590Hinata: Byakurenden
Dawn of War
The Fourth Great Ninja War loomed on the horizon.
The day of the total solar eclipse had arrived, shrouding the world in its ominous shadow. As if the celestial alignment weren't portentous enough, the land was engulfed by a tempest the likes of which no one had ever witnessed. Howling winds tore through forests and valleys, carrying with them a freezing rain that stung like needles. Dark clouds rolled across the continent, blotting out what little light might have escaped the moon's grasp on the sun.
Uchiha Itachi was not a man inclined to superstition, but even he could not deny the gravity of these signs. This was no mere storm. The eclipse, the deluge, the biting winds—it was all too deliberate. Amaterasu's will had shaped the heavens themselves, as if heralding the dawn of a new age.
Itachi's thoughts turned to her siblings, the other divine forces he had once known all too well. If Amaterasu governed the sun, then surely Tsukuyomi had swayed the moon, and Susanoo had summoned the storm. Their influence intertwined now, forging a stage worthy of gods preparing to descend. This was not a premonition. It was a declaration—a divine promise that their arrival was inevitable.
Once, they had shared their power with him. The Mangekyō Sharingan had made him a vessel for their might. With both eyes awakened, he could summon Susanoo's spectral storm armor, his ultimate defense. His left eye once granted mastery of Tsukuyomi's eternal genjutsu, capable of bending time and space in its illusionary realm. His right eye could unleash Amaterasu's unquenchable black flames, consuming all they touched. Yet, in his hubris, Itachi had misused these gifts.
He remembered that fateful moment of arrogance—when he had dared to summon Amaterasu's flames upon the impurity of Orochimaru's curse seal. That act, meant to wield her power as a tool, had instead opened a portal for her arrival. It was a mistake Kali had warned him of, her words sharp and certain. He had dismissed her, believing himself greater, capable of mastering powers meant for gods. Yet it was not he who had controlled Amaterasu's flames—it was she who had used him.
Now, he bore the weight of that failure. The war they faced was his doing, a sin carved into the annals of the world by his own hand. And so, Itachi resolved to atone. If his life was required to undo the havoc he had unleashed, then so be it. For two long years, he had worked toward this moment, building an army to stand against the growing darkness. Obito had laid the foundations for a new, twisted world, but Itachi had not been idle. As Hokage, he had brought them to the precipice of their final stand.
A phantom hand rested on his shoulder, breaking his reverie. It was not flesh and blood, but a wisp of emerald chakra, flickering like the flame of a candle in the storm. The figure attached to that hand was one only Itachi could see—a spectral shade of Uchiha Shisui.
His best friend, once stolen from him by betrayal, now stood as a constant presence at his back. Itachi's eyes had once belonged to Shisui, one claimed by Danzo and the other entrusted to him in death. Shisui's Mangekyō, with its unparalleled ability to summon the wisdom of Kotoamatsukami, gods even greater than Amaterasu. But since her summoning, those gods had turned their faces away, abandoning the mortal plane to its ruin.
Itachi didn't mind. What he had gained instead was far more precious: Shisui himself. His friend's power, his wisdom, his voice—they were all with him once more, transcending even death. It was a gift greater than the power of a thousand gods.
The mountain-side fortress stood as a lone sentinel against the storm, perched precariously on the edge of a jagged cliff. From the balcony, Itachi turned his gaze down at the army gathered below—forty thousand strong, stretching out across the darkened valley like an unbroken tide. Torches flickered in the freezing rain, their light dim and feeble against the swirling tempest above. Yet those flames burned defiantly, a reflection of the resolve shared by every soul present.
Beside him stood two pillars of their united front: Raikage Ei, a beacon of raw, untamed strength, and Gaara, the Sage of the Desert, calm and implacable as shifting sands.
Gaara's arrival had been a moment of grim resolution. The Land of Wind was no more, devoured by the expanding Akatsuki Teikoku. The Sunanin he had managed to gather were a displaced people, their ancestral homes abandoned to the enemy. And yet, they had answered the call. They stood shoulder to shoulder with the ninja of Konoha and Kumo, united by purpose if not by history. Ei's promise of a new home—a desert sanctuary in the southern Land of Lightning—had kindled a spark of hope, one that would be honored only if they emerged victorious.
The invasion force had been divided, not by village allegiance, but by specialty. Itachi commanded the close-range combat division, his precision and strategy the perfect match for the chaos of frontline skirmishes. Gaara, with his unparalleled mastery of terrain and defense, took charge of the mid-range division, his sand an extension of his will. Ei, the unyielding wall of Kumo, led the long-range rearguard, his power an anchor for their assault.
The storm roared above, lightning splitting the heavens with a ferocious crack. The brief flash illuminated the army below, casting eerie shadows across their faces, before plunging the valley back into near-total darkness. The rain was relentless, icy needles stabbing at flesh and bone, yet the warriors below stood undeterred, their heads held high as if daring the storm to break them.
Ei, standing shirtless on the balcony, seemed to embody the defiance of their gathered forces. The rain slicked his bronze skin, rivulets tracing the contours of his muscular frame. His golden vambraces gleamed with each burst of lightning, a radiant symbol of their collective will. He raised his fists high above his head, his voice cutting through the downpour with a force that rivaled the thunder.
"To war!"
The words echoed, amplified by the natural amphitheater of the valley. The thunder answered him, rolling across the terrain like the roar of an ancient beast. Below, the response was immediate and thunderous—a wave of voices rising in unison, forty thousand strong, a sound that reverberated deep into the storm.
It was not chaos, but a declaration. A vow.
They would not kneel. They would not falter.
The Akatsuki Teikoku threatened to take everything from them—homes, families, peace. Amaterasu, the goddess who sought dominion over the sunlit world, would not receive their devotion. She would meet only their wrath.
Ei stood unyielding, the golden light of his vambraces reflecting in the eyes of the warriors below. Gaara's gaze was steady, his arms folded in front of him, while Itachi's eyes glowed faintly, the power of the Sharingan ever-watchful. Together, they stood as the triad of leadership, ready to lead this army into the unknown.
