[Boruto Uzumaki: "He's coming—he's coming!"]
[Sarada Uchiha: "Ancestor's pressure is insane…"]
[Fourth Raikage A: "Tch. Probably just posturing."]
"Don't look him in the eyes!" Ōnoki barked, nerves taut as wire.
The Allied Shinobi Forces roared as one, a battle-cry to stiffen spines—
and then a sea of headbands surged toward a single man: Uchiha Madara.
Could one person truly face an entire army?
The screen shook with motion. New gen kids held their breath.
The frontmost rock-nin never saw it.
A line of crimson flashed—
and in a blink it was like a truck plowed the formation. Bodies pinwheeled.
Madara skimmed the ground; the sand boomed under his soles.
Wherever he passed, two or three shinobi flew like sandbags.
Hands, feet, elbows—every strike clean. No wasted motion.
Panic spread.
People turned, searching—unable to track where he'd be next.
Lines frayed; the army lost shape.
Madara slipped through gaps like a dancer on a lit stage,
a borrowed blade in hand, the swing so fast it left afterimages.
Even the air seemed shaved thin.
One shinobi dropped in two neat halves. Red fanned across the sand.
A Suna ninja snapped a kunai forward, an explosive tag taped to the ring.
Madara caught the kunai without looking, plucked the tag off,
slapped it onto a nearby enemy's stomach, kicked him airborne,
then pitched the kunai past him—
and the next man's skull cracked around steel.
The Cloud shinobi clawed at the tag on his gut—
White light. Kaboom. Sand geysered skyward.
Through the dust, crimson tomoe knifed by.
Madara waded forward, cutting down clusters with unhurried efficiency.
He flung the blade—whang—and turned, palming two attackers by the collar and hurling them aside.
A ripple of chakra warned; the ground lunged for his ankles—Headhunter Jutsu.
Madara vaulted clear and spiked the lurking enemy with a kunai on the way down.
Silence ringed the feed for a heartbeat.
This was the power of Uchiha Madara? It was… horrifying.
To him, the battlefield wasn't war—it was a stage.
He moved with ruthless grace, a cold rhythm in his steps; steel flickered and the earth split in seams.
The "film" seemed to rewind as swaths of shinobi fell behind him like frames undone.
One would try a blindside—Madara's eyes flicked, a heel kick sent him corkscrewing away,
then a backfist blacked out two more at the flanks.
A Suna heavy swung a chakra greatsword.
Madara slipped a breath-length back, pinched the man's throat, hoisted him one-handed.
"You want to dance too?"
Viewers everywhere gaped.
[Itachi Uchiha: "Just taijutsu—and the damage output is this high."]
[Shisui Uchiha: "I can't read his motion paths at all."]
[Might Guy: "His bodywork might actually surpass mine…"]
[Rock Lee: "Gai-sensei…"]
[Boruto Uzumaki: "What kind of nightmares did Dad's generation fight?!"]
[Iwabee Yuino: "Who said 'base Madara can't get through the Alliance'?"]
[Fourth Raikage A: "…"]
A swallowed silence from the Raikage.
Even in Lightning Chakra Mode, mowing this many elites this smoothly?
Yeah—he'd need work. Madara made it look like sparring practice.
Wind reared, lifting curtains of grit.
Madara turned his head, unimpressed—didn't dodge, didn't flinch.
The gale body-checked him; he arced back, adjusted midair, and landed in a kneel, sand blooming.
The dust fell. Temari stood with her war-fan, eyes bright.
"Don't underestimate people!"
[Shikadai Nara: "So that's Mom when she was young…?"]
[Adult Shikamaru Nara: "Your mother was an elite jōnin."]
Shikadai stared at the sky-screen, stunned.
He'd always thought his mom was just… scary.
Turns out she was scary and strong.
[Boruto Uzumaki: "Bro, your mom just blew Madara off his feet. Respect."]
[Shikadai Nara: "…Wasn't expecting that either."]
Temari's fan snapped open again—
but the clouds above were still moving with him.
And down on the sand, Madara's foot slid forward, settling in a stance.
The air remembered to shiver.
A blue ribcage sprouted, bones knitting, a giant's frame unfurling above the dunes.
Steel met wind, and the first set of chakra ribs locked into place.
On the Alliance's front line, someone whispered, "Susanoo…"—
just as shadows stretched like spears across their faces.
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