Chapter 110: The Patriarch
"My, my, how the mighty have fallen." His voice called between the three of them, the last of the players in their little game. Angled off to his right was the blood red hair of the Uzumaki that was paired with the purple rings that only belonged to Nagato Uzumaki. The man was always small of stature, pale, and quiet of voice when he wasn't hiding behind the puppets that lay in destruction around the area, but now all of those things seemed even more so the truth. Nagato hunched over himself, grasping his chest as he took pained breaths and trails of tears poured down his face without so much as a sniffle coming from him. Across from the Uzumaki was a similarly poor looking Itachi. The cloak of his cousin was gone, only leaving a dark blue shirt that was marred with thin gashes of a blade and equally thin trails of blood that soaked into the dark fabric. Most notably, the right shoulder of Itachi was the deepest wound of them all, the fabric shorn open and exposing the unnaturally dark wounded flesh beneath. Itachi, too, showed a pallor that simply wasn't there previously.
Obito hadn't a clue what happened here with Nagato, Obito only arriving when all was done and the Kannon behind him was summoned, but he suspected the man on the ground in the distance with skin bruised purple from head to toe and a chest exposed through a green jumpsuit and terrible burned had something to do with it. Itachi, on the other hand, was another issue. He was sent to deal with Orochimaru, to help him clear the board, and the man coming back to him looking sickly didn't bode well for his success. Still, there was a dark mirth to be found in seeing some of the mightiest rogue shinobi lasting so long while looking so pathetic. It wasn't as if Obito looked his best either. His mask was foregone, showing his scarred, loose hanging skin on the right half of his face, his arm was barely closed to stop the long tench of a gash from bleeding him dry, and his right leg was heavily burdened by burns damaged tissue from Kakashi's parting gift. As he said, the mighty have fallen, but at this moment of the game it was simply expected.
"Shall I let you two have it out, or shall we wait until one of us falls?" Obito huffed a little bit at his own comment, but only drew silent gazes from the pair around him, neither rising to the comment or really even acknowledging what was said. Both of their gazes were searching and only when Obito recognized that did he realize what they were doing. They are wondering if I am the man that has posed as Madara for so long. Even Itachi, who had a more established working relationship with him, looked wary to assume as much but Obito was sure that his single eye was enough to prove it true. Still, a voice and a face were a lot to learn about their Madara all at once. Obito intended to make another comment, but a voice behind him cut him off.
"Enough, boy… now is not the time… for your childish games." A gruff, old voice spoke with much effort. Every few words needed a deep breath to accommodate the following set, each word coming out scratchy and guttural. Turning his head behind him, Obito saw the delicate shadow of who spoke, the lump of darkness hiding on the inner portion of the massive statues right foot, exactly where Obito left him. A single eye looked up at Obito, a light that Obito hadn't seen in the man since he's known him settling within the orb as the old man took one more heaving breath. "We only must…wait for Zetsu to…retrieve our final piece."
It was hard for Obito to listen to his master so labored, even if he wasn't particularly spry on a normal day regardless. Without the tubes splaying around him and the throne to mount his body up properly, Madara Uchiha looked far too frail for Obito's liking. Nearly a hundred years old, the legendary shinobi clung to his last gasps until Zetsu returned. Only then could they continue. But we'd still only have eight. He could have grabbed the ninth immediately after Obito ended his bout with Kakashi, but his master told him to leave the ninth alone. "I shall be the one to call upon my old friend, not you. Let him come to us and it will be done." Madara had told Obito, leaving no room for argument and so Obito listened. Why wouldn't he? His master gave him his purpose, gave him a chance to do something greater for the world. If Obito was given an order, he would follow it without hesitation. That was why Obito silenced himself as he was bid.
"Only seven. Perhaps it was too much for me to assume you'd be dedicated to even your own machinations." Nagato spoke with a certain fury that Obito never associated with the man. Still, even with his voice as even keeled as it always was, tears fell freely from the man's eyes. Despair was set within him so intently that his eyes leaked passively in hopes to pacify it. Obito wondered if the lack of the Angel being present caused such anguish, but he also knew that she was dispatched far to the west from here. Either way, Nagato wasn't in a healthy position, especially now that they were making their moves against him.
