The Forest of Death - Training Ground Forty-Four of Konoha - spans a ten-kilometer radius, split in two by a forked river and anchored at its heart by a lone tower. It teems with feral beasts; only a jōnin can cross it safely. Largest and most lethal of Konoha's proving grounds, it now hosts two figures atop that central tower.
Arms folded, Obito tapped his bicep, patience thinning. "Brat, it's been five minutes. Can we start?"
Five minutes earlier, he and Moke had arrived almost together at the forest's center. Moke, drifting through the sky, looked several classes above Obito, who had surfaced from underground. Obito had just been about to probe with a clan-standard Great Fireball when Moke stopped him: the audience wasn't in their seats yet. Opening the show early would be a waste.
Out of respect for strength, Obito waited. Now he was done waiting.
"All right, the spectators are in place," Moke said lightly, eyes bright. "Let's begin, Madara-san."
At the forest's edge, the village elite had gathered. Sandaime Hiruzen, wary since he saw Moke's war-aura rising as the red-haired youth flew toward the Forest of Death, had already ordered a full sweep: all ninja below jōnin rank were to stay inside the walls; a strike detail would shadow Moke to the perimeter. Hyūga Hiashi drifted near and, in a low voice, described the intruder's eye pattern. Hiruzen's frown deepened. Mangekyō Sharingan — returned to the world.
"Hmph. Men like you care too much about weaklings' eyes on you," Obito growled, lowering his voice into a Madara-like rumble. "You waste time on trivialities."
"Funny," Moke smiled. "You're wasting time saying that. Come. Show me the strength of one who once fought the God of Shinobi."
"Arrogant whelp," Obito snapped. "Then see the elder's strength — and try not to die too fast! Fire Style: Gale Serpent Dance!"
His lone eye tightened, Mangekyō opening. Signs flashed. Fire, braided to warped space, roared forth, corkscrewing at Moke.
Obito's Mangekyō couldn't crush space at a gaze like the one he'd given to Kakashi, but he could still twist the air outward from his own eye, and that was enough.
"What a fire style—!"
The spiral blaze lunged like a giant serpent, swallowing a swath of sky. At the perimeter, gasps rippled: they'd never seen a fire jutsu bite this hard. Hiruzen, who had unleashed even greater force with combination ninjutsu, was less impressed with the flames than with the silhouette inside them. It tugged at his memory: the intruder from that night.
Moke had drawn every eye on his flight across the village. Now Hiruzen's only comfort was that this Uzumaki Moke didn't seem to be allied with the intruder. If fate was kind, perhaps they'd ruin one another.
"Good!" Moke shouted, thrilled — and punched into the spiral with a fist lacquered in black armament. Space and steel fused; the blow rang like the Tremor-Tremor. A vast shock-fist rippled the air itself and slammed into the serpent's crown.
Fire met quake. Two space-forces kissed, stilled — then snapped to a pin. The next heartbeat detonated outward: flame and wind blasted the tower's ring of trees flat in a burst.
Even as the wave peeled away, a blood-red blade flashed into Moke's right hand. He cut left in a single arc — and the slash howled away, skimming the spot where Obito had flickered in to cast his chain. Moke didn't have much formal combat schooling, but his instincts ran feral and his reactions were razors; with Observation guiding him, he felt Obito's landing point the instant the man moved.
As for "technique"? With near-endless power, who needed a textbook? Just press and break.
The scarlet wave carved on — Obito had already ghosted. The blade passed through his intangible body and scythed a track several meters wide and more than a kilometer long through the forest, reducing every tree and creature in its path to dust.
"Obito's phasing dumps him into Kamui's pocket space," Moke thought, eyes narrowing. "Without the pocket's coordinates, you can't crack it with normal space work."
Space is layered. When the body slips to a side room, wrecking the main hall doesn't touch it. Chains whistled back toward him; Moke chose not to meet them. He blurred with a Shave-step to one side. The chains wouldn't pierce his body, but their trick was nasty — pass through as mist, then solidify inside you and tear you apart from within. It probably wouldn't truly injure him, but he had no interest in getting kebabbed today. And no, he wasn't going to flash his own teleport — not yet.
At the edge, Hiruzen barked orders to the Barrier Corps to ring the forest and be ready to throw nets, confining overflow before it chewed through the village.
Moke measured, then moved. Obito had one soft flank: five minutes. That was how long Kamui could hold him in mist. For endurance, Moke feared no one. He flickered and pressed, again and again — a cut, a fist, blue and red spells of breaking light between, driving Obito without pause. At each feint he let the crimson pressure surge; the moment Obito tried to rematerialize, that weight would hitch his muscles for a split second — more than enough. With the man's current physique, one clean hit would wreck him.
I can miss a hundred times, Moke thought. You can only miss once.
Obito hunted for a touch, kept the phasing veil, and wove through Moke's counters. Great swathes of forest fell. One scarlet stroke even split the central tower clean in two.
No. At this rate I'll run the clock out. Less than two minutes had passed, but Moke hadn't even broken a sweat. Obito could see the game.
He didn't panic. With Spiral Zetsu wrapped around him, his Wood Release stood at a savage height.
At the next lull, Obito planted his feet, fists crossed, and roared: "Wood Release — Deep Forest Emergence!"
The earth erupted. Countless giant trees tore upward, their trunks coiling like pythons, the green tide racing to bind, crush, and swallow.
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