The Country of Rivers.
It wasn't far from the valley where Obito had once trained in secret.
Deep beneath a mountain, in a sealed cavern where Madara's withered body had once been tethered to the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path.
"Hey!"
"I'm sorry, Madara-sama!"
"I'll endure it, Madara-sama!"
"I'll do better next time, Madara-sama!"
Boom!
A sharp explosion echoed in the humid darkness.
Inside the cave, Black Zetsu had cast off the Akatsuki cloak and thrown on a plain white smock, sweat pouring from his pitch-black face as he knelt before an ancient stone tomb.
He was muttering constantly under his breath—not prayer, but technical jargon.
Ninjutsu.
To be precise, Impure World Reincarnation—a jutsu that required precise formula inscriptions, a deep understanding of chakra theory, and a strong sacrificial link.
Though originally created by the Second Hokage Tobirama Senju, Orochimaru had taken it further. And now, Black Zetsu, a being older than the Sage of Six Paths himself, had refined a makeshift early prototype based on Orochimaru's notes and Kabuto's later revisions.
Despite having lived for millennia, Black Zetsu lacked proper chakra reserves and a body capable of large-scale ninjutsu. So he made up for it with cunning.
His goal now: unearth Madara's corpse, and use a partial DNA sample to trigger the Edo Tensei resurrection.
As for the sacrificial body, he had chosen a clone of White Zetsu—specifically, one formed from Hashirama's altered cells cultivated via the Demonic Statue's ancient life-force. This one had trace genetic material of the First Hokage, making it a high-quality vessel for a powerful reincarnation.
Unfortunately, he still lacked a proper method to mass-produce White Zetsu at the same rate as Kaguya's Infinite Tsukuyomi method, and the Demonic Statue was no longer under his control, now held by Nagato.
So he made do.
A twisted grin curled over his face as he lifted Madara's skull.
At last, the ritual was ready.
Adding the remains and sealing formula, Black Zetsu, the self-proclaimed tactician of the Ōtsutsuki lineage, began to form hand seals.
Yin – Si – Xu – Chen!
Hands clapped together.
"Kuchiyose: Edo Tensei!"
His rasping voice echoed through the cavern.
The sacrificial White Zetsu began to convulse violently, chakra threads weaving into the DNA components.
Though mindless, the body screamed grotesquely in agony. Its form distorted, decayed, and was overwritten by the soul dragged from the Pure Land.
Black Zetsu didn't flinch.
And then, finally—where once stood the howling Zetsu clone, now emerged a tall man draped in heavy crimson armor.
Hair long and unkempt, eyes shut.
The resurrected man opened his eyes slowly, the pupils revealing only the base Mangekyō Sharingan, not even Eternal.
Still, the moment his gaze locked onto Zetsu, a terrible pressure filled the cavern.
Uchiha Madara had returned.
His form was youthful—closer to his prime during the Warring States, yet not fully restored. Unlike Kabuto's later enhancements, this version lacked complete vitality. Still, Black Zetsu had attempted to augment the process with small-scale Yin-Yang jutsu to stabilize the soul and reduce rejection.
Madara stood, arms folded, exuding aloof dominance.
But Black Zetsu frowned.
Something felt... off.
Too weak.
Black Zetsu had followed Orochimaru's procedure precisely—summoning, binding the soul, reinforcing with Hashirama's cells—yet the chakra aura coming off Madara barely touched Kage-level.
Sure, it looked majestic. But beneath that was fragility. A false impression of might.
This was no real Madara.
If he had used an ordinary human sacrifice, the result might've been even weaker—perhaps Jōnin-tier at best.
"Why...?" he muttered.
Madara's eyes narrowed. The ritual had stabilized; he now had full awareness of what had transpired.
He looked around the cavern, then down at the tomb behind him.
"So someone disturbed my resting place... and used Edo Tensei?"
He clenched his fist, then scowled.
The chakra flow—unstable. The power output—restricted. Even his Eternal Mangekyō wasn't accessible. His Wood Style was present, but unusable in its true form—just enough to grow trees, not shatter mountains.
This form was pitiful.
"You resurrected me like this?" Madara turned, glaring at Black Zetsu.
Black Zetsu shrank slightly but bowed quickly. "Lord Madara, forgive me. The situation is... complicated."
Madara snorted.
"Where's Obito?"
"At the adjacent cavern. He's... incapacitated."
Madara followed without waiting for permission.
There, Obito lay comatose, swathed in bandages, muttering incoherently.
Madara stepped close, frowning.
"Riding... Rin... riding what Rin...?"
He turned back slowly. "What's he babbling about?"
Black Zetsu hesitated. "Ah... Obito suffered mental trauma. He saw Rin in... compromising illusions during Infinite Tsukuyomi tests. It broke him."
Madara's eye twitched.
"He went mad... over a genjutsu?"
Black Zetsu coughed. "Let's not dwell on that."
Madara turned away, expression grim.
His return had not gone as he envisioned.
Still—he was back.
His body may be lacking, but his will had never been stronger.
"Where's Nagato? Has he mastered Rinne Tensei?"
"He's in the Land of Rain. I'll take you to him." Black Zetsu pulled out a cracked, battered spiral-patterned mask.
Madara stared at it.
"What's this?"
"Wear it, Lord Madara... in case Nagato doesn't recognize you."
Madara's brows twitched in disbelief.
"I am Uchiha Madara. And you want me to wear a mask?"
But after a long pause, he took it silently.
He would confront Nagato directly.
And if the boy dared question him?
Then Madara would remind the world what "power" truly meant.
Without further word, Black Zetsu activated the Mayfly Technique, drawing Madara's form into the earth.
—
Rain Village.
Konan stood atop the tower, gazing across the mist-covered rooftops.
Her mind, unwittingly, wandered to Bai Ye again.
That man—so distant, yet unforgettable.
In three years, she'd seen him only a few times, but his presence lingered like ink on her soul.
"Big jerk…" she murmured, then scoffed and turned.
Behind her, a man in a mask walked steadily toward the tower.
Disheveled hair. Powerful gait.
Her frown deepened.
Madara's hair had been cut short, hadn't it?
And he never walked like this. He always materialized silently—ghost-like, using Kamui's void to emerge without a trace.
Why walk like a normal person now?
This wasn't right.
Then she heard his voice:
"My name… Uchiha Madara."
"Where's that brat Nagato?"
The sheer arrogance in the tone—it wasn't Obito.
It wasn't the cautious, manipulative whispers she was used to.
This was pride.
Unapologetic and commanding.
A presence she hadn't felt before.
A new storm was coming.
And it bore the name Madara.
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