The Hidden Cloud Village was draped in twilight.
The last light of the setting sun spilled across the sky, smearing it with blood-red streaks. From afar, Kumogakure looked peaceful and stable, the stone towers casting long shadows while the glow of lanterns began to flicker alive. To ordinary villagers, it was the start of another tranquil night.
But far above, atop Amagumo Mountain, stood a figure who looked upon the village with cold detachment.
A spiraling distortion in space unraveled soundlessly, and from it stepped a man clad in black, wearing a mask patterned like a tiger's skin, a single hole over his right eye. Uchiha Obito—though he now insisted on being called Uchiha Madara—surveyed Kumogakure as though judging the fate of ants beneath his feet.
A grotesque pitcher plant emerged from the rocky ground. Its twin heads parted, and the hoarse voice of Black Zetsu slithered into the air.
"Obito, you are five days late from our agreed time."
Obito's visible eye, the crimson Sharingan, swiveled toward the creature. His voice carried no warmth.
"I had… urgent matters to settle in the Hidden Mist. That delayed me. From now on, you will address me as Uchiha Madara."
Urgent matters.
Black Zetsu narrowed his gaze but said nothing. He knew exactly what those "urgent matters" meant—purges, assassinations, senseless bloodshed. Such things did not fit the true Uchiha Madara. They only exposed Obito's impulsive cruelty, his attempt to imitate a legend he could never equal.
Still, Black Zetsu wasted no more words. "Madara, our part of the mission is complete. Now, it is your turn."
Obito gave the faintest nod. "Then let us begin."
His body dissolved into spiraling space, vanishing. Black and White Zetsu closed their pitcher plant and slipped back beneath the earth like burrowing worms.
---
On the training grounds of Kumogakure, a lone figure was pushing his limits.
Yotsuki Ringo, once hailed as a prodigy of the Yotsuki clan, gripped his chakra blade and drove it into the ground. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his jawline as he snatched a water flask and gulped deeply.
Even now, the sting of defeat haunted him.
Weeks earlier, he had clashed with Hyuga Neji. Despite all his pride and natural talent, he had been utterly overwhelmed. That humiliation had carved itself into his heart like a scar. Since that day, Ringo had doubled—no, tripled—his training regimen, chasing strength with an almost fanatical determination.
"Fortunately…" He wiped his brow, his eyes flashing with stubborn light. "Fortunately, the effort is paying off. Once I master Black Lightning completely, I will challenge him again. I'll prove myself."
But before he could resume, a sudden disturbance tore through space before him.
A spiraling vortex twisted into existence, the fabric of reality folding inward. From it stepped a masked man.
Ringo's instincts screamed. He snatched up his blade, eyes narrowing as he slid into a battle stance.
The newcomer's appearance was simple yet sinister: a dark cloak, long unruly hair, and that strange mask with a single hole. The crimson glow of a Sharingan peeked from the void, watching him with unsettling calm.
The man spoke as though admiring a piece of art. "A fine blade."
Ringo's grip tightened. "Who are you? Why have you come here?"
He did not wait for an answer. In Kumogakure, hesitation meant death. His blade flashed downward in a heavy arc, Black Lightning crackling along its edge.
The strike was fast, merciless, and angled at the man's neck.
It should have been decisive.
Instead, the blade cut through nothing. The sensation at the hilt told Ringo at once: his attack had passed clean through.
Not solid…? An illusion? No… this is something else.
His heart pounded. He leapt back, somersaulting to widen the distance, his eyes scanning frantically. Where's his real body?
A sharp whistle sliced the air.
From the man's sleeve, a long iron chain shot forth like a serpent striking its prey.
"Lightning Release: Lightning Ball!" Ringo roared.
If steel could not cut, then lightning might scorch. He poured nearly half his chakra into the jutsu. In front of him, lightning twisted into a massive orb, seven or eight meters across. Unlike normal azure currents, streaks of Black Lightning laced its surface, radiating raw, destructive power.
The very ground trembled. Even from a distance, one could feel the oppressive energy.
