The frozen battlefield, still shuddering from the aftermath of Rias's harmonic redirection of Madara's forest, held its breath for a fractured moment. The surge of Allied hope was palpable, a tangible force against the oppressive dread of the White Zetsu sea and the towering, silent Gedo Statue.
Then, the air itself began to weep ashes.
From the ground across the no-man's land between the two armies, and horrifyingly, from within the very ranks of the Allied rear guard, countless coffins of dark wood and paper seals erupted. The air grew thick with the cloying scent of incense and grave soil. This was not the focused Edo Tensei of a handful of powerful shinobi; this was a mass production, a defilement of history on an industrial scale.
But among the hundreds of rising lids, six coffins glowed with a particularly potent, malevolent light. They landed with resonant thuds in a line before the Gedo Statue, a nightmare pantheon summoned to break the world's will.
The lids slid open.
From the first emerged a man with kind eyes, a gentle smile, and hair like sunlight on dark wood. His simple armor bore the Senju crest. The very air seemed to grow richer, more alive in his presence, yet it was tainted by the grey, dead sheen of the reanimation. Hashirama Senju, the First Hokage, God of Shinobi.
From the second came a stern-faced man with sharp red markings under fierce eyes, his white fur collar stark against the gloom. His gaze was analytical, scanning the modern battlefield with instantaneous tactical assessment. Tobirama Senju, the Second Hokage, the ruthless innovator.
The third coffin released a blur of yellow that solidified into a young man with spiky blond hair and a determined face, the flames of his Hokage haori dancing silently. A pang of profound sorrow and shock rippled through the Konoha ranks. Minato Namikaze, the Fourth Hokage, the Yellow Flash.
The fourth revealed a man with long, spiky white hair, sharing Minato's kind eyes but etched with a deeper, more weary sorrow. He wore the standard Jonin vest, a hitai-ate tied over his silver hair. A soft, pained gasp escaped Kakashi Hatake, who stood frozen on the command platform. Sakumo Hatake, the White Fang of Konoha.
The fifth was a figure that made the entire Allied command core go cold with rage. A stern old man with bandages covering his right eye and arm, his posture radiating a lifetime of bitter authority. Danzo Shimura.
The sixth and others contained the silhouettes of past Kage from other villages—shadowy figures of historical power, their wills subsumed by Kabuto's improved technique.
But notably, conspicuously absent was the Third Raikage. His soul, truly resurrected and living within a perfected body on Turtle Island, was forever beyond the grasp of this hollow necromancy.
Hashirama looked at his hands, flexing them with a sad expression. "Tobirama… this technique of yours… it causes nothing but pain."
Tobirama, his gaze locked on the towering Gedo Statue and the figure of Madara, scowled. "An unfortunate truth, brother. But it seems my precautions were insufficient. The caster's control is… advanced. I cannot break it easily."
Minato looked across the field, his eyes instantly finding the head of bright blond hair among the Konoha forces. "Naruto…" he whispered, his voice full of anguish. "He's so tall."
Sakumo followed Minato's gaze, then looked to the command platform, finding Kakashi. His eyes, so like his son's, filled with a father's infinite regret. "Kakashi… I'm so sorry."
And then there was Danzo. He did not look for anyone. He surveyed the battlefield, the massive Allied forces, the technology, the coordinated power, and his bandaged face twisted into a sneer of profound, all-consuming bitterness.
Madara (from the enemy lines, a mocking boom): "Hashirama! You're late to the party! And you brought your little brother and some modern curiosities!"
Hashirama (frowning at Madara): "Madara… this path leads only to more graves."
Tobirama: "Silence, Hashirama. We are not here by choice. We are weapons aimed by another."
Allied command was in crisis. A roared. "They have the First and Second! And the Fourth! How do we fight our own legends?!"
Tsunade, her face pale, stared at her grandfather's reanimated form. "We have no choice. They will tear through our lines like paper."
