The rain fell in thin, constant sheets, turning the gray valleys of the Land of Rain into a maze of mist and mud.
The air smelled of rust and wet iron, the aftermath of too many forgotten wars.
Deep inside that shifting curtain of drizzle, a formation of dozens moved in silence, black cloaks, covered faces, no visible insignias.
Root.
Danzo led from the front, the hood of his coat pulled low, his eyes sharp and alert.
Beneath the fabric, the bandages around his right arm pulsed faintly, hidden under the weight of recently acquired and stolen power.
His mood was heavy, but not cautious.
Confident.
For the first time in years, perhaps decades, he felt the balance of power tilt entirely in his favor.
Konoha's recent victories on multiple fronts had shaken the map.
The Land of Rain, once a playground of greater nations, was finally ready to choose a master.
Hanzo, the so-called "Salamander," had resisted for months, pride and paranoia keeping him from fully committing to Konoha's side.
But his years of dominance had eroded. The man had aged, his reflexes dulled, his old sharpness fading under layers of caution.
And like all men who had once ruled by fear, he was now ruled by it.
Danzo saw it clearly. Hanzo was tired, hungry for power again, desperate to remain relevant. A perfect opening.
Hanzo's condition for surrender was simple: eliminate his rivals.
And that, Danzo thought, was precisely what Root existed for.
The internal map of the Land of Rain was chaos, a fractured network of splinter factions and mercenary bands feeding off the ruins of endless conflicts of the previous decades.
Easy to manipulate, easy to wipe clean.
Root had already dismantled most of them: assassinations, false alliances, staged betrayals, all executed with quiet precision.
The land was nearly unified under Hanzo's control again.
Except for one group.
The Akatsuki.
A name Danzo had grown to despise.
Every report spoke of their resilience, their ability to rise from each setback stronger than before.
Their members were replaced, their hideouts rebuilt, and their ideals spread like an infection through the poor and displaced.
They didn't just fight, they inspired.
Nagato, Yahiko, Konan.
Children of war, molded into idealists.
Their rhetoric of peace and neutrality for Amegakure, which was used like a playground thus far, struck too deeply among the common people who had nothing left to lose.
Danzo saw it for what it was: poison.
Peace was the greatest enemy of control.
A nation that stopped fighting stopped needing protection, stopped needing Root.
He watched the horizon through the mist as they advanced toward a burned-out village, one of Akatsuki's former outposts.
"Peace through understanding," Danzo muttered under his breath, the words dripping with contempt. "Delusion through weakness."
He stopped suddenly and gave a signal.
The agents behind him scattered into the shadows without a word, blending into the rain.
Danzo's single eye shifted, calculating.
In the distance, Hanzo waited, the self-proclaimed god of Amegakure, about to enter another alliance he didn't realize was already a leash.
"Hanzo may have the name," Danzo thought coldly, "but I'll have the leash."
He walked forward through the rain, every step echoing the same conviction that had driven him all his life.
There could be no true peace, only order.
And order required control.
Soon, Akatsuki would burn, Hanzo would kneel, and Amegakure would belong to Konoha.
Or, more accurately, to him.
Because, unlike Hanzō, who seemed to wither as the years passed, Danzo also currently took a quiet pride in the fact that he was still growing stronger with age, both in body and in mind.
The old war hawk had always believed that true power came not from bloodline or youth, but from will.
And yet, even he could not deny that his recent "evolution" was thanks to far more than willpower alone.
He still remembered the moment it all began, months ago, soon after the war started, when Orochimaru had first started fiercely insisting they begin the Hashirama cell experiments ahead of schedule.
It had been a reckless suggestion.
The original plan was to first achieve consistent results with other, lesser experiments, then present the success to Hiruzen as justification to request access to the First Hokage's cells as well.
Danzo had expected it would take at least years of secret experiments during this war to reach that stage.
After all, Tobirama himself had known how dangerous his brother's body was.
The man called the "God of Shinobi" had been stronger than entire nations combined, stronger even than the tailed beasts that ravaged the world at the time.
Tobirama, ever the realist and scientist, had long understood that even in death, a shinobi like his brother could still be weaponized.
He was, after all, the man who conceived Edo Tensei, the very technique born from the idea that nothing, not even death itself, should render power useless.
Therefore, when Hashirama died, Tobirama personally ensured his brother's body was quickly, carefully sealed and hidden.
The exact location of that body was one of Konoha's deepest secrets, known only to Tobirama's direct successor, as the Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, meant to be used in some way, only when everything else failed. Not to be researched and desecrated carelessly.
