The Kamen Rider belt is a marvel of engineering—a device capable of containing, modifying, and manipulating the most volatile power sources in the universe.
With such a tool at his disposal, how could Mufasa not forge a masterpiece for himself?
He rejected the idea of using Summoned Beasts or external batteries. He chose to rely on his own overwhelming power.
He used a singularity—a miniature black hole—as the engine. By inverting the event horizon's gravitational pull, he created a Chronos-class device. A belt capable of halting the flow of time itself for exactly five seconds within a 200-meter radius.
The cost? One micro-black hole consumed every five seconds. Expensive? Yes. Effective? Absolutely.
When Onoki launched his sneak attack, Mufasa didn't hesitate. He slammed his hand on the driver.
"PAUSE."
The world turned grayscale. Silence descended, absolute and suffocating.
Everything within 200 meters froze instantly.
The two massive cubes of the Particle Style hung suspended in the air, the cracks in space-time frozen like jagged lightning. The six Kages were statues, their expressions locked in a rictus of exertion and triumph.
Five seconds is a lifetime for a speedster. Mufasa didn't waste a microsecond.
Flash.
He appeared in front of Mū, the Second Tsuchikage.
His right hand, glowing with the ominous light of the Karma seal—the Anti-Ninjutsu Formula—slammed onto Mū's forehead.
Under the holy black light of the equation, Mū didn't even have time to register his demise. His Edo Tensei body crumbled instantly, turning into desiccated gray clay that scattered into the frozen air.
Flash. Reto. Flash. Ishikawa. Flash. Shamon.
One by one, the legends of the past were reduced to dust with a single palm strike.
Five seconds passed in the blink of an eye.
"RESTART."
Color rushed back into the world. Sound returned with a deafening pop of displaced air.
Onoki blinked, momentarily dazed.
Suddenly, Mufasa's face filled his vision.
"Boo."
"AHH!" The old man yelped, his heart nearly giving out. "When did you—?!"
Without a word, Mufasa grabbed Onoki by the throat and lifted him off the ground. The Tsuchikage's short legs kicked helplessly in the air.
Onoki frantically looked around.
Gone.
The other five Kages were gone. All that remained were piles of lifeless white dust on the valley floor.
"What... what is going on?" Onoki wheezed, his eyes bulging. "Is this... are we haunted?"
He looked at Mufasa with pure terror. "Mufasa! How did you do that?!"
Mufasa's lips curled into a mysterious smirk. "Trade secret."
Onoki went limp. He was convinced this was the end. If seven immortals couldn't beat him, what chance did one old man have?
"Hmph. Fine," Onoki spat, trying to salvage the last shreds of his Kage dignity. "Kill me, then."
Mufasa sneered. "Let me guess. You're going to say, 'Kill me, and I'll be back in an hour to annoy you again'?"
Mufasa paused, his mind racing. 'What is the mechanism behind their resurrection? If I kill Onoki now without understanding the source, I'm just farming XP for a mob that respawns indefinitely. I need to find the spawner.'
"Tell me," Mufasa tightened his grip. "Who is the necromancer behind this?"
Onoki glared, puffing out his cheeks stubbornly. "I don't know! Kill me if you want!"
Spittle flew onto Mufasa's face.
Mufasa wiped his cheek, suppressing the urge to snap the old man's neck like a twig.
"Hmph. You want to die? Then I'll force you to live."
Mufasa threw Onoki to the ground with contempt.
"You just wait. I will uncover your little secret sooner or later. And when I do... I will ensure your next death is permanent and excruciating."
Mufasa turned, his cape snapping in the wind. "Enjoy your failure, old man."
BOOM!
Mufasa launched himself into the sky, creating a sonic boom as he streaked toward Konoha.
'Tsunade, Mei... hold on. I'm coming.'
Onoki sat in the dust, watching the black dot disappear into the horizon. He was trembling.
The battle had been catastrophic. Even the combined might of the Seven Shadows couldn't put a scratch on him.
"What kind of monster is he?" Onoki whispered to the empty valley. "Are all young people this terrifying these days? Or have I truly become a fossil?"
The Land of Hot Springs (Yugakure)
Inside a hidden safehouse.
SLAM!
Obito, disguised in the robes of the Yugakure leader, smashed his fist onto the table.
"Damn it! He's still not dead!" Obito grit his teeth beneath his mask. "Why is he so strong?!"
Obito's face was a mixture of fear and bitter disappointment. He had set a perfect trap. He had resurrected legends. And Mufasa had swatted them like flies.
"Is he truly invincible?" Obito muttered. "What do we do now?"
Black Zetsu emerged from the floorboards, his yellow eyes glowing in the dim light.
"Obito, patience," Zetsu rasped. "Just because you couldn't kill him today doesn't mean you can't kill him tomorrow."
"He is living flesh and blood. Living things have limits. They tire. They err."
Zetsu grinned. "We have the cooperation of a God. We have infinite resurrections. We will drown Mufasa in a sea of attrition. We will wear him down until he breaks."
Obito straightened up, his resolve returning.
"You're right. With the Evil God on our side, we have the ultimate cheat code."
A fierce glint returned to his single visible eye.
"Get me a hundred prisoners immediately. It's time to pay a visit to Lord Jashin."
Deep in the Mountains
A blizzard raged. Obito and Black Zetsu led a column of one hundred terrified prisoners through the snow.
