The night over Konoha was unnaturally dark, as if stained with ink.
Within the thick, suffocating darkness of the Forest of Death, shadows slithered through the undergrowth near a cave embedded in a sloped rock face.
Hiss… hisss…
As if sensing something, the snakes raised their heads slightly, tasting the air with blood-red tongues.
On a distant tree, several masked, shadowy figures materialized as silently as owls, their presence unnoticed by the serpentine sentinels.
"Is this the place?"
Clad in light armor, Sarutobi Hiruzen stood at the forefront, his expression grim. His low mutter, heavy and complex, was lost in the direction of the pitch-black cave entrance.
"Fan out," Hiruzen commanded, his voice low.
Swish! Swish!
The shadows behind him dissolved and scattered instantly, spreading out like vast black wings to encircle the area with their sharpened talons.
This was the ANBU—the Special Assassination and Tactical Squad—renowned for their efficiency, brutality, and icy composure.
Recently, many Genin, Chūnin, and even ANBU operatives from Konoha had vanished without a trace. It was critical to remember that any shinobi eligible for ANBU was at least a Chūnin with exceptional skills; these individuals formed the backbone of the village's strength.
Even with Shimura Danzō working behind the scenes to cover things up, it was impossible to erase all traces completely.
The matter had finally reached Hiruzen, pulling him away from handling conflicts on the Land of Fire's borders. The moment he heard the details, his thoughts immediately turned to the recent, unsettling reports about Orochimaru's movements...
"Orochimaru..."
After a moment of heavy silence, Hiruzen and two ANBU bodyguards vanished, leaving behind only a sigh that seemed to carry both disappointment and regret.
Meanwhile, deep underground, accessed through the cave and within the labyrinthine, damp, and frigid drainage system...
Drip… drip…
The only sound was the steady plink of filthy water into stagnant puddles. However, within a vast, cavernous space hidden in the gloom, a secret laboratory had been established.
"No matter how many times I see it, the exquisite wonder of this vessel never fails to astound me."
Orochimaru stared at the silent, intact corpse on the operating table, his heart swelling with a near-overflowing desire and greed.
He had traveled far and wide across the shinobi world and had seen many well-preserved ancient bodies. But they were always marred—skulls distorted, eyes bulging, or limbs swollen enough to burst from their garments.
This corpse was utterly different. Its features were delicate, almost otherworldly. The skin was pale, the dark hair still held a soft luster, and not even an eyelash had fallen out. With eyes peacefully closed, the figure seemed merely lost in a deep slumber.
Yet, the desiccated torso bore clear signs of dehydration, and the muscles of the limbs had withered away.
Orochimaru was certain the youth was dead. And yet, paradoxically, this vessel still held a lingering trace of vitality. To Orochimaru, it felt as if the 'soul' had torn free from its shackles, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.
"So this is the Ōtsutsuki clan," Orochimaru murmured, his chest rising and falling slightly as his tongue flicked out to wet his parched lips.
According to the ancient texts of the Hyūga clan, this was the powerful race that had created chakra and ninjutsu. It was only natural they would possess immense vitality and potent souls. Yet, even for an Ōtsutsuki, the blood that flowed was still a vivid crimson.
Based on his deductions, if he could successfully transplant all the organs from this body, he might even be able to fundamentally alter his own constitution and bloodline, granting himself unimaginable talent for ninjutsu and a formidable life force.
This kind of surgery was something only he, with his mastery of organ and cellular transplantation, could perform. Not even Tsunade could manage it. It felt as if... it had been prepared just for him.
With this thought, Orochimaru's gaze shifted to the figure on the adjacent operating table, meeting a pair of pale eyes that seemed to tremble with fear.
The figure there was a boy of only fifteen, coincidentally similar in age to the corpse. Long, silken black hair cascaded down, framing a youthful face that was pale and taut. The manji-shaped cursed seal on his forehead stood out starkly.
In all of Konoha, indeed in the entire shinobi world, only the Hyūga clan possessed such pure, snow-white eyes. And only a member of the branch family would be branded with the ugly "Caged Bird" seal.
Hyuga Kumokawa.
That was the boy's name.
Both the corpse of this Ōtsutsuki clansman and the ancient scrolls detailing the Hyūga's primordial secrets had been offered to Orochimaru by Hyūga Kumokawa himself.
According to the secrets within those scrolls, the Hyūga were direct blood descendants of the Ōtsutsuki. This should, in theory, make Kumokawa the most compatible donor, minimizing the risk of rejection and complications.
"Kumokawa, only the heart remains. Are you prepared?"
Orochimaru's face wore a soft, gentle smile as he deliberately omitted the surname and honorifics, addressing the boy by name alone.
Such familiar address usually implied intimacy or a vast disparity in status. Clearly, theirs was not a relationship of warmth. It was an arrogance that declared, "Everything about you belongs to me."
And indeed, that was the truth.