They would either claim victory beneath this storm-ravaged sky—or burn in the attempt.
There was no grand speech; Ei's simple proclamation was all that was needed. The storm's symphony of thunder and rain had carried his words to every ear, and the roar of the army had responded in kind. That raw, unified energy hung in the air, electrifying the storm itself.
Itachi, Ei, and Gaara turned silently from the balcony, their steps purposeful as they entered the fortress. The heavy stone doors groaned shut behind them, muffling the tempest outside and replacing it with the low hum of tension within.
The interior of the fortress was stark but efficient, its halls lit by torchlight that flickered and danced against the damp stone walls. The air smelled of rain-soaked stone and old parchment, the latter emanating from the command room ahead where their final preparations waited.
They didn't need to look at one another to know what they were all thinking. The army outside was ready—perhaps more ready than they had any right to be given the impossible task before them. But readiness alone wouldn't be enough. The coming battle demanded something more, and each of them carried the weight of that understanding.
Together, they stepped into the heart of the fortress and into the command room where their final allies waited.
The storm outside seemed to retreat as they stepped into the command room, its roar muffled by the thick stone walls of the mountain fortress. The transition from the balcony's exposure to the warmth of the interior was almost jarring, though the gravity of what lay ahead weighed just as heavily within.
The command center was circular, its dome-shaped roof arching high overhead, adorned with intricate carvings of constellations and celestial patterns—a relic of an older time when the mountain had served a different purpose. A large round table sat at the center of the room, carved from a single slab of black stone polished to a mirror-like sheen. Around it sat twenty chairs, each one filled with the operation's highest-ranking officials, their faces grim but resolute.
The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked stone and burning oil, the latter emanating from the torches and a grand iron chandelier overhead, its flames flickering in the slight drafts that slipped through the fortress. Maps, diagrams, and scrolls were spread across the table, pinned down by various weights to keep them from curling in the damp air.
Jiraiya, the legendary sage, sat closest to Itachi's designated chair, his easy demeanor belied by the sharp focus in his eyes. Though his usual joviality seemed tempered by the occasion, there was still a sense of steadfastness in his presence. Beside him, his teammate, Tsunade, was a vision of restrained power, her hands folded tightly on the table. Even seated, she radiated authority, her gaze constantly scanning the maps.
The Nara, Yamanaka, Hyūga, and Aburame clan heads were seated nearby, a group of brilliant minds tasked with coordinating reconnaissance and information sharing. Their solemn expressions were a testament to the burden of their roles.
Darui, Ei's second-in-command, lounged in his chair with practiced ease, though his relaxed posture couldn't hide the tension in his shoulders. His sharp gaze darted across the room, taking stock of every detail. Shee, Kumo's perceptive sensor ninja, sat nearby, flipping through a thick notebook filled with hastily scrawled chakra readings. His pen tapped against the paper in time with the storm's rhythm.
Temari, Gaara's elder sister, held a commanding presence as always. She sat straight-backed, a fan resting against the table beside her. Her sharp gaze followed her brother closely, her quiet confidence tempered by concern. Kankuro, Gaara's brother, leaned against the back of his chair, arms crossed and expression unreadable behind his dark face paint. His usual wry remarks were absent, replaced by a silent readiness.
On the far end of the room, a smaller cluster of individuals stood apart from the seated officials, their presence commanding attention despite their positioning.
Hatake Kakashi, his left eye covered by his headband, stood quietly beside his eternal rival, Might Gai, who radiated his usual unrelenting energy despite the grueling toll the preparations had taken on him. Gai's broad smile and confident posture were unchanged, his arms crossed firmly as if to challenge even exhaustion itself. There was no hint of weakness or hesitation in him—only the unwavering determination of someone who had already resolved to give everything for their comrades.
Killer Bee, a towering presence even in his relative silence, leaned against the wall, humming an inaudible rhythm under his breath. His fellow Jinchūriki, Yugito, stood nearby, her arms crossed and her sharp gaze scanning the room as though searching for something—or someone.
Hinata, Naruto, and Sasuke stood close together, a trio bound by shared purpose and the weight of expectation. Hinata's Nichiren Byakugan faintly pulsed, the white lotus blooming in the center of her pupils. Naruto, hands behind his head, glanced around the room, his usual brightness dimmed but not extinguished. Sasuke's expression was unreadable, though his posture was as rigid as ever, his lone visible Sharingan occasionally flickering.
The few empty spaces in the room were deeply felt. The Sandaime Hokage, overseeing Konoha's defenses, was one such absence. Other notable figures, such as the retired elders of various villages, had chosen to stay behind to guard their homes and families, their absence a reminder of the sacrifices made even before the first strike of war.
Itachi, Ei, and Gaara moved to their places at the head of the table. Ei's imposing figure dominated the space as he placed his hands firmly on the table. His vambraces caught the torchlight, casting golden reflections onto the dark stone surface.
"We move as one," Ei said, his voice cutting through the room like the lightning outside. "There is no room for hesitation. Each of you knows your role. Today, we show the Akatsuki Teikoku what happens when they dare to challenge the will of the united shinobi nations!"
His declaration was met with a ripple of affirmations, nods, and murmurs of agreement. The tension in the room tightened, but so did their resolve.
As Gaara and Itachi exchanged silent glances, they knew: this was the moment they had been building toward. All paths had converged here, in this storm-shrouded fortress, at the edge of war.
There was no turning back now.
"Are all the preparations completed, Mabui?" Ei continued, voice firm and commanding. His golden vambraces gleamed faintly in the low light as he turned his sharp gaze toward his secretary.
Mabui straightened, her composure unshaken despite the enormity of the task before her. The dark-skinned young woman was an image of poise and professionalism. Her formal attire—a crisp, long-sleeved, high-collared dress shirt and matching skirt—only added to her air of precision. A pair of long earrings swayed slightly as she inclined her head, her green eyes meeting the Raikage's without hesitation.
