[EVERY 100 POWER STONES= 1 EXTRA CHAPTER]
The three days allotted by the scouts stretched into a nerve-shredding eternity for the combined Senju-Uchiha alliance. The bridge spanning the Naka River, once an unthinkable symbol of connection, was now a frantic hub of activity. It was no longer a mere structure of wood and stone; it was a stage, and every clansman, from the lowest genin to the most seasoned elder, was an actor in a desperate play for survival.
Under the grim direction of Madara and the weary but resolute oversight of Toka, the two clans engaged in a spectacle of forced camaraderie that was as transparent as it was pathetic. Uchiha and Senju children were encouraged to play together under the watchful eyes of their mothers, their laughter sounding brittle and unnatural against the backdrop of generational hatred. Joint training exercises were held, but they were clumsy, hesitant affairs, with warriors more focused on not causing offense than on honing their skills. Shared meals were organized, where clansmen sat in stiff silence, picking at their food and avoiding each other's eyes.
The Uzumaki envoys, led by a sharp-eyed woman named Uzumaki Akari, arrived and observed the scene with keen interest. They recognized the underlying terror fueling this sudden unity, but they also saw the potential. They added their own vibrant red hair and formidable fuinjutsu knowledge to the mix, helping to erect ceremonial arches and inscribing temporary peace seals along the riverbank, their presence lending an air of official legitimacy to the frantic pantomime.
Madara, his Eternal Mangekyo constantly active, patrolled the perimeter like a caged tiger. He saw the fear in his clansmen's eyes, the way they flinched when a Senju approached too quickly. He saw the same mirrored in the Senju camp. This was not peace; it was a hostage situation, and the captor was a name, a legend, a memory of milk-white hair and six eye's the all-seeing eyes.
Hashirama, for his part, tried to inject genuine warmth into the proceedings. He would clap a terrified Uchiha elder on the back a little too heartily, or attempt to start a group meditation session that would inevitably devolve into a circle of anxious fidgeting. His dream was being realized, but it was a ghoulish parody, built on a foundation of dread rather than understanding.
Toka was the quiet architect of it all. She moved through the crowds, her genjutsu subtly smoothing over the roughest edges of the interactions, amplifying hesitant smiles and muttering sharp corrections to anyone whose acting slipped. But her mind was a world away, locked in a silent, desperate debate with the ghost of her husband.
John, my love, can you see this? she would think, her eyes scanning the skies. Can you see this pathetic, beautiful, terrifying farce we have built for you? We are trying. We are so desperately trying to show you that we have learned, that we want the world you always spoke of. Please, when you look upon us, see not the deception, but the desperate hope behind it. See not the fear, but the love for our brothers that forced us to this point.
She had confided in no one, not even Hashirama, about the full depth of her connection to Indra. That was a card she would play only if, and when, everything else failed.
Meanwhile, far from the strained festivities on the Naka River, Indra traveled a different path. He did not teleport directly to his clan. The power to fold space was his to command, but a deeper need pulled him along the dusty roads of the Land of Fire. He walked through villages he had saved from bandits, past fields he had protected from marauding shinobi.
He visited the elderly farmer whose daughter he had rescued, sharing a simple meal of rice and pickled vegetables. He checked on the orphanage he had anonymously funded, watching the children play from a distance, their laughter a balm on his soul. He treated the sick and the injured in remote hamlets, his mastery of chakra and the life-giving properties of his Sage Mode making him a walking miracle. He did this not for praise, but for self-satisfaction, to reaffirm the core of his being: that his power existed to protect, to nurture, to create a world where the powerless could live without fear.
It was a pilgrimage of righteousness, a reaffirmation of the path he had chosen. And with every life he touched, every grateful smile he received, the serene conviction within him grew. This was the way. Peace. Protection. Justice.
It was on the third day, as he crossed into the Land of Fire and instructed Agni to expand her form, that the first crack appeared in his serene resolve. From her magnificent, aircraft-sized back, above thousand feet in the air, his Six Eyes swept over the landscape with their usual divine clarity. And they found it—the recent battlefield.
Even from this height, the scar upon the earth was visible. But it was not the churned soil or the shattered trees that caught his attention. It was the residual chakra. A foul, oily stain of corruption and darkness clung to the site, a signature he had only felt in one place: the descriptions of the Celestial Plane regarding the primordial evils that opposed natural law. It was a chakra that devoured, that corrupted, that was antithetical to life itself.
Black Zetsu.
The name echoed in his mind, cold and certain. He had misjudged. He had assumed the ancient manipulator would bide his time, working through subtle proxies. He never thought the creature would make such a direct, brazen move. The attack was not the work of a Senju or an Uchiha hardliner. It was an external poison.
