Published at 9th of November 2024 3:13 pm

Chapter 179 Roots of the Leaf, Part 7

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The valley trembled under the force of Hashirama and Madara’s clash, their powers resonating through the landscape with a ferocity that seemed to bend the natural world itself. The air crackled with chakra, filling the valley with a charged, violent energy. On one side stood Hashirama Senju, the First Hokage, his hands weaving through the seals of his Wood Release techniques. On the other, Madara Uchiha, his Sharingan blazing with a deadly resolve, a glint of bitter defiance in his eyes.

“Madara, this doesn’t have to end in bloodshed!” Hashirama shouted, his voice desperate even as he drew forth towering wooden constructs that rose from the earth to defend him.

“Don’t delude yourself, Hashirama,” Madara replied coldly. “You made your choice when you built that village on the foundation of weakness and restraint. Power is the only truth in this world. The Uchiha know it, and so should you.”

With a swift movement, Madara activated his Susano’o, its ethereal blue armor encasing him in a massive, terrifying warrior. The creature’s energy pulsed with menace as it raised its sword, each step shaking the ground beneath it. Hashirama took a deep breath, feeling the enormous chakra swirling around Madara. This wasn’t the friend he once knew; this was Madara at his most destructive, unleashed and unrestrained.

“Then I have no choice,” Hashirama said softly, his voice breaking. With a final hand seal, he summoned his own creation: the True Several Thousand Hands, an enormous wooden Buddha-like structure with countless arms, each poised to strike. Its form dwarfed even the giant Susano’o, casting a shadow over the valley as its arms readied themselves to counter Madara’s every move.

The two titans clashed, shaking the valley with each collision. The sheer force of the battle sent waves of energy rippling outward, toppling trees and displacing massive boulders. Hashirama controlled the wooden statue with precise, fluid movements, its many arms meeting each attack from Madara’s Susano’o with incredible speed and strength.

“You think you can defeat me with peace as your strength?” Madara sneered from within his Susano’o, his voice echoing with disdain. “Peace has made you weak, Hashirama! If you can’t crush me now, how do you think you’ll protect your village when even stronger enemies come for it?”

Hashirama’s eyes narrowed, his expression resolute. “I don’t need to crush anyone to protect my people. I only need to believe in them, in the unity we created together.”

Madara laughed bitterly, his Sharingan pulsing. “Your words are as empty as your ideals. You cling to peace because you fear power, and that fear will be the undoing of everything you’ve built.”

Hashirama’s face hardened, and he pushed his chakra further, his wooden construct moving with relentless determination. “I believed in you, Madara. I still do, even now. But I will not let you destroy everything we’ve created together.”

Madara’s gaze darkened, and for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. But he quickly banished it, his eyes blazing with renewed intensity. “Then let’s end this, once and for all.”

With a powerful cry, Madara summoned the full force of his Susano’o, transforming it into an armored colossus, its energy shifting into a form with wings and a shield. It wielded a massive blade crackling with destructive energy, prepared to bring down its full might upon Hashirama.

Hashirama’s eyes narrowed, and he focused, pouring everything he had into his wooden construct. With a final, decisive gesture, he commanded the Buddha-like figure to unleash a storm of strikes, each arm swinging with unyielding force toward Madara’s Susano’o.

The impact of the clash reverberated across the valley, sending shockwaves rippling outwards, creating massive craters and fissures in the earth. The ground quaked, as if the entire world was buckling under the force of their battle. Hashirama felt the strain on his body as he pushed his chakra to its limits, every muscle in his body aching from the immense energy coursing through him.

But he held firm. He would not back down, not until Madara was stopped.

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As the dust and debris began to settle, Hashirama stood panting atop the remnants of his wooden construct. His robes were torn, his body covered in cuts and bruises, but he remained standing, determined. Across from him, Madara’s Susano’o had faltered, its energy dissipating as he, too, struggled to keep his footing. Both men were battered and exhausted, yet their resolve was unbroken.

Madara’s voice, hoarse but defiant, broke the silence. “You think you’ve won, Hashirama? This is only the beginning. I will return, and I will make Konohagakure a place of true power—one way or another.”

Hashirama took a shaky step forward, his gaze filled with pain and sorrow. “Madara, please. You don’t have to do this. We don’t have to destroy each other. There is still time to find another way.”

