The memory flickered in Kali's mind like a distant echo, blurred by the passage of over a thousand years. It was more feeling than thought, more dream than certainty. She wasn't sure if it was real or something she'd fabricated over the centuries to fill the void of her fragmented past. But it lingered, and it called to her now.
It was summer, and the world was ablaze with life. The cicadas sang their relentless symphony, their buzzing so loud it seemed to vibrate the very air. The garden beyond the open shoji doors shimmered under the oppressive sun, every leaf and blade of grass gilded by the heat. A faint haze hung over the scene, the distant mountains appearing as soft, indigo smudges against a pale, washed-out sky. The scent of incense wafted gently through the room, mingling with the earthy fragrance of tatami mats and the faint sweetness of flowering wisteria that trailed along the eaves outside.
The house was ancient, even then. Its wooden beams were dark and smooth from centuries of care, the polished floors reflecting the bright light that spilled through the veranda. Sliding shoji screens separated one room from the next, their paper panels glowing faintly golden in the sunlight. A breeze stirred, rustling the edges of the screens but offering no relief from the stifling heat.
Kali, a young child with bluish-purple hair and wide, pearlescent eyes, rolled back and forth on the tatami floor. Her small limbs flailed with every roll, her feet stamping rhythmically as she groaned in exaggerated frustration.
"I'm bored!" she whined, her voice high and petulant as she flopped onto her back, her hair fanning out around her like a storm cloud. The heat only amplified her restlessness. "Baba, let's go outside and play!"
Her grandmother, Ōtsutsuki Kaguya, sat in serene contrast to Kali's antics. She was perched on the wooden veranda just within the shade, her posture perfect in the traditional seiza style. Her hair was a cascade of pure, snow-white silk, falling around her shoulders like a veil of frost. Her skin was impossibly pale, almost translucent, and her Byakugan eyes seemed to glow faintly in the dim light of the shaded interior. She was dressed in a formal kimono, its muted hues of gray and white embroidered with patterns of swirling clouds.
Kaguya's voice was gentle yet resolute, a tone that allowed no argument. "No, child. Not today."
Kali groaned dramatically, flipping onto her stomach and scooting toward her grandmother like a determined caterpillar. "Why not…?" she mumbled, burying her face against Kaguya's lap. Her small hands clutched at the folds of the elder's kimono, her voice muffled. "It's so nice outside. Why can't we go?"
Kaguya's pale hand moved gracefully, her long fingers trailing through Kali's hair in slow, deliberate strokes. "It is dangerous," she said simply, her gaze fixed on the sunlit garden beyond. Though she sat in the shade, it was as though the sun's rays dared to reach her, brushing against her form with an almost malevolent heat.
"Dangerous?" Kali's voice was curious now, her tantrum momentarily forgotten. She tilted her head to peer up at her grandmother, her wide eyes gleaming with a child's endless need for answers. "Why is it dangerous?"
Kaguya's gaze lifted, her Byakugan eyes seeming to pierce through the shimmering sunlight. "I can feel Amaterasu's jealousy," she murmured, her voice heavy with something unspoken. "It is especially strong today."
"Amaterasu…?" Kali's tongue stumbled over the name, her young mind struggling to make sense of it. Her own gaze followed her grandmother's, but all she could see was the golden orb of the sun hanging high in the sky, too bright to look at directly. She didn't yet understand that Kaguya wasn't looking at the sun, but inward, toward a memory that cut deeper than time.
"Ōhirume Amaterasu," Kaguya whispered, the name slipping from her lips like a prayer laced with sorrow. "The Ōtsutsuki Clan and the Ōhirume Clan have long been at odds. Although our family has never had many we could call friends."
Kali frowned, her small hands curling into fists as she sat up, resting against her grandmother's side. "You don't have any friends?" she asked, the concept alien to her.
A faint smile touched Kaguya's lips, a rare expression that softened her ethereal features. "When I was your age, I did have one," she admitted. "She wasn't someone I was supposed to associate with, but she was my friend. My only friend."
"Who?" Kali's curiosity was boundless now, her boredom forgotten as she leaned closer. She tried to picture her grandmother as a child, but it was impossible. Kaguya was a force of nature, a being of incomprehensible power and wisdom. The thought of her as a little girl was as strange as imagining the sun as a flickering candle.
Kaguya's gaze grew distant, her voice tinged with nostalgia as she repeated the name. "Ōhirume Amaterasu. My childhood friend."
"What happened to her?" Kali's question was innocent, but the effect on her grandmother was profound. The smile faded, replaced by a shadow of pain. Kaguya's hand stilled in Kali's hair, and for a moment, she seemed to retreat into herself.
"I had to leave," Kaguya said at last, her voice cool and detached, as though reciting a fact rather than a memory. "And I do not believe Amaterasu has ever forgiven me."
Kali's small face scrunched in thought before she brightened, her idea spilling out in a rush. "I know how to fix it!" She jumped to her feet, her energy renewed. "Asura and I had a fight the other day, and Uncle made us sit down and apologize. Now we're best friends again! You just need to apologize to her!"
Kaguya's laugh was soft, barely more than a breath. "If only it were that simple," she said, her tone laced with melancholy.
"It's not?" Kali asked, confused. If apologies worked for her, why not for her grandmother?
Kaguya's expression grew distant once more. "Amaterasu's pride is not something that can be soothed with mere words. If she ever comes to this world, child, it will not be to talk."
Kali tilted her head, her young mind struggling to grasp the gravity of Kaguya's words. "Then… what will she come for?"
Kaguya's answer was quiet, haunting. "She will come to be loved. But do not misunderstand that to mean she will come in peace. No, her love will be terrible; It will be unreciprocated, it will be compulsory, and it will be without compromise. All those under this sun will love her…
"Or they will burn."
