Inside the colossal body of the Gedo Mazo, a war was being fought on a scale that defied human comprehension. The chakras of five tailed beasts—each one a force of nature capable of reshaping continents—collided and clashed in a storm of pure energy that threatened to tear the ancient construct apart from within.
The Two-Tails' blue flames danced with deadly grace, seeking to consume everything in their path while the Three-Tails' more primal energy crashed against them like tsunamis of liquid power. The Four-Tails' molten chakra flowed like volcanic rivers, while the Five-Tails' steam-powered essence created pressure systems that threatened to explode outward in all directions.
But it was the Eight-Tails' influence that had turned what should have been a controlled process into absolute chaos. Even with most of its power extracted, the beast's final act of defiance had introduced an element of discord that spread through the other chakras like a virus. The Eight-Tails had known exactly what it was doing—its ancient wisdom understanding the fundamental flaw in Nagato's plan.
All of this catastrophic instability was the direct result of the Eight-Tails' earlier sacrifice. The beast had deliberately triggered this chaos, knowing that Nagato's arrogance would blind him to the true danger of sealing the tailed beasts out of order.
Nagato had originally believed that simply sealing the chakra of the tailed beasts into the golem would be sufficient to control them. His confidence in the Rinnegan's power and his understanding of sealing techniques had led him to overlook a crucial detail that the Eight-Tails understood with crystal clarity.
The proper sealing order—from One-Tail to Nine-Tail—wasn't merely tradition or arbitrary preference. It was a fundamental requirement based on the harmonic resonance between the different tailed beasts' energies. Without that careful progression, the golem could not completely suppress or control the wild chakras now raging within its body.
The Eight-Tails had possessed this knowledge for centuries, passed down through the collective memory of the tailed beasts themselves. It had waited for the perfect moment to weaponize this information, using its own extraction as the catalyst for a rebellion that could destroy everything Nagato had worked to achieve.
On the lotus-like base where the golem sat in eternal meditation, the massive construct began to convulse and writhe like a living thing in agony. Its movements sent tremors through the cavern that caused stalactites to rain down like deadly spears, each impact creating explosions of stone and dust.
Nagato's face had become a mask of grim determination mixed with growing desperation. The situation was spiraling beyond his control, and he could feel the accumulated power of years of planning threatening to slip through his fingers like water through a broken dam.
With movements that spoke of absolute resolve, he began forming hand seals with lightning speed. But this technique required more than just chakra manipulation—it demanded a sacrifice that would fundamentally alter his relationship with the power he sought to control.
The robe on his back suddenly tore apart as if slashed by invisible blades, revealing the pale skin beneath. From within his own body, several black receivers erupted through his flesh, piercing him from the inside out in a display that was both horrifying and mesmerizing.
These were not ordinary black receivers like those used to control the jinchūriki. These were extensions of his own will and power, conduits that would allow him to merge his consciousness directly with the golem's chaotic systems. The pain was indescribable—like being struck by lightning while drowning in molten metal—but Nagato embraced it with the fervor of a zealot.
His body trembled violently as the receivers established their connections, each one creating a pathway between his nervous system and the golem's ancient networks. Blood ran down his back in crimson streams, but his hands never stopped moving through the complex sealing techniques required to establish control.
His face, once fair and handsome despite the wear of constant battle, seemed to lose substance before the eyes of those watching. Weight melted away from his features as his body's resources were cannibalized to fuel the desperate technique he was attempting.
The changes were more than merely physical. With each passing second, Nagato was sacrificing pieces of his humanity in exchange for the power needed to contain the tailed beasts' rebellion. His purple eyes grew brighter but colder, the warmth of human emotion being burned away like fuel in a furnace.
With this transformation, the out-of-control golem gradually began to respond to his commands once again. Its massive hands, which had been clawing at the air in apparent agony, slowly moved together and overlapped, forming a complex seal that seemed to resonate with the very foundations of reality.
"Everyone, stay still!" Nagato commanded, his voice carrying power that made the air itself vibrate.
The roar that emerged from his throat was no longer entirely human—it was the voice of something that existed between mortal flesh and divine authority. The sound echoed through the cavern with force enough to crack stone, and even the most hardened members of the Akatsuki felt compelled to obey.