"Yes," she replied, her tone measured and steady. "But I must insist again—this plan is not without risk. Only your father has ever survived my transportation jutsu unscathed. It was never designed for normal people." She hesitated for a fraction of a second before her gaze flickered sideways toward Itachi. The implication was clear: not even a legendary Uchiha could be certain of withstanding the strain.
Itachi, however, remained unperturbed. His expression betrayed no doubt, no hesitation. Mabui's warning might as well have fallen on deaf ears. He was already resolute. The success of the entire operation depended on this gambit, and if he had to endure hell to see it through, then so be it.
Ei, on the other hand, was not one for drawn-out deliberation. His large hand slammed onto the table, the sound reverberating throughout the room. The Raikage's voice carried the weight of finality as he barked, "We'll continue as planned!"
The room fell silent, the Raikage's declaration hanging in the air like a thunderclap. Mabui's lips tightened into a thin line, but she nodded. The decision had been made, and there was no turning back.
They didn't have the luxury of time to entertain alternatives. The stakes were far too high, and hesitation would mean forfeiting the war before it even began.
"I would like a moment before we begin," Gaara said, his voice steady but carrying a note of quiet urgency. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward his brother and sister on the other side of the room. The weight of his words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of what lay ahead. Their bond had been forged through years of conflict and misunderstanding, and it felt like they were only now reaching the starting line of a relationship that could finally be called familial. If this operation failed, he wanted them to know how deeply he regretted the pain he had caused them in the past.
Itachi watched him go, understanding the gravity of Gaara's decision. "We should both do the same," he said, nodding slightly to Ei. The battlefield would offer no opportunities for reflection, no time for final words. If there was anything left unsaid, now was the moment to say it.
"I suppose you're right." Ei's deep voice rumbled with reluctant agreement, and he motioned for everyone to take a brief respite. The Raikage turned to find his brother, his expression softening ever so slightly, a flicker of humanity beneath his otherwise indomitable presence.
Itachi, meanwhile, turned his attention to Kakashi, who stood a short distance away, leaning slightly against the wall. His posture was casual, but his lone visible eye betrayed a quiet storm of emotions. Approaching him, Itachi spoke with purpose, his words precise. "Are you ready for this?"
Kakashi turned his head toward him, the faint shadow of a sardonic smile curling at the edge of his lips beneath the mask. "Ready or not doesn't really matter," he replied. "I'll do what I must." His tone was flat, almost resigned, but it carried the weight of a man who had long since made peace with his burdens.
The question, simple as it was, hit a nerve Kakashi rarely let surface. He blamed himself for Obito's descent into darkness. If he had searched harder, if he had been more vigilant, if he hadn't hesitated—perhaps things could have been different. The regret was a silent companion that had followed him for years, and today, he carried it into his mission.
Itachi studied him for a moment, his own silent understanding mirrored in his crimson eyes. "I'm counting on you," he said, extending a gloved hand.
Kakashi took it without hesitation. Their handshake was firm, a connection between two men bound by the weight of their pasts and their resolve to face it head-on. "We'll fix this together," Itachi continued, his voice steady but edged with quiet determination.
Kakashi held his gaze for a moment, the usually unreadable gaze in his visible eye flashing faintly. "Fixing it…" he echoed, his tone low and almost wistful. "We'll do what we have to."
Itachi nodded, releasing his grip. Both men knew there was no true fixing the past. Their task now was to face the fallout and ensure the future had a chance to heal. Without another word, Itachi turned, his gaze already shifting toward Naruto and Sasuke.
Behind him, Kakashi straightened, the weight of the moment pressing heavier on his shoulders. Yet beneath that burden, a flicker of resolve burned—a quiet, unrelenting flame. He would see this through, not for himself, but for those who still believed there was something left worth fighting for. His gaze lingered on Naruto for a moment, the boy he had trained and watched grow from an unruly dreamer into a formidable force of hope. Kakashi had always carried guilt for his failures as a teacher and a comrade—Obito, Rin, even Minato—but Naruto was proof that redemption was still possible. In the boy's unyielding determination, Kakashi saw a reflection of the person he had once strived to be.
Itachi's footsteps slowed as he reached Naruto and Sasuke, the two standing side by side. Despite himself, Itachi had come to think of Naruto as a second little brother. Naruto's unshakable optimism, his ability to bring people together, and his relentless pursuit of his dreams had a way of softening even Itachi's steely exterior. There was something about Naruto—perhaps the way he could shoulder others' pain without losing himself—that reminded Itachi of Shisui. In Naruto, Itachi saw the kind of leader the world would need—a protector not just of the villages, but of the bonds that held them together.
If he were to fall in this operation, Itachi felt a sense of peace knowing that Naruto would be there to carry on. Immature as he still was in some ways, Naruto had the heart of the people, and that would always rally them in their darkest hour. For both Kakashi and Itachi, Naruto wasn't just the future of the Hidden Leaf—he was proof that no matter how much they had broken, some bonds could still be rebuilt.
As for Sasuke, things had never fully healed between them. They could never return to the simple, untainted bond they once had as children. Too much had passed between them—lies, betrayal, and pain. But Itachi had made his peace with that a long time ago. Their relationship now was different, built on mutual respect and understanding rather than nostalgia. Itachi no longer sought his brother's forgiveness, only his strength and his future. Every time he saw Sasuke wield the power he had got by rejecting him, he felt a deep, quiet gratitude that he had been allowed to see the boy grow into the formidable man he had become.
Looking at the two of them now, standing side by side, Itachi felt a rare and profound pride. These two were not just comrades; they were his brothers, each in their own way. And even in the shadow of war, that bond brought him a measure of comfort.
"I'm proud of the both of you," he said, his voice calm and even, but carrying a weight that made the words linger. He wasn't one for grand declarations, and he knew anything more would only make things awkward. But these words—simple, unadorned—were enough.
Naruto and Sasuke exchanged a glance, a smirk tugging at the corners of their lips. For all their differences, they were united in moments like this.
