High above the battlefield, Max hovered in the sky, shrouded in his Perfect Susanoo. The armored colossus gleamed against the backdrop of destruction as the earth below was swallowed by fire and shockwaves.

He watched silently as the explosion Arthur had triggered swept across the ground like a tidal wave of annihilation—engulfing cities, oceans, and everything in its path. There was no escaping it. Only enduring it.

Then—

DING.

> Template Complete: Madara Uchiha (Jinchūriki of the Ten Tails)

One-time Transformation into Jubi’dara Form Granted

New Template Unlocked: Might Guy

Fusion Progress: 0%

Max’s eyes widened slightly, and a smirk tugged at his lips beneath the swirling energy of his Susanoo.

“So… it’s finally done,” he muttered. “The Devil’s path is complete… and now comes the Beast of Youth.”

Max’s eyes widened as the notification lingered in front of him like a divine revelation.

> One-Time Transformation: Jubi’dara Unlocked.

A form rivaling even Kaguya Ōtsutsuki in raw power.

“…Well… just… wow,” Max muttered, his voice nearly drowned by the roar of the storm below.

He hovered above the devastation, surrounded by swirling wind and ash, yet his mind was reeling from something far more overwhelming than the explosion beneath him.

With this transformation—temporary or not—he could wipe out ninety-nine percent of the heroes on Earth. That wasn’t arrogance. That was a statement of fact.

The power of the Ten-Tails’ Jinchūriki…

It made sense why it was a one-time use. Anything more would break the balance of the world—and probably the system too. After all, in the original timeline, even Madara only had it briefly… before betrayal cut his reign short.

> “Wait…” Max thought, his brow furrowing. “Does that mean… when I complete a template… I get their ultimate form?”

His thoughts quickened, heart pounding with both excitement and suspicion.

If that was true—

If every template completed granted him access to the pinnacle of that person’s power—

Then he already knew what awaited him at the end of Might Guy’s path.

> The Eighth Gate. The Gate of Death.

It sent a chill down his spine, not out of fear… but out of awe.

“So this is how the system works…” he thought. “Battle… killing… survival. That’s what pushes fusion percentage. The more I bleed, the more I grow.”

He hadn’t fully understood it before—only that combat seemed to accelerate his integration. But now he was starting to see the rules.

DING.

> Reward Unlocked: Madara (Fourth Great Ninja War) Outfit.

Max blinked as the notification faded.

“Well, I guess I have the whole set now,” he muttered, glancing down at the tattoo on his wrist.

A black spiral sigil etched into his skin—his link to the system. Through it, he could summon awarded gear, weapons, even store items in a near-infinite space. A storage system masquerading as a simple tattoo… but with power beyond imagination.

He let out a slow breath, his Perfect Susanoo still shimmering around him, casting long shadows across the clouds.

Below, the light of the explosion was finally dying out. The inferno had passed, the earth smoldering and broken, yet eerily quiet.

Max floated there, alone in the sky, watching the aftermath—when suddenly, his body began to glow.

He looked down, eyes narrowing.

His fingers shimmered with golden light, fading—breaking apart into motes, as if the very fabric of his being was being unraveled by time.

“…So… I guess it’s about time,” he said quietly.

The Susanoo crumbled beside him, dissolving into the ether like ash in the wind. His arm followed. Then his shoulder.

And as the final piece of his hand disintegrated—

His head tilted upward, and he smiled.

Then—

He vanished.

A silent burst of light scattered across the heavens.

—

Max blinked.

He was back in the Speed Force tunnel again—light bending and folding around him like a river of time. Ahead, two figures blurred through the glowing current: two Barrys, racing side by side.

The one trailing slightly had a more rugged look—his suit singed and torn in places. Older. Wiser. Tired.

“That’s the Barry I know,” Max muttered, floating weightless as the older Barry surged forward and grabbed his younger self by the shoulder.

The moment contact was made—

FLASH.

Max blinked again—

And suddenly, he was standing in his room.

He blinked once. Twice. Then quickly patted himself down—chest, arms, legs. “Everything’s still here,” he muttered in relief.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and flipped it open.

His eyes locked onto the government ID inside.

> Name: Pietro Maximoff

Photo: Him. Clearly him.

“…WTF?” Max breathed out.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, still staring at the ID. Pietro Maximoff? That wasn’t just a name change—that was a full-blown retcon.

He’d assumed that when Barry reset the timeline, he’d wake up naked in Star City again with nothing but the wind and bad luck. But this… this was different.

He looked around his room.

Everything was just like he remembered. Same chipped desk. Same cluttered nightstand. Even the poster of Jimi Hendrix still hung half-ripped on the wall.

But this identity—this Pietro Maximoff thing—was new.

“…Better than waking up without memories,” Max muttered. He leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He remembered what happened when Barry “fixed” the timeline in the comics and movies. He didn’t restore the original. He created a third timeline. A slightly neater, less chaotic version of the first—but still off well before grey face descends with his army”

In this new reality, the Justice League hadn’t been formed yet. Events were reshuffled.

And worse… Darkseid was coming.

Max pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the migraine building behind his eyes.

He looked down at the ID in his hand and muttered with an exasperated sigh, “Couldn’t I just get my own identity,the one I had been using for seven whole months?”

The name staring back at him still read: Pietro Maximoff.

“Seriously,” he grumbled. “I sound like a that damn speedster from the studio next door…”

It was bizarre. He hadn’t chosen this name, and yet here it was—federally registered, clean, airtight. Not waking up naked in an alley was a step up, sure, but that didn’t mean he was keeping it.

Max had no intention of answering to Pietro.

It would take too long to get used to being called by a new name—. He needed to reclaim who he really was: Max Schiller.

That’s why he was heading to Mich—short for Michelangelo Torres. The identity forger he’d paid when he first arrived in this crazy reality. If anyone could fix this mess, it was him.

Max opened his system space and willed his gear into existence. His mask appeared with a poof—cracked down the middle, a chunk missing from the side.

“Right. Forgot I broke this fighting Zoom,” he muttered.

He looked for his cloak—only to realize it was missing.

Then it hit him. He’d folded it neatly and left it on the ground before teaming up with Flash to fight Zoom… and never picked it back up.

Max slapped his forehead and dragged his hand down his face. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

Another poof, and the broken mask vanished, replaced by a new one: sleek, white, with three magatamas forming a triangle pattern around the eye slots—evoking the image of the three-tomoe Sharingan.

He smirked as the rest of his gear shifted into place: the Fourth Great Ninja War version of Madara’s armor. Dark, regal, powerful.

“At least I look the part,” he muttered, stepping out into the night.

Sometime later…

Max moved like a shadow across the rooftops of Starlight City, leaping from ledge to ledge in perfect silence. Every movement was sharp and efficient—pure ninja style,

The city below buzzed with neon signs, honking cars, and late-night chatter. But above it all, Max remained unseen he was then assaulted by a buzzing sound and looked to his left.

A strange creature gliding just above the skyline. With No eyes and nose. Just sleek yellow armor with neon green veins that gleamed under the moonlight. Two insect-like wings on its back beat rapidly, emitting a soft but unnerving buzzing sound.

It hovered for a moment, scanning the streets below like a predator searching for prey the then flew away.

Max narrowed his eyes.

“What… the actual hell?” he muttered. Then louder— “Oh hell Nah”

With a burst of speed, Max launched himself forward, vanishing from the edge of the rooftop in a blue going in persuit.

End of chapter.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep