Sowhere far from the blast zone, Orochimaru’s eyes snapped open.
The mont the explosion occurred, his connection to the Second Tsuchikage vanished completely. The sensation was unmistakable.
Edo Tensei had been forcibly erased.
"That wasn’t a level of power Edo Tensei can endure..." he muttered.
For a mont, he froze. Then he laughed—softly at first, then wildly.
"So this is it... this is your strength."
Fujimoto Tōma had not disappointed him.
Not even the golden Nine-Tails clad in Susanoo armor could produce destruction on that scale. Orochimaru had once suspected that Naruto and Sasuke had already surpassed Tōma.
Now he knew better.
His excitent reignited.
And more importantly—he had learned sothing new.
Edo Tensei could be undone not only by release, fulfilled regrets, or structural flaws... but by an overwhelming force that erased the body beyond recovery.
"What makes that black sphere different?" Orochimaru wondered, licking his lips. Other Edo bodies had been reduced to ash before, yet only this one failed to regenerate.
A special attack. Without question.
A pity he couldn’t obtain a sample.
Which ant it was ti to move on.
His original plan had been to summon his final trump card after the White Zetsu army stalled Tōma.
The army was gone.
So was the Second Tsuchikage.
"...In hindsight, this is better," Orochimaru mused. "If I’d summoned him there, and Tōma used that technique again..."
If Uchiha Madara had tried to take that head-on—
Orochimaru felt a chill.
Fortunately, the battlefield itself limited Tōma. The blast radius was too large. He had evacuated the Fourth Division beforehand, proving he wouldn’t risk allies.
"A powerful technique with heavy restrictions," Orochimaru concluded. "That’s enough."
All he needed was to change the battlefield.
He seized control of a nearby Edo body and slipped into it effortlessly. Familiar faces ca into view.
Ōnoki.
Gaara.
Temari.
Kitsuchi.
The Fourth Division.
Orochimaru smiled and pressed his hands to the ground.
"Edo Tensei."
A single coffin rose.
"Again? Damn it—!" a shinobi cursed. "Just one more? Fine, we’ll seal it too."
The coffin lid fell.
And the man inside hadn’t even opened his eyes yet.
The shinobi staggered back.
He didn’t recognize the face.
But his instincts scread.
Uchiha Madara opened his eyes.
Three tomoe rotated calmly in each Sharingan.
"...Boring," he said flatly. "I don’t even feel like moving for trash like this."
He glanced down at his body, frowning slightly.
"Edo Tensei...? This wasn’t the plan."
His gaze drifted to the battlefield. United uniforms. Different village symbols.
"A shinobi alliance," he concluded. "Only war produces sothing like this."
Then a cold snort.
"So he deviated from the plan after all."
Madara turned his head. "You. Who summoned ?"
Orochimaru wiped his face, undoing his disguise. "Orochimaru. Student of Sarutobi Hiruzen. Rogue shinobi of Konoha. And... an associate of the man you ntioned."
"Another of that monkey’s students?" Madara remarked. "Interesting."
He studied Orochimaru’s Edo body. "Using this technique to speak to ... you’re a sly one."
"This body lets you exceed your living pri," Orochimaru said smoothly. "I prepared it especially for you."
Madara’s eyes narrowed. "Do you even understand my pri?"
Orochimaru laughed. "Why don’t you show ? I’ve also prepared a worthy opponent."
"Oh?" Madara’s interest rose. "Who?"
"The Sixth Hokage of Konoha," Orochimaru said. "Fujimoto Tōma."
Madara smiled. "Never heard the na. But Hokage, hm? Let see how Hashirama’s successors asure up."
"He isn’t here yet," Orochimaru replied.
Madara’s eyes snapped into Mangekyō.
Orochimaru felt sweat bead instantly.
After a brief explanation—Tōma’s role, his teleportation, the technique that erased Edo bodies—Madara clicked his tongue.
"So you summoned here because you’re worried even I might not withstand it?"
Orochimaru only smiled.
That was when the alliance noticed them.
"...Uchiha Madara," Ōnoki whispered, drenched in sweat.
"That’s him?" Gaara’s pupils shrank.
"He looks exactly as he did in the past..." Ōnoki muttered.
"But reports say Madara is fighting Naruto elsewhere," Temari said sharply. "Then who—"
Ōnoki’s eyes hardened. "The masked man is a fake."
"Regardless," Gaara said, raising his hands, "we stop him here."
Sand roared upward, surging toward Madara like a devouring beast.
Madara stepped back lightly.
"...Very well," he said. "I’ll stretch a little while waiting."
He charged alone.
The alliance scread and followed—not to intimidate him, but to keep their legs from shaking.
In seconds, bodies flew.
From Madara’s perspective, it was effortless. Every movent predicted. Every strike precise.
"Do you want to dance?" he mocked.
A blast of compressed air struck him from the side.
"Don’t underestimate us!" Temari shouted, giant fan raised.
Madara glanced at her, unbothered. "So there are a few competent ones."
He inhaled.
"Fire Style: Majestic Destroyer Fla."
A winged inferno swept the field, swallowing the horizon.
Water surged to et it—Mist shinobi forming a desperate wall.
They barely held.
Facing dozens alone.
And winning.
This was Uchiha Madara.
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