"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win."
— Stephen King
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[First Person POV – Otis]
My eyes burned red from the strain of forcing them open, vision swimming. I tried to rip free from the ropes again, but my body had nothing left. Not even enough strength to scream. My throat was so parched it felt like it had turned to sandpaper. The world was still spinning when I heard it
Rustling. To my left.
My eyes narrowed. I turned my head, slow, heavy, like it weighed a hundred pounds. And then I froze.
Sayuri. Sasuke. Hinata.
For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. This was too good to be true.
Am I in a genjutsu?
The three of them stood there like they'd stumbled across a corpse. Their eyes went wide, their faces pale. Sayuri's mouth opened like she wanted to shout, to say something smart or smug like she always did—except the words died before they even left her lips.
Because they saw me.
What I looked like.
And shit, I must've looked like hell.
Those bastards had kept me alive—stitched and patched me just enough so my heart wouldn't stop before they could carve it out along with the rest of me. But I was still hanging on by a thread.
My entire body was a mess. My chest still burned, shoulders torn open, even my damn neck had faint outlines where someone had tried to carve me open like meat. Dried blood clung to every inch of me. Even my wrists…The ropes were soaked crimson, half-fused into my skin like they'd grown there.
Sayuri's eyes shimmered wet, her voice caught in her throat. For the first time, she didn't look like an arrogant Uchiha brat trying to keep up with me. She just looked… scared. Hinata wasn't any better. Her pale eyes glistened with tears, hands trembling as she covered her mouth.
And then, for the briefest moment, I swore I saw something red flickering in Sayuri's eyes.
They rushed forward, hands frantic, trying to tear the bindings off me, their small hands clawing at the ropes, I hissing when the blood-soaked bindings stuck like they'd fused to my wrists. The pain flared like fire when they tugged, but compared to everything else, it was almost funny.
Almost.
Then another rustle.
This time to my right.
I dragged my head that way, And look who steps out?
Naruto.
Of course.
Why wouldn't he be here? Where there's Sasuke, there's always Naruto. Heh.
Sayuri's brow twitched so hard I thought it might snap clean off her forehead. Her voice cut sharp.
"What are you doing here, Naruto?!"
Naruto puffed up his chest, that dumb stubborn pride written all over his face.
"I came to help!"
Sayuri looked like she was two seconds away from strangling him right there. "Help? HELP?!
Naruto stammered something back, louder, and the two of them were already bickering like idiots.
"Guys," I croaked, my voice nothing more than broken glass.
They froze, guilt flashing across their faces like they'd just remembered I was half-dead in the middle of a battlefield.
I swallowed, throat dry as desert sand. "Water…"
Hinata fumbled with her bag so fast I thought she'd drop it, but somehow her hands—still trembling brought a flask to my lips. Cool water slid down my throat, and for a second I thought I'd melt into the chair from relief.
"…Thanks," I muttered. My voice was rough, but at least I could speak without tasting blood.
Finally, the ropes gave way, tearing loose with wet, sickening snaps. My wrists burned and my whole body trembled. I was too weak, barely able to stand, but I was out of the chair. I was free.
We moved quietly, sneaking toward the shadows. Yuki was still rampaging, Shisui still clashing with Orochimaru, the room a storm of fire and steel. Maybe, just maybe, we could slip out unnoticed—
And then my gut twisted. Something wasn't right.
And there he was.
One of Orochimaru's subordinates, watching us like animals in a cage. His body was cut and bleeding, but his eyes burned with excitement.
A chuckle slipped out of me,
"Of course. It wouldn't be that easy."
***
[Third Person POV]
The clash between Orochimaru and Shisui rattled the underground chamber, sparks of jutsu and steel lighting up the darkness. Dust swirled in the air, carrying the sharp scent of blood and burning stone.
But in the shadows, something else stirred.
The second subordinate of Orochimaru slowly pushed himself up, his body trembling but his grin widening like a cut across his face. His jaw was split at the corner, bleeding, yet his teeth gleamed white against the crimson.
His name was Kazan.
One of Orochimaru's "projects," a shinobi enhanced, twisted, and stitched back together more times than he could count. His flesh carried the marks of experiments, his veins humming faintly with toxins. Not strong enough to clash with the Uchiha storm his master faced—no sane man thought that, but still dangerous.
Kazan pushed himself up, leaning on his sword like a crutch at first. His lips curved faintly, eyes sharpening as they settled on something that caught his attention.
His eyes locked on the back wall.
There.
The chair was empty.
The "subject" of Lord Orochimaru, the boy who'd been bound was now surrounded by kids. Four of them, The boy himself stood barely upright, but he was free.
Kazan's grin split wider, stretching almost grotesquely. He licked the blood from his lips as he whispered, "There you are. Crawling out like a rat… all for me to catch."
The grin that spread across his face wasn't human anymore—it was predatory.
He knew he couldn't match Shisui. But Lord Orochimaru had no use for excuses. The Uchiha was a storm beyond him, but the others? The brats? The weakened subject? They were prey. Easy prey. And Kazan would not let Orochimaru's subject slip away under his watch.
The blade in his hand rose, catching what little light crept into the chamber. His muscles tensed, chakra flaring dark and unstable, the kind only Orochimaru's experiments could carve into a man.
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Author's Note:
Freedom at last!
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