Chapter 83: The Thousand-Handed Farce
Naruto stood over the unconscious boatman like a conquering hero, chest puffed out, water still dripping from his spiky hair. He struck a pose, hands on hips, and turned a triumphant grin toward Sakura.
"See that, Sakura? That's what happens when you try to trick Uzumaki Naruto! Not bad, right?"
Sakura stared at him, her expression a perfect blend of confusion, residual fear, and secondhand embarrassment. "...Right."
[Tobirama Senju: Oh, no. The boy has affections for the female. Fourth, your progeny is venturing into perilous territory.]
[Uchiha Izuna: That Ren brat is a possessive little monster. Try to poach from him, and you'll wake up missing organs you didn't know you had.]
[Minato Namikaze: Ren! Please! Be gentle! A light educational beating is fine, just... leave the vital organs attached!]
Ren, watching the scene with mild amusement, subvocalized his response. Don't worry, Minato-sensei. Naruto's my brother in all but blood. I'd only maim him if absolutely necessary.
[Minato Namikaze: That is NOT reassuring!]
[Kurenai Yuhi: To see the Fourth Hokage reduced to such pleading... is this the power of paternal love?]
[Hyūga Hizashi: It is... humbling.]
[Uchiha Madara: The man lost his dignity in this chat room ages ago. He and Hashirama are two peas in a pathetic pod.]
[Hashirama Senju: Madara! Don't drag me into your bitterness!]
[Tobirama Senju: Brother, please engage your single brain cell before speaking.]
Ren decided to stir the pot further. You know, it's often the simple-minded who possess the greatest latent power. Present company excepted, of course.
[Tobirama Senju: A valid point. My brother, for instance, possesses the intellectual depth of a puddle, yet his power is undeniable. The Fourth's son shares a similar... robust potential.]
[Uchiha Madara: Tch. You'd praise anyone related to you. Sentimental fool.]
[Tobirama Senju: If you're so confident, Madara, why not prove your mettle? The arena awaits. Fight my brother. Unless you're... reluctant?]
The challenge hung in the digital ether.
[Hashirama Senju: Oh! A spar! Madara, it's been so long! Let's play!]
[Tobirama Senju: Brother, mind your wording! You're the man who stabbed him through the back!]
[Uchiha Madara: ...]
Ren added fuel. I think the great Madara Uchiha might be... hesitant.
[Uchiha Madara: You insolent whelp! I dominated continents when your ancestors were learning to walk!]
[Tobirama Senju: Sounds like hesitation to me.]
[Uchiha Izuna: Brother... you're not actually scared, are you?]
[Third Raikage: The legend... afraid?]
[Yagura Karatachi: How... unexpected.]
The peer pressure from beyond the grave was palpable.
[Hashirama Senju: Madara! Look, I know you said you can't use Perfect Susano'o without Kurama. How about this? I'll give you both hands! Is that fair?]
The chat froze.
[Uchiha Madara: ...Both hands? You swear it, Hashirama?]
[Tobirama Senju: BROTHER, NO! Without hands, how will you form seals? This is suicide! Even if you and Madara have your... complicated history, you don't need to go this far!]
[Hashirama Senju: It's fine, Tobirama! Even with both hands gone, he still can't beat me!]
[Uchiha Madara: THAT'S IT! ARENA! NOW! I'LL SHOW YOU THE GULF BETWEEN US, YOU OVERGROWN TREE-HUGGER!]
The system chimed.
[System Notification: Challenge issued. Uchiha Madara vs. Senju Hashirama. Soul Arena Battle commencing. Spectator mode enabled.]
A phantom screen split Ren's attention. The real world—the damp shore, the groaning boatman, the posturing Naruto—remained in focus, but in his mind's eye, he saw the familiar grey expanse of the Soul Arena materialize. Two figures solidified within it.
The spectacle immediately hijacked the attention of every deceased shinobi in the stream. The clash of the legendary rivals! A battle for the ages!