Hinata of the White Lotus
Amaterasu
There was a black sun.
No, not a sun—calling it such was a disservice to the celestial beauty of the real thing. This was an aberration, a terrible mockery of what a sun should be. It hung low in the twilight sky, just above the tallest spire of Konoha. Fifty meters in diameter, it pulsed and writhed like an open wound in the fabric of reality, a swirling void that devoured the faint light of the setting sun. Its edges bled a faint crimson, like fire smoldering on the edges of paper about to burn away.
The real sun was nearly gone, its dying rays painting the sky in hues of orange and deep purple. Twilight embraced the village, but it was not the comforting kind. This was a twilight heavy with foreboding, an unnatural stillness blanketing the air. The warmth of the day was gone, replaced by a cold that gnawed at the soul rather than the skin. It was a silence so profound that it seemed as if the world itself had stopped to witness the arrival of something that should not exist.
Every eye in the village was fixed on the black sun. Shinobi paused mid-battle, their kunai frozen mid-air. Civilians, caught between fleeing and hiding, stood rooted to the ground, their breaths caught in their throats. Even the animals, sensitive to things humans could not understand, were paralyzed in terror. The only sound was the faint crackling of the portal as it churned and shifted, a deep, low hum that vibrated in the bones.
And then, the steps appeared.
They formed from thin air, a staircase of glowing orange fire. Each step materialized one by one, their edges flickering and wavering like the embers of a dying flame. They hovered in place, leading from the portal down to the street below. It was a path forged of flame and purpose, a herald to announce the arrival of something divine and terrible.
The first step was taken.
The sound was distinct, sharp against the silence: clack. A wooden clog struck the flaming step, its polished black surface reflecting the fiery glow. The foot it belonged to was tanned yet smooth, its nails painted black, glinting like onyx against the light. Another step followed, and another clack. Both feet were now visible, adorned with black wooden clogs supported by a single long tooth. Each step she took reverberated through the air, each clack like a heartbeat growing louder and louder.
Then the hem of her garment came into view. A silk kimono, impossibly beautiful in design, descended along with her. Crimson, gold, and black swirled together in intricate patterns, shimmering like molten lava under the light of her own steps. The fabric was heavy and luxurious, yet it seemed to move as though alive, rippling faintly with each step she took, as if the air around her dared not touch it. The kimono hung down just above her ankles, teasing a glimpse of her slender legs as she descended.
The dread deepened with each step.
The figure was tall—imposingly so. The kimono hugged her form in just the right way to hint at elegance and power, leaving much to the imagination while still commanding awe. Her hair, black as the void behind her, cascaded in thick, silken waves down her back. It was impossibly perfect, not a single strand out of place, as though no mortal element dared disrupt it.
Finally, her face emerged from the portal.
Hinata felt her breath catch. It was beautiful in a way that felt wrong—too symmetrical, too flawless, like a porcelain doll crafted by hands that had never known imperfection. Her skin, tanned yet luminous, carried a faint sheen, as if kissed by an eternal light that came from nowhere. Her lips were painted a bold red, a color that mirrored the flames of her steps, and they curved faintly in an expression that was neither smile nor frown. It was unreadable, alien.
And her eyes—those eyes.
They were unmistakably Byakugan, yet not. The pale, moonlit irises of the Hyūga were nowhere to be found. Instead, her eyes were a deep pinkish-red, glowing faintly like embers buried in ash. The veins around them were delicate, almost invisible, yet the power radiating from them was suffocating. They didn't just see; they pierced. They gazed down at the world below with an intensity that made everyone who saw them feel exposed, laid bare to the core.
She stopped mid-step, standing on her staircase of fire as she surveyed the silent village. Her gaze swept across Konoha, from the crushed rooftops to the frozen figures of shinobi and civilians alike.
Amaterasu had arrived.
Her presence was oppressive, her aura like a gravitational pull that forced those in its reach to their knees. She exuded authority, not as a leader or a ruler, but as something far greater: a goddess. And with every second that passed, the weight of her presence grew heavier, as though the very air bent under her will.
In the fading twilight, she stood, framed by the black sun, a being both ethereal and terrifying. And as her gaze swept across the trembling village, the unspoken message was clear.
The goddess of the sun had come. And her love, as promised, would burn.
"Has this world no manners?" The goddess spoke, her voice ringing out like a bell, each word carrying an almost physical weight. It wasn't just a voice—it was a command, resonating deep within the hearts of all who heard it. It compelled attention, demanded obedience. "Is there not a soul here that will usher in my arrival?"
Her question hung in the air, unanswered, for no one truly understood what she was asking for. The villagers, shinobi, and civilians alike stood frozen, caught between terror and awe, their silence amplifying her displeasure.
Except for one man.
"I'll do it," Tobi said, his tone light yet certain, as though he had been expecting this moment. He hopped down from the veranda he had perched on, his movement oddly casual given the gravity of the situation. He strolled forward with the same unhurried confidence, the ability of his Mangekyō Sharingan allowing him to phase through anything in his path. Hinata flinched instinctively as he passed through her and Neji as though they weren't even there. Neji's grip on her tightened protectively, but he, too, was powerless to stop the man.
Tobi stopped at the bottom of the glowing staircase of flame, directly below Amaterasu's towering presence. Slowly, deliberately, he dropped to one knee. He gazed up at her with reverence, his posture both deferential and calculated, as though he understood the magnitude of the being before him.
"As I said: This garden world lacks manners." Amaterasu's arms had been crossed in front of her, her long sleeves hanging elegantly, concealing her hands. Now, with deliberate grace, she uncrossed them, revealing fingers long and delicate, their beauty offset by the painted black nails that extended unnaturally, sharp enough to be mistaken for claws. The nails gleamed faintly in the firelight, each movement of her hand carrying an air of lethality.
