Madara and Hashirama's Approval

When Cang stepped out of the black spatial gate, the ground beneath his feet had changed.

No longer was it the shattered bone plates and broken pillars of the Beginning Ball Dimension, but real earth—charred black, plowed over countless times by the God Tree's vines, a battlefield still warm beneath his feet. The blood-red moonlight still hung overhead, but it had dimmed somewhat, like a lamp slowly going out. The enormous Nine-Tomoe Rinnegan on the moon was still turning, but its rotation had slowed, like a machine on the verge of falling apart making its final idle spin.

His steps never paused. He did not look back. The gate behind him had already closed soundlessly, leaving not even a crack behind. Zhi Li followed him, carrying a person in one hand—Tianyan, that Otsutsuki from the moon. Cang had already drained the power of his Tenseigan. His white robe was covered in ash and blood, his head hanging against his chest like a bird with broken wings. Zhi Li held him by the back of his collar, walking as lightly as though she were dragging an old piece of clothing.

Cang passed the people who had just awakened from their white cocoons and stood there in confusion at the edge of the battlefield. They watched him, but no one spoke. It was not that they did not want to speak. Their bodies were telling them—when this person passed by, it was better to stay quiet. His bare feet stepped over the scorched earth without gathering a trace of ash. He passed shattered white cocoons, withered God Tree vines, and craters blasted out by Tailed Beast Bombs. His destination was clear—the side of a broken God Tree vine at the edge of the battlefield.

Madara and Hashirama were there.

Madara lay on