Chapter 90 - The Final Battle (Part 2)
Kazane and the Third Raikage clashed once more in a flurry of motion too fast for the average eye to follow. The sound of their strikes rang out like thunder, echoing across the battlefield. Each collision was accompanied by gales of displaced wind and showers of earth torn from the ground beneath their feet.
But even as their blades and fists met with unrelenting force, both warriors were stealing glances at the broader battlefield.
They could see it—the chaos spreading, the mounting casualties, the growing disarray on both sides. This was no longer a battle of pride or vengeance.
It was a war.
And if it continued much longer, neither side would walk away with anything but ashes.
A mutual thought rose in both their minds:
This must end now.
Boom!
A deep, shuddering impact rang out as the two separated once again, landing several meters apart. Dust billowed in swirling gusts between them.
Both were gasping for breath.
Their bodies were scorched, bruised, torn. Even the sweat that formed across their skin evaporated the instant it appeared, devoured by the violent heat of their chakra.
The battlefield trembled beneath them, littered with craters, broken weapons, and unconscious shinobi.
For the first time in years, the Raikage's breath came in ragged, uneven bursts. His massive chest heaved, his muscles twitching under the strain of prolonged combat.
But his eyes still gleamed with pride—and a flicker of admiration.
"Hatake Kazane…"
His voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"You're the first man… in all my years… who's ever pushed me this far."
His gaze sharpened. His chakra flared.
"I've got one final technique left. No one's ever survived it."
The words weren't a threat. They were a challenge. An offering of respect to a worthy opponent.
"And now… we settle this."
For decades, the Third Raikage had stood unchallenged at the peak of the shinobi world. Not even the Eight-Tails could overcome him. In his prime, he'd severed one of the beast's tails with his bare hands.
But today, Cloud's losses had piled far beyond what he'd foreseen.
He couldn't allow this war to drag on.
He had to end it—now.
Without hesitation, he raised his right hand.
Three fingers folded inward.
Only his index finger remained extended.
The ultimate spear.
The Hell Stab—One-Finger Piercing.
A technique so concentrated, so destructive, that it had once pierced his own chest in battle when deflected—leaving behind the only scar his body had ever known.
Across from him, Kazane stood silently.
The black katana at his hip, Yukigumo, trembled in its sheath, the blade barely holding together after enduring the Raikage's earlier strikes.
Kazane could feel the warning signs blaring from within his body. His limbs were trembling—not from fear, but from exhaustion. His stamina was nearing its absolute limit. Even with Lightning Chakra Mode and the Eight Gates, his muscles were on the verge of tearing apart.
He had faced many opponents since arriving in this world—Swordsmen of the Mist, Hanzō of the Salamander, entire armies…
But none like this.
The Third Raikage was not just strong. He was a force of nature.
And now, he was going to unleash everything in one final blow.
Could Kazane block it?
He didn't know.
But there was no room for doubt.
A swordsman does not retreat.
A warrior of Asura does not flinch before death.
Kazane lowered his stance, his body suddenly enveloped in a crimson-black aura.
The air around him cracked. His chakra roared.
"Nine-Sword Style—Asura."
He activated the technique that had no equal—a manifestation of his will to cut through fate itself.
In the Raikage's eyes, Kazane's form twisted—no longer merely human.
He now had three heads and six arms, each wielding a black blade dripping with killing intent. The demonic aura surging from him distorted the very air.
"Is this… genjutsu?"
No. It was too real.
Too heavy.
Too alive.
"Just his willpower… can do this?"
The Third Raikage's eyes narrowed.
His lips curled into a grin.
"Good."
He lunged forward, a sonic boom trailing behind him.
"Hell Stab—One-Finger Piercing!!"
Kazane met him head-on.
His swords blurred—one, then two, then nine.
"ICHIBASHIRI GIN!!!"
Let all suffering pass through me.
Let me carve open the heavens.
That is the path of the Asura.
The two forces collided.
Time seemed to stop.
The world held its breath.
A beam of light exploded from the center of the battlefield, blinding and deafening. Even the Eight-Tails, mid-Tailed Beast Bomb, paused to watch.
BOOOOOM!!!
The shockwave rippled across miles, uprooting trees, collapsing cliffs, and sending shinobi flying like leaves caught in a storm.
When the dust finally settled—
The battlefield was deathly still.
In the middle of a new crater, two figures stood with their backs to each other, frozen.
Silence.
Then—
"What… incredible speed…" the Raikage muttered.
"You truly are… the opponent I've been seeking…"
A spurt of blood erupted from his chest.
His massive body wavered—
Then toppled.
Cloud's greatest warrior fell.
Across the crater, Kazane stood unmoving.
Until—
Blood burst from his chest as well.
"Tch… figures…" he muttered, a half-smile on his lips.
Then he, too, collapsed.
—
"Lord Kazane!!!"
"Lord Raikage!!!"
The cries of alarm rose from both armies.
Commanders scrambled to recover their leaders. Medical nin dashed across the battlefield regardless of circumstances.
Cloud shinobi abandoned their posts, abandoning even their wounded allies as they rushed to the Raikage's side.
Konoha shinobi, rallied by Shikaku Nara, formed a protective perimeter around Kazane's body, dragging him back toward safety with urgency and reverence.
