"To think he was capable of such a feat… It seems I underestimated him."
"Freezing an entire mountain in moments, in a place devoid of water… That boy—he's still not quite on par with Hashirama, but he's impressive nonetheless…"
In the depths of a pitch-black underground cavern, the aged and withered Uchiha Madara leaned on his cane, murmuring to himself.
"He extracted Kakashi's Mangekyō?"
"Yes, Lord Madara," White Zetsu replied, emerging halfway from the ground, gaze fixed on Madara's ancient form. "After Obito awakened his Mangekyō due to emotional trauma, Hatake Kakashi's Sharingan resonated and evolved alongside his. But it was taken—by Yuki Yoru."
"He even previously took Uchiha Shisui's eye and has already implanted it."
"A brat coveting Uchiha power…"
Madara scoffed, a tinge of pride strangely laced in his voice. But the moment passed quickly. A violent coughing fit wracked his frail frame, hunching him even further.
"Lord Madara!" White Zetsu called out, concerned.
"I'm fine."
Suppressing his internal weakness, Madara shook his head.
"Still… that boy has grown far too quickly. Back in Kirigakure, he possessed some interesting techniques, but was just a clever genin at best. Now, after entering the battlefield… he's evolved to this level in such a short time?"
"Yuki Yoru's growth rate is terrifying," Zetsu said solemnly. "And it seems he has a unique understanding of chakra, mental energy, and even spiritual power."
Madara's expression tightened.
"What do you mean?"
"I've sensed it more than once. Yoru has mastered a technique that draws directly upon the power of his soul. He's able to weaponize that spiritual energy—using it to amplify his chakra."
"This is different from Konoha's old Spirit Transformation Technique, or the Edo Tensei developed by the Second Hokage. Those manipulated souls using chakra and spiritual force. Yoru's method is something else entirely."
"It's more… devouring, absorbing, assimilating. I believe that's the secret behind his rapid evolution."
Madara turned toward Zetsu, his voice calm but curious.
"Such a method… I've never heard of it. Can it be proven?"
"It can."
The soil beside White Zetsu began to quiver. Vines burst from the earth, dragging up a frozen corpse tightly entangled in roots.
Another White Zetsu broke the ice, carved a portion of flesh from the body, and laid it before Madara, then laid itself down in position.
Madara set aside his cane, formed hand seals, and gathered chakra.
"Edo Tensei!"
A swirl of kanji-covered ash engulfed the corpse. White Zetsu howled in agony.
But after several seconds, the summoning collapsed. The dust dispersed.
Failure.
"It didn't respond. This soul is no longer in the living world—or the Pure Land."
White Zetsu frowned in thought.
"Yoru gains massive power with every kill… but the corpses still retain their chakra. Which means…"
"He's not just using spiritual energy," Madara finished. "He's devouring souls to grow stronger."
For ordinary people, the soul was something mystical and sacred. But for someone like Madara—who stood at the peak of the shinobi world and had touched the edges of life and death—it was just another system.
In the shinobi world, the soul wasn't some divine miracle.
In this world built upon chakra and mental energy, the soul was simply another part of the body—slightly higher in rank than flesh and bone, but still below chakra and spirit.
Even the soul of a powerful Kage could be tampered with. In the end, it was merely a vessel—an imprint of the living, etched in chakra and memory. No more sacred than flesh or bone in the eyes of those who could shape life and death.
Life. Death. The soul. The Pure Land.
Madara understood them all.
And ever since he'd awakened the Rinnegan, he knew:
Once he reached the Six Paths level, he could create souls—and surpass death itself.
"It's a unique path… and a shortcut to power."
His three-tomoe Sharingan spun slowly.
"But our plan is already in motion. We can't allow this boy to grow unchecked."
A faint cracking noise echoed as White Zetsu cleaned up the ritual site.
A hidden stone wall parted.
Two silhouettes stepped into the chamber.
The pale, spiral mask split down the middle, revealing Obito Uchiha's twisted face.
"So… you've returned."
Madara slowly sat upon his towering wooden throne, watching the blood-soaked Obito.
"Looks like you finally understand what I meant."
"Where there is light, there is shadow. One cannot exist without the other. Cause and effect, bound eternally together…"
"Only a world where victory, peace, and love coexist—only a world forged from dreams—can be truly free from suffering."
Obito cut him off.
"Enough, Madara."
"I'll recreate a perfect world. I don't need this one—a world without Rin has no meaning."
His voice was hoarse, cracked with grief.
The patterns of his Mangekyō Sharingan swirled in his eyes.
Madara's lips curved upward.
"Did anyone see Obito fighting?"
"Uh… sorry. Pretty much everyone did," Zetsu replied awkwardly.
"But aside from Minato Namikaze, the rest were all frozen in Higashimatsuyama by Yuki Yoru. Obito's identity wasn't exposed. They'll probably chalk it up to some secret human experiment."
Madara nodded thoughtfully.
"The union of Uchiha and Senju power… Konoha wouldn't dare reveal that to the world. Let them believe what they want."
Obito stepped forward, expression cold.
"Enough about other people. Tell me how to create that dream world."
"Impatient, aren't you?" Madara chuckled. "Very well. You don't need to thank me. Come here… from today onward, you are the savior."
Obito walked up without hesitation.
Madara stared into his eyes.
"Look into mine."
"Huh?"
Obito did so instinctively.
They were ordinary three-tomoe Sharingan—yet in that instant, he felt something vast. Overwhelming.
His consciousness was pulled into a boundless, white void.
"This plan…" Madara's voice echoed across the infinite white.
"I call it… the Eye of the Moon."