At the Mizukage Building, the smoke gradually dispersed into the wind. Uchiha Obito stood firm, his single visible eye darting warily across the ruins.
A pitcher-plant figure sprouted from the ground by his feet. White Zetsu's half spoke up: "No one else is around. That woman didn't come."
Hearing this, Obito's frayed nerves finally slackened—just a fraction.
Months had passed since his skirmish with Shura and that nameless Uchiha girl, yet the memory of that encounter still left him with a lingering sense of dread. Especially that woman's Mangekyo Sharingan—the sheer pressure of her gaze and the terrifying, eruptive power of Susanoo, the ultimate expression of the Sharingan's might. It was an ordeal he had yet to truly reconcile.
By comparison, Shura—though a capable fighter in their brief exchange—had not yet displayed a combat prowess that defied logic.
However, Obito mused, for a woman like that to serve Shura, the man must possess something extraordinary.
"What are you doing here?" Obito asked, maintaining his intangibility.
Internally, he began a silent countdown. The moment he neared the five-minute mark, he would slip into the Kamui dimension immediately, refusing to give his opponent any chance of a prolonged engagement. He had to be meticulous; no one could know the secret limit of his void-shifting.
What Obito didn't know was that Nagato had already deduced that exact five-minute window through his Rain Tiger at Will technique, and Konan was already beginning preparations for her six hundred billion explosive tags.
"I heard Kirigakure was getting a bit chaotic," Menma replied from his seat on the rubble, his tone light and breezy, as if he were merely a tourist. "I thought I'd come by for a stroll. Take in the sights."
Obito didn't buy the "tourist" routine for a second.
"What, did you take a liking to a certain Mist ninja?" Obito tested him. "Name them. Perhaps I can help you... by pushing them toward desertion."
Obito was desperate for information. A ninja as powerful as Shura wouldn't attack the Great Five Nations without a motive. He had been racking his brain to find the link between Shura's strikes on Konoha and Kumogakure.
What's in the Mist? Obito thought. The Bloodline Limit clans? The Three-Tails or Six-Tails? The Seven Ninja Swords? All were possibilities.
Seeing Obito's blatant probing, the corners of Menma's mouth curled beneath his mask. He couldn't resist the urge to mess with him.
"It's quite simple, really," Menma said. "A comrade of mine was once murdered by Mist ninjas. I've come for a bit of old-fashioned revenge."
The words had barely left his mouth when Obito's hand snapped upward. Countless jagged wooden branches erupted like a volley of arrows.
"Wood Style: Cutting Technique!"
The branches tore through Shura's body, skewering him where he sat.
POOF!
In the next heartbeat, the "Shura" who had been struck dissolved into a cloud of smoke, leaving behind a perforated wooden log.
Substitution.
"My, my. Losing your cool already?" The mocking voice drifted from a few meters away.
Obito spun around, reaching into his Kamui dimension to retrieve his Uchiha War Fan. He hurled it toward the source of the sound with violent force. A crisp metallic Clang echoed in the darkness as the fan was parried and flew back into Obito's hand.
"Just who are you?!" Obito growled, catching the fan by its chain. He was bristling with suspicion and alarm.
"No one could possibly know about that incident!"
After being toyed with repeatedly, Obito finally realized the gravity of the situation. His Mangekyo pulsed with a crimson light.
During their fight months ago, the man had called himself "Uchiha Obito"—a name that had rattled him to his core. Combined with that woman's Susanoo, it had forced Obito to retreat before he could use his full arsenal, like the War Fan or his Wood Style. This time, he was prepared. He was cautious.
Yet, Shura's words had once again shattered his mental fortifications. He was almost certain now: this man knew exactly who he was.
But it made no sense. Minato-sensei hadn't guessed. Kakashi believed he had been dead for years. The only ones who knew were the deceased Madara, Black Zetsu, and the White Zetsu swarm!
Even so, he would never admit it. Uchiha Obito had died that night alongside Rin Nohara.
"Ah, who am I indeed?" Menma stepped out from the shadows, tapping his chin in mock contemplation. He then slammed his right fist into his left palm as if he'd had a breakthrough.
"I remember now!"
Menma shifted his voice, perfectly mimicking the deep, boisterous tone of the First Hokage. "I am actually... Hashirama Senju!"
"Hmph! Childish tricks!" Obito spat, feeling insulted.
If the man refused to show his face, he clearly had his own hidden agenda. If Shura truly intended to stop him, he wouldn't be standing here talking; he would have shouted the truth to the entire village, forcing Obito to abandon Yagura as a puppet.
Since Shura clearly had his own goals in the Mist, Obito decided not to linger. His timer was running low. He activated Kamui, his body being sucked into a swirling vortex of space.
Zetsu followed suit, sinking into the ground.
"How boring. Can't you take a joke?" Menma shrugged as they vanished. He hadn't bothered to stop them. He wasn't here to start a war with the Akatsuki yet; he just saw them and decided to have a little fun at Obito's expense.
Menma turned back to the village. The Kaguya Patriarch had been surrounded by the Mist Jonin. In a final, desperate act after his limbs were severed, he had unleashed the Dance of the Seedling Fern. He took three Jonin to the grave with him and heavily wounded dozens more.
The rebellion was over. The Kaguya warriors were dead, and the ANBU were already moving to "cleanse" their district.
"At least they had more spine than the Uchiha," Menma whispered. "Or rather, their Patriarch had more spine than Fugaku."
Every Kaguya who fell had taken at least one Mist ninja with them. The contrast between the Kaguya and the Uchiha was a perfect illustration of the saying: A lion leads a pride, but a sheep leads a slaughter. Fugaku's indecisiveness and cowardice accounted for at least eighty percent of the Uchiha's tragic end. The Kaguya, meanwhile, had failed—but they had exacted a heavy toll, leaving Kirigakure with losses comparable to a major battle in a Great War. Five Jonin dead, over sixty Mid and Low-rank ninjas killed, and hundreds wounded.
Half an hour later.
Menma arrived at the small hilltop rendezvous point, but there was no sign of Orochimaru.
Did that snake run off already? Suddenly, the mist around the hill began to thicken unnaturally.
Heh. Interesting. Menma chuckled softly. His Kagura Shingan flared to life, instantly pinpointing the hidden threats in the fog.
The Executioner's Blade, the Twin Sword Hiramekarei, and the Great Sword Samehada lunged from three different directions simultaneously.
Follow-up Question: Given that the Mist's legendary blades are closing in, would you like Menma to engage them using his own versions of their techniques, or should he showcase a new ability to settle the score?