Hinata of the White Lotus

by froznx

On the verge of death in her fight against Neji, Hinata awakens an advanced version of the Byakugan. Now with the power of an ancient ally on her side, she begins to unravel the truth of their world and her place in it. As her powers and confidence continue to grow while facing off against increasingly dangerous foes, she becomes known as The White Lotus. This is her legend.

60. The Six Paths of Pain

Hinata: Byakurenden

The Six Paths of Pain

---

Rain fell for the first time on Akatsukigakure in over two years.

Not just rain, the sky above was alive with motion—a vast legion of shinobi from Kumo, Konoha, and Suna descended like a living storm, their forms silhouetted against flashes of lightning. Tens of thousands of figures streaked through the clouds, their chakra-infused bodies glowing faintly as they prepared to assault the Hidden Village of the Dawn. Explosions of vibrant jutsu erupted sporadically in the distance, illuminating the city and casting fleeting shadows over the village's labyrinth of rooftops and canals.

Pain's expression was unreadable, his presence radiating an unshakable calm despite the overwhelming odds. A faint breeze rustled his cloak, emblazoned with the red clouds of the Akatsuki, as he silently surveyed the chaos that was about to unfold.

He raised one hand, palm open toward the heavens, as if to embrace the storm of enemies descending upon him. In reality, he was feeling the rain against his palm, a simultaneously nostalgic and yet almost traumatic sensation. Their home had finally been free from those accursed clouds, yet now it returned, bringing with it foreign invaders.

The rain intensified, as though it mourned the violence to come. Then it stopped, the city-wide sized portal that the rain had been falling through flickering, before snapping abruptly shut. Sunlight once again reigned supreme, only hindered now by the mass of Ninja that had crossed through.

Just before it had closed, the image reflected in the portal had changed briefly. When the armies of the enemy fell through, the image on the other side had led to the mountaintops of the Land of Lightning. Just as it started flickering, there was a brief moment where instead it reflected ancient ruins and ethereal green instead. It vanished so quickly it could have been a trick of the imagination. Yet Pain knew it wasn't.

"It seems your caution wasn't wasted." Nagato spoke to the one standing next to him—Uchiha Obito. The two of them hadn't always seen eye to eye, and Pain always knew that Obito was only using him to further his own goals. At the very least—that was how their relationship had started.

Amaterasu had changed all that. After she arrived, Obito revealed his true self to Pain. He told him about how he too was only being used—by Black Zetsu and by Uchiha Madara—and how that was no longer true. He was free and he offered Nagato, Konan, and their village a chance to be free too.

Of course, Pain had thought him crazy. However, when Amaterasu demonstrated her ability to split the clouds and reveal the sun he had been immediately and irrevocably convinced of her divinity.

Before that, he allowed Konan and the others of Amegakure to convince him he was something like a God, but after seeing Amaterasu, he knew how foolish and childish that notion had always been. By himself he couldn't even save his best friend, let alone split open the clouds.

She gave their country more than just sunlight—she gave their people and all the other people that had joined their growing empire hope.

Which was why he would fight for her—and if need be—die for her.

"I'd say it's more like I got lucky," Obito admitted, his tone carrying a rare mix of humility and satisfaction. The truth was, luck had played a role, but so had his meticulous preparation. Over the past months, he had devised and implemented countless traps to account for the myriad scenarios they had anticipated. Each one was designed with surgical precision, tailored to counter potential threats. One such contingency accounted for the unlikely but evidently possible scenario of Kakashi utilizing the Sharingan that Obito had gifted him so long ago.

"With the transmigrants out of the picture…" Obito continued, his voice steady, as though issuing an order to fate itself, "I should be able to leave our armies to you, just as we planned. Any objections?"

"None," came the reply, curt and resolute.

Pain stood like a statue of divine authority, his expression unreadable but suffused with calm intensity. The man before Obito was not alone. Pain was everywhere. Through his Rinnegan, he occupied six bodies simultaneously, each one a vessel of his indomitable will. Even as he spoke, the Rinnegan allowed his six paths to share their collective vision, granting him a near-omniscient awareness of the battlefield.

The other five bodies were already in motion, scattered across the village in meticulously selected strategic points. One oversaw the rallying of their forces, galvanizing them with calm yet commanding words. Another coordinated the defensive lines, anticipating the enemy's approach with chilling precision. Each body served a unique purpose, moving with synchronized efficiency, like the limbs of a single, powerful entity.

Even now, as this body stood before Obito, his other selves were fully immersed in preparation. Every moment counted. This was no mere skirmish—it was the beginning of a decisive confrontation, and Pain was determined to meet it with overwhelming force.

Obito took one last look at the falling enemy before turning toward Pain. "I'm counting on you, partner." His Sharingan spun, the tomoe swirling faster and faster until the space around him twisted unnaturally. The air itself seemed to ripple, warping like heat rising from scorched earth. For a brief moment, his form distorted, stretching and folding in ways that defied logic—his body unraveling into spiraling fragments before collapsing inward, swallowed by the void.

The space where he had stood snapped back into place with a sickening lurch, leaving behind only the faint echo of chakra vibrations as reality sealed itself shut.

He was off to attend to the mother of his soon-to-be children—the goddess who had brought the sun. The light of her divine radiance had pierced the storm, banishing the shadows of a broken world and birthing an empire in its wake. But even her light could not hold dominion forever.

Above, the moon crept ever closer to the sun, a celestial omen that foretold the birth of two more gods—vessels of her will, destined to reshape creation. Yet, they were not here. Not yet.

The enemy, however, had arrived.

The Hidden Villages' forces had descended like thunder, their battle cries shattering the stillness that had reigned over Akatsukigakure for too long. Their shadows stretched long beneath the unyielding sun, defying the light that sought to burn them away. And so, the war began—not as a clash of mortals, but as the opening salvo in a struggle between the heavens and earth.

Konoha's shinobi surged into the labyrinthine streets, their formations breaking apart into squads the moment they touched the roofs and sides of the skyscrapers. The Akimichi clan led the charge, their bodies swelling to monstrous proportions as they smashed through barricades and toppled walls with brute force.

The Aburame followed, their insect swarms boiling out in waves, filling the alleys with an inescapable hum as thousands of kikaichū descended upon any enemy foolish enough to stand in their path. The Nara moved like shadows themselves, their hands forming seals as tendrils of living darkness stretched out from their feet, ensnaring enemies and dragging them into the gloom.

Kumo's lightning tore through the air like jagged spears, arcing between enemies and leaving trails of charred stone and flesh. Suna's winds howled through the narrow streets, whipping up clouds of debris and slicing through Akatsuki defenses like invisible blades.

That wasn't to say that the Akatsuki Teikoku wouldn't be overcome so easily.

Kusagakure and Takigakure forces rose from the shadows, their guerilla tactics perfectly suited for the twisted alleys and bridges of Akatsukigakure. Otonin appeared from unseen passageways, their chakra pulses disrupting enemy jutsu mid-cast, leaving vulnerable targets open to ambush. Former Iwa shinobi reinforced the defenses, raising walls of earth and collapsing pathways, turning entire streets into traps designed to bury their attackers alive. Kirinin emerged from the smoke, their silent forms cutting through the chaos like phantoms.

Amenin—once the oppressed protectors of this village—emerged from the shadows with ruthless precision, darting between the invading forces and striking with deadly efficiency. Their kunai gleamed wet with blood, their faces grim with devotion to the goddess who had freed them from the rain.

Pain's Rinnegan pulsed, absorbing every detail of the chaos below. To others, the battlefield was anarchy—jutsu clashing in bursts of flame and lightning, bodies falling amidst screams of rage and agony—but not to him.

To Pain, this was order. A divine harmony composed of death and desperation. Each scream, each flare of chakra, was a note in a grand symphony, and he was its conductor.

"Nagato!"

The voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Pain's Chikushōdō turned, and there, amidst the smoke and fire, stood Uchiha Itachi, his Sharingan blazing like crimson blood.

"What did you do to the White Lotus?" Itachi's tone was sharp, but beneath it, there was something colder—a demand for truth, not out of fear, but out of calculation. He had seen it too. Just before the portal snapped shut, the image had flickered—an alien landscape, shimmering green and ancient, haunting in its strangeness.

Pain's response came with the weight of unshakable certainty. "We couldn't allow her—or the others carrying the ghosts of Kaguya's grandchildren—to interfere." He paused, his tone as calm and measured as the falling rain. "Rest assured, Itachi. They are alive. But they are beyond your reach now. They will not save you."

He pressed his hand to the sky, and the air quaked with the surge of his chakra. A summoning circle flared beneath him, etched in twisting symbols that pulsed with unholy light.

"Kuchiyose no Jutsu."

The explosion of smoke that followed drowned out the battlefield for an instant, but when it cleared, the earth trembled beneath the weight of what he had unleashed.

A Drill-Beaked Bird screeched as it rose high above the chaos, its massive wings slicing through the dense air and sending gale-force winds rippling through the labyrinthine streets below. The polished spiral of its beak gleamed in the harsh sunlight, a weapon honed for piercing flesh and stone alike. It dove like a spear, narrowly missing a squad of Kumo shinobi who scattered moments before impact. The resulting shockwave shattered windows and buckled rooftops, yet Pain's careful chakra control guided its force outward, preserving the structural integrity of the surrounding buildings.

The bird struck again, this time impaling a shinobi mid-leap. Its jagged beak pierced through the man's ribcage, hoisting him into the air before flinging his body into an incoming squad. Yet it did not linger to feast on death. It obeyed Pain's will, soaring skyward to redirect and scatter the Kumo lightning users attempting to gain aerial dominance.

