Part One: The Night of Revelation
The same night that Hashirama shared his burden with Mito, while they held each other in the quiet understanding of shared truth, a different kind of revelation was unfolding in the depths of the Uchiha compound.
Madara sat in his private study, reviewing clan reports, when Izuna entered without knocking. There was something in his brother's expression—excitement mixed with solemnity, urgency mixed with reverence—that made Madara set down his papers immediately.
"Brother," Izuna said, his Resonant Mangekyō already active, spinning slowly. "I need to show you something. Something our ancestors have guarded for generations. Something that only those with evolved Sharingan can properly perceive."
"What are you talking about?" Madara asked, his own Eternal Mangekyō activating reflexively.
"The Naka Shrine," Izuna explained. "The stone tablet our clan has protected since Ancestor Indra's time. It may contains knowledge written by the Sage of Six Paths or Ancestor Indra himself—wisdom meant only for those with the visual prowess to read it."
Madara felt his breath catch. He'd heard of the tablet, of course. Every Uchiha knew the legends. But access was restricted to clan heads and elders, and even they reported that most of the text was illegible without sufficiently advanced Sharingan.
"Why now?" Madara asked. "Why show me this tonight?"
"Because your Eternal Mangekyō can read it fully," Izuna said simply. "The mutation you underwent, the evolution your eyes experienced when you witnessed... when you witnessed what we witnessed in the crater. That changed you, brother. Made your eyes capable of perceiving things that even Indra's Mangekyō couldn't fully comprehend."
From within Izuna's consciousness, Black Zetsu smiled his putrid yellow smile.
Perfect, he thought. The hook is set. Now to reel him in carefully, let him think he's discovering truth rather than consuming poison.
"The elders—" Madara began.
"Don't need to know and you are Clan Head,who can stop you," Izuna interrupted. "This is between us, brother. Between the two Uchiha who've witnessed cosmic truth and understand that our clan's destiny is larger than village politics or temporary alliances. Come. See what our ancestor intended for his descendants to know."
Madara hesitated. Something in Izuna's tone felt off—too eager, too certain, too much like manipulation rather than genuine sharing.
But the temptation was overwhelming. The possibility of understanding more about what they'd witnessed, about the cosmic forces that determined survival, about the truth behind Ōtsutsuki and Devas and the hierarchy that made human conflicts seem trivial.
"Alright," Madara agreed, standing. "Show me."
They moved through the compound silently, avoiding the main paths, using back routes that Izuna seemed to know perfectly. The Naka Shrine was in the compound's oldest section, a building that predated Konoha by centuries, that had been transported stone by stone when the Uchiha joined the village.
Inside, the shrine was dark and empty. Moonlight filtered through high windows, casting shadows that seemed to move with their own intent. And at the far end, mounted on the wall, was the stone tablet.
It was larger than Madara had imagined—easily three meters tall and two wide, covered in script so dense it seemed to shimmer in the dim light. Some of the writing was visible to normal eyes, but most appeared as indecipherable marks, symbols that refused to resolve into coherent meaning.
"Activate your Mangekyō," Izuna instructed. "Focus on the tablet. Let your eyes adjust to what they're perceiving."
Madara did, his Eternal Mangekyō spinning, and gasped as the tablet transformed.
Words appeared where there had been only marks. Sentences formed from chaos. Entire paragraphs of information suddenly became legible, as if his evolved eyes were the key that unlocked meaning from encrypted data.
"I can see it," Madara breathed. "I can actually read it. The text that was hidden... it's all there."
"Read it aloud," Izuna suggested. "Share what you're learning. I want to hear how your eyes interpret what mine can only partially perceive."
Madara began to read, his voice carrying growing shock with each revelation.
"'I am Indra Ōtsutsuki, son of the Sage of Six Paths, first bearer of the Sharingan in its awakened form. I write this for my descendants, for those who will carry our bloodline forward, for the Uchiha who must know the truth that my father tried to hide.'"
"Indra wrote this?" Madara asked, looking at Izuna. "Our ancestor left us a direct message?"
"Continue," Izuna urged. "It gets more profound."
Madara turned back to the tablet, his Eternal Mangekyō focusing, and read the next section.
"'In the twenty-fifth year after my father sealed our grandmother, in my fortieth year of life, I was granted a revelation that changed my understanding of existence itself. My father, believing Asura and I needed to understand our heritage and the threats that face our world, took us to a place he had kept secret—a crater where a being of cosmic power sleeps.'"
Madara felt his chest tighten. Indra had encountered Anant. Had witnessed the same sleeping figure they'd seen.
"'The being's name is Anant,'" Madara continued reading, his voice shaking slightly. "'My father called him a Deva—a cosmic hunter created by the universe to eliminate species that grow too powerful, too destructive, too consuming. And I learned that night a truth that has haunted me ever since: my brother Asura and I share the same blood. We are both sons of the Sage of Six Paths. We are brothers, not rivals. The Senju and Uchiha clans... they are not enemies by nature. They are family divided by philosophy.'"
"What?" Madara whispered, the tablet's words blurring as tears suddenly filled his eyes. "Hashirama and I... we're not just friends who built a village together. We're... we're family? Actual blood relatives?"
"Distant," Izuna clarified. "Separated by sixteen centuries of divergent evolution. But yes, brother. The Senju carry Asura's blood. We carry Indra's. And both of us trace back to the same source—the Sage of Six Paths."
