He hesitated. Every time he used the mokuton reminded him of the first time. And every time he had used it seriously since then had been a lot like the first time. Berserk. A blinded, thoughtless rush of rage and thrilled murder. And waking up after it, coming back to himself calm, bloody and detached.

But he had tried it outside of battle as well. Of course he had. Just to practice, just to see it. This would only be a demonstration.

He made the seals and felt the pulse. It was always strange. Bringing something into the world from nothing, the living wood pulled from the earth, from his own energy and intent. There was a crackle as the branches broke the ground first in one lurch, and then in a violent upward lunge. Dark, thorned, winding trunks which quickly filled up the open space between them, tangled and cracked as they struck and wove into one another, displacing the air around them so that Obito could feel the draft against his own skin.