Another peculiar thing about him was how easily one forgot the blood on his hands.
嵐
23 — TEMPEST
"IT'S ALRIGHT," Nagato said, his voice carrying across the rain-slicked wreckage. "I have this from now."
He carried Gojō next to Naruto and Shinpachi with a single, thunderous step. With a brush of his fingers, Gojō's shallow breaths steadied, his pale face regaining its color. Bruises faded before their eyes, and the raw, jagged edges of his wounds knit together slightly, as if time had reversed.
Through it all, the ship continued to fall, and Nagato seemingly gave it no heed. There was burning anger in his eyes, and the droplets that slid down his face were like tears he refused to shed.
Gojō, of course, stood his ground, raging emotions warring with it all. "You can't possibly think—"
"Gojō, please. Take them and go." Nagato's command cut through him. He didn't turn to look at his companions, his gaze fixed on the four figures emerging from the rain ahead. "Naruto and Shinpachi need you more than I do right now."
It was only then that Naruto realized Shinpachi was half-awake again — although he would pass out again soon enough, in his condition. He hadn't spoken a word since the adults had come. The boy stood frozen, staring at Ryūjin's body, with a hollow stillness that hurt to witness.
Whatever truth Shinpachi found in their lifeless comrades remained locked behind his hollow stare, a private horror that no one else could share.
Naruto blinked, and wondered if Shinpachi's awakening might be no coincidence at all. He himself felt slightly better. Was Nagato's mere presence doing that?
He radiated an almost overwhelming vitality, a burning force that coursed through him and defied convention.
This was pure Life-Spirit, raw and unfiltered, and on a level that surpassed even Yasaka's formidable affinity. It was what had allowed him to heal Gojō, he was sure, seemingly without the aid of medical chakra, so quickly it seemed both impossible and undeniable at once.
The rain, however — the way it danced and flowed, responding to unseen commands — spoke of something else. Elemental chakra manipulation at its pinnacle, a hallmark of Chakra Conduit. There was no doubt in Naruto's mind. Its potency rivaled, perhaps even matched, Ryūjin's own control.
And, of course, Nagato's Sealweaving ability could not be questioned: he had somehow escaped an inescapable seal.
In spite of all this, Raimei stepped forward first, his robes stark against the darkening sky.
With each step, the air compressed beneath his feet, forming invisible platforms that kept him hovering just above the rain-slicked deck. Why he bothered, Naruto wasn't sure yet, although he would soon find out.
Tenjin and Gen'ei flanked him, all deadly precision and contained murder; Seal-script bloomed around Tenjin with each step, subtle bolstering arrays that spread across the hull. His hands never stopped moving either, each gesture leaving trails of near-invisible barriers in the air. Meanwhile, Gen'ei was eying Gojō and the boys, intentions clear. And of course, partially hidden in the rain behind them, weaving in and out of sight in unpredictable patterns as it warped, was the deer yōkai.
"So it was you after all, Tenjin," Nagato said quietly. "I sensed your presence, but I..." He trailed off, before shaking his head. "It hardly matters now. Kin or not, Keishō's blood is already cold. What difference would yours make?"
Tenjin only shrugged in answer. "I'm afraid I have nothing to say to you."
"You'll die here, Nagato," Raimei stated, closer to a simple prediction than a threat. The wind around him began to sing, invisible currents of air twisting at his will.
The corner of Nagato's mouth curved up, but there was no warmth in the expression.
"Maybe." His fingers flexed, power gathering visible in the air around him. "But if so, I promise you'll remember this day for however long you survive it."
Gojō hesitated one final moment. He took in Shinpachi's vacant stare and something in him shifted. Without another word, he threw both boys upon his shoulders. Even Naruto didn't find it in him to protest much.
"You know," Gojō said lightly. "I always hated this about you."
"Run," Nagato whispered, so low Naruto barely heard it. The rain intensified, drumming against the ground like a war beat. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the tear-like droplets running down his face. "Run far. I'll make sure they can't follow."
"Bold words," Tenjin said.
The air crackled with building energy as Nagato raised a hand, years of power, training, and skill crystallizing into this very moment. As though Ryūjin's bloody smile flashed in his memory, as though Shiori's final scream echoed in his ears. Somehow, Naruto knew that he knew. And somehow, he knew that Nagato would waste no time on anything that wouldn't help him tear the enemy apart.
His was the sort of fury that had transcended rage into something cold and precise.
Three against one. No, four with that deer. Terrible odds.
"If you say so," Nagato said softly, and the world erupted into light.
His left hand settled into one seal.
The deer yōkai's antlers flashed, as it tapped its hoof. Space twisted like folded paper, and suddenly Raimei was above Nagato, Tenjin to the left, Gen'ei behind — a perfect, deadly triangulation. Their coordination was flawless, each fighter moving as if they'd practiced this exact moment a thousand times.
Nagato's technique happened anyway, as inevitable as the setting sun.
Without warning, the clouds above them imploded. There was no ominous build-up, no gradual swelling of tension — just a thunderous crash and the sudden, catastrophic collapse of vapor. A perfect sphere of water materialized in an instant, expanding high above like an unleashed tidal god, clearing the skies with its sheer force. The massive wall of water descended toward the airship's hull with the weight and fury of a meteor.
Before the deluge struck, Raimei's hands blurred through seals. The air around him condensed into concentric rings, spinning faster with each heartbeat until they merged into a dense, impenetrable barrier.
Nearby, Tenjin's fingers wove through seals at dizzying speed, conjuring shimmering barriers to divert the flood.
Gen'ei's flames erupted with ferocity, surging upward to intercept the onslaught. Steam exploded outward in a blinding burst, but the flames persisted, twisting like serpents through the water's descent, hissing defiance that filled the air. With a sharp snap of his head, Gen'ei redirected the fiery coils above Nagato, sending another cascade of flames to follow down low.
Nagato stood unmoved, aside from a single motion of his fingers. Lightning sigils flared to life, glowing with otherworldly brilliance as they inscribed themselves upon the empty space. And so, when they reached, the flames disappeared into the hanging sigils, extinguished in flashes of crackling energy that seemed to devour them whole.
Just like that? Naruto thought numbly. Did he just… nullify it?
It became obvious to him that the enemy wouldn't bother much with elemental attacks.
Nagato's water impact came with a force that shook the airship to its core. It tilted violently, listing to one side as the deck snapped beneath the torrent, the tortured scream of metal splitting the air, when the hull bent against the unimaginable pressure—
The deer yōkai tapped one delicate hoof against the deck again, making reality shiver. Distance folded and unfolded, causing most of the water to miss the airship entirely.
With a single hand seal, Nagato's technique had unleashed a force that, to Naruto at least, had seemed nearly impossible to defend against. A power that would have crushed most shinobi. Yet somehow, these four had not only anticipated the attack but also improvised counters to neutralize it. The first wave had completely failed to reach them, and they were so close to Nagato—
The second wave was far deadlier:
A compact sphere of water, concealed within the wake of the initial surge, descended silently before detonating with devastating force as Nagato raised his other hand. The domed explosion struck the hull with a deafening crack, shattering the metal into even more pieces.
Perhaps the blast of water carried barrier-breaking properties of its own, or maybe it simply was that strong: though the four's hastily raised defenses didn't break fully, the wave still left them drenched and staggering.
Only Nagato and Ryūjin's halved body, shielded within a barrier of concentrated energy, remained untouched by the chaos.
Studying it in the aftermath, Naruto would piece it together: while water-based, the technique was closer to compression pushed to its limits. Nagato had layered invisible barriers skyward, each containing and concentrating vapor and liquid until it became dense as steel, nearly undetectable until release. Barriers within barriers, crushing water into an ever-smaller sealing space until it reached devastating density. Then, detonation.
That was it for the how, and Nagato had done it all from a distance that should have made such precise control impossible. When he had done so, Naruto had no way of knowing — perhaps it had been earlier, or perhaps Nagato was just that fast.
As for why he had chosen to drench all of them, even at the moment, Naruto thought he could guess.
Gojō's hands flew through seals with desperate intensity. Could he increase the summoning speed this way? Was he attempting to bolster its power, even partially? Or was he simply falling back on old methods that he didn't truly need anymore?
The large shikigami erupted into existence underneath them, its dark wings catching what few rays of light still filtered through the storm.
But Gen'ei moved.
He crossed the flooded deck in a blur that left trails in the air, each one seemingly more distorted than the last, leaving Naruto unsure where to look. Darkness writhed up from the water like grasping hands, reaching for their ankles, their throats — but even though they were so sudden, these weren't simple illusions. Couldn't be. Each shadow carried real weight, and real threat, their substance enhanced by Tenjin's seals and the deer yōkai's spatial warping. Space itself seemed to compress and fold around Gen'ei's movements, making it impossible to tell which attack would emerge from which shadow—
Gojō's palm met Naruto's cheek sharply, and things made more sense again.
"Genjutsu," Gojō said briskly. "And you have no protection. Don't watch that man at all, if you can avoid it. His illusions will convince you to play along—"
The air behind Gen'ei darkened, warping as a massive form coalesced from shadow and raw chakra. This time, it was no illusion.
A spectral figure rose like a moonlit shadow, its exact color impossible to discern even in the lightning flashes, as if the light itself refused to properly reflect off its surface. The construct towered above the falling airship, its form suggesting ancient armor and a warrior's bearing that made Naruto's breath catch.
"What is—"
A massive blade cleaved through the night, full of ominous intent, and it missed Gojō's shikigami by what seemed mere inches when the latter forced it to roll.
That blade struck the ship with impossible force, cleaving through metal plating like paper. It shrieked and tore apart, and a gash opened along the hull like a chasm — not clean like a sword cut could be, but jagged and warped. The surrounding metal crumpled inward, buckling under pressure that defied physics. Support beams groaned and snapped, the damage spreading like cracks through ice.
And then, that terrible specter launched itself from the ship, coming directly at them, red eyes burning with power within.
The chase began in earnest. Gen'ei's chakra construct moved with impossible grace for something of its size, somehow maneuvering in midair, each gesture leaving trails of heat haze in its wake. Its massive hand reached for them, fingers of pure chakra threatening to crush Gojō's shikigami.
"Hold tight!" Gojō shouted, his construct banking sharply through the storm.
Lightning illuminated their pursuit in stark flashes, each bolt revealing that thing closer than before, seemingly devouring the night.
Gojō's shikigami wove through clouds like a leaf in a hurricane, but the guardian's reach seemed inescapable. It moved not as if carried by the wind, Naruto realized, but leaping from invisible surfaces in the air. Spectral arrows of pure energy pierced the night, each one carrying enough force to shatter chakra-reinforced steel. Gojō's evasions became increasingly desperate, each twist slightly more violent, each maneuver bringing them closer to the construct's grasp.
"Gojō!" Naruto shouted into the storm, his voice barely carrying above the howl of wind and rain. "Is there anything I can—"
He froze mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he spotted something strange: a hole in the rain.
The gap wasn't natural. Droplets didn't bounce or scatter; they simply ceased to exist, vaporizing into charged air that made his skin prickle and his hair stand on end. The air was alive with potential, vibrating like the moment before lightning struck.
Above the ship, the source of it. Nagato hovered like a dark star against the storm, silhouette stark against the flashes of white light. His hands were pressed together, and what formed between them turned Naruto's veins to ice. It was chakra, of course, bent and condensed into something that defied reason.
The atmosphere around Nagato warped visibly, and the storm seemed to bow in submission, spiraling toward him in eerie synchronization.
Between his palms, lightning crackled, snarling like a caged beast desperate to break free. Streams of water coiled around it, in perfect harmony. The elements fed off each other, intensifying as they spun faster and faster, the air around them growing hotter and thinner with each passing moment.
The technique expanded, blinding in its brilliance. Its light rivaled the moon, or perhaps surpassed it, casting sharp, jagged shadows across the storm clouds. The surrounding sky turned white-hot, and Naruto's stomach sank as the sheer scale of power hit him. Strong enough for Nagato's enemies to have disappeared; strong enough for Naruto to feel.
Each element alone felt as though it could level hills, and carve valleys.
And… together?
"Storm Release," Nagato said softly, his voice somehow cutting through the chaos. His hands parted. "Lightbringer."
The storm obeyed, of course.
The blast erupted with the force of a god's wrath, a column of plasma so brilliant it turned night into day. Thunder roared with such ferocity that Naruto felt it in his bones, the pressure wave slamming into his chest like a physical blow.
The column streaked forward, unstoppable. Gen'ei's guardian construct turned and rose to meet it head-on, its arms outstretched in defiance, its form expanding into something else, something even more powerful…
The plasma strike collided with the guardian, and for a moment, Naruto feared nothing would happen—
Then the chakra construct shattered entirely.
The aftershock flattened the storm clouds, parting them to reveal the stars above. Gen'ei's defenses crumbled like brittle clay, the guardian dissolving into a fine, luminous mist. The force of the detonation sent the airship rolling dangerously to the other side, and Gen'ei's smoking form crashed from the heavens.
Naruto's ears rang, a sharp, high-pitched whine cutting through the crackle of residual lightning and the hiss of vaporized rain. His grip faltered as Kūten dropped in a desperate, near-vertical dive, the sharp motion jolting through its frame as if it might tear apart, but Gojō caught him, the same way he held onto Shinpachi. Shards of twisted metal whizzed past, sharp and fast enough to kill them and glowing faintly from the heat, and Naruto had the distinct, gut-twisting sense that this wasn't Gojō's first time navigating — no, surviving — Nagato's impossible strength.
Gen'ei roared, a raw and guttural sound, and he manifested a new spectral arm with trembling effort. The edges flickered erratically, its form was unstable, but it held firm long enough to latch onto the ship and prevent its wielder from falling off. For now.
"Naruto!" Gojō's voice snapped him back to the moment. "Hold on, for fuck's sake!"
He did.
But even then, he couldn't look away. The storm blurred around him, noise fading to the edges of his mind as Nagato's power held his gaze. Each arc of lightning, every ripple of energy, hummed with purpose, warping the world in blinding light and inky shadows. He felt the heat, the electric prickle in the air, the deep vibration in his chest. It wasn't just power — it was control, absolute and terrifying.
