Chapter LVIII: Fear Us
The air in the cave was thick, damp, and oppressive, the scent of earth and decay hanging heavily in the stagnant atmosphere. Water, cold and slow, dripped from the jagged stone above, the steady plinks of droplets striking the ground echoing through the hollow, a lonely, haunting sound. The stone walls were slick with moisture, their dark surfaces mottled with veins of greenish mold. Shadows clung to every crevice, and the flickering, faint glow of distant torches seemed to do little to dispel the suffocating gloom.
This place, deep beneath the Hidden Sound Village, was a secret. A forgotten realm, cut off from the world above. Hidden in the labyrinthine depths, only those trusted by Orochimaru himself ever found their way here. And here, in the heart of the underground lair, were the twisted remnants of his work, experiments that defied nature itself.
In the middle of the cavern stood several large glass pods, arranged in a semi-circle, each one filled with a viscous black liquid that churned and bubbled ominously within. The liquid pulsed as though alive, dark tendrils of it swirling in a hypnotic dance beneath the transparent surface. It was unnatural, foreign, and utterly unsettling. Each pod held something within it, something barely human. Strange figures, silhouettes in the murk, their forms shifting and twitching in their containment.
Orochimaru stood at the forefront, his pale face half-shadowed beneath the hood of his cloak, his long fingers lightly brushing against one of the pods. His golden eyes were focused, as if waiting for something. Beside him, a figure cloaked in black stood motionless. It wasGyatsō, now a young man of 21 years, his white hair now cascading down to his lower back. His crimson eyes fixated intently on one of the pods, mirroring his Sannin ally's eagerness. He was silent, expression indiscernible, the weight of what he had just witnessed hanging in the air like a palpable thing.
Inside the pod before them, a humanoid figure floated, suspended in the liquid. His body was obscured by the murk, but his long, spiky blue hair swayed gently with the ripples in the liquid. For a long, tense moment, nothing moved. Then, with an abruptness that seemed to shatter the stillness, the humanoid's eyes snapped open for the very first time.
Gyatsō's breath caught in his throat. The creature's eyes were not human. They were something far worse. The Rinnegan, gleaming with an unnatural light, stared out from beneath the strands of blue hair, unblinking. There was no hesitation, no recognition in those eyes, only a cold, terrifying emptiness.
A heartbeat later, the humanoid slammed his fist into the glass, the impact reverberating through the cavern like a gunshot. The pod cracked immediately, lines of fracture spider-webbing across the surface. The liquid within surged violently, splashing out in dark torrents, mingling with shattered glass fragments that sprayed in all directions.
The dark liquid splattered across the floor, darkening the stone and dripping into the crevices. Orochimaru remained still, eyes narrowing as the creature began to emerge, its body slick with the strange liquid. The sound of the glass shattering echoed, but it felt drowned out by the thumping of Gyatso's own pulse in his ears. There was something... wrong about it all. A warning in the air that neither man would dare ignore.
The creature stepped out from the remnants of the pod, his every movement fluid and unrestrained, as if the liquid had allowed him to move with unnatural grace. His eyes, still glowing with that same eerie Rinnegan, locked ontoGyatsō, and a shiver of something dark and primal slithered down his spine. The creature's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.
Orochimaru's voice broke the silence, his tone as nefarious as always. "It's awake," he murmured, more to himself than to Gyatsō, though the words hung heavily in the cave. "Your first ever artificially created subordinate... finally free."
The air seemed to freeze, the silence of the cave thickening with anticipation. The artificial human, now fully free from the shattered pod, moved with a sudden terrifying speed. In an instant, the monstrous figure lunged toward Gyatsō with a grating, deafening roar that reverberated off the stone walls. The very ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet as the creature surged forward, its body still slick with the black, viscous liquid that had once held him captive. The spiky blue hair framed a face twisted in a primal rage, his infernal Rinnegan eyes burning with an intensity that felt all-consuming.
Gyatsō barely had time to react. Before he could even raise his arms in defence, the artificial human was upon him, its massive hand shooting toward him with the speed of a rattlesnake's strike. The sound of air being sliced through filled his ears, and for a split second, Gyatsō thought this might be the end. But then, Orochimaru's calm, unwavering presence beside him made the air shift.
With a swift motion, Orochimaru performed a single hand sign. His expression was the very picture of indifference, a twisted smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he stood, unfazed, next to Gyatsō. The world seemed to slow in the aftermath of Orochimaru's gesture.
The human's roar cut off abruptly, replaced by a piercing scream that tore through the cavern, echoing off the stone walls. It was a sound of pure, unbridled agony. The creature's body twisted and contorted as though some invisible force was tearing through it, a hot, burning sensation coursing through its every muscle and nerve. The black liquid that still clung to its body bubbled and hissed as if recoiling from the pain.
Gyatsō watched on with bated breath as the artificial human's eyes darted frantically, desperately searching for the source of its torment. The creature's gaze locked onto Orochimaru's hand, now held out in a relaxed yet commanding gesture.