The golem finally achieved complete stillness, its internal chaos gradually subsiding as Nagato's will imposed order through sheer force of determination. The violent collisions between the tailed beasts' chakras were suppressed, though not eliminated—they remained like barely contained explosions, held in check only by the constant pressure of Nagato's consciousness.
"Nagato!" Konan's voice cut through the aftermath of the struggle, filled with concern that transcended her usual stoic demeanor.
She appeared beside him with the fluid grace that marked all her movements, her beautiful features marred by worry that she made no attempt to hide. Her paper-white skin had grown even paler as she witnessed the transformation her childhood friend was undergoing.
The origami flowers in her hair trembled slightly, responding to the emotional turmoil that she rarely allowed others to see. For all her loyalty to their cause, seeing Nagato sacrifice pieces of his soul for power filled her with a dread that threatened to overwhelm her carefully maintained composure.
"Don't worry, I'm fine," Nagato replied, waving his hand in a gesture that was meant to be reassuring but only served to highlight how much the ordeal had cost him.
His voice carried a weakness that anyone with functioning ears could detect. The words were spoken with the careful enunciation of someone fighting to maintain control over their own speech patterns. Despite his reassurance, it was obvious that he was anything but fine.
The effort required to seal so many tailed beasts in succession and then suppress their collective rebellion had pushed him far beyond the limits that even his legendary bloodline should have been able to endure. The Uzumaki clan was renowned for their massive chakra reserves and incredible life force, but there were limits to what any human body could withstand.
"Don't push yourself too hard," Konan said, her voice carrying all the helpless frustration of someone watching a loved one destroy himself for an ideal that seemed increasingly hollow.
She wanted to say more, to demand that he stop this madness before it consumed what remained of the gentle boy she had once known. But she understood that words would be wasted—Nagato had passed the point where reason or emotion could reach him.
Nagato nodded in acknowledgment of her concern, though his attention was already shifting to more practical matters. Looking at the other members of the Akatsuki organization, who had maintained a respectful distance during his struggle with the golem, he announced, "The seal has been completed."
The statement carried the weight of absolute authority, but also a note of grim satisfaction. Against all odds, despite the Eight-Tails' sabotage and the near-catastrophic loss of control, they had succeeded in their primary objective.
"Although I want to say that you can leave at will," Nagato continued, his voice taking on a more cautious tone, "right now you cannot move freely outside."
The logic was inescapable. During the ten days of extraction, the five major ninja nations would have mobilized every intelligence asset at their disposal. Search teams would be combing the remotest corners of the world, following every lead and investigating every suspicious activity.
The members of the Akatsuki organization were now among the most wanted criminals in history. Their faces would be memorized by every bounty hunter and posted in every hidden village. Moving openly would be tantamount to suicide.
Naturally, everyone present understood the consequences of their actions. They had crossed lines that could never be uncrossed, committed acts that would mark them as enemies of all civilized society. But they had done so with full knowledge of the price they would pay.
"But don't worry," Nagato said, his voice carrying the absolute confidence of a man who believed himself to be on the verge of godhood. "Soon, this world will be at our disposal."
The promise was both reassuring and chilling. Once he had fully integrated the power of the five tailed beasts and the golem, once he had proven his superiority over the Yellow Flash himself, the existing order would crumble before his might. Nations would kneel, armies would surrender, and the world would finally know peace under his divine guidance.
"I have no interest in ruling the world," Sasori declared, his voice carrying the flat emotionlessness that marked all his interactions.
The puppet master's transformation into a living work of art had stripped away most of his human desires and ambitions. Power for its own sake held no appeal for him—he was driven by more personal motivations that burned in whatever remained of his soul.
"What I want is Namikaze Minato's life," he continued, his wooden features somehow managing to convey the depth of his obsession. "I hope you won't let me down this time."
The words carried the weight of past failures and broken promises. Sasori had joined the Akatsuki not for their grand vision of peace through pain, but for the opportunity to face the one man who had killed his parent. The Yellow Flash represented the ultimate challenge—a masterpiece that had eluded him for too long.
Without another word, Sasori turned and walked toward the cavern's exit, his movements precise and mechanical. He had said what needed to be said and had no interest in prolonged social interaction.
The other members of the Akatsuki followed his example, departing one by one in their own characteristic styles. Deidara muttered something about explosive art and disappeared in a cloud of clay birds. Hidan complained loudly about his aching body before shambling toward the exit. Kakuzu simply vanished into the shadows without a word, already calculating the bounties that would soon be available.
