Chapter 92

The colossal black fist, moving at unimaginable speed, split the skies as it descended toward the battlefield, carrying enough force to shatter nations. The air itself trembled under the sheer power, and for a fleeting moment, the ninja forces felt the inevitability of death looming over them.

But before the devastating attack could land, they were suddenly teleported into the sky, avoiding total annihilation by the slimmest of margins.

The Uzumaki, caught off guard by the scale and velocity of the assault, had no choice but to intercept it. The attack was far beyond anything they had faced before—an entity of raw destruction that threatened to tear through even their advanced defenses. Yet, the masters of Fuinjutsu did not falter.

With unmatched precision and mastery, the Uzumaki carved seals into reality itself, bending the laws of nature to redirect the attack into a portal, sending it hurtling into the sky instead of the battlefield.

For a brief moment, there was relief—

Until the fist suddenly appeared beneath them.

It was a brilliantly executed feint, one that could have wiped out hundreds of warriors in an instant. But the Uzumaki were not so easily fooled.

The intricate seals inscribed upon the battlefield acted as a universal early warning system, allowing the clan members to react in time. Their coordinated barrier techniques flared to life, nullifying the surprise attack just before impact.

And then, the battlefield erupted with energy as Nagare transformed.

His entire body became an incarnation of destruction, a beast forged from pure green lightning, pulsating with power. The sky itself darkened as he raised a colossal claw, meeting the descending fist in a catastrophic clash.

The collision tore through the clouds, sending shockwaves rippling across the battlefield, forcing both sides to brace themselves.

Sparks flew.

Seals ignited.

The ground cracked beneath their feet.

Nagare's voice, calm yet filled with deadly intent, echoed through the battlefield.

"Foolish. Don't you know who we are?"

His eyes gleamed with annoyance at the mere thought that someone would dare challenge the Uzumaki Army head-on. As the sparks from their clash flew, seals began to spread across the enemy's arm, attempting to drain power and bind movement.

Yet—

"What are these scribbles supposed to be? They're so ticklish!"

A deep booming laugh followed, filled with unrestrained excitement.

The owner of the fist—Luffy—grinned like a child discovering a new game. His flame-like eyes burned with nothing but pure enjoyment, his entire being radiating an aura of boundless freedom and untamed power.

For the first time in years, Nagare felt a rare sensation—genuine irritation.

"Tell me your name before I show you the true might of the Uzumaki Clan."

The response was simple yet shook the battlefield.

"Me? I'm the King of the World."

The words carried a weight that defied logic, an unshakable declaration of will that forced even the most battle-hardened warriors to acknowledge it.

"My name is Luffy, and I want to enjoy this fight more—so give it all you got!"

With a burst of unimaginable force, Luffy's fist surged forward once more, this time jets of compressed air erupted from his knuckles, accelerating the attack to an insane velocity before—

Vanishing.

The next moment, it reappeared from the side, aimed to crush everything in its path.

But before it could land, a massive wall of flames erupted in its trajectory, forcing Luffy to scream in pain as the fire burned into his rubber-like body.

At least, that's what it seemed like—

His reaction was completely absurd.

Instead of showing real agony, he pouted dramatically, his voice filled with mock frustration.

"Hey, no fair! You didn't announce your participation!"

Then, without missing a beat, he burst into laughter, his body moving to a rhythm that didn't exist, his heart pounding in tune with something only he could hear.

And then—

The world changed.

The ground itself turned to rubber.

Every fighter, whether ally or enemy, lost balance as they began bouncing uncontrollably, their movements completely thrown off by the bizarre shift in terrain.

"Here I come!"

With those words, thousands of fists erupted from beneath them, emerging from the now-malleable battlefield, aiming to pummel the Uzumaki army from all sides.

The sheer unpredictability of the attack should have been overwhelming. But—

The Uzumaki were ready.

As the storm of fists descended, the barrier held strong, repelling the onslaught even as Luffy smashed himself against it like an egg cracking against a pan.

But what disturbed the Uzumaki commanders wasn't the attack—it was his expression.

Luffy was grinning.

With childlike excitement, he spread his entire body across the barrier's surface, covering it entirely. His rubber form stretched endlessly, wrapping around the defensive structure in an attempt to change its properties and disrupt its function.