Orochimaru had already implanted his cursed seal on the boy. Once the organ transplant was complete and his soul-transference jutsu fully developed, all that would remain would be to find a way to break the Caged Bird seal. Then, this perfect vessel would be his.
With the cursed seal in place, Orochimaru harbored no fear of things slipping from his control. This was, after all, just the "failure" the Hyūga clan spoke of.
"Lord Orochimaru, please proceed."
Though fear was etched on Hyūga Kumokawa's face, his tone was resolute. His eyes, fixed on Orochimaru, were filled with something akin to reverence and gratitude. "You killed that old man and avenged my parents. I am willing to offer you this body that was never truly my own."
Hearing this, Orochimaru allowed himself a faint smile. Infiltrating the Hyūga compound to assassinate a main family elder had indeed required some effort. He imagined his dear teacher had probably already figured out who was responsible by now.
It couldn't be helped. To perform this surgery flawlessly while also maintaining the life-sustaining sealing formulas, he needed to devote his full, undivided concentration. He had no energy left to sustain a genjutsu; the recipient had to remain consciously awake.
Thus, he had no choice but to fulfill Hyūga Kumokawa's request—to kill the elder who had driven his parents to their deaths—to secure the boy's willing and cooperative participation.
But it didn't matter. He had long grown weary of everything in Konoha. If it meant grasping the secrets of the Ōtsutsuki, even defecting from the village would be a price worth paying.
"Lord Orochimaru, what are you doing?"
The final person in the laboratory finally spoke. It was an elderly man in a white lab coat—the missing Director of Konoha's Hospital, in reality a medical talent cultivated by Danzō, codenamed "Owl."
At this moment, the look Owl directed at Orochimaru held not just shock and anger, but a greater measure of fear.
Orochimaru paid him no mind. The old fool would comply soon enough anyway.
With this thought, Orochimaru banished the last distracting notion from his mind. After confirming everything was ready, he activated the complex sealing array beneath his feet.
Huum…
Dark sealing patterns spread over Hyūga Kumokawa's body, binding him while simultaneously supplying chakra. A pre-established external blood circulation system activated, with tubes connected to the aorta and the superior and inferior vena cava.
By now, Kumokawa's kidneys, liver, pancreas, gallbladder, and other organs had already been replaced by those from the Ōtsutsuki corpse. Only the most crucial, and most dangerous, step remained: the heart.
Schlick.
A chakra scalpel materialized in Orochimaru's hand. Its tip traced a path along the boy's bone and flesh. The opened chest cavity revealed the deep crimson of internal organs. With intense focus, Orochimaru carefully excised the still-beating heart, preserving only parts of the posterior left atrial wall and right atrial tissue.
Turning, he retrieved the Ōtsutsuki heart from the corpse. Holding the calm, yet vividly red organ in his hands, his movements were nearly reverent, yet his hands remained utterly steady.
The heart of the Ōtsutsuki clan was placed into Hyūga Kumokawa's chest.
"You… you intend to perform a heart transplant?" Owl suddenly stammered, his voice trembling. "You think the two of us alone can manage this?"
"I think you can," Orochimaru said, lifting his gaze to the old man, his tone icy. "Because if you can't, what follows might get rather… messy. Don't you agree?"
Owl's aged, slack skin twitched slightly. But he obediently moved to stand before the operating table.
Orochimaru began the vascular suturing. His methods were brutally primitive and audacious. A single flawed vessel connection would plunge the recipient into immediate, irreversible crisis.
Yet, under the precise, coordinated efforts of the two, a flood of chakra poured into Hyūga Kumokawa's body, providing a continuous, potent stream of life force. It was a miracle, tenuously preserving his existence.
Time ticked by. Orochimaru's stored chakra steadily depleted.
Fortunately, the blood vessels began to heal. Even the cross-shaped incision on the chest started to close under the influence of the Mystical Palm Technique.
"Only the final step remains. I will release the life-supporting barrier."
Drained of chakra, Owl was barely able to stand. Orochimaru's already pale face had turned ashen. He stared intently at Kumokawa's body and whispered, "Kumokawa, do not disappoint me."
Now, success hinged entirely on whether Hyūga Kumokawa could withstand this power.
The power of the Ōtsutsuki.
THUMP!
A heartbeat like a war drum echoed through the chamber. Veins and blood vessels, like dense leaf veins, rose beneath Kumokawa's skin, tinted a faint blue-green.
On the monitors, the vital signs, now devoid of external support, immediately began to fluctuate wildly.
"AHHHH!!"
Even with all his mental preparation, the agony that felt like it was tearing his very being apart instantly wrenched a raw, hysterical scream from Hyūga Kumokawa.
The blood pumped by the new heart felt like a burning torrent raging through his vessels. Countless capillaries on his exposed skin ruptured. His body temperature skyrocketed in an instant to a scalding, feverish heat, as if molten iron now flowed in his veins instead of blood.
