The Final Episode of this great battle. Too bad for Obito 
Pain became visibly perturbed, his lips drawn into a thin grim line and his eyes narrowed as they considered Hashirama. “Your next move?”
The sharp thump of Hashirama’s hands as they united into a seal was his reply. The man’s face was now set in a hardened expression, the frown that marred his expression so intense that one might have wondered if he ever smiled at all. The words came in a low growl as he intoned, “Senpo: Mokuton: Shin Susenju.”
Somewhere beside Hashirama’s midair position, the construct rose up from the bowels of the earth abruptly. It was beyond large, beyond colossal, towering over the battle field with a magnitude well outside the realms of reason. If Pain’s massive Gedo Mazo were here, it would have appeared like a small rodent when compared to what Hashirama had invoked. In fact, Pain had little doubt that if this immense structure were to lie flat on its back, the monstrosity would span the entire length of Amegakure, right from border to border. The sheer size of this technique was inestimable.
The gigantic wooden humanoid sat with its arms clasped after the manner of prayer, obscuring the sunlight and casting a menacing shadow over the Deva Path. It appeared to be dressed in a loose sleeveless robe reminiscent of those donned by Buddhist monks. Its robust face bore a serene expression and a thin curved moustache, but with a grotesque head which grew smaller heads instead of hair. Many arms of incalculable number sprouted from its back in concentric circles and greatly overshadowed the statue itself, the clear depiction of why the technique earned its name ‘several thousand hands.’
Massive wooden and overwhelming, the multitude of limbs fanned out from behind Hashirama’s edifice and dashed towards Pain’s Chibaku Tensei which, despite the enormous amount of physical mass it had compacted onto itself so far, appeared little more than a floating football to the hefty structure the First Hokage had created. The sheer difference in scale between Pain’s trump card and Hashirama’s was ridiculous.
With a deafening crash which no doubt resounded very much louder than the noisiest clap of thunder that ever echoed through the rainy skies of this village, the multitude of palms crashed into the Chibaku Tensei. Next a raucous cacophony of rumbling and crumbling followed as the enormous sphere broke apart, its gigantic shards falling defeated to the earth, the trump card of the Deva Path utterly conquered.
The Deva Path howled in impotent anger, “Hashirama!” The individual to whom he called out to in blind rage was crouched on the jagged debris which blanketed the terrain and was once an expanding Chibaku Tensei. Hashirama’s titanic creation was still present in the battlefield, a few of its enormous countless limbs having been destroyed when they obliterated Pain’s Chibaku Tensei. Now, with its innumerable arms poised to strike, the giant turned its attention to sole remaining Pain. The shower of palms came down rapidly and the scope of the attack made dodging unfathomable while the immense destructive power completely expelled any hope of blocking, Pain’s doom seemed inevitable.
However, the leader of Akatsuki, the man who singlehandedly conquered Amegakure, crushing its long time champion and ruler Hanzo, the man effortlessly overpowered Jiraiya of the Sannin, the man affirmed to be completely invincible, lifted his hands towards the incoming barrage.
“SHINRA TENSEI!”
It might have been difficult for him to believe, to comprehend if he hadn’t borne witness to it. With his dark eyes widened and his jaw hanging slacked, his body frozen in utter astonishment, Hashirama beheld as an invisible force reduced his supreme Mokuton ninjutsu to rubble in a single moment. Just like the large expanse of shattered rock which stretched over the battlefield in the wake of Pain’s demolished Chibaku Tensei, the land was now layered with wrecked wooden remains of what once stood as the largest physical structure in Amegakure mere moments ago.
The Senju leveled his gaze at the battered and panting figure who had crushed his mighty ninjutsu. Pain, as he could sense via his Sage Mode, had expended the last dregs of his chakra in order to counter the Mokuton. Hashirama had also reached his limit; the dark markings that were smeared across his face had faded away, signifying the exhaustion of all his senjutsu chakra aand his exit from Sage Mode.
With their chakra completely done away with, Hashirama obtained a sword while Pain procured one of his peculiar black spikes as both fighters prepared to settle the confrontation with one final clash.
As Pain and Hashirama mastered their wheezing and ragged breathing, silence fell over the battlefield, a deathly serenity which was foreboding of death. But would it be the life of Hashirama or the Deva Path’s that would be forfeit? They charged, moving in swift noiseless strides, bounding one towards the other with a grim unwavering determination and a deadly weapon in hand, ready to strike, to kill.
The disconcerting sound of ripping flesh pierced the silence.
Hashirama gasped and the Deva Path groaned. They both staggered, their faces hardened, Hashirama’s teeth bared, revealing his blood stained set of daggers while blood trickled out of the corner of Deva’s lips: Both plunged their weapons into each other..
“It seems…we draw….Ha…shi…ra…ma…“ More blood spewed from his lips as Deva’s lids fell gently over his menacing ringed eyes and he collapsed to his knees. A light breeze swept through the battlefield, caressing his skin and ruffling his rich orange hair. The Deva Path of Pain gave one last smile then collapsed lifeless before Hashirama.
The First Hokage dropped to one knee and a warm smile was creased on his face. With a grunt, Hashirama dragged Pain’s weapon out his chest and discarded it. The Rinnegan user had fortunately missed his heart by a few inches. Almost immediately, small wisps of vapor began to exude from the wound, indicating that it was already healing.
“Indeed, we draw, Pain. Even though I dispatched the final Path, I’m in no shape to go looking for your real self. Perhaps this might prove to you that we are both ordinary men, subject to fatigue, to injury, to loss in battle. Men are not divine.”
Hashirama fell to the ground, unconscious but very much alive.
