Chapter 84: The Unseen Spectator
Within the searing confines of the double-layered barrier, a silent revelation occurred. The First and Second Hokage, their consciousnesses freshly restored to their reanimated bodies, stared not at their former student or his opponent, but at a point in the empty space behind them.
Their eyes, still holding a flicker of their original keen perception, widened in surprise. They felt it—a terrible, suffocating pressure emanating from a figure that should not be there. It was a power distinct from chakra, yet fundamentally resonant with the spiritual realm from which they had been torn.
Because they had been summoned after Aizen had activated his Shikai, they were the only two present who had never laid eyes on Kyōka Suigetsu's release. They were the only ones not trapped in the perfect illusion.
"To have discovered my existence? How interesting. Judging by your appearance, you must be the former Hokage," Aizen said, a slight, composed smile on his lips as he regarded the two legendary figures.
He felt no anxiety about being seen. His confidence was absolute. For everyone else in the arena—Orochimaru, the Third Hokage—their five senses were his to command. Their sight, sound, touch, even their sense of presence, were all under his dominion. The moment they had witnessed his Shikai during the finals, their fates were sealed. They would only see, hear, and feel what Aizen permitted.
While Orochimaru was consumed with his grand plan to kill his sensei, he remained utterly oblivious to the true Shinigami standing behind him, a being who could shatter his schemes with a single, effortless stroke. Everything was proceeding exactly as Aizen had foreseen. His careful planning, his perfect disguise, his patient recovery of power—it had all led to this moment, where he could operate in plain sight, a ghost at the feast.
Aizen watched the impending duel between the two Kage-level shinobi with calm detachment, making no move to intervene. He had two objectives. First, to use this clash between Orochimaru and the Third Hokage as a measuring stick for the upper limits of power in this world. An opportunity to witness the pinnacle of ninjutsu firsthand was too valuable to waste.
Second, Aizen Sōsuke never acted without certainty. He was waiting for the perfect moment to strike, to let the two greatest threats exhaust and weaken each other, allowing him to reap the rewards without risk.
The gazes of the First and Second Hokage remained locked on Aizen, a deep-seated alarm growing within their reanimated souls. They could not comprehend why the mysterious man before them radiated such danger, or why Orochimaru and Sarutobi acted as if he were not there.
"It's strange, it seems we—" the Second Hokage began, his voice a hollow rasp, intent on warning his successor.
But the words died in his throat.
With two sharp, precise motions, Orochimaru embedded the control talismans into the backs of their skulls. The kunai slid home, and the last vestiges of independent will in the eyes of Hashirama and Tobirama were extinguished, replaced by a dull, mechanical obedience. The chance to reveal the hidden threat was lost.
Orochimaru, for his part, had noted their brief, strange fixation on empty space, but dismissed it as a fleeting glitch in the Impure World Reincarnation. In his mind, the barrier was impenetrable. It was impossible for a third party to be inside. He never once considered that Aizen Sōsuke was standing mere feet away, watching him with the contemptuous gaze of a king observing an insect, enjoying the acrobatics of a fool.
As the talismans took full effect, a visible change overcame the bodies of the two former Hokage. The cracks and damage of death faded away, their skin smoothing over and healing at an impossible rate. A vibrant, false vitality surged through them, restoring them to a semblance of their prime. They stood tall, their auras intensifying to a fearsome degree.
Though they were now little more than puppets, the threat they posed to the Third Hokage had multiplied exponentially. A cold sweat broke out on Hiruzen's forehead as he felt the overwhelming pressure emanating from his predecessors.
"Before the battle begins, they must regain their full strength," Orochimaru murmured with satisfaction, admiring his handiwork.
Knowing he faced three Kage-level opponents, the Third Hokage knew hesitation was death. He had to seize the initiative.
"Boar, Dog, Bird, Monkey, Ram!"
His hands flew through the seals, his face a mask of grim determination. He drew a deep breath, and a scorching wave of heat erupted from his mouth.
"Fire Style: Fire Dragon Flame Bullet!"
A torrent of flame roared forth, shaping itself into a massive, roaring dragon that split into three searing tongues of fire, each one blasting toward Orochimaru and the two reanimated Hokage.
Confronted with the mighty Fire Style ninjutsu, Orochimaru didn't even flinch. He stood calmly, a smirk playing on his lips.
Just as the inferno was about to consume them, the puppet-like Second Hokage moved.
"Water Style: Water Wall."
Tobirama brought his hands together. Without a single water source, a massive volume of water materialized from the air, forming a towering, defensive wall that rose just in time to shield the trio.
Fire and water collided in a violent, hissing explosion of steam. The elemental forces swallowed each other, sending powerful shockwaves through the confined space.
The battle between the Hokage of past and present was truly awe-inspiring. One, a soul forced into a puppet's body; the other, an old man past his prime. Yet, the power they unleashed was staggering. One could only imagine the earth-shattering, universe-breaking terror they would have wielded at their absolute peaks.
From the sidelines, Aizen watched quietly. Finally, a ripple of interest stirred within the calm depths of his eyes. To him, everyone else was merely an insignificant insect. But this… this level of conflict, this display of raw power, it was the first thing in this new world to slightly stir his fighting spirit.
Yet, he remained patient. He was not a common brawler. He was a strategist, a god in the making. He would wait, and watch, and analyze. He was looking for the absolutely perfect opportunity—the moment for a single, fatal blow that would bring this entire world to its knees.