Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 107

The world was dark.

Dark and cold.

And wet.

When Jiraiya opened his eyes, the same cold stone ceiling stared back at him — mocking him, almost familiar now. He exhaled slowly, feeling the ache in his bones and the dryness in his throat.

Two weeks.

Two whole weeks in this cell.

His wrists and ankles were wrapped in glowing black seals — suppressors etched with the unmistakable influence of a sealing master.

He had tried everything in the first three days — brute force, sleight-of-hand, illusion, even his toad summoning.

Nothing worked.

Not even a drop of chakra would respond to him.

He rolled onto his side and pushed himself upright with a heavy grunt. His body was still strong — years of training in the wilderness had hardened him — but the weight of the seals made every movement feel sluggish, muted.

I'm getting too old for this, he thought wryly.

The chamber was small — four steel walls, a grated door with no handle, and a single window high above that let in the cold rain. Water dripped through the bars, forming a tiny puddle that spread across the stone floor.

The steady rhythm of rainfall…

Always rain.

Always watching.

Jiraiya pressed a hand to the wall.

He could feel the chakra inside the stone — faint, but unmistakable.

“This whole damn village is his eyes…” Jiraiya muttered. “Yahiko… or whoever you are now… What happened to you?”

He closed his eyes. The memories came unbidden.

The moment he arrived at Amegakure, the rain had turned sharp — almost predatory.

He knew instantly that it was infused with chakra.

A surveillance technique.

Highly advanced.

Almost divine.

He barely had time to mask his chakra before half the ANBU of Amegakure dropped from the towers.

And then he came.

Yahiko.

But Yahiko had never possessed Rinnegan eyes.

He had never spoken with that cold authority.

Never moved with such godlike certainty.

“Sensei,” Yahiko had said, his voice echoing like thunder.

“You should not have come here. There is no peace for you to write in this story. Leave now… or be rewritten.”

Jiraiya had fought.

Harder than he had in decades.

But Yahiko’s power — the Rinnegan — overwhelmed him. The air itself bent at his command. Summons he had never taught, abilities he had never heard of…

Jiraiya remembered Yahiko’s hand closing around his throat.

The world fading.

Konan watching silently from above.

Then blackness.

When he awoke, he was here — in the God Tower.

A prison for divine enemies.

A faint hum cut through his thoughts.

Then the door’s locks clicked.

Slow. Heavy.

Like a temple opening.

A figure stepped inside.

Tall.

Powerfully built.

Clad in an Akatsuki cloak.

His face was stern, scarred by years of war.

His eyes — the cold grey — seemed to pierce through Jiraiya’s soul.

Jiraiya swallowed.

“Six days in a row? I must be special.”

The figure placed a wooden tray on the floor. Steam rose from the bowl of rice and fish.

“You are not special,” the man replied in a deep monotone. “You are a threat. That is why you live.”

Jiraiya snorted. “I always thought being a threat was a good thing.”

“The Leader wishes to learn,” the man continued. “You are a source of valuable information. You will be kept alive.”

Jiraiya leaned against the wall. “If he wants information, he can come ask me himself.”

The man stared blankly. “You will see Pain when he wills it. Not before.”

Pain.

Yahiko had called himself that when they fought.

It twisted Jiraiya’s chest to think of the boy who once dreamed of peace now wielding godlike power with such cruelty.

He narrowed his eyes. “Tell me something. Do you actually believe he’s a god?”

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Jiraiya’s voice hardened. “What happened to Nagato? What happened to the real wielder of those eyes?”

The guard paused — only for a fraction of a second.

It was enough.

“You will learn the truth soon,” he said quietly. “Perhaps too soon.”

Then the door shut.

Jiraiya sat in the dim light, fists clenched.

His students…

Nagato, Konan, Yahiko…

One had vanished.

One had become a silent specter.

And one stood as a god in a tower of steel.

He needed to escape.

He needed to warn Konoha.

He needed to stop whatever madness this "Pain" and the Akatsuki were planning.

But the seals burned against his skin — a reminder that he was helpless here.

He looked up at the narrow window overhead.

Cold rain dripped through the bars.

One drop landed on his cheek.

Jiraiya smiled faintly.

“I’ve survived the Sannin Wars, three major battles, two assassination attempts by my own students… and a dozen heartaches.”

