In Uzugakure
music suggestion: [-Naruto OST: Thème Orochimaru]
Sauron was lost in thought.
Around him, the shadows of Uzushiogakure undulated slowly, as though the world itself were holding its breath. The wandering spirits of the Uzumaki clan whispered endlessly, their voices entwined with suffering, rage, and fragile hope. Centuries of seals, sacrifices, and betrayals echoed through the air. The Dark Lord listened to it all—analyzing, calculating.
The reanimation jutsu.
A fascinating discovery.
Edo Tensei was a remarkable achievement for a mortal. A technique capable of tearing a soul from the realm of the dead, binding it to a vessel, and forcing upon it a grotesque imitation of life. For most necromancers, such a feat would have represented the pinnacle of their art. For Sauron… it was merely an imperfect draft.
The bodies were artificial.The souls were shackled.Their true potential left untapped.
A weapon of war—nothing more.
"Insufficient…" the Shadow murmured.
The Uzumaki clan deserved more than a mockery of resurrection. Their bloodline had defied death itself through fūinjutsu, weaving seals capable of containing demons, gods, and even abstract concepts. To restore them in a degraded form would be an insult… and a strategic failure.
Thus, Sauron began to dismantle the technique.
Within his mind, the matrices of the jutsu unfolded—line by line, symbol by symbol. He immediately identified its flaws: the anchor to the world of the living, the reliance on an intermediary sacrifice, the artificial domination imposed upon the soul. Where humans relied on coercion, he would replace constraint with allegiance.
This would no longer be a matter of binding a soul.
It would be a matter of giving it a reason to return.
Had he recovered the entirety of his power, he could have summoned every Uzumaki by their true name, reconstructing flesh and spirit through a single act of ontological domination. But for now, he was still only a shadow—a will deprived of a stable form.
Time, however, now favored him.
One crucial step remained: experimentation.
To perfect such a ritual, he required subjects capable of understanding the process. Not mere warriors. Not simple executors.
Architects of sealing.
And he knew exactly who they were.
Three names, forever engraved in the history of Konoha.
Three minds whose mastery of fūinjutsu surpassed that of all their contemporaries.
By sheer will alone, Sauron formed the hand seals mentally. There were no gestures, no visible incantations. Chakra, mana, and an energy far more ancient overlapped, obeying a logic that even the Shinigami would have struggled to contest.
The earth trembled.
Sauron spoke calmly, his voice dark and assured, as though stating an undeniable truth:
"Edo Tensei no Jutsu."
The ground split apart.
Two coffins erupted from the earth with controlled violence, shattering rock and roots as though the land itself were opening in obedience. They rose slowly, surrounded by dust and unstable sealing symbols.
The third… did not appear.
Sauron sensed it at once.
An ancient chain—deeper, more conceptual. The Shinigami still held its due. That bond could not be severed without consequence.
The two present coffins slowly opened.
Inside lay Kushina Uzumaki and Mito Uzumaki.
Their bodies were perfectly intact, reconstructed with unsettling precision. Not ash puppets. Not the cracked imitations of conventional Edo Tensei. They appeared simply… asleep.
Sauron studied their faces in silence.
Kushina's burning fury.Mito's ancient wisdom.
Two pillars of a shattered clan.
He did not awaken them.
Not yet.
Their souls required time to anchor themselves. The ritual had to mature—stabilize, evolve. When they opened their eyes, it would not be as slaves… but as the founders of a new era for the Uzumaki.
At last, Sauron turned away.
Whatever happened next, one thing was now certain.
The rebirth of the Uzumaki clan was no longer a possibility.
It was an inevitability.
And when their chains were fully broken, the world would remember why even the gods had learned to fear the power of sealing.
Throne Room
The chamber, once majestic—a symbol of imperial prestige—had been reduced to a slaughterhouse.
