News of the ambush broke past the barrier like blood through bandages—fast, wild, and unstoppable. Whispers of death and fire clung to the air, curling under doorways and across rooftops like smoke. The scent of scorched wood and iron-slick blood choked the night, and the cries—distant, broken—were swallowed by the void overhead.
Shadows stretched unnaturally beneath the moonlight, as though recoiling from the terror still to come.
"I never knew the Uchiha were this powerful."
The voice sliced through the tension like a blade, but Danzo did not respond.
He stood motionless, one eye locked on the report in his hand. The wind stirred around him, carrying pine and ash, but it couldn't clear the reek of blood that now saturated the soil.
His fingers twitched—barely—but his voice was steel. "Inform Hiruzen. Tell him Uchiha Itachi has turned. Summon all Chunin and above."
He looked up, his expression hard.
"We're ending the Uchiha clan. Tonight."
The ANBU hesitated for half a heartbeat. Danzo noticed—but didn't address it. He waited.
"Understood!"
The figure vanished, melting into the dark like he'd never been.
Silence returned. Heavy. Waiting.
Danzo exhaled slowly.
This was necessary. This was inevitable.
And yet… the air felt wrong.
He crushed the thought before it could bloom.
With a flick of his hand, he gave the order. "Move out."
His elite Root operatives vanished into the night, their steps silent, their resolve absolute. Danzo followed, unhurried. Calculating. Every detail of the massacre already turning in his mind like a well-oiled weapon.
Then—A tremor.
It started low, a deep, groaning thrum that rippled through the soil beneath their feet. Leaves shook. Birds erupted from the trees in a frenzy, their shrieks swallowed by the sudden heaviness pressing in on the world.
Danzo froze.
"Hold."
The shadows moved. Not like ninja—but like something else. They warped unnaturally. Bent around something rising. Something impossible.
Then—
A skeletal hand tore through the earth.
It clawed upward with a crack of splitting stone, fingers twitching like it remembered hunger.
Another hand followed, pulling with it a colossal form—its body knitting itself together in obscene precision. Bones. Muscle. Tendons like cords of chakra, writhing as they fused. The ground split beneath its weight.
It rose—a titan of raw chakra. Silent. Radiating malice.
The air vibrated.
Root operatives stumbled. Some collapsed, choking on breath they couldn't draw. Sweat poured down their faces. Swords trembled in their grip.
Danzo's lone eye narrowed.
This wasn't just Susano'o. It was something beyond.
It was alive.
His fists clenched.
His hidden right arm—wrapped in seals and bandages—stirred. The stolen Sharingan beneath pulsed wildly, reacting to the monstrous energy in the air like prey sensing a predator.
A second pulse.
The earth shattered.
A skeletal hand the size of a house ripped free, curled fingers clawing at the sky. A pulse of chakra exploded outward like a cannon blast, flattening trees, warping space.
Danzo staggered—just once. His body, forged in war, should have held steady. But this—
This dwarfed the Nine-Tails.
"What in... what kind of ninjutsu is this?" he whispered. No one answered.
He took a step back, involuntary.
His pride faltered.
"Withdraw...!"
Root hesitated, unsure they heard right.
Danzo's voice broke.
"NOW!"
They moved—stumbling, retreating like rats before a flood.
Far from the battlefield...
A body hit the ground with a violent thud, kicking up dirt and blood.
Obito.
What was left of him.
His cloak hung in shreds. Blood painted his body in ugly red slashes. Deep gashes marred his flesh. His chest heaved. His Sharingan flickered wildly—one eye ghostly white, the other burning red with fury.
His mask—the one that had haunted nations—lay shattered at his feet.
For the first time in years, Obito felt fear.
Real fear.
His hands trembled. His mind raced. Not since Rin's death had something rattled him this deep.
He had seen war. He had caused it.
But this?
This was something else.
He turned slowly.
And there—bathed in moonlight, standing like a god of vengeance—
Kaito.
Not a boy. Not a rogue.
Not Uchiha.
Something more.
Obito stared, breath caught in his throat.
The night had become a nightmare.
And Kaito was at its center.