'So, he possesses human intelligence,' Gyatsō thought to himself, his crimson eyes narrowing as he observed the human's growing panic.
The artificial human screamed again, his voice now raw and hoarse, a sound so deep and guttural it seemed to reverberate through Gyatsō's bones.
"Please... stop...!" the creature begged, its voice trembling with fear and pain. It was an unsettling contrast to its earlier violence.
'Hecan even talk, too,' Gyatsō thought, his mind racing as the creature writhed beneath the weight of Orochimaru's jutsu.
Orochimaru's laugh was a low, unsettling chuckle that echoed through the cave, sending a ripple of coldness through Gyatsō's spine. He did not even flinch as the creature struggled at his feet, its body convulsing with every second that passed.
"You're in no position to bargain," Orochimaru said with a smooth and unhurried voice. "But I might show you mercy... if you swear your eternal loyalty to the man standing beside me."
The artificial human, eyes still wild with pain and confusion, shifted his gaze slowly from Orochimaru's hand sign to the white-haired man standing next to him, Gyatsō. The flickering light of the torches in the cave cast long, sharp shadows, but something else had changed. A faint shimmer of light from a distant source outside the cave broke through, filtering down from cracks in the stone. It cascaded in such a way that Gyatsō stood bathed in a soft, almost ethereal glow, his figure appearing almost godlike. The light made him seem far larger than life, his red eyes glowing with an unnatural, divine intensity.
The human's gaze held Gyatsō's for a long, heavy moment. The pain in its eyes began to recede, replaced by something deeper, something reverential. It wasn't simply fear that the creature felt now, but awe, and perhaps even a sense of... understanding. Slowly, almost reverently, the human bowed his head, lowering himself to one knee before Gyatsō. The gesture was one of respect, as if the creature, whatever it was, had recognised the power before it.
The creature's voice, once deep and wild, was now subdued. "I swear... my eternal loyalty..." it rasped, each word heavy with the weight of a promise that seemed far too final for something so newly born. It was an agreement forged under duress, but there was no doubt in the air. This creature, whatever it was, had chosen to submit.
Orochimaru's smirk deepened, his snakelike eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He slowly lowered his hand, the jutsu's forceful hold on the artificial human finally easing. The creature took a sharp breath, the pain subsiding but still lingering in its form like a shadow of what had just passed. Yet, in that moment, it seemed almost docile, a far cry from the raging force it had been just moments before.
Gyatsō, though still on guard, couldn't help but feel the weight of the human's bow. It was not mere obedience. It was something deeper, something bound by the very essence of its creation. He could see now that this was no mindless puppet, no mere tool. This was something far more complicated.
Orochimaru, still watching Gyatsō with those calculating eyes, let out a soft chuckle. "Well, Gyatsō... it seems we have ourselves a new ally." His voice was low, almost purring with amusement, though there was a dark edge beneath the surface.
The artificial human's head tilted slightly, his Rinnegan eyes flickering with an emotion that could almost be described as curiosity. The deep, unsettling voice of his newly sworn allegiance broke the heavy silence in the cave. "Gyatsō..." he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue slowly, as though savoring the unfamiliar sound. He repeated it quietly, almost to himself, the syllables drilling into his mind like an incantation. His gaze dropped to the dirt beneath him as he bowed lower still, his posture more akin to a servant's than a creation's.
Gyatsō stood before him, arms crossed, a small smile of satisfaction playing on his lips as he observed the being's display of complete submission. The artificial human had followed his command without hesitation, his will now fully bent to his.
'A perfect servant,' Gyatsō thought, feeling a strange sense of control over the being bowing in front of him. A faint gust of wind made its way into the dark cave, gently swaying his long hair to the side.
The humanoid's voice, rough yet stable, interrupted the brief quiet. "Master Gyatsō," he said, the word still foreign on his tongue, though he spoke it with undeniable reverence. "Will... will I have a name, too?"
Gyatsō's crimson eyes flicked down to the human, his gaze contemplative. He uncrossed his arms slowly, his fingers curling into a relaxed fist as he considered the question. The artificial human before him was nothing but a vessel, an empty shell to be filled with purpose, and a name would serve as that final, symbolic gesture of his subjugation.
"Of course," Gyatsō replied smoothly. "As of now, you will be forever known... as Doctorisha of the Hidden Dark."
The name seemed to strike something deep within the artificial man. A strange, almost hypnotic wave washed over him, the very essence of its being seemingly shifting and aligning with its new identity.
"Doctorisha..." he whispered again, the name repeating itself in a trance-like manner as his form shuddered slightly, the sensation of change coursing through him. His entire body seemed to absorb the significance of his new name, as if the weight of Gyatsō's words had woven themselves into his very cells.
"Tch... Doctorisha, you bastard..."
