Chapter Twenty-Five
The dust settled like ash over the ruined cavern, coating everything in a fine, suffocating gray powder. Chunks of stone the size of houses lay scattered across the floor, testament to forces that had no business occupying the same space. Kenshin sat on one such boulder, legs dangling, while Madara stood across from him, arms crossed, the faint, bloody glow of his Eternal Mangekyō still visible in the settling gloom.
"You fight well," Madara said, his voice a low rumble that carried an edge of genuine, grudging respect. "Better than most I have faced. But you have not answered my question."
"Which one?" Kenshin grinned, wiping a smear of stone dust from his cheek. The grit scratched against his skin. "You have asked several."
"All of them." Madara's expression did not change—a mask of ancient, carved stone. "Who are you, truly? What do you gain from resurrecting me? And how do you possess a Sharingan, one with the straight tomoe?"
"I am Kenshin Yogen, a fan. And I am the person with the most knowledge of this world. In the exuberance of my knowledge, I have come to a conclusion: to enjoy my stay in this world, going your way would be the best. The peace Hashirama envisioned is naive."
"What hubris."
"What do you know of the peace I envision?"
"The Eye of the Moon. It is a nice plan. Stupid, but a nice plan."
"Stupid?" A flicker of cold amusement passed through Madara's eyes. "Enlighten me."
"Placing the world in a dream is a less stressful way to end the war. But with the power you would have gained, why not brute-force peace? It is just like Nagato's impression of peace—become a deterrent whilst employing methods that actually better the living situation of the world, not just hinder military might. Most wars are fought because of the disparity in resources between nations. For instance, the condition of the Sand differs from the Leaf's. Heck, all villages are inferior to the Leaf's better living situation. You and Hashirama were quite greedy."
Madara's silence was heavier than the fallen stone around them.
"By using your strength to invalidate military war," Kenshin continued, his tone shifting from playful to analytical, "you then focus on the logistical aspect of wars. Wars are fought by ninjas and created by humans. The war, the hatred, the animosity would not stop just because of your strength. But by creating better living situations and reducing the key factors that start a war, you would get peace. The Infinite Tsukuyomi is a coward's way of changing the world. To me, you are no fraud. So let me help you achieve peace, while granting you a nice dance."
Kenshin stood from the boulder, the movement smooth and deliberate. He stretched out a hand for a handshake.
"What gives you the certainty that I would agree with that plan of yours? I see no reason. Your plan is just as hopeful as Hashirama's."
"I always forget the tradition in this place." Kenshin took one step and appeared before Madara, the displaced air brushing against the Uchiha's armor. He stretched out his fist instead. "Bump fists with me. See what gives me the certainty."
Madara stared at the offered fist, then back at Kenshin's expectant face. The air was cold and still, thick with the scent of pulverized rock and ozone.
"Go on," Kenshin pressed, his grin unwavering. "You rejected my culture; I have come down to yours. Or is it the fact that I am not Hashirama or Izuna? I may not be them, but you can trust me. Do not be archaic. Go on. See what gives me the certainty."
"I have danced with you," Madara conceded, his voice flat. "So I will give you the benefit of the doubt. If it does not convince me, the Infinite Tsukuyomi will commence."
He stood to his full height and bumped his fist against Kenshin's. The contact was firm, unyielding. Kenshin could see the distaste etched into the lines of Madara's face.
"Heh."
Kenshin smirked.
Time to get shocked. Sorry, Zetsu. You should not trust a fan to keep secrets from his idol.
Madara's fist met Kenshin's in a single, deliberate bump—skin against skin, chakra against chakra.
The contact was brief. Less than a heartbeat.
But in that instant, everything changed.
A flood poured from Kenshin into Madara. Not words. Not images. But raw, unfiltered truth, carried on the violent current of their combined chakra. In the shinobi world, a fist bump between two warriors with sufficiently deep chakra affinity could become a conduit. Memories, emotions, knowledge—transferred in a silent, intimate, overwhelming rush.
Killer Bee and Naruto had done it.
Now, Kenshin did it with the man he called king.
Madara's Eternal Mangekyō widened fractionally. The only outward sign that something had pierced even his iron composure.
He saw.
He saw everything.
The Ōtsutsuki arrival. Kaguya descending in fire and divine arrogance, planting the God Tree, draining the world's life to birth chakra itself. Her betrayal of her sons. Hagoromo and Hamura's desperate stand. The Sage of Six Paths splitting the Ten-Tails, creating the tailed beasts, forging the moon as a prison for his mother's husk.
The centuries of war. Clans slaughtering each other in endless cycles. The Uchiha and Senju bleeding the land dry. Hashirama's desperate dream of the village system, rising from rivers of blood.
His own life, replayed. Not from memory, but from an outside, merciless lens. The Valley of the End. Hashirama's tears. The founding of Konoha. The growing rot. His own deepening disillusionment. The night of the Nine-Tails attack. The manipulation of Obito. The long decades watching from the shadows.
And then—the moment that broke him.
The Infinite Tsukuyomi, cast. The God Tree blooming once more. The world falling into dream. Madara standing triumphant, arms spread, ready to become the instrument of peace.
Black Zetsu rising behind him like a shadow given malice.
The betrayal. Cold. Clinical. Inevitable. Zetsu's voice whispering, "It is time," as black tendrils pierced Madara's back. Forcing the Rinnegan from his body. Puppeteering his corpse. Rewriting the script to awaken Kaguya.
Madara saw the truth of Black Zetsu—not a loyal will, not his creation, but Kaguya's son. The parasite who had orchestrated every major tragedy in the ninja world for a thousand years, just to free his mother.
The Infinite Tsukuyomi was never Madara's plan.
It was Kaguya's.