One of those fingers rose, and she pointed down at Tobi with a deliberate, almost theatrical motion. Her gaze, alien and unreadable, burned into him. "You would dare disrespect one such as myself by coming before me while hiding your face?" Her voice, though as melodic as before, now carried the searing edge of wrath. It was fire given form, a heat that demanded submission.
Tobi bowed his head slightly, as if acknowledging her judgment. "I apologize. It was not my intent to disrespect you." There was no mockery in his tone now, no hint of the playful façade he so often wore. Whether because he no longer felt the need to hide behind it or because even he understood the stakes, Tobi's demeanor had shifted entirely.
Slowly, almost ceremonially, he reached for the edge of his mask. His gloved fingers brushed against the rough surface, lingering for a moment before he lifted it from the bottom. The mask tilted upward, and with a deliberate motion, he removed it entirely, lowering it to his side.
The face revealed beneath was haunting.
Both of his eyes burned with the vivid red of the Sharingan, their tomoe spinning faintly as if reacting to the sheer presence of the goddess before him. Yet the story those eyes told was anything but symmetrical. The right eye, set in the unmarred side of his face, was sharp and piercing, but its clarity was borrowed. It was a stolen Sharingan, pulsing with a foreign power that didn't fully belong to him. This half of his face was smooth and youthful, a sharp jawline and high cheekbones giving him an almost aristocratic appearance. But the other half of his face told a different story.
It was grotesque, marked by terrible scars that crisscrossed his flesh like a twisted lattice. The skin was mottled and uneven, a dark and lifeless tone, as though it had been crushed, misshapen by trauma. The skin was twisted and scarred, ridged and uneven like rock broken and haphazardly reassembled. His cheekbone on that side was visibly indented, the eye socket slightly sunken, housing his original Sharingan, glowing faintly as though haunted by its history. The scarring extended to the corner of his mouth, pulling it into a permanent grimace, creating a dichotomy between the two halves of his face. This was a face that had endured horrors—a face that had been to the edge of death and clawed its way back, piece by agonizing piece.
His features told a story of survival against impossible odds—a man who had been crushed beneath the weight of stone and fate itself, yet refused to die. Both eyes, despite their shared crimson glow, symbolized this defiance: one stolen, one scarred, together embodying the man who stood before a goddess as both broken and unyielding.
"My name," he began, his voice steady, as if daring the world to reject him, "is Uchiha Obito." He inclined his head, his scarred visage bared without shame. "As the one who arranged your transport here, I am but a loyal subject at your service. Use me as you see fit."
Around him, the firelight danced, reflecting in his scars, illuminating his duality—half man, half ghost, all devoted to the terrible goddess standing above him.
Amaterasu's gaze lingered on him, her expression unreadable as ever. The weight of her attention pressed down on him, the flames around her staircase flickering as though in anticipation of her response. And still, the silence stretched, each second an eternity under the shadow of the black sun.
It wasn't Amaterasu who spoke next, however.
"Obito…?" Hatake Kakashi's voice wavered, barely above a whisper. He stumbled forward, his normally composed demeanor shattered. His single Sharingan eye, normally so sharp and calculating, was wide with disbelief. It was as though he were staring at a ghost.
Sasuke and Naruto froze, both taken aback by the uncharacteristic tremor in their teacher's voice. The weight of that single word, Obito, hung in the air like an unspoken truth demanding acknowledgment.
Hinata, still supported by Neji, turned her gaze toward Kakashi. Her Nichiren Byakugan pulsed faintly, allowing her to see what Kakashi saw—their Sharingan chakra. It was identical. There was no mistaking it now. This man standing before them, the masked villain who had wrought so much chaos, was not just a stranger. He was—
"No…" Kakashi's voice cracked, and he staggered closer. "Obito, it can't be you?"
Obito remained kneeling before Amaterasu, his mangled face impassive, his eyes fixed upward on the goddess. The silence that followed was deafening, every second stretching unbearably long as the truth clawed its way into the minds of those present.
Kakashi's students watched him in stunned silence. Naruto's face twisted with confusion, while Sasuke's Rinnegan gleamed as if trying to discern the meaning of this revelation. Tayuya and Anko, standing off to the side, exchanged wary glances. Even Neji, usually stoic, tightened his grip on Hinata's arm as the tension thickened like a noose.
"Kakashi-sensei…?" Naruto's voice was unsure, almost pleading, as he tried to grasp what his teacher was seeing. "What's going on? Who's Obito?"
Kakashi didn't answer. His breathing was uneven, his fists trembling as his gaze remained locked on Obito. Memories flickered behind his visible eye, images of a boy with wild hair and a bright smile, full of life and reckless determination. That boy couldn't possibly be the same man kneeling here, scarred, broken, and serving a goddess of destruction.
"Obito…" Kakashi's voice broke again, heavy with grief and anger. "You're supposed to be dead. I saw you die. How… how could you do this?"
Obito finally turned his head slightly, his Sharingan meeting Kakashi's. For a moment, there was no malice in his expression—just a cold, distant resignation.
"You saw what I wanted you to see," Obito said, his voice devoid of warmth. "And now, you'll see what this world really is."
The words cut deeper than any blade. Kakashi staggered back as if struck, the pain of betrayal etched into his features. The man he had mourned, the teammate he had failed to save, was alive—and had become something unrecognizable.
The reunion didn't even register for Sasuke anymore. His heart thundered in his chest as his Rinnegan caught sight of a figure standing behind Hinata. His focus tunneled entirely, rage overtaking every other emotion.
"Itachi!?" His voice cracked with fury, and his expression twisted into something feral. All of the anguish, all of the betrayal, every unanswered question about his brother boiled over in an instant. Without hesitation, he vanished, the sound of displaced air marking his sudden departure. A jagged chunk of concrete clattered to the ground where he had stood moments before.