A Multi-Headed Dog erupted from the shadows of a collapsed spire, its claws gouging trenches into the ground as it lunged. Each strike against its hulking form split it further—heads and limbs multiplying like a hydra. It tore through defensive formations, scattering shinobi with bone-rattling force, but Pain's focus remained sharp.

When it neared a fragile canal bridge, it suddenly veered, tearing through open streets instead, funneling its destructive path away from critical infrastructure. Wind blades and fireballs seared its flesh, yet each wound only caused it to grow, expanding its nightmare presence into a wave of snapping jaws and pounding claws.

Suna's elite Wind Scythe Division swarmed it, aiming precise strikes to contain the beast. But Pain anticipated them. The dog's massive paws overturned carts and rubble, choking pathways and isolating the enemy squads in pockets of debris before its many heads descended upon them.

A Snake-Tailed Chameleon slithered unseen through the canals, its translucent body blending seamlessly into the surroundings. Konoha's Byakugan scouts barked warnings as their eyes pierced its camouflage, but even their precision could not save them from its cunning.

It struck like a serpent, its tongue snapping out and coiling around one unlucky shinobi before dragging him into its gaping maw. Silent and methodical, it moved between alleys, its tail impaling kunoichi and yanking them into the shadows without leaving so much as a ripple in the dust. Its illusionary presence turned the streets into a web of paranoia, shinobi firing blindly at empty air as the beast advanced undeterred.

A Rhino roared as it crashed through defensive lines like a living battering ram, its armored hide impervious to kunai and fire jutsu. Its massive frame crushed barricades and sent Suna's wind-enhanced spears splintering harmlessly against its thick hide. Yet Pain directed its momentum, keeping it along the main thoroughfares to prevent irreparable damage to the surrounding structures.

Even as Konoha's Akimichi expanded to gargantuan sizes to halt its charge, the Rhino slammed into them with earth-shaking force, sending the giants reeling. Their colossal bodies toppled buildings as they fell, but Pain's careful guidance ensured the damage remained contained to unoccupied zones.

A Crustacean loomed at the edge of the canals, its massive pincers rising and falling like the jaws of some ancient predator. Chakra-infused foam spewed from its mouth, blanketing entire streets and hardening almost instantly. Shinobi trapped within the foam struggled, their movements slowed and limbs immobilized. Kumo's lightning-wielders moved to counter it, arcs of energy crackling through the hardened resin, but the beast's chitinous armor absorbed the strikes, its claws snapping through formations with deadly precision.

Yet even this chaos was orchestrated. The Crustacean corralled enemies into tight alleyways, cutting off avenues of retreat and funneling survivors toward the waiting forces of the Akatsuki Teikoku.

An Ox thundered into the fray, its horns cleaving through makeshift barricades and tossing bodies aside as if they weighed nothing. Each step sent tremors through the city, forcing enemy formations to scatter before its advance.

It moved purposefully, guided by Pain's will to avoid destabilizing the network of underground tunnels and waterways that supported the city's foundations. It kept to open plazas and thoroughfares, maximizing its devastation without compromising Akatsukigakure's structure.

A Panda stood as an immovable wall, its iron-hard skin deflecting waves of kunai and explosive tags as it guarded key choke points.

Konoha's Aburame unleashed swarms of insects, but the Panda's chakra defenses burned them away before they could burrow into its flesh. Shadow bindings from the Nara clan lashed out, only for the beast to rip free with sheer force, leaving gouges in the stone where its feet dragged. Its slow, deliberate strikes forced enemy shinobi to fall back, buying time for the Akatsuki Teikoku's forces to regroup.

And regroup they did. Former shinobi of Iwa emerged from the rubble, their Earth Style jutsu raising walls to funnel enemies into kill zones. Kiri's Mist ninja shrouded entire streets in fog, concealing their ambushes as water techniques flooded alleyways and drowned squads caught off guard. Sound shinobi struck with sonic bursts, shattering eardrums and scrambling sensory ninjutsu, while the Grass and Waterfall forces moved in coordinated strikes, wielding nature-based jutsu to overwhelm weakened formations. Samurai from the Land of Iron carved paths through enemy ranks with blinding precision, their chakra-forged blades cutting through even the reinforced defenses of the Akimichi.

The Drill-Beaked Bird streaked toward Itachi like a bolt of black lightning, its spiral beak gleaming with lethal intent.

But before it could strike, a wall of sand erupted, slamming into the beast and knocking it back mid-flight. The bird shrieked, its wings flailing as it steadied itself against the sudden counterattack.

Pain's Rinnegan shifted.

"The Sage of the Desert," he said, his voice carrying a faint edge of amusement.

Gaara stood atop a pillar of sand, his eyes glowing with golden resolve. The grains swirled around him like a living storm. He raised a single hand, and the sand writhed in response, stretching outward like claws ready to grasp and crush.

"For what purpose do you still resist?" Pain's words rang out, his voice carried like thunder. "Your village is dust, your people scattered like ash. The will of your nation has already spoken—they have chosen Amaterasu-sama as their salvation."

The words carried more than disdain; they carried judgment, as if he were not speaking as a man but as a priest presiding over sinners who dared defy divine law.

Gaara's gaze remained steady, his golden eyes reflecting the sunlight and the swirling sands that coiled protectively around him. "There are those among my people who have not given up hope—who refuse to be swallowed by fear and false promises. I will be their voice. I will be their shield." He replied, voice as strong as his absolute defense.

The sand surged forward as he spoke, rising in towering waves that twisted toward the Drill-Beaked Bird, its spiraled beak gleaming as it dove. But before the sand could crush it, the Multi-Headed Dog lunged, intercepting the attack in an explosion of grit and debris.

Instead of falling beneath the sand's crushing weight, the beast split—its flesh rippling unnaturally as new heads burst forth, snarling and snapping. The monstrous forms scrambled free of the sand's grasp, fanning out like missiles toward the three leaders of the invading army.

Pain's voice came again, steady and unshaken despite Gaara's defiance. "Hope?" he asked, his tone heavier now, colder. "Hope is a lie. A chain that binds the weak to suffering." He raised a hand, directing his summons with surgical precision. "Amaterasu-sama offer freedom from that suffering. The Shadow Alliance cannot protect them—you cannot even protect yourselves."

"Enough talking!" Ei roared, his chakra flaring with violent intensity as arcs of lightning crackled across his body. His golden vambraces gleamed in the sun, amplifying his presence like a thunder god descending upon the battlefield. "You think this is enough to stop us?!"

The Multi-Headed Dog's jaws were closing in, its teeth gleaming like daggers, when a shadow fell over the battlefield.

"Kuchiyose no Jutsu!"

The voice echoed like a war cry, and the sky erupted.

They came in a flood—an army of toads bursting forth in a mass of chakra smoke and thunderous impacts. Some landed in the streets, their enormous forms shaking the ground and cracking the stone beneath their webbed feet. Others perched atop rooftops, their weight causing spires to collapse beneath them.

Three titanic toads descended directly onto the Multi-Headed Dog, pinning it beneath their massive bodies. The impact of their landing sent shockwaves rippling outward, shattering nearby windows and buckling walls. The snarling heads of the beast snapped wildly, but the toads didn't falter. One, with red markings running down its leathery face, drove a massive staff into the ground like a hammer, crushing one of the dog's heads beneath its weight. Another, clad in samurai armor, unsheathed a colossal blade and cleaved through snapping jaws with a single stroke, ichor spraying as it roared.

And there, standing atop the largest of them, was Jiraiya.

His wild white hair flowed behind him, untouched by the chaos of the battlefield. His red cloak flared as he leapt from the toad's back, landing lightly atop the ruined spire where Pain's Animal Path stood. His eyes were sharp, hard with determination, yet tinged with something softer—regret, perhaps, or disappointment.

Pain stared at his former master, his expression unreadable. Through the eyes of his summons, he witnessed the devastation Jiraiya's forces had already begun to unleash—fireballs from the toads scorching his Chameleon's camouflage, water bullets slamming into the Rhino and staggering its momentum. But Pain himself did not flinch.

He had wondered, in the depths of his mind, how he would feel when this moment came. When the man who had once saved him—the man he had called sensei—stood against him. Would it feel like betrayal? Would it hurt?

But now, standing across from Jiraiya, he felt nothing.

The Toad Sage's voice cut through the chaos like the sharp crack of thunder.

"What are you three doing?"

He ignored Nagato for the moment, his sharp eyes instead fixing on Itachi, Gaara, and Ei. The three commanders of the Shadow Alliance—leaders whose mere presence rallied tens of thousands—stood poised, but their attention lingered too long on Pain. Jiraiya's voice snapped them out of it like a whip.

"If the leaders of our army are distracted by one man, then who's directing our forces?" Jiraiya demanded, his voice carrying the authority of a hardened veteran and the sting of a disappointed teacher. "Get back to your troops and command them before we're overrun! Leave my stupid disciple to me!"

For a moment, the three men hesitated, their gazes flickering toward Jiraiya. Gaara's sand coiled protectively around him, reluctant to leave the battlefield's center. Ei's lightning armor crackled with raw defiance, his muscles tense, itching for action. And Itachi's crimson Sharingan lingered on Nagato, calculating, cold—but behind that sharp gaze, Jiraiya sensed the same weight of responsibility pressing down on him.

Then the sound of war dragged them back to reality. Explosions rippled across the streets, and screams echoed through the narrow alleys. Buildings crumbled under the weight of summoned beasts, and fires spread unchecked through the tangled ruins. The battlefield teetered at the edge of collapse, chaos threatening to drown their forces if order wasn't restored.

Itachi was the first to nod, his gaze steady. "Thank you, Jiraiya."