Madara's mind reeled. Suddenly so much made sense. The instant connection he'd felt with Hashirama when they'd met as children. The way their powers complemented each other—Wood Release and Sharingan, life and perception. The sense of brotherhood that had always felt deeper than mere friendship.
We're family, Madara thought, his heart aching with the revelation. All this time, all these wars, all the hatred between our clans... we've been killing our own relatives. Senju and Uchiha aren't separate peoples—we're branches of the same tree.
"Keep reading," Izuna pressed. "There's more. Much more."
Madara forced himself to focus, to continue parsing the text that his Eternal Mangekyō made visible.
"'But brotherhood is insufficient in the face of cosmic truth,'" Madara read. "'I learned that night that our grandmother, Kaguya Ōtsutsuki, was not the villain my father portrayed. She was a goddess—the Rabbit Goddess, the origin of all chakra on this world. She came from beyond the stars, from a species called Ōtsutsuki who travel between worlds bringing the gift of chakra to primitive civilizations.'"
Madara continued, his unease growing with each line.
"'Kaguya did not come to harvest. She came to save. The Ōtsutsuki are warriors fighting an eternal war against the Devas—against beings like Anant who hunt civilizations that grow powerful enough to threaten cosmic balance. My grandmother was attempting to elevate humanity, to give us the strength to survive when Devas came to judge our worth.'"
"No," Madara said, shaking his head. "That can't be right. We witnessed Anant's memories. We saw him fighting to save his siblings from corruption. We saw him sacrifice himself rather than kill them. That's not the behavior of someone who destroys civilizations casually."
"Finish the section," Izuna urged. "Context matters."
Madara forced himself to continue reading, though every instinct screamed that something was wrong with this narrative.
"'Devas are apex predators of the cosmos,'" the tablet read. "'They hunt species that evolve beyond certain thresholds. They destroy civilizations that become too advanced, too powerful, too capable of affecting the universal balance. And they believe—absolutely, fundamentally—that all lesser beings exist to serve their will. Anant is their leader, the strongest Origin Deva, a being whose power is said to rival endless cosmos.'"
Madara's Mutated Eternal Mangekyō perceived something odd about this section. The words seemed... newer than the surrounding text. Not in any obvious way—the stone showed no signs of alteration—but there was something in the chakra patterns, in the way information was encoded, that felt inconsistent.
This section was added later, Madara realized with shock. Or altered. The tablet has been modified from its original form.
But even as the thought occurred, Black Zetsu's influence through Izuna planted doubt.
"You're hesitating," Izuna observed. "Do you see something concerning?"
"The text feels... wrong," Madara admitted. "Like it was changed. But my eyes can't detect how or when. If it was altered, it was done with incredible skill."
"Or," Izuna suggested, his Resonant Mangekyō meeting Madara's Eternal Mangekyō, "your mind is rejecting information that contradicts what you want to believe. We witnessed Anant's power, brother. We saw him fight divine beings. Is it so hard to accept that such a being might be less benevolent than we hoped?"
He's right, Madara thought reluctantly. I want to believe Anant is good, that his judgment will be fair, that his sacrifice for his siblings makes him merciful. But wanting something doesn't make it true. And the tablet was written by Indra—our ancestor, who had no reason to lie.
He continued reading, each word feeling like poison seeping into his consciousness.
"'My grandmother Kaguya possessed power that could rival even Anant,'" Madara read, his voice growing hollow. "'In pure combat strength, she could not defeat him—no single being can match an Origin Deva in direct confrontation. But the Ōtsutsuki have developed other methods. Poisons. Corruptions. Techniques that can affect even beings as powerful as Devas. The crimson void poison that we witnessed affecting Anant... that was Ōtsutsuki craft. A weapon designed to level a battlefield that would otherwise be hopelessly uneven.'"
"Think about what we witnessed," Izuna said, his voice carrying carefully calibrated reason. "Anant fighting eight divine beings while corrupted by crimson poison. That poison came from somewhere. Someone created it. Someone used it as a weapon. The tablet is saying that someone was the Ōtsutsuki—that they created a corruption capable of harming Origin Devas specifically to defend against Deva aggression."
It made a terrible kind of sense. Madara had wondered, during the memory viewing, where that crimson corruption had originated. Who had poisoned the eight divine beings. What force existed that could harm Origin Devas when they seemed invulnerable to normal attacks.
"The Ōtsutsuki created that poison," Madara said slowly, processing the implication. "They weaponized corruption against beings they couldn't fight conventionally. That's... that's actually brilliant, in a horrifying way. If you can't match your enemy's power, you change the nature of the battlefield."
"Exactly," Izuna confirmed. "They're warriors. Survivors. Fighting against an enemy that considers itself superior to all life, that destroys civilizations for the crime of becoming powerful enough to matter."
Madara wanted to reject this narrative. Wanted to believe his heart that Kaguya was the villain, that Anant was the hero.
But the evidence was mounting. The tablet was written by Indra. The information fit what they'd witnessed—crimson corruption harming divine beings, Ōtsutsuki power rivaling cosmic forces, a war between species that humanity was caught between.
He read further, and each revelation cut deeper.
