Konan had no idea—and could never have known—that the Nagato beside her was no longer the same man.
Their ideals were nearly identical, but their souls had diverged.
And the one sitting beside her now… was a true visionary.
Capturing the Nine-Tails in Konoha was still important—but in Nagato's eyes, there was something even greater he needed to do first.
He had to meet Danzo Shimura, the shadowy leader of Root.
He had to claim a sample of Hashirama Senju's cells.
If Marcus was going to realize his dream in this brutal shinobi world, he needed one thing above all else—
a body strong enough to sustain it.
And the one he had now was anything but.
During the Third Great Ninja War, his legs had been destroyed when Danzo of the Leaf and Hanzo of the Rain conspired to trap him in an underground Fire Release explosion trap.
That same ambush had cost him everything. Akatsuki was cornered. Konan was captured. His closest friend Yahiko died before his eyes. In that moment of despair and fury, Nagato's Rinnegan fully awakened. He summoned the Gedo Statue—the husk of the Ten-Tails—and unleashed its devastating power.
That was the birth of Pain.
He sacrificed his life force to feed the Gedo Statue, casting the forbidden technique Phantom Dragon Nine Seal Chains, annihilating every Root operative and Hanzo's men in a single night.
But it also broke him. His body withered; his lifespan burned away. Unable to walk, he retreated into the shadows and ruled Akatsuki through his Six Paths of Pain.
But the Nagato who now carried Marcus's consciousness had no intention of remaining a cripple.
He refused to die slowly like Itachi, trapped in a body eaten alive by illness.
He would walk the shinobi world on his own two feet—like a true ninja.
He would show the world that the most powerful technique wasn't just the Six Paths of Pain—
it was Seven.
The Outer Path itself must stand among them.
For that, Nagato would have to obtain Hashirama's cells.
And Danzo—manipulative, ruthless, power-hungry Danzo—was the one man he could work with.
To the ninja of Konoha, Nagato was the ultimate villain. The leader of Akatsuki, the one who sent Akatsuki members across the nations to capture the Tailed Beasts. His immortal ninja Hidan had invaded the Leaf and murdered Asuma Sarutobi, son of the Third Hokage.
Nagato had no interest in redeeming his image. Their ideologies were irreconcilable.
Every ninja who inherited the Will of Fire wanted nothing more than to see him erased from existence.
Tsunade, the Fifth Hokage, her advisors Koharu and Homura, and the heads of every major clan—none of them would ever negotiate with him. Between them and Pain, there could only be war.
Only Danzo was different.
Danzo, the man obsessed with becoming Hokage, the extremist who'd do anything to achieve it. He was the one person Nagato could approach.
Nagato knew Danzo possessed Hashirama's cells.
After all, his secret alliance with Orochimaru had been deep and twisted.
Danzo supplied Orochimaru with human test subjects—bodies of fallen Uchiha, tissue from Hashirama's corpse, anything he demanded.
In return, Orochimaru gave Danzo his results: grafted Hashirama cells, hidden jutsu locked within Sharingan eyes—like the forbidden Izanagi.
Nagato wasn't worried about rejection. Even if the fusion had only succeeded fully once—in Yamato's case—and even if Danzo himself could only handle one arm infused with Hashirama's DNA, Nagato was certain he would succeed.
Because he possessed something no one else in the world did—
the Gedo Statue, the living shell of the Ten-Tails, pulsing with the strongest life force in existence.
Snap.
Nagato brought his hands together before his chest. The faint light of the Rinnegan shimmered in his eyes, connecting him to six other pairs of identical eyes across the land.
The link opened—
his vision split into six, each view separate yet perfectly synchronized.
At the edge of Konoha's outer forest, a small watch post stood guard over a clearing. Two Chūnin on patrol were chatting idly when they froze—
A man with bright orange hair had appeared out of nowhere.
He walked toward them in silence, his expression utterly blank.
There was something deeply unsettling about him. Thin black rods pierced his nose, ears, and chin. His eyes—rings of pale lavender rippling outward from the pupil—were unmistakable.
And his cloak—
Black fabric, red clouds, high collar.
The uniform of Akatsuki.
The same symbol that had terrified the entire shinobi world.
"You're at the border of Konoha territory! Halt immediately!" one of the Chūnin barked, pointing toward the stranger.
The other stepped forward sharply.
"If you're trying to enter the village, use the main gate. This area's restricted. Keep moving, and we'll consider it an act of aggression."
The man said nothing. He just kept walking, calm and steady, eyes fixed straight ahead.
"This guy's trouble. Take him down!"
One of the Chūnin drew a kunai and dashed forward—fast, focused, ready to strike.
But the moment he moved, his partner's eyes went wide.
He was… accelerating.
Not naturally—forcibly. His body was being pulled forward, twice as fast as before, faster than he could possibly move on his own.
"Wait—something's wrong!" the second Chūnin shouted. "We're under atta—!"
Thk!
A black rod burst through the speeding ninja's back, dark blood dripping from its tip. His body went limp instantly. The rod slid free, and he collapsed in silence.
"Where's the enemy!?"
Two more Chūnin leapt from the trees, landing beside the first. Their fallen comrade lay at the stranger's feet.
The orange-haired man didn't even flinch. His stare was hollow, devoid of humanity—his eyelids didn't seem to blink. It was as if he were staring right through them, past them, toward the distant heart of Konoha itself.
"How did Kato die?" the bearded Chūnin demanded.
"He was pierced by some kind of weapon," the other said tightly. "But the weird thing is—when he attacked, he suddenly sped up, like something was forcing him to—ah!"
Before he could finish, his body jerked violently.
An invisible force tore him off his feet, slamming him into his comrades and hurling them aside like leaves in a storm.
Terror consumed him. His chakra wouldn't respond. His limbs refused to move. He was being dragged through the air, powerless, toward the emotionless figure ahead—the man with the ripple-patterned eyes.
The Akatsuki demon.
Closer—closer still—he saw the black rod sliding from the stranger's sleeve, its edge slick with blood.
"Help me!" he screamed.
Thk!
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