The marble walls were smeared with blood, splattered all the way up to the torn tapestries that hung pitifully from the upper balconies. The gilded decorations, once radiant, were dulled by soot, impact marks, and crimson streaks left by bodies dragged across the floor. The metallic stench of blood mingled with sweat and fear, saturating the air.
The Imperial Guards had tried to avenge their Emperor.
They had failed.
Their bodies littered the throne room—cut apart, impaled, hurled against pillars like mere flesh mannequins. Some still clutched the hilts of their weapons with rigid fingers, while others stared blankly at the ceiling, frozen in the exact moment they had realized their loyalty would not save them.
At the center of the carnage lay Honest.
The Prime Minister was no longer anything more than a shadow of himself. His massive body was covered in deep gashes—some clean, others crude—all of them deliberate. Blood seeped slowly from his wounds, pooling thickly beneath him. He gasped for air, each breath more labored than the last, his throat producing a pathetic, wet gurgle.
Saeko stood near him, her katana dripping with blood.
She had deliberately avoided the vital points.
Every strike had been delivered with surgical precision—not to kill… but to prolong. To let the hemorrhaging do its work. To grant that pig the luxury of understanding, second by second, that his power had ended.
A short distance away stood Akame and Tatsumi.
Both were wounded. Their clothes were torn, their bodies marked by exhaustion and successive battles. Tatsumi breathed heavily, adrenaline still forcing his body to move, while Akame leaned slightly on her katana, barely concealing the fatigue creeping into her muscles.
Despite everything, they were still ready to fight.
Before them stood the one responsible for the massacre.
Saeko.
The young woman stood perfectly upright, her posture flawless, as if the hall had never been the site of a battle. Her wounds were superficial—shallow cuts on her arms, a gash along her cheek, dried blood staining her attire. Nothing that threatened her ability to fight.
She observed them with chilling calm.
There was no hatred in her gaze.
No anger.
Only cruel satisfaction.
Seeing her enemies in such a pitiful state—gasping, broken, still alive only because she allowed it—filled her with a sadistic pleasure she made no effort to hide.
Slowly, she sheathed her katana.
Akame and Tatsumi instinctively raised their guard, convinced it was a feint. But to their astonishment, Saeko turned her back on them and calmly headed toward the exit of the throne room.
The gesture struck Tatsumi like a slap.
She despised them.
"What the hell is this?!" he shouted, rage twisting his voice. "Come back and fight!"
Saeko stopped.
She turned her head slightly—just enough for her gaze to meet the young man's. Her violet eyes were devoid of emotion. No provocation. No challenge.
Only boredom.
"My lord ordered me to let you live," she said in a perfectly neutral voice. "Without his mercy… you would already be six feet under."
Each word fell like a sentence.
This was not a threat.
It was a fact.
Something shattered inside Tatsumi. The realization that they owed their survival to the mercy of an enemy—that their struggle had been nothing more than entertainment for a far greater force—was unbearable.
"You bastard—!" he roared, lunging forward.
He didn't get far.
Akame reacted instantly.
"Tatsumi, wait!"
He didn't have time to finish. With a sharp, precise motion, Akame struck him at the base of the neck with the pommel of her katana. The blow was perfectly measured—strong enough to knock him out, not enough to seriously injure him.
Tatsumi collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Akame remained still for a moment, her breathing unsteady. She knew he would hate her for this… but she had just saved his life.
Saeko cast one last glance over her shoulder.
A barely perceptible smile tugged at her lips.
"Wise choice," she murmured before leaving the hall.
Akame lifted Tatsumi's body and silently exited the palace, leaving behind the defiled throne, the corpses of the guards… and Honest, condemned to die alone—slowly, in blood and oblivion.
Northern Districts of the Capital
Another massacre was unfolding simultaneously within the imperial capital.
When the rebel army finally managed to breach the northern wall, a cry of victory rose among the survivors. For a few brief seconds, some truly believed the battle had turned in their favor. Revolutionary banners were raised, officers shouted orders, and soldiers surged through the breach, convinced that the Empire was faltering.
They died almost immediately.