He tilted his head back, letting the rain wash his face.

“You think some fancy eye technique and a damp prison cell is going to stop Jiraiya the Gallant?”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

A promise.

A threat.

“Yahiko… Nagato…

I’m coming.

Even if I have to crawl through every shadow in this damn tower to reach you.”

The cell door opened again.

This time, the air changed.

Jiraiya felt it the instant the chakra entered the corridor. A crushing pressure — ancient, divine, suffocating. His spine straightened before he consciously moved. His lungs tightened.

Footsteps echoed, slow and stern, as though the entire tower vibrated with each step.

And then he saw him.

Yahiko.

Or what was left of Yahiko.

Wearing the black cloak with red clouds.

Piercings lining his face like cruel metal prayers.

And eyes—those impossible, terrible Rinnegan eyes—fixed on him without warmth.

The guard who usually delivered Jiraiya’s food stepped aside and bowed.

“Lord Pain.”

Pain entered.

The door shut behind him with a sound like the end of a world.

Jiraiya forced himself to stand, even with the chakra suppression seals burning against his skin.

“…Yahiko,” Jiraiya said softly.

Pain didn’t react. His voice came out deeper, controlled, echoing with six layers of resonance.

“I told you. That name is dead. There is only Pain.”

Jiraiya gritted his teeth. “Then tell me why. Why imprison me? Why attack me the moment I entered this village? What happened to you? To Nagato? To Konan?”

Pain’s face remained cold and unreadable.

“You still don’t understand, Sensei.”

He walked toward Jiraiya, each step measured like a judgment.

“Our war began long ago. And your village ensured we would drown in it.”

Jiraiya frowned. “What do you mean?”

Pain stopped directly in front of the bars.

“You want answers? Then listen carefully, Sensei. Listen to the truth you abandoned.”

He lifted his hand, and the seals on Jiraiya’s cell glowed brighter, humming like a caged beast.

Then he spoke—

“Your village,” Pain began, “sent its assassins into ours. They attacked our families. They slaughtered our children. And they did it… with the help of one of your elders.”

Jiraiya stiffened.

He didn’t blink.

He already knew where this was going.

Pain’s lips curled into a bitter smile.

“Danzo Shimura.”

The name dropped like a blade.

“He wanted the Rinnegan. He wanted the eyes of the Sage himself. So he sent ROOT to hunt us, to kill us, to harvest what did not belong to him.”

Jiraiya’s fists shook. “Danzo… that bastard. I suspected, but—”

Pain cut him off.

“You were too late, Sensei. Always too late.”

He leaned closer, Rinnegan spirals filling Jiraiya’s entire vision.

“I always wanted to kill Danzo myself.”

His voice grew sharper.

“But someone else killed him before I could.”

Pain straightened, cloak rustling.

“You see, Sensei… your village tried to murder us when we were not even your enemies. They hunted us. Tortured us. All because I possessed the eyes of the Sage of Six Paths.”

His voice dropped low.

“So tell me…

Why should we spare a world that only understands violence?”

Jiraiya took a slow breath. “Peace—”

“Peace?” Pain’s voice exploded.

“There is no peace! Only victory for the strong, and suffering for the weak!”

He paced once, lightning flashing behind the storm window.

“Your peaceful words. Your books. Your smiles. All useless.”

He turned sharply.

“That peaceful dream we held as children… is over.”

Jiraiya swallowed, voice raw.

“What are you planning, Yahiko?”

Pain tilted his head.

“For peace,” he said, “we will unleash a war that ends all wars.”

Jiraiya’s heart sank. “What…?”

Pain’s aura flared, cracking the stone beneath his feet.

“I will unite the world through the strongest pain it has ever known.

I will become the single enemy all five nations must fear.”

He spread his arms as if embracing the future.

“They will fight me.

They will fear me.

They will suffer.

And through that suffering… I will crush them all and bring them under one control.”

Jiraiya stared in horror.

“Yahiko… you’re talking about genocide.”

“No,” Pain replied coldly.

“I’m talking about stability.”

He stepped closer again, lowering his voice to a chilling whisper.

“Even if thousands die… even if hundreds of thousands die…

the generation after that will know peace.

Because war… will no longer exist.”

