Unlike the naive fumblings of his past, the fog had finally lifted, replaced by a crystalline, dreadful clarity. The path of the 'saviour'—a concept polluted by the weak and the self-deceiving—was an absurdity. Uchiha Sasuke knew his true, singular calling now: Darkness. It was the crucible in which he would forge his vengeance and, perhaps, the world's necessary end.
He walked the cold, dank hallway of Orochimaru's subterranean base. Each step was a commitment, echoing the cold finality of his resolve. The Sannin should have completed his grotesque revival by now. The Curse Mark wasn't merely a source of power; it was a morbid fail-safe, a respawn point tattooed onto the souls of his apprentices.
Sasuke reached the main hall. The space was immense, a cathedral built for depravity, barely illuminated by the sickly yellow glow of sparse torches. Yet, after months of training in the lightless, pressure-cooked depths of this labyrinth, the dimness was no impediment. To him, the shadows held no secrets; they were extensions of his own formidable power.
There, beneath the colossal, rearing statue of a snake, sat Orochimaru. He was unnervingly placid, seated in an ornate chair, reading a leather-bound book.
A book. The sight was an incongruity that instantly alerted Sasuke's honed suspicion. Orochimaru, the walking library of kinjutsu and forbidden knowledge, a man whose encyclopedic memory was legendary, did not need such trivial reference material. It was a posture, a calculated piece of psychological theatre meant to project utter leisure and control.
Sasuke moved past him, his gaze fixed on the entrance to the private living quarters Orochimaru had allotted him. It was a gesture of respect paid not to an apprentice, but to a coveted vessel.
"You have been quite famous, Sasuke-kun, kukuku."
The voice was a familiar, reptilian hiss. The laughter that followed, a dry, rattling choke, was amplified by the vast stone hall, seeping into the corners of the hideout.
Sasuke halted, his muscles tightening like steel cables beneath his clothes. He turned only his head, fixing the Sannin with a narrowed, obsidian glare. "What do you mean?"
The question was genuine, fuelled by immediate, icy confusion. He mentally replayed the image of his last, terrible act: the swift, surgical execution of the Tsuchikage and the subsequent annihilation of the supporting Iwa ranks. It had been brutal, definitive, and above all, recent. The news should not have travelled across the elemental nations, been confirmed, assessed, and codified so quickly. Standard communication travel times, even with highly trained Shinobi, required several days. This was impossible.
"Here, look at this." Orochimaru extended the infamous black-bound volume: the Bingo Book.
Sasuke took it, his fingers brushing the cool, clammy paper. His eyes, the windows to his accelerating power, devoured the classified entry:
BINGO BOOK ENTRY: CLASSIFIED
Name: Uchiha Sasuke
Gender: Male
Affiliations: Konoha (Missing-Nin), Orochimaru (Deceased)
Alias: Demon from Hell, The Last Uchiha
Identifying Features: Black eyes, spiky black hair with a blue tint
Age Approx: 15 years old
Ninja Rank: Genin (Threat Level S-rank)
Kekkei Genkai: Three-Tomoé Sharingan
Known Elemental Affinities: Lightning and Fire
Known Abilities: Master at Kenjutsu, Chidori Sharp Spear (extended lightning spear), Chidori, Unknown force (surrounding manipulation), Strange Mode (two horns), Second Mode (grey skin/wings, massive stats boost).
Achievement: Killed the Tsuchikage alone and annihilated over a thousand ninja.
Threat Level: S-rank
Bounty:1.3 Billion Ryo (Iwagakure - 400M, Sunagakure - 350M, Kumogakure - 250M, Konohagakure - 200M, Kirigakure - 100M)
'Wtf, there is no way that news travelled that fast? This is not just fast; it is precognitive.' The analysis of his abilities was thorough, describing his varied Cursed Mark transformations—data that should only exist within Orochimaru's private research notes. They even had a specific name for his expanded Chidori technique, the Chidori Sharp Spear.
The staggering bounty of 1.3 billion Ryo forced a tight, cynical grimace onto his face. He was the most expensive fugitive in the history of the Shinobi world, surpassing even the Sannin beside him. Konoha's pitiful 200 Million Ryo contribution was the final, stinging proof: they had abandoned him completely.
Good. They don't know about the Mangekyou Sharingan; now, Orochimaru too would not know about the Mangekyou Sharingan. The absence of the Mangekyou Sharingan was his sole comfort, the definitive secret that still granted him an edge.
"KUKUKU, Sasuke-kun, you have set a record. In terms of bounty, you have even surpassed me." Orochimaru's prolonged laughter was meant to grate, to solicit a reaction, a flicker of pride or fear he could catalogue. He watched Sasuke's face intently, judging the psychological fallout.
Sasuke's teeth were clamped, holding back the storm. His body remained still, projecting icy contempt. "If it's just this, then I am leaving."
He resumed his walk, his footsteps ringing with an artificial slowness that masked the volcanic anger boiling beneath his surface. Just enjoy these one and a half years before your death. I will ensure that your end will be one with endless suffering, as you will not even have a place to busy yourself. And I will also make sure, no one will even remember you.
The past year and three months had been a blur of savage, self-inflicted pain. Sasuke had cast off the cloak of secrecy, recognising the futility of hiding his progress from the Sannin who viewed him only as property. He had trained recklessly, using Shadow Clones to multiply his experience and accelerate his physical exhaustion, driving his body to the point of collapse daily.
