Chapter Text
They say the Third Shinobi World War ends on the day of the explosion on the Kannabi Bridge in one part of the world, and with the battle between Yellow Lightning and the newly appointed Raikage in another.
That’s not entirely true, but it’s not far from the truth.
The war truly ends on the day the Third Mizukage’s head rolls across the floor, and standing over it is a young man whom no one has ever seen before. On that day, Kirigakure fell as it was known, and all who saw that young man’s face either perished or joined him. The earth soaked up the blood, and the rains washed away the remains when the young man, who did not belong here — who had never been one of those born in these lands — left everyone with a choice: submit or die.
When fewer than a third of the Mist’s shinobi remained, they bowed their heads; their new Mizukage reveled in cruelty and danced in violence as he placed the white-and-blue hat on his head with a bloodied hand; his single eye was filled with madness, but, of course, these stories never left the walls of Kirigakure.
Later, their leader put on a mask, but his red eye haunted many in the shadows and in their nightmares; no one should possess such power and experience, they realized, but there was nothing they could do.
Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, and out of the blue, they realized that the man who had usurped power — the man against whom the militia was rallying and who was constantly sending assassins, the man who had never been one of them — had, in a single, insignificant year, cast clouds over their homes, leaving the sun to touch their pale skin; their Fourth Mizukage is cruel, straightforward, and dangerous, despite his young age, and he has uprooted everything that made up their village: the clan politics that nearly tore them apart from within under the Third Mizukage, this man strangled with his own hands and rebuilt. What had no solution suddenly found one; what could not be repaired was made whole again; what had been cloaked in tradition was unquestioningly and ruthlessly torn from their hands and rewritten in such a way that many parents stopped worrying about their children.
What should have taken years, if not decades, of restructuring turned out to be resolved in a single day through a power that none of them understood or could resist.
And while they were coming to their senses, the Fourth Mizukage managed to form an alliance with the Rain Village, supporting the rival organization with the red clouds and guiding it to power, of course, and signed a peace treaty with the Leaf Village, finally putting an end to the long-standing war. They are suffering losses, but, just as suddenly as everything else, their Kage is forming trade alliances and replenishing the treasury in ways unknown to them.
In reality, the shinobi of Kirigakure can’t keep up with their Mizukage, who moves faster than should be possible and pressures his opponents even more swiftly into compliance: threats, blackmail, compromising evidence, murders — their Kage single-handedly does all the work that would normally fall to ANBU, whom he killed when he seized power. His authoritarianism is unmatched, and word of his cruelty eventually spreads beyond the village, but despite all this, the shinobi, civilians, adults, and children dare to hope that this time — just this once — they have the right man in that bloody position.
If someone asked Uchiha Obito whether he deserved a second chance, he would say no. Naruto deserved it, Rin deserved it, perhaps Minato-sensei, or even Kakashi. But certainly not him.
Nevertheless, one moment he is dying, he sees Rin, and the next he realizes he is falling.
Falling.
And falling.
The world slows down and speeds up as he wakes up in a familiar cave with an even more familiar person. If he didn’t know better, he would have decided that staying in eternity with Madara was part of his karmic punishment. It takes him a few days to realize that this isn’t hell, and certainly not heaven or Tsukiyomi.
He makes decisions quickly, just as the man had taught him — the man to whom he bowed his head in a gesture of complete sincerity, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in many years. Killing Madara had been ridiculously easy; deceiving Zetsu by pretending to be an even greater madman than Madara, and convincing the plant that he was far more useful, had definitely been more difficult. He’d like to believe that he was pretending in everything he said, but he shouldn’t lie to himself any more than he’s lied for the past twenty years.
Naruto made him see the little bit of good that remained in him, and it was astonishing; but that still doesn’t change what he did or how he thought.
The seal on his heart bursts as he spends a week alone in that same cave, drawing opposing seals from his own blood and Madara’s, partly realizing that he’s hardly spent ten years studying funjutsu for any reason other than to master the junchuriki seals. His chakra is out of balance, but there is more of it than he remembered at this age, and if he concentrates, he can sense the remnants of Jūbi, and… that is not something he is ready or willing to contemplate.
When he steps out of the cave, the winter chill hits him, and he thinks that perhaps two or three months have passed since he was buried under the rubble; his empty eye socket aches, but he pays it no mind as he activates the Mangekyou, which comes to him with the ease of an old friend.
Rin died on March 29th; he remembers it all too well for his frail mind; he remembers tearing the Mist apart piece by piece, even though that was never part of Madara’s plan; he remembers ruling Kirigakure and driving it into the abyss; he remembers hating the very fact of their existence and wishing them suffering for even daring to lay a finger on Rin.
Madara is dead; Obito isn’t sure if it’s for long or forever; a bastard like that might come back just to spite him and get back at him. Obito would have done the same in his place.
He doesn’t feel the cold as he walks through the fresh, soft snow, and it doesn’t melt around him; he feels like a reanimated corpse, a ghost with no purpose in the living world—which is most likely exactly what he is.
He thinks about this for a few moments before smirking; he isn’t sure Naruto would approve of this, but, well, the boy can stop him when he’s reborn; Obito is a patient man.
The Mangekyou swirls around him, and a few minutes later he cuts off the Mizukage’s head with his own ridiculously huge sword; the stranger’s blood on his face makes him smile uncontrollably.
(Then he puts a stranger’s hat on his head to mock them all; to take from the proud Shinobi of the Mist what they would never have given to an outsider; he mocks their weakness and tramples on all their dignity; and, for some absurd reason, instead of killing him as he expected, they choose him as their Kage. They bow their heads, acknowledging his inauguration. Damn it.)