Another hoof tap.
Raimei and Tenjin reappeared next to Nagato.
Behind them, previously hidden sealing arrays began to spark to life across the ship's deck — patterns either Gojō or Nagato must have inscribed during their battle, now glowing with an ominous blue light beneath the churning water. But these arrays found themselves in conflict with Tenjin's own seals, which spread like living things across the metal surface, each one designed to counter and redirect the energy flowing through Nagato's preparations.
Nagato's rain resumed, drowning the shriek of metal with the roar of a storm unleashed. Water ran free, spilling in chaotic torrents, threatening to sweep anyone into the dark abyss below — but Raimei's wind control created safe zones of relative calm, platforms of compressed air that acted as islands in the chaos.
The deer yōkai's power flashed — a pulse of sickly green light — and suddenly Nagato found himself twenty meters to the left, directly in the path of Raimei's wind blade. The space between his original position and the new location had been folded like paper, a corridor of twisted reality that only opened new avenues of attack. All that, in order to prevent him from charging up a strike as powerful as the last — a strike that, more and more, Naruto thought no one could survive head-on.
The move was so abrupt anyone else would likely have been killed here and there. Nagato, however, almost seemed to have been waiting for it.
His wrist exploded.
That was the best way Naruto could describe it: white bone erupted through skin like spears of ivory, forming a jagged shield that intercepted the wind blade with a sound like shattering glass.
The bone fractured on impact, but Nagato moved with precision, catching several shards mid-air between his other hand's knuckles. With a flick of his wrist, the fragments became lightning-enhanced projectiles, streaking toward Tenjin with lethal intent. The remaining shards dissolved in the rain, vanishing before they could touch the deck.
Nagato stood untouched behind the crumbling barrier, the storm raging around him. His purple eyes, gleaming with the light of the lightning splitting the sky, reflected no fear, no emotion — only pure, unrelenting focus.
A barrier surged upward to shield Tenjin from the lethal throw, deflecting the shards with a crackling shimmer of chakra…
Lightning struck him in the next heartbeat.
A javelin of pure light tore through the storm, splitting the sky and turning night to day. It didn't travel in a straight line — instead, it followed an invisible web of charged particles that Nagato had been weaving since the battle began, arcing along the path of least resistance he had meticulously set.
Even with its supernatural speed, Tenjin managed to raise a protective shroud around himself, though barely. His seals flared to life, glowing with desperate energy as they tried to ground and redirect the onslaught. But Nagato's technique was overwhelming, a combination of precision and sheer power that unraveled even the most calculated defenses.
The lightning pierced through Tenjin's weakened arm, leaving seared flesh in its wake; filling the air with the sharp tang of ozone and burning skin. Where the electricity touched his seals, they buckled and overloaded, their carefully balanced energies collapsing under the surge. The blast's raw force reverberated through the storm, and the thunderclap that followed was so loud it made Naruto's teeth vibrate, even from afar.
He watched, frozen, his mind racing even as his body tensed. He understood what he was seeing — it was a simple, efficient solution. But it wasn't an easy one. It was the kind of maneuver that only someone like Nagato could execute, a strategy that demanded not just immense power but unparalleled control. Every droplet of water, every charged particle, every potential conductor had to be accounted for, woven seamlessly into a web of destruction that left no room for error. It was terrifying in its blinding brilliance, and utterly beyond anything Naruto had ever seen.
The earlier water technique, that had drenched everything, didn't have much to do with Ryūjin's technique after all. It had carried Nagato's chakra signature, turning the entire battlefield into a web of potential lightning conductors, precise as a surgeon's tools and as inevitable as gravity.
No wonder Tenjin's arm had faltered. The marking technique hadn't just saturated the ground — it had saturated them. The rain in the air, the water clinging to their clothes, the puddles gathering at their feet, even the mist of their breath in the freezing air — everything had become part of Nagato's network. With each passing moment, the effect spread further, tightening the noose. Naruto realized it with a sickening clarity: they weren't just fighting Nagato.
They were fighting inside his domain, trapped within a cage of living lightning.
The deer yōkai's power pulsed, its hoof poised to strike again. Naruto waited with bated breath, adrenaline sharpening his senses to a painful edge. For a fleeting instant, time seemed to slow, and raindrops hung suspended like crystal beads, refracting the storm's light in dizzying patterns.
Nagato's next attack came as three simultaneous bolts of lightning, each aimed with surgical precision at the three men — and the beast. The air itself screamed as the strikes arced toward vulnerable points—
No, not men. Lightning rods.
Raimei somehow redirected the first strike, his wind shield shimmering and blurring the air before him. Naruto's eyes widened. How? Wind wasn't supposed to counter lightning like that, was it?
The second bolt slammed into Gen'ei. Naruto only now realized the man's illusions had snared him again, distorting reality in subtle, insidious ways when he fell with a roar, the chakra construct he had once more summoned unable to truly shield him. The strike shattered the illusions, breaking them into fragments of possibility. For a split second, Naruto saw them: fractured visions of alternate outcomes, each showing the same fate. All of them struck down. All but one — reality, in which Nagato's lightning struck him down.
The third bolt tore toward the vulnerable Tenjin, but the yōkai's hoof struck the deck, disrupting the charge just in time.
"Nagato," Naruto rasped, voice hoarse as the truth hit him. "He's—"
"Yeah," Gojō said, eyes focused on the fight even as his shikigami finally managed to put some distance between them all. The familiar construct's edges smoked, tendrils of heat rising where it had barely escaped annihilation. "Think you got it by now. He's using the rain to calculate perfect strike paths. It's a living seal array. It's covering everything, redirecting the attacks wherever he wants."
It was raw power, certainly — it was also mastery, a technique built on a level of control that turned even nature itself into a weapon. And Nagato stood at its center, like a god in a storm of his own making.
Raimei's winds strained to carve safe pockets within the storm, but Naruto had the feeling they wouldn't last for long; more and more, the battlefield was becoming part of Nagato's array. And, terrifyingly, he didn't seem anywhere close to being exhausted yet. The ship's metal frame buzzed with static energy, and a careless step in water made Tenjin howl in pain as electricity snaked up his leg like a swarm of hungry serpents.
Wherever lightning struck, steam billowed upward, feeding the storm and carrying the chakra-infused technique higher. The trap was self-perpetuating, a deadly system that expanded its reach with every passing second.
The enemy had come prepared for Nagato's power, but Naruto realized that they couldn't stop him anyway. Either Nagato had been holding back this technique before… or there truly was no way to defend against him.
With every breath he took, the storm grew sharper, more refined. New patterns formed in the rain, intricate and self-referential, charging fresh strikes that would be even deadlier than the last.
Gen'ei, still reeling from the thunder strike that had left afterimages seared into Naruto's vision, glanced between the fleeing trio on the shikigami and Nagato, who stood alone against the storm. The decision he reached became clearer when he turned toward the latter, moving closer to the chaos.
