The God Tree's growth had transformed from supernatural phenomenon into cosmic horror. Its massive trunk, already dwarfing the largest buildings in any of the great ninja villages, continued its relentless expansion with each passing second. The ancient entity's hunger was insatiable, its root system spreading through the earth like a vast network of veins, draining the planet's chakra to fuel its ascension toward the heavens.
Every moment brought visible change—branches thickening, new growth erupting, the crown reaching ever closer to the moon that hung like a pale eye in the darkening sky. The very air around the tree shimmered with concentrated chakra so dense it was becoming visible to ordinary sight, creating an aurora-like effect that painted the battlefield in otherworldly colors.
But the God Tree was not content to simply grow in isolation. As if possessed of malevolent intelligence, thick trunks began to emerge from its main body, shooting outward with the speed and precision of striking serpents. These appendages moved with predatory purpose, seeking out the strongest chakra signatures among the assembled ninja forces.
Whoosh!
The first wave of attacks targeted those closest to the tree's base. Itachi and Shisui, their Sharingan spinning as they tried to track the incoming threats, found themselves forced into desperate evasive maneuvers. Jiraiya, his white hair streaming behind him as he leaped between chunks of floating debris, called out warnings to his allies even as he struggled to avoid the grasping tendrils.
Kakashi, his Sharingan analyzing the attack patterns with mechanical precision, realized with growing horror that the tree's strikes weren't random. Each tendril moved with tactical awareness, cutting off escape routes and herding their targets like a master strategist positioning pieces on a vast chessboard.
The sound of splintering earth filled the air as more and more trunks erupted from the ground, their surfaces rough and bark-like but pulsing with an organic rhythm that suggested something far more alive than any normal plant.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Multiple tendrils suddenly converged on Naruto's position, wrapping around the Perfect Susanoo with crushing force. The golden construct's armor cracked under the pressure as dozens of trunk-like appendages coiled around its limbs and torso, seeking purchase on the ethereal warrior.
"Naruto!" Sasuke's voice carried across the battlefield as he maneuvered their shared construct in an attempt to break free. "Don't let them maintain contact!"
"You must not allow those tendrils to touch your actual body," came the Nine-Tails' urgent warning from within Naruto's consciousness. Kurama's voice carried the weight of ancient knowledge and fresh terror. "They will drain your chakra continuously until nothing remains—and unlike normal chakra absorption techniques, this process feeds directly into the God Tree's growth."
"I understand!" Naruto's response was punctuated by another violent jerk as more tendrils attempted to penetrate the Susanoo's defenses. He could feel the constant drain even through the protective barrier, a subtle but persistent pulling sensation that threatened to weaken him with each passing moment.
Even as he struggled against the tree's assault, Naruto managed to shout a warning to his partner: "Sasuke, watch out for direct contact! These things will suck us dry!"
The response that echoed through his mind wasn't the Nine-Tails' usual fierce determination or battle-ready growling. Instead, what Naruto heard was something that chilled him to the bone—a sound of bitter, self-mocking laughter that spoke of defeat accepted and hope abandoned.
"Heh... it seems that everything must end here."
The fox's words carried the weight of eons, the resignation of an ancient being who had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations and now recognized the signs of an ending that no amount of struggle could prevent.
"Madara has achieved what was once thought impossible," Kurama continued, his mental voice heavy with the kind of exhaustion that comes from fighting a battle one knows cannot be won. "He has become the Ten-Tails Jinchuriki, wielding power that rivals what the Sage of Six Paths possessed in his prime. Against such might, no mortal alliance can hope to stand."
The mathematical certainty of their defeat was laid out with brutal clarity. Even if every ninja in the Allied Forces fought with perfect coordination, even if they somehow managed to overcome the God Tree's defenses and the Truth-Seeking Balls and all of Madara's other advantages, the fundamental gap in power was simply too vast to bridge.