With a thunderous boom, the sphere exploded outward, shockwaves rippling across half the training field. Sparks illuminated the night sky like falling stars.
Ringo staggered back, gasping, his chest burning from the chakra drain. His gaze darted forward—and froze.
The masked man walked through the smoke and lightning as if on a casual stroll. Untouched. Unharmed.
The chill that gripped Ringo's spine was colder than any winter wind.
Blade techniques, ninjutsu… nothing works. No wonder he's so calm. He knew I couldn't touch him.
The man's single Sharingan spun, its tomoe swirling hypnotically.
"Sharingan?!" Ringo's instincts flared. He tried to avert his gaze—but his body froze.
Illusion wrapped around him like invisible chains. His limbs refused to obey. Panic gnawed at his mind, but he could only watch as the stranger closed the distance.
A cold blade hissed from its sheath. The masked man's sword slashed cleanly across his body.
Agony tore Ringo from the genjutsu's grip. His knees buckled, his blood pooling fast beneath him. He slammed his chakra blade into the dirt, using it as a crutch to remain upright. But from the waist down, his body was nearly useless.
Is this death? It feels… surreal. Just moments ago, I was planning another spar with that boy…
The masked man halted before him. His crimson eye burned like a curse from another world. For the first time, he spoke with a trace of grim honesty.
"I was once Uchiha. Now, I am but a revenant. My purpose is to bury this false, meaningless world."
Ringo's lips trembled. His vision blurred. A madman… that's what he is. A lunatic with the Sharingan.
But even in madness, he sensed truth. After all—who lies to the dying?
His last reserves of strength flared. With a hoarse cry, he ripped his chakra blade from the ground and hurled it at the man. Black Lightning danced along its edge as it flew.
It passed through the masked figure, embedding itself deep into a nearby tree with a resonant thunk. The wood split, sparks hissing along the bark.
That was his final act of defiance. His body slumped, eyes closing forever.
The training grounds fell silent.
Obito knelt and rummaged through Ringo's pouch, retrieving a crimson gourd. His visible eye glinted with satisfaction.
"The Red Gourd," he murmured. "One of the treasured tools of the Sage of Six Paths."
Without hesitation, he warped both the gourd and Ringo's corpse into the swirling void of Kamui.
"Now… the Amber Purifying Pot. Where is it?"
The ground split, and Black and White Zetsu surfaced. Black Zetsu's rasping voice answered. "The Amber Purifying Pot is in Hyuga Neji's possession."
"Hyuga Neji?" Obito froze. Beneath the mask, his expression shifted. That name should not have appeared in Kumogakure.
White Zetsu chuckled. "You forgot already, Madara? That boy is the Byakugan whelp the Cloud captured two years ago."
Obito's mind churned. Yes—he vaguely recalled White Zetsu mentioning it. At the time, he had dismissed it. What use was a Hyuga, compared to the grand plan?
Yet the reality surprised him. "So the boy wasn't reduced to breeding stock… Instead, he was raised carefully, nurtured into a Kumogakure shinobi."
A dry laugh slipped from beneath his mask. "The Fourth Raikage… truly a remarkable man."
His lips curved into a malicious grin. "Take me to the boy."
But Black Zetsu's tone cut sharp. "Madara, the Red Gourd is enough. Yotsuki Ringo was expendable. Hyuga Neji is not. If you kill him, the Fourth Raikage will unleash his fury. The consequences would be severe—even for you."
White Zetsu added, "And the commotion here has already alerted the patrol squads. Even you won't walk away unharmed if you insist."
The night wind stirred. Obito's cloak rustled, his Sharingan gleaming with restrained malice.
For a long moment, silence hung between them.
Then, without a word, Obito's body dissolved once more into the spiraling vortex, vanishing from the battlefield.
Only the Zetsu pair remained. Black Zetsu glanced at the bloodstained ground, his voice heavy as though speaking to himself.
"Even Madara cannot yet kill Hyuga Neji."
The night deepened, but the sorrow it carried lingered across Kumogakure like a shadow that refused to fade.
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