It was impossible to tell how much time had passed.
Thud!
Cough.
Aizen's body slammed into the trunk of a thick tree, the bark splintering with a spiderweb of cracks. Blood sprayed from his lips as he staggered, his wrist trembling as he tried to raise the chipped black kunai in his hand.
Before he could steady himself, a blade pale as the waning moon thrust clean through his shoulder, pinning him mercilessly to the tree.
"Impressive, Aizen-kun. To think you could push me this far." Orochimaru's hoarse voice rasped as he leaned into the strike, one hand clamped around the hilt of the Kusanagi sword.
His pale face was streaked with blood. His left arm and leg were severed at the wrist and knee, and from the ghastly stumps sprouted writhing tendrils of flesh—like searching fingers grasping for missing limbs. Disheveled black hair framed his bloodied features, exhaustion etched across his expression, yet the corners of his mouth curved upward in a grotesque smile.
Snake-like pupils slid over Aizen's exposed skin, where black veins crept steadily upward, burrowing toward his heart. Even the blood the young man coughed out was tinged with shadow.
"It must hurt," Orochimaru whispered, his grin widening. "My venom is… rather potent."
He tightened his grip on the blade. "Tell me. Whose man are you?"
Despite his grievous injuries, Orochimaru's presence remained composed, far steadier than the youth pinned before him. From their battle alone he had gleaned much—Hidden Cloud techniques woven with Root's signature escape arts, kunai throws hinting at ANBU precision.
The boy couldn't have been more than twenty, yet his skill carried weight enough to pressure even Orochimaru himself.
Was he a Hidden Cloud sleeper, planted in Konoha since birth? A Root operative who had infiltrated the Cloud and returned under a false face? Was Sarutobi behind this? Or… Danzo?
Questions flooded his mind, but the smile on Aizen's face never wavered.
"Cough… cough…" His broken glasses caught the moonlight as he raised his gaze, blood trailing from his lips. Even now, he smiled.
"Remarkable, Orochimaru-sama. To have achieved such a thing…" His voice was ragged, barely clinging to life, yet his words carried a weight that made Orochimaru's brow furrow in unease.
Aizen's bloodied fingers wrapped around the blade skewering him. His skin split and bled as he dragged himself forward, forcing the sword deeper through his body, step by agonizing step, until he was face-to-face with Orochimaru.
The air thickened. Instinct screamed, alarm bells ringing in the sannin's chest.
Aizen raised a trembling hand. His fingertip hovered an inch from Orochimaru's pale cheek. His voice dropped flat.
"…Haven't you noticed yet, Orochimaru-sama?"
The words froze him. Orochimaru's eyes widened—then he recoiled, abandoning the sword and retreating several steps.
The voice had not come from the boy before him.
Crack.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the night.
Orochimaru turned.
At the edge of shadow and moonlight stood Aizen, pristine, a closed notebook in hand—exactly as he had appeared at their first meeting. He hadn't moved an inch.
That gentle smile met his gaze, and for the first time in many years, a chill trickled down Orochimaru's spine. Cold sweat prickled at his back.
The one I fought just now…
He looked around.
The battlefield bore scars of devastation—trees splintered and toppled, the earth cracked, scorched soil strewn with blood and embers. Severed limbs littered the ground, ANBU masks shattered and faces frozen in confusion, eyes wide in death.
From the corpses, pale growths erupted—roots, branches, writhing vines tearing through flesh. Orochimaru's pupils narrowed.
Wood Release…?
The crescent moon had shifted far across the sky. Time itself had slipped from his grasp.
"Genjutsu…?!" His thoughts raced. When did it begin? Why didn't the surveillance team react?
He glanced down at his own body—and froze.
From his severed stumps, pale fibers sprouted like the corpses around him, threading into the soil and binding him in place. His very senses had been deceived, every nerve rewritten by the white infestation, and he hadn't noticed until now.
Orochimaru's composure faltered. His gaze locked onto Aizen.
From the very beginning… had this man been using them all? Even him?
"…Aizen-kun," he rasped, voice hoarse. "What is it you truly seek?"
Aizen lifted his eyes. Behind cracked lenses, his gaze met Orochimaru's as though noticing him for the first time. His gentle smile deepened.
"Why, to change this world, of course."
For a long moment, Orochimaru stared—then his lips curled into a thin, mocking grin.
A dry laugh rasped from his throat, even as the white growth spread, climbing over his body, consuming him inch by inch.
"If it's you… then Konoha…"
His voice was swallowed as the pale substance engulfed him entirely.
Aizen watched calmly. At last, he turned. His voice remained soft, polite.
"Farewell, Orochimaru-sama. You were… excellent material."
The white tide surged, erasing the sannin's form.
---
Far below, in the underground monitoring chamber, Yakushi Kabuto trembled as he stared at the screen, fists clenched.
"Orochimaru-sama!!!"
The unshakable, invincible sannin had fallen—silently, swiftly—to a man no one knew.
Kabuto's mind reeled. He had already pressed the alarm, shattered the button in his desperation, yet no barriers had activated. No failsafes responded. All of it—compromised from the start.
Teeth clenched, he whispered the name like a curse.
"Aizen…"
He shot to his feet, mind racing. I must warn Danzo-sama. Or the Hokage. Anyone.
But then—he paused.
The chamber was silent. Too silent.
Confused, Kabuto reached out to shake the shoulder of a fellow researcher. The man slumped lifelessly to the ground. One by one, the others collapsed in dull thuds.
Kabuto froze.
Slowly, trembling, he turned.
And there he was.
The figure from the screen now sat calmly behind him, one hand resting against his cheek, eyes fixed on the dark monitor as though lost in thought.
Sensing Kabuto's gaze, Aizen turned, smiling gently.
His voice was soft. Almost tender.
"I am here."