Naruto's expression darkened as the full implications hit him. His father was trapped, possibly dying, in Madara's grasp. The people he had sworn to protect were scattered and desperate, fighting a battle they couldn't win against an enemy they couldn't truly comprehend. And here he was, struggling against animated tree branches while the fate of the world was decided mere yards away.
The young jinchuriki wanted nothing more than to abandon his current fight and rush to Minato's aid, but the God Tree's relentless assault made even movement difficult. Every time he tried to redirect the Susanoo toward the main battle, more tendrils would emerge to block his path, their movements coordinated with an intelligence that suggested the tree itself was actively preventing any interference with its master's work.
Meanwhile, Madara's cosmic power continued to surge through Minato's soul like a tsunami of pure force, invasive and overwhelming in its scope. The Fourth Hokage's consciousness reeled under the assault as he realized the true nature of what was happening to him.
"He's searching through my memories!"
The recognition brought with it a surge of desperate panic. Minato's extensive study of the Rinnegan's abilities had taught him about the Human Path's capacity to extract souls and read memories with the clinical efficiency of a scholar browsing through scrolls. But this was different—where the Human Path required physical contact and concentration, Madara's enhanced abilities allowed him to simply reach into another being's consciousness and take whatever information he desired.
Against such power, even Minato's exceptionally strong soul provided little protection. The barriers he had spent years building through meditation and spiritual training crumbled like sand castles before the cosmic tide of Madara's will.
Within the landscape of Minato's consciousness, the Ten-Tails Jinchuriki first noticed the familiar chakra signature of the Nine-Tails. The fox's remaining consciousness, reduced to a shadow of its former self but still recognizably the ancient spirit that had once terrorized the ninja world, cowered within Minato's soul like a frightened animal seeking shelter.
Madara's attention lingered on Kurama for a moment, his cosmic perception cataloguing every detail of the fox's current state with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen. But the Nine-Tails, while noteworthy, was not his primary objective.
What Madara sought lay deeper within Minato's memories, buried among decades of experiences and carefully guarded secrets. His consciousness moved through the Fourth Hokage's mind with the precision of a surgeon, discarding irrelevant information and focusing on the specific knowledge he required.
The search was conducted with supernatural speed, Madara's enhanced abilities allowing him to process years of memories in mere seconds. Images flashed through his awareness—battles fought, techniques mastered, political decisions made, personal moments shared with family—all of it examined and categorized with ruthless efficiency.
Then he found what he was looking for.
The location of his second Rinnegan. To complete the Infinite Tsukuyomi, to project the ultimate genjutsu onto the moon itself and trap every living being on the planet in eternal dreams, he needed both eyes working in perfect harmony.
The Ten-Tails had been resurrected, the God Tree was growing toward its destiny, but without the complete pair of Rinnegan, the final technique remained beyond his reach.
Minato, despite his helpless state, managed to deduce Madara's purpose through pure analytical brilliance. The memories being accessed, the specific focus of the search—it all pointed to one inevitable conclusion. But knowing what was happening and being able to prevent it were entirely different matters.
His body remained paralyzed, his chakra suppressed by forces beyond mortal comprehension. He could only watch helplessly as the information Madara needed was extracted from his mind with surgical precision.
Having obtained the desired intelligence, Madara temporarily withdrew his consciousness from Minato's soul. The sudden absence of that cosmic pressure was like surfacing from the depths of an ocean, leaving the Fourth Hokage gasping with relief even as he remained physically motionless.
Madara's gaze shifted downward, focusing on the earth beneath his feet with casual authority. In response to his will, black liquid began to seep up from the ground, flowing together with the consistency of oil but moving with obvious purpose and intelligence.
The substance quickly took humanoid shape, revealing the pale, plant-like features of Black Zetsu—the entity that had manipulated events from the shadows for centuries, guiding the ninja world toward this precise moment through careful manipulation and strategic deception.
"Go and retrieve my other Rinnegan," Madara commanded, his voice carrying the casual authority of a god issuing orders to a faithful servant. He provided the specific location with the precise detail that only stolen memories could supply.