"Duh, we already know that!" Naruto broke into a wide grin, his hands lacing behind his head as he rocked back on his heels. "I mean, come on! We're awesome!" His laughter bubbled up, carefree and loud, cutting through the tension that had gripped the room like a blade. It was a sound that shouldn't have belonged on the brink of war, yet somehow, it was exactly what everyone needed.
Sasuke's expression was more subdued, but the warmth in his eyes spoke volumes. "We'll see you when everything's over, Nii-san," he said simply, his voice steady and sure. It wasn't a question or a hope—it was a declaration. Sasuke didn't doubt their survival. He believed in himself, in Naruto, and in Itachi. Together, they would overcome anything.
"Indeed," Itachi replied, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. It was the closest he ever came to showing emotion, but for his brothers, it was enough. He stepped forward, his hands rising to extend his middle and index fingers. With a gentle motion, he tapped each of them lightly on the forehead—the same gesture he had used with Sasuke when they were children.
It was a symbol of affection, a connection that words could never fully convey. And for a fleeting moment, it felt as though all the pain and strife of the past didn't matter. They were brothers, standing together, and they were ready to face whatever lay ahead.
For what Itachi hoped would not be the last time.
Itachi's final approach was to Hyūga Hinata, the one person in the room who, in many ways, mirrored his own journey. Over two years ago, they had stood on opposite sides of an impossible divide—he with the Mangekyō Sharingan, and she with the Nichiren Byakugan. They had been destined to clash, their powers meant to oppose one another, as if the fates themselves had decreed it. Yet now, they stood as allies, bound by the mistakes they shared and the determination to set things right.
Hinata was speaking quietly with her father, her voice calm yet tinged with the gravity of the moment. When she noticed Itachi approaching, she fell silent, turning toward him with a steady gaze. Hiashi followed her lead, his expression guarded but respectful. Itachi nodded to him, a silent apology for interrupting, and Hiashi returned the gesture with equal solemnity. The history between their clans—so often marked by rivalry and comparison—felt irrelevant now, dwarfed by the weight of what lay ahead.
No words were exchanged at first. They didn't need them.
Hinata straightened her posture, her pale eyes meeting Itachi's. The glow of her Nichiren Byakugan had dimmed for now, but it still seemed to hold an otherworldly depth, as if the wisdom of her past lives watched him through her. It was a gaze that reminded him of himself—burdened by guilt, yet resolute in purpose. They both carried the weight of their failures, but they also shared a quiet understanding: their mistakes did not define them. What they chose to do now, in the face of near-certain doom, was what mattered.
"Hokage-sama," Hinata said softly, the formality of her words contrasting with the warmth in her voice. She bowed slightly, her hands folding neatly in front of her.
Itachi regarded her for a moment, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "White Lotus," he replied, the nickname carrying a sense of quiet reverence. He didn't know why it fit so perfectly—perhaps it was her resilience, her purity of purpose—but the title suited her in a way that even her own name could not.
They stood in silence again, a thousand unspoken thoughts passing between them. He had intended to apologize, to tell her that he regretted the chain of events that had led them here, but he could see now that it wasn't necessary. Her eyes told him she already understood. Just as he carried his own burden, she carried hers. They didn't need to absolve each other, nor did they need forgiveness. What mattered was that they had chosen to fight for the same cause, to correct the mistakes that had nearly destroyed them both.
"Good luck today," Itachi said finally, his voice quiet but firm. It wasn't just a wish; it was an acknowledgment of her strength, a recognition of the role she would play in the battle ahead.
Hinata smiled, a faint but genuine expression that softened the weight in her eyes. "You as well, Hokage-sama," she replied, bowing once more. Her movements were fluid, deliberate, as if every gesture carried its own significance.
Itachi lingered for a moment longer, his gaze steady. Then, with a final nod, he turned away and walked back toward Ei and Gaara. The sound of the rain beyond the fortress walls seemed to grow louder, the storm's fury a reminder of how little time they had left.
They were ready.
The three generals of the army stood shoulder-to-shoulder atop the circular platform, their silhouettes stark against the storm-lit backdrop. They looked down at the gathered group of their most trusted comrades, the weight of the moment pressing heavily upon all present. The fortress's command room buzzed with a tension so thick it felt like a living thing, crackling in the air alongside the distant roar of thunder.
There was no more time. No more last-minute adjustments, no more words of reassurance. They had stretched every second to its limit, wringing from it the impossible—a fully organized force prepared to challenge the godlike might of Amaterasu and her empire. Yet, even as they stood on the precipice of the final phase of their plan, the enormity of what they were about to attempt loomed over them.
Mabui stepped forward, her normally composed demeanor betraying just a hint of hesitation. Her hands trembled slightly as they hovered over the seals she was about to form. "My jutsu literally transports you at the speed of light," she reminded them, her voice steady but low. "For ordinary people, it's simply too fast. The body can't withstand the strain. Are you sure you're prepared for this?"
Gaara nodded calmly, his voice unwavering. "I have confidence in my defense." He gestured to the orbs of sand that floated at his sides, their surface shimmering faintly with chakra. His ability to alter his molecular structure into sand was his trump card, one he trusted implicitly.
"You don't need to worry about me," Itachi added, his tone cool and measured. His Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan flared to life, its seven-bladed shuriken casting an eerie red glow in the dimly lit chamber. The emerald chakra armor of Shisui's spectral presence encased him, its wisps dancing like ghostly flames. He looked every bit the legendary warrior from the age of Madara and Hashirama. "I have help," he said, his gaze unwavering.
Ei, standing between them, practically crackled with energy. His lightning armor danced across his body, its sharp blue light contrasting with the stormy darkness outside. Sparks shot off him in sharp bursts, searing faint black marks into the stone platform beneath his feet. "Do it, Mabui! That's an order!" he barked, his voice booming with impatience. His father's legacy loomed large, and this was his moment to prove himself, to surpass the man whose shadow he had lived under for so long.