The screeching cry of a thousand birds erupted in the air, a sharp, electrifying sound that sent shivers through anyone who heard it. Sasuke reappeared directly behind Hinata and Itachi, his mechanical arm humming with unstable energy as it transformed into a blade of concentrated lightning chakra. "Chidori!" he roared, his intent clear as the blade arced toward the back of Itachi's head.
Itachi didn't move. His body was completely still, as though unaware of the impending attack. His hands hung limp at his sides, his head bowed. It wasn't until Hinata spun to face both brothers that she realized why he hadn't reacted.
Blood streamed from Itachi's right eye, flowing down his pale face and staining the front of his cloak in dark streaks. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, each one shuddering with pain. The eye hadn't just been damaged—it had exploded. The aftermath was horrifying, a ruined socket where his once-powerful Mangekyō Sharingan had been.
Hinata's Nichiren Byakugan told her everything in an instant. The eye had been destroyed after Itachi activated the power that had torn open the portal. Amaterasu, the goddess now standing at the center of this disaster, had gifted Itachi a fragment of her power. It was meant to be a tool, a means to her ends. And now that he had unwittingly succeeded in bringing her into the world, the eye had been consumed, leaving him in excruciating pain.
The sheer agony of the experience left Itachi paralyzed, his mind struggling to process the sensation. He barely seemed to notice Sasuke's approach, let alone the deadly intent behind his younger brother's attack.
Sasuke didn't care. His lips curled into a snarl as his Chidori crackled, its electric hum building to a crescendo. This was the moment he had been waiting for—his chance to kill Itachi, to end the betrayal and lies that had defined his life.
"Sasuke-kun, no!" Hinata's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with desperation. Her body moved before her mind could process the situation, instincts taking over entirely. There was no time to think about what this would mean, no time to weigh the consequences of her actions.
"Yata no Kagami!" she shouted, her left eye blazing with brilliant blue light. A spectral shield materialized in an instant, its translucent surface glowing with ethereal energy. The shield intercepted Sasuke's Chidori just inches from Itachi's head. The collision sent a shockwave rippling outward, the force of the impact knocking Sasuke backward.
Sasuke skidded across the rubble-strewn ground, his mechanical arm buzzing as the energy of the failed attack discharged harmlessly into the air. He glared at Hinata, his expression torn between anger and disbelief. "You—why are you protecting him!?" he spat, his voice trembling with fury.
Hinata barely heard him. Her attention was now split between Sasuke's seething rage and the chilling realization of what she had just done.
"The Yata Mirror…" Amaterasu's voice rang out, soft yet deafening, as if the very air around her carried her words. There was no anger, no shock—just a cold, detached curiosity. Her gaze, crimson and unyielding, bore down on Hinata with a weight that felt crushing. The goddess's presence was already overwhelming, but now, her full attention was locked on Hinata.
Hinata's breath hitched, her body trembling under the intensity of that gaze. It wasn't just the physical sensation, though it felt as though gravity itself had doubled. It was the knowledge—the certainty—that she had just revealed herself as the wielder of something that once belonged to the goddess.
She could feel Amaterasu's focus like a physical force, suffocating and oppressive. The Yata Mirror had once been hers, a relic of unimaginable power that had been stolen and hidden away. And now, Hinata had claimed it, unknowingly declaring herself a thief in the presence of its rightful owner.
Amaterasu took a step forward, her wooden clogs clacking softly against the flaming steps as she descended. The sound was almost gentle, yet it carried the weight of inevitability. Each step brought her closer, her crimson gaze never wavering from Hinata.
"Child," Amaterasu said, her voice silken and terrifying, a melody of honey and fire. "Do you know what it means to bear my mirror?"
Hinata couldn't speak. Her throat felt tight, her voice stolen by the suffocating presence of the goddess. The weight of the question hung in the air, unanswered, as the flames around Amaterasu flickered and danced in rhythm with her steps.
Amaterasu's crimson gaze shifted once more to Obito, her expression serene yet utterly unyielding. The flames around her flickered violently, mirroring her growing impatience. Her voice, calm yet laced with authority, rang out again, cutting through the suffocating silence.
"To the man who claims to be my servant," she began, her words deliberate and piercing, "bring me the girl holding my mirror."
Obito's head lifted slightly, his scarred face betraying no emotion as he inclined it respectfully once more. But before he could respond, another voice erupted, breaking the fragile moment.
"Enough!" Danzo's voice thundered through the air, commanding attention. Despite leaning heavily on Sai for support, the authority in his tone made him seem like a man half his age. He glared up at Amaterasu, his single visible Sharingan blazing with determination. He did not kneel, nor did he falter.
"You will order Tobi to help kill Itachi," he declared, his words sharp and final, "and then you will leave my village." It wasn't a request. It wasn't even a demand. It was a command, laced with the full force of the Mangekyō Sharingan embedded in his right eye.
Hinata's breath caught in her throat as she saw it. The subtle flicker of chakra emanating from Danzo's eye—the unmistakable signature of a genjutsu. This was no ordinary manipulation. The genjutsu was vast, its layers intricate, each one designed to bend the target's will entirely to Danzo's. His intent was clear: to dominate a goddess and claim her power for himself.
But it was a fool's errand.
Amaterasu didn't flinch. She didn't even acknowledge the subtle pull of the genjutsu, as though it were beneath her notice. The Sharingan, no matter how powerful, could not touch her. She was beyond its reach.
Her expression darkened, her crimson Byakugan igniting with fury. The veins around her temples bulged as her pupils sharpened into distinct ovals. The very air around her grew heavy, thick with an almost unbearable heat. Though the sun had set, the temperature spiked sharply, drawing beads of sweat from everyone in the vicinity. Even the wind seemed to retreat in fear, leaving the area oppressively still.