"'When my father sealed Kaguya, he doomed humanity,'" the tablet stated. "'He removed our greatest protector, the one Ōtsutsuki willing to elevate us rather than harvest us. He distributed her power—the Ten-Tails' chakra—across humanity, creating thousands of weak shinobi instead of one strong goddess. And he left us vulnerable to Anant's judgment when the Deva eventually wakes.'"
"'The only hope,'" Madara continued reading, his voice barely a whisper, "'is that humanity evolves fast enough. Grows strong enough. Develops capabilities that might—might—be sufficient to negotiate with a waking Origin Deva rather than simply being erased as failed experiments.'"
"That's why power matters," Izuna said quietly. "Not for pride or superiority or political advantage. But for survival. When Anant wakes, when cosmic judgment comes, humanity's only chance is demonstrating sufficient strength that we're worth negotiating with rather than simply purging."
Madara felt sick. Because it made sense. Horrible, perfect sense.
All his life, he'd pursued strength for clan honor, for victory in conflict, for proving Uchiha superiority. But those were small reasons, petty motivations.
If the tablet was accurate—if Anant truly was a cosmic predator who would judge humanity on power rather than principles—then strength wasn't about pride. It was about species survival.
"There's more," Izuna said, pointing to a section lower on the tablet. "About Mother Nature's blessing. About why Asura received favor and Indra was rejected."
Madara focused his Eternal Mangekyō on that section, and felt his heart crack.
"'When Father took Asura and me to the crater, Mother Nature responded to our presence,'" Madara read. "'Asura, in his ignorance, called Anant a hero. A warrior. A guardian. And Mother Nature, who loves the Deva with devotion beyond mortal comprehension, blessed Asura for that recognition. Gave him access to Senjutsu, to natural energy, to power that would pass to all his descendants.'"
"'I, understanding the truth of what Anant represented, saw him as a threat. Considered ways to contain the danger he posed. And Mother Nature sensed my intent. She would have killed me—actually killed me, Hagoromo's son, the inheritor of Sharingan—except that my father begged for mercy. And she granted it, but with a price. She banned me and all my descendants from accessing Senjutsu. The Uchiha bloodline is forever severed from nature's power, not through our own failing, but through divine punishment for perceiving truth.'"
Madara felt something hot and bitter rise in his chest. Jealousy. Envy. Rage at cosmic injustice.
Asura had been rewarded for naivety. For calling a cosmic predator a hero. For ignorance dressed as compassion.
And Indra had been punished for seeing clearly. For recognizing threat. For trying to protect humanity from something that could erase them.
"That's why Hashirama is so powerful," Madara said, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "Why he has unlimited chakra, why nature responds to him, why he can enter Sage Mode with ease that other shinobi spend decades trying to achieve. He's blessed. Rewarded for his ancestor's stupid, ignorant assessment of a being that will judge humanity based on power, not compassion."
"Yes," Izuna confirmed. "And we're cursed. Denied access to Senjutsu, denied nature's favor, denied the very power that might let us survive cosmic judgment. All because Indra saw truth and Asura saw what he wanted to believe."
Black Zetsu, orchestrating this revelation through Izuna's puppet strings, felt profound satisfaction.
Perfect, he thought. Everything I've planted is taking root. Madara's jealousy. His resentment. His understanding that Hashirama's power comes from blessing rather than merit. Soon, the desire for that power will consume him. Soon, he'll be willing to do anything to acquire Senju chakra, to combine it with Uchiha blood, to achieve the evolution necessary to survive cosmic judgment.
And when he does, when Senju and Uchiha chakra merge, when Asura and Indra reunite in a single vessel...
Rinnegan. The eye that transcends Sharingan and Byakugan both. The doujutsu that grants true divine sight.
"There's a final section," Izuna said, gesturing to the bottom of the tablet. "But you can't read it yet. Your eyes aren't quite sufficient."
Madara focused his Eternal Mangekyō on the indicated area and saw... something. Hints of text. Fragments of meaning. But most of it remained obscured, encrypted beyond even his advanced Sharingan's ability to decode.
"What would it take to read that section?" Madara asked.
"Rinnegan," Izuna said simply. "The ultimate evolution of our doujutsu. The eye that Hagoromo possessed, that granted him the title Sage of Six Paths. Only that level of visual prowess can unlock the final secrets our ancestor left."
"And how does one achieve Rinnegan?" Madara asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
"By combining what was separated," Izuna explained. "Senju and Uchiha. Asura and Indra. The two halves of Hagoromo's power, reunited in a single vessel. When Indra's chakra merges with Asura's, when Sharingan and Wood Release combine, the eyes evolve beyond their normal limits. Transform into something that can perceive not just chakra, but the fundamental structure of reality itself."
"You're suggesting I should acquire Hashirama's chakra," Madara said, the implication clear and horrifying. "You're suggesting I should... what? Kill my friend and take his cells? Steal his genetic material? Betray everything the village represents to gain power?"
"I'm suggesting you should survive," Izuna corrected. "That you should prioritize humanity's continuation over personal relationships. Hashirama is powerful, yes. But his power comes from blessing, not merit. You've earned your strength through suffering, through training, through evolution forced by witnessing cosmic truth. Don't you deserve access to the same advantages he was simply given?"