The air thickened with ozone, sharp and metallic, leaving an acrid taste on Naruto's tongue. Static electricity crackled around him, raising his hair; above, lightning threaded the clouds like nervous fingers, casting everything in stark whites as they waited for the call.
Nagato's smile had hardened into something predatory, a hunter who knew his prey had nowhere left to run. And then Naruto noticed it — Nagato's hair, streaked with white, as though the storm's energy was leeching the color from him, or perhaps revealing something truer beneath.
Even Gen'ei was in range now. Gojō and the children were not. This detail meant little to Naruto at the moment, but to Nagato, it was everything.
"Sealing Field," Nagato said, his voice calm but edged with finality, as if delivering a verdict. His eyes gleamed, taking in every detail, every possibility. Electricity rippled across the water's surface in intricate arcs. The crackling currents formed symbols — living calligraphy inscribed in arcs of purple light.
Ruined metal groaned as more seals ignited along its fractured hull, spreading like luminous veins across its surface. The technique's pressure bore down on them all, heavy and oppressive.
It felt more like a statement of dominance than a seal.
"Tenjin!" a voice roared.
Naruto's head snapped toward the sound, dread pooling in his stomach. He didn't know how he knew — perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was the air itself — but the word carried inevitability, like the rumble before an avalanche — that he would soon learn about.
Tenjin stood unmoving, his arm scorched and nearly useless, still sparking with remnants of Nagato's lightning. Despite the pain etched into every line of his body, his face showed nothing but grim determination. With his good hand, he wove seals, carving into the storm with unshakable intent.
"Sealing Field," he said, his voice steady despite the roar of the elements. "Void Disruption Ward."
Naruto's breath hitched. He could still do it. Tenjin had held this back, waiting for the perfect moment to act. Of course, he would — he didn't seem like the type to trust anyone else to bear the weight his ultimate technique could.
Two barriers ignited in the same instant. Nagato's surged outward in arcs of brilliant purple lightning, a dome of raw, unrelenting force that twisted the storm around it. Tenjin's, by contrast, appeared as a stark void, swallowing light and sound as it expanded in defiance of the overwhelming energy.
And Naruto realized the problem then.
Nagato hadn't been warned. No one had told him what Tenjin was capable of. A terrible oversight they had made following Ryūjin's death — and speaking of him, where had his body gone to?
The flicker of surprise in Nagato's eyes was subtle but unmistakable.
"Fuck," Gojō muttered, as he realized the same thing. His usual confidence was gone, and his voice sounded stripped raw.
For a moment, it seemed as though Gojō would leap into the fray. His body tensed, weight shifting as if ready to spring forward and join Nagato...
But then he stopped, his fists clenching at his sides, nails digging into his palms so hard that blood dripped to the rain-slick shikigami. His gaze lingered on Nagato for a single, excruciating moment, before his shoulders slumped with resignation. Turning to Naruto and Shinpachi, he began to chant, his voice low and steady, growing louder with every syllable.
Naruto's chest tightened. "We can't leave him!" he yelled, the words bursting out before he could stop them.
Gojō didn't look at him, didn't even flinch at his outburst. His chant continued, carrying with it a weight that pressed on Naruto's chest like a stone.
No! Nagato's going to—
But Nagato's Sealing Field didn't buckle.
Even as Tenjin's technique began to eat through it. Instead, it roared back with terrifying force. Purple lightning exploded outward in blinding arcs, the barrier surging with new strength, defying the very idea of collapse. The storm surged with it, rain slicing through the air like razor blades, the clouds above glowing as they charged with boundless energy.
Nagato stood at the eye of the storm, unyielding, his hands steady as the barrier burned brighter, crackling with unrelenting power. His hair, streaked with white, whipped around his face as though the storm itself were part of him. For a fleeting moment, he looked unstoppable — a primordial force of nature given form.
But he was fighting alone.
And the four who stood against him did not falter or wait.
Tenjin gritted his teeth, forcing another set of seals with his good hand. The void expanded, each pulse of its blackened energy stripping more layers from Nagato's barrier. His focus was absolute as well, the storm's fury washing over him like waves breaking against stone.
Raimei's winds howled, carving through the storm barrier in sharp, brutal bursts, as he leaped across platforms made of compressed air, opening paths for Tenjin's technique to press deeper. The deer yōkai struck its hooves against the deck, the sound resonating like thunder, sending tremors rippling through Nagato's intricate web of seals, destabilizing his calculations.
Gen'ei moved like a phantom, weaving through the storm. For Nagato, his illusions undoubtedly layered upon themselves, multiplying endlessly and splitting his focus. Spectral arms lashed at Nagato's barrier, slipping between its weakest areas with precise strikes, forcing the Sealing Field to stretch, rebuild and spread its energy thinner and thinner.
The storm screamed in protest as cracks began to form in Nagato's barrier.
Lightning flashed through the clouds in wild, jagged arcs, illuminating the battlefield in brief, blinding bursts.
Nagato's lips curled into a sharp smile. "Do you think this will stop me?" he said, his voice laced with chilling certainty. His hands rose, and the storm obeyed. Lightning spiraled between his fingers, building into a cataclysmic surge that he unleashed with a flick of his wrist. "I have endured far worse."
The barrier flared brighter, purple arcs coiling outward like living tendrils, streaking toward his enemies with unrelenting force—
Tenjin bellowed, "Now!"
Raimei's winds screamed to life once more, homing onto the incoming strikes and, impossibly, deflecting them. The yōkai's hooves struck the fractured deck with a thunderous crack, sending a shockwave rippling through Nagato's seals, destabilizing them further. Gen'ei's spectral arms shattered under their own renewed onslaught, but even in their destruction, they served their purpose. The fragments embedded themselves into the barrier like barbs, tearing at its structure from within, each one another needle driving toward collapse.
And Tenjin did something.
There was a shift in the air. At the same time, Gojō's chant reached its peak, his shikigami blazing with light as it began growing, but Naruto couldn't focus on that.
Sound, and fury, as all four forces collided with Nagato's Sealing Field.
The barrier cracked, like glass under immense pressure, then shattered.
The Sealing Field, Nagato's grand masterpiece, fell apart like a sand castle swept away by a tide. The oppressive purple light vanished, leaving behind only the stark, jagged illumination of lightning above, and Tenjin's darkness.
The night fell eerily silent, and time slowed down. Every sound seemed amplified: the rasp of breath, the patter of rain, the hissing of burning metal. And then, cutting through the stillness, came the sound.
The deer's hoof struck the wrecked metal deck with another single, deliberate tap. The sharp, impossibly loud crack rippled through the silence, echoing like a death knell.
Reality rippled. Nagato blinked — and in that blink, instead of Tenjin, found himself staring into Gen'ei's eyes. They gleamed with unearthly crimson light, pinning Nagato in place, frozen in that perpetually surprised expression. It must have been like being caught in a spider's web, each strand tightening until movement became impossible.
Then Raimei struck.
With a sharp whistle, a wind blade flashed behind Nagato, carving diagonally across his back. The blade's edge, sharper than any forged steel, burned as it cut through vital and meridian points. The wound didn't bleed dark blood as it should have; the speed and precision of the attack cauterized the edges instantly, leaving behind a faint hiss of seared flesh. It went through Nagato anyway, the same way it had through Ryūjin.