Nagato splayed his palm against his own chest once again, taking a deep breath before he turned himself entirely toward Obito and his master. Lines of anguish carved themselves into his pale face and Obito knew that this would be his final stand. Unfortunately, the Uzumaki was overmatched as Itachi similarly redirected himself to wholly face Nagato. "Itachi, help me ensure Nagato doesn't get too close to Master." His words were hard and clear to the both of them. Nagato didn't flinch at the prospect of Itachi being loyal to the Uchiha while Itachi said nothing as he gripped the short blade in his hand tighter. Tension mounted as Obito waited to see what Nagato's first move would be, his single eye turning a deep red once again as he focused on the hands that now sat at the Uzumaki's side. He had seen enough against the Eight-Tails to know that he was prone to use the forces of his hands, a safe and strong attack at such a distance.
"I'm sorry I'm late, the lady dropped him randomly around the trees and it was a pain trying to get him down." An oddly gentle voice cut through the tension at Obito's immediate right, but that gentle voice was soon drowned out by a more aggressive voice that cut so intensely Obitos ears still jolted at the noise. "Shut up, pissant. We could have just cut down the tree but you wanted to carry the thing like some child." Obito saw the glob of spit awkwardly get ejected from the right half of Zetsu's body as the pitch black embodiment of Black Zetsu attempted to spit through spiked teeth with only control of half of their mouth. The white half of the strange creation, White Zetsu, merely smiled innocently as it carried a body over its shoulder. It took only a glance of red hair that splayed from behind the white body's back to know that it was the One-Tail they held, which made their job that much easier.
"Bring him here… Zetsu. Obito…seal him and…let us be done with… all of this." His master's orders came and Obito followed along swiftly. He turned away from Nagato as Zetsu dropped the Jinchuuriki between the mighty legs of the wooden statue that stood above them all. Walking underneath the thick shade of the Kannon gave Obito a better look of his master as he bundled up upon the foot with thick robes. Skin was more akin to loose leather than skin, much like half of Obito's own face, while deep trenches were carved across his forehead and from the corners of his nose to the corners of his mouth like a perpetual snarl was cut into his visage. Perhaps it was, Madara Uchiha was never named to be a particularly happy man and he definitely never acted as such with Obito. Still, it brought the younger Uchiha great awe to see his master outside of some cave or compound. Instead, he was huddled under thick robes of exactly where Obito had left the man before he entered the war in preparation for Nagato summoning the statue here and now. "Now…come to me…Zetsu."
Zetsu dropped the body where he was asked and Obito went through the hand seals necessary to draw the Jinchuuriki into the Senju Kannon. It was an easy process as it was exactly what the statue was crafted for: the gathering of Tailed-Beasts. As he went through his hand seals, Obito heard the clattering of steel behind him, where itachi and Nagato were left, as Zetsu settled into a kneel before Madara. Then, in an instant, Zetsu touched the old man on the hand before it seemed to liquify and crawl under the sleeves of Madara's heavy robes. When he was first brought under Madara's tutelage, Obito wore Zetsu much the same way, allowing him to keep his body protected through his first orders given by Madara. Now, all these years later, Zetsu was used much the same way as the being huddled under the robes of Madara before the elderly man was brought into a tall stand.
Surely, when he was in his prime, Madara made a much more imposing sight, but even now the man didn't look feeble as he stood straight at Obito's side. The man was a few inches taller than the younger Uchiha, broader in shoulder, and held an air that was unmatched by anyone else. Long, snow white hair cascaded down the old man's back like a mighty spiked mane that fell over the left eye that Obito knew sat dead and closed from the price of survival. If only his face wasn't wrinkled so, his skin not hanging off the bone as it did, and he would still be the most feared shinobi on the planet. But not even Madara could turn back time, only extend what time he had until his plans could come to fruition. As Obito finished the last seal, Obito touched his hands to the Jinchuuriki's shallowly moving chest below him calling for his essence to be sealed into the statue that stood above them.