The present-day Gyatsō leaps down from the shattered remains of Doctorisha's pod, his boots hitting the damp earth with a soft squish. He lands in a low crouch, his white hair cascading over his shoulders like a frozen waterfall, his crimson eyes burning with a smoldering intensity. In front of him, his younger self stands frozen, unaware of the storm brewing within the man who shares his face.
Gyatsō rises with measured slowness, every motion exuding a simmering, barely contained fury. His crimson eyes lock onto Doctorisha. The artificial human who once stood as his servant, now a living emblem of treachery and shame. As Gyatsō's rage surges, his dormant visual jutsu violently ignites. Two precise, intersecting lines carve themselves into his red irises, forming a stark, glowing cross. The second-level Shaolin, stirred by hatred.
"Was it all just an act, you... wretched... piece... of...shit?!"Gyatsō growls venomously, each word emanating pent-up fury. His piercing eyes bore into Doctorisha's, searching for answers he already knows he won't find. The memories flood his mind unbidden. Years of meticulous research, sleepless nights spent chasing the pinnacle of power, the sacrifices made to achieve Six Paths levels of strength. All of it, stripped away in an instant by the very person he had trusted. Doctorisha's betrayal had been the catalyst for his current downfall, the first domino in a chain of disasters that led to his defeat at the hands of Killer Bee. The humiliation of that loss still burns, a brand on his very soul.
And now, here he stands, trapped in this damned memory world after the fact, no choice but to relive every triumph and every defeat. The scope of it all presses down on him like a suffocating burden. His fists clench tightly, the rage within him a living thing, a tempest howling for release. He wants to tear italldown—this world, this memory, this twisted mockery of his life. Every fibre of his being screams for destruction, for vengeance, for an end to the cycle of humiliation and pain. However, he knows that just as before with Akane and his own child self, he'd just pass through it all. He's just a ghost in this world.
The younger Gyatsō took a moment to admire the transformation in Doctorisha, his eyes flicking from the bowing figure to the ominous pods in the distance. "I am forming a new organisation," he began, his tone taking on an air of grandiosity, "one dedicated to the true purpose of the Hidden Dark. In time, the entire ninja world... shall fear us."
The air around them seemed to grow colder as his words hung in the damp cave. Gyatsō's gaze hardened, his mind already imagining the scope of the power he intended to wield. "With that in mind, our organisation will henceforth be known as the Osore." The word meant 'fear,' in Japanese. The namesake was fitting, considering Gyatsō's goals.
The artificial human, Doctorisha, remained silent for a moment. His head remained bowed, but another strange shift seemed to occur within him. His Rinnegan glimmered faintly as though processing the significance of the declaration.
"Raise your head," Gyatsō commanded.
Without hesitation, Doctorisha obeyed. His Rinnegan eyes lifted, locking onto Gyatsō's with an eerie obedience, as if nothing else mattered in the world except the man before him. His gaze held a deep reverence, not just for his master, but for the power he now served. His very existence had been remade in a single moment of submission.
"You, Doctorisha," Gyatsō said firmly, "will be the first ever recruit into the Osore. You will serve as a foundation, a symbol of the power we shall one day command."
Doctorisha's rippled eyes softened for a brief moment, and then he bowed again, even deeper than before. "I accept, Master Gyatsō," he rasped, his voice filled with a deep, reverential loyalty.
Gyatsō allowed himself a small, pleased smile before turning his gaze to Orochimaru, who had been silently observing the entire exchange. The Sannin's pale face remained unreadable, though his eyes flicked toward Gyatsō with a curious, almost calculating glint.
Gyatsō's crimson gaze sharpened as he met Orochimaru's eyes. "Orochimaru," he began, his voice gentle but imbued with the weight of something deeper. "I ask that you join the Osore as well. Together, we will command the fear of every corner of the world."
Orochimaru's lips curled into a tight, polite smile, though his eyes remained cool, almost distant. "I have my own ambitions to tend to for the moment," he said, his voice light and almost dismissive. "For now, I would prefer to assist you in your efforts to expand the Hidden Dark, Gyatsō. My time will come, but not yet."
Gyatsō considered the declination for a moment, then nodded. He wasn't surprised, Orochimaru was always a man of his own designs, and Gyatsō knew that his influence would come in time. For now, he would allow the Sannin his space.
"I see," Gyatsō said. His eyes drifted back to the pods hovering behind him. "In that case, I want you to create an even more powerful artificial being. Someone... stronger, someone who will serve as another valuable member of the Osore."
Doctorisha, still kneeling, shifted uncomfortably. A strange sensation of unease blossomed within him, deep in his chest. He didn't fully understand why, but he couldn't shake the feeling that his earlier display of power hadn't been enough. Perhaps Gyatsō had expected something greater. Perhaps... he had disappointed his master.
But the artificial human kept his thoughts to himself, his outward demeanor still perfectly obedient.
