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As Second Tsuchikage 39
🕑 Added 2025-07-29 16:00:07 +0000 UTCChapter 39: It’s Over
Boom!
Vmmm!
Thunder cracked through the skies, followed by a high-pitched roar that cut through the night. The pitch-black sky split open with a flash of searing light, illuminating the entire battlefield as if it were broad daylight. For one brief moment, every detail came into sharp, unforgiving clarity.
The shockwave from the Sage Art: Super Great Ninja Alliance United Rasenshuriken surged outward like a tidal wave, bending the air and distorting the landscape as it tore through everything in its path. The final Buddha, once towering and majestic, now looked like a crumbling relic, no stronger than a child’s sandcastle against the crushing might of this attack.
Cracks spread across its vast wooden surface, weaving outward in chaotic webs. Gigantic chunks began to fall, breaking apart with echoing crashes as they hit the earth. Debris poured down like rain, creating a storm of stone and splinters.
The unrelenting wave of power ravaged the battlefield. The statue, once a symbol of dominance, collapsed entirely, fragmenting into thousands of pieces that were caught and scattered by the wind. The towering monument to Hashirama’s strength was erased, leaving only destruction in its place.
As the smoke and dust thinned, a lone silhouette emerged from the haze.
Hashirama Senju stood, or tried to.
He was barely recognizable. The poise, the composure, the divine presence that once earned him the title of God of Shinobi, all of it was gone. His armor, once gleaming red and iconic, hung in tatters, reduced to torn strips that flapped limply in the breeze.
His long hair was a tangled mess, strands plastered across a face drained of color. Blood trickled from his mouth, mingling with dirt and sweat to leave his expression haggard and hollow.
The mighty had fallen.
He was half-kneeling, his hands pressed against the ground, shoulders trembling with effort as he fought to draw breath. Each inhale was labored, and while a flicker of willpower still lingered in his gaze, it was smothered beneath the weight of fatigue and pain. His strength was gone. This battle had taken everything from him.
Slowly, stubbornly, Hashirama forced himself upright.
But this time, he didn’t raise his fists. He didn’t reach for another jutsu.
Instead, he turned toward a crumbling Wood Style barrier nearby, the one shielding a sacred place on the battlefield. Inside it lay the body of Madara.
“Madara... wait for me... I’ll be there soon...”
His voice was hoarse, barely audible, as he began to move. Each step was unsteady, his balance faltering, his limbs heavy. His chakra reserves were empty, his body on the brink of collapse, yet he pressed forward. The battlefield blurred around him, his senses fading in and out.
And as he stumbled, memories began to stir, drifting up from the depths of his weary mind.
He wasn’t walking across a field of ruin anymore. His gaze passed beyond the shattered earth, beyond the lingering smoke and splintered wood, beyond the battlefield entirely.
It moved through time itself.
Images flickered in his mind like lanterns burning in the dark.
“Hahaha, nice to meet you! I’m Hashirama!”
“I’m Madara...”
“Can I skip you like a stone across the water?”
“Get lost!”
“If there’s any way to survive this world, it’s through honesty. No secrets between us and our enemies.”
“Is it really that hard to be open?”
“Thank you, Madara. You’ve always valued true bonds.”
“Remember what we promised when we were kids? Let’s build a village here. Together.”
“It’s about time we name it. Got any ideas, Madara?”
“.....”
The past played before him like an old film reel, moment after moment rolling by in waves of light and shadow.
Then, in the haze of his fading consciousness, Hashirama saw him. A vision of young Madara stood before him, silent and solemn, his dark eyes watching quietly with understanding. Slowly, he extended a hand.
Tears slipped down Hashirama’s cheeks. His fingers trembled as he lifted his arm and placed his hand over the phantom’s.
“If we couldn’t live together during those years... then let me die with you now...”
He lowered his gaze and whispered, “Tobirama, I entrust Konoha to you... I’m leaving...”
With that, his body gave out. He collapsed to the ground with a dull, final thud.
He wasn’t going to run anymore. To die alongside Madara, that was enough. Slowly, with peace settling over his face, Hashirama Senju closed his eyes and passed on.
The God of Shinobi had fallen.
“It’s finally over...”
At the very same moment, Mū’s body finally succumbed as well. The last threads of strength in his limbs gave way, and he toppled backward into unconsciousness. The crow that had perched loyally on his shoulder dissolved into faint mist, its summoning contract canceled.
Mū had long since pushed past his limit. His chakra reserves had been fully drained. In truth, his body should’ve collapsed far earlier, but he had kept going through sheer willpower and the momentum of Sage Mode. Now that the technique had ended, the backlash hit like a wave, taking everything with it.