The moment his hands fell upon the body, Obito watched as grasping hands of wood came from the ankles of the wooden statue, each limb crawling toward the Jincuuriki's body like slithering snakes. Once they latched onto tattered clothes and bruised, beaten skin, the hands branched into countless smaller hands and those int oven smaller hands as the One-Tailed Takuki's golden and indigo chakra came surging from the body in thick waves as it crawled up the legs of the statue like deep rivers of blood filling a body with life's energy. The body below Obito was sucked dry of all energy that made its being, leaving naught but a dry husk only moments later when the uncountable number of hands retreated back into the statue. While he didn't see it, Obito knew that many feet above him another eye was opening on the grotesque face of the Kannon.
"You've done well, Obito. I could not have asked for a better servant of my hopes, my dreams, my destiny." Madara began at Obito's side, making his heart soar in ways he hadn't known. With Zetsu aiding his master's body, Madara spoke much more clearly with less labor though his speech, bringing a strong voice in the aged scratching he spoke with. Pride swelled in Obito's chest so thickly that he half expected it to burst within him. "Although, selfishly, I must ask for one more thing."
"Anything, master. Whatever you need, I am yours to command." Obito's single eye met Madara's but the smile that played at the edges of his mouth faltered when he caught the gleam in his master's eye. It was ahungry gleam as his eye buried deep within Obito's own.
"Good, for I must ask for your sight." Obito didn't question it for a few moments, not even deliberating the order he had already agreed to. When he did finally understand the words, Madara's right hand was on his shoulder, a hand covered in the blackness of Black Zetsu. The hand exploded in spiked tendrils that shot toward Obito's right eye before he could even react to it. Obito's world went black a moment later as a familiar trail of blood poured from an even more familiar gap in his own face. "Few can hope for a servant as selfless as you, Obito. Your deeds to the world's peace will be remembered forever."
When another gap opened in his body, one that opened in his chest all the way through the back, Obito knew that it was over. As the darkness consumed his mind as it did his sight, Obito was left wondering just where he went wrong. For whatever reason, the only thing he could see was a Sharingan that was a simple black ring that connected three tomoe with their centers hollowed into a deep red hole. The eye of his own master.
He spoke true to the boy. Madara couldn't have asked for a better man of service than Obito. The fact that he hadn't even asked made it all the more clear to the Uchiha patriarch that it was fate that sent the boy to him. Initially, Madara had intended to be a more dedicated and active member in his plans for peace. Perhaps he wouldn't have settled at Zetsu's current state and he would have found a proper servant in the being that utterly lacks any kind of critical thought as it is now. Instead, when Zetsu was sent to be his eyes on the Third Great Shinobi War, White Zetsu couldn't help himself but bring the broken boy to Madara's compound. A broken, one-eyed boy who bore the same eye as Madara was something that Madara couldn't pass by. It took time to truly forge the boy into something he could use, but it was a dedication of time and energy that bought him the destiny Madara was striving for.
Madara turned to look at the tussling children that crossed short sword and spear shaft at great speeds. Madara was brought back to a time that was usually nothing more than a heavy blanket of fog in his aged mind, a time when the Uchiha was a clan that ruled itself. Countless battles were fought between Uchiha and Senju that likely looked as tame as the battle of walking corpses before him, but Madara could never forget, no matter how old he grew, the destructive battles he had with Hashirama. Their battles were waged across lands that they destroyed and altered under their prowess. As he watched the young Uchiha hold back the Uzumaki with tame maneuverings and little expenditure, Madara knew that his time was long passed. As he suspected, the shinobi villages brought weakness to their children in ways that not even Madara could have recognized. And Hashirama had the gall to tell me that was a good thing. What's good about such weakness? This weakness is what grows feuds from undeterminable endings to weak war efforts. This is what our lands need saving from: poor of mind and poor of body. They hadn't even noticed that Madara's stand-in lay before his feet, that Black Zetsu's jagged arm carved through his chest and left the boy to the darkness.
Obito's death was a necessary one. What use did Madara have for a blind servant? In his last battle against Hashirama, Madara was left with two parting gifts that not even the great First Hokage could have foreseen: a blinded left eye and a swathe of Senju blood that decorated his armored plate just as Uchiha blood covered Hashirama's own. The Izanagi was the only way to save himself from the sea of wooden tendrils that had him buried beneath the water in a tomb most foul. It came at the cost of an eye that wielded the power of the Mangekyo that made him truly great. With the blood, Madara was able to try and develop his own copy of Hashirama Senju. It didn't have to be perfect, only well enough done to ensure survival. With a creation that held Hashirama's blood, his own blood, and an artificial body to last forever, Madara wouldn't have needed to worry about getting old. He could simply create something better that could see his dreams a reality, something with the blood of Madara Uchiha and the only man strong enough to almost kill Madara Uchiha. Alas, his creation was less than perfect, creating a Zetsu that worked well enough to hold him upright as he prepared for his time to truly come.