Neither side moved to resume combat.
Not now.
The battlefield had gone quiet.
Victory no longer mattered.
Their champions had fallen.
—
Killer B, upon sensing the Raikage's collapse, ended his transformation. The raging Eight-Tails flickered out of existence, chakra retreating back into his body.
His eyes fell on his brother's unmoving form.
And for the first time—
He did not rhyme.
He simply turned and left.
—
Shikaku surveyed the field, sweat trailing down his brow.
"Withdraw."
He gave the command immediately.
"We return to camp."
The war was over.
At least—for now.
The final clash between gods had left both heavens and earth in silence.
And though no one knew who would rise first,
the battlefield remembered.
The legends had been written in blood.
---
News of the climactic battle between Kazane and the Third Raikage spread like wildfire across the shinobi world.
Every village—no matter how distant, no matter how fortified—soon heard the tale.
How a mere teenager from Konoha had fought one of the strongest shinobi alive to a standstill.
How Hatake Kazane, still barely into his teens, had crossed blades and exchanged fatal blows with the Raikage himself—and lived.
And as the awe settled, a deeper fear began to grow.
Kazane wasn't terrifying simply because he had matched the Third Raikage. He was terrifying because he was still so young.
A figure that—given time—could become even more devastating than the likes of Uchiha Madara or the First Hokage.
And Konoha was nurturing him.
Already the most powerful of the Five Great Nations, Konoha boasted a host of legendary shinobi—Jiraiya, Tsunade, Orochimaru, the Uchiha, the Hyūga—and now, this child who fought gods and survived.
If they allowed Kazane to mature… to rise unchecked…
Would there even be a shinobi world left to oppose him?
And so, the seeds of fear took root.
Tensions brewed.
Whispers turned into plans.
The other villages began to see clearly: this was their last chance.
---
Meanwhile—Land of Earth, Northern Border
Beyond the frontlines, tucked away in a forgotten ravine shrouded by craggy stone, an ancient cave lay hidden beneath the earth.
Deep inside, its walls etched with markings older than any nation, a faint, flickering light illuminated three figures.
The first was tall, imposing, cloaked in a dark mantle that whispered of war and legacy. Long white hair flowed down his back, and beneath his cracked armor, his body radiated power far beyond mortality.
Uchiha Madara.
The second was a pitch-black, featureless humanoid—its only distinguishing feature a mask-like face, lips curled into a perpetual, unreadable smirk.
Black Zetsu.
And the third—
A youth, barely older than Kazane himself, lay unconscious upon a stone slab. Half his body was covered in bandages and wrapping seals. Tubes ran from his arm into a basin of enriched chakra water infused with the stolen cells of Hashirama Senju.
Only that infusion kept him alive.
Madara narrowed his eyes, studying the boy.
"Are you certain about this?" he asked, voice low and commanding.
"Can he truly inherit my legacy?"
Black Zetsu gave a solemn nod.
"Yes, Lord Madara. He is one of the most gifted Uchiha of his generation. More importantly…" Zetsu's eyes flicked down to the boy's still face.
"…he still has something rare among the Uchiha."
"A heart."
Madara's brow arched faintly. "A heart?"
Zetsu continued, "He's not just a warrior. He cares. He loves. And that, Lord Madara, is the key."
The Rinnegan does not awaken in the cold-hearted.
The Mangekyō is not forged through ambition.
It is grief that births power in the Uchiha.
Only those with something to lose… can awaken it. In the dim orange glow of the chakra lamps, the boy's features became clearer—
Uchiha Makoto.
Kazane's longtime rival.
Makoto stirred.
His fingers twitched against the rough stone. A pained gasp slipped from his lips.
His eyes opened slowly—dull at first, glazed over—but then sharpened as his senses returned.
"Fa…ther…"
His voice cracked as his memories flooded back.
During the mission to assist Orochimaru, the Uchiha clan had mobilized nearly all its chunin and higher-ranked shinobi.
Black Zetsu had found Makoto during a mission where his father, Uchiha Hanshan, led a squad to intercept an Iwagakure supply line.
Makoto had long been haunted by the shame of losing to Kazane. This time, he had tried to redeem himself, to earn glory in battle like Kazane once had.
Instead, he'd led his squad into a trap, surrounded by Iwa-nin.
The last thing he remembered was the battlefield. The ambush. His father—Uchiha Hanshan—stepping in front of the explosion.
Makoto remembered the sharp smell of blood.
The look in his father's eyes as he pushed Makoto back.
The silence that followed.
A deep ache formed in his chest.
He tried to rise, but pain shot through his body. He looked around instead—stone walls, dim lights, strange chakra-infused fluids pumping through him.
Then, he saw them.
The two figures standing before him.
"Who… are you?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion and growing fear.
Black Zetsu remained silent.
But the other stepped forward, casting a long shadow over Makoto's prone form.
A chill ran down Makoto's spine.
There was something ancient in this man's presence—something oppressive and hollow, like the weight of a thousand corpses pressed against his soul.
The man spoke.
"I am…"
He paused.
"…Uchiha Madara."
Madara didn't bother with flowery words. He gave only his name—a name forbidden to be spoken within the Uchiha clan.