Yet, as the two titans fully manifested, resplendent in their ancient, ornate armor, the chat's focus took an immediate, irreverent detour.
[Hyūga Hizashi: By the Byakugan... is that... fashion?]
[Yuhi Shinku: One has a codpiece. The other... does not. They're standing together like complementary pieces. It's... suggestive.]
[Third Raikage: But wait. Didn't the First Hokage stab Madara from behind? Shouldn't his armor be the... proactive one?]
[Yagura Karatachi: Perhaps they... take turns.]
[Fū: Oh my!]
[Uchiha Izuna: I can't believe you're dissecting our ancestral battle regalia with such... vulgarity!]
[Tobirama Senju: ...They have a point. Thankfully, my armor features a standard, non-committal convex plate.]
[Uchiha Izuna: Thank the heavens I never wore that ridiculous getup.]
[Tobirama Senju: My armor was practical!]
In the arena, the two legends assumed their classic stances, oblivious to the fashion critique from the afterlife peanut gallery.
"I am Madara!"
"I am Hashirama!"
No banter. No probing. A lifetime of conflict had rendered such formalities obsolete. They went straight for the apocalyptic options.
Madara's chakra erupted, violet and monstrous. The air screamed as the skeletal framework, then the muscle, then the armored plating of the Perfect Susano'o coalesced around him. In moments, a gargantuan chakra samurai stood astride the arena, its single blade shimmering with reality-severing intent. The sheer scale of it was a visceral punch to the gut, even through the psychic link. The earlier mockery in the chat died a swift, respectful death.
"My Susano'o can cleave through all creation," Madara's voice boomed, multiplied and distorted by the colossal construct. "And you promised me your hands, Hashirama! Let's see you weave seals without them!"
He didn't wait. The Susano'o's colossal blade lifted, poised to split the world.
"Madara... you never learn."
Hashirama simply brought his palms together in a single, soft clap.
Smack.
The sound was absurdly small. Then, the world exploded in growth.
Sage Art markings spread across his face like living vines. The ground beneath him roared, buckled, and gave birth to a mountain. Not a mountain of rock—a mountain of wood. It surged upward, taking form: a titanic, thousand-armed statue of a serene Buddha, dwarfing even the towering Susano'o. The pressure it emitted wasn't just physical; it was spiritual, a weight that pressed down on the souls of every spectator. The air grew thick with the scent of petrichor and ancient forests.
"WHAT THE HELL, HASHIRAMA!" Madara's roar of outrage was almost comical coming from the terrifying demon samurai. "YOU SAID YOU'D GIVE ME YOUR HANDS!"
Hashirama's voice, amplified by the wooden titan, was cheerful and utterly shameless. "I am giving you hands, Madara! This statue has a thousand of them! I'm giving you two, and I still have nine hundred and ninety-eight left! I'm a man of my word—two hands, right here!"
He wiggled two of the statue's smallest, pinky-finger arms for emphasis.
The Susano'o hesitated, its sword frozen mid-swing. The sheer audacity of the loophole had, for a second, stunned even the great Uchiha Madara.
"YOU... YOU UNPRINCIPLED, CONNIVING, TREE-BRED SON OF A—!"
The rest was lost in the opening salvo as a hundred of the statue's giant fists, each the size of a house, hammered down toward the violet warrior.
Back on the rainy shore of the Land of Waves, Ren Arakawa physically winced, the corner of his mouth twitching violently.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath, loud enough for only Kakashi's sharp ears to catch. "I thought I was shameless. That's a whole new level. 'I have a thousand hands, here's two'... Sage's balls, that's genius."
Kakashi, who had been watching his students with one eye and the horizon with the other, glanced at Ren. "What is?"
"Nothing," Ren said, shaking his head and tearing his attention fully back to the real world. The absurd, earth-shattering battle in the Soul Arena would have to wait. In the tangible, mist-shrouded present, a different kind of demon was likely closing in.
And he had a feeling Zabuza Momochi's style of shamelessness would be considerably less humorous.