"Thank me after we've won," Jiraiya replied gruffly, his eyes never leaving Nagato.

The three leaders vanished in bursts of motion—Gaara's sand spiraling behind him as he shot toward the midlines, Ei's lightning-charged form streaking toward the rearguard, and Itachi disappearing in a flurry of crows to reorganize the front.

Jiraiya exhaled slowly, his focus narrowing as the weight of the battlefield fell away, leaving only the towering figure of Pain before him. He flexed his fingers, feeling the dampness of the lingering rain dissipate under the relentless sun. His heart was steady, his body battle-ready, but his mind churned.

Nagato.

The boy he had once taught, once protected. A boy with a dream of peace so fragile it had been shattered into jagged edges. Jiraiya searched the man's face now—the high cheekbones, the sharp jawline, the rings of the Rinnegan—and saw only echoes of the child he had once known. It was like staring at a statue weathered by time and grief, its edges hardened into something unrecognizable.

"Now then…" Jiraiya tilted his head, forcing a cocky grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It seems you need someone to remind you of who you once were, Nagato."

Pain's eyes tracked him without flinching, the Rinnegan reflecting the light of the sun. When he spoke, his voice was measured, the words carrying the weight of conviction honed into something unshakable.

"I am not the one who has forgotten."

His face tilted upward slightly, basking in the sun's glow. For a moment, Jiraiya could almost see the faintest flicker of contentment cross his features—not pride, but reverence. The warm rays of Amaterasu's light played across the ridges of his face, illuminating the piercings that gleamed like black iron.

"The rain has stopped, sensei." Pain's voice softened for just an instant, yet there was no warmth in it. Only finality. "The clouds that once drowned this village are gone. Look around you. Do you see the people suffering in the shadows? Or do you see them standing in the light of a new dawn?"

Jiraiya's expression hardened, his grin fading. "I see a village turned into a battlefield. I see innocent people buried under rubble because you couldn't tell the difference between guiding them and abandoning them."

Pain's eyes narrowed slightly, but his composure remained. "You only see what you want to see." His voice grew sharper now, edged with the cold steel of certainty. "The old world you loved so much is what created this suffering in the first place. Amaterasu-sama didn't bring war—she brought salvation. The war you're fighting right now is proof of that. It's the last gasp of a dying era, desperate to claw back what it lost."

Jiraiya's jaw clenched. For a moment, the weight of Pain's words settled heavily on his shoulders. But then, his resolve flared, as fierce and untamed as the fire that burned in his veins.

"We're not done yet, Nagato." Jiraiya's voice dropped lower, steadier. "I'm not letting you wash your hands of this. You're not some divine prophet looking down on the world—you're a kid I once knew who was afraid of losing the people he cared about."

Pain didn't flinch, but Jiraiya saw the faintest twitch in the corner of his mouth.

"That child died a long time ago," Pain said quietly. "He died with Yahiko. I was reborn in this body—and now I am Pain. You all need to be reminded of that."

Jiraiya's eyes burned. "We know already." His voice rose, pushing against the suffocating weight of the battlefield. "The White Lotus saw that there were six of you. I don't know how you pulled it off, but we'll stop you. Every last one of you."

Pain's lips curled into the faintest smirk. "Try, if you can."

The words hung in the air for a moment, but Jiraiya didn't move. He wasn't ready to give up—not on this fight and not on Nagato. The boy he had known was buried deep under layers of pain and conviction, but Jiraiya still believed he was there. Somewhere.

For now, though, belief wasn't enough.

The ground trembled as Pain's summons roared, and Jiraiya's fingers flew through hand signs. Chakra flared, and Gamabunta bellowed a challenge loud enough to shake the city. The battle wasn't just between armies anymore.

It was between a man who refused to stop believing—and a god who no longer remembered how.

Pain's Rinnegan encompassed the battlefield in its entirety. The city of Akatsukigakure had become a crucible of fire and steel, the screams of shinobi echoing through the labyrinth of alleys and canals as bodies fell like rain into the murky waters below. Explosions of chakra illuminated the skyline, the brilliance of lightning, wind, and fire techniques clashing with summoned beasts and enemy forces.

The panda staggered as a massive Akimichi warrior swelled to titanic proportions, his arms like battering rams slamming into the beast's iron-hard hide. The force of the impact sent tremors rippling through the earth, shattering nearby windows and toppling smaller structures. Yet the panda endured, its sheer weight and durability driving the Akimichi back, crushing through walls and debris in its relentless advance.

Below, the Rhino and Ox surged forward along a crumbling bridge, their combined mass turning the structure into rubble beneath their feet. They tore through enemy formations like living siege weapons, battering shinobi aside with horns and hooves. The screams of the fallen mixed with the splintering of wood and stone as the bridge collapsed, sending bodies plummeting into the water below.

The Snake-Tailed Chameleon stalked unseen, its translucent skin rippling as it struck from the shadows. Its tail lashed out, impaling shinobi mid-leap and dragging their bodies into the darkness where its coiled tongue suffocated them in silence. Those who survived its first attack flailed desperately, unleashing jutsu into empty air, but the creature had already moved, vanishing back into the maze of canals.

Through it all, Pain's other bodies—the Six Paths—descended into the city, scattered across the battlefield like divine avatars, each one an extension of his will. Through them, he brought devastation and judgment, their combined vision feeding him every flicker of motion, every desperate gasp of breath.

It was through Ningendō that he first tasted the souls of the fallen.

The Path of the Human Realm emerged from the depths of a narrow alley, his long orange hair whipping behind him in the swirling wind. Blood dripped from the hem of his black cloak as he moved with eerie calm. To him, this war was nothing more than a harvest—a field of trembling stalks ripe for reaping.

Two shinobi darted past—one from Konoha, the other from Kumo—moving in practiced formation. Their chakra signatures flared brightly, their breaths sharp and focused as they raced to reinforce their comrades. They never saw him.

In a single motion, Ningendō struck.

His hands clamped down on their heads, fingers digging into their skulls like hooks. The moment of contact sent a jolt of raw, invasive chakra surging through their bodies, bypassing flesh and bone to latch onto something deeper—the fragile threads of their souls.

The Kumo shinobi's body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as his vision blurred. He saw flashes of his life—the village he had left behind, the faces of loved ones, the dreams he would never fulfill. Terror clawed at his mind, but it was already too late. Ningendō's grip tightened, and with a sharp pull, the shinobi's essence was ripped free.

It was not clean.

The soul came writhing out, a translucent, trembling shape bound to the body by tendrils of light. It screamed—though not aloud, for no sound escaped it—its cry reverberating directly into the senses of those who could see chakra. The Kumo shinobi's body collapsed instantly, his flesh slack and empty, but his soul dangled in Ningendō's grip like a struggling insect.

Ningendō savored the moment. To him, there was no greater display of control, no greater evidence of divinity, than to hold another's essence between his fingers. He marveled at its fragility, at how easily the threads of life could be severed, leaving behind only a hollow shell.

Then he let it drop.

The soul plunged into the waters below, dissolving into the black depths like ink bleeding into paper. Its cries ceased as it vanished, consumed utterly.

The Konoha shinobi fared no better. She screamed and fought, her chakra flaring in desperation as Ningendō's grip tightened. Her struggle only made the process slower, more agonizing. Her essence unraveled thread by thread, spiraling out of her body as her eyes rolled back and her knees buckled. Her final breath escaped in a trembling sigh, and then her soul followed its companion into the abyss.

Ningendō released her lifeless body, letting it crumple atop the ruins. He gazed down at his hands, stained not with blood but with something far more intangible—and far more satisfying.

From above, the sun's harsh rays illuminated the scene, casting Ningendō's silhouette like a shadow against the broken street. The light caught on his piercings, making them gleam like fangs, and his expression remained impassive—almost reverent—as he turned to find his next victims.

"Get him!" A masked ANBU of Konoha roared, his voice cutting through the din of war.

The order ignited movement. Black-cloaked figures of Konoha's elite ANBU operatives surged toward Ningendō, their masks gleaming in the sunlight as kunai glinted in their hands. They moved like shadows, silent and precise, weaving through the chaos with deadly intent.

From the alley behind Pain, the Samurai of the Akatsuki Teikoku emerged to meet them, their gleaming armor reflecting the sun's brilliance like polished blades. They moved as a single unit, their katanas ringing out as they clashed with the shinobi.

Kunai hissed through the air, deflected by blinding arcs of steel as the Samurai countered with swift, deliberate strikes. The ANBU fought back with equal ferocity, their movements sharp and brutal. Chakra flared as jutsu detonated, flames and shadows twisting through the streets, scorching the stone and leaving trails of blackened ash.

Bodies fell. Blood spattered across cracked pavement. The battle was a violent, swirling maelstrom, but Ningendō stood untouched—calm amid the storm.

He stepped forward, black rods slipping from his sleeves as though conjured from the shadows. With one fluid motion, he intercepted two ANBU, their kunai meeting his rods in a clash of sparks and steel. The impact sent vibrations through the air, but Pain didn't flinch.

The Samurai pressed closer, their blades cutting down any who dared approach their god's vessel. Yet the ANBU pushed back, refusing to yield. Blood sprayed, screams echoed, and the streets grew slick beneath their feet.

The narrow alleyways of Akatsukigakure became killing grounds, the confined spaces amplifying the sounds of clashing metal, shattering stone, and the wet, sickening squelch of flesh being pierced and torn. Blood slicked the cobblestones, forming crimson rivers that ran into the canals below, carrying broken bodies with them.

