Chapter 76: The Ghost of the Warring States
The Third Raikage's final words were not for Akatsurugi, but for the listening ears of Amegakure. Even I have been run to ground. He can't have much chakra left. Strike now, and you can be the one to end the Blaze God. With such a powerhouse permanently in Konoha, how can the rest of us ever thrive?
His words struck a chord deep within Hanzo. A devilish voice whispered in his mind, urging him to act. Kill Akatsurugi. Let the world believe the two Kage killed each other. He remembered the sheer arrogance, the "Get out!" barked at him, the leader of a hidden village. Who did this Konoha shinobi think he was? He was Hanzo of the Salamander, a powerhouse in his own right!
Akatsurugi looked down at the dying Raikage and sneered. "It's useless."
With a final, decisive thrust, he plunged his zanpakutō through the Raikage's heart. The man's body went rigid, then still. A thick, white stream of spiritual energy—the Raikage's soul—was drawn into the hungry blade of Ryūjin Jakka.
Without a backward glance at Hanzo and his forces, Akatsurugi unsealed a scroll, cleanly sealed the Raikage's body, and stored it in his pouch.
Witnessing this cold, dismissive efficiency, Hanzo was torn. He must be bluffing. He has to be at his limit. This is the perfect chance.
But he was also the leader of Amegakure. He had to consider the village behind him, the spies who would report his actions, and the apocalyptic wrath of a Konoha robbed of its Blaze God.
"Heh. Why are you still here?" Akatsurugi's voice was a low, dangerous drawl as he finally raised his eyes to the Rain shinobi. "Do you truly wish to become my enemy?"
His chakra was low, but the diamond mark of the Yin Seal on his forehead remained untouched. If he released it, the ninja of Amegakure would be nothing but wheat before the scythe.
Hanzo's face darkened, but the decision was made. He could not afford this war. With a sharp, frustrated wave of his hand, he led his ninja back toward their village, turning his back on the opportunity.
Akatsurugi watched them go, unimpressed. The Raikage's final gambit had failed. A minor village like Amegakure wasn't worth his concern. Not the current Hanzo, nor even the future "Demi-God." If the one with the Rinnegan ever showed himself, Akatsurugi was confident he could handle him. In the world of shinobi, knowledge was the ultimate weapon.
Back in the Land of Demons, the shrine maiden looked upon her devastated country and wept. This was the price for their reluctant involvement. The appearance of three Kage had left them no choice. And the terrifying power of Konoha's Blaze God had shown her exactly why he bore that title.
Deep underground, in a cavern lit only by the faint glow of the Gedo Statue, a pale, spiral-faced creature emerged from the earth.
"Madara-sama," Zetsu reported, his voice a dry rustle. "Konoha's Blaze God is far more powerful than anticipated. The three Kage failed to kill him. He pursued the Raikage. I estimate the Raikage is already dead."
"Oh?" The voice that answered was old, layered with centuries of weariness and absolute authority. "Is that Konoha brat so formidable? His use of the Sharingan is... interesting. An outsider, daring to transplant a pair of our eyes and wield them to such effect. He has talent. But such a person... will become an obstacle to my plan."
Uchiha Madara, now a man in his fifties, his face a roadmap of deep wrinkles and his once-piercing eyes now holding only the embers of a formidable will, sat upon his throne of rock.
"Forget it. I will see this young man for myself." As he spoke, his eyes morphed, the familiar pattern of the Sharingan dissolving into the concentric circles of the Rinnegan.
He rose, and with a force that defied his aged appearance, shot upward through the layers of earth and stone.
"Lord Madara, wait for me!" Zetsu called out, but the legend was already gone.
Unaware that the most infamous shinobi in history was now seeking him out, Akatsurugi took to the skies, heading for Konoha. I was tricked this time. I need to be more cautious. Who's to say I won't be ambushed by another army of Water Style users next time?
His thoughts were cut short as he suddenly halted mid-flight. A figure stood suspended in the air ahead of him, arms crossed over his chest, his presence domineering and absolute, as if he owned the very sky.
Shit. Akatsurugi's heart plummeted. That posture. Those eyes. Uchiha Madara. The old monster himself had come. What did he want?
"Not bad, kid," Madara's voice echoed, devoid of warmth. "How about we talk on the ground?"
Akatsurugi simply nodded, his mind racing. This was the real Uchiha Madara, not the Rinnegan-wielding puppet in Nagato. His luck had truly run out.
They descended to the forest below. Madara regarded him with an unnerving intensity. "You are not of the Uchiha clan, yet you can sustain a transplanted pair of Mangekyō. Your physique is... special."
He wasn't wrong. Maintaining the Sharingan, especially the three-tomoe state, was a constant drain, as Kakashi's experience proved. Most users covered their eyes to conserve energy. Akatsurugi wore his openly, both eyes perpetually active.
"Thank you for the praise, senior," Akatsurugi replied, his tone even. "I never imagined the legendary Shura of the Shinobi World was still alive."
There was no point in pretense. Madara had revealed himself for a reason. Akatsurugi knew what that meant. He was now faced with a binary choice: submit to Uchiha Madara's will, or die. The founder of the Akatsuki would never let him leave to spread the truth of his survival.