Chapter 62: Falling Stars and a Crippled God
With the Nine-Tails crippled and writhing in agony, Akira did not let up. He knew the beast's regenerative power was monstrous; even now, it was a threat. His left eye, throbbing with a deep, sickening pain, focused once more.
Another spatial vortex, smaller and more strained, manifested at the joint of the fox's right hind leg.
SHLICK-CRUNCH!
Another deafening, pain-maddened roar tore from the Nine-Tails. Its right hind leg, severed cleanly at the thigh, joined its foreleg on the scorched earth. Now, the titan of chakra was anchored on only its left side, a grotesque, lopsided monument of suffering. It thrashed helplessly, unable to rise.
A lake of vivid, chakra-rich blood pooled beneath it, steaming and bubbling. Scarlet tendrils of energy—the very essence of the tailed beast—wafted from the wounds like bloody smoke.
Nearby, Akira lowered his hand from his face. After the second, precise use of Kamui, the backlash was acute. His chakra reserves were low but manageable; it was the ocular strain that was debilitating. A sharp, burning agony lanced from his eye socket deep into his skull. Even with his high tolerance for pain, forged through grueling experience, this was pushing his limit. He took several ragged breaths, waiting for the worst of the pain to recede to a persistent, pounding ache.
Once he could think clearly again, he observed the pitiful, furious beast. "Now it's truly immobilized," he murmured, his voice hoarse.
Footsteps approached. Fugaku came to stand beside him, his own face pale and eyes bloodshot. "What's our next move? Even like this, it requires a watch. We can't all leave to assist Minato and the others."
"We bring Kushina here," Akira said, his gaze shifting toward the distant wall of black fire. "Reseal the Nine-Tails first. As for the other battle…" His sentence died as he suddenly tensed, his senses screaming.
From the direction of Hiruzen's fight, a pressure so immense it felt physical washed over them. It was like a tsunami of pure life-force and destructive intent. Even the towering wall of Amaterasu flames buckled and flattened, pressed down by the sheer, rising force.
"That is…" Fugaku breathed out, his Sharingan widening in awe. "What an overwhelming presence… Is that the final gate? The Gate of Death?"
In the distance, beyond the distorted fire, a pillar of crimson light erupted into the night sky. Its source was Might Dai, his body now wreathed in a violent, blood-red steam.
"Such terrifying power," Akira whispered, a sliver of grim respect in his tone. "The Eighth Gate… opened. It's too late to stop it now."
Even Uchiha Obito, locked in his high-speed duel with Minato, sensed the eruption of power. That chakra… the Eighth Gate? Damn it, the situation is deteriorating faster than planned. His mind raced. Nagato is on his own. His survival… may yet present an opportunity.
On his battlefield, Nagato felt the wave of annihilating force and knew true mortal peril. This attack was singular, absolute. If he did not defend with everything, he would die.
All his chakra is focused into a single strike. He has one attack. Only one. Nagato's Rinnegan blazed. He would meet it with every defense he could muster.
"Wood Release: Wooden Wall!" he roared, slamming his hands to the ground. The earth heaved. Not one, but five successive walls of colossal, interwoven timber erupted between him and the gathering red comet that was Might Dai. They rose like ancient fortresses.
It wasn't enough. The sense of doom was suffocating. Nagato's hands flew through another sequence. "Wood Release: Wooden Shield Bangfei Jutsu!"
The ground before him split, and a massive, ornate shield carved with a demonic face and fangs surged upward. It yawned open, swallowing Nagato whole before snapping shut, encasing him in layered, legendary defense—a technique once wielded by Hashirama himself.
In the few seconds it took to erect his six-fold bulwark, Might Dai finished his charge. The blood-red steam around him condensed into a shell of pure energy. His voice was a guttural rasp that carried across the ruins. "EVENING ELEPHANT… FINAL STRIKE!"
He vanished. In his place was a streaking line of crimson light.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Five consecutive, thunderous detonations. The towering wooden walls, each thick enough to stop a battalion, offered no more resistance than paper. The red light punched through each one, leaving perfect, smoldering holes, its velocity barely checked.
It struck the demon-faced shield.
KABOOOOM—!
The sound was cataclysmic, a shockwave of pure force that rippled outwards, flattening rubble and echoing across the entire village, reaching every ear in Konoha.
The shield, the legendary Bangfei, held for a fraction of a second. Then, a spiderweb of cracks exploded across its surface. CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-SNAP!
It shattered.
Nagato's eyes widened within his crumbling sanctuary. There was no time for thought, only instinct. He threw his hands out, pouring every ounce of his remaining chakra, every shred of the Rinnegan's power, into a final, desperate defense. "SHINRA TENSEI!"
An omnidirectional repulsive blast erupted from him just as the crimson meteor—now visibly dimmed, with Dai's charred, straining form at its core—smashed through the last of the wooden shards.
The two ultimate forces collided.
WHUMPF—GRIND!
The air screamed. Nagato's face contorted in agony, veins bulging on his forehead and neck. He was being pushed back, his repulsive field buckling under the weight of a dying man's final, glorious will.
NO! He twisted his body sideways with the last of his strength.
THUD!
A massive, steam-wreathed foot—Might Dai's final, driving kick—slammed not into Nagato's center, but into his left side and chest. The sound of cracking ribs was sickeningly loud.
Nagato shot backwards like a cannonball, a spray of blood arcing from his mouth. He crashed through a pile of broken masonry and lay still, half-buried, his chest caved in, blood dribbling from his lips. He was grievously, mortally wounded… but not dead. The vitality granted by Hashirama's cells, combined with the Rinnegan's resilience, had narrowly, narrowly cheated death. He gasped, each breath a wet, painful rattle.
Twenty meters away, Might Dai lay on his back, his body blackened and still, thin wisps of white steam—the last of his life force—rising from his skin into the cold night air. His youth had burned to its final, brightest ember, and gone out.
There was no time for grief. Hiruzen and Jiraiya, hearts heavy but minds hardened by decades of war, saw only the tactical opening. They charged the rubble where Nagato lay.
They were a second too late.
A weak, blood-flecked voice croaked from the wreckage. "Summoning… Jutsu."
POOF!
A cloud of smoke erupted. From within it, six figures leaped forth, forming a protective ring around Nagato's broken form. The Six Paths of Pain had arrived. At this close range, no signal tower was needed.
The orange-haired Deva Path, its Rinnegan eyes cold and dead, stepped forward. It raised a hand toward the sky. "Summoning Technique."
POOF! A larger cloud of smoke birthed a gigantic, multi-winged creature—a monstrous, eight-foot-tall crow. It swooped down, its claws gently but firmly closing around Nagato's limp body. With powerful beats of its wings, it lifted off, turning not toward the village outskirts, but toward the isolated space where Uchiha Obito and Minato still danced their deadly waltz.
(End of Chapter)
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