Orochimaru's golden eyes gleamed with something darker now, though his lips remained in their ever-present smile. "I've been making some breakthrough progress on one of my most significant experiments," he said, his voice low with intrigue. "I've been trying to implant Uchiha DNA into a new, powerful Curse Mark. I'm using Sasuke Uchiha's cells, taken from when I was still his mentor. The combination should yield something... quite remarkable."
Gyatsō paused, his mind whirring as he processed the information. The thought of Uchiha DNA merged with Orochimaru's Curse Mark was both intriguing and dangerous. He didn't respond immediately, instead turning the possibility over in his mind.
Finally, he spoke, his voice cold and resolute. "You're always so ambitious, Orochimaru," he said, his words carrying an unexpected weight. Without waiting for a response, Gyatsō turned sharply on his heel, his black cloak billowing behind him as he began to walk toward the deeper recesses of the cave.
Orochimaru raised an eyebrow at his sudden departure. "Where are you headed?" he called, a note of curiosity in his voice.Gyatsō's footsteps echoed back in the cavernous space as he answered, his voice cutting through the stillness.
"To help with your experiment," he replied simply, a glimmer of something dark in his tone as he disappeared into the shadows.
In the two years since Gyatsō and Keiko had determined where the Hidden Dark Village would be built, the village had taken shape in a way few could have imagined, nestled deep in the forgotten expanse beneath the earth. The training field was one of the first areas to be completed, and it now stood as a testament to the village's rapid growth—a vast expanse of dirt, rock, and purpose, surrounded by towering stone walls carved with ancient symbols. The field was massive, designed to accommodate both individual sparring and large-scale military exercises, with the shadows of tall buildings just beginning to cast over its edges. The thick scent of earth and sweat filled the air, mixing with the faint hum of chakra that emanated from the intense training happening within.
The field was alive with movement as two blurred figures clashed at the centre, their silhouettes flickering like shadows beneath the overcast sky. Dust kicked up around them as each strike and counterstrike sent shockwaves through the air. One figure, a young man with dark brown hair flowing down to his shoulders, wore dark, tight-fitting clothing that mirrored the traditional Jonin attire of the Hidden Mist Village, though the subtle difference of a black cloth patch on his left shoulder imbedded with the kanji for "dark" marked his allegiance to the Hidden Dark. His body moved with precision, his arms flashing out in swift, calculated strikes, each motion aimed at overwhelming his sparring partner.
His opponent was alarmingly younger, a literal child compared to the seasoned warrior he faced. The boy had black hair that flowed down and almost obscured his eyes, his expression focused and sharp despite his obvious youth. He wore a simple black sleeveless kimono, its fabric lightweight and flexible for quick movements, with his own Hidden Dark patch tied around his left wrist. The patch itself seemed to burn with purpose, a mark of his loyalty and power within this newly forged village.
As the two figures fought, it became clear that the younger one was not only holding his own—he was dominating. His movements were smooth, graceful yet deadly, and every time the older shinobi thought he had the advantage, the boy's counter would be swift and relentless. The air seemed to crackle with chakra as the older shinobi tried to land a hit, only for the child to dodge, flip, or strike faster than the eye could follow.
From a distance, a new figure stepped into view. It slowly lowered its hood, revealing a young man with pale skin and long, flowing snow-white hair, ambitious crimson eyes looking into the distance. It was none other than Gyatsō, standing just outside the training field, surveying the ongoing battle. The crisp wind carried the faint sound of the clash, the rhythm of steel and chakra ringing through the air. His gaze narrowed as he observed the sparring match, his eyes fixated on the young boy in particular.
Zuko Taisega.
Gyatsō had chosen the boy as his loyal protégé three years earlier, recognising his potential even before the Taisega clan's bloodline abilities had fully manifested. Zuko's eyes were hard to ignore—crimson red, with four black lines extending from the edges of his iris, forming an incomplete cross-like shape at the intersection. This was the first stage of the Taisega clan's kekkei genkai: the Shaolin visual jutsu. It was a rare and formidable power, one that allowed the wielder to manipulate the very flow of chakra within others, as well as possess near-perfect spatial awareness and heightened perception.
Zuko's eyes flickered briefly in Gyatsō's direction as if sensing his presence. The faintest of smiles played on his lips, a sign of respect for his master, though the battle continued without him even breaking a sweat. The older shinobi lunged again, a fierce, determined kick aimed at his opponent's chest, but Zuko sidestepped effortlessly, his body moving with such speed it seemed as if time itself had slowed around him.
In one simple motion, Zuko's right leg then swept out, catching his opponent off guard, sending him tumbling to the ground. Before the older shinobi could react, Zuko was already crouched beside him, his kunai poised just inches from the man's face.
"You've lost," Zuko said quietly, his voice calm, almost serene, despite the intensity of the battle. His crimson eyes gleamed as he stood, offering no further aggression, as if the entire spar had been nothing more than an exercise. Slowly, the crimson in his eyes faded away, revealing blank, onyx irises. The older Dark shinobi remained on the ground, panting, his body aching from the overwhelming force Zuko had exerted with such effortless control.
