden, precise, and infused with natural energy that radiated outward from his body like a pulse. As his palm collided with the space where the Limbo clone floated—a seemingly empty void—the shockwave connected. The clone staggered, then shattered into nothing, as if the technique had momentarily dragged it back into tangible existence. Madara grunted in surprise, his composure cracking.
At that instant, three of Sasuke's clones moved with exacting precision. Without warning, they switched positions with the four Naruto clones using Amenotejikara—His Rinnegan's unique space-time swap Jutsu. The rhythm of the battle shattered.
Each of Sasuke's clones took immediate control of the situation, using the gravitational pull of their Rinnegan to force the Limbo clones into proximity. There, in the chaos of slowed motion and warped space, the strikes came.
Each one drew his blade and unleashed: Lightning Breath – Seventh Form: Amaterasu Lightning Blade.
The blades blazed with cursed black flame and roared with storm-born energy. They moved too fast to see—blades of shadow and thunder lashing out with pinpoint accuracy.
The Limbo clones couldn't react. They couldn't breathe.
In a blink, all three were pierced, their bodies convulsing in flashes of voidfire before vanishing completely.
The battlefield quaked with the echo of their destruction.
Meanwhile, Naruto stood face-to-face with the true Madara.
In his hands, one of his three Truth-Seeking Orbs shimmered and shifted, elongating into a quarterstaff. The weapon felt right—effortless. For a fleeting second, an image of the past crossed his mind: a younger Hinata, back in their academy days, training with a staff in her hands—graceful, steady, defensive but capable of striking with precision. Back then, he'd laughed at her choice. Now? He understood. When Hagoromo entrusted him with power, and he began to train with it seriously, this weapon—the staff—had become a natural extension of his body. His breath. His style. Simple. Balanced. Effective.
Madara read the change in posture instantly and responded with vehemence. Around him, his own Truth-Seeking Orbs shifted forms with chaotic elegance—swords, hammers, glaives, shirukens—each a deadly promise. He hurled them at Naruto, like extra limbs, one after another, relentlessly.
But Naruto moved like the wind through the forest.
Each strike was avoided with hair-width precision. He countered with fluidity, spinning the staff to block, redirect, and retaliate. His footwork was light but grounded even when stepping in the air—his momentum constant. The Dance of the Wind Leaf, once wild and unrefined, was now channeled fully through the staff. Every parry led into a rotation, every missed strike transformed into a new opening.
Madara was fast. Ruthless. His eye tracked everything, his Sharingan dissecting Naruto's movements in real time. Yet, somehow, Naruto was surpassing him. Not with overwhelming power—but with seamless relentless flow.
Madara's eyes flashed with fury. If brute force wouldn't suffice, he would crush the boy's will another way.
A Genjutsu surged through his gaze—sharp and immediate. But before the illusion could settle, the chakra behind it ignited into black flames. The Genjutsu shattered on contact with the air between him and his target. Madara's eyes widened as he saw the culprits: the black prisms conjured earlier by Sasuke—Amaterasu constructs—hovering like sentient guardians in Naruto's blind spots.
A deep, guttural anger bloomed in Madara's chest.
These two… these children...
Without hesitation, he altered his approach. His Truth-Seeking Orbs liquefied into a shimmering tide, merging with gravitational force—Shinra Tensei infused into fluid destruction. The battlefield warped as the new technique surged outward.
The prisms responded instantly, converging, attempting to burn the technique away before it could expand. But Madara's will, shielded by his orbs, held strong. The force exploded outward.
Naruto vanished into smoke.
A clone.
The real shockwave thundered across the terrain, ripping deep gouges through rock and earth, scattering debris and chakra alike.
But then—a Black Rasenshuriken tore through the expanding wave of telekinetic force as if it were slicing through mist.
The Jutsu spun with a terrifying hum, encased in storming winds laced with natural energy and laced further with Naruto's Yang chakra from the Six Paths. But that wasn't all. Its outer rim—twisting like a vortex—was set ablaze with inextinguishable black flames: Amaterasu, drawn forth and woven in by Sasuke, empowered through his Rinnegan and his Yin chakra from the Six Paths.
A storm forged by both halves of destiny—wind and flame, yin and yang—now barreled toward Madara.
Madara's expression shifted, for the first time, into something resembling fear. His instincts screamed.
He pushed his power to its limit, forming a barrier, twisting gravity, calling upon his own Truth-Seeking Orbs to intercept—anything to halt the incoming storm. But it was already too late.
The Rasenshuriken... vanished.
In its place, almost imperceptible in the flame's wake, drifted a single Truth-Seeking Orb, hidden beneath the Rasenshuriken's immense form. It struck with perfect timing.
A fraction of a second later, the Rasenshuriken reappeared, swapped in place with the Truth-Seeking Orb thanks to Sasuke Amenotejikara now accelerated and aligned with the orb's piercing path. The two impacts became one.
Madara's body arched as the searing winds laced with eternal flame erupted through him. The Amaterasu burrowed into flesh and soul alike, while the hurricane of sage wind tore at his armor and chakra cloak with merciless force.
He let out a roar—half agony, half disbelief—as the technique overwhelmed even his godlike endurance. When the storm finally subsided, the battlefield lay scorched and broken.
And at the epicenter—Madara Uchiha.
Collapsed.
Breathing, barely.
Broken.
Then, without warning, the air tore open.
A gash in reality—a rippling void. From it emerged Black Zetsu, still clinging to the frame of Obito's body like a shadow given form.
Madara's weary eyes flickered toward him. There was recognition—perhaps hope.
But that hope died when Zetsu raised a hand… and drove it mercilessly through Madara's chest.
The world paused.
Zetsu's voice was venomous and calm. "You were a disappointment, Madara… but those brats did me a favor, weakening you."
Madara's mouth opened to respond—but then the world moved.
The chakra of the world—the very foundation of life—was being pulled into him, flooding his damaged body. But it wasn't salvation.
It was preparation.
Zetsu leaned in, voice darker than before.
"You were always just a pawn. Everything you've done… was to bring her back. My mother. Kaguya."
Madara's body twitched, eyes wide in horror.
"Thanks to you… she will live again."
Zetsu smiled, slow and cruel. "I could explain more… but what would be the point?"
He began to laugh. Low at first… then louder… echoing like madness spilling through the void.