"That's not how it works," Madara protested, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Isn't it?" Izuna challenged. "Brother, we both know what's coming. Anant will wake. Cosmic judgment will be rendered. And humanity's survival will depend on having individuals powerful enough to negotiate rather than simply being erased. You could be that individual. You could achieve Rinnegan, unlock the final secrets of this tablet, gain power that might—might—be sufficient to ensure our species survives what's coming."
"At what cost?" Madara demanded. "My friendship with Hashirama? My loyalty to the village? My soul?"
"At the cost of doing what's necessary," Izuna said, his Resonant Mangekyō spinning with hypnotic intensity. "Morality is a luxury species with guaranteed survival can afford. We don't have that luxury. We have decades, maybe less, before Anant wakes. Either we're strong enough to matter, or we're not. Either we're willing to do whatever's required to survive, or we accept extinction with clean consciences."
From within Izuna's consciousness, Black Zetsu watched Madara's internal struggle with profound satisfaction.
He's not convinced yet, Black Zetsu assessed. Still too attached to his friendship, too bound by the village's principles, too hesitant to embrace the ruthlessness survival requires. But the seeds are planted. Doubt has been introduced. Jealousy has been nurtured. Resentment toward cosmic injustice has taken root.
Now I just need to wait. To let those seeds grow. To create situations that reinforce the narrative I've constructed. And when the moment is right, when Madara is desperate enough, isolated enough, convinced enough that survival justifies any method...
Then he'll take Hashirama's cells. Then Senju and Uchiha will merge. Then Rinnegan will manifest.
And then the real plan begins.
Madara stood before the tablet for long minutes, his Eternal Mangekyō perceiving truths and lies so intermingled he couldn't distinguish between them. Everything felt wrong, but also perfectly logical. The narrative contradicted what he wanted to believe, but it fit what he'd witnessed.
"I need time," Madara finally said. "To process this. To think about what it means. To decide what, if anything, should be done with this knowledge."
"Of course," Izuna agreed. "This isn't a decision to make hastily. But brother... don't wait too long. Don't let attachment to comfortable illusions prevent you from doing what species survival requires."
They left the shrine together, neither speaking, both lost in thoughts shaped by corruption masquerading as truth.
And in the darkness behind them, the stone tablet sat silent and malevolent, its altered text poison waiting to be consumed by future generations, Black Zetsu's greatest manipulation carved into stone that would outlast empires.
Part Two: The Meeting of Fracture
The next morning, Hashirama called a meeting in the Hokage Tower. Not a formal assembly—just the four of them: Hashirama, Tobirama, Madara, and Izuna. The people who'd witnessed cosmic truth together, who shared burdens no one else could understand.
Or so Hashirama believed.
He didn't know that one of those four was no longer entirely human. That Izuna's consciousness was interwoven with Black Zetsu's, that every word the young Uchiha spoke was shaped by sixteen centuries of manipulation expertise.
Hashirama entered the meeting room feeling lighter than he had in months. Sharing the truth with Mito had eased his burden, had given him hope that he wasn't alone in trying to navigate impossible challenges. He'd even begun to think that perhaps they could repair the fractures in the village, could address Uchiha concerns while maintaining unity.
But the moment he saw Madara's face, that hope evaporated.
Madara looked different. Not physically—he was the same tall, powerful figure, same long hair, same Sharingan visible despite not being active. But there was something in his expression. Something in his posture. A distance that hadn't been there before, like he'd retreated behind walls Hashirama couldn't perceive.
"Thank you for coming," Hashirama began, trying to project confidence he didn't feel. "I know tensions have been high. I know the Uchiha clan has concerns about their position in the village power structure. I thought we should address those concerns directly, as friends and co-founders, before they escalate further."
"Concerns," Madara repeated, his voice flat. "That's a diplomatic way to phrase it."
"What would you prefer I call them?" Hashirama asked, confused by the hostility in his friend's tone.
"Truth," Madara said. "The Uchiha provide superior strategic value through our bloodline limit. We co-founded this village with equal contribution. And yet Senju leadership is assumed, Senju philosophy dominates, and Uchiha input is treated as something to be managed rather than respected."
Tobirama's eyes narrowed. This was more overt than Madara's usual diplomatic approach. More confrontational. More like he was picking a fight rather than seeking resolution.
"The Senju don't dominate," Tobirama argued. "Hashirama is Hokage because he was the best choice for the position. I'm his assistant because I'm qualified and because having continuity in leadership structure makes sense for a new village. Neither position was claimed through supremacy—they were earned through merit."
"Were they?" Madara challenged, and now his Eternal Mangekyō activated, spinning slowly. "Or were they assumed because Hashirama has Mother Nature's blessing? Because he was born with advantages the rest of us can never achieve? Because cosmic forces decided Asura's descendant deserved favor while Indra's descendants deserved punishment?"
The room went silent.
"What are you talking about?" Hashirama asked, genuine confusion in his voice. "What does Mother Nature's blessing have to do with village leadership?"
"Everything," Madara said, and there was something in his voice now—bitterness, resentment, pain. "You were given unlimited chakra. Given access to Senjutsu. Given nature's favor simply for being Asura's descendant. I was denied those same advantages, not through my own failing, but through Indra's choice to see cosmic truth rather than comfortable illusion. How is that fair? How is that merit?"
Madara told them about Naka Shrine half truth mainly focus on Indra and Asura history not the Otsutsuki and Devas true identity because he know that Hashirama never believe that especially as he has Nature blessings or worse that She manipulate Hashirama.