Jiraiya felt an ache tear through him — deep, ancient, despairing.

“You were my student,” he whispered. “You were the boy who wanted to stop orphans from crying. How did you become… this?”

Pain looked down at him with eyes that saw everything and nothing.

“I did not change, Sensei.”

The rain hammered violently against the tower.

“The world changed me.”

He turned to leave.

“Do not worry. You will remain alive long enough to witness my plan. And then… you will understand.”

The cell door opened.

Pain stepped through without looking back.

“After all,” he said, voice echoing like divine judgment,

“You taught us the meaning of pain.

We only learned the lesson.”

The door slammed shut.

Darkness swallowed the cell again.

Jiraya had endured countless battlefields…

But this cell—

this cold cage under the rule of a “god”—

made him feel truly hopeless for the first time.

Jiraiya lay against the wall, staring at the sealed bars glimmering with chakra.

No exit.

No chakra.

No allies.

Until—

CLANG—!

A sharp metal sound sliced through the stillness.

Jiraiya’s eyes snapped open.

The guard standing outside his cell—

the same emotionless man who had fed him daily—

suddenly went stiff.

His eyes widened.

Then—

He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Jiraiya pushed himself upright.

“What the…?”

A shadow stepped into the damp hallway.

Slow.

Silent.

Confident.

The figure moved toward the cell with a fluid grace that no Amegakure shinobi possessed.

Rainwater dripped from the cloak’s hood, pattering on the metal floor.

When the figure reached the bars, he paused.

One hand rose.

A single sword glinted under the faint torchlight—drawn with a motion so smooth it was almost invisible.

SHIIIING—

With one clean stroke,

the iron bars sliced apart like they were wet paper.

Severed metal fell to the floor in two neat halves.

Jiraiya’s breath caught.

There was only one person he knew who could cut steel like butter.

“…Itachi,” he whispered.

The hooded figure lifted his head just enough for the shadows to part.

From beneath the hood—

two Sharingan eyes flared crimson, glowing like embers in twilight.

He spoke in that same calm, controlled voice Jiraiya knew all too well.

“Jiraiya-sensei,” Itachi said lightly, “it has indeed been a while.”

Jiraiya felt an unexpected surge of relief hit him hard, almost dizzying.

He laughed under his breath—half disbelief, half joy.

“Itachi… I’ll be damned.

You scared the life out of me for a second.”

Itachi tilted his head. “Unlikely. Your heart rate remained steady.”

Jiraiya snorted. “Still the same troublemaker.”

Then his eyes widened as the realization struck him.

“How—how did you get inside? The entire village is covered by that rain surveillance! No one escapes it! No one sneaks through it! I got caught within seconds!”

Itachi stepped aside, motioning for Jiraiya to walk out of the broken cell.

“I have my ways,” he said simply.

Jiraiya frowned. “That doesn’t answer anything!”

Itachi turned his head slightly, and through his hood, his voice dropped to a whisper.

“I slipped past the rain.”

Jiraiya stared. “Slipped… past? How can anyone—”

But Itachi was already moving, gliding down the hall silently.

“Follow me,” he said. “Quickly.”

Jiraiya grabbed the guard’s cloak, wrapped it around himself, and hurried behind him.

As they walked deeper into the stone corridors, avoiding the central tower path, Jiraiya noticed—

Itachi wasn’t using the Sharingan anymore.

Instead—

his eyes glowed a deep emerald green, swirling with rings that radiated power.

Jiraiya froze mid-step.

“Is that—

Itachi… is that the Rinnegan?”

Itachi didn’t turn.

His voice echoed softly through the dark hall:

“Yes,” he said.

“It is my own.”

Jiraiya felt his stomach flip.

He had seen Yahiko’s Rinnegan.

He had heard Pain’s philosophy.

And now…

another wielder had arrived in the heart of Amegakure.

This would shake the world.

“Then what’s our next step?”

Itachi paused at a dark stairwell leading downward, where no guard patrolled and no rain fell.

He turned his head just enough to let Jiraiya see the glow of his green Rinnegan through the hood.

“We escape,” Itachi said.

“Then… we prepare.”

Jiraiya nodded slowly, feeling resolve settling back into his bones.

Right behind him, Itachi whispered:

“And after that—

we end this war of gods before it begins.”