----
Kabuto pressed a palm to the left side of his body. The graft throbbed Orochimaru's remnants fused into his flesh like a burning brand.
"Orochimaru-sama…"
Pain sparked along the seam where pale tissue met his own. It wasn't just physical. The influence gnawed at his will, pushing, whispering.
"So this corrosion… is your answer to me?" he murmured, half-delirious, half-devout. "Don't worry. What you sought I'll finish it. Better than you did."
The ache surged. He clenched his jaw, eyes sharpening with resolve. Naruto's words from long ago scraped through his head and twisted into something that made sense to him: inherit, perfect, surpass.
Footsteps approached. Kabuto rolled silently off the cot and slipped into a built-in storage cabinet, peering through a sliver of light.
The door swung open.
A file of figures glided inside. Silent. Precise. Human-shaped… but not human. Kabuto's scalp prickled. Their movements mimicked life, but their joints told a different story.
Puppets, he assessed. Not Sasori's models something else. Clean metal. Seamless masks.
They swept the room with methodical efficiency and filed out again.
He didn't move. He counted a dozen breaths. Two dozen. Then he bit his thumb and flashed hand seals.
[Summoning Technique] A small white snake coiled in his palm. Relief flooded him; Orochimaru's chakra still answered.
"Scout," he whispered.
The snake slipped through the crack under the door.
The link snapped a heartbeat later.
Kabuto's eyes narrowed. So they're not just patrols they're suppression. He ghosted to the door, listening.
Distant vibrations thudded through the walls. Most movement clustered toward the archive wing.
They're after data, not bodies. He checked the next step in his head. His current state couldn't support a fight. The graft burned like acid every time he drew too deeply from Orochimaru's chakra. He needed a suppressant now.
Pharmaceutical Supply. Then the hidden exit.
Kabuto moved.
He kept to blind corners, tracking patrol rhythms by the tremor of their footsteps. Twice, he pressed flat into shadows as puppet squads flowed past like ink. No head turned. No breath wasted.
He reached the dispensary. Shelves gleamed, untouched. Either the intruders hadn't gotten here yet or they didn't care. He prayed for the latter.
"We do this fast," he breathed.
Bottles clicked down in a precise line. Stabilizer. Nerve-dullant. Chakra gating agent. He set the tray, but paused—vibrations again, closer. He bit his thumb, slammed his palm to the tile.
[Summoning Technique].
Dozens of small snakes spilled from beneath the door and went skittering down the hall. Seconds later: clatter, the hiss of steel on floor, pursuit veering away. Kabuto exhaled and turned back to the table.
Focus. Measure. Mix. The ache in his left side pulsed like a second heartbeat. He set the needle.
Outside, the base… changed.
---
Neji stood beneath the great stone serpent statue Orochimaru's affectation paging through research logs. Around him, sleek, masked puppets scanned every tome and scroll, uploading them into a remote vault before returning each book to the exact angle it had rested at for years.
A faceless puppet knelt. "Master, all texts in this sector are archived. The subject called Kabuto was diverted by false patrol patterns as ordered."
Neji closed the journal and set it aside. Light and shadow striped the porcelain mask over his face.
"Time to meet him," he said. "A senior should guide a junior, don't you think?"
From a nearby pillar, a half-merged figure seeped free Black Zetsu's smile thin as ink. "Are you sure about this approach?"
Neji didn't spare it a glance. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
Zetsu flowed into the casing of a puppet at Neji's shoulder. "Very well. I understand."
He lingered. "And your true aim I see it. Kaguya will be unsealed."
Neji's steps didn't falter. "As long as she doesn't try the tyrant routine again. Power isn't the problem. People with power are." A beat. "If 'Mother' wants to talk, she can talk. If she wants to rule, we break her crown."
He started down the corridor toward the dispensary.
Behind him, Zetsu's voice was almost amused. "Direct as always."
---
In the dispensary, Kabuto tightened a tourniquet and drove the needle home. Cool relief spread outward, damping the corrosive throb. His breath steadied.
The door clicked.
Kabuto's hand drifted toward a scalpel then stopped as the puppets stepped aside and someone else crossed the threshold.
White hair. Calm stride. Azure eyes that made the air feel heavier.
Kabuto's mind moved through possibilities and discarded them one by one. He settled on the only answer that fit the facts of the last hour.
"…You're the one emptying this place," he said, voice even. "Which means you're the one who can use it."
Neji regarded him for a long, quiet second. "You kept the graft. Risky. Stubborn. Very you."
He nodded once toward the tray. "Finish your dose. Then we'll talk."
Kabuto's fingers eased off the scalpel. "Talk about what?"
"About purpose," Neji said. "Yours just broke. I'm offering you another."
In the hallway beyond, the silent army shifted formation. Across the continent, teleportation seals flared as squads deployed toward Orochimaru's scattered lairs years of hoarded knowledge, about to change hands in a single afternoon.
Kabuto adjusted his glasses, the lens catching the light.
A new path, laid out like a scalpel on a tray.
He set the empty syringe down. "I'm listening."
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