Hashirama felt like he'd been punched. "I don't understand. Where is this coming from? We've known each other since childhood. You've never resented my abilities before."
"Because I didn't understand their source," Madara replied. "Didn't know they were gifts rather than earned capabilities. But I understand now. I've learned truths that contextualize everything about our relationship, our clans, our supposed equality."
"What truths?" Tobirama demanded, his analytical mind trying to track where this argument was going.
Before Madara could answer, Izuna spoke up, his Resonant Mangekyō active, his voice carrying perfectly calibrated concern.
"Brother has been researching our clan's history," Izuna explained. "Learning about our ancestors. About the original division between Senju and Uchiha. About why our philosophies diverged and why reconciliation has always been difficult."
Both Hashirama and Tobirama shock about hearing this Truth but don't dwell on it much.
"Ancient history doesn't determine present reality," Hashirama argued. "Yes, our clans were divided. Yes, Asura and Indra chose different paths. But we're not our ancestors. We can choose cooperation where they chose conflict."
"Can we?" Madara challenged. "When the fundamental injustice remains? When one of us receives cosmic blessing and the other cosmic punishment for the exact same heritage?"
"I never asked for blessing," Hashirama protested. "I never claimed superiority based on it. I've spent my entire life trying to create equality, trying to ensure everyone's value regardless of bloodline advantages."
"But you benefit from it regardless," Madara countered. "Your power, your position, your ability to inspire loyalty—all of it flows from advantages you were simply given. And the Uchiha, denied those same advantages, are expected to simply accept secondary status."
"We don't have secondary status!" Hashirama's voice rose, frustration bleeding through. "The Uchiha are full members of this village. Equal participants in governance. Respected for your capabilities and contributions."
"Then make Izuna the Second Hokage," Madara said, and the room froze.
Hashirama stared at his friend, unable to process what he'd just heard. "What? But you were the one who said that Tobirama is best for Hokage, just what happen to you??
"You claim we're equal," Madara said while completely ignoring Hashirama questions. "Prove it. When the time comes for succession, when you step down or die or whatever causes the Hokage position to become available... name Izuna as your successor. Not Tobirama. Not another Senju. An Uchiha. Someone who'll represent our clan's interests and philosophy with the same authority you represent Senju interests."
"That's insane," Tobirama said bluntly. "Succession isn't about clan representation. It's about qualification. About who can lead most effectively. Izuna is talented, yes, but he's young. Inexperienced in administration. Not ready for a position that requires—"
"Not ready," Izuna interrupted, and there was something in his voice now. Something dark. Something that made Hashirama's Sage Mode perception tingle with wrongness. "That's always the excuse, isn't it? We're not ready. We're not experienced enough. We're not appropriate for positions of authority. There's always a reason, always a justification for why Senju lead and Uchiha follow."
"That's not what I said," Tobirama protested.
"It's exactly what you said," Izuna countered. "You claim qualification determines leadership, then immediately dismiss the Uchiha heir as unqualified. You claim merit matters, then point to advantages Hashirama was given as proof of his superiority. You claim equality, then structure everything to ensure Senju dominance continues indefinitely."
"Brother," Madara said quietly, placing a hand on Izuna's shoulder. "Perhaps we're being too direct. Too confrontational."
But Hashirama could see it now. Could see what he'd been missing in his desperate desire to maintain friendship and unity.
Madara agreed with Izuna. Maybe didn't approve of the confrontational approach, maybe wanted to phrase it more diplomatically, but fundamentally agreed with the assessment that Uchiha deserved the Hokage position and that current arrangements were unjust.
And that changed everything.
"No," Izuna said, shrugging off Madara's hand. "We've been diplomatic for years. We've been patient and reasonable and compromising. And what has it gained us? Secondary status disguised with prettier words. If my brother won't advocate for proper Uchiha recognition, then I will."
He stood, and his Resonant Mangekyō blazed with power that made the air shimmer.
"I, Izuna Uchiha, claim right of consideration for the position of Second Hokage," he announced formally. "When Hashirama's term ends, I demand that an Uchiha be given equal evaluation for succession. Not preferential treatment—just equal consideration. If Tobirama is evaluated, then so am I. If qualifications matter, then let them be measured objectively rather than assumed based on clan affiliation."
Before anyone could respond, the door burst open.
Uchiha began filing in. Not just a few—dozens of them. Clan members who'd clearly been waiting outside, positioned to enter at a signal.
And not just any Uchiha. These were the supremacist faction. The ones Izuna had been cultivating. The ones who believed in Uchiha superiority and resented Senju leadership.
"We support Izuna's claim," one of the elders announced. "The Uchiha clan demands equal consideration for the Hokage position. We will not continue accepting secondary status in a village we co-founded."
Tobirama's hand moved toward his weapon pouch. "This is starting to look like an attempt at coup."
"This is democracy," Izuna corrected. "This is the Uchiha clan formally requesting representation in village leadership. If you reject that request, if you dismiss it without proper consideration, then you prove that this village's egalitarian principles are lies. That Senju superiority is assumed regardless of merit or qualification."
Hashirama could feel the situation spiraling out of control. In minutes, it had gone from a private discussion among friends to a political crisis with dozens of witnesses.