Ōnoki, who had fought the First in his youth, felt a tremor of ancient fear. "This is… catastrophic."
From the Special Operations platform, Indra's Rinnegan observed the new arrivals, his mind calculating. "The improved seal structure is evident. Breaking control individually under combat conditions is inefficient. A broad-spectrum disruption pulse is required. Rias, prepare a harmonic dissonance field focused on the chakra frequency of the Edo Tensei binding. It will not free them, but it may degrade the caster's fine control."
Rias nodded, her hands already moving, weaving chakra that hummed at a frequency meant to unravel spiritual stitches.
But before any order could be given, one of the Edo Tensei broke from the line. It was not Hashirama or Minato. It was Danzo Shimura. He walked, not towards the Allied forces, but parallel to the front line, his single visible eye burning with a lifetime of festering resentment. His gaze swept over the clans in their vibrant, distinct formations: the Hyūga with their activated Byakugan, the Inuzuka with their partners, the Aburame with their insect clouds, the Uzumaki in their brilliant red hair and potent sealing arrays.
His voice, raspy and filled with venom, carried on the still, ash-laden air. Not a shout, but a bitter soliloquy meant for the ghosts of history to hear.
Danzo: "Look at them. Generation after generation. Born with gifts handed to them like royal crests. The sharing eyes, the all-seeing eyes, the bodies that bond with beasts, the blood that commands insects, the lifeforce that weaves unbreakable seals… They never had to scratch for their power. It was bred into their bones."
He stopped, looking down at his own bandaged arm, the arm that housed stolen Sharingan and foreign Hashirama cells. "The Shimura clan… good, loyal shinobi. Masters of Wind Release. Wind Release." He spat the words as if they were an insult. "A utilitarian tool. No divine ancestry. No secret techniques that could shake the world. Just reliable, common chakra nature manipulation. We served. We died. And we were forgotten."
On the command platform, Hiruzen Sarutobi, who had been watching in stunned, heartbroken silence, took a step forward. "Danzo…"
Danzo's head snapped towards the sound of his old rival's voice. The bitterness crystallized into pure, focused hatred. "Hiruzen. The prodigy. The beloved student. Tobirama-sensei looked at you and saw a future. He looked at me and saw… a useful subordinate. A man with a sharp mind for the shadows, but not the strength to stand in the light." He laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "And you… you begged him. 'Take Danzo instead of Sakumo!' Your pity was more insulting than his dismissal!"
His eye turned to the form of Sakumo Hatake. "The White Fang. A genius without a noble name. His talent was his own, and it eclipsed mine. The mission versus comrades… a fool's dilemma created by weak minds. I simply helped the village see the logical conclusion. A shinobi who fails the mission is a liability. Removing him was a service. And yet… his ghost is revered, and mine is reviled."
He turned his gaze back to the Allied army, to the figures of Tsunade (Senju), Naruto (Uzumaki), Gaara (Jinchuriki with a demon's power), and finally, his burning stare landed on Indra and Rias on their distant platform. An Uchiha-Uzumaki hybrid, radiating power that dwarfed Kage, standing beside a woman with the legendary Wood Release.
Danzo: "And now… this. A mongrel child of the two most spoiled clans, wielding power he did not earn, playing at nation-building. He has what I sacrificed everything for! Power! True, undeniable, world-shaping power! I took the Sharingan! I grafted the First's cells! I endured the pain, the rejection, the corruption! And what did it make me? A quasi-Kage. A shadowy figure even the other Kage never truly respected. Just Hiruzen's dangerous, misguided dog. Not a peer. Never a peer."
Hiruzen's face was a mask of grief and fury. "Your path was one of parasitism, Danzo! You sought to steal strength, not build your own! You saw greatness in others as something to be harvested, not admired or nurtured!"