Both Nagare and Anna immediately realized the danger of allowing him to physically interact with their defenses.

Without hesitation, they released their full power.

A blinding surge of energy erupted as their individual strength was amplified by the collective power of 100 elite Uzumaki warriors.

In that moment, their combined might surpassed even what Mikoto had demonstrated in past battles.

Their auras burned with terrifying force, shaking the air itself.

For a temporary time period, their strength reached planetary levels, making them forces of pure destruction capable of erasing continents.

They knew that once they expended this power, it would take time to recover—but it didn't matter.

Because this enemy was dangerous.

Because this enemy was not normal.

And because—

The entire Uzumaki Army had now arrived at the doorstep of Kumo.

As tens of thousands of warriors emerged, their collective power saturating the air, the battlefield itself seemed to groan under the weight of their presence.

The atmosphere turned heavy, suffocatingly so.

The weak—both ally and enemy—felt their very souls tremble.

The final battle was beginning.

The battlefield was no longer a mere stage for war but a place where legends converged, where the very fate of nations would be decided by titanic forces beyond mortal comprehension. Just like the Red and Green Kings who had already staked their claim on the battlefield, the Gold King, the Blue King, and even the Silver King had now arrived, their overwhelming presence causing ripples of pressure that spread like an unshakable force upon the land. These were not mere warriors but sovereigns of power, rulers of an ancient force that had long surpassed the limits of the Shinobi world. They stood together, forming an unbreakable pillar of strength, and with them, the Uzumaki clan's true might had finally been unveiled to the world.

Far behind the battlefield, in the depths of the Uzumaki stronghold, Toshiro, the supreme strategist and commander of the Uzumaki forces, observed the battle with cold, calculating precision, his mind attuned to every shift in the war. As the true master of group combat, he knew better than anyone how to utilize his people to the fullest, and though his place was usually at the frontlines, leading the charge, this time, he had chosen to remain at headquarters. His heart, usually filled with the fire of battle, was weighed down by something else, something that occupied his mind even more than the conflict at hand. But even in his absence from the battlefield, his control over the Uzumaki army was absolute, his strategies flawless, and his commands ensured that every warrior operated like a piece of an unstoppable machine. With all resources of the Uzumaki clan funneled into this single war effort, only one figure remained absent—the Black King, the one known as the Shinigami's Right Hand, whose very name carried an ominous weight that made even the bravest hesitate.

Unlike the shinobi of the world, who could only gain minor advantages from group tactics, the Uzumaki clan had perfected them over centuries, and the presence of each additional member only elevated their strength to greater heights. They were a force of nature, a moving storm of unfathomable power, bound together by the unbreakable chains of their lineage and mastery over the most esoteric arts. Now, with all five Kings in place and Toshiro guiding them from the shadows, the Uzumaki clan had reached their absolute peak, a strength that only their supreme leader, Hotaru, could have exceeded. It was a moment that the Shinobi world had dreaded, a moment that turned warriors into trembling children as they gazed upon the embodiment of an unstoppable force.

The battlefield itself seemed to bow under the weight of their presence as the Kings stood side by side, a sight that would forever be etched into history. Behind them, their warriors stood in perfect formation, an army unlike anything the world had ever seen. Even those who knew little about Fuinjutsu could not deny the breathtaking spectacle before them—an army of miracle workers, bending reality itself with their profound mastery of seals, weaving defenses that could turn aside mountains and offenses that could erase nations. The ground beneath them felt as if it belonged to them alone, as though the very world had become their domain. For the first time, the shinobi of the world understood true power, and it was not in the jutsu of the Five Great Nations, nor in the teachings of their forebears. It was in the Uzumaki, in the culmination of their unparalleled techniques and their absolute unity.

Had Naruto fought against them in the past, without the gifts bestowed upon him by the Sage of Six Paths, it was likely he would have faced true defeat, especially if they had successfully restricted him from unleashing his strongest techniques. However, they had lost their chance to stand above him when he had transcended his former self, reaching a level of divinity during his journey to the Land of Immortals. Even so, the shinobi did not falter in the face of this insurmountable force. Even as despair threatened to consume them, their spirits had been reignited, their resolve strengthened, for their saviors had arrived—the Earth Ōtsutsuki, the ultimate result of their sacrifices and unwavering dedication.