And then he felt it.
The presence of other shinobi. Not Uchiha—ANBU. Senju. Other clan members who'd been in the tower or nearby. All of them responding to the chakra signatures, to the political tension, to the possibility of conflict.
The meeting room was becoming a battlefield.
"Everyone calm down," Hashirama commanded, his voice carrying authority. "This is not how we resolve disagreements. This is not how we—"
"Then how?" an Uchiha challenged. "How do we resolve a situation where one clan claims superiority and the other is expected to simply accept it? Where blessing is treated as merit and punishment is treated as appropriate? Where cosmic injustice is perpetuated through village structure?"
The crowd was growing. Senju joining Uchiha. Other clans taking positions. The Hokage Tower filling with shinobi representing every faction in the village.
And the tension was building toward violence.
Madara could see it. Could see that unless something changed, unless the pressure was released, this would explode into actual combat. Uchiha against Senju. The very conflict the village was supposed to prevent, erupting in the seat of government.
He had to stop this. Had to—
But then Hashirama's chakra exploded.
Not violently. Not aggressively. But absolutely.
The entire tower shook. Stone cracked. The air became thick with Senjutsu chakra so dense it was visible as a green-gold aura surrounding the First Hokage.
And everyone—Uchiha and Senju, clan heads and ANBU, even Tobirama—was driven to their knees by the sheer pressure.
Everyone except three people.
Madara remained standing, his Eternal Mangekyō spinning wildly, analyzing the chakra patterns, understanding through his evolved eyes that Hashirama wasn't even trying. That this overwhelming display was just... ambient. The natural consequence of someone blessed by Mother Nature releasing their full power.
Tobirama also remained standing, though his legs trembled, his sensor abilities overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of chakra his brother was emanating.
And Izuna stood as well, his Resonant Mangekyō perceiving weaknesses in the chakra structure, finding the tiny gaps where pressure was less intense, positioning himself in those spaces to remain upright.
But everyone else—dozens of shinobi, including jonin and clan heads and ANBU captains—were on their knees. Unable to rise. Unable to resist. Forced to acknowledge the absolute hierarchy of power that Hashirama represented.
"Enough," Hashirama said, and his voice carried the weight of mountains. "All of you. This ends. Now. We will not have violence in this tower. We will not have clan warfare in this village. I will not permit it."
The pressure continued for several more seconds—just long enough to make the point clear—then cut off abruptly as Hashirama retracted his chakra.
People gasped, collapsing fully now that the pressure was gone, their bodies exhausted from just enduring that brief display.
"This meeting is over," Hashirama announced. "All non-essential personnel, leave the tower. Madara, Izuna, Tobirama—remain. Everyone else, dismissed."
The crowd filed out slowly, shakily, many casting backward glances at the Hokage who'd just reminded them exactly why he held that position.
When only the four remained, Hashirama looked at Madara with an expression that mixed hurt and disappointment and weary resignation.
"We'll discuss this later," Hashirama said quietly. "When emotions aren't running so high. When we can actually have a conversation instead of a confrontation."
"Will we?" Madara asked, and there was something in his voice. "Or will you just demonstrate your superiority again and expect that to resolve everything?"
"I didn't want to do that," Hashirama protested. "I had no choice. Violence was about to erupt. People were going to die. I had to stop it."
"By proving you're stronger than all of us combined," Madara observed. "By showing that resistance is futile because you have unlimited power gifted by cosmic forces. Very inspiring."
"That's not fair," Hashirama said, pain evident in his voice.
"Isn't it?" Madara challenged. "You just forced dozens of shinobi to their knees with ambient chakra pressure. You demonstrated that even our strongest are helpless before your power. How is that equality? How is that democracy? How is that anything except divine right rule by someone blessed with capabilities no one else can achieve?"
Hashirama had no answer to that.
Because Madara was right. He'd just proven, undeniably, that he was in a completely different category of power. That the gap between him and even elite shinobi was so vast that closing it was impossible.
"I don't know what to say," Hashirama admitted. "I don't know how to resolve this. How to address your concerns without abandoning the village's principles. How to grant Uchiha demands without destabilizing everything we've built."
"Then maybe," Madara said quietly, "we can't resolve it. Maybe the village was built on a foundation that couldn't support the weight we placed on it. Maybe cooperation was always doomed to fail because the underlying injustice was never addressed."
He turned to leave, Izuna following him.
"Madara," Hashirama called. "Please. Don't leave like this. Don't let this fracture become permanent."
Madara paused at the door, looking back at his friend—his brother, in blood if not in name—and felt his heart breaking.
"I'll talk to you later," Madara said. "When I've had time to think. To decide what I believe. To determine whether friendship can survive fundamental disagreement about justice and power."
Then he and Izuna were gone, leaving Hashirama and Tobirama alone in the damaged meeting room.
"That went poorly," Tobirama observed with massive understatement.
"It went catastrophically," Hashirama corrected, slumping into a chair. "We just came closer to civil war than at any point since the village was founded. And I don't know how to fix it."
"You can't," Tobirama said bluntly. "Not anymore. The positions are too entrenched. The grievances too deeply felt. Either the Uchiha accept that merit determines leadership and Hashirama earned his position, or they don't. Either they embrace village unity, or they pursue clan supremacy. There's no middle ground that satisfies both."
