Arata needed a moment to recover his stamina. He wanted nothing more than to finish off the Eight-Tails jinchūriki—the one clearly preparing a massive attack—but for now, all he could do was watch.
Because right behind that threat came something even worse:
three elite taijutsu specialists from the Land of Lightning closing in on him at once.
The Raikage's speed needed no explanation. Even in his grievously injured state, he'd only lost a fraction of his movement—still moving like living lightning.
The Two-Tails' jinchūriki was weaker in pure rank—barely breaking into Kage-tier—but with Lightning Armor boosting her body and the cloak of her Tailed Beast wrapped around her, her speed nearly matched the wounded Raikage's.
And then there was the elite jōnin. Dragged into the fight or not, he was still a veteran of countless missions and had a dangerous arsenal of his own.
The moment the Raikage shouted his order, he moved instantly into Arata's blind spot, slipping past the rhythm of the two Kage-level combatants and striking whenever the smallest opening appeared.
His attacks weren't normal lightning either.
They crackled with a black current—denser, sharper, more lethal than the usual blue sparks.
It was a kekkei genkai, something akin to Lava Style or Boil Release. Something meant to burn straight through defenses.
In the original war records, only the Third Raikage had shown a jutsu like this—but up close, he hadn't had a chance to use it on Arata yet.
Against Arata one-on-one, no one could even form a hand seal before he ripped through them. Too fast, too precise. No ninjutsu user alive could keep up with that.
But this wasn't one-on-one.
This was three-on-one.
Even Arata couldn't overwhelm all three. His speed let him dominate individually, but facing both the Raikage and the Two-Tails at the same time left him relying entirely on evasive footwork.
Fortunately, what hadn't recovered was his stamina—
not his observation haki.
His Mind Net remained sharp, letting him anticipate every incoming strike with terrifying accuracy.
It was the only reason he wasn't already on the ground.
The elite jōnin's black lightning especially set Arata's instincts screaming. He didn't know what that kekkei genkai was called, but he knew one thing for certain:
he could not get hit by it.
Not even once.
It felt like a natural predator to his own element—like magma against fire, an upper-tier affinity designed to overwhelm his.
The Raikage, a lifelong warrior, noticed Arata's reaction immediately. His lips moved silently toward Doell, forming words without sound—a code, clearly.
Arata's chest tightened.
The Eight-Tails' "big attack" could only be one thing: a Tailed Beast Ball.
That he could handle.
But black lightning? That was far more uncertain.
He had no intention of waiting to find out.
"Lightning Armor—Second Gear!"
He didn't hold back anymore.
In his standard Lightning Armor, his entire body blurred into living electricity.
But with a quiet exhale—
—his form began to swell with power.
The Third Raikage sensed the shift instantly and didn't hesitate.
He poured everything—every last drop of chakra and will—into one final strike.
He knew it was his last chance.
If this didn't kill Arata, there would never be another opportunity.
If a full squad—one Raikage, two jinchūriki—couldn't stop Arata, then what force could?
"Hell Stab—One-Finger Ultimate!"
He thrust forward with the same jutsu as before, but this time aimed directly at Arata's heart. It was his final, absolute maximum-speed attack.
The Two-Tails didn't wait either.
From Arata's flank, she unleashed hundreds of deep-blue fireballs—the signature flames of Matatabi. Each one burned hot enough to rival Amaterasu itself.
They looked small, but anything they touched was reduced to ash.
And because they needed no hand seals, they were perfect for blind-angle assaults.
But Arata ignored both jinchūriki completely.
The Raikage's spearhand hit Arata's chest—
—and passed straight through.
No resistance. No impact.
As if Arata wasn't even there.
The Raikage stumbled forward, eyes wide, spinning around just in time to see Arata's body shimmering with rippling distortions—
space-time distortion.
"Space-time…?!"
In any era, such abilities were vanishingly rare.
In this war, the only known user was the Second Hokage with Flying Thunder God—but Arata's was different.
Flying Thunder God needed marks and coordinates.
Arata simply slipped himself out of physical space entirely.
Even shocked, the Raikage reacted fast, leaping away from Arata's back—because the Two-Tails' flames and Doell's black lightning were about to collide there.
And they did.
BOOM BOOM BOOM—!
Hundreds of detonations tore the battlefield apart.
The ground heaved.
Blue flames shot skyward like pillars.
But even through the inferno, the Raikage couldn't relax. He remembered too clearly how Arata's "destroyed" body had reformed earlier.
Would this fire even hurt him?
Luckily—or not—the flames faded quickly.
And then Arata stepped back into view.
The Raikage and the Two-Tails both froze.
And swallowed hard.
Arata now stood as a sixty-meter-tall, pale-blue giant.
Lightning arced meters off his body.
The air around him warped from sheer heat.
Blue flames still clung to him but couldn't reach his body—as if they passed through empty space.
He wore deep-blue samurai armor.
A tengu helm.
A katana of solid lightning at his waist.
Wings on his back.
Three pairs of arms.
The silhouette was unmistakable.
It looked like a complete Susanoo.
The Third Raikage—one of the few alive who had seen Madara's Susanoo as a child—felt that old terror return like an icy spike to the spine.
That towering blue warrior had once slaughtered the Land of Lightning's shinobi like insects.
This wasn't Susanoo, of course.
It was Arata, reshaping Enel's monstrous lightning-god form into something far more refined—
a Susanoo-shaped god of thunder.