High above the battlefield, a figure stood, relaxed yet exuding an overwhelming pressure, his mere presence altering the rhythm of battle itself. His casual posture, hands resting at his sides, and carefree smile seemed at odds with the storm of energy that surged around him. He tilted his head slightly, golden flames flickering in his eyes, before stretching his arms above his head, as though waking from a pleasant nap. Then, with a voice filled with boundless amusement, he called out, his words laced with an eerie nonchalance.

"Okay, this party is getting hot for little old me. How about you guys come down here?"

The voice belonged to Luffy, the ultimate weapon of Kumogakure and Iwagakure, the culmination of an unprecedented experiment, the warrior they had created to overturn the impossible. But he was not alone. Behind him, standing atop the skies like divine beings, were others—many others—each one a remnant of the past, an embodiment of survival, resilience, and the relentless pursuit of power. These were the ones who had endured the forbidden procedure, who had sacrificed their former selves to become something more, though most had yet to awaken to the full extent of their newfound potential.

At the forefront of these figures stood the First Generation of Kage, the legends who had built the shinobi world with their own hands. A, the First Raikage, whose lightning was said to be as fast as thought itself; Ishikawa, the First Tsuchikage, the earth itself bending to his will; and Byakuren, the First Mizukage, a warrior whose power had once ruled the misty lands with an unyielding hand. They were the ancient foundations that made up Luffy's existence, their combined legacies forged into his very being, along with the blood of Madara and Hashirama, the essence of Naruto, and the divine chakra of the Sage of Six Paths. He was an amalgamation of history's greatest titans, a creation designed to bring forth an age unlike any before it.

And after them, there were the present Kage, warriors of this era, now standing at their true peak. Ōnoki, the unwavering will of stone, and A, the furious lightning of Kumogakure, both now rejuvenated, younger, stronger, and more powerful than ever before, as though the years had been peeled away, allowing them to reclaim the fullness of their prime.

Following the Kage were the most elite warriors of Iwagakure, Kirigakure, and Kumogakure, each one a symbol of their village's ultimate strength. Darui, the wielder of Black Lightning, a man whose power rivaled the immortals; Akainu, the Living Magma, whose rage could devour continents in flames; and Aokiji, the Ice Age, a warrior whose presence alone could freeze entire nations. These were the pinnacle warriors of their respective lands, standing just behind their leaders in raw power, but at this moment, with the fate of their nations at stake, they had been pushed beyond their limits, forced to embrace the full depths of their strength.

As the battlefield became a convergence point for titanic forces, the final arrivals solidified the terrifying reality that this was no mere war—it was an epoch-ending clash, a battle so grand in scale that even immortals took notice. Following the overwhelming forces of the Uzumaki, the Kage, and the ultimate weapon of Kumogakure and Iwagakure, the last faction made its appearance—the followers of Naruto, led by Orochi and his Four Devas, beings who had walked beside him for decades, blessed by his power and bound to his destiny.

Orochi's Four Devas were not just mere warriors; they were extensions of his will, chosen and uplifted by his divinity, becoming avatars of the very elements themselves. These were beings whose presence alone altered the battlefield, their existence defying the natural laws, shaping reality as they pleased. First was Goenitz, the wildly blowing wind, a master of the gales whose slightest movement sent storms rolling across the land, his power vast enough to carve valleys and split mountains with but a whisper. Then came Shermie, the berserk lightning, a force of pure, untamed destruction, her electric arcs capable of shattering even the most fortified defenses, her presence likened to the wrath of the heavens themselves. Beside her stood Yashiro, the parched earth, a being who embodied the might of the ground itself, whose very steps sent tremors through the land, his fists carrying the weight of entire continents behind them. And lastly, the most terrifying of them all—Chris, the flames of destiny, the strongest among them, a wielder of fire so potent that even the Sun itself seemed like a candle in comparison. His flames were beyond the mere concept of burning, for they carried the power to erase, to reduce existence itself to nothingness.

