Tonight, the night sky over Konoha was unusually black, as though soaked in ink.
And within the dense darkness of the Forest of Death, outside a stone cave wedged in a sloped fracture, serpentine shadows slithered among the bushes.
Hissss… hisss…
As if sensing something, the heads of the snakes lifted slightly, scanning the surroundings while their blood-red tongues flickered.
On the distant treetops, several masked figures clad in black appeared silently like owls, not disturbing the serpents at all.
"Here, is it?"
At the front, clad in light armor, Sarutobi Hiruzen's expression was grim. Standing on the branch, he looked toward the deep, pitch-black cave in the distance. His muttering voice carried a heavy, complicated tone.
"Scatter," Hiruzen commanded in a low voice.
Swish! Swish!
The shadows behind him instantly split apart, spreading like the wings of a giant bird of prey, enveloping the area with beaks and claws at the ready.
This was the ANBU—special assassination tactical squad, renowned for efficiency, cruelty, and calm precision.
Recently, many genin, chunin, and even ANBU had gone missing without a trace. To join the ANBU, one had to at least be a chunin with exceptional skills, a pillar of strength in Konoha.
Even with Shimura Danzō's attempts to cover up the matter in the shadows, the traces could not be completely erased.
And what angered and baffled Danzō most was that earlier today, a Hyūga clan elder of the main family had died, and the director of Konoha's hospital had vanished right under their noses.
Could Orochimaru have gone mad?
This matter finally alarmed Hiruzen, who was already busy handling conflicts at the borders of the Land of Fire. He immediately thought of the recent reports that Orochimaru's actions had been unusual…
"Orochimaru…"
After a moment of silence, Hiruzen and two ANBU vanished, leaving behind a sigh filled with both disappointment and regret.
___
Meanwhile, deep within the underground system connected to the cave, inside the labyrinthine, cold, damp sewage tunnels—
Drip… drip…
Only the sound of wastewater falling into stagnant pools echoed, rippling faintly.
Yet, within a vast, shadowy chamber, the space had already been remodeled into a secret experimental base.
"No matter how many times I see it, I can't help but marvel at the intricacy and wonder of this body."
Staring at the lifeless corpse on the operating table, Orochimaru's heart brimmed with greed and desire.
He had traveled all across the shinobi world, seen countless preserved corpses—skulls warped with bulging eyes, or swollen limbs bursting through clothing.
But the body before him was entirely different.
Its features were refined, unearthly, skin pale and smooth, hair dark and silky. Even the eyelashes remained intact. Its eyes were closed, as if in a mere slumber.
Only the torso was dried and shrunken from dehydration, the muscles of its limbs already withered.
Orochimaru was certain this youth was dead. Yet strangely, the body still retained a faint vitality.
The sensation it gave him was as if the "soul" had slipped away, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell…
"So this is the Ōtsutsuki clan…" Orochimaru's chest rose and fell, his tongue wetting his parched lips.
After all, the Hyūga clan's ancient records had spoken of them: a powerful race that had created chakra and ninjutsu, possessing extraordinary vitality and souls.
Still, even an Ōtsutsuki bled red blood, not the ichor of divine beings.
If his theory was correct, transplanting all of this body's organs could fundamentally remodel his own constitution and bloodline, granting him immense vitality and unmatched talent in ninjutsu.
And this surgery—only one skilled in organ and cell transplantation like him could attempt it. Not even Tsunade would be capable.
It was as though this body had been prepared especially for him.
His gaze shifted toward another operating table, meeting a pair of trembling, pale eyes, filled with fear, set in an aged, furious face.
The first pair of eyes belonged to a youth of fifteen, his age coincidentally close to that of the corpse. His long, jet-black hair cascaded down like silk, framing a pale, tense face. On his forehead, the mark of the "Caged Bird" curse stood out sharply.
Only the Hyūga clan, throughout all of Konoha and the entire shinobi world, possessed such pure, snow-white eyes. And only the branch family bore the curse seal.
His name: Hyūga Kumokawa.