Madara had been a tool. Discarded the moment his usefulness ended.
The transfer ended as quickly as it began.
Madara staggered back. One step. Barely perceptible, but there.
Silence swallowed the ruined cavern, broken only by the faint plink of dripping water from a newly cracked wall.
Kenshin lowered his fist slowly, watching Madara's face.
The Uchiha's expression had not changed much—still carved from stone. But something had cracked behind the eyes. A faint tremor ran through his clenched jaw. The Eternal Mangekyō spun erratically for a single, furious moment before settling into a cold, lethal stillness that seemed to freeze the very air around them.
Then he stared at Kenshin.
Who was he? How did he know of these happenings? And was that not the future he showed me? Was that a genjutsu? No. He could not fashion such an intricate genjutsu. No shinobi should be able to. And he knew of my youth, and my plan. But that did not seem so weird. Yet he could also be the mastermind, throwing attention to Black Zetsu. No. Wake up to reality. Only the weak would find excuses not to accept the truth. Why would he want to achieve peace the right way if he was the evil mastermind?
A weary, ancient sigh escaped his lips, the sound lost in the vast, damaged space.
"Is that where your self-proclaimed title—the man with the most knowledge of the ninja world—comes from?"
"Heh. Guilty."
"So, do you trust me?"
"Knowing all this, you still work with Black Zetsu? You still plan to gather the tailed beasts?"
"Kaguya is someone who was misguided by the humans of this world. I just need to find a way to break her out of her seal without sacrificing you. Bringing her to our side will help in the long run. The Ōtsutsuki are not done with this world."
"And, gathering the tailed beast, will bring a dance worth participating in"
"How do you know all this?"
"Me?" Kenshin shrugged, the motion deliberately casual. "I am an Ōtsutsuki. A distant relative, you could say."
"And that revelation would increase my trust in you?" Madara said, his tone coming as close to teasing as stone could sound.
"Heh. Better than my black nephew."
"So, how do you plan to work out your grand plan of peace?"
"Well, I still think leaving it the way Nagato plans it is still the best. The quickest way to make them accept peace is making them fight a threat they have no way of beating. That would bring them closer. They have the Child of Prophecy. Using him properly could hasten our progress."
It is shonen after all. After every fight, enemies turn into best friends.
"Who is this 'Child of Prophecy'?"
"A descendant of the Uzumaki clan. Naruto Uzumaki. As well as the Nine-Tails jinchūriki."
A heavy pause hung between them, filled with the weight of futures rearranged.
"Oh. You should act normal around Black Zetsu. I promised not to oust him. Hehe."
"I am no fool."
Madara scoffed, the sound dry and dismissive.
…
Before Kenshin could respond, the air ten meters away rippled with Kamui's distinctive, gut-wrenching distortion—space itself twisting inward with a sound like tearing silk.
Obito materialized first, his mask repaired. Black Zetsu oozed from the shadows beside him, his form rippling with barely contained agitation.
"Oh, the convoy has arrived," Kenshin addressed the duo, his voice bright with false cheer.
"Lord Madara." Black Zetsu greeted, his tone slick and unreadable.
"Hm." Madara acknowledged them with a curt nod, his posture imperious and detached.
"It seems you went through with your plan," Obito said, directing his words at Kenshin.
"Of course. Is there anything I cannot do?"
"Maybe shut up."
"Fair enough."
"It is best I address the subtle tension here," Kenshin announced, clapping his hands together once. The sharp sound echoed. "Obito, fear not. Your Eye of the Moon plan is intact—though, as you know, you will not be the one to cast the jutsu."
Kenshin gave a fake, strained smile. If one looked well enough, they could see the gloating in his eyes. He did want Obito to see it, after all.
"You are to continue with the Akatsuki plan. With a year and seven months to go. Once that elapses, the jinchūriki capture will begin. Meanwhile, Lord Madara and I will be… exploring the world. It is my due penance for resurrecting him."
He looked at Madara, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated innocence. "You have no objection, right?"
Kenshin put on his best pleading eyes.
"Huff."
Madara let out a short, exasperated breath. What choice did he have? The kid was one good actor. Even he would not suspect him. Well, alongside the fact that he was never serious, it was hard to know when he was acting or if he was never not acting.
"So, Obito," Kenshin continued, turning back with renewed energy. "You follow the plan, my plan, and our plan, whilst I make memories with my idol."
He then scrutinized Madara's form. "You do know Transformation Jutsu, right? Those cracks, though… We will just dress you in clothes that do not show… well, you."
Obito looked at Black Zetsu. The confusion in his single visible eye was palpable.
What is the plan? his gaze screamed.
After a moment of silent contemplation, he was able to at least decipher what Kenshin meant.
The plan was referring to the plan he and Madara had—the Eye of the Moon plan, which he also had to make Nagato follow, a watered-down version.
Kenshin's plan was referring to the one where they had to bring the teenage Kenshin under the Akatsuki's radar and then recruit him, before THE PLAN started.
Our plan was referring to the plan they had just made, where Obito followed the old plan.
Confusing.
He and Black Zetsu took a while to solve the… riddle.
By the time they had come to a conclusion, Kenshin and Madara had already left, the cavern feeling emptier and colder in their absence.
"Tell Nagato not to worry," Obito instructed Black Zetsu, his voice hollow in the quiet. "Kenshin was just training."
They had come here after meeting with Nagato about the massive chakra spike and destruction. Black Zetsu and Obito, having already known that Kenshin planned to resurrect Madara here, had told Nagato they would investigate and get back to him.
"Hm."
Black Zetsu nodded, his form swaying slightly like a dark plant in a unfelt breeze. The deed was done. The board was set. And the most unpredictable piece was now dancing with the king.