Danzo (screaming now, spittle flying): "ADMIRE? NURTURE? What did admiration get me? A lifetime in your shadow! What did nurturing others do? It made them stronger than me! The only true currency in this world is POWER. And I was willing to pay any price! Any sacrifice! The Uchiha? Acceptable losses for their eyes. The Senju? A source of cells. The village's trust? A small fee. I would have bathed the world in blood to stand where that boy stands now!"
His tirade was a raw, open wound of a life lived in jealousy. It was a shocking, morbid spectacle that even gave the other Edo Tensei pause. Minato looked horrified. Sakumo saddened. Tobirama's scowl deepened with disgust.
Tobirama (his voice cold and final): "Shimura. You were a capable tactician. Ruthless. Cunning. But my brother's 'Will of Fire'—flawed as his sentimentality was—required a heart that could bear the weight of the village's love, not just its fear. You lacked the strength of character to lead in the light. You confused cruelty for resolve, and theft for growth. You were, and always will be, unfit for the Hat."
Danzo flinched as if physically struck. To hear it from the mouth of the very man whose approval he had craved his entire life was the final, soul-crushing blow. The last pillar of his twisted justification crumbled into dust.
Hiruzen stepped off the command platform, walking slowly towards the front line, his aged form straight with a terrible resolve. "It ends now, Danzo. Your war, your jealousy, your poison. I will bear the sin of our shared past, but I will end your present."
Danzo, now looking utterly broken but still crackling with stolen, unstable power, raised his bandaged arm. "You? You couldn't kill me when I was alive, old friend. What makes you think your half-measures will work now?"
Hiruzen: "Because this is not a measure for the village. This is my personal atonement."
Hiruzen formed a sequence of seals—not an offensive Ninjutsu, but a complex, layered Fuinjutsu. His chakra, once the strongest in the world, now aged but still profound, glowed with a solemn, golden light. "Sealing Art: Soul-Caging Technique of the Benevolent King."
A lattice of golden light extended from his hands, reaching for Danzo. It was a seal not of destruction, but of eternal, quiet containment—a prison for a tortured soul.
Danzo, in a final act of defiance, began to unravel the bandages on his arm, the Sharingan eyes within glowing malevolently. "Kotoamatsukami! I will—"
But he never finished. From the sky, a thin, silent beam of pure white energy lanced down. It was not from the Guardian Bastions. It moved with a speed that defied perception, a line of absolute, focused negation. It struck Danzo's raised arm.
There was no explosion. No flash of light. Where the beam touched, Danzo's Edo Tensei body simply… unwove. The paper and ash constituting his form lost their cohesion, not regenerating. The stolen Sharingan in his arm dimmed and turned to dust. The beam traced up to his shoulder, his neck, his head. Danzo had time for one last, silent scream of utter shock before his entire existence was erased from the reanimated form, leaving only a faint, dissipating stain of ash on the wind.
The golden sealing light from Hiruzen's technique passed through empty air.
Silence.
All eyes turned to the source. On the Special Operations platform, Indra Uzumaki-Uchiha stood with one hand extended, a single finger pointed. His Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan blazed, the complex geometric pattern spinning slowly within the Rinnegan' deeper circles. His face was a sculpture of cold, unadulterated wrath. The air around him cracked with gravitational distortion, and the reinforced platform beneath his feet fissured in a spider-web pattern for meters. From his back, ethereal, shimmering chains of pure white chakra—Adamantine Sealing Chains—had manifested unbidden, lashing the air like the tails of an angry god. The sheer, dense pressure of his chakra was a physical weight, causing shinobi for hundreds of meters to stumble, their breath catching.
He had not shouted. He had not proclaimed. He had simply acted. And in that action, he had erased a historical figure like an unwanted stain.
The shockwave that rippled through both armies was metaphysical.
Hashirama Senju's gentle eyes widened in profound shock. He looked from the dissipating ash that was Danzo, to Indra, to the chains, to the Kumo headband. "An Uchiha… with the Uzumaki chains… serving the Land of Lightning? Tobirama… what era have we been brought to?"