As he waited, standing for one more party to arrive, Madara watched the Uchiha boy fight against the bizarre visual prowess of the Rinnegan. It wasn't something Madara had experienced in his life, especially not when he was a younger man. As far as he knew, the Mangekyo Sharingan was the pinnacle of ocular capabilities. Eyes that could cast fire that burned for seven days, cast unbreakable genjutsu, call upon the destructive forces of nature, and even Madara's own abilities, none were half as interesting to the patriarch than the Rinnegan. With his right eye, Madara was able to see the past. Should he so choose, Madara could learn all there is to know about a man with a mere glance into his eyes to cast a genjutsu that reflected his enemy's own mind. His left eye, the eye he so graciously accepted from Obito that morphed to match his right, brought the abilities of foresight of the Mangekyo Sharingan to a vastly altered degree. Minutes could pass, which amounts to no less than a lifetime in battle, and Madara could see it all. What his opponent would do, counter, and react to Madara's movements could be seen and beaten in an instant.
Still, his eyes never bore the destructive force to dig a crater into the land as the Rinnegan. Even in shallow bursts, with a hand that splayed in front of the Uzumaki boy, imperceivable forces could belt out a lashing strike in an instant that carried the Uchiha into the air and in a precarious position to receive another spear point. It shall be mine. He was proud of the strength of his clan, of the power their eyes held, but he was not so dedicated to it to ignore something better. Grander. Though, there was a question of its viability for the Uchiha's plans. Madara knew the Mangekyo Sharingan inside and out. He depended on that knowledge to make use of the grand statue at his back. Should I need the influence of the Mangekyo's visual prowess, the Rinnegan may be lost to me and my cause. A disappointing thought, but it was one he would have to tolerate. The next best course of action would be to snuff it out entirely and not worry about it ever again. After all, the Wood Release of Hashirama only showed itself once out of all of the once great Senju bloodline. Perhaps this would be the only Uzumaki to ever wield such an amazing sight.
That would be preferred. As he looked upon them now, Madara saw the Uchiha clamor to his feet on unsteady legs and the Uzumaki held a hand to his chest as if he feared it was going to explode within him. Neither were in a shape to fight each other or anybody else effectively. The ails they received through the short skirmish they called a war was too much to mount anything remotely impressive. "Enough." Madara called simply, his voice growing in strength as his body was able to depend on his Zetsu to hold his body up and keep it strong. There wasn't a commanding presence to his tone as there once had been. One time, long ago, there would be hundreds, thousands, that would halt under the call of a single word. Now, Madara Uchiha's orders earned no more than a couple feeble stares of confusion as two pairs of strong visual prowess danced between Madara and the body at his feet.
With their attention turned to him and him alone, Madara could see how pathetic they both looked. The boy that shared his blood looked more gaunt than he had only moments ago, his face taking a mask of thin paper that was pulled over a bony face as dark circles settled under the shadow of the Mangekyo Sharingan. The Uzumaki, on the other hand, was just as pale as he was before, but his face was contorted in a way that showed true anguish. His chest was gripped as tightly as the boy could manage as he tried to gather his breath desperately. Madara was granted a glimpse of the battlefield as the Senju Kannon was summoned, Obito setting him upon the statue's foot long before it was ever called upon, and he could faintly gather what had occurred. The lump of flesh wearing green in the distance was still bouncing in movement when he arrived, clattering across the ground like a tumble of weeds, and the Uzumaki laid pained on the ground only feet away from Madara with tears in his eyes. He recognized tears of grief well enough, but he also recognized a cough of death all the same. Blood had come in spurts from a ragged cough that the boy did well to keep at bay now, but the damage was done. Whatever the green man landed on the boy had done its job to wreak havoc on his lungs.
