Blood on his hands.
Not chakra burns, not training bruises, not phantom injuries from dreams of past lives.
Blood. Warm. Real. Human.
Sora stood over the body, breathing hard.
Eyes wide.
The kunai in his hand trembled.
Not from weakness—
But from what he had just become.
---
Hours Earlier – Into the Spiral Shrine
The forest leading to the Spiral Shrine pulsed with ancient chakra.
Twisting trees.
Roots shaped like grasping hands.
The air was thick, damp—like the breath of something that had been asleep too long.
Sora moved swiftly, Ayame beside him, Ren scouting ahead.
They weren't alone.
"I feel him," Ayame whispered, activating her Sharingan. "The clone. Close."
Ren paused. "He's already breached the outer ring. If he reaches the inner flame…"
"…the seal breaks," Sora finished.
He didn't need to ask what that meant.
The First Devourer—whatever it was—would wake.
And the world would feel what true hunger looked like.
---
The Clone
Danzo's clone was nearly perfect.
Sora's face, Sora's build.
But the chakra was wrong.
It was hollow. Too clean. Too obedient.
It moved with lethal precision, burning through the Shrine's wards with jutsu stolen from Root's deepest vaults.
It turned just as Sora landed before it.
They locked eyes—mirror images.
"You're not supposed to be here yet," the clone said. "You're not ready."
Sora narrowed his eyes. "Neither are you."
---
The Battle
The clone struck first—quick, fluid, exact.
Sora blocked the first blow, dodged the second, let the third slide past his ribs—too close.
Then he retaliated.
Fire cloaked his blade—not just fire, but transformed chakra, stolen from the Forbidden Scroll's memory.
The clone parried—but staggered.
"You've evolved," it said. "Faster than expected."
"I'm not a plan. I'm a person," Sora growled, and drove his knee into the clone's stomach.
Ayame circled behind, unleashing a genjutsu—threads of memory, pain, and heat woven into illusion.
The clone shook it off. "Uchiha. Yandere subclass. Predictable."
She smiled. "Good. I'll make your death simple."
---
Bloodshed
They clashed again—steel on steel, chakra bursting through stone and vine.
Sora's hand flared—absorbing the clone's wind-style jutsu mid-cast.
He felt it rush through him, feeding the void in his core.
And then—
The clone faltered.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
Sora's kunai slipped beneath its guard.
And pierced its heart.
---
Aftermath
The clone gasped—eyes wide, expression not of anger, but… relief.
"You're... free," it whispered. "You… broke it."
Sora leaned close.
"What did Danzo put inside you?"
The clone's lips twitched in a broken smile.
"His legacy."
Then it died.
And Sora was left holding the kunai.
Dripping.
Red.
Shaking.
---
Ayame's Silence
Ayame stood a few feet away, watching him.
Her Sharingan was still active—but it didn't spin.
She said nothing.
Because she didn't need to.
She just walked over slowly… knelt… and pulled his bloodied hand into hers.
Sora didn't look at her.
"I didn't think it would feel like this."
"It shouldn't," she whispered. "But it does. That means you're still human."
He looked at the dead body again.
"It was me."
"No," she said firmly. "It wore your face. That's all."
---
Ren's Warning
Ren returned moments later, wiping blood off her blade.
"More Root operatives nearby. Two fled when they felt the seal ripple. The Shrine's intact—for now."
She looked at the corpse. "Did he say anything?"
Sora nodded. "Danzo's legacy."
Ren's mouth tightened. "Then the real fight hasn't started yet."
She glanced at Sora. "Congratulations. You've crossed your first line."
---
That Night
Back in the Uchiha estate, Sora sat by the koi pond in the back garden, the moon reflecting off the water like a cracked mirror.
He washed the blood from his hands slowly, watching it swirl and vanish.
But he could still feel it.
The weight of it.
Ayame appeared behind him, silent again.
She crouched, wrapped her arms around his chest, and rested her head on his shoulder.
"Your first kill always lingers," she whispered.
"But it gets easier?"
She was silent for a moment. Then softly:
"No. You just get better at pretending it doesn't matter."