Above Amegakure, the old man in white flickered like a lagging projector.
A sandalwood scent carrying the musty odor of ancient times and the aroma of incense desperately forced its way into everyone's nostrils.
It was the Sage of Six Paths, Ōtsutsuki Hagoromo.
His Rinnegan remained utterly calm, and he clearly did not take Yoru's group of mud-splattered, foul-mouthed "Stone Village thugs" seriously.
Yoru stood beside the roots of the God Tree that had been split in two, his leather shoes squeezing against the wet, freezing mud with an infuriating squelch.
He took out the gum he had not finished chewing earlier and casually stuck it onto a moss-covered rock beside him, moving with the smooth ease of a veteran.
He looked up at Hagoromo, who was posing like a saint and preparing to launch into an endless speech.
"Stop."
Yoru raised a hand, cutting off Hagoromo just as he opened his mouth.
"Don't talk to me about bonds, and don't bring up fate."
Yoru tugged at the collar of his trench coat, where traces of charred dust from the earlier fight still clung.
His scarlet Mangekyō Sharingan stared at Hagoromo, his eyes filled with undisguised mockery.
"Those Rinnegan of yours have been staring for a thousand years. How many times have you watched this crappy Shinobi World get wrecked by your two useless relatives?"
Yoru spat a thick glob of phlegm mixed with grit onto the ground, his voice hard as iron.
"If this world's fate were really in your hands, the Shinobi World would have become hell long ago."
A crack finally appeared on Hagoromo's eternally expressionless dead face.
A barely perceptible trace of astonishment flashed through his Rinnegan.
Clearly, no mortal had ever dared speak to him like that.
"You brat, you are far too arrogant."
Hagoromo