The End
Pain became visibly perturbed, his lips drawn into a thin grim line and his eyes narrowed as they considered Hashirama. “Your next move?”
The sharp thump of Hashirama’s hands as they united into a seal was his reply. The man’s face was now set in a hardened expression, the frown that marred his expression so intense that one might have wondered if he ever smiled at all. The words came in a low growl as he intoned, “Senpo: Mokuton: Shin Susenju.”
Somewhere beside Hashirama’s midair position, the construct rose up from the bowels of the earth abruptly. It was beyond large, beyond colossal, towering over the battle field with a magnitude well outside the realms of reason. If Pain’s massive Gedo Mazo were here, it would have appeared like a small rodent when compared to what Hashirama had invoked. In fact, Pain had little doubt that if this immense structure were to lie flat on its back, the monstrosity would span the entire length of Amegakure, right from border to border. The sheer size of this technique was inestimable.
The gigantic wooden humanoid sat with its arms clasped after the manner of prayer, obscuring the sunlight and casting a menacing shadow over the Deva Path. It appeared to be dressed in a loose sleeveless robe reminiscent of those donned by Buddhist monks. Its robust face bore a serene expression and a thin curved moustache, but with a grotesque head which grew smaller heads instead of hair. Many arms of incalculable number sprouted from its back in concentric circles and greatly overshadowed the statue itself, the clear depiction of why the technique earned its name ‘several thousand hands.’
Massive wooden and overwhelming, the multitude of limbs fanned out from behind Hashirama’s edifice and dashed towards Pain’s Chibaku Tensei which, despite the enormous amount of physical mass it had compacted onto itself so far, appeared little more than a floating football to the hefty structure the First Hokage had created. The sheer difference in scale between Pain’s trump card and Hashirama’s was ridiculous.
With a deafening crash which no doubt resounded very much louder than the noisiest clap of thunder that ever echoed through the rainy skies of this village, the multitude of palms crashed into the Chibaku Tensei. Next a raucous cacophony of rumbling and crumbling followed as the enormous sphere broke apart, its gigantic shards falling defeated to the earth, the trump card of the Deva Path utterly conquered.
The Deva Path howled in impotent anger, “Hashirama!” The individual to whom he called out to in blind rage was crouched on the jagged debris which blanketed the terrain and was once an expanding Chibaku Tensei. Hashirama’s titanic creation was still present in the battlefield, a few of its enormous countless limbs having been destroyed when they obliterated Pain’s Chibaku Tensei. Now, with its innumerable arms poised to strike, the giant turned its attention to sole remaining Pain. The shower of palms came down rapidly and the scope of the attack made dodging unfathomable while the immense destructive power completely expelled any hope of blocking, Pain’s doom seemed inevitable.
However, the leader of Akatsuki, the man who singlehandedly conquered Amegakure, crushing its long time champion and ruler Hanzo, the man effortlessly overpowered Jiraiya of the Sannin, the man affirmed to be completely invincible, lifted his hands towards the incoming barrage.
“SHINRA TENSEI!”
It might have been difficult for him to believe, to comprehend if he hadn’t borne witness to it. With his dark eyes widened and his jaw hanging slacked, his body frozen in utter astonishment, Hashirama beheld as an invisible force reduced his supreme Mokuton ninjutsu to rubble in a single moment. Just like the large expanse of shattered rock which stretched over the battlefield in the wake of Pain’s demolished Chibaku Tensei, the land was now layered with wrecked wooden remains of what once stood as the largest physical structure in Amegakure mere moments ago.
The Senju leveled his gaze at the battered and panting figure who had crushed his mighty ninjutsu. Pain, as he could sense via his Sage Mode, had expended the last dregs of his chakra in order to counter the Mokuton. Hashirama had also reached his limit; the dark markings that were smeared across his face had faded away, signifying the exhaustion of all his senjutsu chakra aand his exit from Sage Mode.
With their chakra completely done away with, Hashirama obtained a sword while Pain procured one of his peculiar black spikes as both fighters prepared to settle the confrontation with one final clash.
As Pain and Hashirama mastered their wheezing and ragged breathing, silence fell over the battlefield, a deathly serenity which was foreboding of death. But would it be the life of Hashirama or the Deva Path’s that would be forfeit? They charged, moving in swift noiseless strides, bounding one towards the other with a grim unwavering determination and a deadly weapon in hand, ready to strike, to kill.
The disconcerting sound of ripping flesh pierced the silence.
Hashirama gasped and the Deva Path groaned. They both staggered, their faces hardened, Hashirama’s teeth bared, revealing his blood stained set of daggers while blood trickled out of the corner of Deva’s lips: Both plunged their weapons into each other..
“It seems…we draw….Ha…shi…ra…ma…“ More blood spewed from his lips as Deva’s lids fell gently over his menacing ringed eyes and he collapsed to his knees. A light breeze swept through the battlefield, caressing his skin and ruffling his rich orange hair. The Deva Path of Pain gave one last smile then collapsed lifeless before Hashirama.
The First Hokage dropped to one knee and a warm smile was creased on his face. With a grunt, Hashirama dragged Pain’s weapon out his chest and discarded it. The Rinnegan user had fortunately missed his heart by a few inches. Almost immediately, small wisps of vapor began to exude from the wound, indicating that it was already healing.
“Indeed, we draw, Pain. Even though I dispatched the final Path, I’m in no shape to go looking for your real self. Perhaps this might prove to you that we are both ordinary men, subject to fatigue, to injury, to loss in battle. Men are not divine.”
Hashirama fell to the ground, unconscious but very much alive.
The End