The result was undeniable: a monumental spike in power, bringing him to the hard-won, temporary limit of his current physical vessel. Further growth would now be agonizingly slow, but his foundation was unshakeable.
His Chakra capacity had swelled to an intimidating level—a rough estimate placed it at two times Nanami's full reserves. He immediately dismissed the comparison; even this vast well was an insignificant puddle compared to the Kyuubi, whose chakra was speculated to be 40,000 times that of a high-level Jōnin like Kakashi—a force capable of sustaining thousands of allies in battle, even when operating at half strength.
His elemental arsenal was now refined for lethal efficiency. He had mastered Kirin, the ability to summon a blast of pure lightning from the sky using the ambient electrical charge generated by Fire Style. He had created the Lightning Style Rasengan, and Fire Style Rasengan achieved true mastery of Lightning Flicker, augmenting his speed to near-teleportation levels. Fire Style was deemed useless, its burning nature lacking the requisite finality; Fire Style can't kill after all.
Dressed in his battle uniform—purple jacket, black pants, purple sash—he left his room. The hideout was silent. Orochimaru and Kabuto were gone.
They must have left to kill Sasori. Today was the fated encounter.
Sasuke reached the main hall and sat upon the pedestal, imitating the scene foretold by the narrative he now scorned. He opened his Sharingan, letting his focused intent radiate outwards, a tangible pressure in the empty room.
He waited. The cinematic tension he intended to project was slowly curdling into physical discomfort. Bruh, how long are they going to take? His muscles ached from holding the rigid position for hours.
Then, they arrived: three figures materialising in the doorway, disguised as Orochimaru, Kabuto, and Sai.
"You're late," Sasuke growled, his voice grating with genuine impatience.
He instantly noticed the discrepancy. "Orochimar-u, Huh." The chakra signatures were not organically integrated; they were superficial weaves of transformation jutsu. Why use such a high-level disguise in their own secure base?
"Some nuisance-" The fake Orochimaru tried to explain, but Sasuke cut him off.
"Cut it, you're not Orochimaru." His Sharingan pierced the illusion, and his killing intent—the dark, suffocating aura earned by his recent atrocities—descended like a physical weight. "Tell me, who are you?" His eye narrowed in suspicion.
A puff of smoke obscured them, and the three figures were revealed: Nanami, Yamato, and Sakura.
The team was identical. Konoha had found him. Good, she is the same as the original. The thought of Nanami's unchanged enthusiasm momentarily eased his internal guilt over the accidental devastation he had inflicted during his training in Ryūchi Cave, confirming that his actions were external ripples, not fundamental changes to the core personalities.
"I told you, it wouldn't work," Nanami said, a familiar, slightly irritated enthusiasm in her voice.
"Well, it doesn't matter," Yamato countered, a tight smirk on his face as he began to weave complex hand seals. Nanami and Sakura immediately followed suit.
Is this a new team attack? Sasuke braced himself. His Sharingan registered the impossible anomalies instantly: Red Chakra—the chilling, ominous coat of the Nine-Tails—enveloped Yamato and Sakura. Nanami was bathed in a radiant, powerful golden glow, and the diamond-shaped Yin Seal appeared on Sakura's forehead.
Wtf, KCM 2, but since when does she know that, and Yin seal is future really gonna change that much because of a single change, no fuck no, this is beyond reason.
The three completed the seals. A gigantic, three-sided crimson pyramid of energy erupted, encasing them all.
Three Red Yang Formation.
Well, Obito as Juubi Jinchuriki used Six Red Yang Formation, so Three Red Yang should be possible. But why seal themselves inside the trap?
Sasuke scanned the environment with frantic precision, his eyes catching small, pulsating sources of high-level Chakra plastered near the entrance of the base: hidden scrolls.
Oh fuck are they gonna blow up the base?
Reacting before the thought was finished, Sasuke instantly activated his Mangekyou Sharingan, overlaid it with Sage Mode for maximum perception, and simultaneously poured Chakra into his Cursed Mark. He tore through the bedrock ceiling with a surge of raw, unfocused power, exploding into the open air just as the first scroll detonated.
The ensuing blast was not an explosion; it was an annihilation field. Sasuke activated the skeletal cage of his Susano'o, funnelling 1/5 of his entire Chakra reserve into making the protective shield as absolute and durable as possible.
The base instantly vaporised. The detonation continued for nearly a minute, leaving behind an area nearly 100 kilometres wide completely scoured clean, a colossal hole dozens of kilometres deep—a permanent scar on the landscape.
As Sasuke descended, he saw that Sakura, Yamato, and Nanami were completely unharmed within their protective barrier. More alarmingly, standing ready outside the barrier were Kakashi and Guy, and the entire Konoha 11, along with several ninja dogs. They were waiting. They were prepared.
A single thought dominated his mind, washing away the shock and rage:
Damn, why does everything have to change this much? Did my presence change the course of this story that much? If it did, could I really save everyone, as images appeared in my head?
His single act had not just altered the timeline; it had forced the world to accelerate, to become ready for the apocalypse years before it was due.
What if Madara succeeded in his plan? What if Madara killed us and then Kaguya resurrected in his body? What if everything went wrong?
He grasped at the sheer horror of his monumental, unforgivable mistake. The destiny of darkness he had chosen was not a cleansing force, but a fatal catalyst.