Gyatsō observed the scene from afar, his gaze lingering on his protégé. Zuko's mastery over his kekkei genkai was developing faster than even Gyatsō had expected. The boy was more than a subordinate now; he was a force unto himself, silent, deadly, and fiercely loyal. His potential was vast, and Gyatsō could see that Zuko was becoming something greater than a simple tool or soldier.
As the sparring match came to a close, the older shinobi struggled to his feet, brushing himself off with a grimace. He offered no words, simply nodding in respect to Zuko before stepping back, the fierce chakra in the field dissipating into the air.
Zuko straightened, his expression neutral but his eyes burning with that same focused intensity that Gyatsō had come to expect. He glanced back at Gyatsō, the faintest flicker of acknowledgment passing between them. Gyatsō's lips curled into a faint smile. The Hidden Dark Village was thriving, its strength growing with each passing day, and Zuko was one of the first true embodiments of what the village stood for: power, precision, and loyalty.
Gyatsō continued standing silently at the edge of the training field, his eyes unfocused as he stared into the distance. The sound of footsteps behind him didn't interrupt his thoughts; instead, they blended into the background of his own internal musings.
He had been working closely with Orochimaru for quite some time now, exchanging ideas and findings. Their research into the Hidden Valleys' Taisega clan had provided a wealth of data, particularly about their first kekkei genkai, the Shaolin. Gyatsō's mind raced, recalling the conversations that had taken place in the dimly lit corners of Orochimaru's hidden laboratory.
The revelations they had uncovered were nothing short of extraordinary. Among the most fascinating was the Mūgetsu Shaolin, a mythical, almost divine ability within the Taisega bloodline, said to grant the wielder unimaginable powers, even beyond the Rinnegan itself. Gyatsō's mind drifted back to the moment when Orochimaru had explained his own ongoing project: mixing Sasuke Uchiha's cells into a new Curse Mark, designed to unlock potential beyond human comprehension.
'Taisega and Uchiha powers... perfectly molded together...' Gyatsō thought to himself. 'Madara Uchiha combined his chakra with Hashirama Senju, and as a result, the Rinnegan was awakened. If I were to have Sasuke Uchiha and Zuko Taisega... if, for the second time in history, a Taisega awakened the Mūgetsu Shaolin... all while loyal to me...'
The thought sent a surge of excitement through his chest. 'I would have the ultimate weapon for war.'
A slight smirk curved on his lips, the mere idea tantalizing his mind with limitless possibilities. For these twelve years, he had been patient, biding his time and collecting his pieces. But now, with Zuko's potential manifesting in ways no one could've expected, the pieces were finally falling into place. His Hidden Dark had been secretly confined within Hidden Cloud territory, but perhaps the time to overthrow the entire Land of Lightning was almost upon them. If he could somehow actually manage to obtain the Mūgetsu, through either Zuko or himself, there'd be nothing to stop his grand plan.
His musings were interrupted by a presence behind him. Almost as if on cue, Zuko stood a few paces away, his eyes locked on Gyatsō with a steady, unwavering gaze. Without a word, the young boy moved, his movements showcasing his learned discipline, as he appeared directly in front of Gyatsō. He bowed his head in respect, his black hair partially obscuring his eyes as the locks spilled over from the motion.
Gyatsō gently placed a hand on Zuko's shoulder. "Come," he said softly, motioning for Zuko to walk with him. The two began to stroll slowly around the training field, the sound of light construction from afar reaching their ears.
As they walked, Gyatsō's voice broke the silence, his words a quiet probe into Zuko's young mind. "How far are you willing to go for me, Zuko? For the Hidden Dark Nation?"
The question seemed to hang in the air between them, and for a moment, Zuko's onyx eyes flickered. There was no hesitation in his response.
"I would do anything, Sensei," Zuko immediately replied, his voice quiet but filled with complete certainty. "Anything to please you... I would give up anything if it meant I could serve you better...!"
Gyatsō felt a shiver of excitement crawl up his spine at the boy's words. But it wasn't the simple devotion that stirred him, it was the sheer potential that Zuko's Taisega bloodline held, the boundless power just waiting to be unlocked.
Then, without warning, a surge of energy radiated from Zuko, and Gyatsō's eyes widened as he saw the change. The four lines that had always encircled Zuko's crimson eyes—symbols of the first level of the Shaolin—began to shift and intersect. The lines twisted in perfect synchronization, coming together at their crossing point to form a flawless cross.
Gyatsō gasped silently, his gaze riveted to the boy. 'The second level...?! This is the first I've seen it...!'
For the first time ever, the young Taisega child had activated the second level of his Shaolin, seemingly due to the child's intense feelings for his master. Out of sheer enthusiasm to serve, he had awakened a newer level of power. It was something Gyatsō had not even remotely anticipated, especially not at his age. Zuko was just a child, barely eight years old, but the boy's progress was staggering. The intensity of the power that flowed from Zuko seemed to shake the very air around them, sending a ripple through the field.