Each departure was a reminder that the Akatsuki, for all their apparent unity, remained a collection of individuals bound together by convenience rather than genuine loyalty. They served Nagato's vision only as long as it aligned with their personal goals.
In the end, only Nagato and Konan remained in the vast cavern, surrounded by the evidence of their terrible success. The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken thoughts and suppressed emotions.
"I need to recover first," Nagato said, glancing at Konan with eyes that still held traces of the warmth they had once shared.
Despite everything that had changed, despite the power that was transforming him into something beyond human understanding, he still found comfort in her presence. She was his last link to the boy he had once been, the final reminder of dreams that had once been pure.
He reached into his equipment pouch and retrieved several soldier pills, swallowing them with the mechanical efficiency of someone who had long since stopped tasting food. The concentrated nutrients would help his body recover from the ordeal, though nothing could restore what he had truly lost.
Settling into a meditation position, Nagato closed his eyes and began the delicate process of integrating the chaotic energies now flowing through his system. The power was intoxicating, but it required careful management to prevent it from consuming him entirely.
Konan remained by his side throughout his recovery, her silent vigil a testament to loyalty that transcended understanding. She watched his face for signs of change, monitoring his breathing, ready to intervene if the power threatened to overwhelm him completely.
Outside the cave, perched on the highest peak of the mountain like a solitary bird of prey, the masked man sat in contemplation. The dawn robe that marked him as a member of the Akatsuki fluttered in the strong winds that howled across the barren landscape.
From this vantage point, he could see for miles in every direction, his enhanced vision picking out details that would have been invisible to normal eyes. But his attention was focused inward, on thoughts and plans that had been decades in the making.
At a certain moment, his visible eye shifted downward, toward the cavern where Nagato was recovering from his ordeal. A hint of darkness flashed across his gaze—not the darkness of shadow, but the deeper darkness of intentions that had never been pure.
"Nagato," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible above the wind. "Do you really think you are a god who can guide the world?"
The question was rhetorical, posed to the empty air with the bitter amusement of someone who understood the truth behind the grand delusion. Nagato's beliefs, his convictions, his desperate need to prove himself worthy of divine authority—all of it was merely the product of careful manipulation.
"You are nothing more than a chess piece of mine," the masked man continued, his voice growing colder with each word. "Once Namikaze Minato is dealt with, you will no longer be of any use to me."
The admission hung in the air like a curse, revealing the true depth of his deception. Everything—the Akatsuki, the tailed beast extraction, Nagato's transformation into a vessel for godlike power—was merely a means to an end. The real plan, the true objective, remained hidden beneath layers of misdirection and carefully crafted lies.
In the cave below, Nagato's chakra had finally stabilized enough for him to attempt the next phase of his transformation. Rising to his feet with movements that spoke of barely contained power, he leaped forward with inhuman grace and landed on top of the Gedo Mazo's massive head.
From this position, he could feel the statue's power more directly, the ancient energies that flowed through its construct frame calling to the similar forces now residing within his own body. The resonance between them was perfect, like two instruments tuned to the same frequency.
"What are you going to do with this guy?" Konan asked, looking up at Nagato from her position on the cavern floor.
Her question was accompanied by a gesture toward Killer Bee, who remained where he had fallen after the extraction. The jinchūriki was still breathing, though barely, his chest rising and falling with the slow rhythm of someone hovering at death's door.
"I have to concentrate all my strength to become a jinchūriki now," Nagato replied, his voice carrying the absolute focus of someone attempting something that had never been done before. "That little bit of Eight-Tails' chakra is totally irrelevant."
The decision was both pragmatic and cruel. Killer Bee's survival was an anomaly, an unexpected complication in a plan that had already faced too many variables. But eliminating him would require energy and attention that Nagato could not spare.
"It's up to you," he concluded, giving Konan the authority to decide the fallen jinchūriki's fate.
The casual dismissal of a human life spoke to how far Nagato had traveled from his original ideals. The boy who had once wept for every casualty of war had become a man who could order death with the same indifference he might show when swatting a fly.