Black Zetsu nodded with the practiced obedience of one who had served this master for far longer than any mortal could comprehend. Without a word, the creature began to sink back into the earth, its form dissolving as it prepared to travel through the planet's substance itself to reach its destination.
"Fascinating," Madara murmured as his attention returned to Minato, his ancient eyes gleaming with intellectual curiosity. "Your body has achieved something quite remarkable—a true fusion with the Nine-Tails' chakra rather than mere cooperation or symbiosis."
His hand returned to Minato's form, cosmic power beginning to flow once more as he prepared to investigate this intriguing anomaly. With the God Tree growing toward its full flowering and Black Zetsu dispatched to retrieve the necessary component for the final technique, Madara found himself with time to indulge his scholarly interests.
The process of merging human and Tailed Beast chakra to this degree should have been impossible without the subject's death. Yet here was evidence that such integration could be achieved and sustained, creating possibilities that even his vast knowledge had not previously encompassed.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
The sound of cutting air interrupted Madara's investigation as a barrage of paper shuriken descended from the sky above. Each projectile had been crafted with the precision that only a master of the art could achieve, their edges sharp enough to slice through steel and their flight paths calculated to converge on vital points.
High above the battlefield, Konan floated with wings of paper spread wide, her normally stoic expression marked by grim determination. The blue-haired kunoichi had witnessed the transformation of her former ally into something beyond recognition, and she was prepared to risk everything for even the slightest chance of disrupting his plans.
On the opposite side of the aerial approach, the Third Tsuchikage Ōnoki hovered with his hands already forming the complex seals required for his most devastating technique. Dust Release chakra began to gather between his palms, creating a cube of energy that made the very air around it seem to vibrate with barely contained destructive force.
The arrival of these reinforcements marked the culmination of a desperate journey across the battlefield. After successfully sealing the First Mizukage and completing their assigned objectives, the strongest members of the Fourth Division had raced toward the main confrontation with all the speed their enhanced abilities could provide.
But even as they approached, even as they prepared to unleash techniques that had toppled mountains and reshaped landscapes, a terrible certainty settled over them. They were not arriving as saviors—they were simply adding themselves to the list of casualties that this battle would inevitably produce.
"Insects attempting to move mountains," Madara observed with the same tone one might use to comment on the weather. "How utterly predictable."
His eyes remained focused on Minato even as death approached from multiple angles. There was no urgency in his movements, no sign of concern or defensive preparation. He simply allowed Konan's paper shuriken and Ōnoki's Dust Release to descend upon him with the casual indifference of someone watching leaves fall from a tree.
Half of the nine Truth-Seeking Balls that orbited his form suddenly shifted configuration, their spherical shapes flowing like liquid as they expanded and flattened into shield-like barriers. The transformation was smooth and instantaneous, reality itself seeming to accommodate Madara's will without resistance.
Konan's paper weapons struck the dark barriers with enough force to shatter stone, but they left no mark whatsoever on the malleable defenses. Each shuriken simply disintegrated upon contact, their molecular structure unraveling at a fundamental level.
Whistle!
The sound that accompanied Ōnoki's Dust Release was like reality itself screaming in protest. The technique that had been the Third Tsuchikage's ultimate weapon, the fusion of three chakra natures that could reduce any target to component atoms smaller than molecules, struck Madara's barrier with the full force of a small star's collapse.
The cube of destructive energy expanded upon impact, its effects rippling outward in waves that should have unmade anything within their reach. This was a technique that had no known defense, a force of nature that reduced the concept of durability to meaninglessness.
Yet when the brilliant light faded and the distortion effects subsided, Madara remained completely unharmed. The Truth-Seeking Ball barrier had absorbed the attack without showing even the slightest sign of stress or damage.
"Impossible!" Ōnoki's voice cracked with disbelief as he stared at the scene below. His most powerful technique, the one that had never failed to destroy whatever it touched, had been rendered completely ineffective.