"You dare—" Amaterasu began, her voice trembling with barely restrained wrath. For a moment, even she seemed unable to find the words to express her indignation. Her gaze burned hotter, and the heat became suffocating, as though the very world bent to her anger.
The warning was almost imperceptible. A faint flicker of black flame danced in her pupil—then everything happened at once.
Danzo's head exploded.
It wasn't a dramatic gesture, nor was it drawn out. One second, he was standing tall, his Sharingan blazing as he sought to impose his will on the divine. The next, his skull detonated in a violent eruption of black flames. The searing heat of Amaterasu's fire consumed his head entirely, leaving nothing but charred flesh and fragments of bone. Blood sprayed in every direction, a gruesome shower of gore that painted the ground and Sai's pale face.
The Sharingan that had been Danzo's weapon of choice popped free from its socket with a grotesque squelch. It landed among the debris of what had been his face, a mangled orb surrounded by singed brain tissue and fragments of torn skin.
Sai's scream broke the silence—a raw, guttural sound of despair and terror. The pale boy clutched Danzo's headless body as though holding it would bring him back. His hands trembled, his face contorted in disbelief and grief. "Danzo-sama! No! No!" His wails filled the air, shrill and heart-wrenching, like a child's first cry upon losing a parent.
But his grief was short-lived. The black flames that consumed Danzo's head spread like a disease, creeping down the stump of his neck and toward Sai's trembling hands. Within seconds, they latched onto him, devouring his flesh with merciless hunger. His cries of sorrow morphed into screams of agony, a harrowing symphony of pain as the flames claimed him.
Sai's body fell limp moments later, consumed entirely by the goddess's flames. The scent of burning flesh filled the air, acrid and nauseating.
The streets, which had been deathly silent since Amaterasu's arrival, erupted into chaos. The civilians, who had been transfixed by the black sun and the towering goddess, broke into panicked screams. Their collective fear, kept at bay by awe and disbelief, now exploded into full-blown hysteria.
Men and women sprinted through the narrow streets, pushing and shoving each other in desperate attempts to flee. Children cried out for their parents, their voices drowned out by the cacophony of terror. Market stalls were overturned, and goods scattered across the cobblestone roads as people trampled over anything and anyone in their path.
Above it all, the black sun loomed like an omen, its oppressive weight casting a shadow over the village. The flames from Amaterasu's staircase licked at the air, a surreal and otherworldly display that only heightened the mounting dread.
Hinata's enhanced vision picked up flashes of tragedy amidst the chaos: an elderly woman crushed beneath a collapsing fruit cart, a toddler separated from his family crying on the street, a man tripping over rubble only to be trampled by the panicked crowd. Her heart clenched as her gaze darted between the scenes of suffering. She could feel the weight of the moment bearing down on her, the sheer scale of the destruction overwhelming.
Yet Amaterasu had already moved on.
"I do not like to repeat myself," she said, her voice calm once more, as if the horrific display moments ago had been a mere afterthought. Her gaze fell back to Obito, who remained kneeling, unfazed by the carnage. "Do my earlier bidding, and I shall accept you as my vassal."
The words carried no room for negotiation. This was not a request but an immutable command, one that carried the weight of divine authority. The air seemed to shiver in her presence, as though the entire world held its breath to hear Obito's answer.
Obito tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow shrug, he rose to his feet. "…Very well, then." His voice was flat, devoid of the playful malice he'd often used while wearing the mask. It was as if Danzo's gruesome death had made no impression on him at all—or perhaps such things had long since lost their meaning.
He turned toward Hinata, his movements deliberate but unhurried. There was a hollowness to him now, an apathy that seemed to seep into the very air around him. His scarred face was impassive, and both of his Sharingan—one natural, the other stolen—looked dim, their crimson glow dulled, like embers dying in a long-cold fire.
The weight of his gaze fell on Hinata, and her breath caught in her throat. Despite his apparent detachment, there was something terrifying about the way he moved toward her. Not because he seemed eager, but because he didn't. There was no urgency, no thrill of the hunt—only the grim inevitability of a man fulfilling a task he no longer cared about.
From behind Hinata, Sasuke's rage boiled over. His focus locked entirely on Itachi, standing silent and still just beyond her. With a growl, Sasuke forced himself upright, his metal arm trembling as it flexed. The strain of the earlier fight and his injury were evident in the unsteady steps he took toward his brother, but his determination burned brighter than ever.
Obito advanced from one side, while Sasuke closed in from the other. It was as if Hinata and Itachi were caught in a vice, with enemies bearing down on them from opposite directions.
"Knock it off, Sasuke!" Naruto's voice rang out, cutting through the chaos. He sprinted toward his teammate, desperation driving his every step. In a blur of motion, he tackled Sasuke to the ground, the impact sending both of them tumbling across the debris-littered street.
The two of them grappled, a chaotic and wordless scuffle that left neither able to regain their footing. Sasuke shoved at Naruto's chest, while Naruto wrapped his wooden arm around Sasuke's waist to pin him down. They rolled over each other, limbs flailing as they fought, their shared history and frustrations spilling into the struggle.
Sasuke's frustration peaked as he realized Naruto wasn't going to let him go. His Rinnegan flared, chakra building rapidly as he prepared to activate Amenotejikara, the teleportation technique he'd used earlier. A sharp glare at Itachi was all the warning Naruto got, and the blond scrambled to stop him.
Just as Sasuke released the jutsu, Naruto shoved his head and knocked his aim off-course. The space around them warped, and in an instant, both boys disappeared. Their place was taken by a jagged piece of debris, its edges still glowing faintly from the heat of Amaterasu's earlier flames.
