Tonight, the skies over Konoha were darker than ever—so black they seemed soaked in ink.
Deep within the oppressive shadows of the Forest of Death, at the edge of a sloped faultline, countless serpentine silhouettes slithered silently through the underbrush.
Hiss... hiss...
As if sensing something, the snakes paused, raising their heads and flicking out crimson tongues, tasting the air.
Perched silently on distant branches like silent owls, masked figures cloaked in black appeared, unnoticed by the snake horde.
"Is this the place?"
The first to speak was Hiruzen Sarutobi. Clad in light armor, his face was dark and grave as he stood atop a tree, eyes fixed on the abyssal cave in the distance. His voice was a murmur weighed with complexity.
"Spread out," Hiruzen ordered, his tone low and commanding.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
The figures behind him instantly scattered like unfurling black wings, encircling the area with silent precision.
They were the ANBU—elite operatives known for their efficiency, ruthlessness, and cold precision.
Recently, many genin, chunin, and even ANBU operatives had vanished without a trace. These weren't just any ninja—those qualified to join ANBU were at least tokubetsu jonin with unique skills, the pillars of their clans.
Even with Danzo Shimura working behind the scenes to cover it up, not every trace could be hidden.
What shocked and enraged Danzo himself was that a Hyuga Clan elder from the Main Family had been found dead today, and the director of Konoha Hospital had mysteriously disappeared in broad daylight.
Has Orochimaru gone mad?
The matter had finally escalated enough to drag Hiruzen away from the tense border disputes in the Land of Fire. It immediately brought to mind recent reports of Orochimaru acting unusually...
"Orochimaru..."
After a moment of silence, Hiruzen and two ANBU operatives vanished into the trees, leaving only a sigh—half regret, half disappointment.
Beneath the mountain cave, within a maze-like, damp, and chilly drainage system...
Drip... drip...
The sound of stagnant water echoed faintly.
In one of its hidden chambers—an underground space long since transformed into a secret laboratory—an eerie calm reigned.
"No matter how many times I look at it, I'm still amazed by the intricacy and perfection of this body."
Orochimaru stood beside a surgical table, staring at the silent, intact corpse lying atop it. Desire and greed brimmed in his golden, serpentine eyes.
He had wandered the shinobi world and seen many well-preserved corpses—some with twisted skulls and bulging eyes, others with grotesquely swollen limbs that tore through their clothes.
But this corpse was different.
Its features were exquisite—almost too perfect to be human. The skin was soft, the long black hair still lustrous, and even the eyelashes remained intact. The eyes were closed, as if the youth was simply asleep.
Yet the emaciated frame bore clear signs of dehydration. All muscle tissue had atrophied.
Orochimaru was certain: this boy was dead. And yet... the body retained a strange trace of vitality.
It was as if the soul had slipped free—leaving behind a flawless shell.
"This is the power of the Otsutsuki Clan..." Orochimaru murmured, chest heaving slightly. He licked his parched lips with a forked tongue.
According to ancient Hyuga texts, the Otsutsuki were the progenitors of chakra and ninjutsu—a race possessing unparalleled vitality and souls of unimaginable strength.
But even the Otsutsuki bled red, not the divine ichor of gods.
If he could transplant all of this body's organs into himself, he might not only gain its immense chakra potential but rewrite his own biology.
Such a procedure—organ and cell transplantation on this scale—could only be performed by him. Not even Tsunade would stand a chance.
It was as if this body had been prepared just for him.
His gaze shifted to another figure lying on a nearby surgical table.
This one was alive.
A teenager, no more than fifteen or sixteen, with long, silk-black hair and a pale, tense face. Most striking were his snow-white eyes—filled with a mix of fear and stubborn resolve—and the prominent cursed seal on his forehead: the Caged Bird seal of the Hyuga Clan.
Hyuga Unkawa.
That was the boy's name.
The corpse of the Otsutsuki, and the ancient texts detailing the Hyuga's origins, had both been offered to Orochimaru by Unkawa himself.
According to those ancient records, the Hyuga were direct descendants of the Otsutsuki. Genetically, that made Unkawa the ideal candidate—no risk of rejection or complications.
"Unkawa, only the heart remains. Are you ready?"
Orochimaru's smile was soft, almost gentle, as he deliberately omitted honorifics and surnames. His tone was laced with condescension—the kind that says, You belong to me.
And it was true.
