Obito's Resistance

Madara's left eye slowly turned within a violet-black glow, then settled. That eye was no longer Obito's adornment, nor was it an artifact Nagato had left behind—it had returned to its original owner. After a long journey adrift, it had finally found its place. Across the violet-black iris, rings of concentric patterns spread slowly from dark to light, from within outward, like ripples stirred by a pebble dropped into a deep pool. After being frozen for sixteen years, they had finally reached the farthest edge of the water.

His right eye was still empty. There was nothing in that socket, only a hollow darkened by bloodstains and dust. Freshly healed scar tissue lined its edges, gleaming dark red beneath the faint light. One Rinnegan was enough for him.

The wind blew in from the east of the ruins, carrying scorched grass ash and the damp stench of blood. Bare-chested, Madara stood upon the shattered earth, his brown skin crisscrossed with old and fresh scars. Those scars were like a map torn apart and stitched back together time and again, recording his death match with Hashirama in the Valley of the End, as well as his struggle to awaken the Rinnegan in his old age with the last of his strength. His long hair scattered in the wind behind him, its tips brushing over his empty right socket like fingers stroking a wound that could never heal.

Black Zetsu's voice came from Obito's direction, low and steady, like the rustle of a snake gliding across sand. "Madara-sama, the other one is still in Obito's eye."

Madara slowly shifted his gaze, his Rinnegan fixing upon Obito. Obito lay collapsed amid a pile of rubble, his gray-white hair scattered around him and mingled with broken rock shards, making it impossible to tell which