Time seemed to freeze further, the rain suspended like glass beads in the air.
Raimei's second strike came even faster, crossing the first with brutal precision. Wind chakra roared, slicing through muscle and sinew with a howl like a storm of razors. The intersecting slashes left behind a lattice of smaller deep cuts. Blood hung in crystalline arcs before falling in a crimson mist.
Flesh gave way like soaked parchment, and arterial spray joined the falling rain.
Naruto's scream tore free, raw and anguished, as the horrifying display unfolded.
And then Tenjin surged forward.
He seized the moment of vulnerability with mechanical precision, his good hand blurring through seals. Trembling but unyielding, he held a writhing flame of five colors: white, blue, red, black, and a sickly purple that seemed to devour light itself. The unnatural fire shimmered with malevolent energy, warping the air around it.
Whatever seal he was preparing, it was terrifyingly potent. Meant to finish this, and the only way Nagato could be finished, according to Raimei's words. The air shimmered around him, distorting the space near his flame. Rain turned to steam the instant it neared the fire, hissing in protest.
Another hoof tap, and he exchanged positions with Raimei, so close to Nagato he couldn't possibly miss.
The three men and the yōkai moved in perfect harmony. Their attack flowed like a deadly dance, one practiced a thousand times:
Gen'ei's gaze locked Nagato in place. Raimei's blades carved through flesh with cruel precision. Tenjin's seals flared as he prepared the final strike. And the yōkai, of course, made the storm of chaos bearing down on Nagato possible in the first place.
It would take Naruto time to process all of this, of course, but time spent ruminating was something he would have too much of, in the future.
Back then, Naruto's heart only seemed to stop in his chest.
This was it, he thought, the end of Nagato, the end of everything they'd been dying and fighting for. The end of every line they had crossed. And the end of whatever their cause truly was.
A part of Naruto he didn't want to acknowledge felt a sick relief at the thought. There would be no more walking the knife's edge between admiration and horror, no more questioning what Konoha wanted from them in the first place.
But another part of him screamed in denial. He had seen too many die already, had felt the weight of each loss like stones added to a drowning man's pockets. And now, watching Nagato about to be carved apart again... something darker stirred in him. A voice that was entranced as it was horrified by this dance of death, this perfect coordination of killers. The same voice that had held him together, in the most awful of moments.
If this was what true mastery looked like — the power to decide one's course with such terrible grace, then—
As Gen'ei held Nagato, as Raimei had done his best to butcher him, as the yōkai stood ready, Tenjin's flame surged at full strength, the five-colored fire twisting in his grasp, and he brought it down in one final, decisive strike.
Too close. Unavoidable, inescapable—
Nagato turned to face him, with a bloodied smile.
At the same time, Gen'ei brought a hand to his eyes with a scream, and an unseen lightning sigil broke.
In a flash, Nagato's hair whitened completely, its last traces of color draining away. At first, Naruto had thought it was a sign of weakening, a signal that Nagato's body was reaching its limit. But then the truth revealed itself in horrifying clarity.
Nagato's body should have crumbled under the relentless onslaught, yet it hadn't. Instead, it ruptured. Beneath the torn muscle and the blood-stained white of his clothes, however, something else stirred. And the reason his body had endured became chillingly obvious.
His flesh was tearing, certainly, his white clothes now a canvas of dark red that spread like spilled ink, staining the cold metal underneath with growing pools of crimson. But his bones… his bones refused to break.
They grew.
In a flash of ivory, they erupted through torn muscle and split skin like living things, writhing and multiplying in order to shield him even as his blood spilled, and his body was torn apart.
Tenjin realized that fact one fraction of a second too late as well, having been too certain that this was their best opportunity to end Nagato. That certainty made him commit fully to the strike, leaving him no room to properly dodge.
Lightning flared from Nagato, a jagged aura of electric blue that crackled and burned with intensity.
The curved bone blade that exploded from his wrist moved faster than thought, nearly taking Tenjin's head in a spray of arterial red in spite of his barrier slowing Nagato down.
A seal etched into Tenjin's chest flared at the last possible instant, releasing a burst of stored momentum that wrenched him backward. It was an automatic defense, likely designed to counter deadly physical attacks that he couldn't. Even with it, the blade came within a hair's breadth of ending him.
Even with it, the strike didn't miss entirely.
The blade's edge split both his cheeks open, flesh peeling apart like wet paper. The gory flaps hung loosely, exposing bloody teeth in a grotesque parody of a grin. If the seal had activated even a fraction of a second later, Tenjin's head would have been severed entirely.
But Nagato wasn't finished.
Naruto watched in growing dread as the air around Nagato shimmered with a strange, rippling purple. It wasn't just his bone technique or the flash of blue lightning that defined his retaliation.
There was a perfectly contained flare of purple around him too, a shroud that rippled like heat waves over water, shielding him from the worst of the Sealing Field's effects — Coiling Dragon Heart, of a level far beyond what Ryūjin and Gojō had showcased. Each time Tenjin's ward tried to disrupt it, the shroud would twist and reform; adapting, and evolving.
"I have seen through your technique, Tenjin," Nagato said, his voice cold and calm. "And through you, as well."
Tenjin leaped back, true fear etched into his ruined features.
But retreat wasn't an option.
The fight that followed couldn't be a battle — it was a grim display of violence slowed to a torturous crawl. The oppressive weight of Tenjin's Sealing Field thickened the air, turning every movement into an agonizing effort, like wading through tar…
Nagato didn't care.
Shrouded in dual-layered blue and purple, he moved with horrifying efficiency, bone spurs erupting from his arms to turn every block into a counterattack. Tenjin howled in pain as one of those jagged edges carved deep furrows across his side, the wounds tearing through muscle and spilling blood onto the deck.
Gen'ei rushed in, targeting Nagato's blind spot with a palm strike aimed to crush his spine from one side, while a chakra arm erupted from the floor to sever his head from the other. But Nagato twisted impossibly, his bones shifting beneath his skin like a living lattice, and caught Gen'ei's wrist mid-strike.
The crack of breaking bone echoed across the battlefield — Gen'ei's, not Nagato's.
Before Gen'ei could even scream, Nagato spun with unnerving precision, using the momentum to fling him into Raimei's incoming blade.
Then came the hoof tap, saving him—
Nagato's gaze snapped toward the yōkai. He had been waiting for this. In a blur, he closed the distance, hand outstretched. The deer yōkai shifted, its ethereal form flickering as it tried to react, but it was too late. Nagato's fingers made contact with its flank, and a jolt of chakra erupted between them like lightning.
With that single touch, their chakra connected.
The deer's eyes opened wide as Nagato's overwhelming chakra surged into it, dominating the yōkai's control over its ability.
Raimei and Gen'ei barely had time to process what was happening before the world inverted again. Blood sprayed as the two collided, but Raimei — the only one who seemed to be able to keep up with Nagato — managed to pull his strike at the last second.
