"You really know how to amuse yourself."
At that moment, a voice—mocking, flippant, yet utterly devoid of warmth—sounded without warning behind Danzō.
"Who's there?!"
Every hair on Shimura Danzō's body stood on end. His heart nearly stopped.
He hadn't sensed anyone approaching.
Without needing an order, the four remaining Root operatives at his side reacted instantly, snapping into combat stance.
But there was no one there.
And then—everything changed.
The seemingly ordinary clumps of grass beneath their feet began to grow wildly without warning.
Not vines twisting upward—but the blades of grass themselves seemed to come alive, hardening in an instant into steel-like tendrils. They shot up at impossible speed, like green lightning, wrapping around the Root shinobi's ankles, calves, waists, and arms.
"What—?!"
"Gah—!"
The Root operatives struggled in horror, slashing at the grass with kunai and chakra-infused blades.
But despair followed immediately.
Their weapons struck the grass with the clang of metal against iron. At most, they left faint white marks.
The blades tightened with terrifying force—and carried a strange, devouring suction.
"No—!"
Their screams lasted barely a breath.
It was as though countless greedy straws had pierced their bodies at once. Before Danzō's eyes, the four elite Root shinobi withered at visible speed.
Their skin dulled and grayed. Muscles collapsed inward. Eye sockets sank deep.
In the end, even their bones seemed to weather away. With soft puffing sounds, they disintegrated—clothes and equipment included—into four small piles of ashen dust that scattered into the soil and fallen leaves.
From capture to annihilation took less than three seconds.
Not a single meaningful counterattack.
Danzō's eyes split wide. His heart felt clutched in an icy fist.
What kind of power was that?
It was no ordinary ninjutsu.
Wood Release?
No… it didn't feel the same.
Another strange ability exposed by that mysterious projection? Or perhaps… another Devil Fruit?
Thicker, darker blades—tinged purple-black—coiled around Danzō himself, binding him tightly from ankles to chest. He could not move.
With effort, he turned his stiff neck, his lone visible eye fixed on the still-empty shadow.
"Who… are you?!"
A faint, almost weightless chuckle drifted from the darkness.
"It's been a long time, Danzō."
The teasing voice was now frighteningly close.
Danzō jerked his head upward, his pupil shrinking to a pinprick.
A figure seemed to grow directly out of the ancient tree's shadow, materializing silently a few steps before him.
The newcomer wore a dark gray cloak, as though woven from moss and bark. A hood obscured most of his face.
What made Danzō's heart lurch were the hands and neck exposed beneath the cloak.
That was not human skin.
It was deep brown, crisscrossed with ridged lines like the growth rings of an ancient tree. The texture looked dry, hardened—like literal bark.
If not for his speech and movement, one might have mistaken him for a cloaked tree stump.
Unnatural.
Deeply unnatural.
"You know me?" Danzō forced himself to calm down, his eye locked onto the hood's shadow, searching for any trace of familiarity. There was none.
"Who are you?!" he demanded again, voice hoarse with tension.
"No need to chat just yet."
Before the final syllable faded, the figure moved like a phantom.
Danzō didn't even see the attack.
A sudden chill pierced his chest—followed by indescribable agony.
He looked down in disbelief.
A bark-covered hand had punched cleanly through his chest, gripping his still-beating heart.
"Urgh—!" Blood burst from Danzō's mouth as darkness crept into his vision.
What the hell?!
Who attacks without a word?!
He didn't even know who this was—or why!
The bark-skinned man twisted his wrist.
The heart shattered in his grip.
But in the next instant, beneath the shadow of another nearby tree, Danzō's figure staggered into existence once more.
Izanagi.
"Sharingan… truly convenient."
The bark-skinned man showed no surprise. If anything, he sounded faintly amused—almost nostalgic.
"Unfortunately, the Uchiha clan has fallen into decline. A forbidden technique that blurs the boundary between life and death… wasted in the hands of someone like you. What a pity."
He shook his head as though lamenting something precious lost.
Danzō's heart sank to the depths.
Run.
The thought seized his entire being.
He couldn't win.
They weren't even in the same realm.
The man's abilities were bizarre beyond comprehension. His movements defied logic. His hostility was absolute.
If he continued to engage, he would be worn down and killed here.
The remaining Sharingan embedded in his right arm were his final trump cards. He could not afford to waste them in a meaningless skirmish.
And besides—
Konoha still needed him.
He was the one who could lead Konoha to true greatness.
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