Deep beneath Kirigakure, lay a cavern untouched by sun or moon. The air hung thick and stagnant, heavy with the smell of damp stone, ancient rot, and something far more alien – the cloying sweetness of decaying chakra and wet earth.
"Plink… plink… plonk"
Water seeped relentlessly from the jagged obsidian ceiling, each drop falling slowly into unseen pools below, the sound echoing in the oppressive silence like a failing heart.
At the cavern's heart sat Uchiha Madara. Or rather, the ruin of him. Propped against the cold, damp stone, he was a desiccated monument to faded power. His chest rose and fell with shallow, rasping breaths, each inhalation a struggle that echoed wetly in the cavern.
His eyes were closed, the lids thin and bruised-looking. Yet, the cavern wasn't quiet. From the glistening walls, the very floor, shapes coalesced. White Zetsu, their forms pale and vaguely humanoid but disturbingly fungal, peeled away from the stone with wet, sucking sounds, their blank, pupil-less yellow eyes fixed on the ancient Uchiha.
Among them, like a shadow given form, Black Zetsu emerged, a slick, tar-like entity clinging to the cavern wall, his single, malevolent yellow eye gleaming with cunning.
"Report," Madara's voice rasped, a dry leaf scraping on stone. It was weak, yet it carried an undeniable weight, a command that vibrated in the thick air.
He didn't open his eyes.
Black Zetsu's voice, a grating whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, slithered through the dampness. "The threads are pulled, Madara-sama. Konoha's clumsy tapestry unravels beautifully."
A wet chuckle, like mud bubbles popping, emanated from a nearby White Zetsu. "The Suna camp, the Iwa camp… the Yellow Flash played his part perfectly. A butcher's knife wielded with surgical precision."**
"Hehe, oh yes!" another White Zetsu chimed in, its voice unnervingly cheerful.
"The little Jonin, Jiro… he was a good shell, his bloody scroll… classic tragedy! And the resistance…"
The White Zetsu dissolved partially into the floor, then reformed near Madara's feet, mimicking a body collapsing.
"Then the bomb! Kaboom! Such artistry! Onoki's rage was… delicious."
It made a wet, smacking sound with its featureless mouth.
"And the Kazekage," Black Zetsu continued, his tone flatter but no less satisfied.
"Satetsu received his 'dying' report. The seed of doubt is planted deep. He questions everything – the scroll, the cypher, the very shadows on his walls. Paranoia festers."
A slow, almost imperceptible nod came from the withered figure. Madara's lips, thin and bloodless, twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Good." The single word held centuries of calculated malice. "You have performed adequately."
"You ensured the evidence pointed only towards Konoha's ambition?" Madara continued.
"Of course, Madara-sama," Black Zetsu hissed. "Minato's meticulous work made our work easier when brainstorming a fitting narrative."
"See that it stays that way," Madara commanded, " Our role in Kiri is not yet to be revealed. Draw no attention here. Let the fools tear each other apart, believing the Land of Water slumbers in its mist."
Black Zetsu shifted, a ripple passing through his dark form. "Understood, Madara-sama. But… the time draws near, does it not? To finally grasp the reins here? To bring Kirigakure fully under our control? The Mizukage… "
Madara was silent for a long moment, the only sound the sound of distant water dripping and his own laboured breathing.
"Yes," he breathed finally, the word a sigh that stirred dust motes in the violet light. "The vessel is prepared. The Genjutsu holds. But… timing is critical. Kiri is not an island, despite its mist. Its alliance with Konoha… a temporary, pragmatic evil… complicates."
"Exactly!" White Zetsu piped up, reforming fully. "They're planning a big, nasty joint attack on Kumo! Soon! If Kiri suddenly goes all quiet and murdery inside, Konoha will notice. They'll poke their pointy noses in!"
Black Zetsu's voice was a low growl. "The alliance is a shield… and a shackle. Sudden silence would raise alarms. We need… a cover. A reason for Kiri to withdraw, to turn inward, that the other villages will accept."
Madara's face gleamed. "Then we give them a reason."
A dry chuckle escaped his lips, sounding like pebbles rattling in a jar. "We ensure this 'joint attack' on Kumo becomes a catastrophe. A bloody, grinding disaster that drains Kiri's strength and shatters its spirit. Let Konoha bleed alongside them. Let the losses be… staggering."
He paused, "When Kirigakure subsequently falls silent, consumed by internal turmoil and 'recouping its losses', who will question it? The world will see only a wounded beast licking its wounds, not a puppet changing masters."
"A disaster significant enough to force retreat… and mask our takeover…" Black Zetsu mused, his form undulating thoughtfully.
"That requires escalation. Extreme escalation. The joint attack must become a vortex, drawing in more than just Konoha and Kiri scouts. It needs to pull the Kages themselves towards the precipice. A battle so consuming, so devastating, that the fallout obscures everything else. The Raikage must be provoked into unleashing his full fury. The Hokage must feel compelled to commit anyone. The Tsuchikage and the Kazekage…"
Black Zetsu's eye gleamed. "His rage is already a bonfire. He needs only a spark to hurl his stone fist into the fray. Only when the storm rages at its peak, when all eyes are fixed on the carnage between Kumo, Konoha, Suna and Iwa… only then does Kiri vanish into its mist, seemingly broken. The perfect cover."
Madara nodded slowly, a movement that seemed to cost him immense effort. "The Kages… their pride, their fear, their thirst for vengeance… they are predictable threads and easy to pluck."
A shadow of the old, dominating Uchiha pride flickered across his ravaged face. "But orchestration on such a scale… accelerating the war to its zenith… it demands resources. Precision. And…" His voice dropped, the rasp becoming more pronounced, edged with something unfamiliar – a sliver of urgency, perhaps even… frailty?
"Time. Time is a luxury I no longer possess in abundance." The Rinnegan seemed to dim slightly. "My final breath draws nearer. The chakra sustaining this vessel…" he gestured faintly towards his own chest and the tubes snaking into the Gedo Mazo, "…ebbs. The statue hungers more fiercely each day."
The cavern felt suddenly colder. The implication hung heavy in the damp air. Black Zetsu flowed closer, his form seeming to absorb the faint light. "The inheritor, Madara-sama? The vessel for your Will? Our search intensifies daily, but the Uchiha line is weak, diluted. Still, the potential exists. A spark that can be fanned into the conflagration you require."**
"We seek a heart steeped in darkness!" a White Zetsu chirped, though its tone lacked its usual mirth.
"One touched by loss, ripe for your glorious vision! We will find it! We must!"
Madara leaned his head back against the cold stone. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of mortality pressing against years of ambition.
Then, a sound shattered the stillness. Not a cough, not a rasp. A laugh.
It started low, a dry rattle deep in Madara's chest. It grew, gaining strength, echoing off the cavern walls.
"Kuh… kuh-kuh… KAA-HAA-HAA-HAA!"
It was a sound devoid of joy, filled instead with contemptuous, ancient arrogance and a terrifying, unwavering certainty. It was the laugh of a master who sees the win ten moves ahead, even as his body crumbles.
The laugh subsided into wet, hacking coughs, but the echo of its power lingered.
"Forcing the hand of the Kage?" he rasped, the ghost of that terrible laughter still twisting his lips. "Child's play. Even in the deepest sleep, even with my last rattling breath…" He raised one almost skeletal, trembling hand, not in a gesture of weakness, but of absolute, terrifying dominion.
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