The technological forces' suppression had already left Obito frantic. And true despair had only just arrived. A flash of golden light streaked past, and Uchiha Yoru appeared in the very center of the battlefield. His boots landed in the muddy blood and White Zetsu fragments with a crisp squelch. His pitch-black trench coat did not so much as flutter in the scorching gale, while his Mangekyō Sharingan, glowing like ghostly flames in the darkness, locked firmly onto the enormous monster ahead.
"Uchiha Yoru!" Obito raised his head from the mud. His aged face, slashed bloody by mask fragments, was covered in spiderweb-like veins of blood around his only remaining eye, and his teeth ground loudly. He clutched his empty right shoulder. The bones shattered by the Raikage twitched wildly in the cold wind, the pain making him cough up mouthfuls of dark red bloody foam. The man who had ruined the grand plan he had plotted in the shadows for more than a decade was finally standing before him!
Yoru did not spare that traitorous disciple even a single extra glance, nor did he bother brushing the poisonous mud from his trouser cuffs. With his head tilted slightly, he fixed all his attention on the hundred-meter-tall Demonic Statue of the Outer Path, its body dry and cracked like old tree bark. He could sense it—the torrent of chakra from the first seven tailed beasts within this enormous vessel of divinity was boiling like a pot of water, laid completely bare beneath his cross-star pupils.
"Alright, old man, pull everyone back. Wouldn't want us to start fighting and accidentally hurt our own people." Yoru pulled a black metal communicator from his coat pocket and blew on it absentmindedly. He brushed away the charred debris stuck to his clothes, his voice as