Gyatsō's pulse quickened as a powerful wave of ambition washed over him. 'The only ever Taisega to awaken Mūgetsu was said to have gained inhuman regenerative powers...' Gyatsō thought. 'What if Zuko were to gain similar abilities? What if... what if I could... steal the Shaolin for myself?'
His mind raced with the multitude of possibilities. 'With this boy's potential, I could shape him into the ultimate weapon. A weapon not only loyal to me, but unbreakable in its power.'
As Zuko stood before him, his eyes now glowing with a new power, Gyatsō felt a sense of insatiable hunger build within him. His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he stared intently into the boy's newly activated eyes.
"I will give you everything you need, Zuko," Gyatsō murmured, his voice dark and laced with the weight of his growing plans. "Everything you desire—so long as you stay true to me. The Hidden Dark will be yours to shape. And together... we will take control of this world."
Zuko's posture remained unshakable, his crimson gaze never leaving Gyatsō's face. He stood in reverence, knowing that everything he had been promised and more lay in the hands of the man before him.
Gyatsō's eyes flicked away from Zuko's intense stare and toward the flag of the Hidden Dark Nation. It was whipping fiercely in the heavy gust of wind that had suddenly begun to blow across the field, its black-and-red fabric catching the light in a menacing dance. The symbol of their growing empire rippled with power, a bold declaration of their future dominion.
Gyatsō's long hair blew in the wind, his white bangs covering his eyes for a brief moment. When it parted, his gaze had turned darker—his expression hard, his ambition burning with an intensity that would crush anything in its path.
'Soon,' he thought, a smirk tugging at his lips. 'Soon, this flag will be displayed over conquest territory. Our power will be unmatched.'
He turned back to Zuko, his voice now a low, commanding whisper. "We're paying a visit to the Hidden Sound Village."
The cold, damp air of Orochimaru's underground lair chilled the bones as the heavy stone walls repeatedly trembled. Zuko's screams echoed through the cave like a banshee's wail, each cry of agony more primal than the last. His bare body, strapped down to a cold, metallic table, contorted and writhed with every surge of pain that coursed through him. His pale skin was marked by strange red-orange markings, the symbols searing across his flesh as though they were being branded onto him.
The boy's screams grew louder and more desperate, sending shockwaves throughout the lair, causing the stones above to crack and fall. Gyatsō, despite his usual composure, couldn't ignore the intensity of the sound. For a fleeting moment, a sense of dread gripped him—would the villagers above ground hear this? Would the noise draw attention to the Hidden Dark's most secretive operation?
The fear was fleeting, however, overshadowed by the sight before him.
Zuko's veins were bulging grotesquely from his body, throbbing in rhythm with his rising chakra. His cries reverberated throughout the cavern, but it was the sheer pressure of his chakra that caused the real destruction—tremors shook the earth, and the stone walls seemed to groan under the immense force. On the side of his neck, a dark crimson cross began to materialize, pulsing with power as though the boy were becoming something... otherworldly.
Gyatsō watched, his eyes narrowing with quiet anticipation as Zuko's crimson Shaolin irises shifted to a deep red-orange, a sign that the boy was evolving at a terrifying speed. The hair around Zuko's face flickered, almost as if in reaction to the change, parts of it shifting from black to a stark, ethereal snow white. The cross marks on his skin spread like wildfire, slowly consuming his entire body in a glowing fiery hue. The sight was something beyond normality, beyond reason.
Then came the mists—strange purple vapours emanated from Zuko's squirming body, filling the cave with an unsettling fog. The air grew even thicker, the pressure more intense than anything the two men have ever seen. Gyatsō instinctively took a cautious step back, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, sensing the power that was threatening to tear apart everything around him. The purple mists seemed to come alive, swirling in a violent, uncontrolled frenzy that echoed the boy's inner turmoil.
Orochimaru, standing above Zuko, looked both strained and furious, his black hair whipping around him like a living entity in the tornado-like winds. His sharp teeth were gritted as his arms flailed, struggling to maintain his balance against the storm of chakra and wind that Zuko's transformation was unleashing.
"I cannot keep him contained!" Orochimaru's hoarse voice rang out, barely even audible above the cacophony of chaos. His expression was fierce, golden eyes locked onto Zuko's form as the restraints holding the boy broke apart with ease. Chains snapped like brittle twigs under the pressure, and the boy began to rise, levitating unnaturally into the air, his movements graceful yet frightening.
Zuko's back arched, and two enormous black wings erupted from his body. They flapped furiously, sending gusts of wind cascading around the cavern, rattling the stones, creating an overwhelming pressure that shook the very foundations of the lair. His form, once childlike and innocent, had transformed into something terrifying, something beyond comprehension.
