Ocean Planet, Navy Headquarters.
The battle was over. The sky had returned to a grayish blue, the clouds thick. Sunlight filtered through them, washing the sea in pale gold.
Cracks covered the stone walls of Navy Headquarters. Warships at the docks rocked violently in the aftershocks. Fists had smashed deep craters into the plaza, wind blades had carved trenches, and acid rain had eaten holes into the ground. But the buildings still stood, the people were still there, and the Empire remained.
Mikoto knelt on the steps at the edge of the rooftop. She had been kneeling for a long time. Her knees were numb and her legs trembled, but she did not stand. It was not that she could not stand, but that she did not dare. Her body was commanding her to kneel. Before that kind of power, kneeling was instinct. Standing meant courting death.
Nagato stood by the sea, his dark red hair stirring gently in the sea breeze. His Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan had faded, returning to an ordinary violet. His face was pale, his eyes sunken, his eye power nearly exhausted, and little chakra remained. But his back was still straight, like a blade that would never return to its sheath once drawn. At his feet lay Ōtsutsuki Fūshū's corpse.
The white robe was soaked with seawater, and long silver-white hair clung messily to his face. The pale purple Rinnegan on his forehead had dimmed, its pupil devoid of light. The Main Family. Six Paths level. He had lived for who knew how many years, harvested who knew how many planets, and killed who knew how many "powerful foes." Now he was dead. Dead on Ocean Planet, dead at Navy Headquarters, dead before Nagato. Nagato had not killed him. Toyotomi Yinglang had. But Nagato looked at