Walking corpses. No different than I would seem without Zetsu, I suppose. Madara thought to himself with a small amount of self-loathing at the weakness of his age. A weakness that would have to be endured for only a few moments longer. The two shinobi looked at Madara with heaving breaths, but it wasn't them that he had his eyes upon. The statue above him, the divine piece of craftsmanship that his late-friend built to store the power of the Tailed-Beasts stood tall with only eight of its nine eyes open. Madara instructed Obito to leave the ninth for his own pleasure of getting. When he could still manage it, Madara called upon the great Nine-Tailed Fox as a shinobi would call upon a dog or cat they were tied to by way of a summoning contract. He wielded one of the most powerful beasts in existence at the signing of a few hand seals and the eyes that gleamed red and black. It was only right that Madara welcomed the beast back into his service personally.
When the boy arrived in their clearing, Madara didn't need the cloak of crimson chakra to tell him who he was. Madara could feel the potent chakra that the boy held within him no matter how tightly sealed it was. Now, however, tightly sealed would be a vast misnomer. In the silence of the stopped battle immediately before him, the growls and howls of whipping chakra did well to fill the air. Bright blonde hair, long and spiked above the Leaf Spiral of Madara's old allegiance, was swayed to separate as two dense streamers of chakra ghosted long fox ears to extend from the boy's head. Gashing whisker marks carved in threes upon each cheek were even more dramatic as a snarling face accentuated them more and bore sharp canines under curled lips. Familiar red eyes with a dangerous vertical slit down its center matched the color of the tails that waved dangerously behind the boy's head. A hunched back made it seem like the boy would be more comfortable letting his clawed hands dig into the dirt as he stood like a true animal, but the boy remained upon two feet that stood wide from each other.
"And the last has finally arrived." Madara began, looking at the boy as he addressed him. It was unclear if any words would make it through to the Jinchuuriki as he was overwhelmed with whipping tendrils of crimson chakra, but Madara still spoke at him. It was the beast within the child that Madara was addressing, not the container it was stored in. "Come to me, my old friend. Join me as the rest of your kind has and help me bring peace to this world." The only answer he received was a deep, long, and loud growl that carried through the air easier than any booming thunder.
Raising his hands in front of him, Madara felt the prick in his right thumb that came from the sharpened black point of his Black Zetsu poking the flesh to draw blood. Ten hand seals were formed much swifter than he could do on his own with this decrepit body, the Zetsu carrying his limbs into performing his needs. The boy wasn't idle in the hand seals. As it seemed he might, the Jinchuuriki dropped onto all fours as he sprinted like a beast toward Madara to halt his summoning. The young Uchiha, as sickly as he was, tried to leap in front of the beast but was too slow to counter the boy who simply jumped over his head as he charged Madara. "Summoning Jutsu," was spoken just as the Jinchuuriki came within feet of him. The Uchiha patriarch had the honor of watching the boy's animalistic eyes widen impossibly as the words were spoken just before a chorus of howls erupted from his throat.
The roar of pain came with a wave of wild chakra that ripped through the boy's body to discharge in the air. Crimson tendrils rose into the air lashing out like whips, digging into the ground like grasping fingers, and burning more bright than any flame that could be made by a human. The familiar feeling of such foul and aggressive chakra was one of nostalgia for the elderly Uchiha. He remembered vividly the days when that chakra was wielded by his own hands, even if it was soon snuffed by the suffocating power of Hashirama's Wood Release. Clawed hands gripped a stomach buried under a heavy flak jacket and dark shinobi fatigues, undoubtedly where the boy's seal sat, as Madara felt the call of his summons be impeded by the confines of the Nine-Tails' prison. More chakra surged through the Summoning Jutsu, the webbed jutsu formula splaying across the ground much longer than it is used to being.
"Don't fight it, child. Your beast knows where its allegiance shall lie, whether it agrees or not. You only cause yourself more pain by fighting it." Another round of indignant howls ripped through the boy's throat, although there was more substance to the echoing voice. Where there was only the pain of his seal being battered upon by the Summoning Jutsu, now there was a degree of exertion filtering through the boy's voice. He actively fights against the summon, wrenching his seal closed against my desires. So be it. It would have been a forgone conclusion had the boy cared to look at Madara. The Mangekyo Sharingan would have been more than enough to remove whatever self control was left within the boy without further issue, but as the Jinchuuriki wriggled upon the ground in clenching and contracting pain, such an idea was too far gone.