An ANBU operative screamed as a Samurai's katana cleaved through his temple, splitting his mask in two and exposing the shocked expression frozen on his dying face. Another fell as a chakra-infused tanto pierced his throat, blood bubbling from his mouth as he sank to his knees. But for every ANBU that fell, two Samurai crumpled beneath the onslaught of shadow techniques, fireballs, and precision strikes aimed at vital points.

One ANBU manipulated shadows like living ropes, ensnaring the legs of three Samurai and locking them in place. Kunai rained down from above, impaling them before they could break free. Another unleashed a swarm of insects from beneath his cloak—Aburame drones that burrowed into the gaps in the Samurai's armor, devouring their flesh from within.

Yet the Samurai pressed forward undeterred, their training and discipline pushing them to meet death with honor. One Samurai, his arm severed at the elbow, roared as he impaled an ANBU through the chest with his remaining katana before collapsing from blood loss. Another fell backward into the canal, dragging two ANBU with him, their bodies vanishing beneath the water in a spray of red mist.

Through the chaos, Pain's Ningendō strode with chilling calm, his chakra rods glinting like obsidian blades. Another two ANBU operatives lunged at him, kunai slashing toward his throat and heart, but he moved like a specter.

With a flick of his wrist, the rods deflected their strikes, his movements fluid and inhuman. The ANBU barely had time to react before the rods pierced their shoulders, pinning them in place. Chakra surged through the rods, severing their connection to their own bodies. Their limbs went limp, their eyes wide with terror as they realized they had lost control.

Pain didn't hesitate. He placed his hands on their heads, fingers digging into their hair as if grasping something fragile—and then he pulled.

Their souls came screaming out, translucent forms writhing and twisting as they were wrenched from their bodies. For an instant, their faces reflected all their fear, all their regrets, before dissolving into nothingness. The empty shells of their bodies crumpled to the ground, discarded like broken tools.

It was then that Pain sensed her.

A flash of steel. A blur of movement. The whistle of a blade cutting through the air.

Uzuki Yugao descended upon him like a storm, her sword tracing a deadly arc toward his neck. Her deep purple hair streamed behind her, free from the mask that marked the others as nameless soldiers. Her face was sharp and focused, her brown eyes burning with lethal intent.

Pain twisted at the last moment, the blade grazing his cheek as he slipped past her strike. The cut was shallow, but it was enough to draw blood—the first time in this war that his opponent had managed to touch him.

Yugao landed in a crouch, her blade already reversing direction as she pivoted to strike again. But Pain's rods were already in motion, stabbing toward her chest. She spun, the edge of her katana deflecting one rod while her gauntlet caught the second, redirecting its force as sparks flew from the impact.

The Samurai surged forward to defend Pain, their swords raised to intercept her, but Yugao moved with blinding speed. She twisted through their ranks like a whirlwind, her katana flashing as she carved through their armor. Blood sprayed in arcs, and bodies fell around her like broken puppets.

Pain's expression remained impassive, but he recognized the danger she posed. This woman was no ordinary ANBU. She fought with the precision of a master swordswoman, her movements honed to perfection through years of relentless training.

"Everyone else, stand back!" Yugao ordered, her voice cutting through the chaos. The remaining ANBU obeyed without hesitation, falling back to deal with the advancing Samurai forces. Yugao didn't spare them a glance. Her focus was locked entirely on Pain.

"You're mine," she declared, her voice steady despite the carnage surrounding her. She leveled her blade, its edge gleaming with chakra.

Pain regarded her with the cold detachment of a god gazing upon a mortal. "You are bold," he said, his voice echoing unnaturally through the battlefield. "But boldness will not save you."

"I don't need saving," Yugao shot back, her grip tightening on her hilt. "I've seen what you're capable of. I've seen what you did to them." She gestured toward the soulless husks sprawled at his feet. "You think that makes you powerful? That's not power. That's cowardice."

Pain tilted his head, as though considering her words. "Cowardice?" His voice was calm, almost pitying. "No. This is justice. And you are about to learn what it means to face true pain."

Yugao didn't wait for him to finish. She lunged, her blade cutting through the air with lethal intent. Pain met her strike, his rods deflecting the blow as chakra sparks exploded between them. The force of the clash sent ripples through the street, but neither combatant yielded.

Around them, the battle raged on, but for Yugao and Pain, the world had narrowed to this moment—their blades and ideals colliding in a deadly dance of steel and will.

Yugao would be the one to deal with this man—the one with the Rinnegan. Over the past two years, she hadn't let herself grow dull. She couldn't afford to.

She remembered the long journey she took with Hinata to the Eighty-Eight Shrines of the Hinoshita Clan, a pilgrimage that had tested them both. It had started as a mission, nothing more. Yugao had expected to face bandits and rogue ninja along the way. She hadn't expected the trials hidden within those ancient shrines—trials that demanded not only strength but also faith, sacrifice, and wisdom.

Hinata had grown with each challenge, her Nichiren Byakugan blossoming into something that defied understanding. She had fought spirits and shadows, endured curses and illusions that sought to break her mind. And through it all, she had stood tall.

But what Yugao remembered most wasn't the battles—it was the quiet moments in between. Sitting beneath the moonlight, patching each other's wounds. Sharing stories about the lives they had left behind, their regrets, their hopes. Somewhere along the way, the line between protector and protected had blurred.

Hinata was no longer a girl who needed saving. She had become a warrior, someone Yugao could trust with her life. And that forced Yugao to grow, too. Hinata's strength had demanded more from her, pushing her to become sharper, faster, and more adaptable. When Yugao had watched Hinata burn with the chakra of the White Lotus, it had sparked something inside her—a need to rise to the same heights.

Now, as she stood on the battlefield, staring into the eyes of Pain, Yugao felt no fear. She had faced monsters and gods, seen power that could shatter mountains and bend reality. Compared to that, a single man with the Rinnegan would be child's play.

And if she faltered, she carried Hinata's teachings with her—the resolve to face the impossible and make it kneel.

Yugao's blade hissed through the air, its arc sharp and purposeful.

Ningendō's black rods met it in a flash of steel and chakra, the collision sending sparks spiraling outward. Yugao gritted her teeth, pushing hard against the rods, but the Path of Pain was unmoved. His strength wasn't natural—it was something borrowed, something far beyond the limits of flesh and bone.

She spun away just as his second rod lashed out, narrowly missing her ribs. Her feet barely touched the cracked stone before she leaped again, flipping over him and slashing downward. Ningendō's orange hair whipped as he sidestepped, moving with an almost mechanical precision. Yugao's blade struck stone, but she didn't stop. She pressed forward, striking and weaving through his defense in a deadly dance.

And still, he matched her. Every strike she threw met the immovable wall of his black rods. Every opening she thought she saw vanished in the blink of an eye.

Yugao's breath quickened. She didn't let it show, but her mind raced. She had fought against overwhelming odds before, but this was different. Ningendō wasn't just a man; he was a puppet, a fragment of something greater. His calm, hollow gaze made her feel like an insect caught under glass.

"You are skilled," Ningendō said at last, his voice even and unhurried, "but this struggle is meaningless. It always was."

His words sent a chill through her, not because she believed them, but because they echoed something she had once feared to be true—that no matter how hard she fought, the world would always be ruled by those with power beyond her comprehension.

But Hinata's voice rang in her mind, gentle but unyielding: We only lose when we stop fighting.

Yugao's grip tightened.

She lunged again, but Ningendō was faster this time. He stepped into her guard, deflecting her blade with one rod while the other struck out, slamming into her side. Pain exploded in her ribs as she staggered, her knees nearly buckling.

He was on her before she could recover.

A hand seized her by the throat, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, and before she could react, he slammed her down against the stone. Her vision blurred for a moment, the impact rattling her skull.

"You'll find peace soon enough."

She felt it—the tug. A horrible, twisting sensation as if something was being pulled loose from her very core. Her chakra flared involuntarily, struggling against the force, but it wasn't enough. Her limbs grew heavier as the pull intensified.

Ningendō leaned closer, his Rinnegan glowing like twin eclipses. Yugao's reflection stared back at her in those rings—small, fragile, mortal. Her breath came shallow, her body trembling as the invisible force tore at her very essence. It felt like drowning, her soul being unraveled strand by strand, pulled from the depths of her being. Her vision blurred, edges darkening, the world narrowing to those endless concentric circles.

And then her fingers brushed against the hilt strapped to her thigh.

The Hidden Blade.

Hinata's parting gift. She had pressed it into Yugao's hands beneath the final arch of the Eighty-Eight Shrines, her expression solemn yet tender, as if she had known this moment would come. The blade's edge had been forged from chakra-infused steel, folded countless times in secret Hinoshita smithing techniques designed to pierce barriers and seals—tools meant for exorcisms and banishing evil.

Her fingers closed around the hilt. The warmth of the chakra-infused steel pulsed against her palm, steady and grounding, as though Hinata's presence lingered within it. The haze threatening to consume her mind cleared, the darkness receding as she drew strength from the bond they had forged—no longer just bodyguard and heir, but sisters-in-arms.

Yugao's eyes snapped open, burning with defiance.

"I won't lose!" she roared, the words tearing from her throat as she ripped the blade free and drove it upward.

Ningendō's Rinnegan widened an instant too late. The Hidden Blade pierced his wrist in a clean strike, severing tendons and muscle. His grip slackened, the soul-stealing technique shattering mid-flow. Yugao rolled immediately, pushing through the burning ache in her limbs. She slashed again—clean, precise—severing his other hand entirely.

Black rods clattered uselessly to the stone. The Path of Pain faltered, no longer the unshakable instrument of divine will.

"Impossible," he whispered, his voice hollow, disbelieving.

"You're not a god." Yugao's voice rang out, sharp and unyielding. She lunged forward, the violet edge of the blade gleaming as it sank into his chest. "You're just another puppet."