It was this boy who had offered Orochimaru both the corpse of the Ōtsutsuki clansman and the ancient Hyūga texts revealing their long-hidden secrets.
According to the texts, the Hyūga were direct descendants of the Ōtsutsuki. This made him the most suitable recipient, reducing the risk of rejection or complications.
"Kumokawa, only the heart remains. Are you ready?"
Orochimaru's face wore a gentle, serpentine smile. He deliberately omitted honorifics and the boy's family name, addressing him intimately, arrogantly, as though saying, "You belong to me."
And indeed, it was so.
Once the transplant was complete, Orochimaru would brand him with a curse seal, refine the technique of soul reincarnation, then break the "Caged Bird" seal, and ultimately seize the perfect body for himself.
He wasn't worried. After all, this was merely a boy of fifteen or sixteen, a "failure" even among the Hyūga.
"Lord Orochimaru, please begin."
Though Hyūga Kumokawa's expression was filled with fear, his tone was firm.
Looking at Orochimaru, his eyes shone with admiration and gratitude:
"You slew that old man and avenged my parents. I offer you this body that was never truly mine."
Orochimaru chuckled at the words. Indeed, sneaking into the Hyūga compound and killing a main family elder had taken effort. By now, his old teacher must have realized it was his doing.
But there was no helping it. To perform the surgery perfectly, and simultaneously maintain the sealing array to sustain life, he needed total concentration. He couldn't spare energy to use genjutsu. The subject had to remain awake.
Thus, he had granted the boy's request—killing the elder who had driven his parents to their deaths—so that Kumokawa would willingly cooperate.
It mattered little to Orochimaru. He had long grown weary of Konoha. If he could gain the secrets of the Ōtsutsuki, betrayal was a price worth paying.
"Lord Orochimaru, what are you doing?"
The voice came from another elder in a white coat—the missing director of Konoha Hospital. In truth, he was a medical talent trained by Danzō, codenamed "Owl."
At this moment, Owl's gaze at Orochimaru brimmed with fear, anger, and disbelief.
But Orochimaru ignored him. Soon enough, the man would fall in line.
Calmly, Orochimaru banished the last distractions from his mind. Confirming that all was ready, he activated the intricate sealing array beneath his feet.
Buzz!
Black sealing marks spread across Hyūga Kumokawa's body, binding him while channeling chakra into him. At the same time, the external blood circulation system kicked in, with tubes inserted into his major veins and arteries.
His kidneys, liver, pancreas, and gallbladder had already been replaced with those of the Ōtsutsuki corpse. Only the most vital, most dangerous organ remained: the heart.
Slice.
Chakra scalpel in hand, Orochimaru's blade traced along bones and flesh, opening the chest to reveal the beating organs. Carefully, he cut free the heart, leaving only part of the atrial tissue intact.
He turned and lifted the Ōtsutsuki's heart from its chest cavity. It still glowed blood-red, pulsing faintly. Orochimaru raised it reverently, almost devoutly, though his hands never trembled.
The heart of an Ōtsutsuki was transplanted into Hyūga Kumokawa.
"You actually mean to perform a heart transplant?" Owl's voice quivered at last. "Do you think just the two of us can manage such a thing?"
"I think you can," Orochimaru's golden eyes lifted coldly. "Because if you can't, things will get… messy. Don't you agree?"
Owl's wrinkled face twitched, but he obediently stepped to the operating table.
The operation began. Orochimaru's methods were brutal, primitive. A single mistake in suturing a blood vessel would spell instant death.
Yet, under their delicate hands, chakra surged into the boy, fueling his fragile life like a miracle.
Minute after minute passed. Orochimaru's chakra reserves dwindled.
But at last, the blood vessels fused. Even the great cross-shaped incision across his chest was healing under medical ninjutsu.
"Only the last step remains. I will release the life-support seal," Orochimaru murmured hoarsely, pale-faced from chakra exhaustion. Fixing his eyes on the boy, he whispered:
"Kumokawa… do not disappoint me."
Now, it all depended on whether Hyūga Kumokawa could endure—the power of the Ōtsutsuki.
