Susanoo—the third power of the Mangekyō Sharingan—was a jutsu that, in the current shinobi world, existed only in legend.
In ancient times, Tajima Uchiha had once unleashed this technique in battle. The colossal giant he manifested was said to embody destruction itself—its mere presence reducing everything in its path to ruin.
The aftermath of that battle had forever changed the land. The once-contiguous nations of Musashi and Yamato were split apart by a new ocean trench carved into the earth.
Even years later, every shinobi who had visited that battlefield could scarcely imagine the terror of the clash that had caused such apocalyptic devastation.
Only those who had lived through that battle could comprehend the sheer scale of such power—and to stand against it was something no ordinary human could hope to do.
Now, though Hashirama and Tobirama Senju had firmly reached the Kage level, neither was yet at their peak. Hashirama had yet to master Sage Mode, while Tobirama's Flying Thunder God and other forbidden techniques remained incomplete.
Against the current Madara Uchiha—whose Susanoo had entered its second form—they would stand little chance.
But the one facing Madara now… was Ranzuki Ōtsutsuki.
"To slay me here?"
Ranzuki showed no fear before the roaring, sky-splitting sword aura descending upon her. Her half-lidded eyes shifted, transforming into azure Tenseigan orbs that gleamed with divine light.
Six Truth-Seeking Orbs emerged around her, swirling as they fused into her palm. From the convergence formed a radiant silver halo of pure energy.
"Little cat of the Uchiha clan… allow me to show you what it means to behold the heavens."
With a commanding voice, Ranzuki extended her hand. From the silver ring burst a colossal tornado of silver light.
"Silver Wheel Reincarnation Explosion!"
The sword aura and the spiraling tornado collided—two titanic forces clashing as though gods themselves wrestled for dominion over heaven and earth.
Boom—!
The thunderous detonation reverberated for miles. The enormous trees Hashirama had summoned were torn from their roots. The slicing winds shredded stone, earth, and wood alike into a storm of debris.
Crackle… snap…
Everything within the Four Purple Flame Formation was reduced to dust beneath the overwhelming fury of the two attacks.
The storm's violent wind and raging chakra ground all that existed into powder—trees, stone, and even the air seemed to tremble. The barrier walls groaned under the pressure, the supposedly unbreakable Four Purple Flames creaking as if on the verge of collapse.
Before that apocalyptic clash, every shinobi present felt utterly insignificant—mere ants before divine wrath.
Far away, Uzumaki Mito felt the shockwaves rippling through the air. When she turned to look back, the sight she saw left her completely speechless.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Is… is this really something humans can do? What have I been striving for all this time…?"
It wasn't just her—every shinobi who witnessed the scene stood frozen, awestruck and horrified. The magnitude of the destruction unfolding before them was no longer a battle, but a calamity—a pure, natural disaster born of overwhelming chakra.
Yet the question lingered—who had prevailed in such a clash?
As the roaring winds subsided and the dust began to settle, the area where their attacks had collided was left utterly barren. The terrain itself had been erased, leaving only raw, exposed earth behind.
And finally, the outcome between Ranzuki Ōtsutsuki and Madara Uchiha revealed itself.
"It's over."
The calm voice of the Ranzuki standing outside the battlefield echoed softly.
The watching Hashirama, Tobirama, and the others snapped out of their daze, turning their gaze toward her with newfound awe and reverence.
"Lady Ranzuki, should we now release the Four Purple Flame Formation?"
Even Butsuma Senju spoke with the utmost respect.
"He's already unconscious," Ranzuki said indifferently, releasing her hand seal. "Susanoo's destructive power is indeed impressive—but the difference between us is far greater than he can comprehend."
Within the battlefield, the Ranzuki who had unleashed the Silver Wheel Reincarnation Explosion vanished in a puff of smoke—it had been a clone all along.
And on the opposite side, Madara Uchiha—who moments ago had stood proudly within his towering Susanoo—now lay motionless on the ground, unconscious.
His clothes were torn to shreds, and only the Gunbai fan remained intact, resting beside him amid the wreckage.
"This—?!" Even Hashirama and Tobirama Senju were struck speechless by the overwhelming outcome before them.
