Cold black rods pierced through Hiruko's hands, pinning him firmly to the stone wall.
He could clearly feel the ominous aura radiating from the constructs, forged from pure Yin-Yang Release chakra. It was bone-chillingly cold, as if it could freeze his very chakra flow!
A drop of cold sweat slid down his pale temple, splashing onto the dust-covered rock with a faint, nearly imperceptible sound. All his madness, all his hidden cards—faced with this absolute threat of death—had dissolved into powerless bubbles.
Menma's gaze pierced through his mask, staring at Hiruko's face, which was twisted in terror.
He looked like a fish nailed to a chopping block, his eyes filled with a mixture of indignation and despair.
"Lead the way," Menma's voice was flat, devoid of emotion, yet carried the weight of an unquestionable command. "To your lair."
Hiruko's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty. He managed to squeeze out a dry, rasping syllable: "Yes..."
The instinct for survival had overridden everything else.
Menma retracted the black rods, letting them dissipate into his palms.
Hiruko stared at the blood flowing from the holes in his hands, not daring to hesitate for even a second. He turned stiffly, dragging a body soaked in dread as he stumbled toward a hidden path shrouded by the shadows of a massive rock fissure.
Each step was agonizingly heavy, as if he were treading on the edge of a blade. Behind him, Shura's white, three-eyed fox mask followed like a lingering ghost, every silent footfall stepping directly onto Hiruko's frayed nerves.
In the distance, the battle between the Chimera Beast and Genbu had ended. Hiruko released the summoning jutsu for his beast, which had been pinned helplessly to the ground, while Menma likewise dismissed Genbu.
Watching the towering deity vanish like a ripple on the water's surface, Hiruko was once again shocked by this unconventional summoning method.
They descended through a twisting crevice, going deeper until the light was utterly swallowed. Only the cold touch of stone and the damp, decaying air remained.
Hiruko stopped before a seemingly seamless rock wall. His fingers trembled as he pressed a series of hidden protrusions. With a muffled mechanical groan, the heavy stone slid inward, revealing a massive, eerie underground space.
The air was thick with a pungent cocktail of disinfectant, preservatives, and a faint, lingering scent of blood. Massive glass cultivation tanks, like the eggs of some prehistoric titan, lined the walls.
Inside, twisted biological tissues floated in fluid—some still vaguely human, others beast-like—with black substances slowly writhing upon them: the Kimera buds Hiruko had been cultivating.
At the center stood a metal operating table bathed in a sickly pale light, still stained with dark brown blotches. On the metal racks nearby, surgical instruments glinted coldly alongside stacks of scrolls covered in complex formulas and diagrams.
This was Hiruko's nest—a workshop where life was desecrated and stitched together at whim.
Hiruko walked to a heavy metal cabinet embedded in the rock wall and entered a complex password. The door slid open to reveal a single scroll covered in multiple layers of sealing formulas.
He took it out with shaking hands and held it out behind him.
"This... this is the core of the Kimera Technique," Hiruko said, his voice thick with humiliation and fear.
Menma took it without a glance at the man. He casually untied the cord and unfurled the scroll.
Under the mask, the crimson Sharingan ignited, its three tomoe spinning silently like a precision scanner. He swept over the distorted script, the complex meridian maps, and the illustrations depicting the fusion process. The scroll detailed a mad theory of devouring, plundering, and stitching together different Bloodline Limits to achieve "perfection."
A moment later, Menma flicked his wrist, rolling the scroll back up and tucking it into the inner folds of his black robe.
"Not bad," Menma remarked. His tone gave nothing away, as if he were merely evaluating a common trinket.
He finally turned his gaze toward Hiruko's face. The underground lab fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the faint pop of air bubbles in the cultivation tanks.
Hiruko's heart hammered against his ribs. He knew the moment of truth had arrived. This Shura had stolen the secret technique he valued more than life itself; did the creator still have a reason to exist?
Menma took a single step forward. It was a light step, yet it caused Hiruko's muscles to coil with such tension that he nearly recoiled.
"Your research is... interesting," Menma's voice echoed through the space, carrying a lofty, casual air. "Instead of hiding here like a rat and devouring second-rate Bloodline Limits, come with me."
Hiruko snapped his head up, a flash of disbelief in his eyes that was quickly replaced by deeper suspicion. Go with him? To do what? Become a tool in his lab? Or the next subject to be devoured?
"Submit to me," Menma's voice suddenly dropped, sounding like the scrape of cold metal. "Serve me."
As the words left his mouth, an indescribable killing intent—one that seemed to originate from the very depths of the soul—descended!
It wasn't explosive; rather, it was like a deluge of icy water that instantly saturated every cell in Hiruko's body. There was no threat, no warning. There was only a pure, declarative will: Submit, or die.
Wrapped in bandages, Hiruko's body began to shake violently. His sharp teeth chattered uncontrollably. Looking at that white, three-eyed fox mask, he felt as if he were staring at an expressionless God of Death.
This wasn't an invitation. It was an ultimatum.
Escape was a fantasy. Resistance was a joke. His strongest abilities had been treated like child's play.
The sheer terror finally crushed the last shred of Hiruko's pride.
"I... Hiruko..." His voice was hoarse and broken, trembling with shame. "I am willing... willing to follow Lord Shura! I offer... I offer my loyalty... and the Kimera Technique!"