This power.
A simple clench of the fist stirred a terrifying maelstrom. His feet barely shifted upon the ground, yet a whirlwind roared to life around him, violent enough to tear the very earth.
Bathed in blood-red steam, Myōken Senju was no longer the man he had been moments ago.
His eyes were devoid of pupils, filled entirely with white. His hair and brows had turned a vivid crimson, making him seem like a war god descended to the mortal realm.
Under the pressure of the fully opened Eight Gates, every shinobi present struggled even to find footing, forced back hundreds of meters by the raging gales.
Even the future titans of the shinobi world—Madara Uchiha and Izuna Uchiha—could do nothing now but retreat.
Tajima Uchiha's Mangekyō Sharingan scrutinized Myōken. So this is your trump card… a final technique meant to take me with you?
His answer was Myōken's fist.
So fast! Tajima's heart jolted.
Even his Mangekyō could not fully read the purity of this strike, driven to the peak of both strength and speed.
He barely had time to summon the blue Martial God Armor, raising the Yata Mirror in defense, before both shield and wielder were smashed skyward.
But Myōken's assault had only begun. With the raw might of the Eight Gates, he stepped into the air itself, chasing his target with impossible speed.
That shield's defense is formidable… my current blows won't break it. I need another way.
He wove through the air, vanishing from one position to the next, his afterimages multiplying until dozens of phantom Myōken filled the sky.
From every direction, phantom fists struck—compressed air detonating toward Tajima, who still reeled in midair.
Too fast… even my Mangekyō can't tell which is real.
With no other choice, Tajima poured all his ocular power into the Yata Mirror, reshaping it into a full, circular chakra barrier to envelop himself.
The next moment, the storm of phantom blows struck. The Uchiha leader's body bucked under the impacts, swaying like a leaf in a hurricane. Each time the force should have flung him free, another blow from the opposite side drove him back into the killing zone.
Dozens of exchanges later, the combined power reached its apex. Locked in place by relentless impacts, Tajima's chakra barrier became a sphere—his prison.
Above it, Myōken now stood, his true form revealed. From his body burst a tide of destructive chakra, and at that instant the sun itself seemed to merge with his silhouette. The golden light crowned his crimson form, giving him a halo neither wholly mortal nor divine.
"Solar Fall!"
If Susanoo was the god before him, then he would be the mortal who felled a god.
In that instant, the strength of dozens of Eight Gates strikes fused into one apocalyptic blow. Even the Yata Mirror, peerless in defense, would shatter before this world-breaking force.
BOOOOM!
The sky and land split with the sound of heaven's wrath. The shockwave obliterated the surrounding terrain; from the point of impact, a vast rift tore open the earth.
Minutes later, seawater from opposite shores began rushing back toward the wound.
With one strike, Myōken had reshaped the map—creating a new trench between Yamato and Musashi.
Haa… haa…
Spent, Myōken could no longer remain aloft. His body plummeted to the ground, collapsing at the edge of the chasm he had forged with his own hands.
Even with the body of a Sage and the aid of Tenseigan chakra, Myōken Senju was left hanging on by a single thread of life. He knew that once that last breath faded, death would claim him.
But… at least I've done it.
Just as he was about to close his eyes in grim satisfaction, an immense surge of chakra erupted from the chasm below—an endless, blazing crimson unlike the azure chakra of Tajima Uchiha. It was pure animal ferocity, a will to destroy.
Huff… huff… huff…
A ragged breathing came from the depths, mingled with the ominous presence of another monstrous chakra. Myōken's fading consciousness flared back to life, and he looked down to see an immense fox phantom, nine tails streaming behind it, crawling from the gorge.
On its back lay the battered form of Tajima Uchiha.
Even with the Yata Mirror shielding him from most of the damage, Myōken's near-transcendent strike had nearly killed him through his fully armed Susanoo and divine protection. Wounded beyond hope of victory, Tajima had been forced to reveal another trump card: the Nine-Tails. Though he could not summon its full form in his state, even calling forth its chakra was enough.
The ancient rumor was true—Uchiha could command the tailed beasts.
"Myōken Senju…" Tajima's weak voice was laced with exhilaration. "Since awakening my Mangekyō Sharingan, no one has ever driven me this far. Not even the distant Eight-Tails matches your worth. You deserve to witness this technique!"
He had known all along. And yet… he had not struck at the Senju clan head? Myōken could not fathom his reasoning, but it suited him fine.
Laughing, Tajima poured the Nine-Tails' chakra into his Susanoo, transforming it into its complete form.
"Heavenly God Armament: Susanoo."
The effort staggered him. His vision blurred—his Mangekyō warning him that blindness was near.
Just a little more…
Before him, the Kusanagi no Tsurugi—long overshadowed—was raised. The blade drank deep of the Nine-Tails' chakra, summoning a sky-splitting aura. Clouds parted in its wake.
Even before the strike, the sword's divine pressure crushed the air around them.
With a blur of red and blue, Tajima was upon him. The blade seemed to step through space itself, a tidal wave of killing intent cutting straight for Myōken's neck. It was an attack without trace, a strike even Eight Gates could not clearly read.
When Myōken saw the sword, it was already too late to dodge. Inside, the rending agony of the Eighth Gate met the sheer speed of the Kusanagi.
Is this… the end?
Far away, through her Tenseigan, Satsuki saw it all. No pity showed in her eyes—only a faint hope for an impossible miracle.
In that instant—
Myōken's eyes snapped wide. He thrust both hands forward to catch the blade. His failing body could barely slow it, the force tearing his arms to pieces. In the final heartbeat, he lunged forward, clamping his jaws onto the sword itself.
Even the surrounding Uchiha were struck silent.
Would the blade sever his head, or would his teeth hold?
The roaring winds stilled.
In the killing quiet, the golden blade hung motionless—caught between Myōken's clenched teeth. The taste of blood and iron filled his mouth, shards of flesh slipping down his chin.
The Eight Gates burns away the user's life and blood; as long as it blazes, no blood flows. But when it does… there is only one meaning.
Slowly, Tajima drew the Kusanagi from Myōken's mouth. His Susanoo's Martial God Armor crumbled away; his Mangekyō faded to black. He stared at the charred, lifeless body before him.
This opponent, even in death, still gazed straight ahead—without a trace of retreat.