CHAPTER 142: GOLDEN COLOSSUS
Before a true deity descends, the ignorant may never learn true fear.
"Golden Buddha Release: Transformation from the Summit!"
Though the name echoed the ninjutsu of legends, the power of the Hito Hito no Mi, Model: Daibutsu was worthy of the title.
Behind Ragnar, a golden radiance erupted, and a majestic, serene Buddha manifested into reality.
Ragnar himself was bathed in the golden light, his form seeming to be clad in divine armor and vestments, a god walking the mortal earth. The lifelike, colossal golden Buddha behind him was nothing short of a miracle.
While both were manifestations of a 'Buddha' power, Ragnar's differed from the legendary one of the Warring States era. Senju Hashirama's was a transformation, his own body becoming a wooden colossus of immense physical power. Ragnar's was a summoning, a projection—a golden Buddha that was both an extension of his will and a separate, titanic entity he controlled from within, much like the ethereal Susano'o armors of the Uchiha.
This Golden Buddha was in its initial form, roughly sixty meters tall—a true giant on this rain-soaked plain. It sat in serene lotus position, unmoving, yet its mere presence exerted a pressure so dense it felt difficult to breathe. The rain sizzled into steam against its radiant surface.
The entire battlefield seemed to hiccup in time.
Where did this come from? How?
Chiyo's mind, reeling from the earlier lightning strike, finally processed Ragnar's earlier question. 'Have you ever witnessed the power of a god?'
Now she understood.
Rakshasa had been formidable. But this… this was a different order of existence. This couldn't be just Rakshasa. When had Konoha birthed another monster of this magnitude?
A desperate, silent plea rose in her heart. Gods of the desert, why do you only favor Konoha?
Across the enemy lines, morale, already brittle, shattered completely. Even the elite jonin felt their fighting spirit drain away, replaced by the primal urge to flee from a force of nature.
On the Konoha side, a different kind of shock took hold.
"Grandfather…?" Tsunade whispered, her voice catching. The sight of the colossal Buddha triggered a deep, visceral memory of Senju Hashirama, her legendary grandfather, who had once pacified the world with his Wood Release. A wooden Buddha, capturing the Nine-Tails as if it were a kitten…
"This…" Hatake Sakumo was at a loss for words. Each revelation about Ragnar rewrote the parameters of the possible. A golden Buddha? It was like witnessing the ghost of the Shodai Hokage reborn.
"Ragnar-kun," Orochimaru breathed, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, his eyes burning with a feverish, possessive curiosity. "You become more fascinating by the moment." The strange bloodline, the flaming power, the lethal swordsmanship, and now a golden Buddha colossus—all concentrated in one young vessel. He wasn't just a prodigy; he was a living paradox, a son of miracles.
"The Shodai-sama!"
"I… I remember the Shodai-sama!"
"It's so similar!"
"Just like back then!"
Veterans among the Konoha ranks, those who had lived through Hashirama's era or grown up on the tales, felt a seismic shift in their hearts. The scene froze time. It felt like history repeating, the reincarnation of the God of Shinobi once again stepping forth to quell the world's chaos. For some, tears, unbidden, welled in their eyes.
Yet others noted the difference: Hashirama's was wood, dark and grained. This was light itself given solid, golden form, shining like a captive sun.
Far away, on the windswept hilltop, Uchiha Madara could contain himself no longer.
"HASHIRAMA!"
The roar that tore from his witched throat was raw, decades of tangled rivalry and obsession given voice. He stared, his Sharingan and Rinnegan both blazing.
"THE BUDDHA! THE BUDDHA!"
The image of the Buddha was carved into his soul. Two definitive defeats, both at the hands of the same man. The Valley of the End—at the peak of his power, controlling the Nine-Tails sheathed in his perfect Susano'o, a fusion of power meant to be unbeatable. And his destined enemy, Senju Hashirama, with his Sage Art, had summoned the true Thousand-Armed Buddha and shattered that dream into dust.
Now, after all these years, the Buddha had returned.
Was this fate? A final, mocking twist?
"Hashirama! Wait for me!" Madara's blood, cold for so long, boiled with a manic fire. He took an involuntary step forward.
"Lord Madara! Calm yourself! That is not Hashirama!" Black Zetsu's voice was sharp, urgent. The last thing their millennia-long plan needed was the dying Madara throwing himself into a battle against a literal golden god.
"Not… Hashirama?" Madara froze, the haze of memory clearing. He took a shuddering breath, the madness receding from his eyes, replaced by cold analysis. Anything pertaining to Hashirama short-circuited his legendary composure.
"Correct. Hashirama's was Wood Release. A wooden statue. This is gold. And…" He peered closer, a strange, almost petty relief flickering across his ancient face. "This Buddha has only two arms. Not a thousand." The psychological shadow of those countless, world-ending fists still lingered.
Black Zetsu was equally perplexed. A bizarre thought surfaced: Could this 'Rakshasa' be the transmigrant of Asura? But the rules were clear—Asura and Indra, the reincarnating brothers, existed in the same generation. Indra's current vessel, Madara, still lived. Asura's vessel, Hashirama, was dead. A new Asura could not appear until Madara passed. The timeline was broken.
"A two-armed Buddha is no match for me," Madara muttered to himself, already calculating the giant's potential strength.
On the battlefield, Ragnar, having summoned his divine proxy, began to float upward, his body drifting seamlessly into the center of the Golden Buddha's chest, becoming one with the colossal form. From this vantage, he looked down upon the ant-like figures below.
"Lady Chiyo… how do we fight that?" a Suna jonin whispered, his voice trembling.
"This is divine power. We are mortals…"
"I don't want to die… my family…"
"My child is unborn…"
"My wife waits for me…"
"My mother is alone…"
The litany of despair spread through not just the Suna ranks, but the Iwa forces as well. The alliance's will to fight dissolved under the shadow of the golden giant. Ragnar, alone, had broken the spine of two armies.
"WE ARE SHINOBI!"
A new voice, young and burning with fanatical fire, cut through the despair. A red-haired young man leaped from the Suna lines, his face set in grim determination.
"We endure what civilians cannot! Behind us stand our villages! Our families! If we falter here, who will protect them? If blood must be shed, let mine be the first! I, Akahoshi of Suna, am not afraid!"
Chiyo's heart clenched. The speaker was her son. Seeing his defiance, a desperate pride swelled in her chest, burning away her own fear. She raised her voice, cracked but powerful.
"HE IS RIGHT! WE CANNOT RETREAT! This enemy must fall here, or our homes are forfeit! By the title of Shinobi, we fight! WITH EVERYTHING WE HAVE!"
The emotional tide turned again, violently. Despair was forged into a desperate, sacrificial fury. The young Akahoshi's words had reframed the narrative. They were no longer an army fighting another army. They were mortals, heroes, standing against a tyrant god.
Ragnar, ensconced in the heart of his golden titan, watched the shift with mild interest. He had gone from being an infiltrator, to a butcher, to a demon… and now, in their eyes, he had become the final boss of this bloody story. The reversal was almost poetic.
From within the Buddha, his amplified voice echoed like a divine pronouncement across the field.
"A noble sentiment. Let us see if your conviction can move a mountain."
The Golden Buddha's single raised hand began to slowly open, its palm facing the gathered forces of Suna and Iwa. The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with impending judgment.
(End of Chapter)
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