That moment of hesitation cost Gen'ei more than it did Raimei. Another blur of motion, and Nagato's elbow, now bristling with jagged bone and slick with yōkai ichor, drove into his sternum with brutal force. The crack was wet, and messy. Blood sprayed from his mask as he staggered back, instantly summoning fire to this hand to cauterize the wounds.
The fractured yōkai that Nagato had nearly ripped apart struggled, its broken pieces straining toward one another, desperate to reunite.
Tenjin pressed the attack, his movements fueled by sheer willpower and the desperate fury of a man running out of time. Blood soaked his torn clothes, but his remaining hand moved with frantic precision, weaving half-seals so quickly they seemed to blur.
The air around Nagato thickened further, the Sealing Field closing in with suffocating force, but the shimmering shroud enveloping Nagato changed to match it.
"Your technique requires perfect control," Nagato remarked, his tone maddeningly calm. His hand caught Tenjin's explosive kick with unnerving ease, as though it were an expected gesture rather than an attack.
With a sickening crack, bone spikes erupted from Nagato's forearm, piercing through Tenjin's calf and thigh in a spray of crimson. The barbs curved wickedly, locking in place as if they savored the pain they inflicted.
"But you're tired," Nagato continued, his voice almost clinical, "and bleeding out."
Tenjin didn't flinch. Instead, he answered with brutal simplicity — a headbutt that carried enough force to shatter stone. The blow connected with a resounding thud, but Nagato's skull had already transformed. Jagged ridges of bone had blossomed like a grotesque crown, meeting the impact with a sound like thunder.
Tenjin stumbled back, mangling his leg further in his retreat, and blood now also pouring from a deep gash across his forehead, masking half his face. His breathing was labored, his injuries mounting, but his eyes remained locked on Nagato with that same single-minded focus.
Gen'ei and Raimei didn't wait. They struck together, moving like twin edges of the same sword.
Their attacks defied human limitation — Raimei's strikes were precise, swift bursts of wind-infused chakra, while Gen'ei's spectral arms blurred with the ghostly speed that he couldn't maintain in his state, carrying the flame. They moved in perfect synchrony, wind and fire chasing lightning across the horizon, each blow aimed at a joint, a tendon, a vital point — attacks that flowed seamlessly into one another despite the crushing weight of the Sealing Field and their horrific wounds. Their movements reflected countless hours of training, adapting to these very conditions, attuned to each other's rhythm; or perhaps Tenjin had found a way to lessen the field's effects on them...
All that was true.
But Nagato was becoming something else entirely.
Inhuman — that was Naruto's only thought as he watched him. His spine twisted unnaturally, his body bending and contorting at impossible angles. Skin and muscle tore apart, healing faster than it could matter. Bone plates shifted and reformed across his body with each motion, growing faster than their strikes could land. What should have been killing blows scraped off the ivory armor, leaving only faint, superficial marks.
Less a man and more a creature of living bone and murderous intent, a glint in his eye that didn't seem entirely his. Each strike that landed only seemed to accelerate his transformation, his flesh tearing away to reveal a lattice of ever-evolving ivory beneath. Blood poured from his wounds, but everything was spiraling out of control so quickly that the sight of it was slightly more reassuring than horrifying. It was the only reminder that Nagato was still, in some small part, man.
Kūten, now fully expanded, surged upward with a burst of speed that carried its three passengers beyond the Sealing Field's reach. The sudden acceleration hit Naruto like a physical blow, nearly flinging him from the familiar's back. He scrambled to hold on, his breath catching in his throat as the airship's remains blurred below.
When he caught Gojō's faint smile in the storm-lit darkness, understanding dawned.
He has not given up on Nagato at all, Naruto realized, shame burning in his chest. It was the opposite. Gojō had never doubted Nagato at all. He knew exactly what Nagato was capable of surviving, even in the face of overwhelming odds.
"Raimei!" Gen'ei's voice cut through the cacophony of combat, tight with pain, and equally urgent.
Tenjin's lidded eyes blazed with determination. His hand locked in a single seal, trembling under the weight of his injuries—
Nagato raised his hand, forsaking his cloak of thunder for the time being. Pale blue lightning flared from his shroud, surging outward in targeted, jagged arcs that wrapped around Tenjin's Sealing Field like a predator constricting its prey.
Cracks formed along the barrier's surface, splitting it into fragments of shimmering light.
"Futile," Nagato said, his voice calm, resonating with absolute finality.
With a flick of his wrist, the lightning tore through Tenjin's seals entirely, to his utter disbelief.
The Sealing Field shattered like glass, dark light splintering in every direction before the entire technique collapsed in on itself. Between one heartbeat and the next, it vanished as if it had never existed, leaving only a deafening silence and the bitter taste of ozone hanging in the air.
The field hadn't truly contained Nagato, in the end. Nothing could, it seemed. If anything, it had only accelerated his transformation. Like a blade tempered in fire, the relentless pressure of the technique had pushed him to evolve, to shatter the very limitations that might have held him back.
Every moment under its weight had made Nagato stronger, more refined, more terrible.
And now, without the Sealing Field, their best chance of containing him was gone. It meant they likely had no way of defeating him. In hindsight, Naruto realized that they should have seen it coming: they should have understood why Gen'ei called out for Raimei.
But that realization came too late.
Nagato wasted no time. In between his hands, he cradled a terrifying creation — a fusion of Lightning and what Naruto guessed was Earth — drawing everything toward its ominous core.
"Combination Bloodline?" Gen'ei's voice warbled. "Is there anything you won't—"
That's it, Naruto thought then, his mind racing as his chest tightened with dread. Nagato can actually do it. The only way we can—
A blinding flare of light cut through his thoughts.
The deer yōkai's power surged, higher than ever before, its aura blazing brighter than the lightning streaking through the storm above. Reality twisted violently, space bending and folding in on itself like paper crumpled in a giant's hand.
Naruto's vision fractured, glimpses of impossible spaces flashing before him — corridors that led to nowhere, spaces between spaces, voids that spiraled endlessly into themselves, angles that defied logic and hurt to look at. Somewhere in the chaos, he heard Gojō curse. The reason why became painfully clear an instant later.
When reality snapped back into place, it hit like the crack of a whip. They were all back on the airship, but by now, it was no longer sailing through the skies. None of the mechanisms and powers that had kept it somewhat afloat were anywhere to be seen.
It was truly falling — a vast, broken bird plummeting through the storm. The wind howled around them, tearing at their clothes. Rain struck like daggers, nearly horizontal, sharp, and relentless. Only Gojō's hand prevented Naruto from falling off.
Nagato stood nearby, unrecognizable. Jagged ridges and elaborate spires jutted from his form, shaping him into something ancient, something predatory. Blood ran down the pristine white surfaces like rain on marble, and where bone met flesh, the boundaries blurred until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Lightning flashed, casting him in stark relief, a crimson glow in the storm-lit dark.
But through all this, it was his expression that chilled Naruto to the core.
Raimei was holding Shinpachi by the hair, the wind blade at his throat trembling with deadly precision, a fraction from cutting too deep.
"I suppose that this power," Raimei said, his voice as sharp as his weapon, "is one you haven't seen through yet. In fact, you haven't seen it at all, have you?"