Hence, all of that meant that Danzo had no direct way to access it, even if Orochimaru urged him constantly.
But ever since a few months after the war started, Orochimaru's tone changed. He became impatient, obsessed even. He began pushing Danzo urgently to get him the samples early.
It was around the same time after Ryusei Nishida, that troublesome boy, had escaped from Root's strongest death trap and joined Tsunade.
Orochimaru's sudden urgency to begin the experiment coincided almost perfectly with that event, making Danzo consider it more and more.
So, for once, he agreed with Orochimaru's impatience. He went to Hiruzen himself and requested the Hashirama sample under the pretense of fortifying Konoha's inner defense during unstable times.
Hiruzen, still rattled by Ryusei's recent rise and Danzo's carefully worded warnings, finally relented at that time.
The old fool had no idea that the "village's protection" meant Danzo's personal ascension.
Orochimaru's progress afterward had been frightening.
His pace of discovery was unnatural; it was as if he was unlocking knowledge that should have taken decades in weeks.
And just recently, at most a month before today, he had succeeded in transforming Danzo personally himself, as well.
He personally grafted a new arm onto Danzo's body, a limb cultivated from Hashirama's cells and attached through a living conduit.
The arm had once belonged to a boy Orochimaru called Shin, his current most prized experimental subject.
Orochimaru had discovered him by chance, a rare anomaly whose body could accept foreign genetic material with almost no rejection.
That unique mutation in the boy's makeup also made him the perfect vessel for any graft or transplant, and the perfect foundation for Orochimaru's darker ambitions.
The child's unique genetic structure had also made him the perfect medium for cloning, because it would allow Orochimaru to grow tissues that could adapt to any other potential host as well.
Now that arm was Danzo's.
The sealing bands around it pulsed faintly with life as he walked. It was not just a replacement; it was alive.
Hiruzen, of course, had been given access to the research data as a formality, but Danzo knew the man would never take the risk himself.
Hiruzen was still far stronger than Danzo, so there was never any need for him to take such unnecessary risks.
He had also always been way more cautious by nature and bound by ideals of balance, restraint, and the comforting illusion of moral righteousness.
A man like that would never wager his own body, never cut away a healthy limb in pursuit of uncertain, dangerous power.
Danzo had no such hesitation.
Orochimaru had warned him, with that serpentine grin that always carried two meanings, to stop at one arm.
Any more, and the cells would overtake him.
Danzo had listened. For now.
Even with one limb, the results were extraordinary.
His chakra reserves expanded.
His recovery accelerated.
His body, though nearly sixty, already a decade separated from its prime, felt younger, harder, way more capable.
The vitality of the Hashirama cells coursed through him constantly, stabilizing every old wound and flaw that decades of war had left, even if it was only coming from one arm.
It wasn't perfect.
The legendary Wood Release, which he desired the most from all of that, remained almost entirely out of reach, and Orochimaru had warned him with that faintly mocking grin, which appeared from time to time back then, not to overuse that imperfect version either, unless he wanted to end up as part of a tree himself.
Still, the results were undeniable.
His strength, stamina, and chakra flow had all improved.
Even so, Danzo knew he was being used.
Orochimaru's expression during the operation had said everything: the polite reassurances, the practiced sympathy, and that faint, amused glint of curiosity he couldn't quite hide anymore.
To him, Danzo was no longer a partner in ambition, but a fascinating specimen waiting to be taken apart.
But Danzo had been plotting his own insurance.
His operatives had recently also learned of something truly remarkable, a forbidden Uchiha technique known as Izanagi.
A genjutsu so powerful it could alter reality itself, allowing the user to rewrite death, turning fatal events into mere illusion.
The technique was forbidden for a reason: it consumed the Sharingan that cast it, rendering it blind forever after one use.
But Danzo, with his new arm, realized he could circumvent that weakness.
If one eye could rewrite death for a brief moment, what could ten do when fueled by the vitality of the God of Shinobi himself?
He began gathering Sharingan from the current battlefields, corpses, and black-market dealings across the continent.
Root had access to everything; nothing was too sacred or too vile.
His personal research division, long separate from Orochimaru's, went to work tirelessly.
They learned how to graft the eyes directly into his new arm, connecting them with artificial optic nerves and chakra pathways.
The result was monstrous: ten Sharingan embedded into his right arm, each one alive and connected to him through the Hashirama cells.
When he first tested it, the result stunned even him.
A normal Uchiha, he knew, could maintain Izanagi for seconds, maybe half a minute at best.