A cold dread, colder than any he had ever felt, began to pool in his stomach. His previous life's memories surged forward. The script. Izuna's death at Tobirama's hands. The catalyst for Madara's fall.
If Zetsu moved so openly… then his goal was achieved. Izuna…
The logic was inescapable, a tragic equation leading to one, horrifying sum. His little brother, the one he had entrusted to Madara, was dead. Murdered by the machinations of a millennia-old parasite.
A wave of grief, raw and suffocating, threatened to overwhelm him. But it was instantly flash-frozen by a rage so pure, so absolute, it made the air around him crackle. The serene Sage energy within him warred with a rising tide of divine wrath.
It doesn't matter, a cold, logical part of his mind whispered. If he is dead, I will bring him back. The Amaterasu no Yomigaeri—the Resurrection of the Sun Goddess—can call a soul back from the pure land and resurrect him in his prime, if the body is intact. the Toki no Gyakusetsu—the Time Paradox—can rewind his body's timeline to a state before death. My Eternal Mangekyo holds powers that defy the very cycle of life and death. They are not so costly now, they may cost me for some day's I can't use them , but I will pay it. Izuna will live it was so Easy thing to me.
But the rage did not abate. It simply found a new target. Zetsu was the architect, but the clans were the stage. The hardliners, the warmongers in both the Senju and Uchiha—their pride, their stubborn refusal to see beyond their own hatred—had created the fertile ground for this tragedy. They had restarted the war the moment his back was turned. They had dared to spit upon the fragile peace he had cultivated. Because of them, his brother had been put in a position to die.
His righteousness, his naivete, had limits. He had believed that showing mercy, leading by example, would be enough. He was wrong. They had mistaken his mercy for weakness. Now, they would learn the price of that mistake.
"Agni," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Take us higher. To the edge of the atmosphere. I wish to look upon my home before I descend."
Agni, sensing the tectonic shift in his chakra, let out a concerned trill but obeyed. She beat her powerful wings, ascending through the clouds until the world below became a patchwork of green and brown, the Naka River a silver thread. From this vantage point, 10,000 feet in the air, his Six Eyes focused, magnifying the scene below with crystal clarity.
He saw it all. The newly built bridge. The Senju and Uchiha mingling with awkward, stilted movements. The Uzumaki seals. The children playing under duress. It was a performance. A beautiful, desperate, and utterly transparent performance staged entirely for his benefit.
Agni let out a soft, rumbling sound. "They are acting, Indra. It is as if they are trying to build a nest of flowers to placate a dragon."
"I know, Agni," Indra replied, a cold smirk twisting his lips, a foreign expression on his usually serene face. "I know exactly what they are planning. They think to deceive me with this pageant. To make me believe that my brother's death…" he choked on the word, "...has somehow magically brought about an era of brotherly love."
"If you easily forgive them now, they will believe their deception worked. They will not learn. They will make the same mistakes again when they believe you are not watching."
"Precisely," Indra said, his voice hardening into diamond. "Let us play with them for a time. Let them sweat. Let them pour their hearts and souls into this charade. Let them believe, for a few precious hours, that they have succeeded in fooling the war god of the Uchiha. And then, when they are at their most confident, when they think the storm has passed… I will show them the true meaning of wrath."
"But it will make you an enemy in the eyes of your own siblings. And your wife." Agni's concern was a warm ember in the cold void of his anger.
"I know," Indra whispered, the pain of that truth a fresh wound. "But it is now inevitable. If I easily forgive the men whose pride started a war that led to countless deaths, who is responsible for the warriors who will never return to their families? My mercy made me naïve. Their ruthlessness taught me a lesson. Now, I will become the leader they need, not the one they want. I will show them the ruthlessness they so admired in their enemies. I will make them understand one, simple, unalterable truth."
He stood up on Agni's back, the wind whipping his milk-white hair, his Six Eyes blazing like captured stars. The faint Sage markings around them glowed with a furious gold.
"As long as I draw breath," he vowed, the promise etching itself into the very air, "anyone who harbors the thought of war, who speaks of it, who dreams of it… I will exterminate them. I will scour their ideology from this world until the very concept of clan warfare is a forgotten nightmare."
Agni felt the finality in his soul. This was no longer just about Izuna. This was about breaking a cycle, no matter the cost. With a mighty cry, she began to emit her flames, a corona of golden-orange fire that enveloped them both without burning them. It was a signal, a transformation. They were no longer just a man and his familiar returning home. They were a judgment, preparing to descend from the heavens.
"Then we are ready," Agni's voice resonated in his mind, filled with a fierce, loyal fire. "Let us go and show them the face of their new god."
[EVERY 100 POWER STONES= 1 EXTRA CHAPTER][PLEASE SUPPORT MY FANFICTION WITH POWERSTONE'S AND YOUR REVIEW'S]