Ningendō staggered, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. The light in his Rinnegan dimmed. His body crumpled backward, hitting the stone with a heavy thud.

Yugao fell to one knee, her breaths ragged. As she pushed herself to stand, the Hidden Blade glinting faintly in her hand as her thoughts flickered back to Hinata—her courage, her kindness, her unwavering strength.

Her grip tightening on the blade, Yugao allowed herself one fleeting thought—one silent promise to Hinata.

She would survive this. And together they would all go home.

Even as Ningendō fell, his vision faded but didn't sever. Pain's eyes remained fixed on the battlefield through the shared sight of his remaining Paths. Yugao's blade gleamed in the sunlight as she steadied herself over the fallen body, blood staining the cracked stone at her feet. Her shallow breaths reached him through the void, but Pain felt no anger—only inevitability.

One Path could fall. The will of Pain could not.

From another vantage point, he witnessed the rippling destruction wrought by his summons—beasts tearing through the invaders with primal fury. The Drill-Beaked Bird swept through the streets, scattering enemy formations, while the Multi-Headed Dog rampaged endlessly, its growing forms devouring entire squads.

But Pain's focus shifted again, drawn by a pulse of chakra that flared like fire against the edges of his perception.

Gakidō.

The Preta Path stood unscathed amid an inferno. Flames danced along the barrier that pulsed around him, dissipating as his outstretched hands absorbed their energy. He stood at the head of a battalion of Sound ninja—warriors draped in armor and jagged headbands, their ranks bristling with sharp weapons and cruel jutsu.

Through Gakidō's eyes, Pain saw the faces of his enemies—Atsui and Samui, standing resolute despite the futility of their efforts. The flames roared, devouring the air between them. Smoke rose around them, framing their silhouettes as the remnants of their jutsu faded into the air.

Atsui and Samui stood side by side, their hands still smoking from the combined jutsu they had unleashed—Samui's razor-sharp wind currents fanning the inferno of Atsui's fire release into a searing wave of destruction. The blast struck the advancing force of Sound ninja, engulfing them in an explosion of heat and ash.

But as the smoke cleared, their worst fear materialized.

Gakidō stood unscathed.

The Path of Preta's outstretched hands pulsed with residual chakra, the last flickers of fire dissolving as they made contact with the barrier surrounding him. The air rippled with the aftershocks of absorption, but the attack left not even a scorch mark on his body.

Samui's expression remained calm, but her knuckles whitened as she clutched her blade. Atsui, however, cursed under his breath, sweat beading along his brow as he stepped back. "That's impossible!"

Gakidō's lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. "Your chakra… belongs to me."

Before they could react, he surged forward, moving faster than either had anticipated. Samui's blade lashed out, but the black rods hidden in Gakidō's hands deflected it with ease. Atsui lunged to cover her, fire crackling at his fingertips, but Gakidō grabbed his wrist before he could release another jutsu.

There was a sharp, sickening pull.

Atsui staggered, his chakra flooding out of him like water through a broken dam. His knees buckled as his fire release fizzled out, leaving nothing but smoke and embers. Samui was next—her wind chakra dissipating as Gakidō's palm pressed against her shoulder, draining her strength like a leech.

"No!" Atsui strained to pull free, but his limbs felt leaden. Samui, too, faltered, her eyes dimming as the last of her chakra slipped away.

Gakidō raised a black rod, its surface pulsing with ominous chakra. The jagged tip glinted in the sunlight as it angled toward the fallen shinobi, ready to deliver the killing blow—

"Konoha Senpū!"

A blur of green cut through the dust like a flash of lightning. Gakidō barely had time to register the attack before a spinning kick crashed into its side with explosive force. The Path of Pain flew backward, its body plowing through the wreckage of a collapsed building, steel beams and shattered stone erupting outward in its wake.

Atsui and Samui slumped to the ground, gasping, their bodies trembling from chakra exhaustion. Neither could rise, their limbs refusing to cooperate. But the moment they saw the newcomer land between them and the enemy, a flicker of hope lit their eyes.

Rock Lee stood tall, his green jumpsuit almost glowing under the harsh sunlight, its fabric taut over the iron strength of his frame.

"You dare to prey on the weak?" Lee's voice carried, unwavering despite the chaos surrounding them. His eyes locked onto the emerging figure of Gakidō as it rose from the rubble. "I won't allow it!"

Samui forced her head up, her voice hoarse. "Lee-san… be careful. He—he absorbs chakra!"

Lee's stance shifted. His expression hardened, but his confidence didn't waver. "Then I won't use any."

Gakidō stepped forward, brushing rubble from its shoulders. Its Rinnegan gleamed, twin voids reflecting Lee's determined face. "Another insect," it said, its voice as hollow as its eyes. "Your taijutsu will mean nothing against me."

Lee didn't speak. He simply sank deeper into his stance, lowering his center of gravity. His muscles coiled like steel springs, ready to explode forward at the first opening.

Behind him, the rustle of fabric signaled the arrival of another figure. Haruno Sakura knelt beside Atsui and Samui without hesitation, her hands already glowing with soft green light as she scanned their injuries.

"You're both going to be okay," Sakura said quickly, her voice calm despite the tension in her shoulders. Chakra flowed steadily from her palms, stabilizing their disrupted networks. Sweat beaded on her brow, but she didn't falter.

Samui winced, her teeth grinding together as pain flared through her body. "He's… not going to give you time."

"Then I'll give her all the time she needs!"

The declaration rang out like a hammer striking steel.

Tenten.

She dropped down beside Sakura, already unrolling a scroll with a flick of her wrist. Symbols glowed as chakra pulsed through the paper, and with a burst of smoke, a rain of weapons materialized—kunai, shuriken, and serrated blades gleaming with deadly precision.

Tenten's hands danced, grabbing a staff and slamming its base into the ground. The earth cracked slightly under the impact as she raised the weapon, leveling its tip toward the enemy. Her eyes burned with fierce resolve.

"No one's getting through me."

Lee felt the fire of their shared determination burning at his back, steady and unyielding. He didn't need to look—he trusted them completely. With Sakura's healing and Tenten's defense, they had everything they needed.

All he had to do was win.

Gakidō took another step forward, its hands humming ominously with power. The ground trembled with each step, its black rods gleaming like fangs in the sun. The Rinnegan's unblinking gaze bore down on him, cold and impersonal, as if Lee were already dead and didn't know it yet.

Lee steadied himself, feet planted firmly as the battlefield trembled with distant explosions. Yet his thoughts drifted—not to the chaos around him, but to the cold, sterile walls of a hospital room long ago.

He could still feel it. The weight of the blankets pinning him to that hospital bed, his leg as lifeless as stone. He had stared at the ceiling for hours, days, wondering if he'd ever stand again. Wondering if he'd ever keep the promises he'd made to himself, to his team, to Gai-sensei.

Wondering if he'd ever be able to fight.

He had broken everything trying to prove his worth against Gaara—and for what? To be left behind? To be useless?

The memory of Tsunade's arrival stirred in his mind. He hadn't believed it at first—That she could heal him.

The first steps after his surgery had been agony—like walking barefoot on broken glass—but he hadn't stopped. He had pushed himself harder, longer, forcing his legs to remember what it meant to run, to kick, to fight.

But the promise he'd made hadn't been to himself alone.

Hinata.

He saw her clearly in his memory—pale and fragile, lying unconscious in that hospital bed as Tsunade worked to save her life too after her clash with Amaterasu. Lee had stood by her side, his leg barely strong enough to hold him.

"You're stronger than anyone knows," he had whispered. "And I'll get stronger too. Strong enough that you'll never have to fight alone."

That promise had kept him moving even when his body begged him to stop. It had shaped every punch, every kick, every leap since that day.

And now—here—amidst the flames and blood of war, Lee felt the weight of that vow settle over him like armor. He flexed his fingers, stretching them until they felt steady again.

This was why he fought.

He couldn't afford to hesitate. Not with his allies depending on him. Not with so much left to prove.

Rock Lee's eyes sharpened, his stance lowering as Gakidō stepped forward, the Rinnegan gleaming cold and unfeeling.

"I'll give you one chance to surrender," Lee said, his voice steady and unshaken.

Gakidō tilted his head slightly, an almost amused expression flickering across his features. "You're nothing without chakra. You'll die like the rest."

Lee's fists clenched. "I've already faced the end once," he said, the fire in his voice building. "And I refused it."

The fire in his eyes burned brighter than the jutsu Gakidō had devoured. He could feel the heat of the battle around him—the scorch of Atsui's flames still lingering in the air, the sharp tang of ash and blood—but he forced it all away.

"Come," he said quietly, his voice was steady, his spirit unshaken. "I'll show you the strength of hard work."

Gakidō straightened its head, the faintest flicker of curiosity in its hollow expression. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, it lunged.

Lee moved instantly, ducking low as the black rods sliced through the space where his head had been. He pivoted on his heel and delivered a blinding spin-kick, the air snapping as his foot connected with Gakidō's side. The impact should have shattered ribs, but the body barely budged. Instead, Lee felt the drain—his chakra ebbing away, faint but noticeable, like blood seeping from a cut.

He was absorbing his chakra, even without Ninjutsu.

Gakidō retaliated, a black rod stabbing toward Lee's shoulder. Lee twisted aside, catching the rod between his palms and wrenching it free before snapping it in half against his knee. Gakidō didn't flinch. Instead, it dropped low and swept at Lee's legs, forcing him into a backflip to avoid the strike.

Lee landed lightly, but Gakidō was already there, pressing forward with a flurry of attacks. Black rods flashed like daggers. Lee met each one with precise deflections, parrying the strikes with his forearms and legs as sparks flew from the collisions.

