Chapter 487: The Gecko Severs Its Tail
Space twisted. The air warped inward, spiraling into a pitch-black vortex that hummed with an unnatural, heavy frequency. From the center of that spatial distortion, a figure slowly materialized. An orange, spiral-patterned mask obscured his face, leaving only a single eye exposed—a crimson iris spinning with a cold, abyssal malice.
"Uchiha... Obito!" Darui spat, recognizing the iconic, sinister attire instantly.
The air in the command tent dropped in temperature. Hostility flared.
"You bastard!" Darui roared. Ozone flooded the space as pitch-black lightning crackled to life, wrapping around his forearm in a violent, destructive arc. "Hand over Lord Killer Bee!"
Beside him, Ōnoki did not waste a single second. The aged Tsuchikage's hands blurred through a sequence of seals. A blinding, translucent cube of pure destructive energy materialized between his wrinkled palms, humming with lethal intent. "And Roshi and Han! Give us back our Jinchuriki!"
Locked in the sights of two Kage-level powerhouses, the masked man remained perfectly still. He slowly spread his hands, entirely unbothered by the lethal chakra signatures bearing down on him. A raspy, hollow chuckle echoed from behind the mask.
"Heh... heh..." Obito tilted his head. "Do not be so agitated. I did not come here to fight with you."
That single Sharingan swept over the two commanders, dripping with quiet mockery. "I am here to... help you."
"Help us?" Ōnoki scoffed, a harsh, grating sound. The Dust Release cube flared brighter, casting stark, harsh shadows across his weathered face. "Do you take us for three-year-old children? You kidnapped our Jinchuriki. You incited us to wage war against Konoha. And now that our forces are broken, you crawl out of the shadows and claim you want to help? You are just here to watch the slaughter!"
"No, no, no." Obito wagged a gloved finger in a slow, patronizing rhythm. "You have fundamentally misunderstood the situation. Taking the Jinchuriki was an act of protection."
"Protection?" Darui's jaw locked. The black lightning sparked violently, scorching the wooden floorboards beneath his boots. "You call ambushing them, binding them, and dragging them into the dark 'protection'?"
"Of course." Obito's voice dropped, shedding its mocking lilt to become something dark and absolute. "You have witnessed it yourselves. You have seen Uchiha Akira's true power. If the Jinchuriki fell into his hands, their fate would be far worse than mere captivity. I am preserving the last remaining hope this world has of countering him."
"Bullshit!" Ōnoki roared, his patience snapping. "You just want to use the Tailed Beasts for your own twisted conspiracy! Hand them over! Otherwise, this old man will scatter your atoms to the wind right now!"
The Tsuchikage thrust his hands forward. "Dust Release: Atomic Dismantling Jutsu!"
A blinding, geometric pillar of pure white light erupted from Ōnoki's palms, obliterating the air itself as it shot straight toward the masked man.
In the exact same fraction of a second, Darui lunged. "Lightning Release: Black Panther!"
The pitch-black electricity condensed into the shape of a massive, roaring feline. It tore across the tent, ripping up the ground in its wake, lunging for Obito's throat.
The two devastating attacks converged. The Dust Release beam and the roaring black lightning struck Obito simultaneously—and phased right through him.
The attacks slammed into the heavy canvas and wooden support beams behind the Akatsuki leader. The entire command tent detonated. Wood splintered into dust, canvas shredded into burning ribbons, and a massive shockwave leveled the immediate vicinity.
As the thick cloud of debris and smoke cleared, Obito remained standing in the exact same spot. His cloak was not even singed. Not a single speck of dust clung to his mask.
Intangibility.
A heavy, suffocating chill settled over Ōnoki and Darui. To witness such a bizarre, absolute Space-Time Ninjutsu firsthand defied all logic.
"Foolish." Obito stared down at them, the crimson glow of his Sharingan narrowing with utter disdain. "Since you insist on being ungrateful, then wait here to be slaughtered and annexed by Uchiha Akira. Without my power, you are nothing but insects waiting to be crushed beneath his heel."
The air began to warp around him once more. Obito's figure slowly spiraled inward, sucked back into the pitch-black void of his own making.
"Remember this moment of absolute powerlessness," his disembodied voice echoed from the shrinking vortex. "The day will come when you kneel in the dirt, weeping, begging for my cooperation."
"We will see," Ōnoki spat, though his voice lacked its usual thunder.
The vortex snapped shut. The spatial distortion vanished, leaving behind only the smoldering ruins of the command tent and the two commanders standing amidst the wreckage, their faces pale and drawn.
"Dammit..." Darui slammed his fist into a scorched wooden beam, splintering it further.
Ahead of them lay the unstoppable monster, Uchiha Akira. Behind them lurked the shadow conspirator, Uchiha Obito. The Shinobi Alliance had been pushed to the absolute edge of a sheer cliff, with no safe path down.
"Lord Tsuchikage..." Kitsuchi stepped forward from the perimeter, his massive frame tense. He stared at his father's hunched back, a heavy, suffocating bitterness rising in his throat.
Once, Iwagakure had stood as an unshakable mountain. The mere mention of Ōnoki of Both Scales was enough to make the entire Ninja World tremble in reverence and fear. But now, looking at the old man hovering amidst the ashes of their camp, Kitsuchi saw only a hollow, bone-deep exhaustion. The mountain was crumbling.
