Chaper 25
In Sage Mode, Hashirama exuded powerful chakra waves, and a fierce determination burned in his eyes.
He knew that this battle would determine the future of Konoha Village—and possibly the peace of the entire ninja world.
He couldn't afford to hold anything back. There was no room for retreat.
Uchiha Madara's expression turned serious the moment he saw Hashirama enter Sage Mode. He couldn't allow himself to be careless.
His Sharingan flared to life, and an icy pressure spread across the battlefield.
A massive skeletal structure formed around him, towering like a giant deity looming over the land. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming, striking terror into the hearts of ordinary shinobi, robbing them of the will to fight.
This was Susanoo—one of the final and most destructive abilities granted by the Mangekyō Sharingan. A power often described as divine.
But Hashirama didn't flinch. Without hesitation, he clapped his hands together and roared:
"Sage Art: True Several Thousand Hands!"
A wave of chakra burst forth as a colossal wooden statue surged from the earth, climbing over a thousand meters tall.
Hashirama stood atop the head of the massive Buddha-like construct, gazing down at Madara with unwavering focus. Even Madara's Susanoo, for all its terrifying might, seemed dwarfed in comparison.
A burning battle-lust flared in Madara's chest. With fierce resolve, he poured his chakra into the skeletal frame, and the illusion of Susanoo began to solidify—turning from phantasmal into nearly tangible form.
Their twin auras clashed in silence, each charged with enough force to rupture the heavens. Even experienced shinobi watching from afar began trembling uncontrollably.
"So... so terrifying... Is this what they call the power of gods?" one of the young ninja whispered, his voice shaking with awe.
The overwhelming sight stunned him to the point of a trance, his mind struggling to comprehend the scale of the battle before him.
Tobirama stood frozen, brows tightly knit, palms slick with sweat.
Please... big brother, you must win this, he prayed silently.
Danzo's eyes were fever-bright as he leaned forward, unable to look away.
"Hiruzen... do you see this? This is the pinnacle. The true ultimate battle of shinobi."
Sarutobi Hiruzen was speechless. All he could do was stare.
Even senior advisors like Utatane Koharu and Mitokado Homura, whose skills were far below the two titans on the field, could only stand still in silent awe.
Hashirama and Madara faced one another like gods of war.
The very chakra they emitted distorted the air around them, warping space with the sheer magnitude of their power. The collision was inevitable—and the world would tremble because of it.
The Buddha and the Susanoo loomed over the battlefield like opposing titans, staring each other down. The outcome remained uncertain.
Suddenly, Madara made the first move.
He let out a wild laugh, bit his finger, and formed a series of hand seals at lightning speed.
A dark chakra spell surged to life, blanketing the sky with shadow.
Hashirama's eyes narrowed. That chakra... could it be—
With a deafening roar, the smoke parted—and the Nine-Tails stood revealed.
Its sinister chakra radiated across the battlefield, black and violent, with nine enormous tails writhing in the air behind it.
Madara's smirk widened.
Without hesitation, he merged Susanoo with the Nine-Tails, forming a titanic beast clad in chakra armor and wielding unspeakable destructive force.
"Hashirama!! Let's settle this once and for all!!" Madara bellowed, voice wild with power.
He charged forward, laughter echoing like thunder.
Hashirama didn't flinch. He surged ahead as well.
The collision of these two god-like forces cracked the earth and split the mountains.
The shockwaves hurled distant ninja off their feet. Even Tobirama, powerful though he was, struggled to stand, crushed beneath the crushing pressure of the battle.
It felt like the entire world was shaking.
The sky echoed with roars of battle and explosions. The sheer intensity of the chakra being unleashed reduced trees to splinters and carved canyons into the land.
The battle surged into its peak.
Madara and Hashirama weaved through light and shadow, their bodies flickering faster than the eye could follow. They fought with every ounce of their strength—neither holding back, neither giving an inch.
Their eyes locked, each filled with the same unwavering resolve. In that moment, nothing else existed.
Again and again they clashed. Their final strikes cratered the land, turning the battlefield into a chaotic wasteland of debris and dust. A massive canyon opened beneath them, scarred by their fury.
Both warriors were bloodied and battered. Their larger techniques had run dry. Now it was a battle of endurance—taijutsu, quick jutsu bursts, and sheer will.
Even at this reduced scale, their abilities remained lethal.
Their kunai collided again and again, sparks flying. Explosive tags burst around them. Their movements were a blur—swift as wind, untouchable to the naked eye.
And then—at last—Hashirama spotted it.
A tiny opening.
Just a moment of weakness in Madara's defenses, a crack in his concentration born of exhaustion.
In a flash, Hashirama struck.
His kunai plunged deep into Madara's chest, blood spraying across the battlefield.
Madara's eyes widened in disbelief.
He staggered, unable to accept what had just happened. It seemed absurd that this—this tiny slip—could be what brought him down.
But it was real.
Even the greatest fall when the timing is right.
Madara's eyes dimmed, and he collapsed backward with a thud that echoed like a drumbeat of finality.
Hashirama stood over him, expression unreadable.
The heavens responded with thunder. Black clouds roiled in the sky, lightning streaked overhead, and then the rain began to fall.
Droplets hit both of them—the victor and the fallen.
Hashirama's eyes clouded with memory.
He thought back to their childhood, their first meeting... to years of war between their clans... to their shared dream of Konoha.
How had it come to this?
A lifetime of brotherhood ended by the sword.
Words could not capture the sorrow. Hashirama stood motionless for a long time, lost in thought.
The dark clouds above mirrored the turmoil in his heart.
Finally, he turned his gaze away from Madara's still body and looked toward a ripple in the air nearby.
"I know you're there," he said softly.
The space shimmered as if a stone had been dropped into a mirror-like lake. A figure slowly emerged from the distortion.
It was Hoshikawa Haru—a sheepish grin on his face.
"Sensei... wow. What a coincidence."
Hashirama raised an eyebrow, then without warning swung his fist hard into Haru's head. Stars burst before Haru's eyes.
"You little rascal. You nearly fooled me."
"You're way too good at hiding."
Haru laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. "Thanks for the compliment. I was this close to perfection."
Despite the situation, Hashirama chuckled and shook his head.
Then Haru's eyes fell on Madara's body. He narrowed his eyes briefly, a glimmer of realization flashing through them before fading.
Hashirama, still serious, spoke up again. "It's time."
He used the last of his chakra to summon a wooden coffin, lowering Madara's body into it before sealing it beneath the earth.
Then he turned and took Hoshikawa Haru by the hand.
Together, they walked away slowly.
The Nine-Tails, having awakened, roared in confusion—only to be bound in an instant by Hashirama's Wood Release. Its fate would now change forever.
As they departed, Haru glanced one last time toward the site of the battle.
He lowered his head.
He was thinking about Madara—about the so-called "corpse" Hashirama had buried.
He was certain now: it wasn't Madara's real body. Just an illusion. An empty shell.
Madara had taken advantage of Hashirama's distraction—his grief—and used Izanagi to escape.
Haru didn't say anything. There was nothing to be done now.
Madara's presence had already vanished, far beyond their reach.
To find him now would be like searching for a single leaf in a forest.
An almost impossible task.