Despite his paralyzed state, Minato had observed the entire exchange with the analytical mind that had made him one of the greatest tactical geniuses in ninja history. His consciousness raced through the implications of what he had witnessed, drawing conclusions that filled him with both dread and determination.
"To completely negate Dust Release, which combines three different chakra natures," he thought, his mental voice tight with concentration, "those black orbs must incorporate at least four or more elemental properties working in perfect harmony."
The mathematical precision required for such a feat was staggering. Each Truth-Seeking Ball would need to maintain constant equilibrium between opposing forces, balancing elements that naturally sought to cancel each other out while generating effects that transcended any single chakra nature.
It was the kind of technique that should have been purely theoretical, existing only in the highest levels of academic discussion. Yet Madara wielded them with the casual ease of someone using basic tools.
Although the cosmic power radiating from Madara was indeed suffocating in its overwhelming presence, although the hopelessness of their situation was mathematically undeniable, Minato refused to surrender to despair. His analytical mind continued to work, searching for weaknesses, calculating possibilities, refusing to accept that no solution existed.
The most dangerous trap when facing impossible odds was not the enemy's strength, but one's own willingness to give up without fighting. Once a warrior accepted defeat in their heart, the battle was truly over regardless of what advantages might still be discovered.
Minato could not allow himself that luxury. Too much depended on his continued resistance—not just his own life, but the freedom of every person he had sworn to protect. If he failed here, if Madara's plan reached completion, then everyone he cared about would be trapped in eternal dreams while their life force was slowly drained to feed the God Tree.
Kushina, Naruto, all of his friends and allies, the entire population of the ninja world—they would live out whatever fantasies Madara chose to provide while their bodies withered and died in the real world. It would be a peace built on the foundation of the ultimate slavery.
Such a fate was worse than death, and Minato would fight to his last breath to prevent it.
Swish!
From her position high above the battlefield, Konan suddenly hurled not another barrage of weapons, but a human figure. The person she released plummeted toward Madara's position with the desperate speed of a falling star, their green jumpsuit and distinctive hairstyle immediately recognizable to anyone who had spent time in Konoha.
"Eight Inner Gates Formation: Gate of Rest, Gate of Healing, Gate of Life, Gate of Pain, Gate of Limit," the falling figure called out, his voice growing stronger with each name, "Gate of View... OPEN!"
Might Guy's body erupted in brilliant green energy as six of the eight chakra gates burst open simultaneously. The transformation was dramatic and immediate—muscles bulging with superhuman power, speed increasing to levels that made normal movement appear frozen, strength rising to heights that could shatter mountains with casual effort.
As he felt the surge of power coursing through his enhanced form, Madara raised his head to observe this new arrival. When his ancient eyes focused on Guy's face, something shifted in his expression—a flicker of recognition that carried with it echoes of memories stretching back decades.
"Still not enough!"
Guy's tactical assessment was instantaneous and brutally accurate. Having witnessed Madara's casual defense against attacks that should have been devastating, he understood that even the power of six gates would be insufficient to bridge the gap between them.
The realization brought no hesitation, only deeper commitment to the path he had chosen. His body convulsed as he forced open the seventh gate, the green aura around him suddenly transforming into blue steam that rose from his form like vapors from a forge.
"Gate of Wonder... OPEN!"
The increase in Guy's presence was immediate and shocking. Where before he had been simply a very powerful shinobi, now he radiated an aura that made the air itself seem to thicken. His chakra signature blazed like a beacon, announcing to every sensor on the battlefield that something fundamental had changed.
He landed on the earth not far from where Madara held Minato captive, his feet striking the ground with enough force to crack the stone for yards around. Without pause, without any hesitation that might allow second thoughts to creep in, Guy launched himself forward with the devastating directness of a natural disaster given human form.
His attack was simplicity itself—a straight punch delivered with all the power that seven opened gates could provide. No complex techniques, no elaborate strategies, just pure physical force directed with surgical precision at his target's center mass.
