**SOUTHWEST – SENJU COMPOUND EDGE**
Hashirama's sandals sank into moss-slick riverbank mud. Dawn painted the Nakano crimson, reflecting his exhaustion. Behind him—forest shadows still echoed that monstrous silhouette unfurling against twilight. Azure scales. Horns like fractured mountains. Eyes burning deeper than any Katon. He'd *felt* Kaido's roar rattle his ribs miles away—Conqueror's Haki scraping his soul raw. Not hatred. Not rage. *Pride*. Absolute, terrifying pride. Hashirama crushed a fistful of damp earth. Survival? Kaido spat on the word. The man—dragon—whatever he was—carved truth with annihilation. Hashirama stared at his trembling palm. Mokuton vines sprouted—feeble, green. Life. But against *that*? Playacting. Stone vaporized. Peaks cleaved. Truth demanded more than saplings. He needed roots deep enough to strangle dragons.
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**NORTHWEST – UCHIHA OUTPOST PERIMETER**
Madara crouched atop a lightning-scarred cedar—body taut, Sharingan piercing pre-dawn gloom. Far southeast, violet light had split mountains hours ago. He'd *seen* the afterimage burned behind his eyelids: Kaido's obsidian blade ascending, reality tearing like rotten silk. Now? Silence. Heavy. Wrong. Not even birdsong pierced it. Kaido hadn't hunted them. Hadn't demanded allegiance. He'd left truths hanging like gutted prey: **"Survival?"** A sneer soaked in blood-reek. **"Mere existence."** Madara's knuckles whitened on kunai grip. Weakness, Kaido named it. Uchiha pride curdled sour. That dragon didn't see clans—he saw kindling. Or… tools? Madara's Sharingan whirled—crimson edges sharpening on remembered scales. Potential. Forged in chakra-fire hotter than Amaterasu. Tomorrow's war demanded more than fireballs. It demanded what Kaido knew: How to erase mountains. How to make worlds kneel.
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**MIDDAY – KAIDO'S PATH**
Forests thickened—ancient cedars groaning under centuries. Kaido didn't follow paths. He carved them. Scaled shoulders shattered low branches; bootfalls cratered fern-carpeted earth. Ahead—a granite escarpment jutted, veined with quartz like frozen lightning. His destination. Konoha's future Academy grounds. Now? Wild. Perfect. Dragon nostrils flared—filtering decay's perfume: damp loam, rotting bark… beneath? **Pure Steel.** Future echoes—Rock Lee's weights striking dawn-chilled stone. Might Guy's roar shaking cherry blossoms. Might Duy's flicker igniting infernos. Seeds needing stolen soil. Kaido grinned—fangs glinting crimson. Patience strained dragon-tight. But first—forge the blade worthy of shattering bone. Worthy of breaking heavens. He halted. Crimson gaze scanned the cliff-face—searching not weakness, but worthy stone. Obsidian-black. Volcanic heart. Stone to shatter destinies upon. His Kanabō awaited. Goro's hammer sang miles behind—frantic, desperate. Time bled. Dragon will forged patience. Tomorrow, Konoha's ghosts would learn—dragons remember futures carved in mountain-blood. Training wasn't preparation. It was resurrection.
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**THREE DAYS LATER – KAIDO'S RUINED THRONE**
Goro staggered into the fortress ruins—kanabō clutched against heaving chest. Dawn painted the devastation grey-gold. Two hundred pounds of pure Stone Crags ore dragged at his arms—muscles screaming betrayal. Obsidian-dark, vein-cracked surface drank the light, chipped edges glittering like shattered stars. It felt… alive. Cold. Hungry. He'd forged it in stolen chakra-fire—deep beneath mountains, sweating blood onto blistering steel. Kenji whimpered prayers above him; Hideshi carved wind-scars into thorn forests eastward. Dust-choked silence greeted Goro—not peace, but suffocating dread. He froze mid-step. Crimson eyes sliced through gloom—twin furnace doors slamming wide. Kaido sat atop fractured stone throne—immovable, draped in shadow. Before him: warriors. Not survivors—corpses living a borrowed breath. Dozens sprawled unconscious—groaning, twitching—kicked aside like discarded armor. Kaido's Conqueror's Haki hummed—oppressive, drowsy—a predator's satisfied purr vibrating fractured flagstones. At his feet—the Iwakura clan leader. Gutted samurai-lord armor cracked open like crab shell. Kaido's scaled fist gripped his neck scruff—lifting him limp as wet ragdoll. Chains—crude iron forged by Goro's own blistered hands—bit deep into pale thighs. Barely breathing. Barely alive. **"Late."** Kaido's word cracked stone—not accusation. Verdict. Goro's knees buckled. The kanabō thudded—dust blooming like grave-smoke.
