Just like Hashirama before him, Uchiha Madara suddenly unleashed his full power—vast, overwhelming, and unstoppable.
But this surge wasn't aimed at Orochimaru or the White Snake sage. Instead, Madara turned his gaze toward the small white snake behind them.
His Rinnegan eyes shimmered, the tomoe spinning into the classic ringed pattern of reincarnation. "No matter what you are," he said coldly, "since you've brought me back to life, let me teach you a lesson—some forbidden techniques are not meant to be used so recklessly."
Forming hand seals, Madara shouted, "Release!"
A flash of white light burst from his body. The complex black curse marks faded like retreating shadows. Everyone present could feel the shift in his chakra—Madara had forcibly broken the technique binding him.
Inside the gem on the White Snake Sage's forehead, Orochimaru narrowed his eyes. He'd expected this outcome. In fact, the moment those resurrected figures had appeared, the Djinn had already predicted such a turn.
After all, the little white snake had no knowledge of genuine summoning techniques. Orochimaru was well aware of the creature's capabilities. What it had used was merely a mutated version of the Reanimation Summoning Circle—a twisted fragment Orochimaru himself had once carved into it with eye-based ninjutsu during the battle in Roran.
Even though the snake's body had long since been destroyed and scattered, something had changed. That old seal still functioned, albeit barely—just enough to summon Madara back.
But trying to restrain someone who once wielded the Rinnegan? That had always been a desperate gamble.
The light faded. Madara folded his arms, expression cold. "I'm not interested in staying here and playing your game," he muttered. "There are more important things I need to know—what happened to the world, to Black Zetsu, to Obito, and the Moon's Eye Plan…"
Just as he prepared to fly away, he froze. His body wouldn't move.
Behind him, two immense golden reptilian eyes stared, unblinking.
From inside the gem, Orochimaru frowned. "Ah… So that's it. You've broken the jutsu, yes—but your body is still made from that creature's flesh."
Madara, and the others resurrected, were using parts of the little white snake's body. And that creature wasn't dead—it was alive in every cell. "Ten thousand is one, one is ten thousand." Unless Madara could crush the snake's will, he would never regain full freedom. And even Orochimaru wasn't confident he could do that.
The little white snake had achieved full spiritual transformation.
"You've failed, Madara," Hashirama said, his tone now subdued. The earlier warmth had faded.
He had once thought that death had resolved their rivalry, erased their ambitions. But now he saw—Madara was still the same, chasing some secret plan.
"Don't underestimate me, Hashirama," Madara replied without looking at him. Instead, he turned to the White Snake Sage. "Let's make a deal," he said calmly. "Give me control of this body, and I'll help you get rid of them."
He gestured toward Hashirama and the others. "You already know you can't trust him. But me? I can win this fight."
The White Snake hissed—its words unspoken, but clear. It agreed.
Madara smirked as power flooded his limbs, divine chakra surging like a tide. A colossal blue Susanoo rose, towering even higher than before—nearly rivaling the White Snake Immortal.
"This is Sage Art chakra… Impressive."
He pulled twin blades from his waist—each over 300 meters long. With a single swing, the desert split open, gorges tearing into the land.
Below the Sixth Path, even gods were nothing before such force.
Seeing this, Hashirama's expression tightened. He moved to intercept, guiding the Thousand-Armed Buddha to clash against Susanoo.
Now knowing Orochimaru was a descendant of Konoha, and that even the White Snake Sage was following him, the sides had shifted. Madara was no longer just a threat—he was an enemy to the future of the entire shinobi world.
Of course, this was the reborn Orochimaru. If it had been the old, eerie version filled with darkness, Hashirama would've judged differently.
"Hmmph."
Madara ignored the clash behind him. He charged straight for the snake-human hybrid wielding the massive golden hammer.
But the Thousand-Armed Buddha suddenly froze.
Though powered by Hashirama's chakra, it still contained cells from the little white snake. And it now betrayed its host.