Once the transplant was complete, Orochimaru would implant his cursed seal and begin crafting the soul-transfer technique. Eventually, he would break the Caged Bird seal and seize this perfect vessel for himself.
He wasn't worried. The boy was just a discarded "failure" of the Hyuga clan.
"Lord Orochimaru, please proceed."
Despite the fear etched on his face, Unkawa's voice was firm. Gratitude and reverence shone in his eyes.
"You avenged my parents by killing that old bastard. I'm willing to offer you this body of mine."
Orochimaru chuckled quietly.
Indeed, infiltrating the Hyuga compound to eliminate a Main Family elder had taken effort. No doubt his old mentor had already figured out who was behind it.
But he had no choice.
The surgery demanded his full attention—especially the sealing techniques needed to keep the host alive. He couldn't use genjutsu to numb Unkawa's awareness. The boy had to remain conscious.
So Orochimaru had fulfilled his one request—vengeance.
And it had paid off.
He was long tired of Konoha. If this led to defection, so be it. Uncovering the Otsutsuki's secrets was worth the price.
"What are you planning, Orochimaru?!"
The sudden voice belonged to an elderly man in a white lab coat—the missing director of Konoha Hospital.
In truth, he was a medical specialist raised by Danzo, known by the codename Owl.
Owl's face twisted with anger and fear as he watched.
But Orochimaru paid him no mind. Soon enough, the old man would fall in line.
With a final breath, Orochimaru activated the complex sealing array beneath his feet.
Buzz...
Black seals lit up, binding Unkawa's body while infusing it with chakra. External life-support systems kicked in, with tubes connected to his major veins and arteries.
His liver, kidneys, pancreas, and gallbladder had already been replaced with those of the Otsutsuki corpse.
Only the heart remained.
Slice.
Orochimaru conjured a chakra scalpel in his hand. With surgical precision, the blade traced along Hyuga Unkawa's ribcage and muscle, parting flesh like silk. His chest cavity opened, exposing blood-red organs glistening in the sterile glow of the overhead lights. Orochimaru's focus sharpened as he reached in and severed the still-beating heart, preserving only part of the left atrial wall and a portion of the right atrium.
Turning with eerie calm, he retrieved the Ōtsutsuki heart from a sealed container. Though silent, it throbbed a deep crimson hue. Orochimaru lifted it with both hands in a motion almost reverent—ritualistic, even—but his expression remained cold, devoid of awe.
And then, he placed it into Unkawa's body.
"You're seriously doing a heart transplant?" Owl finally found his voice, raspy and tremulous. "You think just the two of us can pull this off?"
"I think you can," Orochimaru replied, eyes flicking to the old man, his tone ice-cold. "Because if you can't, things are going to get very... messy. Don't you think?"
Owl's wrinkled face twitched. He hesitated—then obediently stepped up to the operating table.
Orochimaru began stitching the blood vessels. His methods were raw, brutal even—primitive science meshed with arcane madness. One mistake, a single poorly connected vessel, and the recipient would plunge into irreversible shock.
But under the duo's meticulous—if terrifying—efforts, chakra surged into Hyuga Unkawa's body like a tidal wave, sustaining his fragile life. It was nothing short of a miracle, an unholy fusion of science and jutsu.
Time passed.
Orochimaru, drained of chakra, was forced to dismiss a clone he'd prepared in advance just to conserve energy. Still, the blood vessels had started to bind. Even the gaping cross-shaped incision across the chest was beginning to knit shut under the soothing glow of the Mystical Palm Technique.
"Only one step remains," Orochimaru muttered. "I'm lifting the life support barrier."
Owl was barely upright, his body swaying like a brittle twig. Orochimaru looked pale himself—deathly pale. He stared intently at Unkawa's body, voice lowered to a whisper.
"Don't disappoint me, Unkawa."
Whether the transplant succeeded now depended entirely on whether Unkawa could withstand the power surging within him.
The power of the Ōtsutsuki.
Thump!
A deep, drum-like heartbeat echoed through the lab. Veins bulged beneath Unkawa's skin, like greenish-blue vines crawling across parchment.
On the monitors, vital signs—previously maintained only by external chakra—spiked and dipped wildly.
"AAAHH!!"
Even though Unkawa had braced himself mentally, the pain still hit like a storm. It felt as if his entire body was being torn apart. He screamed—loud, raw, and primal.