Silence followed for a split second, the chaos stilled as everyone processed what had just happened. Hinata's gaze flicked between the spot where Naruto and Sasuke had been and Obito, who still approached, his apathy undisturbed by the interruption.
"Obito, stop!" Kakashi's voice cut through the chaos as he stepped between Obito and Hinata, his stance firm but his voice laced with desperation. His visible eye burned with a mix of anger and sorrow as he confronted his former teammate. "What happened to you? Why are you doing this?"
Obito tilted his head, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his scarred face before he broke into a cold grin. "Why?" he repeated, the word dripping with mockery. He stepped forward, his Sharingan glinting dimly in the fading light. "I shouldn't have to tell you, Kakashi. You, of all people, know how broken this world is. How many promises have you failed to keep? How many lives has this system consumed?" His voice grew sharper with each word. "This world needs correcting. And who better to guide it into salvation than a god?"
Kakashi stood his ground, his jaw tightening. "And you think this is salvation? Unleashing a monster—"
"Yes I do," Obito snapped, as he took another step forward, but suddenly faltered, his movement halting as something dark and malevolent surged up from the ground.
"You traitor…!" A black, amorphous form emerged, twisting and writhing as it latched onto Obito's leg. The entity crawled upward, its oily surface merging with Obito's flesh, spreading like a living infection. "How dare you defy our purpose!"
Obito looked down at the intruder without fear or surprise. Instead, he smirked. "There you are, Black Zetsu. I was wondering when you'd show up."
The entity hissed, its voice filled with venom. "What about the Infinite Tsukuyomi? What about Rin? Everything you've done was for her—was for the plan! And now you throw it away for this madness?" Black Zetsu surged further up Obito's body, covering nearly his entire right side.
Obito chuckled, his tone almost mocking. "Tsukuyomi. Kaguya. Amaterasu. You can call it whatever name you want." He made no attempt to shake Zetsu off, allowing the creature to consume him inch by inch. "You've spent centuries scheming, waiting for the right moment to resurrect your precious goddess. And yet, here we are." His grin widened, a sinister edge to his expression. "You've barely managed to scrape together a fragment of her plan. No Bijū, no Ten-Tails. So, I chose a shortcut. Amaterasu will do what your Kaguya never could."
Black Zetsu's voice turned frantic, its tone wavering between anger and fear. "How!? How do you know about the gods—about Amaterasu?"
Obito's grin grew darker, his voice a low murmur that oozed menace. "Who knows?"
Before Zetsu could respond, a sudden eruption of wooden spikes burst forth from Obito's body. The sharpened roots impaled the black mass, spearing it from below. The spikes grew relentlessly, twisting and branching as they shredded the creature's form.
Black Zetsu screeched, its voice a cacophony of agony and fury. "No! This isn't possible! You—!" Its words were cut off as the spikes continued to pierce and constrict, splattering dark ichor across the ground. The once-fluid entity now writhed like a dying insect, its form crumbling under the relentless assault.
Obito's Sharingan flared briefly as the final wooden spike drove through the core of Black Zetsu, pinning the writhing remains to the earth. Its hissing screams faded into silence, its broken form lying lifeless at Obito's feet.
Kakashi could only stare, frozen in place as the scene unfolded. His voice, when it finally came, was quiet, almost disbelieving. "Obito… You…" His words trailed off, unable to articulate the storm of emotions raging within him.
Obito turned to face him, his expression surprisingly calm. "Don't make that face, Kakashi." He stepped closer, placing a hand on his former teammate's shoulder. "You weren't the one who killed Rin. It was this world that killed her." His voice was cold, final, as though every shred of humanity had been stripped away.
Kakashi flinched at the words, his grip on his kunai tightening—but he couldn't bring himself to strike.
Obito continued past him without hesitation, his empty gaze fixed on Hinata. "Now, I have work to do." His steps were steady, purposeful, as he closed the distance. "It's time to present her to our new god."
The tension in the air snapped like a bowstring as Might Gai came hurtling from above, his foot blazing with chakra as it slammed toward Obito's head. But Gai's kick passed through him harmlessly, the momentum carrying him forward as though Obito were nothing but a ghost.
Obito didn't even acknowledge the attack. His calm, deliberate steps continued forward, unbothered by the chaos around him.
"Not so fast!" Tenten shouted, unleashing a volley of shuriken that glittered in the dim light as they spun toward Obito.
"Tayuya, now!" Anko barked.
Tayuya growled but complied, summoning her adamantine chains. They shot forward in perfect unison with Anko's summoned snakes, the creatures writhing and hissing as they joined the assault. Neji, ever precise, added a Jyūken strike to the barrage, his palm thrusting the chakra forward with deadly intent.
Each attack hit its mark—only to pass through Obito like water through a sieve. His ethereal form rendered every effort useless, the techniques harmlessly dispersing around him.
Obito didn't stop until he was mere steps from Hinata. Then, finally, he slowed, his gaze shifting to the figure who had stepped in his way.
Itachi stood between Hinata and Obito, his posture unyielding despite the blood streaming from his ruined right eye. His hand still pressed against the socket, the pain so intense that it was a wonder he could even remain upright. Yet he had moved to shield Hinata without hesitation.
For the first time, Obito stopped, tilting his head in curiosity. "I must admit," Obito said, his tone mild yet laced with something dangerous, "I didn't expect you to stand in my way. Perhaps you've grown fond of her… or is it simply that you aren't afraid now that you know I'm not Madara?"
Itachi's voice, though low, carried a weight that silenced the surroundings. "My life has been full of mistakes," he began. "Starting from when I sought you out to help destroy my clan. Back then, I did indeed think you were Uchiha Madara, and I thought aligning with you was necessary." He lowered his hand slightly, blood dripping from his lost eye as his gaze met Obito's. "That was my first mistake. But the moment I became Hokage, I started down a path of atonement. And I owe that path to Hyūga Hinata. I will not allow you to take her."