Gengetsu Hōzuki’s eyes widened the instant he saw Mū fall. He darted forward, catching him just in time, then pressed down on Mū’s philtrum, checking for signs of life.
“Someone, help!” Gengetsu shouted over his shoulder at the stunned shinobi still gathered behind him.
Ōnoki, the Second Raikage, and Sāmon all turned pale in unison. Without hesitation, they rushed to Mū’s side, the concern written all over their faces.
“Get our best medics over here now!” barked the Second Raikage to the Kumo troops.
“Right away! Suna, if you’ve got medics, get them here—fast!” Sāmon shouted to the Suna shinobi.
Around them, the other Four Kage quietly exchanged glances, their brows raising ever so slightly. They said nothing, but the meaning was clear: the four men had formed a bond on this battlefield, a bond born not of treaties or councils, but of shared danger, sacrifice, and survival. Comrades forged in war.
In seconds, medics from all four great nations raced forward. They gathered around Mū, quickly beginning emergency treatment with practiced hands and focused chakra.
When the final diagnosis came, just severe chakra exhaustion, everyone exhaled in relief.
“He’s just unconscious,” one of the medics confirmed. “He’ll live.”
The gathered leaders finally allowed themselves to relax.
Several unit captains stepped forward, addressing the Kage. “Lords, what should we do about Hashirama Senju’s body?”
Before they could reply, Hashirama’s corpse suddenly caught fire.
Flames erupted with no warning, consuming the remains rapidly.
“This... could it be...?”
The Four Kage traded confused glances. After a moment of silence, they reached the same conclusion: Hashirama must have set a final jutsu upon himself, a post-mortem trigger to cremate his body and prevent it from being desecrated or misused.
With that matter resolved, they began organizing a team to locate the corpse of Madara Uchiha.
Yet no matter how far they searched across the ruined battlefield, no matter how thoroughly they examined the Wood Style defenses, Madara’s body was nowhere to be found.
“Madara Uchiha’s body is missing...”
“Tch, the scale of Mū’s Dust Release and Hashirama’s battle just now was way too massive. Madara’s body probably got disintegrated into nothing.”
The remaining shinobi exchanged solemn glances. The destructive force of the clash had been beyond comprehension, an overwhelming tide of power that had swallowed the battlefield whole. No remains, no scraps, no trace. It was unanimously agreed that Madara Uchiha’s body had been completely erased, likely vaporized by the intensity of the Dust Release. With that grim assumption, the search was abandoned.
Far from the wreckage, hidden in the forests at the edge of the battlefield, a team of scouts, left behind by Tobirama Senju, had witnessed the final moments. Their faces turned ghostly pale, mouths agape as they watched the impossible unfold. None could find words.
“Go! Hurry! Report this to Tobirama-sama!” one finally shouted, panic cracking his voice.
“Oh my God! The sky is falling! Konoha’s pillar has fallen!” another cried.
Why hadn’t Tobirama come? Why wasn’t he there to save his brother? The answer was simple. It had never occurred to him that his elder brother could lose. The idea had been unthinkable.
At that very moment, within the village of Konohagakure, Tobirama was on his way to the Hokage Office. He moved quickly, preparing to brief the clan leaders. In his mind, Hashirama was still alive, engaged in combat with the resurrected Kage. Victorious, as always. Confident and unshaken.
Then, out of nowhere, a strange sensation brushed against him, soft, weightless. A translucent, ghostly hand had rested on his shoulder.
Pa.
Tobirama froze. His instincts screamed, and he spun around instantly. But there was no one behind him. Just silence... and the stone.
His eyes lifted, and there it was, the solemn face of Hashirama carved into Hokage Rock, staring down at the village with its usual quiet strength. But this time, Tobirama’s breath caught. Something didn’t feel right.
“aniki...” he murmured, brow furrowing as an uneasy feeling rose inside him, one he didn’t recognize and couldn’t name.
When he arrived at the Hokage Office, the clan leaders had already gathered. Among them stood Ashina Uzumaki, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
None of them looked pleased to be there. War loomed once more, creeping back into the world they had just begun to rebuild. The peace Hashirama had forged now hung by a thread.
“I’m sure by now you’re all aware of the situation. The Hokage—” Tobirama began.
Bang!
The doors slammed open as a senior Senju jōnin burst in, panic etched into every line of his face. Tobirama’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he held his silence.
The jōnin rushed forward and leaned in close, his voice trembling.
“Tobirama-sama... the Hokage... the Hokage has... died in battle!”
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