Chapter 69: Broken Masks and Brewing Shadows
In the dim-lit, cavernous hall of the Akatsuki's secret hideout deep within the Rain Village, shadows flickered against jagged stone walls. The faint echo of dripping water was the only sound, until suddenly —
A distortion rippled through the space.
A spiraling vortex appeared in the farthest, darkest corner of the underground chamber. The very air bent and twisted, warping the light in unnatural waves. With a sudden crack, space itself tore apart — and from that dark void emerged a cloaked figure, staggering.
The masked man fell to his knees, his cloak tattered and soaked with blood. His breathing was ragged, heavy. The trademark orange spiral mask he wore was cracked slightly near the eye hole, exposing bloodstained skin beneath.
He dragged behind him another figure.
It was Uchiha Itachi.
The young man, known for his cold composure, was unconscious. His body was limp, his clothes ripped and scorched, and trails of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. As the masked man dropped him onto the cold stone floor with a dull thud, Itachi groaned weakly, coughing violently as blood spattered the ground.
The masked man remained kneeling, his hand clutched tightly to his chest as he gasped for breath. His chakra was flickering erratically.
With a growl, he called out hoarsely, "Zetsu... come."
Within seconds, a pale-white figure emerged from the ground like a ghostly vine sprouting from soil. With a wide grin and relaxed posture, White Zetsu materialized fully.
"Yes, Madara-sama," he said playfully, bowing. "Your orders?"
The masked man, still panting, forced his voice to remain steady.
"Take Uchiha Itachi. Heal him. Do it quietly."
White Zetsu nodded. With swift efficiency, he bent over and wrapped a portion of his body around Itachi, absorbing the boy into himself partially, before slipping back into the earth.
As the masked man watched them disappear, he finally allowed himself to collapse to one knee.
Blood spilled from his mouth as he coughed violently.
He was in agony.
He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the pain. The fight had nearly taken everything from him.
But he had to remain strong. He had to play the role of Madara in front of Itachi. He couldn't allow weakness to stain that name—not in the eyes of someone as dangerous and intelligent as Itachi.
But now, there was no one watching.
From the darkness, two more figures emerged.
Black Zetsu and White Zetsu, now both present.
White Zetsu tilted his head as he looked at the kneeling, bloodied figure of the masked man.
Then, with an exaggerated grin, he spoke.
"Obito… you look like crap. Did you trip over poop on the way here or something?"
His voice echoed through the stone chamber.
Black Zetsu twitched visibly.
The masked man—Obito—snapped his head up with fury, his bloodshot eye glaring murderously.
"Don't call me that name, idiot!"
But in that moment of emotional outburst, his weakened body betrayed him.
He coughed up more blood, and his body swayed dangerously.
Then—he collapsed.
Unconscious.
Black Zetsu sighed, raising a dark hand with black lines tracing his palm.
"Why does this bastard have to get all fired up just to insult White Zetsu and end up fainting?" he muttered, exasperated.
He turned to White Zetsu, who was now crouching and drawing idle circles on the ground with his finger, humming childishly.
"Stop talking nonsense," Black Zetsu barked. "Help me stabilize his condition. Now."
The two Zetsus moved quickly.
Time passed.
Eventually, Obito's eyes fluttered open.
His face was pale. His breathing shallow. But his mind was focused.
"Gather information," he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. "On Senju Gojo. Every detail. Every trace. I'll return the insult he gave me a hundredfold."
He clenched his trembling fist as he sat up slowly.
White Zetsu suddenly stepped forward, his expression suspiciously serious.
"By the way," he said, placing both hands behind his head casually. "I have something important to report."
That immediately got Obito's attention. Even Black Zetsu looked at him with narrowed eyes.
"Speak," Obito ordered, his voice rough but commanding.
White Zetsu grinned.
"Itachi… also stepped on poop and fell down just like you."
He beamed proudly, clearly thinking he was incredibly clever.
The chamber fell silent.
Black Zetsu's eyes twitched.
Obito's glare sharpened.
Together, the two shouted:
"SHUT UP!"
White Zetsu slumped down, pouting. He went back to drawing sad circles on the ground.
Black Zetsu crossed his arms.
"We can't waste time. The Moon's Eye Plan must accelerate. We need to start collecting the Tailed Beasts soon."
Obito remained silent for a moment, his gaze shadowed by the dim light.
Then he finally responded, voice low:
"No. Not yet. The time still isn't right."
He turned and began walking deeper into the chamber, disappearing into the darkness.
Black Zetsu watched him with narrowed eyes, the faintest sneer forming on his face.
You think you're the one in charge, Obito? he thought darkly. You see everything and everyone as pawns. But you… you're my pawn. You're just a puppet dancing for my plan.
He chuckled quietly, then turned his gaze to the ceiling — beyond it, toward the moon.
Mother… just wait. Your return draws closer.
Far away from the chaotic corner of the Akatsuki's underground hideout—where the echoes of White Zetsu's nonsense still lingered and Obito's rage-filled coughing had only just subsided—there existed another wing of this sinister stronghold. Here, things were quiet. Ominously so.
In a cavern cloaked in shadows, reinforced with seals, and dimly lit by flickering chakra lanterns, a woman stood still—silent, composed, and unreadable.
She had striking blue hair, elegantly tied into a bun, with an origami paper flower tucked into its base. Her cloak bore the signature red clouds of the Akatsuki, but unlike the others, she exuded a calm, commanding aura that wasn't born of menace, but clarity.
This was Konan.
She stood with perfect posture, arms crossed behind her back, in front of a large throne-like chair carved into the stone wall itself. It was more a resting place than a throne—for the one who sat upon it was no king.
A figure rested there, frail and skeletal in appearance, his bones barely held together by pale skin. Crimson hair hung lifelessly over his eyes, and metal rods jutted from his arms, legs, and spine, connecting him to a strange mechanical apparatus behind the stone chair.
This was Nagato—one of the true leaders of the Akatsuki. The man whispered of in both reverence and fear. His Rinnegan eyes stared blankly at the floor in deep thought, though every word spoken by Konan reached him.
He raised his head slowly, as if the motion itself pained him.
"So," he said, his voice hoarse and rough, "you're saying… Madara Uchiha… was defeated?"
Konan didn't blink. Her face remained perfectly composed, like a frozen lake untouched by wind.
"Yes," she said clearly. "He appeared in the Leaf Village alongside Uchiha Itachi. But they were both driven back. Badly injured."
A strange sound escaped from Nagato's throat. A sound rarely heard from his lips.
Laughter.
"Interesting," he said slowly, almost mockingly. "So the man who dares call himself Madara… was crushed. And by a mere child, no less."
His laughter died into a cold silence.
Konan tilted her head slightly. "Does this change anything for us?"
Nagato slowly shook his head.
"No," he replied. "He can wear any mask he wants. I don't care if he's Madara or a fraud. Let him play his little game. He thinks he's using us…"
He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with unnatural calm.
"…But in the end, I will use him. And when the time is right, I will show him what it means to be God."
Konan didn't respond. There was nothing else to say.
The air between them thickened with silent conviction.
Nagato closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair once more. His body was frail, yes—but his will was steel. Unbending. Cold. Absolute.
"Let him think he holds the strings," Nagato whispered. "It makes cutting them all the more satisfying."
Konan turned away silently, her expression unreadable.
The cold wind of ambition and looming war swept through the Rain Village's underground chambers, and all around them, the shadows of schemes began to stir again.
Because while Obito planned revenge…
While Zetsu wove lies…
And while Gojo stood tall as an unshakable shield back in the Leaf…
The true storm had only just begun to gather.
End of Chapter 70
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