"There has to be," Hashirama insisted. "We've come too far, built too much, sacrificed too much to let it fall apart now."
Tobirama didn't respond. Because he knew, with the analytical certainty that defined his thinking, that sometimes problems had no solutions. Sometimes conflicts had no resolutions. Sometimes the only options were bad and worse.
And they were rapidly approaching a point where they'd have to choose which type of bad to accept.
Part Three: The Puppetmaster's Satisfaction
That night, in Izuna's private chambers, Black Zetsu allowed his host body to smile genuinely for the first time since possession.
Everything had gone perfectly. Better than perfectly.
The tablet had poisoned Madara's thinking exactly as intended. The confrontation had fractured relationships exactly as designed. The demonstration of Hashirama's overwhelming power had planted jealousy and resentment exactly as planned.
Madara now believes Hashirama's power is unearned, Black Zetsu assessed. Believes it comes from cosmic blessing rather than merit. Believes that acquiring similar power requires combining Senju and Uchiha bloodlines. The path to Rinnegan is clear in his mind now, even if he hasn't consciously committed to walking it.
And the resentment... oh, the beautiful resentment. Watching his friend display power that he can never achieve through training or technique. Understanding that the gap between them isn't closeable through effort. Knowing that Hashirama's advantages are permanent, built into his very nature by forces Madara can't influence.
That's the crack I can exploit. That's the vulnerability I can manipulate. That's the leverage that will eventually drive Madara to do the unthinkable—to take Hashirama's cells, to forcibly combine bloodlines, to sacrifice friendship on the altar of survival.
But there was more to celebrate than just Madara's corruption.
The village itself was fracturing. The confrontation had been witnessed by dozens of shinobi. Word would spread. Uchiha would hear that their clan demanded representation and was rejected. Senju would hear that Uchiha claimed superiority and needed to be suppressed. Other clans would choose sides, would position themselves according to their own interests and fears.
Unity is failing, Black Zetsu thought with satisfaction. The dream of cooperation is dying. And when it finally collapses completely, when civil war becomes inevitable...
That's when I make my real move. That's when I guide Madara toward the techniques that will break Kaguya's seal. That's when I position myself to absorb both Ōtsutsuki and become something unprecedented.
He let Izuna's body walk to the window, looking out over Konohagakure. The village spread before him, lights flickering in the darkness, families sleeping peacefully, children dreaming of futures that would never come.
They have no idea, Black Zetsu thought. No comprehension of the forces shaping their reality. They think their conflicts matter, their politics are significant, their choices determine outcomes. But they're just pieces on a board I'm manipulating. Puppets dancing on strings they can't see.
I was created to serve Isshiki. To break Kaguya's seal so he could claim her power and flee. But I've transcended that programming. I've become something more than a tool. I'm an architect now. A force that shapes history. An intelligence that's outlasted empires and will outlast this village.
And in thirty to fifty years, when Anant wakes, when cosmic judgment is rendered...
I'll either have evolved enough to matter, or I'll be erased along with everything else. But at least I'll have tried. At least I'll have pushed corruption as far as it can climb toward divinity.
That's more than most beings accomplish. More than my creator intended. More than anyone expects from a construct made from a single molecule of poison.
He turned away from the window, letting Izuna's consciousness return to the forefront, hiding his presence beneath layers of integration that made detection impossible.
Tomorrow, there would be more work to do. More whispers to plant. More resentments to nurture. More cracks to widen until the foundation collapsed completely.
But tonight, he could rest in the satisfaction of a plan proceeding perfectly.
The war is coming, Black Zetsu thought as he let Izuna's body sleep. Civil war. Uchiha against Senju. Brother against brother. Friend against friend. And from the ashes of that conflict, I'll forge exactly what I need.
Power. Evolution. Transcendence.
Or oblivion.
Either way, it will be spectacular.
Part Four: The Aftermath
In separate locations across Konohagakure, three people processed what had occurred, each reaching different conclusions that would shape everything to come.
Hashirama sat with Mito, his head in her lap, tears streaming down his face as the weight of failure crushed him.
"I broke my own principles," he said, his voice hollow. "I used superior force to suppress dissent. I proved Madara's point about power determining outcomes. I demonstrated exactly the kind of hierarchy the village was supposed to transcend."
"You prevented violence," Mito corrected gently, running her fingers through his hair. "You stopped a confrontation that would have killed people. That's leadership, not tyranny."
"Is it?" Hashirama challenged. "Or is it just divine right rule dressed in prettier language? Madara's right that my power comes from blessing. I didn't earn unlimited chakra—it was given to me by forces I don't control. How is that different from a king claiming authority from gods?"
"Because you use it for others," Mito said firmly. "Because your goal is protection and unity, not personal glory or clan supremacy. Power's source matters less than power's purpose."
"Does it?" Hashirama asked. "Or is that just comfortable rationalization? Maybe Madara's right. Maybe I'm deluding myself about equality while benefiting from cosmic favoritism."
Mito had no answer that would satisfy him. Because part of what Madara claimed was true—Hashirama did have advantages others couldn't achieve. The question was whether those advantages invalidated his leadership or simply made him better equipped for it.
It was a question with no clear answer. Only perspectives that conflicted irreconcilably.
In the Uchiha compound, Madara sat alone in his study, the confrontation replaying in his mind, each moment cutting deeper than the last.