Nagato said nothing, his silence more chilling than any retort.
"Did you think we came without contingencies?" Raimei's voice cut through the storm, impossibly steady. Tenjin stood to his side, his mangled mouth a macabre display as he tried to speak. An equally mutilated hand pressed against his injuries, but his eyes seemed composed enough. "Try anything and he dies. And your Sealing Field would kill all of them on its own."
A moment of terrible stillness followed, stretched taut like a bowstring about to snap. Nagato's hair hung low, obscuring his face. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles drained of color, while the cold sting of rain seemingly grounded him — tethering him to the moment, just barely.
Then he lifted his head.
The smile on his face wasn't human. There was no warmth, no compassion — only a thin veneer of civility masking something darker.
"You assume I care about any of their lives."
Naruto's breath caught. His head snapped toward Nagato, searching for some trace of the man he thought he had met. Instead, he caught Gojō's sidelong glance — a warning that cut deeper than words.
"We've studied you," Gen'ei rasped, his voice raw with pain. Blood dripped from his mask, crimson rivulets that stained the deck. "Your movements betrayed you. You've been holding back, anytime they were too close. Every strike then has been calculated — restrained."
Lightning split the sky, casting stark flashes of light across the scene. For an instant, Naruto saw it: the faint tremors in Nagato's hands, the subtle clenching of his jaw, the minute hesitations that no amount of power could disguise.
Tenjin lurched forward, his bloodied grin a grotesque, gaping wound, torn flesh hanging in ragged strips. When he spoke, his voice came wet and slurred. "The almighty Nagato. The protector. The Chosen One." A gurgling laugh rattled from his throat, thick with blood. "Your reputation precedes you. So young. A legend already. But you wouldn't dare compromise your precious principles, would you?"
His ruined mouth twisted, and for a moment, it was impossible to tell if he was grinning or simply falling apart.
The bone armor rippled across Nagato's chest like a living thing, shifting restlessly, unsettled. His voice was low and measured, his calm unbroken. "And what makes you think—"
A sharp, panicked gasp cut him off.
Through a careful application of chakra, Shinpachi was forced awake. Raimei's blade had kissed his throat, leaving behind a thin red line, a promise of death held in perfect balance. The young Uzumaki's wide eyes darted frantically, his chest heaving as he was dragged into brutal awareness.
Nagato froze.
The spires along his body retracted, the grotesque armor sliding back into his flesh. His face contorted briefly, an expression of raw, unrestrained fury replacing the cold mask he had worn moments before.
"Good," Raimei said, his tone flat. "Now, let's discuss terms."
The deck beneath them was splitting entirely, metal screeching as gaps widened between the fractured plates. Below, jagged white peaks loomed closer, sharp as teeth.
Mountains, Naruto realized numbly. The mainland. Already?
Time was slipping through their fingers.
"Your terms are irrelevant," Nagato said suddenly, his voice unnervingly calm. The stillness of it made Naruto's hair stand on end. It was the eye of the hurricane, the moment of silence before an avalanche crushed everything in its path.
Raimei's blade pressed closer, dimpling Shinpachi's skin just shy of breaking it. Even through the chaos, Naruto could see the precision in it, the absolute mastery in the way the wind blade hovered in perfect balance.
"The moment I sense your chakra spike, he dies," Raimei said, his voice cold steel. "Are you fast enough, Nagato? Faster than my wind?"
Nagato's lips curled into a snarl. "Do I need to be?"
Lightning illuminated his face, casting harsh shadows across his features. In that instant, Naruto saw something terrifying in his eyes — a raw, unfiltered determination that made his heart lurch.
"Try me."
There was no good choice here. Naruto knew it with bone-deep certainty, the same way he knew the storm would keep raging, the rain would keep falling, and the mountains below would keep reaching for them. Every path led to disaster.
Running wasn't possible, even with Gojō's powerful shikigami. The deer yōkai's power bent space and time like a child twisting a paper crane. Earlier — he was nearly sure of it now — it had forced people to exchange places with other people, and perhaps things, across a rather wide range, tossing their group like leaves in a storm. Now, it had done something even more unsettling, over a much wider range, dragging the trio back to the airship as though distance had folded in on them. There would be no escape, not while that creature still stood.
Fighting was no better. Nagato, for all his fearsome strength, couldn't unleash his full power. His most devastating techniques were useless here, not because he lacked the ability, but because the cost would be too high. Shinpachi's life teetered on Raimei's blade. Even Gojō couldn't shield them from collateral damage this time — and they would be it.
Naruto clenched his fists. Shinpachi wasn't just a comrade; he was kin, tied to Naruto by the bloodlines of Uzushio and the shared burden of their harsh reality. His eyes flickered to Nagato, whose bone blade shimmered faintly in the starlight, only half-extended in reluctant restraint. The crackling orb, of course, had been dismissed the moment the deer's power had extended.
We're really holding him back. Naruto knew it, of course, the same way he had decided that he and Shinpachi were all but responsible for Aiko, Shiori, and Ryūjin's fates. It was possible Nagato could obliterate their enemies in a single move, but the cost would be unbearable. Naruto could see it in the barely suppressed rage flickering behind his eyes.
Gojō's eyes met Naruto's, and they held no trace of helplessness — only disgust. Disgust at himself, mirroring the same that burned within Naruto; at their shared failure to prevent this outcome.
Raimei's hand didn't waver. His blade remained poised, steady in a way that only true killers could manage. It wasn't the hand of someone bluffing. Although he didn't look into the crimson eyes directly, Naruto knew that look. The cold, unflinching resolve of someone who would act without hesitation if he didn't obtain what he wanted.
And someday, in the not-too-distant future, he would fear seeing the same look in his own reflection.
Wood and metal split beneath their feet, an unwanted reminder of how little time they had. White peaks loomed in the distance, growing closer with every passing second.
If they didn't figure something out soon, none of this would matter.
Naruto's mind raced, searching for an opening that perhaps the adults' eyes couldn't see, a solution, anything that wouldn't end in tragedy. But no matter how many scenarios he ran through, they all ended the same way: something had to give.
And that was the cruelest truth of all.
"My life," Nagato said, his voice carrying over the storm's fury, "is what you truly want, isn't it? Before I—"
"You, dead and gone," Raimei replied, calm despite the howling wind, "and at least one of the chosen children, alive."
Nagato's jaw tightened, his expression darkening.
There was no good choice here.
"…Monkey Business."
Perhaps it was why Gojō moved.
So came the whisper. It wasn't just because the three men had been focused mostly on Nagato.
It wasn't subtle — nothing resembling a carefully calculated gambit. Or, perhaps, it was exactly that: Gojō instantly recognizing Shinpachi as the only leverage the enemy possessed right now. Perhaps he was acting before that could change, all too familiar with the cruel tactics of this world, in a way even Nagato couldn't be.
Regardless of their threats, Shinpachi was a bargaining chip they couldn't discard. Not if they wanted to avoid potential obliteration at Nagato's hands.
While the others hesitated, Gojō made his decision: pure, unrelenting force. His hand shot forward furiously, a crack of energy radiating outward with a sound like the heavens tearing.
