Main World.
Winter, Konoha Year Twenty-Two.
Planet No. 1, Mechanical God Cult base.
The snow had stopped, and so had the wind. Sunlight spilled through the clouds, washing the land in a gray haze. Over a thousand people had gathered in the clearing outside the base. They were primitive tribespeople who had come from various tribes to seek refuge, dressed in thick cotton-padded clothes issued by the Empire, their faces filled with curiosity and anticipation. A young man stood in the center of the clearing. His name was A Mu, and he had been the scrawniest of the first group of tribespeople to arrive. Three months ago, he could not even lift a bucket of water. Now, his body had grown noticeably sturdier, muscles bulging in his arms, his back straight as he stood there like a young tree.
Nagato stood at the edge of the clearing, his dark red hair stirring gently in the breeze.
His Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan had faded, returning to their ordinary violet color, but an indescribable depth still lingered within his eyes.
Sasori stood beside him, his Golden Serpent Eyes flickering faintly behind his lenses.
Yahiko stood on the other side, his short orange hair as neat as ever. Konan stood in a corner, folding a Paper Crane.
"Begin," Sasori said calmly.
A Mu took a deep breath and walked up to a large tree. It was five meters tall, with a thick trunk and lush foliage. He wrapped both arms around the trunk, his muscles tensing and veins bulging. Then he pulled upward with all his strength. The ground shook, and the roots emerged from the soil section by section. The watching crowd gasped. A Mu gritted his teeth and kept pulling. The trunk creaked, and the branches and leaves shook violently.
"Up!" A