Chapter 87: The Shattered Illusion
"You… you are Aizen Sōsuke!"
Orochimaru's voice was a weak, bloody gurgle, a world away from his earlier arrogant sneer. His eyes, wide with shock and pain, were fixed on the figure before him. This person looked down upon him not with anger, but with a calm, analytical detachment, as if observing a particularly interesting insect.
That single, seemingly casual swing of a sword had shattered Orochimaru's confidence and power, casting him down from his peak into a state of utter vulnerability.
No matter how he reasoned, Orochimaru could not comprehend it. The person standing behind him was the same Aizen Sōsuke who had been publicly torn apart by Gaara's sand in the first match of the finals. From his vantage point on the tower, he had watched it himself—the gruesome spectacle of a promising genin being reduced to a bloody mist. How could he be here, unharmed and holding a sword?
The same desperate question echoed in the mind of the Third Hokage. When he saw Aizen, his heart, already burdened by the weight of the sealing ritual, seized with a new kind of shock.
He had mourned this boy. He had felt a genuine pang of loss for the young genius who displayed such talent in three nature transformations, cut down so tragically young.
Yet, Aizen was not dead. He stood here, perfectly healthy, having just delivered a crippling blow to Orochimaru from the shadows.
"Aizen Sōsuke," the Third Hokage gritted out, straining against the invisible force pulling his soul away. "Aren't you dead? Why are you here?"
The pain was immense, a cold, spiritual agony as the Shinigami's grip tightened on his very essence. He knew he had only moments left.
The four Sound Ninja maintaining the barrier and the two Konoha Anbu watching from below were equally stunned. They had all seen Aizen's "death." The image of him being crushed into nothingness was seared into their memories. An unshakable illusion had been planted in every mind: Aizen Sōsuke is dead.
"When did you begin to think," Aizen said, his voice smooth and chillingly calm as he flicked the blood from Kyōka Suigetsu, "that I was ever dead?"
Drip.
Drip.
The droplets of Orochimaru's blood fell to the ground, each one catching the sun and gleaming a brilliant, defiant red against the sorrowful atmosphere.
In that moment, Aizen's entire demeanor transformed. The gentle, kind-hearted academy student was gone, shattered and discarded like a useless shell. The humble smile, the warm eyes, the modest posture—all of it vanished.
In its place was a noble and terrifying elegance. His eyes were cold and utterly ruthless. A single, calm glance from him carried a contempt that struck at the very core of one's soul.
Holding Kyōka Suigetsu loosely at his side, Aizen took a step forward.
With each step, both Orochimaru and the Third Hokage felt a wave of dread. It was the awe one feels in the presence of an invincible sovereign, a pressure that far surpassed the terrifying aura of the summoned Shinigami itself.
"What is this? You're just a genin!" Orochimaru stammered, his panic laid bare. He felt a life-or-death fear emanating from Aizen that dwarfed everything else. He suddenly understood—the true source of the deathly feeling he had wasn't the Shinigami behind Sarutobi. It was Aizen all along.
What happened next defied all their understanding. As Aizen walked past the colossal phantom of the Shinigami, an endless, crushing pressure erupted from him, so dense it felt physical.
Reiatsu.
Under this abyssal, heaven-crushing spiritual pressure, the very air grew heavy and still. Space itself seemed to warp and waver, unable to bear the weight of his presence.
"Guh…!"
The four Sound Ninja, closest to the epicenter, felt as if a mountain had been dropped on them. They couldn't breathe. The terrifying pressure made the air as viscous as syrup, trapping them in place.
"No…!"
Despite their struggles, they were powerless against the Reiatsu. One by one, their knees buckled, hitting the stone floor of the watchtower at the four cardinal directions. The direction of their forced obeisance was toward Aizen, who stood at the center.
Crick… Crack!
A sharp, crystalline sound rang out. The unbreakable Four Violet Flames Formation, the barrier that had stymied the Anbu, could not withstand the spiritual pressure. A web of fine cracks spread across its purple surface.
It was a domino effect. In an instant, the entire barrier was covered in a spiderweb of fractures. Then, with a sound like shattering glass, the Four Violet Flames Formation exploded into motes of fading purple light.
The barrier was gone.
Cough! Hack!
The four Sound Ninja vomited blood in unison, collapsing to the ground, completely spent. From beginning to end, they had been prostrate, as if paying homage to a god who tolerated no defiance.
"I don't know how you've done all this," Orochimaru snarled, his face a mask of twisted fury and desperation, "but you will not ruin my plans!"
First, the Third Hokage had resorted to a suicide seal to drag him down. Now, Aizen's reappearance had shattered his scheme entirely. The destruction of the barrier meant his assassination of the Hokage had failed. He was gravely wounded, and if Konoha's elite jonin arrived now, his capture or death was certain.
"Damn you! I'll kill you!"
All of Orochimaru's former composure was gone, replaced by the raw, frantic rage of a cornered animal. The contempt in Aizen's calm eyes was the final, unbearable insult.
In a last, desperate act, Orochimaru forced his body to move, gripping the Kusanagi Sword still impaled in him, trying to wrench it free and stab backward at Aizen.
"A creature of your level," Aizen said, not even bothering to look at him as he gave Kyōka Suigetsu a slow, almost lazy wave, "is not permitted to raise a blade against me."
Shing!
In a flash of reflected sunlight, several fresh arcs of blood sprayed through the air. They fell like crimson petals, a final, brutal elegy for the fallen genius of the Sannin. Orochimaru's body stiffened, his desperate lunge ending before it began.