A sharp, furious crack ripped through the tense silence of the command tent. The central map table, littered with scrolls and soldier figurines, was sent flying, its contents scattering across the ground.
Uchiha Madara stood over the wreckage, his face a thunderous shade of red.
"Idiots!" he snarled, the word dripping with venom. "They are god-damned idiots! The order was 'stay hidden without using chakra.' How hard is that to understand? And they still got spotted!"
"Hey, take it easy, Madara," Hashirama said, his voice a low, calming rumble, ever the peacemaker.
"Easy? Don't tell me to take it easy!" Madara shot back, though he dragged in a ragged breath, wrestling his temper under control. "This was it. Our one shot. Victory was right there, and they just… threw it away because they couldn't follow a simple order!"
"Look, we don't know the whole story yet," Hashirama offered, lowering his voice. "Maybe the enemy was just better prepared than we thought. Maybe they saw it coming."
Madara's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Are you saying this is my fault?"
"What? No! That's not what I meant," Hashirama backtracked, raising his hands placatingly. "I'm just saying… maybe it was bad luck. A coincidence."
"A coincidence?" a voice muttered from somewhere in the crowd of commanders. "Sounds like an excuse from someone who screwed up."
The tent went dead silent.
Madara's head snapped up, his glare sweeping the room like a searchlight.
"Who said that?" he demanded. "Which one of you has something to say? Say it to my face."
His gaze immediately landed on his usual suspect, Tobirama, but the Second Hokage just shook his head slightly, his own eyes scanning the crowd with mild curiosity.
"Well?" Madara pressed, his voice a low growl. "You're all shinobi, aren't you? Or have you forgotten that and learned to gossip like fishwives?"
A heavy, uncomfortable silence filled the tent.
"Madara, just drop it," Hashirama said, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "We've got bigger problems."
"He's right," Orochimaru added, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips as his eyes flicked toward Tobirama. "Fighting amongst ourselves now would be… rather foolish."
Before Madara could fire back, a young messenger shinobi stumbled into the tent, gasping for air.
"Report!" he choked out. "From the southern marsh—there's a massive spiritual pressure surge! It's off the charts, way past Category Five! Our forces there are being annihilated! If we don't intervene, they're finished!"
"Damn it," muttered the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, running a hand over his face. "We need to move. Now."
"I'll go," Hashirama said, turning to Madara.
"No, you won't," Madara stated flatly.
Tobirama let out a cold laugh. "What, now you're just going to leave them to die? This isn't your personal army, Madara."
"Use your head for once, you idiot," Madara snapped. "Hashirama is one of our top-tier combatant. We can't afford to send him to the Land of Waves this early. The moment they know he's on the field, their entire strategy shifts."
"So… you want to send someone else?" Hiruzen asked, catching on but still looking skeptical. "But who else could handle something like that? Besides you or Lord Hashirama, I mean…"
"I'll go."
The voice was calm and level. Uchiha Itachi stepped forward from the group, his expression unreadable.
"Itachi?" Hiruzen began, then hesitated. "Are you sure—"
"Is there a problem with sending an Uchiha?" Madara cut in, his eyes locking onto Hiruzen.
"No. No problem at all," Hiruzen said quickly, taking a step back.
"Fourth Hokage," Madara barked, his attention shifting. "You're going with him."
Minato looked mildly surprised but nodded instantly.
"Right. I'm on it."
A small part of him was actually eager; he'd been wanting to test himself against the Land of Waves' so-called 'Arrancar' anyway.
Without another word, Madara turned on his heel and strode out of the tent, the tension in the room leaving with him.
—
Land of Waves – Southern Marsh
The air reeked of ozone and blood. The Third Raikage, A, and the Second Tsuchikage, Mū, stood back-to-back, their chests heaving. They were battered, bruised, and breathing hard.
Across from them, Fuguki Suikazan looked… different. Less like a man, more like a monster.
A white, bony mask covered half his face, and his body was a grotesque fusion of scales and sharp, protruding bones. A thick tail lashed behind him in the murky water. He had entered his Resurrección form.
"Gotta admit," Fuguki rasped, a nasty grin spreading across his distorted features. "You two put up a better fight than I expected. For a couple of defective Arrancar, you're not half bad."
"Save your breath," Mū replied, his voice flat and tired. He gestured weakly to the swamp around them. Dozens of shinobi lay motionless in the water or slumped against twisted trees. "We were never just two."
The only ones still standing were a handful of the best—Kakashi, Ōnoki, Darui—but they were hanging on by a thread, clearly at their absolute limit.
"Please. Anyone without significant spiritual pressure is just background noise to me," Fuguki said, sounding bored. "They're not fighters. They're the audience."
"Audience?" The Raikage spat out a glob of blood. "You guys from the Land of Waves really are full of yourselves, aren't you?"
"Can you blame them?" Mū said with a grim, weary smile. "One of them held off our entire squad. We severely underestimated their power."
"Do you think he will adjust his strategy and send reinforcements?" A asked, glancing sideways.
"Doubt it," Mū whispered back. "Guys like him? They only listen to the voice in their own head."
The Raikage gave a sharp, resigned laugh. "So we're probably on our own. Fine. I can live with that."
"You two done chatting?" Fuguki interrupted, hefting his massive, cleaver-like sword. "Time to send you off."
"The hell you will!" the Raikage roared.
"We don't die that easily!" Mū yelled.
With a final burst of energy, they lunged forward in a last, desperate charge against an unstoppable force.
CLANG!
The sound wasn't the crash of a killing blow. It was a clean, metallic ring.
Fuguki's smug grin vanished, replaced by shock. A and Mū skidded to a halt, staring.
Standing between them and death was Uchiha Itachi, dressed in a simple black cloak. He hadn't even drawn a weapon; he had stopped Fuguki's massive blade with the palm of his hand.
"Looks like I made it in time," Itachi said calmly, his eyes scanning the grim scene. "Get ready to pull back. All of you."
"Pull back?" Fuguki recovered from his surprise, his face twisting back into a sneer. "You think you can just waltz in here and get them out? Just you?"
"No," Itachi said, his voice still level. "I'm just the distraction."
Fwoosh.
In a flash of yellow light, Minato appeared, a special kunai held loosely in his fingers.
"Sorry for the wait, everyone. Barrier tags take a moment to set up."
"A barrier?!" Fuguki's eyes went wide with rage. "You little—!"
He swung his sword in a wild, furious arc, but Itachi was already moving. With a fluid, almost casual motion, he twisted and drove his fist into the side of the blade.
BOOM.
A concussive wave of force erupted from the impact, so powerful it sent Fuguki stumbling backward, off-balance.
And in that single moment, a golden light erupted from the swamp, enveloping the exhausted shinobi forces.
When the light faded, A, Mū, and everyone else were gone.
_____
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