The space between dimensions twisted, Naruto, Konan, and Itachi materialized in the hidden sanctuary that served as one of Akatsuki's most secure operational bases. The transition from the forest battlefield to this underground location was instantaneous—one moment standing among trees and the remnants of combat, smoke still rising from techniques that had scorched the earth, the next appearing in a chamber carved from stone that had never seen natural light, never felt wind or rain, existing only as a place where secrets could be kept and terrible work could be done without witness.
The hideout revealed itself as an underground laboratory of sorts, though calling it merely a laboratory would be like calling an ocean a puddle—inadequate to capture the true scope of what existed here. The main chamber they'd arrived in was vast, stretching perhaps a hundred feet in each direction, its ceiling lost in shadows high above where even chakra-enhanced vision struggled to penetrate the darkness. The walls were lined with equipment that hummed with barely-contained energy, creating a background vibration that could be felt through the stone floor, that made the air itself seem to resonate with power held just barely in check. Glass containers of various sizes occupied strategic positions throughout the space—some small enough to hold rodents, others large enough to contain adult humans standing upright. The air carried the sterile smell of chemicals mixed with something organic and slightly unpleasant that suggested experiments involving living subjects, the kind of research that happened in places without oversight or ethical constraints.
Konan moved forward, her movements fluid despite the tension that had characterized their tactical retreat from the previous engagement. Her paper wings folded against her back as she centered herself in the chamber, hands extending with palms facing downward, chakra flowing from her in patterns that had become second nature after years of refining her signature technique into something approaching art.
Origami butterflies emerged from her hands—dozens of them at first, then hundreds, each one a perfect replica crafted from paper infused with her chakra. They scattered across the chamber floor in a wave of delicate beauty that seemed grotesquely out of place in this dark and eerie space, moving with purpose rather than the random fluttering of actual insects, arranging themselves in specific patterns that suggested deliberate design rather than artistic whimsy or natural behavior.
Then, as suddenly as they'd appeared, the butterflies dispersed—each one dissolving into chakra that dissipated into the air like morning mist under sunlight, their purpose fulfilled. And where they'd been clustered most densely, where the pattern had been most concentrated, two forms became visible on the stone floor as if they'd been hidden beneath the paper creatures.
Asuma Sarutobi and Kakashi Hatake lay motionless, both wrapped in what appeared to be black cloth that covered them from shoulders to feet like funeral shrouds or prisoner restraints. The fabric seemed to be more than simple binding—it moved slightly despite their stillness. They were unconscious—or at least appeared to be—their faces peaceful in ways that contrasted sharply with the violence of their capture. Neither showed visible signs of the battle they'd been part of, no blood staining their clothes or obvious injuries marking their exposed skin, but the way they lay suggested complete helplessness, the kind of vulnerability that came from either exhaustion or chakra suppression so complete it rendered them unable to even twitch.
"Well, well." The voice that echoed through the chamber carried amusement mixed with something more predatory, more dangerous, the tone of someone who'd found unexpected entertainment. "Who do we have here?"
Orochimaru emerged from a passage at the far end of the laboratory, his distinctive pale skinned form immediately recognizable even in the chamber's dim lighting. He moved with that characteristic grace that made his movements look almost serpentine, as if his joints bent in ways human anatomy shouldn't quite allow, as if he'd spent so long experimenting on himself that he'd ceased to move like normal humans moved. His golden eyes gleamed with interest as he approached the unconscious captives, studying them with the kind of intense focus a researcher might give to particularly interesting specimens that had unexpectedly fallen into his possession.
"Kakashi Hatake and Sarutobi's son," Orochimaru continued, his tongue flickering out briefly in that unsettling gesture that had become his trademark, tasting the air as if it could provide information beyond what his eyes showed. "The Copy Ninja and the Third Hokage's heir. Quite the prizes you've brought me."
Before Orochimaru could finish his observation or begin a more detailed examination, Naruto moved without acknowledgment or response, walking past the group toward the deeper sections of the cave system as if the conversation didn't concern him. His black Akatsuki cloak swirled with the movement, the red clouds catching what little light existed in the chamber, and his expression remained that same empty face devoid of emotions that had characterized him throughout the assault on Konoha—present physically but somehow absent emotionally, as if whatever drove his actions existed separate from normal human feeling, as if compassion and connection had been carved out of him leaving only purpose.
Konan and Itachi remained with Orochimaru, their attention focused on the more immediate strategic concerns rather than following Naruto's retreat. Konan provided their tactical assessment, the kind of briefing that happened between operatives discussing ongoing operations rather than the horror of what they'd just participated in.