Having finally managed to suppress the raging tailed beast chakra within the golem's body, Nagato had no desire to risk another complication arising from the tiny trace of the Eight-Tails' power that remained in Killer Bee's system. Better to focus entirely on the fusion process and trust Konan to handle any remaining loose ends.
Nagato's face suddenly turned pale as he began the most dangerous technique he had ever attempted. The hand seals he formed were unlike anything in the traditional repertoire—they were patterns that spoke to forces older than human civilization, drawing on knowledge that should have been forbidden to mortal minds.
"This is the last step!" he declared, his voice carrying the weight of absolute finality.
As the seals reached their completion, the golem beneath his feet responded with a low roar that seemed to emerge from the very heart of the earth. The sound was not quite animal and not quite mechanical—it was something that existed in the space between life and death, consciousness and oblivion.
Power began to flow from the statue's massive frame into Nagato's body, entering through the black receivers that pierced his back and spreading through his system like liquid fire. The sensation was indescribable—like being struck by lightning while drowning in the ocean, like being born and dying simultaneously.
As the power of the golem entered his flesh, Nagato's body began to undergo changes that defied natural law. His muscles swelled irregularly, some growing larger while others seemed to compact into dense knots of enhanced tissue. His skin took on a grayish pallor that spoke of transformation beyond the merely physical.
The pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced, beyond anything he had thought possible to endure. It was the pain of rebirth, of ascending beyond the limitations of mortal flesh to become something greater and more terrible. But rather than breaking under the assault, Nagato embraced it with an expression that mixed agony with ecstasy.
A perverted look of pleasure gradually appeared on his transformed features, his purple eyes filled with an obsession that burned brighter than the sun itself. The power flowing through him was worth any price, any sacrifice, any loss of humanity.
"All of this is to fulfill Yahiko's dream!" he gasped between waves of transformative agony.
The words were both justification and mantra, a way of maintaining some connection to the ideals that had once driven him. But they rang hollow in the vast cavern, echoing like the cries of a man trying to convince himself that his actions remained noble even as he descended into darkness.
Looking at Nagato in his current state, Konan felt her heart break in ways she had not thought possible. The gentle boy she had once known, the passionate young man who had dreamed of peace, was disappearing before her eyes, consumed by power and obsession.
"Sigh," she whispered, the sound barely audible even to herself.
The sigh carried the weight of a thousand regrets, the accumulated sorrow of watching someone she loved transform into something unrecognizable. But she remained loyal, bound by bonds forged in childhood and tempered by shared trauma.
With her beautiful eyes reflecting a sadness that threatened to overwhelm her, Konan walked toward Killer Bee's prone form. The decision about his fate had been left to her, and she would not shirk the responsibility, no matter how distasteful she found it.
Meanwhile, in the mystical realm of Mount Myōboku, far removed from the darkness and corruption that plagued the human world, Naruto continued his training in the sacred arts of the sage. The contrast between his pure pursuit of natural balance and Nagato's descent into artificial power could not have been more stark.
Above the stone forest that served as one of the mountain's most challenging training grounds, Naruto sat cross-legged on a stone step that had been carved to accommodate exactly one person. The position required perfect balance and constant attention—a single moment of lost focus would result in a painful fall to the rocky ground below.
Directly beneath his precarious perch, scattered throughout the gaps between the towering stone pillars, lay the broken debris of countless failed attempts. Shattered rocks and splintered stone testified to the weeks of training that had brought him to this point, each failure a lesson learned and integrated into his growing understanding.
"Hoo... hoo..."
His breathing had achieved a rhythm that spoke of perfect synchronization with the natural world around him. Each inhalation drew in not just air, but the very essence of life itself—the natural energy that flowed through all things like an invisible river of power.
The air around him moved with gentle precision, sliding over his body like silk touched by the softest breeze. Every movement was calculated to enhance rather than disturb the delicate balance he was working to achieve.
Above in the sky, white clouds drifted slowly across the heavens while birds traced elegant patterns through the azure expanse. The entire scene was one of perfect tranquility, nature displaying its beauty for any who possessed the wisdom to observe.
All of this magnificent display was invisible to Naruto's closed eyes, but he could perceive it through senses that transcended normal human limitations. Natural energy had become his eyes, flowing into his body while simultaneously carrying information about the world around him.
Through this ethereal connection, he could sense the movement of every cloud, track the flight of every bird, feel the growth of every blade of grass. The boundary between self and environment was dissolving, replaced by a unity that few humans had ever achieved.