"Pass down the order," Ōnoki finally spoke, his voice dry as dust. "Full army retreat."
Even though he had anticipated this outcome, hearing his father—the proudest Kage of them all—personally issue the command to flee caused a violent tremor to run through Kitsuchi's massive body. He ground his teeth together, the muscles in his jaw bulging, and turned to carry out the shameful directive.
"Wait." Ōnoki's voice cracked like a whip, halting him in his tracks. "Not everyone will retreat together. Leave some behind."
Kitsuchi paused, glancing over his shoulder.
"The wounded. The elderly. Those whose chakra reserves are depleted... those who no longer possess the potential to grow."
Kitsuchi spun around, his eyes widening in absolute horror. He stared at his father as if looking at a stranger. "Father? You mean to..."
"Have them serve as the rear guard," Ōnoki interrupted, his face a mask of carved stone, devoid of all emotion. "If we do not leave blood behind to hold the line, the main force will never escape Konoha's pursuit. In addition to the crippled and the old, draw a portion of the elite vanguard. They will form a second line of defense. They will buy time for the main body to survive."
This was the brutal arithmetic of war. Like a gecko severing its own tail to escape a predator, the village had to amputate its weakest limbs to survive. For the continuation of Iwagakure, to preserve the vital sparks of their future, someone had to bleed. Someone had to die.
"Tell those who stay behind..." Ōnoki slowly closed his eyes, shutting out the horrified, betrayed look on his son's face. "Tell them their names will be carved into Iwagakure's Memorial Stone, placed at the very highest peak. Tell them their families will be fed and supported by the village for the rest of their natural lives."
The old man took a ragged breath. "This is an order."
Kitsuchi's massive fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His fingernails dug into his palms, drawing thin lines of blood. Against the sheer, crushing weight of this cruel necessity, any moral outrage felt hollow. If they did not sacrifice the few, Iwagakure would be completely eradicated.
"...Yes, Lord Tsuchikage." Kitsuchi turned abruptly, his heavy footsteps carrying him away to deliver the death sentences.
Standing amidst the wreckage, Darui had heard every single word of the exchange. He did not say a thing. He simply cast a frigid, sideways glance at the old Tsuchikage, a harsh scoff escaping his throat.
So this was Iwagakure. This was the vaunted, unyielding 'Will of Stone'—abandoning the weak and the wounded to save their own skins.
Across the battlefield, within the Kumogakure encampment, the atmosphere was thick enough to choke on. Though no official retreat order had been sounded yet, the stench of defeat and the panic of an impending slaughter had already infected the ranks like a virulent plague.
Soldiers sat in the mud, their heads bowed. Some methodically dragged whetstones across chipped blades, the metallic scraping the only sound in the camp. Others sat in absolute silence, writing final letters to their families by the dim light of flickering lanterns.
Inside the main Kumo command tent, the remaining high-ranking officers gathered around a map table. Darui stood at the forefront, his expression dark. Beside him stood Cee, the lead sensory ninja, his face pale from chakra exhaustion. Seated quietly in the corner was Dodai, the veteran strategist and elder who had guided both the Third and Fourth Raikage through decades of bloodshed.
"That old fossil Ōnoki has already been scared out of his damn wits!" Darui slammed his fist onto the map table, rattling the wooden markers. His eyes were heavily bloodshot, ringed with dark circles of fatigue. "My Kumogakure will never agree to such cowardly behavior!"
He looked up, his fierce gaze sweeping over the assembled commanders. His voice echoed with desperate, resonant power. "Lord Raikage is still in Konoha's hands! Lord Killer Bee's whereabouts remain completely unknown! If we turn our backs and run now, who is going to save them? Are we just going to sit back and watch helplessly as Lord Raikage is tortured and humiliated by that bastard Uchiha Akira?"
The tent fell dead silent. The younger Kumogakure officers felt their blood boil at Darui's impassioned words. Veins bulged on their necks. They gripped their hilts, eyes burning with the reckless desire to charge out into the night and fight Konoha's forces to the bitter, bloody end.
"Darui."
A steady, gravelly voice cut through the rising heat in the room. Dodai, who had been resting with his single eye closed in the shadows, finally spoke.
"Are you quite finished?"
Darui's chest heaved. He glared at the highly respected senior, struggling to swallow the inferno of anger burning in his throat. "Senior Dodai..."
"If you are finished throwing a tantrum, then sit down." Dodai pointed a calloused finger at the empty wooden chair beside the table.
Darui stiffened his neck, his boots planted firmly on the floorboards. He refused to move.
"I said, sit down!" Dodai's voice cracked like thunder, carrying the obvious authority of a man who had survived three Great Ninja Wars.
Darui's body flinched. The fight drained out of his posture, and with a heavy, reluctant exhale, he collapsed into the chair.
Dodai let out a long, weary sigh and pushed himself to his feet. He walked over to the table, leaning heavily against the edge. "Darui, I understand your feelings. Lord Raikage is the absolute pillar of Kumogakure. There is not a single soul in this tent—or in this entire camp—who does not wish to tear him from Konoha's grasp."
Dodai fixed his single, unyielding eye on the younger man, his tone dropping into a deadly serious register. "But tell me, Darui... how exactly do we save him? By shouting?"
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