The narrow corridor carved into the earth pressed in on all sides, the stone damp with condensation and etched with years of silent traffic. Flickering torchlight painted uneven shadows on the walls, and the air was choked with a foul, stagnant stench—metallic, organic, and rotting.
Tatsuya Hoshino advanced without hesitation, though his nose instinctively recoiled. The odor was oppressive, the kind that clung to skin and fabric, seeping into the lungs with every breath. This place had no right to be called a laboratory. It was a crypt—alive, diseased, festering.
"This... is real shinobi work," Tatsuya thought, narrowing his eyes as he followed the aged silhouette of Hiruzen Sarutobi deeper into the tunnel.
To endure such a place for years, to conduct experiments in this suffocating silence—only someone like Orochimaru could call this home. It wasn't resilience. It was obsession.
Hiruzen's expression was unreadable, but his steps slowed as the passage opened up into a wider subterranean chamber. Tatsuya instinctively spread his senses. Chakra signatures—faint, twisted, warped beyond recognition—filled the space like the scent of death.
The facility was built in segments. To the left, an array of glass containers lined the walls. Inside floated humanoid figures—limbs disfigured, faces malformed, some caught mid-scream, their features contorted in agony. Many had been fused with reptilian parts: fangs, scales, even tails.
To the right, a larger chamber dominated by reinforced capsules ten meters long. Within them slithered grotesque amalgamations—human heads mounted on serpentine torsos, or massive snakes with fragmented human faces embedded into their flesh, twitching.
Some of them were alive.
Low moans echoed from the larger tanks, each one dragging nails across Tatsuya's spine. The sound wasn't human anymore—but the memory of humanity lingered in their cries.
Even the Third Hokage faltered, his breath catching.
A group of white-robed researchers knelt the moment Hiruzen stepped in, faces pale, trembling as if before a deity of judgment.
Tatsuya scanned the area. None of them reached for weapons. None of them dared. But he didn't need provocation.
Without warning, a roar of flame erupted behind the Hokage.
"Katon: Gōryūka no Jutsu!"
The Great Dragon Fire Technique surged across the lab, its serpentine torrents devouring the room in searing heat. Glass burst. Screams were cut off mid-note, turned to ash.
Tatsuya lowered his hands, breath steady, expression unreadable. The shadows of the burning corpses danced on the walls behind him.
Hiruzen turned sharply. So did Sarutobi Shinnosuke and Takeshi. Tatsuya faced them with calm precision.
"They tried to move," Tatsuya said evenly. "I responded."
No one argued. The evidence had been erased by flame.
Hiruzen's anger cooled slightly. He nodded once, his voice heavy. "You acted correctly. Those who fall into such darkness cannot be shown mercy."
Execution without trial. A silent directive understood by every shinobi here.
"Understood, Hokage-sama," Shinnosuke replied immediately, followed by Takeshi.
The Hokage's gaze lingered on Tatsuya. That quiet, intense appraisal he always gave when reassessing someone's weight in the balance of the village.
"You acted without hesitation," Hiruzen said softly. "I didn't misjudge you. You understand what must be done for the good of the Leaf."
"All for the village," Tatsuya replied smoothly. "All for you, Lord Hokage."
The words were precise. Practiced. Empty.
But they were the ones Hiruzen needed to hear.
The old man's eyes softened, just for a moment. "Yes. That's the spirit we need. Shinobi who carry the will of fire without question."
Tatsuya didn't respond. He didn't need to.
Something changed.
Hiruzen's expression darkened, his head turning slightly—sensing the pressure of a presence ahead. Orochimaru.
Without a word, the Third Hokage vanished in a flicker of chakra, body blurring into high-speed shunshin.
"Captain Tatsuya…" Shinnosuke stepped forward, uncertainty in his voice. "What are your orders?"
Tatsuya turned toward him, posture composed.
"You and Takeshi will secure this facility," he ordered. "Eliminate any remaining personnel. No survivors."
"But—"
Shinnosuke hesitated. The confrontation ahead would be between titans. Kage-level on both sides. Even elite Jōnin could do nothing but die in the crossfire.
"I'll support Lord Hokage," Tatsuya said, cutting off the protest. "This isn't a request."
Takeshi stepped forward, voice sharp. "Shinnosuke. You'll handle the containment. Captain Tatsuya and I will support the Hokage."
Shinnosuke hesitated no longer. He gave a crisp nod and turned toward the charred hallway behind them.
Tatsuya didn't wait.
They moved through the corridors at high speed, boots gliding over stone, passing through shadowed hallways echoing with the aftershocks of power ahead. Tatsuya's heartbeat was calm, but his thoughts were focused.
This wasn't a clash of words or ideals. This was history unraveling in blood and fire.
Orochimaru—one of the Sannin, once Konoha's greatest prodigy—now the source of its deepest corruption.
And Hiruzen Sarutobi—the Professor, once hailed as the strongest of the Five Kage—stepping into battle against his former student.
As they neared the chamber, Tatsuya glanced at Takeshi. The man was quiet, composed—but Tatsuya recognized the signs. The subtle tension in the jaw. The awareness. This wasn't a mission; this was a reckoning.
When they finally arrived, the space had no grandeur. Just another subterranean room. A crude lab, bloodstained and scorched, walls marked with failed experiments. Chains hung from the ceiling. Corpses adorned the walls—some of them freshly killed. Among them, Tatsuya recognized the remnants of ANBU uniforms and the Uchiha crest.
The stench of betrayal was thicker than the blood.
Hiruzen stood in the center of the room, his staff in hand, his back straight. Before him, Orochimaru grinned with inhuman calm, the pale skin of his face stretched in a smile that held no warmth.
"You disappoint me, Orochimaru," the Hokage said, voice low and hard. "You've abandoned everything we taught you. Everything Konoha stood for."
"'Stood for' being the key," Orochimaru replied smoothly, stepping out of the shadows. His golden eyes shimmered with a serpentine gleam. "The Will of Fire... How quaint."
He gestured to the room—bloody, grotesque, raw.
"This is evolution, sensei. This is truth. Not the pretty lies you preach to children in the Academy."
"You've sacrificed your humanity."
"No," Orochimaru said, grinning wider. "I've transcended it."
He spread his arms, revealing scrolls tucked into the walls, forbidden scripts etched into the stone. Snake motifs coiled through everything—the ceiling, the floor, the structure itself.
"In the end," Orochimaru whispered, "the Will of Fire won't save you. Nor will it save the village."
Hiruzen didn't respond. But his grip tightened on the staff, and his chakra began to rise—like a storm building in silence.
Tatsuya felt it from the doorway: a swelling ocean of chakra that wrapped the room in tension, the kind of pressure only Kage-level shinobi could exert.
He narrowed his eyes.
This wasn't just a fight.
It was a severing of bonds.
And he wouldn't miss a second of it.
---