Mabui swallowed, her jaw tightening as her resolve hardened. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, gathering herself, and when they reopened, her emerald gaze was alight with determination. "Then here I go!" She formed the seal with practiced precision, her chakra flaring in a blinding surge. "Tenso no Jutsu!"
A searing flash of light enveloped the platform, and then they were gone.
The three reappeared high in the sky, their sudden displacement jarring but expected. The biting cold of the upper atmosphere hit them first, followed by the breathtaking sight below: Akatsukigakure.
The city stretched out beneath them like a vast labyrinth of towering skyscrapers, their sharp, gothic architecture piercing upward like jagged teeth. The buildings were bright and imposing, their surfaces carved with intricate patterns that glowed faintly with chakra. Stone spires twisted upward in unnatural shapes, and enormous bridges arched between the tallest towers, casting long shadows over the layers of streets far below.
At the heart of the city loomed a massive tower, its architecture resembling a blackened sunburst—an homage to Amaterasu. It dominated the skyline, its highest spire rising far above the other buildings. Carved into its facade was a colossal visage of the goddess herself, her eyes empty but watchful, her expression serene yet commanding. The sheer scale of it was enough to make anyone feel insignificant.
Above the city, the storm seemed to pause, as if held at bay by some unseen force. The eye of the storm was eerily calm, the sky above a vast and brilliant blue. The sun shone brightly, its light stark and unfiltered by the swirling clouds that encircled the city like a protective wall. Yet, even in the daylight, the faint outline of the moon could be seen creeping closer to the sun, the eclipse inching ever nearer.
The three of them adjusted quickly, their eyes scanning the city below. Itachi's Sharingan flared, taking in every detail, while Gaara's sand stabilized his descent. Ei's armor buzzed with renewed energy as he laughed, the thrill of the challenge ahead overtaking him.
"I see you both survived!" Ei called out, his voice cutting through the stillness as the three landed gracefully atop one of the towering skyscrapers. His lightning armor sparked and crackled as he grinned wildly, standing tall against the foreboding backdrop.
The gamble had worked. They were alive, unscathed, and exactly where they needed to be. But as Itachi's Sharingan scanned the city again, he could feel the magnitude of what lay ahead pressing down on them. The plan had brought them here, but no amount of preparation could account for the storm of chaos that was about to descend.
Success in the opening move was no guarantee of victory. From here on, their plan would collide with the enemy—and no plan, no matter how meticulously crafted, could survive that unscathed.
Itachi's Sharingan swept the area, catching fleeting glimpses of chakra signatures teeming below the surface. This wasn't the quiet of a deserted city—it was the stillness before an eruption. The Akatsuki Teikoku had been expecting them. Not only had the civilians been evacuated, but the city had been fortified with soldiers. Itachi's vision pierced through the levels of the towering city, revealing countless chakra signatures from every corner of the continent.
Rain, Stones, Mist, Iron, Sound, Frost, Grass, Waterfall, Hot Water, and even shinobi from other minor nations—every one of them bore the distinct resonance of warriors unique to their nation, now under Akatsuki's banner. The sheer size of their force dwarfed the Shadow Alliance's forty thousand strong. Tens of thousands more, hidden like blades beneath a veil of calm, awaited the call to strike.
They had landed in the heart of the storm, but Itachi knew the storm itself had yet to begin.
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised." A calm, unhurried voice broke the tension, its smooth tone carrying effortlessly through the stagnant air.
Uchiha Obito materialized atop a nearby skyscraper, his silhouette framed by the faint glow of lightning in the distance. His voice was almost conversational, as though he were greeting an old acquaintance rather than confronting enemies. He stood with unsettling ease, arms folded across his chest, his presence as commanding as it was casual.
There was no wind, no life bustling below to compete with his voice. The city seemed to hold its breath. The only sound was the faint roll of thunder, like a drumbeat heralding the battle to come.
Obito's attire had changed dramatically since the Gokage summit, where he had donned the guise of the Mizukage. Gone were the robes of a hidden village leader; in their place, he wore flowing garments resembling the ceremonial robes of a Shinto priest. His stark white haori shimmered faintly with black embroidered flames along the hem, and a dark crimson hakama billowed around his legs, unmarred by rain. A braided cord hung across his chest, its tassels swaying slightly as he shifted his weight. Obito's face, still scarred from the rockfall that had once nearly claimed his life, bore an unsettling calm. His twin Sharingan glowed faintly, scanning the three of them with detached curiosity.
"There's no running away this time!" Ei's voice shattered the eerie calm like a clap of thunder. He slammed his fists together, the sound echoing loudly against the surrounding buildings. Lightning crackled around him, the energy feeding into his already formidable aura. His golden vambraces gleamed even in the muted light, like the gauntlets of an ancient warrior poised for battle.
Unlike Itachi and Gaara, Ei could not sense the overwhelming scale of the army hidden below, but even if he had, it wouldn't have tempered his brazen nature. Ei was not a man to cower before impossible odds.
Obito tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady and unreadable. "Am I supposed to be scared of just three ninja?" His Sharingan glinted as he scanned their surroundings, clearly searching for other chakra signatures. "No matter how formidable you may be, this is hardly an invasion force."
Gaara remained silent, his expression as impassive as the desert he once called home. His sand orbs swirled lazily around him, belying the terrible power they held.
Itachi met Obito's gaze, his Sharingan unwavering. The weight of history, of mistakes and regrets, pressed between them like an unspoken force. Yet, there was no room for hesitation now. They had come too far, and the world teetered too close to ruin.
"I see the traitor has returned."
The voice was calm yet thunderous, as if the storm itself had chosen to speak. Pain landed gracefully beside Obito, his presence as commanding as it was unsettling. He crouched momentarily before standing to his full height. His orange hair, tied back into a sleek ponytail, glistened in the bright light of the sun. A fringe hung low over the right side of his face, framing the sharpness of his features.
