Chapter 18: Disability
"No… I must survive!"
The thought roared within Jiraiya's mind, louder than the silence that pressed in around him. His body was heavy, his chakra thinning with every second inside the suffocating realm. Two Leaf ninjas pushed desperately at his shoulders, straining to force him out of the deathly field that gnawed at his life force.
For a fleeting instant, hope flickered. Jiraiya's upper body slipped free of the suffocating silence. But then—thud. The two shinobi who had been pushing him suddenly collapsed, their strength spent, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
The Toads clinging to Jiraiya's shoulders shivered, their summoning jutsu unable to withstand the field's oppressive drain. With faint croaks, they dissolved into motes of chakra, leaving their master alone.
Jiraiya coughed, air burning his throat. His chest rose and fell with ragged effort.
"Food…"
The word left his lips like a groan. Hunger—no, desperation—clawed at his consciousness. His reserves were gone, his body trembling. If he couldn't replenish his strength, the silence would return and claim him for good.
Everyone had died to pull him this far. He couldn't let it end here.
With trembling hands, Jiraiya clawed at the ground, dragging his limp lower body behind him. His legs refused to answer, trailing lifelessly like a doll's. Each pull tore fire through his muscles. His heartbeat slowed, each thump weaker than the last.
The cold crept in, seeping into his marrow. His skin turned pale, lips trembling.
"Guaaah!" he snarled, forcing air from his lungs. "I must… survive!"
His teeth gnashed, his heart hammered, and in that raw, primal frenzy, Jiraiya bit down on his own flesh. Blood flooded his mouth, metallic and bitter. He tore into the meat of his hand, ripping free a strip of flesh, and swallowed.
The taste was nauseating. But it was energy—fuel—life.
Every nerve screamed at him to stop, but his will screamed louder. He clawed forward another meter, smearing a trail of blood behind him, until his body collapsed once more, shuddering.
Darkness swam at the edge of his vision.
So this is it… is this all I can do?
But fate wasn't so merciless. Moments later, shadows appeared through the mist of silence. Konoha shinobi. Dozens of them, running into the jaws of death to drag their Sannin home. Arms seized him, voices shouted, chakra flared—Jiraiya felt himself lifted, carried, torn away from the clutches of the field.
When he opened his eyes again, he lay in the hands of Konoha's medics. They were screaming, chanting medical ninjutsu, working frantically over his ruined body.
The verdict was swift. Below his knees, his legs were nothing but necrotic flesh. Irreversible.
The operation was brutal but necessary. The blades cut, the blood flowed, and when it was over, the man once hailed as the Toad Sage of Mount Myōboku was left with nothing below his knees.
Jiraiya was alive. But broken.
And worst of all—he hadn't even glimpsed Uchiha Raizen.
---
Jiraiya's gamble had failed. When he activated Sage Mode and stepped into the Death Silence, he had believed its effects would weaken against the flood of natural energy coursing through him. At first, he had been right; the drain was slower, manageable. He had calculated that he could reach Raizen and return before the silence consumed him.
But the deeper he went, the hungrier the void became. Energy bled from him faster and faster, as though the realm itself grew stronger the closer one came to its master. At two-thirds of the distance, terror overtook his resolve. He fled, but it was too late. His strength abandoned him, and his body collapsed within that void.
Had the brave souls of Konoha not dragged him out, the Toad Sage would have joined the countless others who had already perished in the silence.
The medics tried everything—chakra strings, sealing tags, even experimental ninjutsu—to pull him out earlier. But every jutsu that touched the silence dissolved instantly, like smoke before a storm. Only raw flesh and bone could move within that cursed field.
And so, Konoha's forces bled and burned themselves thin, just to recover a single man.
---
Meanwhile, Uchiha Raizen remained unmoved. He lay deep within the silence, either in meditation, preparing another unfathomable technique, or perhaps simply asleep. No one knew.
But his silence was far more terrifying than violence.
For as long as he breathed, the Death Silence would grow. And as he grew stronger, so too would the field expand—until the whole world was swallowed by endless cold and stillness.
---
It didn't take long for the other great villages to hear of what had transpired in Konoha.
And they laughed.
Konoha had brought this upon itself. Danzo's ambition, the village elders' paranoia, and the massacre of a proud clan—how could they not expect retribution?
"This is Konoha's curse," the shinobi whispered across nations. "Their own sins birthed that monster."
But their laughter was nervous. Behind it lay unease. Because if Raizen truly existed—if he was as strong as the stories whispered—then he was a threat to them all.
And so, envoys and spies began to creep toward the ruins of Konoha, each village hoping to glimpse the sleeping demon for themselves. Some whispered of sealing him. Others of persuading him to join their ranks. Fools, perhaps, but ambition makes men blind.
---
Far away, within the hideout of the Akatsuki, another man stirred.
"Ahem…"
A weak cough broke the silence of a dimly lit chamber. Nagato opened his eyes slowly, his body aching as though every muscle had been flayed. He recognized the ceiling—the headquarters of the Akatsuki.
"Konan…?" His voice rasped like dry leaves.
At his side, Konan dropped her paper flowers in shock. Her eyes widened with relief, tears threatening to spill. "Nagato—you're awake! Don't try to move. You're in terrible condition."
Her words barely masked the truth. His body was ruined. His lower half was gone entirely, seared away. His upper body was burned, scarred, barely functional.
"I'm… alive?" Nagato whispered, almost in disbelief. Then the memory returned, and rage boiled beneath his frail frame. The endless silence, the crushing cold, the overwhelming chakra—Raizen.
His hand twitched, fumbling for the blanket. He threw it aside, only to stare in horror at his mutilated body. His legs—gone. His ribs—visible through charred flesh.
A surge of fury lit his fading eyes.
At that moment, Uchiha Obito and Black Zetsu entered the chamber.
"Good. You're awake," Obito said, voice flat. "We need to talk. The situation has worsened—"
"Madara!"
Nagato's roar cut through the room like thunder. His voice was raw, spitting blood with each word. His thin frame trembled with fury.
"This is your fault!" he snarled, eyes bloodshot. "You brought this monster into the world! You orchestrated the massacre—you pushed the Uchiha to the brink! And because of your scheme, I've lost everything! My body—my power—my future!"
Spit flew from his lips as he glared at Obito with unmasked hatred. "You dare show your face to me?!"
For a long moment, silence hung in the chamber.
Obito said nothing. He didn't need to—because Nagato's words were true. Uchiha Raizen was a product of their plan, of their manipulation. Without the clan's destruction, without the madness and grief, such a monster would never have awakened.
Obito lowered his gaze, his single Sharingan spinning faintly. Regret? Guilt? No—only calculation.
"Enough," Black Zetsu interjected, its voice slithering like oil. "Blaming each other is pointless. The truth is, Raizen exists now. And as long as he breathes, he is beyond all of us."
Nagato clenched his fists until blood dripped from his palms. His breath came ragged, his hatred boiling.
But deep inside, one truth gnawed at every man and woman who had glimpsed Uchiha Raizen's power:
The Will of Fire was fading. And in its place, only silence remained.