The battlefield burned.
Uchiha Madara had descended into the heart of Iwagakure's army like a crimson meteor, and from that moment on, the outcome was no longer in question.
It was no longer war—it was theatre. A single-man performance of power, speed, and inevitability.
In the blink of an eye, Madara's silhouette blurred between enemy formations. A flash of red. A twist of the Sharingan's light. And then screams, blood, silence.
The shinobi of Iwagakure—some of them veterans of the Warring States Period—were falling like stalks of wheat before a divine wind. There was no contest. No formation held. No jutsu landed.
It was terrifying.
They couldn't even touch him.
High above the chaos, Kai stood calmly on the edge of a jagged ridge, his violet Rinnegan eyes gleaming with unnatural light.
To anyone else, the battle below would've been a blur of motion and carnage. But to Kai, watching through the enhanced perception of the Rinnegan, every frame was a lesson in war.
Every flick of Madara's wrist. Every pivot of his heel. Every calculated sweep of his elbow was etched into Kai's mind with pinpoint clarity.
He wasn't just watching.
He was studying.
"His movement... there's no waste at all," Kai murmured to himself. "He's not fighting with style. He's fighting to kill."
Each of Madara's blows wasn't meant to intimidate—it was meant to finish.
Kai began mirroring the rhythm with his own body: shift weight, change stance, anticipate momentum. Even if he couldn't match Madara's physical power or battle sense, he could imprint the foundations of the dance into his own reflexes.
"Not bad. This is what you call... a live training manual."
But just as he was beginning to fall into the rhythm of the slaughter—
Two chakra signatures entered his peripheral vision.
Fast. Close. Hostile.
Kai didn't turn, but his expression shifted slightly.
"Here we go."
Two Iwagakure shinobi—a Special Jonin and a Chunin—were circling wide around the battle, making their way up the rock ledge behind Kai.
Clearly, they'd identified him as Madara's mysterious companion and decided to strike from behind.
It was a smart move.
They couldn't do anything to Madara, so they chose the next best option—target his ally. Capture him, maybe even use him as leverage.
Kai smiled faintly.
"You're making a mistake, friends."
But he didn't move. Didn't flee. Didn't teleport away.
Not this time.
This was a perfect opportunity to test something new.
The two Iwagakure shinobi reached the ridge in sync.
They didn't hesitate.
"Earth Style: Rock Pillar Prison!"
"Wind Style: Thousand Blades!"
A ring of jagged rock erupted from the ground around Kai, followed by a storm of thin wind blades meant to shred anything caught inside.
A coordinated strike meant to capture, not kill.
But Kai didn't flinch.
"Preta Path: Chakra Absorption Barier."
With a pulse from his Rinnegan, a shimmering dome of chakra flared around him.
The rock pillars dissolved before they finished forming. The wind blades simply vanished—sucked into the swirling chakra veil as though they'd never existed.
Both Iwa-nin staggered back, stunned.
"What… what kind of technique is that?!"
Kai turned slowly, grinning like a fox with feathers in his mouth.
"You were kind enough to deliver chakra to me," he said. "Let me return the favor."
His left Rinnegan pulsed.
The next moment, one of the Iwa-nin—the Chunin—let out a strangled cry.
His entire body seized violently, and then began to tremble as if caught in a seizure. His veins popped. His skin flushed deep red.
And then—
Tiny red dots began to surface all over his arms and face.
From those pores, a faint black mist began to rise—streaming in wisps toward Kai's outstretched palm, where it coalesced into a small orb the size of a fingernail.
A magnetized iron sphere.
Kai's grin widened.
"[Magnetic Dominion]," he whispered. "You've got plenty of iron in your blood. I'm just borrowing a little."
The Chunin collapsed, twitching.
His muscles spasmed once more… and then went still.
He was dead—drained of iron, his blood unable to carry oxygen, his heart unable to pump.
The Special Jonin beside him turned white with terror.
He hadn't seen any seals. No hand signs. Just a look—and a kill.
He bolted.
"Nope, not today!"
But Kai wasn't finished.
He raised his arm again. The iron sphere hovered in front of his palm, now crackling with arcs of blue and green chakra.
Around his arm, circles of shimmering electromagnetic coils began to rotate.
He took a breath.
"Let's see if I can fire this."
The air cracked with sudden pressure.
"Electromagnetic Rail Shot."
Bang!
A thunderclap tore across the sky.
The iron sphere blasted forward like a sniper round, trailing arcs of electricity in its wake.
In less than a second, it punctured through the fleeing shinobi's back, chest, and heart—a clean kill.
His body crumpled to the ground mid-sprint, lifeless.
Kai stared at his arm, which was still faintly glowing.
A moment passed.
And then he grinned like a madman.
"It worked."
Below, amidst the blood and flames, Madara paused briefly.
His Sharingan flicked upward.
He'd felt that spike of energy. That sound.
That attack didn't come from the enemy.
It came from above.
He spotted Kai's silhouette against the flickering sky.
His eyes narrowed slightly. A rare smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Hmph."
"So you've finally started dancing too."
On the ridge, Kai stretched, feeling the faint ache in his arm from the recoil.
He was panting lightly—not from fatigue, but adrenaline.
His heart was pounding in his chest.
"I just pulled iron out of a guy and shot it through another man's torso like a railgun," he muttered.
"I've read comics less absurd than this."
He turned back toward the battlefield.
Madara had resumed his slaughter.
But something in Kai had shifted.
He wanted to join him.
Not in the killing.
But in the domination.
He'd barely scratched the surface of the Rinnegan's potential, and already he could do this?
What else was possible?
"Time to stop observing," he said.
Kai took a step forward.
"Time to start rewriting the rules."