But what captured attention immediately were the piercings that adorned his face—a bridge piercing running horizontally through his upper nose, circular studs gleaming from each cheek, his upper nose, the bottom of his jaw, and his ears. Each metal spike was a stark reminder of the pain Nagato carried, both physical and emotional, and the strength it had forged within him.
What truly drew Itachi's gaze, however, was the forehead protector he now wore. Gone was the simple scratched-out symbol of Amegakure. In its place was a bold new emblem: a half-sun crest etched above the old slash, radiating jagged triangles like rays of light. It was the perfect symbol for the Akatsuki Teikoku—a declaration of their empire as a new dawn rising over the remnants of the old world.
"The title of a traitor isn't new to me, Pain… or should I call you Nagato?" Itachi's voice was steady, unwavering, each word laced with the weight of knowledge and history. "You, who betrayed Lord Jiraiya's teachings."
Nagato didn't flinch. His Rinnegan—the eyes of the gods—met Itachi's Sharingan with an unyielding calm. For a man who had once revered Jiraiya as his teacher, the accusation seemed to hold no sway.
Itachi studied Nagato carefully, recalling the discoveries he and Jiraiya had pieced together after his appointment as Hokage. It had been a revelation to learn that the leader of the Akatsuki had once been one of Jiraiya's students—a boy filled with dreams of peace and hope, now twisted into a prophet of destruction. The Rinnegan that had been a gift to the world had become a harbinger of chaos.
"Call me what you please," Nagato replied at last, his tone cool and indifferent. "But don't presume to say I betrayed Jiraiya-sensei's teachings."
Itachi's brows furrowed, but he said nothing. Nagato continued, his voice gaining intensity as if he had spoken these words to himself a thousand times before.
"I simply learned the truth of their hypocrisy. No one can stay true to ideals that contradict the nature of humanity without betraying themselves. The cycle of hatred cannot be broken by kindness alone. The only one who could possibly maintain such false ideals… would have to be a god." Nagato's hands flexed at his sides, his piercing Rinnegan glowing faintly with power. "And that is exactly what Amaterasu-sama is."
Itachi's stomach sank slightly at the conviction in Nagato's voice. Just like Obito, Nagato had abandoned the path of humanity. They both spoke as if they had seen the depths of human frailty and deemed it unworthy of redemption.
These two were not merely servants of Amaterasu—they were her prophets, her apostles. Every word they spoke, every action they took, would strengthen her following and, in turn, her power. As Hinata had explained, Amaterasu fed on belief. Killing her prophets wouldn't just be a blow to her forces—it could weaken her very essence.
Itachi's crimson eyes glinted in the sunlight. That knowledge made their presence here a rare opportunity, even as the tension thickened around them.
"So be it," Itachi said softly, his voice cutting through the rain like a blade. "Your hypocrisy has been laid bare, Nagato. You called yourself a god, yet now you bow before another. Today, we will see how divine she truly is."
Nagato's expression didn't waver, but his hands raised slowly as if in prayer. The rods hidden beneath his robes began to emerge, black as night and glinting faintly with malice.
"Hokage! We don't have time for this pointless chit-chat, let's do it already!" Ei's voice boomed like the thunder rolling overhead, his impatience cutting through the tension. He was right—every moment wasted brought them closer to the solar eclipse, closer to the birth of two new gods that could rewrite their reality.
If talking could have resolved this, they wouldn't be standing here now, teetering on the brink of annihilation.
"Don't think we'll just let you do as you please," Nagato intoned, his voice calm but laced with unyielding resolve. His hands already raised, the black rods—the same material as the piercings that adorned his body—shot out from within his robes like deadly projectiles.
"Ensatsu!" Obito's command followed, and the rods erupted into flames, the fire burning black as midnight, writhing with malevolent intent.
"I've got this." Gaara's voice was steady as he stepped forward, his hand slicing through the air. Sand burst from the orbs at his sides, forming a dense, swirling wall that caught the fiery rods mid-flight. They hissed and sputtered as the black flames struggled against the golden sand, but Gaara's control was absolute.
While the sand held firm, Gaara placed his other hand on Itachi's shoulder, his chakra flowing like a river of power. "Hurry," he urged.
Ei was already moving, his massive hand clapping down on Itachi's opposite shoulder. His lightning armor crackled with raw energy, sparks dancing across his skin as he poured his chakra into the Hokage. "Let's do this!"
The surge of power was overwhelming, like a dam breaking inside Itachi's body. He focused it all into his left eye, feeling the familiar burn of the Mangekyō Sharingan. But this time, the shape of the eye's pattern wasn't his own—it mirrored the spiraling design of Obito's Mangekyō.
The connection had been forged earlier, when Itachi and Kakashi had clasped hands in a silent pact. Kakashi had transferred a sliver of his chakra into Itachi's left eye, embedding a time-delayed genjutsu that now activated. The synchronization between their Mangekyō Sharingan bridged dimensions, unlocking the full potential of Kamui.
Itachi's eye ignited with power, and the heavens themselves seemed to shudder.
Above them, the blue sky tore apart as a massive portal began to open. Blackened clouds loomed in the center of the spiraling vortex, red lightning flickering through the gaping tear in reality. The wormhole expanded rapidly, growing impossibly vast until it stretched across the entire sky, swallowing the rays of the sun in its wake.
The sheer scale of it was staggering, a cosmic wound that bridged two sides of the world. The atmosphere warped under its presence, the air vibrating with an otherworldly hum. Itachi gritted his teeth, the strain of maintaining the connection nearly unbearable, but he held firm.
Rain fell in heavy sheets, drenching the battlefield as Itachi's Sharingan blazed with raw power, his left eye spinning in perfect synchrony with the distant chakra of Kakashi.
Then, as if summoned by the fury of the storm itself, they began to fall.
At first, it was only a few figures—a vanguard of scouts diving headfirst into the abyss, their silhouettes cutting through the rain. But then, the sheer scale of the invasion became clear. Tens of thousands of shinobi poured through the portal, their forms silhouetted against the glowing maw of the sky. They fell like a torrent of human will, a storm to rival the thunder and lightning that raged around them.
