Obito's Betrayal

Madara's voice continued to echo beneath the violet-black canopy, lingering like a faint mist that refused to disperse.

Obito lay amid the rubble, his ash-white hair spilled across the ground and obscuring most of his face. His right hand still gripped Black Zetsu's black substance, but his fingers no longer exerted any force—not because he had let go, but because he had run out of strength. His chest rose and fell faintly, like a drowning man making one last struggle amid the waves.

"To see Rin again..." Obito's voice was soft, as soft as a sigh.

His eye flickered through the gaps in his scattered hair. That light was not anger, nor hatred, nor even any fierce emotion. It was hollow and lost, like the instinctive, irresistible yearning of someone who had fumbled through darkness for far too long before finally seeing a lamp.

Black Zetsu's voice came from within Obito, carrying a coaxing, persuasive tone. "Obito, Lord Madara has given you the answer. Haven't you always been searching for one? Haven't you always been asking why this world is so painful? Now, someone has told you that this world can cease to be painful. What are you still hesitating for?"

Obito did not answer. His right hand slowly slipped from the black substance and fell into the rubble. His fingers lightly tapped against a stone—so lightly, like a butterfly landing on a petal.

"Madara." Obito's voice suddenly became steady, no longer hoarse or fractured, as though something had been smoothed over in that instant. "You're right."

He slowly lifted his head from the rubble. Ash-white hair slid from his face, revealing features stained with blood and dust, along with that dark-red Rinnegan, which was beginning to shine once more.

"I hate this world," Obito said. His voice was not