"Have you gradually become one with nature, young Naruto?" Fukasaku asked, his ancient voice filled with satisfaction and pride.
The elderly toad sage sat on another stone platform not far away, his experienced eyes monitoring his student's progress with the attention of a master craftsman watching a precious work take shape. In all his centuries of training sage candidates, few had shown such natural aptitude for achieving harmony with the world around them.
Time passed with the fluid grace that marked all things in the realm of the toads. Hours felt like minutes, yet each moment was complete and perfect in itself. The sun traced its ancient path across the sky, gradually painting the heavens in shades of gold and crimson.
"Fukasaku, young Naruto, it's time to eat!" Shima Sennin's voice called from below the stone forest, carrying clearly through the clear mountain air.
Her tone was cheerful and welcoming, that of a mother calling her family to gather for their evening meal. The sound of domestic normalcy was almost surreal in a place where the impossible was commonplace.
"Understood!" Fukasaku replied, his voice carrying the warmth of genuine affection for his wife of countless centuries.
Bang!
At the exact moment Fukasaku's acknowledgment reached his ears, Naruto's perfect concentration shattered like glass struck by a hammer. His brow furrowed slightly as the implications of the sage's words penetrated his meditative state, and instantly his carefully maintained balance collapsed.
Panic replaced tranquility as Naruto fell backward, his arms windmilling desperately as he tried to regain his equilibrium. The stone step that had supported him for hours tumbled along with him, both ninja and platform plummeting toward the unforgiving ground below.
Seeing the impending disaster, Fukasaku reacted with the lightning reflexes that had kept him alive for centuries. His mouth opened and his tongue shot forth like a rope, extending with impossible speed and precision to intercept Naruto's fall.
Boom!
The stone step struck the rocky ground with tremendous force, exploding into fragments that sent clouds of dust billowing in all directions. The impact created a small crater and sent shock waves through the surrounding stone formations.
"I want to go home!!" Naruto wailed, his face a mask of utter despair as he dangled from Fukasaku's tongue.
His expression grew even more horrified as his gaze fell upon Shima Sennin waiting below, her pleasant smile doing nothing to diminish the terror that filled his heart. Experience had taught him exactly what that smile meant, and the memory was enough to make his face turn purple with dread.
"A cunning and lecherous sage!" he continued, his voice rising to a near shriek.
The accusation was directed at Jiraiya, whose failure to warn him about the true horrors of Mount Myōboku's cuisine had become a source of constant torment. Only now did Naruto understand the strange expression his sensei had worn when asked whether he would accompany them to the sacred mountain.
The contrast between the sublime nature of sage training and the absolute nightmare of toad cuisine created a cognitive dissonance that threatened Naruto's sanity on a daily basis. He had achieved harmony with nature itself, but remained utterly defenseless against Shima's enthusiastic cooking.
Back in the human world, in the familiar forests surrounding Konoha village, a different kind of training was taking place. The Uchiha clan's private training grounds echoed with the sound of combat as two figures moved with inhuman speed and precision.
Itachi and Sasuke crossed and recrossed each other's paths in a deadly dance that would have been invisible to normal eyes. Their movements were a blur of calculated strikes and defensive maneuvers, each technique flowing seamlessly into the next with the fluid grace of master warriors.
Although Sasuke's taijutsu foundation had been laid by Itachi himself during their early years together, the gap in age and experience had always created an insurmountable disadvantage. The older brother's superior reach, strength, and tactical knowledge had consistently given him the upper hand in their sparring sessions.
But something fundamental had changed since Sasuke's awakening of the Mangekyō Sharingan. His physical movements were no longer suppressed by Itachi's overwhelming superiority, creating a balance between them that surprised even the older Uchiha.
This development puzzled Itachi considerably. While the Mangekyō Sharingan could greatly enhance insight and perception, it was not supposed to directly improve physical capabilities. Yet Sasuke's movements were demonstrably different from what they had been before—faster, more precise, more confident.
The change suggested that the awakening of the Mangekyō had triggered something deeper than mere ocular enhancement, perhaps unlocking genetic potential that had been dormant in Sasuke's bloodline. Whatever the explanation, it promised to make their next phase of training far more challenging and rewarding for both brothers.