Esdeath stood atop the ramparts, watching the human tide pour into the city. Her azure gaze held neither rage nor excessive excitement.
Only cold satisfaction.
With a simple motion of her hand, the ground, the air, and even the surrounding moisture crystallized.
Thousands of ice spears formed in the sky before crashing down like a meteor shower. They pierced soldiers, officers, and civilians alike, without the slightest distinction. Screams were drowned out by the thunderous impact of ice tearing through flesh and stone. Bodies were pinned to walls, others hurled backward, shattered instantly.
The Ice Queen felt no pity.
In her eyes, the civilians of the Empire were not victims—but culprits. Guilty of weakness. Guilty of accepting rule by corrupt leaders without ever imposing their own will. If they died today, it was simply the law of the strongest asserting itself.
Within minutes, the area around the northern wall became a frozen charnel ground.
Then, suddenly, the ice shifted.
A colossal circular wall erupted from the ground, sealing Esdeath and a single man inside. Outside, the world fell silent. Inside, there was nothing but a vast, empty plain of smooth ice, swept by a biting wind.
King Bradley stood facing her.
He appeared neither surprised nor afraid.
He had always known this moment would come.
He had prepared for this confrontation for a long time, guided by his master's teachings and promises. The loss of his army was regrettable… but acceptable. No revolution had ever triumphed without sacrifice.
"Hm… So we finally face each other, Esdeath," he said calmly.
She tilted her head slightly, an arrogant smile on her lips.
"We could have crossed paths much earlier," she replied, "but you did nothing but run like a coward."
"You can't blame me, Ice Queen. Facing you directly back then would have been suicide."
"Hm… And has that changed?"
Bradley placed a hand on the hilt of his blade.
"Yes. My master has given me the power to defeat you."
They spoke no further.
The silence that followed was almost respectful.
Both swordsmen drew at the same time.
They charged.
The first minutes were devoted to a purely martial exchange. No devastating techniques. No summons. Just two exceptional warriors testing each other's speed, precision, and reflexes. Their blades clashed with sharp, echoing impacts, sending bursts of ice exploding around them.
Suddenly, Esdeath reached out with her left hand.
Bradley instantly felt the cold wrap around him, attempting to freeze his muscles and blood. He leapt back several steps, shattering the ice that was already crawling up his arm.
In response, the imperial general raised her hand and conjured dozens of ice needles, launching them at high speed. Bradley deflected most, dodged the rest—but several cuts appeared across his body. Nothing fatal… but a clear warning.
He realized then that he could not afford to prolong this battle.
Impatient to finish and bring her enemy's head back to her beloved, Esdeath decided to end it.
"Ice Cavalry!"
The circular wall exploded into shards of ice, and hundreds of frozen knights emerged, mounted on steeds of the same element. They charged with deafening force, lances aimed at the old soldier.
A crushing pressure bore down on Bradley.
Without hesitation, he tore off his bandage.
Where an empty socket should have been, a supernatural eye gleamed—etched with a glyph depicting a pale blue hammer against a crescent moon.
Colossal energy flooded his body.
His muscles tightened, his posture straightened. He felt rejuvenated—faster, stronger—as if twenty years of fatigue had vanished in an instant.
He tore away his tattered cloak and plunged into the heart of the cavalry.
The first knights were swept aside effortlessly. The first fifty shattered under his blows, reduced to ice fragments. The next hundred required more effort, but fell just as swiftly. After two hundred and fifty, fatigue set in, and wounds began to accumulate.
Realizing he would not win through endurance, Bradley searched for Esdeath.
He saw her.
At the center of her army, watching the carnage with amusement.
He began to run.
100 meters.
Every step was a struggle. Ice creatures slashed at him relentlessly, slowing his advance.
70 meters.
30 meters.
His body was covered in blood.
10 meters.
At ten meters from her, a devastating blow tore off his left arm—but he kept moving.
A few more steps.
He raised his blade, ready to erase that smug smile.