They moved in perfect sync—strike, counter, dodge, counterattack—each exchange faster than the last. Gakidō swung wide, aiming for Lee's neck, but Lee ducked and retaliated with a rapid combination of punches and elbow thrusts that drove Gakidō back several steps.

He couldn't give it time to drain him. Keep moving. Don't stop.

Lee surged forward, planting one foot and launching himself into a handstand. His legs became a blur, twisting into a storm of kicks aimed at Gakidō's head and shoulders. The Path of Pain raised its arms, absorbing the strikes one after another, each impact driving it farther back. But the more Lee pushed, the heavier his limbs began to feel.

Gakidō's counter came like lightning. It caught Lee's leg mid-spin and wrenched him out of the air, hurling him toward the ground. Lee twisted at the last second, landing hard on his shoulder and rolling to his feet—but the moment's delay gave Gakidō the opening it needed.

It was on him instantly, rods stabbing forward. Lee dodged the first, then the second, but the third grazed his arm, sending a sharp jolt through his muscles. He leapt back, his breath coming faster now.

His legs felt heavier. His strikes were slower. It wasn't just exhaustion—it was his energy being stolen with every contact, sapping his stamina as surely as if he'd opened the Sixth Gate and burned himself out.

Gakidō knew it, too. Its lips curled in a mockery of a smile as it advanced, its movements precise, methodical—like a predator closing in on a wounded prey.

Lee set his jaw and forced himself upright. His vision tunneled, narrowing to the enemy before him. Not yet.

A whistle cut through the air.

Lee's eyes snapped to the source just in time to see a barrage of chakra-infused weapons descend—kunai, shuriken, and spiked chains, all aimed directly at Gakidō. The Path raised its hands reflexively, absorbing the chakra-infused projectiles into nothing more than toys. All but the last weapon—a weighted spear—wasn't chakra-infused at all. It struck home, embedding itself in Gakidō's shoulder and forcing it back a step.

"Now, Lee!" Tenten's voice rang out from above, her silhouette outlined against the sunlight. She stood poised atop the rubble, another scroll already unfurling in her hands.

Lee didn't hesitate.

He sank into his stance, muscles coiling. The bandages around his hands began to unravel as he focused every ounce of strength left into one final push.

"Third Gate: Gate of Life—Open!"

The air around him ignited with raw energy, green chakra exploding outward as his skin flushed red. The sudden surge erased the fatigue, burned it away in an instant. Gakidō froze, its Rinnegan narrowing as it recognized the danger too late.

Lee vanished.

He reappeared above Gakidō, his movements a blur. "Ura Renge!"

Gakidō's arms rose to block, but it couldn't keep up. His leg smashed into Gakidō with bone-shattering force, driving the Path into the ground. The street cracked and buckled beneath them, sending tremors through the battlefield. Gakidō's body crumpled under the impact, its black rods snapping like brittle twigs.

Lee landed in a crouch, the Third Gate's energy already fading. Sweat poured down his face, and his limbs trembled from the strain, but he refused to fall. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as the weight of his body felt heavier than ever. Still, his gaze locked on the crumpled form of Gakidō, the Path's broken frame lying motionless amid the shattered debris.

He'd won.

"Lee!"

Sakura was already there, her voice sharp and urgent as she dropped beside him. Her glowing hands pressed against his shoulders, flooding his aching muscles with warm, soothing chakra. The pain dulled almost immediately, but the exhaustion lingered like a shadow.

"Don't move," she ordered, her voice somewhere between a scolding and a plea. "You overdid it again."

Lee forced a weak smile, though even that effort left him lightheaded. "But it worked."

Sakura shot him a glare that softened almost as quickly as it had appeared. "Of course it worked," she said, her hands never faltering as the soft glow intensified. "Because it's you. But next time, maybe don't make me fix half your body while we're still in the middle of a war."

Lee let out a breathless laugh, though his ribs protested the motion. "No promises."

Sakura didn't laugh, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth before her expression hardened again. She shifted her focus, her chakra probing deeper into the torn muscles and frayed ligaments. "You're lucky you didn't tear anything beyond repair," she muttered. "If you'd opened one more gate—"

"I didn't," Lee interrupted gently. "Because I trust you to keep me standing."

Sakura paused, her hands faltering for the briefest of moments, before she resumed her work with renewed focus.

Tenten's voice cut through the tension. "We've got company."

She stood protectively in front of them, her weapons fanned out in a deadly arc, the polished steel catching the sunlight. Despite the chaos that still raged beyond the narrow street, her stance was calm, steady. A wall of steel and determination.

Atsui and Samui had regained their footing, moving to flank Tenten with kunai drawn and eyes sharp. They weren't fully recovered, but their postures were firm, their resolve matching hers as they closed ranks around Lee and Sakura.

Lee's chest tightened—not from pain, but from something deeper. Gratitude.

He glanced toward Tenten, taking in her poised stance and the slight tremor in her hands that betrayed just how much she had already given in this fight. She had always been like this—unyielding, sharp, reliable. And now, after all the battles they'd shared, she wasn't just his comrade. She was family.

Lee's thoughts drifted further back, to when their team had been reshaped. Neji's promotion to Jōnin and assignment as Squad Eight's captain had left him feeling unmoored, as though the bond they'd forged was slipping away. But instead of leaving him adrift, fate had anchored him to something new—something just as strong.

Sakura.

Her sharp intellect and unshakable determination had pushed him forward in ways he hadn't expected. At first, their pairing had seemed strange, almost mismatched. But as the missions piled up and the battles wore them down, Lee came to rely on her as much as he had once relied on Neji. Her steady hands, her fierce protectiveness, and her ability to hold their team together had become the glue that bound them.

And now, in the midst of this chaos, as Sakura's chakra poured into his battered frame and Tenten guarded them without hesitation, Lee understood something he had never quite admitted to himself.

He wasn't just grateful for their strength.

He was proud to fight beside them.

The glow of Sakura's chakra dimmed slightly as she finished her work. "That's all I can do for now," she said, leaning back. "You need rest, Lee. No more heroics."

Lee smiled faintly. "I can't promise that either."

Tenten rolled her eyes. "You're impossible." But her tone carried no real heat, only the warm familiarity of someone who understood him better than anyone.

Atsui shifted beside her, his gaze flicking toward the distant sounds of battle. "We don't have time to rest. Reinforcements are coming."

Samui stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "But so are ours."

Lee pushed himself to his feet with Sakura's help, his legs still shaky but steady enough to stand. As he looked at the people standing beside him, Lee felt no fear.

Because no matter what came next, they would face it together.

The battlefield shifted again, not through footsteps or motion, but through sight—Pain's sight.

The world unfolded as if glimpsed through a dozen mirrored shards, each reflecting the chaos from a different angle. The Six Paths moved as one, their shared vision rendering distance meaningless. From the ruined streets where Ningendō and Gakidō fell, Pain's perception drifted to another corner of Akatsukigakure, where smoke billowed and steel screamed.

Shuradō.

It stood amidst the wreckage, a monstrosity of flesh and machine. Its mechanical limbs hissed and clicked as it tore through Konoha and Kumo shinobi alike, razor-sharp saw blades extending from its forearms and whirling with murderous intent. Steel talons punched through armor, while its shoulders split open to reveal missile chambers, launching barrages that shattered rooftops and sent bodies scattering like broken dolls.

A group of shinobi—three from Konoha and one from Kumo—rallied to stand against it, their desperation evident in the flare of their chakra. One shinobi formed a string of seals, summoning an earth wall to block the oncoming projectiles. The barrier barely formed before Shuradō's mechanical arms snapped forward, each finger splitting into serrated claws that punched through stone as though it were paper.

"Move!"

The cry came too late. The claws retracted, dragging two of the shinobi into their crushing grip. Blood spattered the cracked stones as their cries died out, their bodies crushed and discarded.

The remaining two leapt back, their hands flashing through seals. Lightning erupted in jagged arcs from the Kumo shinobi's palms, but Shuradō's torso opened like a blooming flower, revealing layers of rotating armor plates. The energy danced harmlessly off the whirling mechanisms, grounding into the earth.

"Impossible!"

The other shinobi, a kunoichi from Konoha, raised her kunai, her hands trembling. Before she could strike, Shuradō's chest snapped shut and unleashed a spray of kunai and shrapnel. The weapons fanned out in deadly arcs—impossible to dodge.

A wall of golden brown surged between them, swallowing the barrage.

Gaara's sand roared upward, forming an impenetrable barrier as the projectiles struck and ricocheted off in a cascade of sparks. The Sage of the Desert stood atop a fractured rooftop, his arms folded as his sand flowed like rivers around him, rising and falling with his every breath. Such a large amount of sand in a place ordinarily devoid of it should have been impossible, but it was made such thanks to Gaara's Sadōdama, which compacted sand so densely, that it was as if he always carried a constant desert with him.

The shinobi scrambled behind the barrier, panting but alive. "Gaara-sama!"

"Get to the medics," Gaara ordered, his voice calm but edged with command. "I'll handle this."

Shuradō turned, its mechanical eyes locking onto Gaara. The whir of its gears and the hiss of its hydraulics seemed almost like laughter, mocking the lone figure that now stood before it.

Gaara's golden eyes remained fixed. No hesitation. No fear.

"I have seen enough of men who turn their bodies into weapons," Gaara said, his voice carrying through the war-torn streets. "You are no different. Just another puppet—empty and broken."

The machine raised its arms, saw blades whirring as its torso split again to release another volley of missiles.

Gaara's sand reacted before he even moved, stretching outward in a massive wave that swallowed the missiles mid-flight. Explosions rippled through the sand, sending vibrations into the ground, but the barrier held firm.

