"Am I fucking dreaming?"
Madara Uchiha lay facedown in a muddy puddle, his freshly reassembled old face still not fully back in place after that blow.
One side of his eye socket hung with a layer of dark-red, writhing Impure World Reincarnation tissue, looking as disgusting as a chunk of undercooked rotten pig liver.
His Mangekyō Sharingan stared fixedly at the air, at that majestic Perfect Susanoo radiating blue light, and even his brain felt like it was trembling.
"Yoru, what the hell is going on with your Susanoo?"
Ōnoki crouched behind a broken brick not far away, the earthen defense covering his face cracked all over from the shockwave.
The old man spat out a mouthful of saliva mixed with tea stains, his eyes red as a rabbit's from sheer excitement.
"Why are there Wood Release runes on that armor too? This makes no fucking sense! Wasn't Hashirama's Wood Release supposed to counter the Sharingan? You actually mashed the two together?"
Yoru did not answer.
He stood inside the cockpit in the giant Susanoo's head, both hands tucked into the pockets of his black trench coat.
His red Mangekyō Sharingan gazed down at Madara, his expression as calm as if he were looking at an old hen waiting to be slaughtered at the market.
"Madara, that Susanoo you're so proud of is as brittle as a cracker."
Yoru lightly brushed the dust off the back of his hand, a teasing curve appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"I told you already. Times have changed. Those antiques from your Warring States era can only make you look foolish now."
Madara struggled to prop up his somewhat sluggish Impure World Reincarnation body.
His joints made cracking noises like unlubricated bearings, enough to make anyone uneasy.
He pulled his pale, mud-caked