Madara shook his head, his face filled with a bitterness that cut through Hashirama’s heart. “You are blinded by your ideals, Hashirama. We are destined to be enemies, as long as you cling to a dream that denies the reality of power.”

Hashirama felt his resolve waver, his heart breaking for the friend he had once shared so much with. But he knew there was no turning back now. Madara had made his choice, and Hashirama had to fulfill his duty as Hokage. He could feel the eyes of his village upon him, the people who depended on him to keep them safe.

“I’m sorry, Madara,” he whispered. “If you cannot let go of this hatred, then I have no choice.”

Madara’s eyes flashed, his chakra flaring one last time. But before he could make another move, Hashirama summoned a final jutsu—a sealing technique he had created in secret, one designed to end battles decisively. With a heavy heart, he performed the hand signs, calling upon the last reserves of his chakra.

Massive wooden roots erupted from the ground, binding Madara in place. They coiled around him tightly, sealing away his chakra, rendering him powerless. Hashirama approached, his face etched with grief as he looked down at his friend.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” Hashirama said softly, his voice filled with sorrow. “All I ever wanted was for us to build something beautiful together. A world without war, without pain.”

Madara looked up at him, his face twisted with rage, yet beneath it, Hashirama could see a glimmer of regret, a trace of the friendship they once shared.

“Your dream… will only lead to weakness,” Madara spat. “And that weakness will destroy everything you love.”

Hashirama closed his eyes, feeling the weight of Madara’s words pressing down on him. He knew that in some way, Madara was right. Peace was fragile, and there would always be those who would seek to tear it down. But he also knew that this dream, as fragile as it was, was worth fighting for.

“Maybe so,” Hashirama replied, his voice steady. “But it’s a dream worth sacrificing everything for.”

With one last effort, he completed the sealing jutsu, and the roots tightened around Madara, drawing him into the earth. As the light faded from Madara’s eyes, Hashirama felt the final bond between them break. The valley fell silent, the echoes of their battle lingering in the air like ghosts.

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Days later, Hashirama returned to Konohagakure, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he had lost his friend forever. The villagers welcomed him back with a mixture of awe and relief, unaware of the grief that weighed on him. To them, he had emerged victorious, having defended the village from a great threat. But to Hashirama, it felt like a hollow victory.

He stood on the cliff overlooking the village, staring out at the Hokage Monument, where his face had been carved as a symbol of his dedication to Konohagakure. But now, that face felt like a distant memory, a part of himself that he had left behind on the battlefield.

Tobirama approached him, his expression somber. “You did what you had to, Brother. Madara… he chose his path.”

Hashirama nodded slowly, though his heart remained heavy. “I know, Tobirama. But some choices come with a cost that can never be repaid.”

Tobirama placed a hand on his shoulder, his gaze filled with sympathy. “Madara’s loss is a tragedy, but his ideals were dangerous. His power would have torn this village apart. You protected our people. You protected our dream.”

Hashirama took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the village below, filled with families, children, and friends. Despite everything, they continued to live, to laugh, to grow. And that was why he had fought—to give them a chance at a future free from the darkness that had consumed Madara.

But he knew that this peace was as delicate as the dream it was built upon. Madara’s words echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder that power and ambition would always threaten to dismantle everything he held dear.

Hashirama looked out over the village, his heart aching with the knowledge that he had lost a part of himself in the battle. Yet he also felt a renewed resolve, a quiet strength that would carry him forward, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

“Maybe he was right about one thing,” Hashirama murmured, his voice barely audible. “Peace is fragile. But as long as I am here, I will protect it.”

Tobirama nodded, his gaze resolute. “And so will I. Konohagakure was born from your vision, Brother. It will endure.”

Hashirama watched the sun rise over the village, casting its golden light over the rooftops, the training grounds, the bustling streets. And in that moment, he felt a glimmer of hope—a promise to protect, to endure, to dream of peace, even in a world where peace might always be out of reach.

As the dawn broke over Konohagakure, Hashirama knew that his path was set. He would be the shield that guarded his people, the pillar that held them up. And no matter what trials came, he would carry forward, for the dream of a world where children could live without fear, where clans could stand united, and where peace, however fleeting, would be a gift worth fighting for.

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