The battle cries of forty thousand warriors rang out, blending with the thunder's roar. Each voice carried defiance, fear, and resolve, their collective shout shaking the very ground below. As they descended, the shinobi activated jutsu mid-air: Konoha ninja cloaked themselves in fire or summoned chakra wings, Kumo shinobi crackled with lightning, and Suna warriors rode on the currents of the very wind.
The portal stretched and shimmered, its energy sustained by the combined might of those left behind. Kakashi stood on the precipice of exhaustion, his Sharingan bleeding profusely, his vision darkening with every passing moment. Nearby, Killer Bee's chakra roared like a hurricane, his Eight-Tails' power surging to stabilize the portal. Might Gai's body trembled with strain, his muscles screaming from the release of seven gates, yet his grin never wavered. And Tsunade's chakra flowed in waves, her Mitotic Regeneration Jutsu pushing her limits to sustain the titanic energy drain.
Itachi's gamble was working.
The entire valley below the fortress had been emptied, its occupants now spilling into the enemy stronghold. Thousands of shadows dotted the sky in the ground, and yet there was no chaos—only an overwhelming sense of unity. Division leaders shouted commands, their voices cutting through the rain as their troops descended. The glow of the portal reflected off countless kunai, shuriken, and drawn blades, transforming the falling shinobi into a storm of steel and chakra.
Finally, the last of the army passed through. The leaders in the war room prepared to make their own leap into the fray. Jiraiya nodded at Darui, who gave a grim smile before diving headlong into the swirling vortex. Yugito followed next, her feline grace propelling her forward. One by one, Temari, Kankuro, Shee, and the clan heads of Konoha leapt from the balcony, their figures swallowed by the shrinking portal.
Now only three figures remained: Naruto, Sasuke, and Hinata.
"It's our turn," Naruto said, his voice firm yet carrying the weight of the moment. He glanced at his two comrades, his eyes holding unshakable determination.
Hinata nodded, her Nichiren Byakugan flaring to life as she took in the battlefield awaiting them. Sasuke adjusted his cloak, the faint hum of his Rinnegan's power radiating from beneath his bangs.
The three most crucial pieces in this war took a single breath before sprinting forward. Together, they dove into the portal, the light swallowing them just as it began to flicker and destabilize.
The portal snapped shut, leaving only silence in its wake—a stark contrast to the chaos and thunder of moments before. Kakashi's left eye was now forever dim, the Sharingan that had defined so much of his life gone, sacrificed for the transportation of their entire army. He had fulfilled his role in this war, but the cost was heavy. His body trembled, and he would have fallen had Gai not caught him with an arm around his shoulders.
"It's done," Kakashi rasped, his voice faint but steady.
"All of you, come this way," Tsunade instructed, her voice calm but edged with urgency. She stepped forward, wrapping an arm under Kakashi's to help him stand. On her other side, she caught Gai before he could crumple completely to the floor. His body trembled violently, muscles spasming from the intense strain of opening seven gates. Every movement seemed to send fresh waves of pain coursing through him, but his grin, though strained, remained defiant.
Neither man could stand on their own, their chakra reserves utterly depleted. Tsunade dragged them both back into the war room, her own reserves dangerously low after fueling the portal alongside Killer Bee.
"Bee-sama!" Mabui's voice cracked with worry as she rushed to the Jinchūriki, who had slumped into a chair. Even with the nigh-limitless power of the Eight-Tails flowing through him, Bee's face was pale, his breath shallow. The exertion had nearly drained the bijū itself—a feat unimaginable under ordinary circumstances.
"Thanks, Mabui," Bee muttered weakly, offering her a tired thumbs up. Even now, he couldn't resist a faint smile. But the way his shoulders slumped told the truth: the effort had taken everything he had to give.
Tsunade eased Kakashi and Gai down to the floor, her hands glowing faintly as she began treating Gai's torn muscles and Kakashi's bleeding eye. Her chakra flickered and sputtered, evidence of just how little she had left to offer. Despite this, her focus was unwavering, her hands steady as she worked.
This room, once filled with strategic minds and indomitable strength, now held the remnants of a sacrifice that had made the invasion possible. The collective power left behind here could have turned the tide of any battle—Tsunade's legendary healing, Gai's monstrous physical strength, Kakashi's tactical brilliance, Bee's overwhelming Bijū chakra. Each one of them could have been a deciding factor on the battlefield, but they had traded their presence there for the slim chance of delivering their army to Akatsukigakure in time.
Mabui knelt beside Bee, her own hands trembling as she checked his pulse. Even her typically composed demeanor was cracking under the weight of what they had done. "This was reckless," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "Only the Raikage's father could withstand my transportation jutsu. I warned them…"
"And yet we did it," Kakashi rasped, his voice rough but firm. He adjusted his headband to cover the left eye that was now nothing more than scar tissue. Despite the pain, there was a faint, tired smile beneath the mask. "Because it was the only way. They'll be able to do it, right?" His words were more a question to himself than anyone else, but the weight of his gaze fell on Tsunade.
She didn't look up from her work. "They have to," she replied, her voice sharp and resolute. "That's why we stayed behind. Because we believed in them."
Gai, lying flat on his back, raised a trembling hand to give a thumbs up. His grin was weaker now, but the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed. "Let's have some faith, Kakashi. They've got the guts to win this war."
Tsunade paused for a moment, looking down at her hands as they glowed faintly with her remaining chakra. "I doubted the White Lotus when she sparred with Naruto," she admitted, her tone softer now. "But I won't make that mistake again. She's stronger than I gave her credit for. And with Naruto and Sasuke at her side…"
She looked down at Kakashi, her eyes burning with conviction. "They'll win. I guarantee it."
Kakashi let out a soft chuckle, though it quickly turned into a cough. He leaned into the comfort of the hard rock beneath him, closing his good eye. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I guess that's right."