They had believed themselves to be among the few true powerhouses of the current shinobi world. Yet what they had just witnessed shattered that confidence completely—crushing it into the dirt.
The brothers exchanged a look—there was silence between them, but their eyes reflected a mixture of disappointment, unwillingness, and a faint glimmer of determination that refused to yield.
Ranzuki, however, paid no attention to their reactions. Instead, she calmly reviewed the battle in her mind, analyzing the power and aftereffects of Madara Uchiha's last technique.
"Madara Uchiha's pair of Sharingan clearly amplify his Susanoo's power. Even though this was only the second stage, its offensive strength may already surpass the Susanoo his father once summoned."
"However, his father's Susanoo possessed the sacred treasures—the Sword of Totsuka and the Yata Mirror—granting it perfect balance in offense and defense. It could also condense and layer itself around the user, giving far greater mobility."
"Overall, Madara's current Susanoo still hasn't reached the level of his father's."
"Even so, his potential far exceeds that of his predecessor. After all, he bears the chakra of Indra's reincarnation… his future growth is worth watching."
Ranzuki's habit of post-battle reflection was born from years of hunting down super S-class rogue shinobi. The foes she had faced were never weaklings—each had their own overwhelming power, bloodline limits, and unpredictable techniques. Against such opponents, brute strength alone rarely ensured victory.
Yet it was precisely this habit that had driven Ranzuki's rapid evolution in strength.
Madara Uchiha's defeat did not mean he was weak. Even by the standards of Indra or Ashura themselves, possessing such might at his age was an extraordinary feat.
However, against the repulsive storm generated by Ranzuki's Truth-Seeking Orbs, the difference between them transcended mere chakra—whether in quality, quantity, form manipulation, or nature transformation.
It was a disparity of authority.
Within the chakra system established by the Ōtsutsuki lineage, those who possess the Truth-Seeking Orbs hold what is essentially the administrator-level privilege of the entire world.
Unless one abandons the chakra path entirely—choosing instead the route of senjutsu or pure taijutsu—there exists no hope of resistance.
No matter how gifted, no matter how hard one trains, as long as they walk the path of chakra, any being without the Truth-Seeking Orbs can never contend with one who wields them.
Madara Uchiha was fortunate. He at least possessed the innate potential to one day surpass that boundary.
But for most beings in this world—their fate was sealed from the moment they were born. No matter how they struggled, they would forever remain nothing more than fish upon the chopping block, destined to be cut down by those above.
"That woman again?"
At the outskirts of the battlefield where Ranzuki Ōtsutsuki and Madara Uchiha had fought, a strange being emerged silently from the ground—unnoticed by anyone.
It was none other than Zetsu, the infamous shadow lurking behind the scenes of the shinobi world.
His body was bizarre—half black, half white, with an asymmetrical yin-yang face. His torso was wrapped in leaf-like tendrils, and his head was covered in a mop of grassy green hair.
White Zetsu murmured, "Ranzuki Ōtsutsuki? Does 'Mother' have a relative by that name?"
As if answering himself—or perhaps his other half—a deeper, colder voice spoke through the same mouth. "In Mother's memories, there is no clan member named Ranzuki Ōtsutsuki. And by her appearance, she doesn't resemble any direct descendant of the main Ōtsutsuki family."
As the living will of the Rabbit Goddess herself, Black Zetsu possessed knowledge of nearly every secret in the shinobi world. It was this omniscience that allowed him to manipulate beings countless times stronger than himself.
But the emergence of this woman—this Ranzuki Ōtsutsuki—had stirred in him an unfamiliar sense of doubt.
Then, White Zetsu spoke again, his tone lighter, almost casual. "But Madara Uchiha is the confirmed reincarnation of Indra's chakra. Are we just going to abandon him like this?"
"The Senju aren't fools," Black Zetsu replied coldly. "They won't dare to kill Madara outright. Doing so would trigger a full-scale war with the Uchiha clan—and with their current strength, neither side would emerge unscathed. Both would lose."
"Then what's their goal? To the Senju, Madara Uchiha is a hot potato they can't afford to drop or keep."
