Deep within an unknown underground domain, massive tree roots stretched in chaotic patterns, gripping dry earthen walls like living veins. Darkness and silence pressed together in this place, heavy and oppressive.
At the heart of the cavern stood a gigantic humanoid stone statue.
Its surface resembled decayed wood, its form grotesque and twisted. Nine eyes remained tightly shut upon its face, radiating an unsettling presence.
Below the statue, thick pipes extended outward and connected directly into the body of a white-haired old man.
He sat upon a stone platform, leaning lightly on a cane. His expression was calm, almost indifferent. Beneath his unkempt bangs, two hollow eye sockets stared into nothingness, lending him an air of quiet terror.
The old man gazed into the darkness ahead.
Or rather, he gazed into nothing at all.
Yet that hardly mattered.
As long as he wished it, nothing within the Ninja World could escape his perception.
Suddenly, the dark ground rippled, as though stirred by an unseen force. The soil twisted and parted, and a pure white humanoid figure slowly emerged.
"Oh?" the white creature exclaimed in an exaggerated tone. "Lord Madara, you woke up quite early this time."
The performance was obvious.
Madara raised his head slightly. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Well…" The white creature tilted its head and pretended to think. "Seven thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven days."
"It has already been twenty years?" A rare ripple of emotion surfaced in Madara's voice. Anyone hearing such a number would find it unsettling.
"Wrong, wrong!" the creature hurriedly waved its hands. "That is the time since I last relieved myself."
Silence filled the cavern.
"Let me count properly," it added quickly. "I carve a notch every day. Please wait."
Madara gave a cold snort but said nothing.
For him, time was the least valuable thing he possessed.
And this White Zetsu, a byproduct of Hashirama's cells, served well enough as a distraction during endless nights.
Five minutes later, White Zetsu straightened up, eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Lord Madara, I am done counting. It has been one hundred and eighty-six days."
"Half a year, then." Madara nodded slowly. "Has anything of note occurred?"
"Yes," White Zetsu replied at once. "The Third Kazekage was captured by Orochimaru, Sakumo Hatake, Jiraiya, and Hayashi. Sunagakure surrendered shortly after, and the treaty has already been signed."
"Sunagakure's defeat was inevitable." Madara nodded in understanding, then shook his head in disdain. "This Third Kazekage was utterly useless. Each generation grows weaker than the last. Back when Hashirama and I…"
"…fought for three days and three nights, muscle against muscle and soul against soul. Yes, I know," White Zetsu interrupted smoothly. "You have told me many times."
Madara fell silent.
For some reason, the underground chamber felt unusually stifling.
"What of the Hidden Cloud and Iwagakure?" he asked.
"They are still fighting," White Zetsu answered promptly.
"That brat Ōnoki has not grown at all."
White Zetsu tilted its head in confusion. "Then why did you help him, Lord Madara? If you had not released the Eight-Tails, perhaps the war would have ended long ago."
"I was not helping Ōnoki," Madara replied calmly. "I was helping humanity."
Long ago, he had learned the truth recorded upon the stone tablet.
In ancient times, chakra did not exist.
Humans lived like any other creature upon this land.
Then the Sage of Six Paths appeared and spread this unseen power across the world, granting humanity extraordinary abilities.
Under his guidance, those who wielded chakra were like gods upon the earth, building temples and spreading wisdom and harmony.
For a brief era, humanity transcended itself and achieved something resembling peace.
But humans possessed physical bodies and weak hearts, easily corrupted by pride, hatred, impatience, and greed.
Over time, the teachings of the Sage were twisted. Chakra became a tool for desire.
War was born.
Stronger wars. Faster wars. More devastating wars.
Humanity fell.
And darkness ruled for a thousand years.
In Madara's eyes, the Ninja World War represented the peak of that darkness.
If humanity wished to embrace the light, it first had to endure the abyss.
The deeper the pain, the more desperately the light would be sought.
"And I, Uchiha Madara…" A faint flush crept onto his withered face. "I will become the one who lights that path."
After a long silence, White Zetsu hesitated before speaking again.
"Lord Madara, did you fall asleep?"
"No. Speak."
"The one you asked me to monitor, Uchiha Fugaku. Something happened today."
White Zetsu then recounted everything it had witnessed, Fugaku's battle, his desperation, and the moment he returned from death.
"It was Izanagi," Madara said, touching his empty eye sockets. "A technique that turns reality into illusion. All injuries, even death, are rewritten as dreams. The price is the permanent loss of sight."
"Then why did his wounds remain?" White Zetsu asked. "Otherwise, I would not have needed to give him chakra."
"He activated the technique only after collapsing," Madara replied. "The Sharingan recorded his state at that moment. Naturally, the injuries were preserved."
"I see." White Zetsu nodded in satisfaction. "Should I continue monitoring him?"
"For now, yes."
Losing one eye meant nothing.
If Madara wished it, even a piece of scrap could be forged into a weapon.
Strength was not the key.
Love was.
Only love could deepen despair, and only despair could give birth to hatred powerful enough to awaken the Mangekyo Sharingan.
Fugaku possessed love.
Otherwise, he would not have chosen to sacrifice himself for his clansmen.
Yet Madara remained dissatisfied.
The boy wished to act, yet lacked decisiveness. His resolve wavered.
In that battle, Fugaku should have dispersed immediately upon sensing the trap, before the encirclement was complete.
Instead, he hesitated.
That was why Madara chose to observe rather than commit.
He had time.
"What of Nagato?" Madara asked.
"He still lives in that small wooden hut with Yahiko and Konan. He trains, and sometimes helps nearby towns."
"I see. He still needs time."
"And the Sharingan?"
"I have gathered many. They rest beside the Gedo Statue. Shall I install them now?"
"I will handle it myself. Return to your surveillance."
"Understood."
White Zetsu sank into the ground like melting wax and vanished without a trace.
Alone once more, Madara rose slowly and walked toward the Gedo Statue without leaning on his cane.
When his hand touched its surface, it trembled slightly, intoxication flickering across his face.
"Soon," he whispered. "My successor will return them all to you."
"At that time…"
He spread his arms.
"I will be resurrected. I will return to this world. I will become the new Sage of Six Paths."
"There is only one path to peace."
"And Hashirama…" A thin smile formed. "He too will live forever within my Infinite Tsukuyomi."
Madara lifted his head toward the endless darkness.
I have waited for this for countless years.
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