Kaido's gaze—slow, deliberate—lifted from the broken lord to the obsidian club. Dust motes flared crimson in its wake. Recognition. No praise. Assessment. Raw ore screamed potential…if tempered in blood. **"His chains,"** Kaido rumbled—voice like grinding tectonic plates. Crimson eyes pinned Goro—not order. Invitation. **"Your creation."** Understanding dawned—cold, sharp: Kenji's trembling prayers. Hideshi's wind-scarred arms. This samurai's choked gasps. All… materials. Ore waiting dragon-fire. Goro's blistered fingers curled—not in terror now, but terrifying purpose. Iron forged responsibility. This club wasn't just steel—it pledged allegiance soaked in survivor-sweat. Kaido dropped the clan leader—thudding limp onto stone. Dust billowed. **"Test it."** The command hung—cold, sharp-edged. Not request. Crucible. Hammer the weakness from flesh. Earn existence. Or shatter alongside it. Goro's grip tightened—knuckles bleeding onto cold obsidian. Dragon-forged truth awaited impact. Purpose crystallized: survive the storm? Become its heart.
Kaido rose—shadow bleeding across prostrate bodies. Crimson glare swept unconscious warriors—not mercy, but inventory. Potential measured in trembling breaths and bruise-purpled skin. His thumb jerked—northwest. Toward nascent Konoha. Toward futures needing cracked spines. "Tools," he rumbled—low, tectonic. Goro flinched, knuckles white on the kanabō's icy haft. Still kneeling. Still breathing borrowed air. Kaido's clawed hand lashed—no warning. Obsidian-dark fingers enveloped the club's neck just below Goro's death-grip. Stone groaned protest. Two hundred pounds lifted—effortless—like plucking reedgrass. Goro gasped—arms spasming empty. The kanabō dangled—obsidian teeth gleaming hungrily in dawn's bloody light. Dead weight. For now. Kaido's free hand settled atop the haft—palms bracketing cold ore. Eyes closed. Dragon-scale fingers tightened—granite cracking beneath scaled knuckles. Within that crushing stillness… ignition. Violet-black energy pulsed—visible for heartbeat—along Kaido's forearms. Not eruption. Infusion. Conqueror's Haki bled inward—threading molten filaments through stone veins like liquid lightning seeking earth's core. The club shivered—once. Resonant. Deep. A mountain waking. Dust powdered the air—charged, ozone-sharp.
A low hum built—not sound, but vibration felt in teeth. The kanabō's obsidian skin drank dawn-light—deepening to void-black. Veins of quartz flared violet—frozen storm-lines trapped within volcanic heart. Kaido's crimson eyes snapped open—slitted pupils reflecting the weapon's awakening ferocity. He pivoted—slow, deliberate. Toward the gutted Iwakura lord still choking dust near his boots. Toward the northwest mountain chain—Konoha's cradle beyond. Toward futures demanding foundations shattered. Dragon sinews uncoiled—shoulders rolling back—club lifting skyward. Not overhead swing. Arc initiated low—behind hip. Fluid. Inevitable. As the weapon ascended… transformation. Violet-black Haki sheathed the obsidian teeth—a corona of devouring light. Static prickled exposed skin. Air molecules screamed protest. Every unconscious warrior stirred—groaning—as if reality itself bent beneath the impending blow. Kaido's lips peeled back—glacier-fangs bared. No roar. Only finality etched in gathering annihilation. **"Observe."** The word—sharp-edged diamond—cut through the humming void.