Nagato's eyes widened. "Gojō, no—the yōkai—"
But Gojō was beyond words. His other hand moved in a blur, settling into a seal with the practiced ease of a master, his focus razor-sharp. Around him, the air shimmered, golden light building to a crescendo of impossible intensity.
The wounded Gen'ei lunged forward with a sound of pain, flames roaring to life in order to shape a blade, even as Tenjin cursed and twisted to react.
"Form Seven: Sunflower."
The deer yōkai turned, its antlers glowing faintly as it sensed the threat. Space rippled and twisted around it, folding into strange, nauseating patterns as it moved to act. But Gojō was faster.
Light erupted from his palm, not in a crude blast but in a perfect, terrible symmetry.
The technique's name became manifest: a flower of pure energy unfurled its petals. It bloomed with devastating grace, a radiance so intense that Naruto could see the bones of his hands through his skin when he tried to shield his eyes.
But all that power, to Naruto's disbelief, seemed focused.
The deer yōkai flickered and fractured from within. Its antlers splintered into shards of blinding energy, and its body twisted, protesting as it was torn apart. The space around it collapsed violently, reality warping in its death throes.
Gojō's eyes met Nagato's through the chaos, a lifetime compressed into four words: "Counting on you now."
And then came the distortion.
Naruto felt the ground lurch beneath him, the reinforced hull of the airship warping like paper as it unfurled into a hole he couldn't see. A wall of force slammed into him — not just physical pressure, but something that seemed to grab hold of the space his body occupied and yanked.
Through blurred vision, Naruto caught the eruption of Nagato's lightning shroud: a jagged, blinding burst that split the battlefield. Nagato wasn't where he had been a heartbeat ago. He had moved — no, disappeared — a blur of impossible speed. Naruto's eyes barely kept up, catching only the moment when Nagato's bone blade met Raimei's wind, the clash igniting a storm of sparks that forced Raimei to abandon Shinpachi and retreat.
Above the chaos, Nagato's voice cut through — not a roar, but a command.
"Land! If that's all I can do, then—"
The air convulsed with raw power as his bone-covered arms stretched outward, lightning crackling across the dying yōkai's collapsing field. His presence surged, not resisting the distortion but seizing it, wrenching control from the unraveling space.
The kaleidoscope of fractured geometries shuddered, its spiraling chaos slowing — an imperceptible crawl—
—only to lurch forward again, ravenous, unrelenting.
Nagato's jaw clenched, his gaze sweeping over his comrades. Then, he threw his hands forward, chakra surging like an unseen grip around the fraying edges of the technique itself. His fingertips burned, but the air bent to his will, and for an instant, the chaos twisted in response.
Raimei and Shinpachi were the first to go.
Their forms folded inward as though unraveling, each pulled along a different trajectory. Like paper cranes undone mid-flight, they dissolved into the consuming light, leaving no shadow, no trace — just the faintest echo of their departure.
The world twisted; an impossible kaleidoscope of impossible angles and fractured spaces. Naruto felt himself being pulled apart, not physically but dimensionally, each atom of his being suggesting different directions in space-time.
The sight burned into memory: Nagato, arms outstretched, wrenching control from the void itself; Gojō, a blur of desperate fury, hurtling toward the remaining men. His blade erupted in a brilliant arc of golden light, driving through Gen'ei's heart and holding firm, unmoving, as the space around the dying yōkai began to tear and bleed. The deep, unrelenting roar of Tenjin echoed in his ears, shaking the air as the world fractured and splintered around them.
Naruto tried to scream too, but the sound was lost in the howling void between spaces.
Then came the fall.
There was no transition, no warning. The void snapped apart, and suddenly, Naruto was hurtling through arctic air.
The cold struck him first. It wasn't a simple chill; it was absolute, merciless, and primal. The kind of cold that belonged to the highest peaks, where the air grew too thin to hold life or warmth. The kind of cold that reached into the soul and tried to extinguish it.
His body slammed into something solid with enough force to drive every molecule of oxygen from his lungs. Stars burst behind his eyes — real ones, this time, not the fractured geometries of broken space.
He tumbled, wind and snow lashing at him, each shard of ice a knife against his exposed skin.
When he hit the ground again, the snowbank broke his fall, its softness deceptive as it swallowed him whole. He sank deep into the frigid embrace, gasping, the cold numbing his pain as quickly as it inflicted more.
And to think he had wanted to see it, experience it for himself.
The world around him was a white void, and its silence, after the chaos of the battle, seemed so complete it was deafening. He lay there for a moment, struggling to breathe, his limbs heavy and unresponsive.
But then he forced himself to move.
He turned in place, searching desperately for any sign of his companions. Empty white stretched in every direction.
"Gojō!" The name tore from his raw throat, already hoarse from the thin air. "Shinpachi! Nagato!"
The wind snatched his words away, scattering them across the heartless snow. No answer came. There was no sign of the airship above, no trace of the battle, nothing to suggest the others had even survived.
The mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks barely visible through the whiteout. Shadows against a gray sky, ancient and indifferent.
Naruto made his trembling legs move. Each step was a battle against the snow that reached past his knees, and his soaked jika-tabi clung to his feet like ice.
He turned in circles, desperate to make sense of what had happened. His mind raced, replaying the final moments aboard the airship: Gojō's devastating technique, the deer yōkai's death throes, and the shattering of space itself. He was certain the yōkai had taken the brunt of it, but what had its collapse unleashed?
Naruto stumbled forward, his breath visible in ragged puffs that vanished as quickly as they appeared. The cold stung his cheeks and seeped into his bones.
When he fell again, snow pressed against his face, and this time, he didn't get up immediately.
Aiko would hate this, he thought, the memory surfacing unbidden. She had always loathed the cold, the snow, the emptiness. Now, Naruto understood why. It wasn't just the physical pain — it was the loneliness, too. A void that seemed to stretch forever.
For a moment, he thought he heard it: the distant echoes of combat, the clash of steel, voices roaring in defiance. The sounds of a battlefield; of a world that had turned inside out and stopped making sense at some point.
But when he raised his head, there was only snow, swirling endlessly in the darkness.
He stumbled forward, step by agonizing step, the distant mountains his only guide. Each movement grew harder, his limbs heavier, the cold creeping deeper into his chest and mind.
He didn't know where he was going. He just knew he had to move.
His last thought before the cold took him was how it didn't seem so biting anymore, how it almost felt soft. Warm. Inviting. And somewhere in the back of his fading awareness, he knew that was a very bad sign.
But all he could see was snow, swirling endlessly in the darkness, and so he walked, his consciousness slipping away like water through fingers.
i/Y8fuRK : Annex — A Few Strengths and Skills
i/YWIjsm : Nagato, Again
i/Y8fZfm : The Mountain
i/YWdlF7 : Extra — "Tenjin: On Nagato, After Realizing He Wasn't Built for This"
AN: This became slightly longer than expected...
Fair warning: the two next chapters are going to be fairly short.
What? No, it has nothing to do with a break week, why do you ask?
Next chapter: Quiet