Gyatsō's eyes widened as he watched in stunned silence, quickly realising that Zuko was no longer the boy he had once known, no longer simply a loyal student. He was something more. Something infinitely more dangerous. Was this ambition of Gyatsō's far too much? Could he even control such unparalleled, almost demonic power? He had hoped to forge the Taisega child into a weapon against his enemies, but now, Zuko's power far outclassed his own. Compared to the transforming boy, Gyatsō was the child now.
As the purple mists started to dissipate, revealing Zuko's new form, Gyatsō was struck by the sight. Zuko's hair, now completely white, cascaded down to his back in silken strands. His wings were impossibly large, their black feathers gleaming with an ominous sheen as they flapped relentlessly, keeping him suspended in the air like a creature of legend.
Despite all this, it was the boy's eyes that stole the breath from Gyatsō's chest. The crimson of his Shaolin had morphed into a fiery red-orange iris, surrounded by not only a perfect cross, but two more intersecting lines cutting through the center diagonally. Additionally, nine dark triangles radiated from the edges of the iris, spread out in a menacing new pattern—this was something entirely new, something Gyatsō had only read about those ancient Taisega texts.
'The Mūgetsu Shaolin... it has to be!' Gyatsō thought, his pulse quickening as the full weight of the discovery sank in. 'The boy... he has it! He has... the legendary Mūgetsu Shaolin!'
Orochimaru, his expression equally stunned, wiped his hair from his face with a trembling hand, his snakelike eyes narrowing as he observed the change.
"The child's eyes... they don't match the exact pattern from our ancient records, but surely—"
Suddenly, Zuko's mouth opened, and a monstrous roar erupted from deep within his chest, cutting Orochimaru off. The sound was deafening, a raw, primal cry that seemed to split the very air. Gyatsō felt a shockwave ripple outward, shaking the cavern with such force that it sent both him and Orochimaru hurtling backward. The entire cave trembled under the power of Zuko's roar, and the rumble echoed for what felt like an eternity.
Gyatsō's body slammed into the wall with a sickening crunch, but his mind remained focused. His chest heaved with the residual effects of the impact, and he blinked rapidly to try and clear his blurred vision. Orochimaru was beside him, still recovering from the impact but equally astonished by the events that had just unfolded.
The deafening rumble of the cave seemed to linger in the air. Gyatsō's vision was still blurry, his head spinning as he pushed himself up against the stone wall. The force of Zuko's transformation had thrown him back, and now, as the dust began to settle, his heart skipped a beat. He could feel the unnatural power that had filled the cavern, and when his vision finally cleared, his eyes locked onto Zuko.
Zuko's eyes—those red-orange irises—were wild, unfocused, teeming with a chaotic energy that sent a cold shiver down Gyatsō's spine. The boy's black wings snapped violently in the air, stirring up a cloud of dust and debris as he propelled himself forward, closing the distance between them with unnatural speed. His claws extended from his fingertips, sharp and lethal, reflecting the eerie glow of his transformed eyes as they glinted menacingly in the dim cave.
Gyatsō barely had time to react before Zuko reached him, his monstrous wings kicking up a gust of wind powerful enough to push Gyatsō off balance. The transformed boy reached out, those deadly claws gleaming as they sliced through the air toward his throat.
But before the attack could land, an unexpected presence appeared, swift and silent. A figure materialised in the shadows, cutting through the air with a grace that made Gyatsō freeze. The manwho appeared was unlike any he had seen before. His skin was an eerie, scaly green, the texture of it almost serpentine. Spiky dark blue hair framed his face, and when he slightly turned his head to the side, his slitted green eyes met Gyatsō's for a brief moment. The intensity of the gaze sent a flicker of recognition through Gyatsō's mind, though he couldn't place the feeling.
The man's snakelike eyes then moved down to Zuko, and in a fluid, decisive motion, he slammed his palm over the dark cross mark on Zuko's neck. There was a blinding flash of red-orange light, and the boy's transformation came to an abrupt halt. Zuko gasped, his body shuddering in shock before he crumpled to the ground, the wings that had once kept him suspended vanishing as his body fell with a heavy thud.
Gyatsō blinked, stunned by the suddenness of the turn of events, but his focus remained on the scaly man. A grin spread across the figure's face as he looked down at Zuko with a mixture of amusement and disdain.
"What an unrefined transformation," the person mused with an unsettling calm. "And this child is supposed to be my other half?" He turned his body around fully, looking over to the two shinobi behind ō's lips slightly parted as his eyes homed in on the dark cross mark present on the snakelike man's right cheek. The cross was identical to the one on Zuko's neck.
Orochimaru, having recovered from the shockwave, stood up with a low, malicious chuckle. "Ah, it seems you're finally awake, Hide," he remarked, turning to Gyatsō to explain. "This one here is the prototype. My experiment. You see, I had implanted the Uchiha Curse Mark into Zuko only partially. Half of it went into the boy, while the other half was given to Hide here."