The speed of his approach transcended normal perception, his form becoming a blue-tinted blur that covered the distance between them in a fraction of a heartbeat.
"Guy, don't let those black objects touch you!"
Minato's warning cut across the battlefield with desperate urgency. Even paralyzed, even helpless in Madara's grip, the Fourth Hokage's tactical mind continued to function at peak efficiency. He had observed the Truth-Seeking Balls' effects on the previous attacks and understood the lethal danger they represented to anyone who came into contact with them.
"Interesting," Madara murmured as he prepared to intercept Guy's attack with the black staff floating beside him. "You maintain the ability to speak even while suppressed by my power."
The casual observation carried with it a note of genuine surprise. The cosmic force he was exerting should have been sufficient to render any normal human completely incapacitated, yet Minato continued to demonstrate the exceptional will that had made him legendary.
But as Madara moved to block the incoming strike, Guy heard Minato's warning and instantly adapted his attack. With reflexes enhanced by seven opened gates, he dropped low and swept his leg in a devastating arc aimed at Madara's foundation rather than his protected upper body.
Even the enhanced speed and power of the seventh gate appeared commonplace to someone who now possessed the cosmic awareness of a Ten-Tails Jinchuriki. Madara could have easily countered the attack, could have ended Guy's charge with any number of devastating techniques.
But he didn't.
Instead, something strange happened in those ancient eyes—a flicker of emotion that had nothing to do with tactical calculation or strategic advantage. For just a moment, the expression of a god was replaced by something far more human, far more personal.
Madara stepped back, releasing his grip on Minato with a casualness that suggested the action was barely worth noting. The sudden absence of cosmic pressure allowed the Fourth Hokage to regain control of his body, his hands immediately blurring through seals as he prepared to take advantage of this unexpected opportunity.
In the space of a heartbeat, both Guy and Minato found themselves positioned to strike from opposite sides, their combined assault promising to test even Madara's enhanced defenses through sheer coordination and timing.
But facing this level of combined attack, Madara remained completely calm. His movements were unhurried as he withdrew several meters, placing himself beyond the range of both warriors before their strikes could land. The display of casual superiority was almost insulting in its effortlessness.
Guy and Minato found themselves standing side by side, breathing heavily from their exertions while Konan and Ōnoki maintained their aerial positions. Four of the ninja world's most capable warriors faced off against a single opponent, and yet the overwhelming sense of inadequacy was palpable.
At this moment, Madara's attention was focused entirely on Guy, his gaze carrying an intensity that had nothing to do with immediate tactical concerns. There was something personal in that look, something that spoke to connections forged in an earlier era.
Guy, despite his normally cheerful and straightforward nature, felt a chill of recognition as he met those ancient eyes. Something about Madara's expression triggered memories and fears that he couldn't quite place.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken implications, until Madara finally broke it with words that carried the weight of personal history.
"So... weak."
The contempt in his voice was absolute, dismissive in a way that cut deeper than any physical attack could have managed.
"Compared to that man named Might Duy," Madara continued, his tone carrying the casual cruelty of someone delivering an objective assessment, "your Eight Inner Gates technique is nothing more than garbage."
The words hit Guy like a physical blow, driving the breath from his lungs and causing his enhanced muscles to tense with shock. His mind, normally slow to process complex implications, suddenly raced with terrible understanding.
The Eight Inner Gates Formation was a forbidden technique known to perhaps a dozen people in the entire ninja world. For someone to recognize it on sight, to compare his performance to his father's specifically, they would need to have witnessed Might Duy's final battle firsthand.
The implications were staggering and horrible.
"Have you seen my father's Eight Gates?"
Guy's thick eyebrows drew together as his expression shifted from confusion to growing dread. His voice carried a weight of emotion that transformed his usual enthusiastic tone into something far darker and more dangerous.
The question hung in the air between them, laden with the promise of revelations that would change everything Guy thought he knew about his father's death and the legacy he had inherited.