For a moment, the room fell into a contemplative silence. The storm outside howled, rain pelting against the walls of the fortress. The weight of what they had done—and what was still to come—pressed down on each of them.
"With the three of them on the battlefield," Tsunade said quietly, almost to herself, "we can't lose."
But those words carried an unspoken fear. The power in this room had been traded for a chance at victory, but victory was still far from guaranteed. All they could do now was hope that their sacrifice had been enough.
The portal had closed behind Naruto, Sasuke, and Hinata. They had vanished into the storm, and none of them could know for certain if they had made it to the battlefield at all.
Naruto, Sasuke, and Hinata stood frozen on the precipice of a tall cliff, their breaths shallow and their gazes wide as they took in the alien expanse before them. None of them spoke at first, the weight of their silence amplifying the otherworldly hum that seemed to emanate from the ground beneath their feet.
This wasn't Akatsukigakure. It wasn't Kamui either. The warped terrain of floating blocks and an endless dark sky associated with that dimension was absent. No, this was somewhere else entirely—a place none of them had ever seen or imagined.
The air felt different. It was thin, almost ethereal, and carried an unfamiliar energy that seemed to hum around them. At the same time, the three of them felt lighter, as though the pull of gravity had loosened its grip entirely. Hinata experimentally shifted her weight, lifting one foot cautiously, only to find it rose with an ease that was almost unsettling, as if the ground itself were hesitant to reclaim her. The sensation was disorienting, her movements slower and more fluid, like stepping into a dream where the rules of the world had subtly shifted.
The landscape before them was breathtaking and disorienting all at once. It was a sprawling world of ancient stone ruins, their structures towering and imposing, yet clearly weathered by untold millennia. Massive columns reached skyward, their surfaces covered in glowing inscriptions that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. Arches, some intact and others crumbled, framed views of distant monoliths that shimmered as though the air around them were alive. The ruins were ornate yet alien, their patterns and symbols utterly unrecognizable, speaking to a lost civilization that bore no resemblance to anything from their world.
The light was strange, almost alien. A pale, golden glow bathed the land, emanating from a massive, artificial sun that hung suspended high in the sky. Its light was neither as warm as the real sun nor as harsh, casting an otherworldly brilliance over the landscape. The ruins below seemed to drink in the light, their ancient, weathered surfaces shimmering faintly with hidden chakra patterns. In the distance, floating islands of stone hovered lazily, as if tethered to invisible strings, defying the laws of gravity. The faint sound of rushing water reached their ears, and though they couldn't see any rivers or waterfalls nearby, the air carried the cool, damp scent of a hidden stream winding somewhere beyond their sight.
Naruto broke the silence first, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "What… the hell is this place?"
Hinata stepped forward cautiously, her Nichiren Byakugan activating as the white lotus bloomed brightly in her eyes. She scanned the area, her pale eyes glowing faintly in the ethereal light. "I don't sense anyone… or anything. Just us." Her voice was soft, but there was an edge of uncertainty that made Naruto glance at her nervously.
Sasuke, his Rinnegan now visible, was already scanning the surroundings with a sharp, calculating gaze. "This isn't anything I've ever heard of or seen." He stepped closer to the cliff's edge, the faint pull of the altered gravity tugging at his cloak as he peered down. The drop stretched endlessly into a dense, shimmering mist that obscured whatever lay below.
"Kamui wouldn't send us here," Sasuke muttered, his brows furrowing. "This isn't Obito's dimension… and it's not ours either."
Naruto glanced up at the sky—or what he thought was the sky. Above them, a vast, curved expanse arched overhead, resembling a perfect, hollow dome. The "sky" itself was a soft gradient of azure fading to pale gold at the horizon, dotted with faint, wispy clouds that never seemed to move. It was breathtaking in its perfection, yet deeply unsettling in its artificiality. "Do you think we got… knocked off course?" Naruto asked hesitantly, scratching the back of his head as he squinted at the impossible sight.
"Knocked off course by what?" Sasuke shot back, his tone clipped. "Kakashi's technique shouldn't have failed like this. The calculations were exact, and the chakra synchronization was precise."
Hinata's voice interrupted their argument, calm yet firm. "Whatever happened, this isn't where we're supposed to be. And standing here won't help us figure out why."
Naruto turned to her, his usual grin absent. "You think we're stuck?"
Hinata shook her head slowly, though uncertainty clouded her expression. "I don't know. But… this place…" She gestured to the ruins. "It feels… ancient. Like it's been here since the days of the Rikudō Sennin."
Sasuke crouched down, his fingers brushing against the stone beneath them. The surface was cool to the touch, but as his skin made contact, faint glowing lines began to trace across the ground, forming symbols that flared briefly before fading. He pulled his hand back quickly, his Rinnegan narrowing. "This isn't just stone," he murmured. "It's infused with something… chakra, but different."
Naruto stepped forward, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Different? How much different? And how do we get out of here?"
"We don't even know where here is," Sasuke said bluntly, rising to his feet. "We can't assume anything until we find some answers. For now, we need to stick together and figure out what this place is."
Hinata's Nichiren Byakugan flickered again as she surveyed the horizon. "There's a path," she said, pointing toward a crumbling staircase carved into the cliffside. It descended into the ruins below, vanishing into the misty expanse. "It might lead us somewhere… or to someone."
Naruto nodded, stepping toward the path. "Then we start there. If we're gonna get out of here, we've gotta keep moving."
As the three of them began their descent into the unknown, the oppressive stillness of the world pressed down on them. Every step echoed faintly, swallowed by the vast silence. None of them spoke, their unease growing with every passing moment.
Wherever they were, this place wasn't just a detour. It was alive, watching, and waiting.
Chapter End
AN: Here we are, at the start of the beginning of the end.
I debated for a long time what to do about Kakashi in this story. Obito is on a very different path this time, so I wasn't interested in having Kakashi just play the same role he did in Canon either, but I had to address him having Obito's other eye, at the very least, so this was what I came up with for that.
As for where our characters are at the end, it's a Canon location, but we'll get into that next time.