Obito regarded him silently for a moment, as if weighing those words. "Hokage, huh?" he mused. "You always had the ambition of a fool, Itachi. Even back then. Our clan was a failure, and yet you let yourself believe they could've been something more under the right leadership. You were wrong, just as you're wrong now."
Itachi didn't flinch, his expression impassive. "Perhaps," he admitted. "But even if I was wrong, I refuse to repeat the mistakes of my past." His gaze flickered to Hinata. "She is the only one who can fix this now."
Obito smirked faintly, but his tone turned mocking. "And what makes you think she hasn't already given up?" His eyes shifted to Hinata. "She's still standing here, isn't she? If she truly cared to fight, she would have fled by now. Instead, she's ready to come with me."
Hinata stiffened at the words but didn't respond immediately. It wasn't Obito's taunt that struck her—it was the truth buried within it. This was her responsibility. She stepped forward, her gaze downcast. "Itachi-san… it's fine," she said softly, placing a hand on his arm to signal him to stand down. "This is my burden to bear."
Itachi turned to her, his visible eye widening in disbelief. "No," he said firmly, his voice taut with desperation. "Hinata, you cannot mean—"
Her gaze lifted to meet his, and whatever he had been about to say died in his throat. The quiet resolve in her eyes silenced even him. Slowly, reluctantly, Itachi stepped aside, guilt and regret etched across his features.
Obito's gaze followed the exchange with something akin to amusement, though a faint glimmer of something darker flickered behind his eyes. "You're more cooperative than I expected," he said, holding out his hand to her. His tone was light, mocking even, but there was an edge to it. "Let me guess. That's because you have a question. Well, don't hold back. Tell me—what is it you want to know?"
Hinata hesitated, her gaze flicking between Obito's hand and his scarred face. "Am I right in thinking… that it was Amaterasu who betrayed the god of Kamui?"
Obito's smirk returned, faint but chilling. "Sharp, aren't you?" He lowered his hand slightly, his eyes narrowing as if testing her resolve. "Yes, it was Amaterasu. Black Zetsu thought he could manipulate me with lies, feeding me stories of salvation and the Infinite Tsukuyomi. What he didn't know was that the Kamui dimension held secrets he couldn't reach. A second stone tablet—one that revealed the truth."
He paused, his expression darkening as he recalled Black Zetsu's intricate lies. The being had spoken endlessly of the Uchiha Tablet, the stone monolith said to contain the history and prophecy of the Uchiha, left behind by the Sage of Six Paths himself. But as Obito pieced it all together, he realized Black Zetsu's version of the story had been warped.
"The one in Kamui spoke of gods older and crueler than even Kaguya," he continued aloud. "Among them, Kamui, the god of the void, was betrayed by Amaterasu. Her flames consumed his world, leaving nothing but ashes. Black Zetsu thought I'd blindly follow his plan, but he underestimated my curiosity." His lips twisted into a faint sneer. "I chose Amaterasu not because I was deceived but because she has the strength to end this broken world."
Hinata's expression didn't falter, but something passed through her eyes—something that only someone with the Nichiren Byakugan could see. She bowed her head slightly, her hands steady even as her shoulders seemed to tighten imperceptibly. "Thank you for answering me."
With that, she stepped forward, her hands folding neatly in front of her. When she reached him, she raised one to take Obito's outstretched hand.
The world twisted and bent away, Hinata's vision warping as she was pulled through Obito's Kamui. The sensation was jarring, as if her very existence had been unraveled and woven back together in an instant. They passed through the eerie, mist-laden Kamui realm—a place devoid of warmth, where time and space felt stagnant—before reemerging into their world.
This time, they stood atop the flaming steps leading to Amaterasu's black sun. Despite the appearance of roaring fire, the steps were solid and cool beneath Hinata's sandals, an unsettling contrast to their fiery visage. Each step felt insubstantial, like walking on the edge of a dream or a storm cloud threatening to dissolve underfoot. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across her face, but she dared not look up.
Her gaze remained fixed downward, where Amaterasu's tanned feet now stood directly in her line of sight. Bare save for her black clogs, the sight of them radiated an undeniable presence, as though even this smallest part of the goddess demanded reverence. If Hinata tilted her head up even slightly, she knew she would meet the piercing red-pink eyes of the terrifying deity. A shudder coursed through her, her knees trembling beneath her weight.
Even at this distance, Hinata could smell her. A powerful, overwhelming perfume drifted from Amaterasu, its fragrance as complex as it was evocative. It carried the scent of sunflowers in full bloom, mixed with the earthiness of freshly turned soil, the sweetness of sap, and the faint bitterness of dried grass. It wasn't enticing—it wasn't meant to be. This was the essence of summer itself: unrelenting, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore.
Obito stood silent behind her, his presence a looming shadow. For once, he had the sense not to speak, not to offer some veiled boast about completing Amaterasu's bidding. That restraint was likely the only thing keeping him alive at this moment.
Amaterasu's voice rang out, filling the air like a bell tolling across the entire village. "I thought as much," she said, her words carrying not just sound but an undeniable weight that pressed against the very souls of those who heard them. It wasn't merely her voice—it was nature itself speaking, carried by the breeze, the heat, and the tremor in the ground beneath their feet. Even those far from the center of the chaos heard her with perfect clarity, as though she stood directly before them.
"You are Kaguya's grandchild, are you not?" she continued, her gaze locking onto Hinata. The weight of that gaze alone was almost too much to bear, and then Amaterasu stepped closer. Her tanned hand reached forward, her black claw-like fingernail lifting Hinata's chin with an effortless flick. The touch was feather-light, yet it felt as though the world itself was forcing her head upward.
White eyes met red.
