No one heard him speak.
His voice was drowned out by the rain, the thunder, and the clash of blades.
But Black Zetsu did not care.
He had lived for over a thousand years and had long since grown used to talking to himself.
In the center of the battlefield, Kisame's Samehada skimmed past the hem of Jiraiya's robe, tearing away a strip of cloth.
Jiraiya backed up two steps, glanced down at the tear in his clothes, and frowned.
"This robe was pretty expensive."
Kisame rested Samehada on his shoulder and tilted his head at him.
"Lord Jiraiya, you can still joke in the middle of a fight. You really know how to stay calm."
Jiraiya shrugged.
"I'm used to it."
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced toward Kakashi. Kakashi and Obito were locked in combat.
Kakashi was clearly at a disadvantage, but he was holding on, gritting his teeth and holding on.
Jiraiya looked away and silently counted the time.
Genya and the others should be here soon.
Until then, I have to keep these two occupied.
"Hey, Kisame, I heard you used to be one of Kirigakure's Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist?"
Kisame nodded.
"Yes."
Jiraiya smiled.
"Then why did you start following the Masked Man? Wouldn't you be better off in Kirigakure than tagging along with him?"
Kisame thought it over, then answered in all seriousness.
"Because this world is false."
That left Jiraiya at a loss for words. He did not know whether to call him innocent or stupid.
In the distance, Black Zetsu frowned.
He had sensed something-several powerful sources of chakra were rapidly approaching.
Not just one or two, but many.
His body sank into the tree trunk, leaving only his eyes exposed.
"They're here."
There was an indescribably