Shuradō lunged, its claws slicing through the air. Gaara's sand met it head-on, coiling around the mechanical limbs and crushing down with the weight of a desert storm. Metal shrieked as joints buckled and gears snapped, but Shuradō retaliated, ejecting jagged spikes from its forearms.

Gaara raised both hands, and the sand reacted instantly, forming tendrils that spiraled and tightened like serpents. The spikes stopped inches from Gaara's face, caught in the suffocating grip of his sand.

The sand exploded outward, engulfing the mechanical body entirely. Metal bent and shrieked as the sand poured into every crevice, grinding and tearing through gears and pistons. Shuradō thrashed, missiles firing wildly in all directions before detonating harmlessly against the sand.

For a moment, it seemed to falter—but then, with a deafening roar, its limbs burst free, tearing through the sand like knives through cloth.

Gaara exhaled sharply, the force of the backlash forcing him to step back. His eyes narrowed as the machine's frame repaired itself, plates shifting and reforming as new weapons emerged.

The machine lunged again, its clawed hands glowing with chakra, but Gaara was faster. With a flick of his wrist, the sand lashed out like spears, piercing through joints and gears. Sparks erupted as metal cracked and twisted, but Shuradō fought on, even as its arms were torn from their sockets.

"You cannot kill what does not live," Pain's voice echoed through the streets, emotionless but resounding with power.

Gaara's golden eyes locked on the mechanical Path, unfazed by the proclamation. "Then I'll bury what remains."

The sand erupted upward, forming jagged pillars that pierced Shuradō's torso, locking it in place. Gaara clenched his fist, and the pillars collapsed inward, folding the machine's body like paper. Its legs crumpled beneath the force, and the sound of grinding metal filled the air as its frame bent and buckled.

Shuradō's weapons fired one last time, missiles streaking toward Gaara. But his sand surged, forming a massive dome around him, absorbing the impact with ease. When the smoke cleared, Gaara's barrier unraveled, revealing the Sage of the Desert standing unharmed.

Shuradō struggled, its shattered limbs twitching as it tried to rise, but Gaara's sand poured over it again, heavier this time—denser. The mechanical Path sank beneath the crushing weight, its limbs vanishing as the sand swallowed them.

Only its head remained, half-buried and motionless, the Rinnegan in its eyes still glowing faintly. Gaara extended his hand, and the sand around the head tightened, forming a sphere.

He raised the sphere into the air, letting it hover for a moment like a captured star. Then his fist closed.

The sand collapsed inward.

A loud crack echoed through the street as the head crumpled under the pressure, the light in its eyes fading to nothing. The remnants of Shuradō dropped into the sand, inert and lifeless.

Gaara exhaled slowly, lowering his hand. The battlefield had gone momentarily silent, save for the crackle of fire and the distant sounds of the ongoing war. He glanced at the shaken shinobi who had fought alongside him, their expressions shifting from fear to awe as they looked at the crushed remains of their enemy.

"Gather the injured and retreat to the medics," Gaara ordered, his voice calm but commanding. "This battle isn't over."

The shinobi scrambled to obey, but Gaara's gaze remained fixed on the horizon. He could still feel the other Paths of Pain through the vibrations in the sand—their chakra signatures burning like beacons amidst the chaos.

Three down. Three to go.

Through the shared vision of the Rinnegan, Pain witnessed the collapse of Shuradō beneath Gaara's crushing sands. The silence that followed barely registered. One more Path had fallen, but it was a calculated sacrifice—another piece of the greater whole. It changed nothing.

Pain's focus shifted.

From atop a shattered tower at the heart of the city, Tendō stood like a god surveying the chaos below. Bodies littered the broken streets, shinobi sprawled in twisted heaps, crushed against walls, flung through windows, or pinned beneath debris. Blood painted the stone red, pooling in the cracks where the earth itself had split from the force of his power.

The remnants of an entire platoon lay scattered before him, some still moaning weakly, their bodies mangled and broken. Tendō gazed down at them without emotion, his hand lowering slowly after his last attack.

A dozen survivors regrouped further down the road, their hands forming desperate seals. Fire, water, and lightning roared toward him—jutsu converging in an elemental storm.

Tendō raised his hand.

"Shinra Tensei."

The air rippled.

The jutsu unraveled mid-flight, torn apart by an invisible force that sent the elemental blasts hurtling back toward their casters. The explosion swallowed them, screams echoing through the ruined streets.

The survivors who still drew breath stumbled, terror flooding their expressions as Tendō began walking toward them, each measured step deliberate, inevitable.

"Why do you resist?" Pain's voice rang out, not just from Tendō's lips but from the mouths of the fallen. "Your deaths are meaningless. Accept the truth. Accept Amaterasu-sama."

The shinobi turned to flee.

But before Tendō could raise his hand again, a blur of gold and lightning slammed into the ground between them. The force of the impact shattered the stone, sending debris flying in every direction. Dust clouded the air, and when it cleared, the Raikage stood tall.

Ei's muscles bulged, his body cloaked in a crackling blue aura of lightning. Sparks danced across his skin, trailing from his fingertips and vambraces as he rolled his shoulders. His golden vambraces gleamed in the harsh sunlight, making him seem larger than life—a force of nature standing defiant amidst the wreckage.

"Enough of you!" Ei's voice boomed, shaking the air like thunder. "If you want to take any more lives, you'll have to go through me first!"

Pain's head tilted slightly, his impassive Rinnegan meeting Ei's burning gaze.

"Your defiance is admirable," he said, "but futile."

Ei's lips curled into a feral grin. "Futile? I'll show you futile!"

Lightning exploded from the Raikage, crackling outward in a storm of raw power as he vanished from sight.

Tendō didn't flinch. His hand rose in a practiced motion.

"Shinra Tensei."

The shockwave rippled outward, leveling the debris and tossing rubble like leaves in a storm. But before it reached its target, Ei reappeared mid-air, outside its range. His lightning-cloaked fist crashed down.

The impact shattered the street, forcing Tendō to leap back as the ground caved in where he had stood. Ei didn't stop—he pressed forward, a streak of blue lightning closing the distance faster than most eyes could track.

Pain's hand flicked again.

"Banshō Ten'in."

Ei's body lurched as an invisible force seized him, dragging him forward with unnatural speed. Tendō's black rods shot from his sleeves, aimed at the Raikage's chest.

But Ei roared, his lightning armor flaring brighter as he fought against the pull, twisting in mid-air. The rods grazed past him, and Ei's fist lashed out in retaliation.

Pain barely deflected the blow, the force sending him sliding back. Cracks spiderwebbed beneath his feet as he came to a stop, the Rinnegan cold and calculating.

"You're fast," Pain admitted. "But speed alone will not save you."

Ei grinned, flexing his fingers as arcs of lightning danced across his knuckles. "Then let's see if you can keep up!"

With another burst of chakra, he launched himself forward again, the collision shaking the battlefield as the god-like powers of Pain clashed with the raw fury of the Raikage.

Pain's Rinnegan fixated on Ei, the Raikage's lightning aura crackling brighter with every movement. The two combatants circled each other in the ruins of the street, shattered stone and broken bodies scattered around them like offerings to their power.

Ei's breaths came heavy but controlled, each exhale accompanied by faint crackles of electricity dancing off his skin. Blood trickled down his arm where one of Pain's black rods had grazed him earlier, but the injury only seemed to fuel his determination.

Tendō raised his hand again.

"Banshō Ten'in."

The force pulled Ei forward, faster this time, as though Pain intended to end the fight in one swift motion. The black rods in his sleeves slid free, gleaming with deadly intent.

But Ei's grin widened.

"Perfect," he growled.

Instead of resisting the pull, Ei accelerated into it, his Lightning Release armor flaring so brightly that arcs of electricity scorched the ground as he was dragged forward. His muscles tensed, every fiber in his body surging with chakra as he twisted mid-air, letting the momentum amplify his attack.

Tendō's eyes widened—not in fear, but in realization—just before Ei struck.

"Lariat!"

The Raikage's arm slammed into Tendō's neck with a sound like thunder, the raw force of the blow amplified by the gravitational pull. The impact didn't just snap the Path's neck—it tore his head clean off.

The severed head spun through the air before crashing into the rubble, rolling to a stop with its empty Rinnegan staring blankly at the sky. The body collapsed a moment later, its black rods clattering against the stone as it fell.

The street fell silent.

Ei stood over the wreckage, his breathing heavy but victorious. Sparks still danced around his fingertips, flickering out one by one as his chakra levels began to settle.

"Not so divine now, are you?" he muttered, planting his foot against the fallen Path's chest and shoving it aside.

But even as the body lay still, Ei knew the fight was far from over. The Path of Pain was only a fragment of the enemy's power, and somewhere nearby, Amaterasu prepared her ultimate weapon.

"Raikage-sama!"

Darui's voice rang out as he landed nearby, sword drawn and covered in blood. "The northern quadrant's barely holding, and we're running low on medics."

Ei flexed his fingers, the faint glow of lightning flickering back to life around him.

"Then we can't waste time. Tell them to hold their ground—we're not losing a single step."

He glanced once more at the fallen Path before turning and charging back toward the heart of the battle.

Pain's vision flickered, shifting seamlessly from Tendo's destruction to Jigokudō's final moments. Through his shared sight, Nagato witnessed the emerald blade of Shisui's chakra carving through its body, severing it with elegant precision. Pain's vision lingered for only a moment longer, processing the collapse, before shifting again—this time to the figure responsible.