"No… not her grandchild," Amaterasu corrected herself, studying Hinata's features with an intense, invasive scrutiny. "But you do have her chakra." Her lips curled slightly, a faint expression of amusement or disdain—it was impossible to tell. "Yes, I see it now. You still bear traces of Kaguya's beauty, diminished though they may be. Her Byakugan was always a pale thing compared to my Gurengan."
The disdain in her tone was unmistakable as she spoke of her own eyes, her red-pink pupils glowing faintly. They were an otherworldly twist on the Byakugan, the color vibrant and alive, as though carrying the very fire of the sun within. She lingered for a moment, studying Hinata as if weighing her worth, then turned her attention away with a graceful sweep of her sleeve.
"You, however, are quite ugly," Amaterasu declared, her eyes now fixed on Obito. She tilted her head, her expression unreadable as she regarded him. "That twisted face, mismatched eyes, and pallid, scarred flesh… I see now why you chose to hide behind a mask."
If Obito took offense to her words, he didn't show it. His expression remained composed, though a faint flicker of his Sharingan betrayed some distant thought.
"Fortunately," Amaterasu continued, "I quite adore ugly things." Her lips curled into a faint, cruel smile. "And I am a god of my word. You shall henceforth be my first vassal."
Obito dropped to one knee, bowing his head low. "Thank you, my goddess." His tone was devoid of mockery now, tinged with a reverence that seemed almost unnatural. "I have already prepared a country that is ready to receive you. Simply say the word, and I will take you there."
Amaterasu's gaze shifted away from him, sweeping over the ruined streets of Konohagakure. Her expression turned sour as she took in the smoldering rubble, the scattered bodies, and the flickering remnants of life still clinging to the edges of her black sun's light. "I do hope they are more receptive than this backwater village has been," she said, her voice laced with disdain.
Her eyes returned to Hinata, her expression sharpening. "However, there are matters to resolve here before I depart. This village must understand the consequences of rejecting me. And this child…" Her voice dropped, becoming almost predatory. "She still holds something of mine."
Hinata's breath caught as Amaterasu's crimson eyes bore into her, the weight of the goddess's words pressing down like the heat of a midsummer sun. Yet, above them, the black sun loomed—a reminder that all was not lost. Its shrinking form flickered with unstable energy, a faint yet unmistakable hope.
The plan was reckless, almost foolish, but Hinata hadn't come this far to give up. If the portal could still be entered, then Amaterasu could still be forced back through it. Her arrival had been inevitable, but her permanence here wasn't. This battle wasn't over—not yet.
She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. Her thoughts brushed against the Yata Mirror's spectral presence, the artifact humming faintly in her left eye, as if aware of what she was about to do. It offered no guidance, only potential—a tool she could wield if she dared.
Amaterasu's voice broke through her thoughts, smooth and heavy like molten gold. "What will it be, Kaguya's grandchild?" she asked, her tone almost playful. "Understand, child, that I extend this courtesy only out of respect for my one-time friend. Will you give me what is mine willingly, or must I rip it from your skull?" Her claw-like nails flexed, black as obsidian, gleaming against the firelight.
Hinata's heart raced as those talons came into focus. The instinct to run, to cower, surged through her veins. Amaterasu's aura was suffocating, a weight that pressed down on her spirit and body alike. She was a god—a true god—and Hinata was painfully mortal.
But she had made her choice.
If she had been the Hinata of old, the shy girl who hid behind her hair and her self-doubt, she might have crumbled under the goddess's gaze. But that girl no longer existed. The people below her had entrusted her with their futures, and she couldn't let them down. She wouldn't.
The memory of Itachi's bloodied face, his blind defense of her against Obito, flashed through her mind. The way Naruto had tackled Sasuke, buying her just a few precious seconds. The unwavering determination of her allies below, even in the face of an impossible enemy. They all fought because they believed in something greater than themselves. Hinata owed them the same.
She took a deep breath, her trembling ceasing as her hands steadied. "I am not Kaguya's grandchild," she said, her voice quiet but firm, each word gathering strength as she spoke. She reached up, placing her fingers against her temple, activating one of the eight critical tenketsu points in her body. Chakra surged through her, spiraling outward in waves that lifted her hair and clothing, a storm of energy forming around her.
Amaterasu tilted her head slightly, her expression bemused. "Then speak, child. Name yourself. Let me know the fool who dares to stand against me." She smirked, her arms spreading wide in mock invitation. "And understand that when I kill you, it will not be out of malice. Your life is but an echo of Kaguya's betrayal. This is justice."
Hinata's breath hitched, but she forced herself to meet the goddess's crimson gaze—the Gurengan, as Amaterasu called them. They were as fierce as the sun, unrelenting in their heat, and yet… Hinata stood firm. She straightened, the energy around her condensing into something sharper, more focused. Her fear melted into resolve, and her voice rang out clearly, cutting through the crackling flames and oppressive silence.
Their battle—the clash that would determine the fate of the world and decide the course of history—was about to commence. Though it would have been enough for Hinata to simply offer her given name, she felt a surge of resolve, a need to honor the faith her people had placed in her. She would not face this divine trial as just Hyūga Hinata, but as the symbol they had come to revere—the name they had bestowed upon her in recognition of her strength and purpose.
"I am Hinata of the White Lotus," she declared. Her words carried weight, a certainty that echoed across the battlefield.
Chapter End
AN: So I wanna talk briefly about why Amaterasu. To be honest, I went back and forth between several of the gods for which one would be summoned. Susanoo, Tsukuyomi, Kotoamatsukami, and even Kamui as well. I ended up going with Amaterasu though because of her connection to the sun and the etymology of Hinata's name. Both her surname and given name are able to be written with the Kanji for 日向 which literally means to "face the sun" and thus the main antagonist for this story was chosen.