Infinite Tsukuyomi!

The smile at the corner of Madara's mouth froze on his face, like the expression of a statue of a god.

The Nine-Tomoe Rinnegan on his forehead opened fully. That eye had no pupil—or rather, its pupil was the Rinnegan pattern itself, encircled by nine tomoe. Its deep crimson iris reflected a dim glow beneath the moonlight, while the purple-black tomoe slowly revolved like nine satellites orbiting a dead planet.

Madara slowly raised both hands from his sides, palms upward, fingers spread. His movements were so slow that they resembled a ritual—a ritual to drag the entire world into a dream.

The moon in the sky began to change.

It was not the moon itself that changed, but the shadows upon it. The dark crimson markings that had existed since ancient times, which everyone had taken for granted, began to spread, creep, and distort. The dark red spread from one corner of the moon toward its center, like ink dropped into water, like blood soaking through gauze. In less than three seconds, the entire moon had been dyed red-black.

A blood moon hung in the night sky.

Within the Nine-Tomoe Rinnegan on Madara's forehead, all nine tomoe stopped spinning at once. Then they began to rotate in reverse, the nine tomoe slowly moving along nine different paths across the crimson iris, like nine wild beasts trapped in the same cage searching for an exit.

The same nine-tomoe pattern appeared across the surface of the blood moon.

It was not a reflection, nor a projection. The moon itself had become the eye on Madara's forehead—or rather, the eye on Madara's forehead had become the moon. Looking up from the earth, what hung in the sky was not a satellite, but a Nine-Tomoe Rinnegan thirty-four hundred and seventy-four kilometers in diameter, watching