"White Zetsu…" Renjiro's mind raced, sifting through lore half-remembered, half-understood. "They were not just Madara's golems, at least n
"White Zetsu…" Renjiro's mind raced, sifting through lore half-remembered, half-understood. "They were not just Madara's golems, at least n
"White Zetsu…" Renjiro's mind raced, sifting through lore half-remembered, half-understood.
"They were not just Madara's golems, at least not originally." The pieces clicked into place, forming a terrifying, yet potentially illuminating, picture.
"They were Kaguya's Harvest."
They started as humans. Countless souls ensnared millennia ago by Kaguya Ōtsutsuki's Infinite Tsukuyomi, their bodies drained, their wills extinguished, tethered forever to the God Tree.
Empty vessels, preserved within the Gedo Mazo, the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path, like flies trapped in cosmic amber. Their humanity was the foundation, the raw clay.
Centuries later, Madara Uchiha, wielding the Rinnegan, ripped the Gedo Mazo from the moon. Black Zetsu – Kaguya's insidious will made manifest – slithered free and pulled these hollowed-out vessels from the statue's depths. Madara, arrogant and deceived, saw only what he wanted: artificial life, his creations, born from the fusion of the statue's power and… Hashirama Senju's DNA. He believed he was crafting soldiers from his rival's essence.
Madara cultivated a monstrous flowering tree using the statue and Hashirama's stolen cells. From the extracted husks, one specific vessel was chosen. Not just infused with the tree's power, but fused with Black Zetsu itself. This became the Zetsu he knew – White Zetsu's body, Black Zetsu's will. A symbiotic horror, a puppet dancing to Kaguya's tune, masquerading as Madara's loyal servant. But crucially… the fuel for that fusion, the catalyst that allowed the God Tree's power to animate the human husk and bind Black Zetsu… was Hashirama Senju's unparalleled life force.
Renjiro's breath hitched, sending a fresh lance of pain through his ribs.
"Of course."
The conclusion felt inevitable, almost laughable in its brutal logic.
'This… was most likely concentrated essence.'
Not just any essence, Zetsu's essence, making it a diluted version of Hashirama Senju's cells. The legendary lifeblood of the God of Shinobi, the source of his monstrous vitality, his Wood Release, his ability to heal near-instantly, to stand toe-to-toe with Madara himself. It was the ultimate biological cheat code, woven into the very fabric of White Zetsu's existence.
That's how it could merge with the earth so seamlessly, that's how it could regenerate and adapt. That's how it could partially resist his chakra-draining green flames long enough to leave this behind. Only something infused with the First Hokage's broken, reality-bending vitality could survive that annihilating touch, even in a degraded, concentrated form.
A cynical, almost hysterical thought bubbled up amidst the pain and exhaustion.
"Broken."
That's what Hashirama's cells were. A plot-convenient deus ex machina scattered throughout the shinobi world like cursed confetti. Danzo's arm, Obito's reconstruction, Madara's survival, Yamato's existence… and now, apparently, White Zetsu's entire being.
They were the ultimate power-up, the get-out-of-death-free card, the biological equivalent of authorial fiat.
'Find some Senju DNA, slap it on, instant god-mode.'
The absurdity of it, the sheer narrative convenience, warred with the visceral, terrifying potential now lying inches from his grasp.
"But…" His gaze hardened, focusing on the pulsating fragment. "If it's broken… why not break it in my favour?"
The fight with White Zetsu had been brutal, terrifying, a brush with annihilation that revealed Madara's shadow was far longer and more present than he'd dared imagine.
He'd paid a horrific price in pain, chakra exhaustion, and the terrifying glimpse of his own Mangekyo's cost. But this… this was a prize worth that cost.
More than worth it.
Hashirama cells could mean access to Wood Release, an element of unparalleled versatility and power. They could mean resilience, longevity, a foundation strong enough to potentially withstand the drain of the Mangekyo itself, maybe even pave a path towards the EMS without harvesting his own eyes. The possibilities were dizzying, almost intoxicating.
A predatory glint, born of desperation and newfound ambition, flickered in his Sharingan.
"Maybe… maybe hunting White Zetsu isn't such a bad idea after all."
Not just for survival, not just to thwart Madara, but for harvesting. Each one was a walking trove of Hashirama's legacy. Risky? Suicidally so. But the potential rewards… they could make him strong enough to defy fate, strong enough to survive the escalating nightmares this world kept throwing at him.
'Breakthrough equals stronger opponent? Fine. I'll become the strongest.'
The thought sparked a surge of manic elation. He'd survived. He'd won. He'd secured a key to unimaginable power. A ragged, triumphant breath escaped him, misting in the cold air.
"FWOOM-CRACK!"
The world detonated.
Not where Renjiro was reaching, but precisely where he had been kneeling moments before. A bolt of pure, incandescent blue lightning, thicker than a tree trunk, screamed down from the clear night sky with the sound of a thousand shattering glaciers.
"KRA-KOOOOOOOOM!"
The impact wasn't just an explosion; it was instantaneous, catastrophic vaporisation. The glassy slag where Renjiro's knees had pressed vanished in a microsecond, replaced by a hemispherical crater ten meters wide, glowing white-hot at its core.
The shockwave hit like a physical wall, a concussive force that slammed into Renjiro's already battered body, throwing him backwards through the air like a ragdoll.
"THUD-SKID!"
He hit the ground hard, twenty meters away, rolling through sharp gravel and ash. The sound around him was momentarily drowned by the ringing in his ears and the sheer, overwhelming pressure that suddenly filled the desolate basin – an oppressive, crackling aura that made the air itself feel thick and heavy, like breathing liquid ozone.
Renjiro didn't think. He reacted. Before he'd even stopped skidding, before his vision cleared from the blinding afterimage of the lightning strike, his Mangekyo Sharingan had already activated.
The world snapped into the hyper-clarity of the jagged, instantly analysing the chakra signature now dominating the space – a signature of pure, unadulterated lightning, radiating power that dwarfed anything he'd ever felt. It wasn't just strong; it was elemental, inevitable.
He forced himself up onto one elbow, ignoring the screaming protest of his body. His gaze, blazing crimson and black, snapped towards the edge of the newly formed crater. Standing there, silhouetted against the fading glow of molten rock and the swirling dust, was a figure that embodied the very concept of raw, untamed power.
Massive shoulders strained against a simple, dark blue sleeveless shirt. Arms thick with corded muscle, crossed over a barrel chest. The air around him hummed with barely restrained energy, visible sparks fizzing and crackling across his skin.
"You dodged that..." The voice was a low rumble, deeper than the earth itself, vibrating in Renjiro's bones. It held no surprise, only a cold, analytical assessment.
"Impressive reflexes. Especially in your… strange state."
The dark eyes swept over Renjiro's semi-naked form, the contemptuous pause speaking volumes.
'The Third Raikage.'
Lightning incarnate. A living force of nature. And he was here.
The Raikage's gaze lingered on Renjiro's activated Mangekyo, a flicker of something unreadable – perhaps grudging respect, perhaps deeper calculation – passing through those icy eyes.
"So," the deep rumble continued, cutting through the ringing in Renjiro's ears and the ominous hiss of cooling rock, "this is why that bastard Hiruzen trusts you so much. Not just an Uzumaki. Not just a sensor. An Uchiha with the Mangekyo…"
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