Danzo's arm allowed him to sustain it for over a minute per eye, and each eye's duration was longer than any recorded case before.
That meant ten minutes of invulnerability, ten chances to cheat death itself.
He had even discovered a method to artificially awaken the Sharingan to its full three-tomoe form by transplanting it into a few subsequently captured Uchiha and subjecting them to controlled trauma until it evolved.
It didn't work on non-Uchiha, he learned before then; it seemed that the special genetic Yin-based chakra that fueled the eye couldn't be replicated, so Danzo simply ensured he had enough Uchiha to use as "donors."
After all, every tomoe increased Izanagi's duration, and Danzo wanted only perfection.
He wasn't just a man anymore, and even Orochimaru didn't know the full extent of it.
For the first time in decades, Danzo had crossed the threshold he'd obsessed over, his strength now brushing the level of a true Kage, perhaps even surpassing his former prime.
It was the kind of power he'd dreamed of since youth, raw, dangerous, and absolute in concept.
And yet, thinking back at Orochimaru, he still felt very dissatisfied with the snake.
Initially, the pact between Danzo and Orochimaru wasn't just about sharing research.
Its real purpose ran deeper.
Danzo had agreed to back Orochimaru's bid for the Hokage seat.
In return, he would gain influence, either through Orochimaru directly, then when it happened, or through the chaos his rule caused.
If the plan succeeded, Orochimaru would become Hokage with limited support, only relying on himself, and a reputation tainted by suspicion.
A weaker, more isolated leader than Hiruzen ever was.
Perfect for Danzo to gradually control around.
And if Orochimaru foolishly ever attempted to turn on him?
That was fine too.
The only loser would be Orochimaru.
And a more divided and weaker leadership, during his reign, would only give Danzo more room to act from the shadows anyway.
He'd already calculated every outcome.
He never invested in Orochimaru blindly, nor did he ever fully trust him.
In his eyes, Orochimaru was a potential puppet, not a partner, someone who could either be controlled or conveniently replaced later if things went south, as a weaker Hokage than the way more powerful Hiruzen. A way better alternative for Danzo.
Yet, what Danzo hadn't foreseen was Orochimaru's growing distance before the plan even began, or his quiet association with Ryusei and Tsunade Senju.
That was something Danzo couldn't stand, the idea that one of his own greatest chosen pieces might have already prematurely started moving on its own.
Danzo realised that because Orochimaru had recently started keeping larger and larger secrets, entire new laboratories hidden deep within his new base in Yugakure, with full-scale projects running completely off record.
Even his letters had changed, his tone colder, more arrogant, as if he'd already outgrown their partnership. Danzo's spies inside those ranks began vanishing one after another.
The last few reports that reached him before the silence confirmed his worst suspicions: many new, unregistered experiments, entire lines of research buried from him entirely.
It infuriated Danzo.
What had once been a partnership of equals, at least "officially", was now turning into a quiet power struggle.
He could trace the shift to one moment at the Kumo front all those months ago.
The day Orochimaru used Tsunade and that boy, Ryusei, to win glory for himself.
Orochimaru had called it necessary, a step to strengthen his bid for Hokage.
But Danzo no longer believed that excuse; it was not only a hutch at this point.
The snake was growing reckless, hoarding Root assets, twisting more and more loyal operatives directly to his side, and acting like he no longer needed anyone's approval.
And Minato's meteoric rise only made it worse.
Every recent victory the Yellow Flash claimed only pushed Hiruzen, Danzo's lifelong rival, deeper into power and favor, tightening his grip on the village's future.
With each triumph, Danzo's own faction grew more cornered, more desperate to tip the balance back in their favor.
Meanwhile, Minato was becoming the symbol of everything Danzo despised: loyalty, light, and glory without blood.
He couldn't allow that.
Orochimaru was still his best chance to counter Hiruzen's influence, but the alliance was rotting from within.
They would clearly have to continue to cooperate, for now.
However, he was already preparing for the day when he'd have to control Orochimaru, or remove him entirely, as well.
As Danzo trudged through the rain-soaked valley toward Hanzō's camp, the hidden weight of his new arm pulsed faintly under the wrappings.
It was warm, alive.
He could almost feel the eyes inside shifting faintly, dreaming beneath their seals.
That arm was both his greatest weapon and his greatest sin in a sense.
But for the world he wanted, the world that needed order, it was a necessary evil.
And if Orochimaru, Hiruzen, or anyone else ever forgot that… then Danzo would remind them that he was not the one being used. He was the one doing the using. He would win after all.