Impact registered before sound—before sight. Time fractured. Kaido's hips pistoned forward—core snapping whipcord-taut. The Haki-wreathed kanabō descended—not toward flesh… toward fractured flagstone beside the Iwakura lord's limp form. Space distorted—violet-black corona collapsing inward. Then—**Silence.** Absolute. Utter. Stone floor ceased to exist. No crater—only a swirling vortex of nonexistence—a perfect cylinder of void boring downward. Flagstones dissolved to shimmering ash-that-wasn't-ash. Bedrock vaporized. Air molecules screamed silently—torn apart. The ripple hit flesh last: The Iwakura lord's armor—still chain-shackled to Goro's forged iron—disintegrated mid-breath. Metal? Gone—not melted, not fragmented. **Erased.** Pale torso untouched below vanished pectoral plates—ribcage exposed—already collapsing inward where Conqueror's implosion kissed skin. Dust didn't settle. It ceased being. Sound arrived tardy—world-shattering **BOOM** punching upward—tearing fortress ruins apart anew—hurling warriors like straw dolls. Goro flew backward—vision shattered—ears hemorrhaging silence. Kaido remained—immobile—kanabō held loosely amidst dissolving reality. Void-vortex stabilized—kilometer-deep shaft screaming vacuum.
Kaido lowered the club—obsidian teeth steaming faintly violet. Weapon weight—unchanged. Purpose? Tested. Verified. Void-storm dissipated—vanished cylinder replaced by polished bedrock glass reflecting dawn's crimson blush. Air rushed inward—howling wind that tore banners and ripped half-upright survivors backward. Kaido's scaled boot nudged the Iwakura lord's twitching remains—ribs scorched black where armor wasn't erased—lungs rasping wetly. **"Survival?"** He snorted—steam jetting. Crimson gaze cut through settling dust—pinned Goro struggling to rise amidst rubble. Chains—still intact beneath the vaporized plate—glinted coldly. **"Your next crucible."** Kaido dropped the kanabō—thudding beside the writhing lord—its haft slick with dragon-sweat. **"Hammer him…"** Pause. Eyes drifted northwest—past shattered walls—toward forests dripping poison-thorns where Hideshi bled… toward Konoha's unborn ghosts. **"...into something useful."** Goro's blistered fingers spasmed—not away from chains—but toward them. Promise etched in forged iron.
Kaido turned—obsidian tailcoat swirling powdered stone—and strode toward the eastern courtyard. Torii gate fragments lay scattered—splintered scarlet pillars framing weed-choked sand pit. Training ground. Ruined. Perfect. Scaled fingers flicked hakama ties—sun-brittle silk tearing like wet paper. Ruined indigo cloth pooled at dragon-forged ankles. Bare torso—corded muscle carved from volcanic bedrock—gleamed slick with remembered annihilation's sweat. Ignoring trembling survivors, he lifted folded cloth: Darkest plum feather-cape—stitched from Thunderbird down—settled across mountainous shoulders. Cold dusk-breeze hissed against bare skin. Black knee-high boots—Koi-leather hardened in Leviathan bile—crunched pulverized gravel. Baggy midnight pants—woven from Void Spider silk—billowed above them. Final touch: Bone-white serpent-skin sash—looped through belt hoops—cinched tight across waist. Casual. Commanding. Unbroken sky burned lavender-gold behind him. Dragon silhouette deepened—broadening horizon itself.
Kanabō lifted—effortless—Haki-vibrant obsidian teeth settling against scaled shoulder-plate. Feather-cape rippled—indigo whispers against violet dawn. Kaido grinned—slow, tectonic—glacier-fangs bared toward northwest peaks. Not triumph. Anticipation. **Konoha.** Not sapling—but splinter beneath dragon's clawed foot. Training wheels? Splintered. Crucible ready. **Madara's** crimson eyes. **Hashirama's** crumbling hope. **Lee's** iron weights. **Guy's** dying sun. All awaited the hammer only he could wield. Breath steamed—charged air crackling. Boot shifted—crushing quartz to glitter. Motion paused. Crimson gaze sliced sideways—past plum-feather fringe—toward Goro struggling with chains near the gasping lord. **"Three days."** The rumble fractured flagstones—not threat. Deadline. **"Forge his spine…"** Kanabō's haft creaked beneath dragon-grip—obsidian veins flaring hungrily. **"...or become his anchor."**
Feather-cape snapped—sudden wind howling through ruined archways. Kaido pivoted—boots grinding annihilation-scented gravel into glass. Training ground awaited. Konoha's ghosts could wait. First—resurrect futures worth shattering. Dragon-will gathered—storm-eyes narrowing on poison-forests where Hideshi carved wind-scars… on Stone Crags where Kenji clutched a skull-banner… on trembling Goro forging loyalty from chains. Crucibles burned. Ore screamed. Hammer fell. Always. Kaido's grin widened—feathers drinking dawn's bloody light. Patience wasn't virtue. It was coiled annihilation savoring the strike.