The worst part wasn't Hashirama's power display. Wasn't the revelation about Senju and Uchiha being related. Wasn't even the tablet's poisonous narrative about Ōtsutsuki and Devas.
The worst part was the jealousy.
Watching Hashirama release that overwhelming chakra, seeing every shinobi in the room driven to their knees, understanding that even with his Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan—even with the mutation that carried traces of Anant's gaze—he was still inferior.
That gap was unbridgeable through normal means. Hashirama's blessing gave him advantages that training could never overcome. And knowing that, understanding that the playing field was fundamentally uneven, made every comparison between them feel like mockery.
I need power, Madara thought, the realization settling into his consciousness with the weight of inevitability. Real power. Not just Uchiha techniques or Sharingan evolution. Power that can rival what Hashirama was simply given. Power that comes from combining what was separated.
Senju and Uchiha. Asura and Indra. Wood Release and Sharingan.
The tablet said Rinnegan comes from that combination. Said that merging the bloodlines creates eyes that transcend both Sharingan and normal human limits.
If I could achieve that... if I could gain access to Senju chakra and integrate it with Uchiha blood...
Then maybe I'd be equal. Maybe I'd be able to protect the clan when cosmic judgment comes. Maybe I'd matter on scales that currently reduce me to irrelevance.
The thought was seductive. Dangerous. The kind of ambition that led to atrocity.
But it was also logical. Pragmatic. The only path Madara could see that led to survival when beings like Anant woke and evaluated humanity.
He hadn't decided yet. Hadn't committed to pursuing Hashirama's cells or attempting the forbidden fusion.
But the seed was planted. And seeds, given time and the right conditions, inevitably grew.
In Izuna's chambers, the young Uchiha lay sleeping while Black Zetsu's consciousness remained active, monitoring, planning, savoring success.
Everything proceeds perfectly, he thought. Madara is corrupted. The village fractures. War becomes inevitable. And I...
I am free. No longer Isshiki's tool. No longer bound by original programming. Free to pursue purposes beyond what I was created for.
Free to see how far corruption can climb toward divinity.
Free to test whether a construct made from cosmic poison can evolve into something that rivals the beings that poison was designed to harm.
Thirty to fifty years until judgment day. Until Anant wakes. Until humanity faces evaluation they're doomed to fail.
But in that time, so much can happen. So much can be built and corrupted and transformed.
I'll make it count. Make it matter. Make it spectacular.
Because if I'm going to exist in a universe where Origin Devas determine survival, where cosmic forces shape reality, where power determines everything...
Then I'll be the hidden force manipulating those who wield power. The architect building from shadows. The corruption that spreads while everyone focuses on surface conflicts.
I am Black Zetsu. Created from poison. Shaped by an Ōtsutsuki coward. Freed by cosmic terror. And now...
Now I'll see what happens when corruption refuses to accept its limits. When a construct made from death's touch aspires to life's pinnacle. When a puppet becomes the puppetmaster.
The game continues. The pieces move. The outcome approaches.
And I'm exactly where I need to be to control it all.
Somewhere far beneath the village, in a crater sealed and forbidden, Anant continued sleeping. The Eight Primordial Gates continued purging corruption. Mother Nature continued her vigil. And reality itself continued bending around a being so powerful that even gods acknowledged his supremacy.
Unaware of the schemes above. Unconcerned with human conflicts. Indifferent to clan politics and village fractures and the corruption spreading through bloodlines he'd never met.
Sleeping. Healing. Preparing.
And in thirty to fifty years—when the last trace of crimson poison was purged, when the Eighth Gate finally opened completely, when divine consciousness fully returned—he would wake.
And render judgment.
Whether humanity's cooperation outweighed their conflicts. Whether their attempts at protection outweighed their tendencies toward consumption. Whether beings given Ōtsutsuki power had used it to become protectors or harvesters.
The answer would determine everything.
But for now, in this moment, the question remained open.
And the choices being made—by Hashirama and Madara, by Izuna and Black Zetsu, by every shinobi in every clan—would accumulate into an answer that none of them could predict.
The stage was set. The actors positioned. The corruption spreading.
All that remained was watching how it unfolded.
[END OF CHAPTER TEN]
The trap is completely sprung. Black Zetsu has successfully poisoned Madara's mind through the altered Naka Shrine tablet, presenting lies (Kaguya rivaling Anant, Ōtsutsuki being heroes, Devas being villains) so intermingled with truth (Senju-Uchiha brotherhood, Mother Nature's blessing/curse, Rinnegan requiring bloodline fusion) that separating them becomes impossible. The confrontation at Hokage Tower fractured relationships irreparably—Hashirama's overwhelming power display proved Madara's jealousy justified while simultaneously showing why equality is impossible. Izuna's public demand for Hokage consideration created political crisis witnessed by dozens, ensuring word spreads and divisions deepen. Madara now believes acquiring Senju chakra is necessary for survival, though he hasn't committed to the method yet. Black Zetsu celebrates his freedom from Isshiki's control and his evolution into an independent force shaping history. The village sits on the knife's edge between cooperation and civil war, with every conversation, every decision, every moment pushing closer to inevitable conflict. And through it all, Anant sleeps, Mother Nature watches with indifference to human struggles, and judgment day approaches faster than anyone realizes.