Uchiha Itachi stood above the fallen Path, his Sharingan glowing faintly as the emerald blade shimmered in his grip, its surface rippling like liquid light as it hummed with Shisui's chakra. The blade cut cleanly through Jigokudō's torso, the Path of Pain crumbling as its Rinnegan faded, leaving behind only the empty husk of a corpse. Black rods clattered to the ground, useless without their master's will guiding them.

Itachi exhaled slowly, his Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan dimming slightly as he turned to Ino, who crouched beside him, her hands glowing with chakra as she maintained a sensory link to their forces. Sweat glistened on her brow, her breathing heavy from the strain of scanning so many enemy positions at once.

"Ino," Itachi called, his voice sharp yet steady. "Status report."

She pressed a hand to her temple, eyes narrowing as she focused on the mental connections woven through her clan's techniques. "The eastern quadrant is holding," she said quickly, her voice clipped and urgent. "Lee's team neutralized one Pain, and Yugao-san took out another, but casualties are mounting near the central spires. Raikage-sama and The Sage of the Desert have secured most of the city perimeter—"

Her words cut off with a sharp cry.

A blinding bolt of light lanced through the air, striking Ino directly in the stomach. She staggered backward, her eyes wide in shock as the chakra link shattered. Blood sprayed from the wound, staining the broken stone beneath her.

"Ino!" Choji roared, appearing almost instantly as he landed beside her. He caught her before she collapsed, his trembling hands already applying pressure to the wound. "I'll get her out of here!" Choji shouted, his voice desperate as he lifted her into his arms. He turned and sprinted toward the rear lines, chakra surging through his legs to push his speed to its limit.

Itachi's gaze followed them only for a moment before snapping back to the source of the attack.

Konan floated above a fractured platform of stone, her transformation undeniable. Wings of pure light arched from her back, radiant and blinding as they stretched wide, their edges shimmering with chakra so intense it seemed to bend the air around them. A faint halo hovered above her head, glowing with divine brilliance, casting long shadows across the broken battlefield.

She looked less like the Konan that Itachi remembered and more like a messenger of divinity—an angel descended to pass judgment. Her presence demanded reverence, yet Itachi's gaze remained steady, his emerald blade glowing with defiance.

"It's been a long time, Itachi-san," Konan said, her voice calm but resonating with an unnatural power, layered with echoes as though she no longer spoke alone. "I wondered how long it would take before you reached this point."

Itachi took a measured step forward, his Sharingan spinning faster now as if straining to pierce through the overwhelming presence before him. "If you're here," he said, voice sharp and cold, "then I'm close."

Konan tilted her head slightly, her glowing eyes narrowing, their light reflecting in his crimson irises.

"Too close," she replied.

The halo above her flared brighter, and beams of light streamed from her wings, splitting into thousands of glimmering shards that hovered in the air around her like a divine storm. Each fragment hummed with chakra, vibrating like the edge of a blade—lethal and precise.

Itachi's stance shifted, his emerald blade pulsing as Shisui's chakra flared through it. His Sharingan locked onto her every movement, dissecting the patterns of light and searching for weaknesses.

Neither moved.

The storm of light shimmered in the air, and the glow of Itachi's blade reflected off the radiant fragments.

He knew, in that moment, he wasn't facing the Konan he had once known. This was something else entirely—Amaterasu's angel of judgment.

And he would have to cut her down.

Pain's vision shifted again, his focus leaving Konan and Itachi's radiant clash to return to the Chikushōdō—the summoner of beasts.

Through the Rinnegan's shared sight, he gazed up from the battered form of the Path, its body crushed beneath the massive, webbed foot of Gamabunta. The toad chief loomed over the broken figure, his blade still wet with ichor from the summons he had dispatched earlier. Smoke and steam rose from the ground around him, mingling with the faint remnants of chakra dissipating from the shattered body.

Jiraiya stood atop Gamabunta's broad back, arms crossed, his expression sharp and unrelenting. "I told you," he said, voice booming over the battlefield, "this isn't the future Yahiko wanted! He wanted peace, not this madness!"

The words fell flat against Nagato's ears. The body's limbs sprawled unnaturally, and its head lolled to one side, the piercings in its face glinting faintly under the harsh sunlight. But there was no anger. No grief.

Jiraiya's voice rose again. "How many more will you sacrifice before you realize you've become the very thing Yahiko died fighting against?!"

Nagato did not answer—not through the Path, not through the link, not even in thought.

Jiraiya's glare bore down on the crushed form of the Chikushōdō, sweat mixing with the dirt and blood streaking his face. "Say something, Nagato!"

The broken Path twitched. Its head lolled unnaturally, yet the Rinnegan still burned within its sockets—calm, unwavering. And then, the voice came.

"You still don't understand, Jiraiya-sensei."

The Path's lips moved, but the voice was deeper now, heavier with authority. It was Nagato's voice—not through desperation, but conviction.

"You speak as if killing these bodies matters." The Chikushōdō's head tilted up, the glow of its Rinnegan meeting Jiraiya's eyes. "But you haven't defeated Pain. These six… were only the lower realms. The limits of what I could achieve by myself."

Jiraiya's heart sank. He felt Gamabunta shift beneath him, the toad's webbed foot grinding down as if to crush what was left of the Path. But the unease that filled Jiraiya's chest told him this wasn't over.

The Chikushōdō raised a trembling hand, forming a seal with its fingers. "Thanks to Amaterasu-sama's grace," Nagato's voice continued, steady and unshaken, "I have transcended."

The ground shuddered. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from the fallen Path's body, golden light pouring from the fissures. Gamabunta leapt back just in time, carrying Jiraiya with him as the light erupted skyward, splitting the battlefield with divine brilliance.

Jiraiya shielded his eyes, his instincts screaming at him to move, but he stood firm. When the light faded, his heart froze.

Four figures emerged from the radiance, their silhouettes framed by the golden glow that bled into the sky like the first light of dawn.

The Shōmondō—Ajisai—stepped forward first, her crimson hair framing her youthful face. Her golden Rinnegan radiated divine clarity, her expression serene and unreadable. Robed in flowing white silk etched with sunburst patterns, she carried no weapons—only prayer beads coiled around her wrists and neck, glowing faintly with chakra.

Next came the Bosatsudō—Hanzo the Salamander. His presence was no less intimidating than it had been in life, but the man who had once relied on poison and treachery now stood transformed. His long hair, now dyed crimson, fell behind him in waves, and the scars that once marred his face had been erased. His golden eyes burned with purpose, humming with latent energy.

Beside him loomed the Engakudō—Ōnoki, the Fence-sitter. His short frame had not changed, but his body now moved with unnatural fluidity, free of the infirmity that had plagued him in life. His crimson hair fell in sharp spikes, his face smoothed and youthful, as though time itself had bowed to his transformation. His hands glowed faintly, already crackling with the weight of something far more sinister than his Dust Release.

And finally, at the center of them all, stood Nagato—no longer confined to the chair that had carried his broken body for years.

The Bukkaidō—Nagato's true form—stood tall, his gaunt frame shrouded in robes of pure white and gold. His crimson hair cascaded down his back, and the gold of his Rinnegan shone brighter than the others, as if it were the source of their light. In his hand, he carried a staff forged from a single Gudōdama, its surface swirling with a darkness that ate light itself. Though his body still appeared frail, every step he took radiated divine authority.

Jiraiya's throat tightened. "Nagato…"

The Bukkaidō met his gaze. "You see now, sensei?" Nagato's voice resonated—not just through the battlefield, but within the minds of those who heard it. "I have reached enlightenment. No longer bound by the suffering of mortal men. With Amaterasu-sama's blessing, I have risen."

Jiraiya's knuckles whitened as his fists clenched. "No. You haven't risen. You've fallen deeper than anyone I've ever known!"

The four Paths stepped forward, their presence suffocating the battlefield. Chakra rippled outward, warping the air itself as golden flames licked at the ground. Nagato tilted his head slightly, and the light around him seemed to pulse.

"Your words mean nothing. The cycle of pain is finally about to be put to an end. Now the world will be remade in the image of the divine. Of Amaterasu-sama."

---

Chapter End

---

AN: Happy New Year Everyone!

No promises, but I'm really gonna try to finish this fic this year, and seeing as we're in the final arc, I've got a good feeling that I should be able to accomplish that.

So I brought a big chapter to hopefully kick that off. This one was about paying off some other characters this time, such as Yugao who has been kind of present throughout the story, but never got her own fight. Then Lee, who only had a small moment about forty chapters ago. This also answers what Sakura has been doing. Unfortunately, I just never really had more for her to do in this story, so this is her debut, having taken the place of Lee and Tenten's third squad member after I shifted Neji to Squad Eight. I've got a few other characters I still wanna do something else with, but that's gonna come shortly.

Now for Pain and what I've done, giving him Four more paths as his big upgrade. These four new bodies are Ajisai (who didn't have to replace the first Animal path this time around), Hanzō (who I always thought it was a missed opportunity that Pain never used his body), Ōnoki (whose heart Kakuzu took, so I thought I would make use of the body this way), and then his Original body.

In Nichiren Buddhism (the same Nichiren that Hinata's upgraded Byakugan is named after), there are ten realms. The first "lower" six are more paths to enlightenment, and the greater four are actual stages of attained enlightenment. The real names of these upper four realms in Japanese are Shōmonkai (声聞界）Engakukai（縁覚界）Bosatsukai（菩薩界）and Bukkai（仏界）but I named them all dō（道）or "paths" instead of kai（界）or "realms", both to keep it consistent with the other six "paths" and also to remove it slightly from real-world Buddhism. I will talk more about what each form of enlightenment means in another chapter, but I based their abilities slightly on those meanings, so I don't want to give anything away before that.

Anyways, that's it for this chapter! Thanks for everyone that's stuck with me so far, and I'll see you in the next one!