"Keep moving," Zetsu urged, his voice mockingly gentle. "We're taking you on a hot spring trip. Don't be nervous."
The prisoners shivering in their thin clothes didn't buy it, but the chains kept them moving.
Deep in the valley, a structure appeared. It was a simple, ancient Japanese-style estate.
The heavy wooden gates were shut tight. Strangely, steam rose from behind the walls, defying the freezing temperatures.
"We're here," Zetsu announced. "The best hot springs in the land."
Obito stepped forward and knocked on the heavy timber door.
"Mr. Mori."
Creak.
The door slid open.
A tall, lanky man with a thin mustache and shifty eyes peered out. He looked like a sleazy detective down on his luck.
"You again?"
The man clearly knew Obito.
"I have come to pay my respects to Lord Jashin," Obito said formally.
The man, Mori (a dead ringer for Kogoro Mori), looked past Obito at the hundred shivering souls. A greedy smile touched his lips.
"Hmm. A generous gift."
He stepped aside. "Come in."
As Mori turned, Obito noticed the back of the man's neck. It was covered in dozens of tiny, bluish-purple bruises—markings that looked suspiciously like injection sites from tranquilizer darts.
Obito and the prisoners entered the estate.
THUD.
The gates slammed shut automatically.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Outside, a blizzard raged. Inside the walls, birds sang, flowers bloomed, and the air was warm and humid. It was an eternal spring, isolated from reality.
This bizarre pocket dimension existed for one reason: this was the domain of the Evil God.
Since Obito had seized control of Yugakure, he had centralized power, learning from Mufasa's playbook. But he had hit a snag: a cult of fanatics worshipping an entity called "Jashin."
Obito had tried to purge them. He had stormed their lair, expecting a fraud.
Instead, he found a God.
Or rather, something that functioned like one.
They walked deeper into the estate.
Suddenly, a prisoner slipped on a perfectly dry flagstone. Crack. His neck snapped instantly. Dead.
Another prisoner walking by the decorative pond tripped over nothing. He fell in face-first. By the time they pulled him out ten seconds later, he had drowned.
A third man clutched his chest and collapsed. Massive heart attack.
A tree branch snapped in the windless air, impaling a fourth man through the skull.
It was Final Destination in real-time.
Freak accidents. Improbable deaths.
The remaining prisoners didn't scream. They stared blankly, or giggled, their minds broken by the unnatural aura of the place. Some wandered off to play in the garden, only to die in horrific, slapstick ways.
Mori ignored the bodies piling up. He just kept walking.
Obito and Black Zetsu walked carefully. They had both died here once before.
To explain why this "Evil God" was truly evil: anyone within his vicinity was subject to a probabilistic curse. The laws of entropy accelerated. You would die. It was inevitable.
Fortunately, Obito had Izanagi. Zetsu had clones. They were prepared.
By the time they reached the main house, the courtyard was littered with corpses. The sacrifice was complete.
"Mr. Mori," Obito asked, stepping over a body. "How is Lord Jashin's mood today?"
"He's in a good mood," Mori replied, lighting a cigarette. "You may enter."
Obito and Zetsu slid open the paper doors.
The room was simple. Tatami mats. A low table. From behind a screen, the sound of splashing water echoed.
The God was taking a bath.
Moments later, the screen slid back.
A teenage girl, Ran, dragged a small boy out of the tub.
"You're all washed up!" Ran scolded, toweling the boy's hair vigorously. "Now get dressed!"
"I can do it myself!" the boy protested, his voice high and childish.
Ran bonked him on the head with a fist. Thwack.
"Behave!"
The "Evil God" rubbed his head and pouted, letting Ran dress him in a little blue suit with a red bowtie and large glasses.
Once she left, the atmosphere in the room dropped ten degrees.
The boy adjusted his glasses. He sat cross-legged opposite Obito, his demeanor shifting from petulant child to ancient menace.
"You're here," the boy said.
"Lord Jashin," Obito bowed his head. "Please summon the souls of the Six Kages once more."
The boy, Conan, raised an eyebrow behind his oversized lenses.
"Their Impure World Reincarnation was broken? Interesting."
"It was Mufasa," Obito explained.
"Ah. The wind user," Conan mused.
"Master," Obito pressed, seizing the opportunity. "Are you interested in dealing with him personally? With your power... he would die instantly."
Conan shook his head. "That won't work. I cannot leave this estate."
"Why?" Obito asked, frustration leaking into his voice. "You are a God. Why are you trapped here?"
Conan glared.
He couldn't explain that he was essentially a mutated Shinigami—a glitch in the laws of death.
He generated a passive "Death Field" that caused probability to collapse around him.
But if he left this specific spatial pocket, he reverted to being a helpless elementary school student with no powers.
"Are you questioning me?" Conan asked, his voice icy.
"I wouldn't dare," Obito retreated immediately.
"I, Conan of the River Styx, am a Great Evil God," the boy declared, adjusting his bowtie. "I do not concern myself with the petty squabbles of shinobis."
He looked toward the courtyard, sensing the fresh harvest of souls.
"Since you brought the offerings... the souls are yours."
Conan snapped his small fingers.
A rift in reality tore open behind him.
A massive, spectral Grim Reaper emerged—white shroud, disheveled hair, bloody fangs, and a katana held in its teeth.
The Reaper opened its mouth and wretched.
SPLAT.
Six glowing orbs of soul energy landed on the tatami mats.
_______________________________
Word count: 1842
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