"Use your chakra!" Orochimaru commanded, his voice grave. "Use your own chakra to suppress and control the heart! Force it to calm down!"
Huum…
Veins bulged around Hyūga Kumokawa's eyes. The chakra erupting from within made Orochimaru's pupils contract sharply.
But then, the struggling boy's body suddenly went rigid. The vital signs that had been climbing rapidly on the monitors stalled, then began to plummet at a terrifying rate. A shrill, insistent alarm pierced the silence of the lab.
"Damnation!" Orochimaru's face instantly darkened. "A Hyūga should be the most compatible vessel. How could he fail so quickly!"
If even Hyūga Kumokawa couldn't withstand it, his only option would be to abduct a member of the main Hyūga family.
There was no choice. He had to extract the heart before it necrotized and preserve it again.
With this thought, Orochimaru began to gather his dwindling chakra to form a scalpel.
Thump…
A faint sound reached his ears, freezing his movements. His head snapped up to stare at the boy.
THUMP!
Kumokawa's eyes remained closed, yet a dull sound emanated from his chest, clearer this time than the first.
A dreadful silence fell over the laboratory, broken only by that increasingly prominent heartbeat.
Thump! Thump-thump!
Gradually, the muffled beat transformed—from scattered raindrops on plantain leaves into the deafening, rhythmic thunder of war drums, pounding forcefully within his ribcage.
"This is…"
Uncontainable elation spread across Orochimaru's face. He moved closer with careful, almost reverent steps, as if approaching the ultimate truth of the world. His vertical, golden pupils instinctively flicked to the monitors.
Indeed, the vital signs were stabilizing. In fact, the readings were becoming… superhuman. Impossibly vigorous. Terrifyingly potent.
Which meant, finally…
"Yes."
Someone answered Orochimaru. The voice was soft, as if narrating a beautiful fairy tale.
"Finally… it succeeded," the voice said.
Stunned by the surge of surprise and joy, Orochimaru froze. He watched as the figure on the operating table slowly opened its eyes.
He was met with a gaze both familiar and utterly foreign.
The once-pure white pupils now, under the shadowless lamp, shimmered with a complex, layered iridescence. They flowed like molten glass, hues shifting between a pale azure and white.
Yet, this was not the source of the profound dissonance gripping Orochimaru.
It was the eyes themselves. They held almost no discernible emotion, as calm and unfathomable as a deep, stagnant pool.
The welling blood on Kumokawa's body evaporated instantly from the intense heat, rising in a crimson mist that veiled his face in a hazy gloom.
Blood surged through his vessels like a thawing spring torrent. Every cell breathed with the wild, unrestrained force of a sprout breaking through stone. An overwhelming power awakened in every limb and joint.
"You…"
Beside them, Owl witnessed the scene, his pupils dilating in shock, his mouth falling open to speak.
But, in the next instant—
Schlick.
The blade was swift. There was no pain as it passed, only the cold finality of death.
It sounded like a breeze quieter than the night wind, a soft whisper as it pierced flesh, then was swallowed by the silence.
Acting on pure instinct, Orochimaru jerked his head to the side. A faint tearing sound followed, and a sharp sting bloomed on his cheek.
A thin red line slowly traced its path across his face, lengthening, splitting the skin, stopping only at his cheekbone. Blood sprayed like scattered reed flowers, a warm wetness tracing down his jaw.
Owl, standing beside him, felt his world tilt and spin in disorientation.
Thud.
A headless body slumped to its knees. Blood fountained from the severed neck, painting the laboratory in a sudden, crimson rain.
The severed head hit the floor with a sickening, melon-like crack. It rolled, leaving a gory trail, the face still etched with a trace of bewilderment before coming to a rest, sightless, in the growing pool of blood.
From the separated neck, the blood continued to bloom like a macabre fountain, the downpour splattering the only two figures left standing.
"I've waited for this day… for so very long."
Hyūga Kumokawa sat up. He examined the hand that had just held the chakra scalpel, watching as blood gathered at his fingertips like spring dew on a leaf. Lifting his gaze to meet Orochimaru's, he smiled. "On a night like this, silence is most fitting."
Three years. Three years, and then another three…
Finally, he had mended the inherent flaws of this frail vessel, claiming the true Ōtsutsuki heritage that was rightfully his, and…
[Congratulations. You successfully faked a legend, pretended to be a friend while holding a knife, and created fake evidence that fooled a genius. Orochimaru believed you completely. Here is a massive amount of points as a reward.]
[Evaluation: A beguiling trick, a shadow play on the wall; even a small man can cast a giant's silhouette.]
[Remaining Fulfillment Points: 10,041]
"…"
Orochimaru stared at that youthful face. In his memory, it had always been etched with timidity and fear.
But now, the cursed seal at the nape was fading. The face wore a profound, inscrutable smile.
Like a child who mischievously pins an ant beneath his finger, watching it struggle before giving a light, decisive press.
A malignancy of absolute purity.