Madara hadn't even needed a verbal indication directed at Zetsu before a white tendril carefully wrapped around the boy's ankle to drag him closer to the wooden Kannon behind them. As the Sun fell from the high perch of midday, the shadow of the statue began to swallow much and more of their field, casting a darkness that was tainted by the whipping Tailed-Beast Chakra as it was brought closer to the statue. Any of the Tailed-Beast chakra that lashed at the statue was taken easily without so much as a scratch tarnishing the face of the brilliant work. Similarly, White Zetsu's grip went unhindered when it entered the dense chakra cloak of the boy. The essence of Hashirama that White Zetsu was born from, even if neither Zetsu truly acted like their integral parts, protected the being from the aggressive chakra.
His ensnaring of the boy went unimpeded by the other two on the field. The Uchiha was sided with him and the Uzumaki still needed the ninth Jinchuuriki to be sealed within the statue. For all intents and purposes, Madara's nabbing of the boy was mutually beneficial for all involved, although it helped that the states of the other shinobi were lacking even to a man that was dancing dangerously close to a century of life upon this earth. It matters not. Soon I will be born again to see an eternity. One hundred years will be a blink to mine all seeing eyes while I watch my subjects continue through the generations of peace I will beget. Loose chakra from the Nine-Tails, now that the lashing boy was situated just beneath it. Madara's hand stayed planted within the jutsu formula of his Summoning, occasionally flaring what chakra he could to keep the boy unhearing and unattentive to the world around him. Despite his constant pestering, the pestering of the Tailed-Beast that now lay behind him with a rope of the white viscous substance that made the body of Zetsu, Madara listened as the lashings became less severe and the shouting all but stopped. He gave one more tug of his Summoning Jutsu, one that used no small amount of energy that his old body could handle at once, to no avail.
Looking behind himself, Madara saw more crimson chakra bathing the boy, much of it trailing upward into the wood in red veins that crawled across the deep brown surface. Something wasn't right. Standing Madara turned to look down upon the boy as he felt White Zetsu crawl from beneath his heavy robes before a shield of his white body came to protect the Uchiha patriarch from the boy that was dangerously still below him. He didn't dare try to make the seals. He didn't dare turn his back on the Jinchuuriki below him to desperately attempt a sealing. Although he held agency over the Nine-Tailed Fox by way of his Sharingan, Madara would be stupid to ignore the many times the Beast tried to gift him with one of its mighty claws digging into his back. One tail or nine, a fox was still a cunning creature, even if trapped in the body of a child that was yet to prove himself a man.
Crimson chakra radiated off the boy in waves, flowing into the statue like water soaking into the dried ground of the desert. Idly, Madara wondered how much more would be taken before the final eye would open on the Kannon's face. It was a matter for a later time, however, as Madara's body was pulled away from the boy by the body of Zetsu that melded with his own, dragging Madara to safety as red chakra erupted around the Jinchuuriki when his eyes finally opened back to the world. While explosive, while so dense that the air itself felt heavier by the saturation of Tailed-Beast chakra that flowed freely outward, Madara couldn't help but notice how much more controlled the expanse of power was around the boy. Tendrils of chakra that fought the very air around the Jinchuuriki settled into a controlled, though fast, arrangement around the boy. Instead of whips of power that arced from the boy's body, those same threads of red energy spun around the boy's body in a flowing dance rather than an intense battle.
When the boy stood, the younger Uchiha finally made his move. The steps were laggard and hardly coordinated as the tip of a short sword made to thrust itself through the Jinchuuriki's back, only for the steel to meet empty ground when the boy left in a burst of speed. Once more, Madara attempted to summon his once dear friend, only for there to be no response whatsoever from the Tailed-Beast. An aged, wrinkled face quirked at that. There was amusement within the failure, a sour and nasty form of amusement. "Zetsu, take me to its top. I'll see this finished here and now." Immediately upon his order, Madara felt the ground glide under his feet, feet that were submerged in the earth before melding somewhat into the wooden Kannon as Madara climbed over its robes, past its hands, and atop the crown of its head high above all.