"The remaining Konoha forces have dispersed throughout the region and are launching coordinated surprise attacks," she reported, her amber eyes tracking Orochimaru's movements as he circled the prisoners. "They've adapted their strategy after the initial assault. They're no longer trying to face us directly in open combat but instead using guerrilla tactics and attempting to separate us, to divide our forces and eliminate us individually. Even we had to retreat when they started forming coordinated containment barriers. If we'd been caught in one of their sealing formations, we would have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers regardless of individual power differences. They're being cautious now, coordinated, using every advantage terrain and surprise can provide."
Itachi's contribution was characteristically minimal but precise, his Sharingan deactivated but his assessment no less accurate for relying on normal sight. "They've learned from previous encounters where direct confrontation resulted in catastrophic losses. Their current tactics suggest Shikamaru Nara is coordinating defensive operations from a mobile command position. He's using psychological warfare combined with strategic positioning—forcing us to react rather than act, making every engagement favor their strengths over ours. It's effective enough that we cannot advance without accepting unacceptable losses to our forces."
Orochimaru's laugh was soft but carried genuine amusement at some private joke only he understood. "Haha, the once-weaklings have become beasts. How delightful. There's nothing quite so satisfying as watching prey evolve into predators. Survival instinct brings out such fascinating developments —adaptations that would normally take generations compressed into mere years through desperation and necessity."
He moved to where Asuma and Kakashi lay unconscious, kneeling beside them, someone examining laboratory subjects. From within his robes, he withdrew a dagger unlike any standard kunai or weapon—its blade seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, creating a void-like darkness along its edge, and the metal carried markings that glowed faintly with seal work that had been etched directly into the material through techniques that most seal masters would consider either impossible or forbidden.
"Let's see what we're working with," Orochimaru murmured, bringing the blade to Asuma's chest where, visible only to those with chakra-sensitive sight, a complex suppression seal had been placed to keep the captives unconscious and their chakra completely locked, preventing any possibility of escape or resistance.
The dagger cut through the seal with disturbing ease, the glowing markings on its blade flaring briefly as it negated the chakra-based binding through some principle of seal work that operated on levels most practitioners never reached. The seal dissolved like ice under hot water, its complex structure—probably weeks of work for a normal seal master—unraveling in seconds. Orochimaru repeated the process with Kakashi, his movements precise and practiced, suggesting he'd done this particular procedure many times before with other captives.
The effect was immediately visible. Both Asuma and Kakashi's breathing deepened, their faces relaxing further into something that looked less like unconscious restraint and more like genuine peaceful sleep. Even more remarkably, the subtle injuries they'd sustained during capture—bruises on exposed skin, small cuts along their arms, the kind of accumulated damage that came from combat and rough handling—were already fading, healing at a rate that shouldn't have been possible without active medical intervention or specialized techniques.
Konan moved forward, studying the unconscious men with an expression that mixed satisfaction at successful capture with concern about implications for future operations. "They're already healing at accelerated rates. This regeneration is faster than what we observed in previous captures from six months ago. If this accelerated recovery continues improving with each generation, we won't be able to capture them anymore through conventional means. We need to accelerate our timeline before they evolve beyond our ability to contain them."
Orochimaru's smile widened slightly, genuine scientific interest lighting his golden eyes. "Fascinating, isn't it? How desperation drives —"
"Focus on keeping them alive," Konan interrupted. "Nagato wants them available for interrogation once he returns from the Stone Village operation."
The Deeper Chamber
While they discussed strategic implications and research opportunities, Naruto continued his solitary walk through the cave system's deeper passages, moving with the certainty of someone who'd made this journey many times before. The laboratory's main chamber gave way to narrower corridors that twisted through stone like the burrows of some enormous creature, lit by seal-powered lights that cast harsh shadows on walls covered in more of that mysterious equipment—glass containers of varying sizes, monitoring devices whose displays showed readings in languages.
He walked past human-sized glass containers, each one filled with viscous fluid that distorted what lay within but couldn't quite hide the forms suspended in that artificial preservation. Some appeared to be bodies—whether dead, unconscious, or maintained in some state between life and death was impossible to determine without closer examination that Naruto didn't bother with, his eyes tracking forward with single-minded focus.
Naruto's expression never changed as he passed these horrors, his eyes tracking forward with the focus of someone who'd seen these sights so many times they'd ceased to register as unusual or worthy of emotional response.