These four were loyal beyond death, bound not just by their shared power but by an unbreakable bond of devotion and faith. Even when Orochi had sought to spare them from the agonizing transformation, wishing to leave behind his children to continue his legacy rather than condemning them to war, they had willingly embraced their fate. They had undergone the procedure despite his protests, sacrificing their previous selves to attain a higher existence, not for personal power but to stand beside the one they revered most. But their existence came at a cost—for though they enhanced Orochi, empowering him further by their own ascension, their presence also restricted him, as each Deva controlled an element that he could no longer use unless he were to take their lives.

Following behind Orochi and his Four Devas were warriors whose very names sent shudders down the spine of even the strongest of shinobi. Akuma, Zoro, and Inari—three individuals who had surpassed mortality, their very bodies altered beyond recognition, their strength pushing past the limits of conventional power. Among them, Akuma's transformation was the least drastic, his glowing eyes burning like hellfire, his once-human features now tinged with an eerie, otherworldly aura, his ashen gray skin making him resemble a being sculpted from the essence of battle itself. His mere presence exuded a force that made the air itself heavy, as though the world had acknowledged him as an entity that no longer belonged to the mortal realm.

Beside him stood Zoro, who had transcended even his former self, taking on the form of a demonic war immortal, his body reshaped into something legendary and fearsome. Three heads, six arms, each grasping a blade of unimaginable power, his strength escalating in direct proportion to the number of swords he wielded. It was the ultimate manifestation of his will, the very ideal form he had envisioned for himself—a demon of the blade, a deity of slaughter.

And finally, there was Inari, who had undergone a transformation unlike any other. His very essence had merged with the wolf armor crafted by Tenten, reshaping him into a celestial beast, a wolf of light and water, his body flowing like a living river of radiance. Though his raw strength was not as overwhelming as the others, he compensated through his arsenal of divine weaponry, each forged by masterful hands, each a tool of war designed to counteract his own natural disadvantages. His normal background might have once marked him as weaker than the others, but through sheer ingenuity and unshakable will, he had elevated himself to a force worthy of standing among monsters and immortals alike.

But even with such impossible forces converging, the sheer numbers of the Ōtsutsuki prototypes were what cemented the true horror of this battle. Though they were far from perfected, unable to reach Kaguya's heights of divine power, their sheer volume made them a nightmare beyond reason. Each one rivaled Juubidara, their abilities pushing them into the realm of immortal of destruction, beings whose might defied human comprehension. And at the peak of them all stood Luffy, a warrior who had surpassed Kaguya herself, even if only by a slight margin, all because of Naruto's chakra, which had been sacrificed for his creation.

The world had never seen a battle of this scale before, a war where monsters clashed with monsters, where immortals battled on mortal soil. And had no action been taken, it was all but certain that the battle would have torn apart the very fabric of reality itself.

And so, as the forces prepared to reshape history, the immortals finally chose to intervene.

From the heavens and the depths of the earth, Gaia and Hades stepped forth, their presences unfathomable, their eyes peering into the threads of fate, weighing the consequences of their actions. Alongside them stood Izanami, the immortal of life and death, and Hestia, the eternal flame of warmth and stability. Their decision was swift and absolute—the battle must be contained. With their divine authority, they wove an unbreakable seal upon the land, ensuring that the war's devastation would never leave the battlefield, that the destruction wrought by monsters and immortal would remain contained within a single region, protecting the rest of the world from annihilation.

But their actions did not stop there. They created a barrier around the planet itself, an impenetrable veil that ensured that no outside entities could interfere, preventing greater cosmic horrors from being drawn to the battle's intensity.

Even with their overwhelming power, Gaia and Hestia found themselves wishing to intervene further, just as Izanami longed to act. But they could not, for their laws forbade it. The balance of divinity and mortality could not be shattered so easily—humanity had not yet reached the point where immortals could act freely without paying a grave cost. For them to intervene directly would mean a loss of power, a disruption to the cosmic equilibrium, a sacrifice that none of them were willing to make.

Only Hades, the Lord of the Underworld, remained impassive. To him, this battle was inevitable, a trial that had to occur. For as much as he held sorrow for his protégé, for as much as he lamented what was about to unfold, he knew that Naruto's path was never meant to be that of a normal man. This was his crucible, his true test, a battle that would determine his role in the grand design of fate.

With the blessings of the Immortals, the stage was now set.

A battle unlike anything in history was about to begin—a war where a single clan threatened to overthrow the natural order of the world itself.