Hide, the scaly man, looked down at Zuko with a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "Looks like my Curse Mark did the trick," he said, his voice almost bored. "He may not be as refined as I expected, but... he'll do."
Gyatsō took a slow step forward, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed Zuko's crumpled form. Crouching down next to the boy, he gently pried open one of his closed eyes. Zuko's once fiery red-orange iris had dimmed, returning to its more familiar, but less formidable, second-level Shaolin.
"The Mūgetsu has deactivated..." Gyatsō muttered softly, eyes narrowed in thought. "Can that power only be unlocked while under the influence of this Curse Mark?"
Before he could ponder any further, Zuko's other eye snapped open, the familiar crimson gaze piercing the air. Gyatsō staggered back slightly, feeling a flicker of shock run through him at the unexpected movement. The boy slowly roused, blinking in confusion as he stared down at his trembling hand, as though trying to understand the dormant power that still resided within him.
"I..." Zuko's voice was rough, tinged with guilt. "I'm sorry. I... I lost control." His eyes looked up at Gyatsō, a hint of remorse in them. "The demonic power—it... took over."
Gyatsō's eyes softened for a brief moment, but only for a fleeting instant. His thoughts were too focused on the immense power Zuko now wielded. However, before he could speak, Zuko pulled both of his second-level Shaolin eyes from his own head with a quiet, almost casual motion. He placed them into Gyatsō's palm, his expression neutral as he closed his empty eyelids.
Orochimaru's eyes narrowed in disbelief, his voice tight with frustration. "You... you fool! What are you doing, boy?! Why would you treat those eyes in such a way?! Have you any idea... how special they are to this cause?!"
Zuko, still with a tinge of uncertainty in his voice, responded in a soft, yet firm tone. "I... I have to repent for what happened. I cannot allow such power to control me. To please my master, I will give up anything."
Gyatsō, who had been holding Zuko's eyes with a careful, almost possessive grip, felt the weight of the decision in his palm. He wasn't just holding eyes, he was holding the potential for limitless power, the key to the next phase of his grand vision. A small smile tugged at his lips as he stared at the now-empty sockets on Zuko's face.
"I see..." Gyatsō murmured, his voice colder than before.
With a deliberate pause, Zuko's body began to tremble once again. Barely visible purple mists emanated from his body once more, dark chakra beginning to form around him. Slowly, his Curse Mark began to activate. Gyatsō watched as the intricate seal on Zuko's neck glowed ominously.
"Slowly, child," Orochimaru muttered, folding his arms over his chest as he watched. "Do not let that power take over your mind again."
The boy's transformation continued at an agonizingly slow pace as the first ripples of healing energy flowed through him. Zuko opened his left eye, revealing that the eye was repairing itself. For a moment, Gyatsō saw something he had never anticipated. No longer was it merely the crimson hue of the Shaolin; instead, it pulsed with that new, dangerous power once more.
"This..." Gyatsō breathed, his heart pounding with excitement. "The Mūgetsu is being repaired... I've never seen such a phenomenon before..."
Orochimaru chuckled darkly beside him. "And with that power, Zuko will never be the same again. It seems he has the same healing abilities of the first Mūgetsu Shaolin wielder. Consider those two eyes you're holding, your own."
Gyatsō turned to look at Orochimaru, a sly grin spreading across his face. Their eyes met, and the same dark thought passed between them.
"I hereby reach a new plateau of strength... I shall use the Taisega clan's powers to further our goals..." Gyatsō said. Turning back to Zuko and Hide, who both stood before him, he added, "You both are now members of my Osore group. The newest to join the new world I will create."
Both Zuko and Hide nodded, their eyes meeting, the dark cross marks on their skin reflecting a shared understanding. This was their new reality, and they were bound by it now, their fates intertwined with Gyatsō's vision.
Gyatsō looked down at the eyes he held in his palm with an intense gaze. 'The Taisega clan's immense power... held literally in my hands.'
A thought flickered in his mind, one that stoked the flames of his ambition. He looked up into Zuko's single Mūgetsu eye, staring into the powerful visual jutsu with a sense of even greater longing.
'But... how shall I reach that level?' He looked away slowly, his crimson eyes looking off into the distance. 'I... I need more powerful shinobi at my disposal. More Osore. Only then will I be able to unlock my true potential.'
With that final thought, Gyatsō turned, his eyes never leaving the powerful Shaolin eyes he held tightly in his palm.
"We have much to do," he muttered, his voice cold with determination. "Zuko, come with me."
As he and his young student walked away, the air in the cave seemed to thrum with the energy of what was to come, an empire forged in shadows, built on the backs of those who were bound by loyalty and power.
The older Gyatsō trails behind the pair, his crimson Shaolin eyes distant and heavy with contemplation, as if weighed down by thoughts too complex to voice. His every step is measured, yet they grow softer, fading into the shadowy depths that seem to swallow him whole. The silence around him thickens, broken only by the faint rustling of his cloak, until he vanishes entirely into the ever-deepening darkness.