With the deaths of numerous Anbu ninjas, news of an ambush on the Uchiha clan spread like wildfire, slipping past the barrier like whispers of doom. It carried with it the scent of blood and burning wood, the echoes of distant cries swallowed by the vastness of the night. Shadows lengthened, stretching unnaturally beneath the silver glow of the moon as if the darkness itself recoiled from what was to come.
"I never knew the Uchiha were this powerful!"
The words cut through the tense air, but Danzo did not react. He merely stood, his lone eye fixated on the report before him, his face an unreadable mask of stone. The wind curled around him, carrying the damp scent of pine and earth, but it did little to wash away the metallic tang of blood that had begun to stain the air.
His fingers twitched ever so slightly at his side, but his voice remained cold and sharp. "Go inform Hiruzen that Uchiha Itachi has betrayed us. Tell him to summon all Chunin and above—we're annihilating the Uchiha clan tonight."
The Anbu messenger hesitated, barely perceptibly, but Danzo saw it. He did not acknowledge the doubt, nor did he address it. He simply waited.
"Understood!"
In the next breath, the masked figure was gone, melting into the night as though he had never been there at all. The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with unspoken weight. Danzo let out a slow, measured breath, feeling the moment press down upon him. This was necessary. This was inevitable. And yet, for the briefest of moments, there was something in the air—something that felt wrong.
He crushed the thought before it could take root.
With a sharp gesture, he raised his hand. "Move out."
The elite Root operatives obeyed without question, their footsteps making no sound as they moved. Shadows consumed them, swallowed by the void beyond the barrier. Danzo followed, his stride unhurried, his mind already calculating the outcome of this night's bloodshed. Yet, as the wind shifted, carrying with it an unnatural stillness, something in his gut twisted.
Then—
A sound. Deep, resonant, like the groan of the very earth itself. The ground beneath them trembled, ripples moving outward in unnatural patterns. Leaves scattered. Birds erupted from the treetops in a panicked frenzy, their screeches swallowed by the weight of something unseen. The air grew thick, oppressive, pressing down on them as though the atmosphere itself had become a living thing, breathing, watching.
Danzo came to an abrupt stop. His muscles tensed. His instincts, honed through years of bloodshed, screamed at him.
"Hold."
A flicker of movement in the distance. Then another. The darkness wavered, shifting in ways that defied logic. The shadows twisted, writhing, reshaping themselves into something tangible. And then—
A skeletal hand burst from the earth.
It rose with a sickening crack, fingers twitching as though tasting the air for the first time in centuries. Another hand followed, clawing its way free, its very presence radiating an overwhelming energy that crackled in the air like distant thunder. The scent of ozone flooded Danzo's senses, thick and unnatural, mixing with the iron tang of blood that now felt suffocating.
His throat dried. His lone eye flickered, taking in the monstrous form assembling itself before them.
"What the hell is that?!"
The question was barely a whisper, but the answer came in the form of the colossal entity that now loomed over them. A monstrous frame of bone and chakra, knitting itself together in grotesque precision. Muscles wound around the skeleton like living tendrils, snapping into place with wet, sinewy cracks. A giant, a beast of nightmare, its mere presence suffocating nearly a hundred meters of space.
The air itself seemed to tremble beneath its weight. A pulse of raw, suffocating chakra slammed into them like a tidal wave.
Root operatives staggered. Some fell to their knees, gasping for breath as sweat beaded at their brows despite the cool night air. Their weapons, once steady, trembled in their hands. This was power. Unrelenting. Inescapable. Alive.
Danzo clenched his fists. His body, trained to endure, refused to waver, but there was something unsettling about this force. Something different. His gaze flickered downward—to his right arm, hidden beneath layers of bandages. The Sharingan embedded within stirred. He could feel them, the stolen eyes, their hunger awakening in response to the energy before him.
The ground cracked open with a deafening roar. From the depths of the earth, a colossal skeletal hand erupted, its fingers curling as if grasping at the very fabric of existence. A violent surge of chakra pulsed outward, sending shockwaves rippling through the battlefield.
Danzo took an involuntary step back, his breath catching in his throat. Impossible. The air was suffocating, thick with an oppressive force that dwarfed anything he had ever encountered—even the Nine-Tails.
His hands clenched at his sides, fingers trembling despite himself. "W-Withdraw…!" he barked suddenly, his voice losing its usual commanding edge. His subordinates hesitated, stunned by the sheer terror in his tone.
"NOW!" Danzo roared, his own legs tensed as if preparing to flee.
Far from the battlefield—
A figure crashed onto the ground, hitting the dirt with a force that sent dust billowing into the air. His breath came in ragged gasps, chest heaving with the exertion of survival.
Obito.
The once-imposing figure was now broken, his black cloak reduced to tatters, the fabric hanging off his frame in shreds. Deep gashes marred his skin, blood seeping into the earth, painting the dirt beneath him in streaks of crimson. His mask—once an unshakable symbol of his presence—lay in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond recognition.
His Sharingan flickered dangerously, unstable in the darkness—one eye glowing with an eerie, ghastly white, the other burning a deep, fevered crimson.
And for the first time in years—Obito felt it.
Terror.
His hands trembled as he pushed himself upright, mind racing, scrambling for an answer, an explanation, anything that made sense. His breath hitched. The weight in his chest was unfamiliar, suffocating. He had faced war, had waded through the corpses of comrades and enemies alike. And yet, this—
This was different.
His gaze lifted.
And there—standing beneath the cold glow of the moon—was Kaito.
The night had become a nightmare.
{952 Word Limit}