Then everything stopped.
His body froze.
The world fell silent.
The next sensation was a strange lightness.
The last image King Bradley saw was his own headless body collapsing into the snow… and the predatory smile of his executioner.
Esdeath had used Mahapadma—a technique that briefly froze time, at the cost of nearly all her energy.
Time resumed its course.
I really hate that damn smile, he thought in his final moment.
Several Weeks Later
Land of Sound – Classified Location
Tobi watched the hooded figure leaning over an experimentation table, handling vials and scrolls covered in forbidden formulas. The greenish glow of the lamps cast warped shadows across the laboratory walls, giving the place an almost organic atmosphere—as if the room itself were breathing.
Kabuto was smiling.
A calm, methodical smile—the kind worn by a man convinced he always had several moves ahead.
"I see you're looking for someone like yourself," Tobi remarked in a deliberately casual tone.
Kabuto did not look up right away. He continued his work, adjusting a seal on a dissected corpse, before answering in a detached voice.
"All things considered… I am a declared enemy of Konoha, the former right-hand man of the Snake Sannin, not to mention a professional spy. And it's not as though you truly cared about Sasori or the other members of Akatsuki."
He straightened slowly and finally turned toward the masked man.
"Your organization welcomed Orochimaru-sama before attempting to eliminate him. Given how things turned out… I'll take your words as a compliment."
Behind his mask, Tobi smiled as well.
"Orochimaru became too greedy," he replied calmly. "He was warned to leave Itachi alone. He paid the price for his actions. You know that well, Kabuto."
Kabuto nodded, without the slightest trace of sadness.
"Indeed. And I learned a great deal from his mistakes."
His gaze sharpened.
"Chief among them: a man who believes he controls everything inevitably becomes predictable. I also know you're not here without wanting something from me."
Tobi did not deny it.
"I want you to infiltrate Uzu. Discover the secrets hidden there… and confirm the rumors regarding the rebirth of the Uzumaki clan."
Silence fell abruptly.
Kabuto stopped moving. His fingers—so accustomed to handling deadly poisons and lifeless bodies—froze for a moment. He slowly turned toward Tobi, a crease of concern forming on his face.
"The Uzumaki clan?" he repeated. "Everyone knows it was nearly wiped out by Kiri, Iwa, and Kumo at the start of the Second Great Ninja War."
He crossed his arms.
"There are a few survivors, certainly… but far too few to rebuild a clan worthy of the name. Even their archives vanished."
"I've received my own reports," Tobi replied bluntly. "A new ninja force has reportedly appeared in the Land of Waves. And many ships regularly travel to Uzu."
Kabuto narrowed his eyes.
"I thought Uzu was completely sealed. Orochimaru-sama dreamed of entering it for years, but Uzumaki fūinjutsu made any approach impossible."
"Their seals were impressive," Tobi admitted. "But they seem to have vanished. A bridge now connects Uzu to the Land of Waves."
This time, Kabuto could not hide his interest.
"The seals… vanished? Are you certain?"
"Yes. There is strange activity there. I can feel it."
He paused.
"Despite appearances, an illusion covers Uzu. A genjutsu of a level that even my Sharingan cannot pierce."
Kabuto inhaled slowly.
A genjutsu capable of countering the Sharingan…
"Fascinating," he murmured, a thrill of excitement running down his spine.
Tobi knew he had struck the right chord.
"Go to Uzu for me," he ordered before dissolving into a spiraling distortion of Kamui. "Find out whether the Uzumaki have reclaimed Uzu… or if another force has emerged."
The laboratory fell silent once more.
Kabuto remained motionless for a few seconds, then slowly formed a thin, almost reptilian smile.
"Oh, I will…"
He adjusted his glasses, already lost in calculation.
"But you should have known—one never gives orders to a serpent without offering something in return."
His gaze settled on an ancient map of the Land of Waves, marked with symbols and sealing circles.
"After all… whatever Uzu is hiding may prove very useful against you one day."