Much of what he saw before him was destruction. Rolling hills of earth with the occasional limbs of a tree visibly poking out into the air that grew grander until the wall of the crater that surrounded them. Movement could be identified here and there, ants in the distance scrambling amongst the dirt as he looked down upon them. Just beneath his perch, Madara could meet the nine-eyed gaze of Hashirama's prison for the Tailed-Beasts. All glowed the chakra of the Tailed-Beast they represented. From gold and indigo to a brilliant white or even a deep purple burned into thick, strong wood all showed brightly with the power of the Tailed-Beasts. One, however, was not bright at all. The eye was open, its power held, but it was far from the level of the others. The ninth eye held only a subtle hint of crimson where the iris would be amongst the carved wood. It will have to do. Madara wasn't one for compromise, if he had been then he and Hashirama wouldn't have fought as they had. He would have stayed in the weak imaginings of a man that saw peace where there was only war. He wouldn't have been right here to gift the world with lasting peace at his lead. Before he left this crater with the power of the world in his hands, Madara would ensure that the ninth Tailed-Beast followed him just as a thousand hands followed the Kannon he stood upon.
Sitting atop the head of the Kannon, Madara cycled through the vast list of hand seals required to perform his duty. Dozens of seals became hundreds quickly as scrapings of ink became clear across the surface of the Kannon in dense blackened lines that came to an end at the precipice that Madara sat upon. Minutes passed, several and more, before he was finished. When he was done, however, there was only one thing that he said. Only one word needed to be spoken. "Seal!" His call echoed through the air, his ragged, aged voice straining amongst the power he forced through it. In an instant, the black markings across the statue's surface burned a bright orange that harshened as the seconds ticked by before they all crawled up the statue's surface to cover Madara in the scrawlings that were deciphered from various branches of sealing and plastered upon the statue's surface over many years of Obito working within the Akatsuki. As the sealing began, Madara felt the overwhelming power stored within the Kannon flow into him.
It was unimaginable. Madara had thought he knew true strength. He wielded the Nine-Tails at his fingertips, he and Hashirama Senju were lauded as the strongest of shinobi, and he held the eyes of a man who saw all. Yet, as he felt the raw strength of not one, but almost nine Tailed-Beasts stored inside of him, Perhaps closer to eight than nine, and it was then that he knew that he hadn't a clue what power was.
Now Madara could say that he knew what it meant to be a god.
The world around him melted away when the power rushed into him. For how long, he didn't know. He saw cascades of sands, ghastly blue flames, crawling mountains of coral, burning pits of lava, clouds of hot steam, thick streams of clear liquid too far from water to call it so, dense swathes of powder that blew in the wind like pollen, latching and grasping tentacles, and the faintest glimmer of angry red haze all swarming his mind at once. Each held their own sense of being, all having their own identity within him. All of which, however, were muffled by the resolute cage that they were buried within. It wasn't the Tailed-Beasts individually that Madara took within himself, but the prison that they dwelled within.
When the world became visible to him again, Madara felt like a being that simply didn't belong with the likes that lay before him. He could practically taste the strength he bore at his fingertips, he felt the lightness of existence that he hadn't felt since he was a young man, and he could sense something he wanted. There wasn't much something like him could want. He held strength in its highest form, he wielded the energy of the world within his body, and yet there was still something more. His eyes latched onto the mass of crimson before him. Dark red chakra swarmed around the boy that Madara felt hungry for. He wanted to step forward and grasp it, drink up what there was to drink and make himself whole, but his feet wouldn't move under him. Looking down, Madara saw a light robe covering his form, one that hung loosely off his form in much the same way it did when it was wooden in a several story statue. More noticeably, there was a line down the center of the robe that separated white from black. His left side, from cloth to flesh, was a stark white that contrasted mightily with the pitch black of his right side. Zetsu's body fused with my own in the sealing. I am a whole of many parts.
A whole that had yet to make use of its parts, one that needed to get acclimated to its new assembly. Once he had, however, then all would be done. Peace at last.
This is the beginning of the end. The final players meet to decide it all. Almost an entire year and we finally see the conclusion crawling forward. I must pass a warning, I'm no longer at my apartment and no longer have the same situation as I had through the last year or so as my internship begins to kick off. I can't promise the same unbending schedule, but I have two chapters in store already and I can't imagine that I'll need more than two or three more past that to close this up. Bear with me these next few weeks and we'll see this shit completed soon enough.