The Arrogant Ghost

The dust and smoke cleared.

At the center of the enormous crater, a figure slowly straightened. Red armor gleamed dully beneath the moonlight, while long black hair spilled over his shoulders, stirring faintly in the wind. Cracks from the Impure World Reincarnation spread across his face like a dried riverbed, running from the corners of his eyes to his jaw. Yet the light in those eyes—the Rinnegan—was sharper and more arrogant than that of any living person.

Uchiha Madara.

He had not come from the direction of the Five Kage battlefield—he had come only after it had been "dealt with." His armor bore the traces of battle: black scorch marks from lava and cuts from blades. But that body had not sustained a single injury. The Five Kage's all-out assault had not even left a permanent scar on him.

He stepped out of the crater and walked toward Obito. His pace was neither hurried nor slow. Every step landed on broken stone with a crisp sound. It was not the gait of a soldier or a warrior, but the calm stride of a monarch surveying his own domain.

Obito remained where he was. His face, cut across by three scars, showed no expression as his Sharingan calmly watched Madara approach. There was no deference toward a superior, no sentiment at seeing someone after a long separation—only an unfathomable calm.

Madara stopped in front of Obito.

Less than two meters separated them. The night wind passed between them, lifting Madara's long hair and Obito's disheveled black hair.

Madara did not speak at once. His Rinnegan swept over Obito from head to toe. He was not scrutinizing him; he was confirming—confirming whether the man before him was still the boy with only half a body left, the one he had pulled from