Hashirama stopped resisting, watching the battle unfold.
"Seems I'm out of this fight," he muttered.
"Don't worry, brother," said Tobirama, arms crossed. "This boy Orochimaru… he may surpass even you in your prime."
"Don't flatter him," Izuna snapped, glaring. "You, who could barely last three moves against my brother—what right do you have to judge?"
Tobirama didn't reply. His assessment wasn't just flattery—it was based on careful observation. Madara's fake death, his evolved Rinnegan, and that entire Moon's Eye scheme—Orochimaru knew all of it, and wasn't even impressed. That said a lot.
The battle raged. Madara's Susanoo, the pinnacle of mortal technique, held nothing back. Its power matched, even exceeded, the Thousand-Armed Buddha. Yet the snake-man held his ground.
Martial skill, ninjutsu, raw destruction—it shook the landscape. But neither side gave way.
Inside the White Snake sage, Orochimaru watched with interest.
"Strong, no doubt," he murmured, "but… too slow to finish."
And so, Orochimaru left the safety of the crystal. A risky move.
Madara noticed immediately and swung his massive blade. The sheer wind pressure alone could destroy mountains.
At the same time, the White Snake Sage raised its hammer, aiming directly at Madara's vulnerable chakra gem.
Madara stood his ground. He'd trade blow for blow—if he had to.
But his blade passed through Orochimaru—as if through mist.
"What?" Madara's eyes narrowed.
And then—boom!—the White Snake's hammer struck Susanoo's crown. Cracks spidered across its forehead gem.
Madara poured out chakra to repair it, the damage almost immediately undone.
"No matter…" he sneered. "With this chakra supply, I can do this all day."
A voice answered—inside his head. "That's what I was counting on."
Before Madara could react, Orochimaru had slipped inside Susanoo's head.
"This is the core of your visual jutsu," Orochimaru said, golden eyes glowing. "And now—Tenchōri."
A wave of pupil power burst forth, engulfing the entire Susanoo.
The world around Madara twisted. Time slowed. The space between them warped.
Madara tried to retaliate with Shinra Tensei, forcing everything away in a massive shockwave. Even the White Snake Sage stumbled back.
But Orochimaru remained untouched.
"Oh? So you can use that too. But… how long until you can cast it again?"
Madara's instincts screamed. He reached out—but couldn't reach Orochimaru. A barrier—a dimensional boundary—separated them.
"A space barrier?" Madara muttered, shocked. "You… warped space itself?"
Obito's technique was already considered godlike, allowing him to phase between two realms. But this was different. Orochimaru had created a cage of space itself—something far more advanced.
Madara's sword could cut mountains, but it couldn't slice space.
"You'll stay here for a while," Orochimaru said calmly, retreating back into the White Snake Immortal's brow.
Mortals, even those nearing godhood, could destroy land and sea. But only those on the Six Paths—those with roots in the Ōtsutsuki bloodline—could command space.
Orochimaru had nearly reached that threshold.
"If I had more time," he muttered, "I could've crushed Susanoo completely…"
"But no matter." He turned to the little white snake.
The White Snake Sage swung its hammer.
The little white snake shrieked, fleeing without hesitation.
It even undid the binding spells on Hashirama and the others, hoping they'd turn against Orochimaru once free. But it was too slow.
The White Snake Sage caught it within moments. It was hammered again and again, its body shattering into dust and stone.
From a distance, Hashirama watched the battle, eyes soft. "What an incredible boy. With someone like him around, Konoha must have known peace."
His body began to fade.
"I can rest now."
Tobirama stood beside him, silent.
He had died in the wars—seen the chaos that followed Hashirama's death. Orochimaru was likely shaped by those dark times. His strength wasn't just pursuit—it might have been forced upon him.
War forges monsters. Peace cannot. Tobirama knew that too well.
Before his light faded, he looked back toward Orochimaru one last time, and whispered—
"Goodbye."
_____________________
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