Four Red Yang Formation

The Ten-Tails' roar had been reduced to a low, muffled growl beneath the Gate of the Great God's suppression. Dark red chakra continuously seeped from its body, scorching the surrounding ground into a blackened, glassy mass. Hashirama's Deep Forest Emergence withered away piece by piece under the Ten-Tails' chakra erosion, turning to ash, yet fresh saplings burst forth from the ashes. Endlessly, without cease. This was Hashirama Senju's power—not suppression, but attrition.

"Hashirama, how much longer does the sealing formation need?" Hashirama pressed both hands to the ground, his voice calm yet urgent.

"Five minutes." Tobirama flashed rapidly between the branches of the Deep Forest Emergence, every Flying Thunder God kunai embedded precisely in the gaps between the Ten-Tails' limb joints. "Provided no one interferes."

No one interferes. Madara stood in the distance with his arms crossed, his Rinnegan calmly watching it all. He did not move. Not because he did not want to, but because he was waiting. Waiting for the Ten-Tails to be sealed, waiting for Hashirama to free up his hands, waiting for this war to reach the conclusion he had anticipated for decades.

But this was not the only battlefield.

On the eastern side of the battlefield, Yamato, controlled by White Zetsu, stood atop a field of ruins. More than half his body had been covered in White Zetsu's white substance, leaving only half his face and one cloudy, pupil-less eye exposed. His hands formed a complex series of seals as Wood Style spread beneath his feet, condensing into a miniature Senju Buddha several meters tall. The Buddha had only a dozen or so arms, but each was thicker than an adult's waist. Every palm slowly opened, gathering a chakra sphere of a different nature.

"Shinobi Allied Forces." White Zetsu Yamato's voice came from atop the