Finally, he reached a last space at the deepest point of the cave system—a chamber smaller than the others, more intimate in scale, arranged not for experimentation but for something closer to habitation or imprisonment that pretended to be care. And there, positioned against the far wall in specialized support equipment that looked like it belonged in a medical facility's intensive care unit, was Jiraiya.
What remained of Jiraiya.
The man who'd once been one of the Legendary Sannin, who'd trained the Fourth Hokage and written bestselling novels and traveled the world gathering intelligence while researching for those novels, had been reduced to a partial form that was almost unbearable to witness. His body from the torso down was simply gone—not hidden beneath blankets, not covered by medical equipment, but absent as if it had been removed with surgical precision or destroyed through techniques that left clean severance rather than ragged wounds. His arms had been severed at the shoulders, leaving only his torso and head supported by a mechanical chair that held him upright through straps and medical devices that monitored vital signs on displays that showed his continued survival despite everything that had been taken. Even his face had been damaged—one eye was missing, leaving only an empty socket that had healed but never been repaired, while the remaining eye still held awareness despite everything that had been done to him.
And yet, impossibly, he was reading. A book was positioned on a stand before him at perfect reading height, its pages turned by some mechanism that responded to eye movement or perhaps subtle head tilts—the only movements he could still make. The book's cover was visible—one of his own Icha Icha series, the romance novels that had made him famous beyond his shinobi achievements.
As Naruto entered the chamber, that remaining eye shifted to track his movement. Recognition sparked in its depths, followed by something that might have been pleasure at seeing a familiar face despite the circumstances, despite everything.
"Oh, Naruto, you've come," Jiraiya's voice was rougher than it had been in his prime but still recognizable, still carrying that underlying warmth that had characterized him even in his most perverted moments, even when catching buckets to the head at bathhouses. "This here was one of my phenomenal works." He gestured with his head toward the book, the only gesture he could still make. "This was when I was traveling through Sand Village. The place was quite hot, though even remembering it makes me want to do it all again. Hahaha! You should have seen the women there—absolutely gorgeous, and the hot springs were—"
"Granny Tsunade was nowhere to be found," Naruto interrupted, his voice flat and emotionless, cutting through Jiraiya's attempted reminiscence with brutal efficiency. "And before I reached the location, all of them had moved. Either they anticipated our search pattern or someone warned them we were coming."
The change in Jiraiya's expression was immediate and devastating. The brief spark of life, of memory and nostalgia that had animated him while discussing his books, drained from his remaining eye like water from a broken vessel, replaced by something that looked like profound loss mixed with resignation. His face turned sad and grim simultaneously, like someone who'd been clinging to hope as their only remaining possession and just had it ripped away. The life seemed to leave him all at once, his head sagging slightly against the restraints that held him upright, supported only by the mechanical apparatus that kept him from simply collapsing.
"But I did find Uncle Asuma and Kakashi-sensei," Naruto said quietly, his voice dimming near the end — like he was trying to find a small piece of good in the middle of a loss that still weighed on him. "They're in the main chamber. Orochimaru is examining them now. They should provide useful intelligence about Konoha's current defensive positions."
Before Jiraiya could respond—Itachi appeared in the chamber's entrance, his presence somehow managing to make the small space feel even more confined despite his relatively slight build. His Sharingan was deactivated, but his voice carried the weight that characterized all his communications—no wasted words, no emotion, just information delivered with precision.
"Nagato and the rest of our forces are moving toward Hidden Stone Village," Itachi reported. "Intelligence suggests that's where the main Konoha refugee population has gathered. The Stone's Tsuchikage has granted them temporary asylum in exchange for future considerations. We're mobilizing for assault within forty-eight hours."
Jiraiya's remaining eye widened with alarm that cut through his earlier despair. "We need to find them before it's too late," he said, his voice urgent despite his helplessness. "You have to—"
"We have three of the tailed beasts with us now," a new voice interrupted as Kabuto Yakushi appeared in the doorway beside Itachi, his ever-present smile in place, his glasses reflecting the chamber's dim light. "It's not a problem for now."
"I need to go and find Sasuke," Itachi said, already turning to leave. "And then I'll join Nagato for the Stone Village operation."
Without waiting for acknowledgment, Itachi disappeared, his form seeming to dissolve into shadows that had no business existing in a lit corridor. Kabuto lingered a moment longer, his smile never wavering as he glanced at Jiraiya's mutilated form, then at Naruto's empty expression, before following Itachi back toward the main laboratory.
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