Tobirama was staring with intense, analytical ferocity. "Impossible. The chakra signature… it's a fusion. Uchiha and Uzumaki, perfectly blended. And that technique… it wasn't a standard disintegration. It targeted the temporal-spiritual anchor of the Edo Tensei itself. A space-time negation. He didn't just destroy the body; he severed the soul's tether to it in the present moment." For the first time in his existence, Tobirama Senju, the master of forbidden jutsu, looked upon a technique he could not immediately deconstruct.
Minato blinked, his strategic mind reeling. "That power… it's on another level entirely. And he's so young."
Sakumo simply watched, a strange sense of grim justice settling over him.
On the Allied side, the reaction was a mix of awe and terror. The Kage stared. The Shinobi Alliance murmured.
Hiruzen lowered his hands, the golden light fading. He looked at the spot where Danzo had been, then at Indra. In the young man's wrath, Hiruzen saw the ghost of Fujin Uchiha's resolve and the echo of every atrocity Danzo had committed against his family. He saw not a soldier, but an avenging force of nature. He simply bowed his head, a silent acceptance of this new, harsh justice.
It was then that the fabric of the Edo Tensei itself seemed to shudder. At the center of the enemy line, Madara Uchiha's reanimated form began to glow with an inner light. The paper-and-ash texture rippled.
Madara (his voice now clear, strong, and utterly free of Kabuto's influence): "Release."
A pulse of pure, overwhelming will shattered the invisible bonds holding him. The Edo Tensei greyness melted away from his form, replaced by vibrant, living color. His hair regained its dark, wild sheen, his armor its luster. He took a deep, unnecessary breath, expanding his chest, and cracked his neck.
He was no longer a reanimation. Through a loophole Tobirama himself had foolishly built into the jutsu, and through the sheer, indomitable force of Uchiha Madara's will, he had broken the control. He was now a living, breathing, fully powered entity in an Edo Tensei body—an immortal, endlessly regenerating engine of war.
He looked past the stunned faces of Hashirama and Tobirama, past the entire war, his Rinnegan eyes locking directly onto Indra on the distant platform. A slow, terrifyingly eager smile spread across his face.
Madara: "Well now. That was interesting. I felt that little trick from here. A spatial-temporal scalpel. And those chains… you carry the blood of the woman who could bind the Kyuubi, and the eyes of my cursed lineage. And you stand with the Lightning Nation. Hashirama," he said without looking away from Indra, "your dream of unity seems to have spawned a fascinating new monster. One that actually might be worth my time."
The focus of the entire cataclysmic battle shifted. The clash of armies faded into background noise. It was now a tableau of legends and the anomaly that defied them all.
Hashirama and Tobirama, the founders.
Minato and Sakumo, the tragic heroes.
And facing them, the resurgent true Madara.
And watching over all, a storm of cold fury named Indra, whose very existence had just rewritten the rules of the war in the minds of every soul present, living and reanimated.
Madara took a step forward, his aura swelling to match Indra's oppressive output. "Tell me, boy. What do they call the heir to two dead clans who builds a throne in the clouds?"
On the platform, the Adamantine Sealing Chains retracted into Indra's back. The cracks in the platform stopped spreading. His wrath subsided from an inferno to a glacial, focused cold. He met Madara's gaze across the kilometers, his voice carrying not through volume, but through a subtle manipulation of space, arriving clear and sharp in the ears of every major player.
Indra: "They call me the architect of the new world, Uchiha Madara. And you… are a relic whose war has already been lost. You just haven't stopped fighting it yet."
The First Shinobi War of the new era began not with a bang, but with the silent, deadly recognition between two sovereign powers: the Ghost of the Uchiha Past, and the Storm-Sovereign of the Present. The resurrection of the Kage was complete, and with it, the final, most personal layer of the conflict had been laid bare.
End of Chapter – 113.