Thump!
A sound like a war drum thundered. Blue veins bulged across the boy's body, branching like tree roots beneath his skin.
On the monitors, his life signs, no longer supported by external power, spiked chaotically.
"AAAHHHH!!"
Despite all preparation, the agony was unbearable. Hyūga Kumokawa's scream tore through the chamber, his body writhing as though ripped apart.
Blood coursed through his veins like molten metal, burning him alive. Capillaries burst open across his skin, his temperature soared until he seemed aflame from within.
"Use your chakra! Suppress it! Control the heart! Calm it down!" Orochimaru barked.
Buzz!
Veins bulged around the boy's eyes. Chakra erupted violently within him, making Orochimaru's pupils contract.
But in the next instant, the youth's body stiffened. On the monitors, his vital signs, once skyrocketing, plummeted at a terrifying rate.
The alarm blared shrilly.
"Damn it!" Orochimaru's face twisted. "The Hyūga should have been the most compatible! How could he fail so quickly?!"
If even Kumokawa couldn't endure, Orochimaru would have no choice but to seize a main family member.
No time left. He'd have to cut the heart free and preserve it again—
But then—
Thump…
A faint sound froze his hand mid-motion. He snapped his head toward the boy.
Thump!
Eyes still closed, Hyūga Kumokawa's chest rumbled again. Louder. Stronger.
The lab was deathly silent, save for the heartbeat.
Thump! Thump-thump!
The rhythm grew, from the patter of rain to the roar of war drums, shaking his chest violently.
"This is…"
Orochimaru's lips curled with irrepressible joy. Slowly, reverently, he stepped closer. His golden pupils glinted as he checked the monitors.
The vitals had stabilized—and not merely stabilized. They surged beyond human limits, vigorous and terrifying.
At last…
"Yes."
A voice answered him, soft, almost like telling a fairy tale.
"At last, it succeeded," the voice said.
Startled, Orochimaru turned. On the table, the youth's eyes fluttered open.
He met a pair of eyes—familiar, yet strange.
The once-pure Byakugan now shimmered with prismatic light, like molten glass flowing between pale blue and white.
But what unnerved Orochimaru most was not the color.
It was the utter lack of emotion in those eyes—calm and deep as stagnant water.
The blood spilled across the floor evaporated instantly into a crimson mist, veiling his face.
His blood surged like thawing rivers, his cells bursting to life like buds through stone. An unmatched power coursed through him.
"You…"
Owl's eyes widened in horror. His lips parted to speak—
Slice!
A blade flashed. No pain, only cold death.
A sound softer than wind pierced flesh, erased by silence.
Orochimaru instinctively turned his head. A thin red line bloomed across his cheek, blood sliding down like dew.
Beside him, Owl's world spun.
Thud!
The headless body knelt, spraying blood like rain. The severed head hit the ground with a sickening crack, rolling in a crimson trail, its eyes frozen in disbelief.
Blood sprayed like a fountain, painting the lab in scarlet drizzle.
"I have waited for this day… too long."
Hyūga Kumokawa sat up. He gazed at his bloodstained hand, then at Orochimaru, and smiled:
"Such a night… should have been silent."
Three years. Three years, and another three…
At last, his fragile body was complete. At last, the blood of the Ōtsutsuki was truly his. And at last—
Ding!
[Your lie—"Ōtsutsuki Corpse and Descendant"—has been judged as: [Self-Entrapment], [Honeyed Words, Hidden Blades], [Falsehood Made Real].
Orochimaru's emotional fluctuations have reached the level of [Deep Conviction].
You gain 10,000 "Truth Points."]
[Evaluation: A beguiling trick, like shadows cast upon walls. Even the smallest figure can project a towering image.]
[Remaining Truth Points: 10,041]
"…"
Orochimaru stared at that once-timid face. A face he remembered always cowering, always shrinking away.
But now—
It wore a smile. Deep, cruel, as though a child pressing down on an ant, watching it struggle before crushing it completely.
Pure, unadulterated malice.