Shinobi World No. 1.
Winter, Year 46 of Konoha.
Mount Myōboku.
A thin veil of mist always shrouded the sky here. Sunlight filtered through it, casting dappled light and shadow over enormous mushrooms and strange plants. The toads lived in their own world, some practicing ninjutsu, some sitting in meditation, others chasing one another at play. This place was nothing like the war-torn shinobi world, as though it were a corner of another world, forgotten by time.
Until today.
Three figures appeared at the entrance to Mount Myōboku.
The Apostle of Pain led the way, his dark red priestly robes striking against the mist. Three cracks ran down his mask from the forehead, left cheek, and right cheek, converging at the chin to form a distorted pattern that looked as though it were howling in agony. In his hand, he held a dark red mask-the weapon the Evil God had bestowed upon him, the Mask of Pain.
"Mount Myōboku. We finally found it."
His voice was hoarse, carrying a trace of excitement he could not suppress.
The Apostle of Despair followed behind him, his dark purple priestly robes drifting in the mist. His mask was as smooth as a mirror, without any features, like a blank tombstone that had yet to be inscribed. In his hand, he held a dark purple staff-the Staff of Despair. He did not use it, merely held it.
The Apostle of Madness brought up the rear, his dark green priestly robes swaying in the mist. His mask was densely covered in crack-like patterns, each glowing faintly. He wore dark green battle claws on both hands-the Claws of Madness. He did not use them either, merely wore them.
"Today, I will use the weapon Lord Jashin bestowed upon me-the Mask of Pain."
The Apostle of Pain