His blood, pumped by the alien heart, seemed to boil in his veins. Capillaries burst across his skin in red spiderwebs. His temperature soared—he felt as if molten metal, not blood, was coursing through him.
"Use your chakra!" Orochimaru barked. "Control the heart—tame it! Calm it down!"
Vmmm!
Chakra exploded from within Unkawa, blue veins bulging around his eyes. Orochimaru's pupils narrowed slightly at the sudden surge of power.
But then—Unkawa's body went still.
The monitors flatlined. Vital signs dropped like a stone.
BEEEP. BEEEP.
The piercing sound of the alarm filled the lab.
"Damn it!" Orochimaru's face twisted. "The Hyuga should've been the ideal host! How could he fail this fast?!"
If even Unkawa couldn't survive it, he'd have no choice but to go after the Hyuga Clan's main branch next.
No more time to waste. He had to salvage the heart before necrosis set in.
Orochimaru turned, chakra already gathering for a new scalpel—one final cut.
Thump…
A soft sound reached his ears. He froze, then slowly looked back at the boy on the table.
Thump!
Unkawa's eyes were still shut—but a heartbeat echoed again, louder this time.
The lab fell into a deathly hush. The only sound: that heartbeat.
Thump. Thump-thump!
The rhythm built, growing louder, fiercer, until it boomed like a war drum in Unkawa's chest.
"…This is…"
A rare smile tugged at Orochimaru's lips as he stepped closer, like a priest approaching divinity. His golden slit-pupils flicked to the monitor.
Vitals were stabilizing.
Not only that—they were climbing. Wildly. Alarmingly.
They were no longer human.
Which meant—finally—
"Yes," came a soft voice.
Not Orochimaru's.
The voice was light, dreamy. Like someone reciting a fairytale at bedtime.
"We did it. Finally."
Startled, Orochimaru blinked. His gaze shifted toward the source of the voice.
And met a pair of eyes.
Familiar—yet utterly foreign.
Once pure white, the boy's Hyuga eyes were now laced with iridescence, like molten glass—somewhere between pale blue and white, shimmering beneath the overhead light.
But that wasn't what unsettled Orochimaru.
It was the void in them.
No joy, no fear. No emotion.
Just... still water. Deep. Cold. Dead.
The blood around him began to sizzle, vaporized by the heat rising from the boy's body. Red mist climbed into the air, veiling his face in a bloody fog.
His blood vessels roared to life, gushing like spring rivers freed from ice. Every cell screamed with breathless vitality, and an overwhelming strength coursed through every fiber of his being.
"You..."
Owl tried to speak.
But then—
Shick!
It was fast. So fast.
No pain—just the chill of death.
A breeze stirred, quieter than the night wind. The sound of flesh being pierced was so faint, it was almost as if it didn't happen.
Orochimaru instinctively turned his head. A faint rip echoed beside him. He felt a sting on his cheek.
A thin red line traced itself across his face, blooming drop by drop.
Owl's eyes went wide in horror. He opened his mouth to scream—
Thunk!
His head fell to the ground with a dull thud, like a watermelon cracking open.
Blood sprayed from the stump of his neck like a fountain, painting the lab in red. A macabre rain fell across the scene, splashing on the only two figures left standing.
Unkawa lowered his chakra blade, watching the blood flow down his hand, pooling at his fingertips like morning dew on spring leaves.
He looked up at Orochimaru and smiled.
"I've waited a long time for this."
Three years.
Three long years.
Now, this weak, pitiful body had finally been reforged—its potential unlocked. The Ōtsutsuki bloodline was his.
And with it came—
[Ding!]
[Your lie: "Ōtsutsuki Corpse and Descendant" has been judged as "Willing Sacrifice," "Honeyed Tongue, Hidden Blade," and "Lie Made Truth." Orochimaru experiences intense emotional resonance: Status—Completely Convinced. You've earned 10,000 Reality Points.]
[Evaluation: A masterstroke of deception. Like a shadow cast on a wall—small in stature, vast in impression.]
[Remaining Reality Points: 10,041]
"…Huh."
Orochimaru stared at the boy's face.
The same face he remembered—a boy who once flinched from raised voices and couldn't meet anyone's gaze.
But now—
That smile.
It was the kind of smile a child wore when holding an ant between two fingers. Watching it squirm.
And then crushing it.
Pure. Utter. Malice.