Even an idiot could tell—the mastermind behind this entire scheme wasn't the Senju clan.
White Zetsu might have been dim-witted, but Black Zetsu was anything but.
He sank into thought, piecing together the battle's events and the intelligence gathered through his spore techniques.
Then, a chilling realization flashed through his mind—
Could it be… they've also discovered that Madara Uchiha is the reincarnation of Indra's chakra?
Does this Ranzuki Ōtsutsuki know the secrets of the ancient eras?
It was entirely possible.
After all, while the line of Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki had long vanished from the earth, the branch family of Hamura Ōtsutsuki still existed—on the moon.
Could the lunar Ōtsutsuki have noticed something?
The idea unsettled Black Zetsu deeply. For the first time in centuries, he felt something beyond his control—an ominous premonition.
Then, abruptly, an icy sensation crawled up his spine.
Someone's watching me!
"Something's wrong—leave now!" Black Zetsu snapped, his voice carrying an urgency almost alien to him.
That feeling! That pressure!
There was no mistaking it—he had sensed this same, overwhelming chakra before, long ago, when observing from afar the legendary battles between the Senju and Uchiha.
Even if mixed with other unknown energies, he could still recognize it. Among them was pure, unmistakable Ōtsutsuki chakra.
And what had his "mother" become after consuming the God Tree's fruit?
A traitor to the Ōtsutsuki clan.
Which was why, throughout the ages, Black Zetsu had moved in secret, avoiding detection by any surviving members of the clan.
But now… had they finally found him?
Panicking, he forced his mind to clear and ordered White Zetsu, "Activate the Mayfly Technique, now!"
This jutsu was one of Zetsu's primary methods of travel and reconnaissance—it allowed him to merge his body with the earth and vegetation, moving at extreme speed while remaining undetectable. By linking himself with the roots of plants and underground water veins, he could traverse vast distances swiftly, his presence completely erased.
Within moments, Zetsu slipped into the soil, weaving rapidly through the underground terrain. In an instant, he had fled far from the Senju stronghold.
The Mayfly Technique was undoubtedly one of the most "unanswerable" jutsu in the shinobi world—fast, silent, and nearly impossible to counter.
Yet even so, maintaining it consumed chakra. For White Zetsu, prolonged use was draining.
"It's been several dozen kilometers already," he panted. "Is that thing… still following us?"
White Zetsu gasped for air, wanting nothing more than to stop and rest. As one of countless mass-produced clones, his strength was negligible, and his chakra reserves far from impressive.
He could never comprehend the true scale of power wielded by those at the pinnacle of the shinobi world.
But Black Zetsu—being the lingering will of Kaguya, the progenitor of chakra itself—understood all too well the terror that true power represented.
Though their flight had taken them far—enough to evade 99.99% of shinobi alive—those weren't the kinds of enemies worth worrying about.
Ironically, the foes one truly feared were the ones for whom no amount of preparation could matter—those who refused to play by the rules of the game.
Black Zetsu could still sense that gaze. As a spiritual entity, his perception far surpassed White Zetsu's.
White Zetsu couldn't feel it—but he could. That piercing, invasive sense of being watched had never once faded since they began fleeing. It was constant—ever-present, locked firmly onto their trail like a needle pressed against his spine.
Through forests and plains, through crowded cities and war-torn villages—it followed.
Unwavering.
And as the distance grew, so too did the weight pressing down on his chest.
Even Mayfly can't shake them off…
The thought sent a dark chill through his consciousness.
"Damn it… who in the world is this?"
After what felt like an eternity of pursuit, Black Zetsu finally made a choice. He halted, signaling White Zetsu to cease their flight.
As expected, the suffocating gaze stopped as well—fixed squarely upon them.
The way the watcher toyed with him—neither attacking nor withdrawing—felt more like a cat playing with a trapped mouse than a hunter stalking prey.
If escape was futile, then there was no point in running further.
White Zetsu's body rose from the earth, emerging into an open clearing surrounded by dense forest. Moss clung to his limbs as he lifted his head cautiously.
Then, from behind him, a cool, ethereal female voice drifted through the wind.
"Oh? Not running anymore? Giving up so easily… that's not like you at all."