Naruto : The White Lightning Reincarnator

Hagoromo's mistake was the same mistake shared by all humans.

People discard what they do not care about like worn-out shoes, yet treasure what they value beyond measure—sometimes to the point of obsession and paranoia. At the end of the day, humans are selfish creatures.

So what was it that Hagoromo cherished?

In Kushina's case, his stance had been made far too obvious—obvious enough that anyone could understand it instantly:

If you wanted to touch the Nine-Tails' jinchūriki, then you would have to deal with him first.

And so now, someone had decided to deal with him first.

"Genjutsu?" Hagoromo asked calmly.

The scenery around him had changed in an instant, yet his composure did not waver. On the contrary, the more dangerous the situation became, the more precise and cold his thoughts grew. His exceptional calculation ability suppressed all unnecessary emotion.

Someone answered him.

"That's right. Just genjutsu."

Hagoromo had not meant that he had fallen under genjutsu. He had indeed been relocated by the Flying Thunder God. Rather, someone had placed Minato's guards under genjutsu, forcibly triggering the technique.

That was why Hagoromo had been moved far away from Kushina.

Very far away.

"Speaking of which, this should be our second meeting," the voice continued. "We met once before, years ago, in the Land of Rain."

"At the time, I didn't expect you to become an obstacle to our plans. But since you are… then whether sooner or later, you must be eliminated. This moment happens to be ideal."

"Based on the Flying Thunder God's range," Hagoromo muttered, ignoring the monologue entirely, "this shouldn't be too far from Konoha…"

Overconfidence was a dangerous thing. The enemy answered without hesitation, revealing exactly what Hagoromo needed to know.

"Correct. We are only fifty kilometers from Konoha. However, according to our intelligence, you specialize in speed and summoning techniques. To prevent your escape, this area has already been sealed by a strict space–time barrier."

"There is only one way out—defeat us. Until then, you cannot leave. But… that will never happen."

"And no matter what you do now, you're already too late."

Too late…

Hagoromo froze for a split second—then immediately understood.

There were countless ways to force a woman into premature labor.

They did not need to wait for Kushina's natural delivery date. No matter when she gave birth, the Nine-Tails' seal would weaken the moment it happened.

"Fifty kilometers and a barrier… That's not far," Hagoromo said evenly. "If I deal with you quickly enough, I'll still make it in time."

"Only someone ignorant of true power would speak of impossibilities so casually."

"There's nothing impossible," Hagoromo replied. "For a shinobi, killing and being killed are simple things. Killing you is no different."

For a long time, Hagoromo had divided the problem incorrectly.

The enemy he faced had never been a single person—it was an organization. One with clear objectives, rigid structure, and carefully executed long-term plans.

Obito had merely been one link in that chain.

The people standing before him now were merely another.

Obito's actions might have been driven by manipulation and revenge. These people, however, already regarded Hagoromo as a future obstruction.

Their plan required jinchūriki and tailed beasts.

And a shinobi of Hagoromo's caliber—one who would continue to grow stronger—would always stand beside those jinchūriki.

So the best time to remove him…

Was now.

Standing before Hagoromo were—

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Black cloaks with red clouds.

Forehead protectors of Amegakure—scratched through.

Expressionless faces.

Black receivers embedded in exposed flesh.

Hagoromo recognized Yahiko's face.

And he also knew what they were called.

The Six Paths of Pain.

He knew even better that the one controlling these corpses from afar was Nagato—the wielder of the Rinnegan.

Hagoromo had likely encountered the strongest enemies he had ever faced.

But this time—

He had to win.

Of course he would win.

What of Nagato?

Even if the one standing in his way were Nagato Yuki instead, he would still kill them.

Let alone Nagato.

Yet against the Rinnegan, he needed an overwhelming burst of power—and there was no time for prolonged combat.

So the real problem was the barrier.

In the next instant, Chidori Current erupted across Hagoromo's entire body.

The Lightning Release was brighter than it had ever been. The shrill cry of a thousand birds pierced even his own ears, as though it were tearing through his eardrums.

It was as if his body were dissolving into lightning itself.

Yet under the vast night sky, this brilliance was nothing more than a fragile firefly—flickering, and easily extinguished.

"Just as the intelligence said," one of the Paths spoke coldly. "You can indeed wield extremely powerful Lightning Release. But no matter how strong… this is still nothing more than the futile struggle of a mortal."

If anyone here was a mortal, it was Nagato.

Yahiko was dead. The one standing here was only a corpse. Nagato understood this better than anyone.

Yet when controlling that corpse, he unconsciously mimicked Yahiko's tone, his demeanor—granting personality to something that no longer possessed one.

On the matter of life and death, Hagoromo—who had already died once—understood far more clearly than Nagato ever could.

He wasn't simply releasing Lightning Release.

If he only wanted electrical output, he wouldn't bother with ninjutsu at all—he would directly use his ability.

What he needed was physical transcendence.

A limit break of the body itself.

He needed taijutsu enhanced by ninjutsu.

Countless pitch-black sealing lines burst from his body, solidifying the formless Chidori Current and binding it tightly against his flesh. The lightning was compressed inward, sealed completely, then fixed to his body's surface.

The sealing formula ignited with electric light.

Patterns like the Strength of a Hundred Seal spread across his body—but these markings blazed with lightning instead of chakra.

Every last strand of Lightning Release was sealed within his body and used solely to stimulate cellular activity.

This was a fusion of sealing techniques, Lightning Release, and taijutsu—

A unique, extreme form of ninjutsu-taijutsu.

Only Hagoromo could use it.

Ordinary shinobi would be torn apart by Lightning Release at this intensity.

In terms of raw offensive power alone, this state surpassed even the Raikage's Lightning Release Chakra Mode—because Hagoromo's lightning contained zero defensive allocation.

Everything was offense.

This state was called:

Chidori Current: Third Stage.

But before attacking, Hagoromo needed to locate the barrier's position and scale.

So he turned and ran.

It looked like he was trying to escape.

"Trying to flee?"

Hagoromo didn't know which Path was which—aside from Yahiko's body, none were familiar. He had partial intelligence, but not enough to map it precisely.

His speed wasn't high. Turning his back was only meant to draw pursuit.

Just as he expected, enemy chakra signatures appeared behind him instantly.

Two of them.

Hagoromo spun sharply.

The force of his movement shattered the ground beneath his feet.

Using his left foot as a pivot, he twisted his torso and unleashed a reverse diagonal kick—a clean, brutal strike at point-blank range.

For a split second, time itself seemed to stall.

Yet Hagoromo had never moved faster.

Through the Rinnegan's shared vision, the Paths perceived his movement—

But they couldn't evade.

Because speed at this level surpassed neural reaction.

His leg whip struck the first Path square in the chest.

BOOM.

The body was launched like an artillery shell.

Then came a sonic boom.

The shockwave and distorted air trail made it unmistakable—

The corpse had broken the sound barrier.

Finally—

DOOM.

A distant, resonant impact.

The body slammed into the barrier.

Five hundred meters.

That was the distance to the barrier's edge.

The calculation was instantaneous.

The second Path arrived—

And met Hagoromo's next strike.

He drew the iron gourd from his back and smashed downward with his right hand.

Fast as thunder.

Heavy as a collapsing mountain.

Where lightning strikes, all is shattered.

Where ten thousand tons descend, nothing remains.

This was violence worthy of the name Thunderous Might.

Under normal circumstances, he might have joked about some "forty-five-degree mechanical maintenance technique passed down by a certain older sister."

But now, there was only one thing he wanted to say.

So he said it:

"Idiots. You're in my way."

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