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Danzo Shimura entered the Root headquarters, his footsteps echoing in the cold, sterile halls. His face bore no expression, but his heartbeat with a twisted satisfaction. In his hand rested the Mangekyō Sharingan he had just stolen from Shisui Uchiha, still fresh with the Uchiha's blood.
This would ensure Konoha's safety. With this power, he could prevent the rebellion brewing within the Uchiha clan. Fugaku's ambitions would be crushed, and the balance of the village preserved—no matter the cost.
Yet, as he approached his desk, a chill ran down his spine.
Someone was sitting in his chair.
A cloaked figure lounged casually, their face obscured by a hood. The faint glimmer of golden strands peeked out from beneath the fabric, shifting as the figure tilted its head.
"You're late, Danzo," the figure said, their voice calm but laced with an unmistakable menace.
Danzo stiffened, his visible eye narrowing. "Who are you, and how did you get in here?"
The figure leaned forward, the dim light catching the sharp intensity of their gaze. Without warning, they moved—a blur of motion too quick for Danzo to counter.
When the movement stopped, the Mangekyō Sharingan was no longer in his hand.
"That doesn't belong to you," The figure said coolly, holding the stolen eye up to inspect it. "You've taken enough from others in the name of your so-called 'protection.'"
Danzo's hand shot to his side, fingers curling around a kunai. "You've made a grave mistake coming here."
But before he could act, the ground beneath him erupted. Wooden tendrils surged upward, coiling around his arms and legs with an unnatural precision, pinning him in place.
Danzo's expression shifted to one of shock.
"Wood Style…" He muttered. "Impossible. The only one capable of—"
The figure stepped into the light, their face still shrouded in shadow, but their presence was suffocating.
"You've gotten away with far too much for far too long, Danzo," The figure began, their tone cold and measured. "Manipulating the Uchiha. Fooling the villagers with rumors. Betraying your comrades. Committing atrocities—all while hiding behind the guise of protecting the village."
Danzo snarled, struggling against the wooden restraints. "I've done what was necessary to protect Konoha! Someone has to make the hard choices. You wouldn't understand."
The figure let out a bitter laugh, low and sharp. "Necessary? You think betraying and murdering those who trusted you is necessary? You don't protect Konoha, Danzo. You protect your twisted vision of what Konoha should be—a village ruled by fear and lies."
Danzo's eye glinted with fury. "Don't speak to me of trust and ideals! The Uchiha are a threat—a powder keg waiting to explode! Their power has always been dangerous, their ambition unchecked. Shisui was too naive to see it. If he had succeeded with his Kotoamatsukami, it would have left the Uchiha stronger, bolder, and more willing to seize control. I did what the Hokage couldn't—I took the steps necessary to preserve the peace."
The figure's fists clenched, and the wooden bindings tightened around Danzo, forcing a gasp of pain from the old man.
"Peace?" The figure repeated, their voice trembling with restrained fury. "You call this peace? Manipulating minds, stealing lives, pitting brother against brother—this is your idea of peace? You're nothing but a coward hiding behind words like 'sacrifice' and 'protection.'"
Danzo's lips curled into a smirk despite his predicament. "You speak like an idealist. You think Konoha can survive on hope and trust alone? You're a fool. Without people like me, the village would crumble under its own naïveté."
The figure stepped closer, their presence like a storm gathering overhead. "You think you're indispensable? That your crimes are justified because you're the one committing them? Konoha doesn't need you, Danzo. It never did. What it needs are leaders who believe in its people—not tyrants who control them through fear."
Danzo's eye darted toward his arm, where his secret weapon lay hidden. With a surge of chakra, he activated the seals on his arm, summoning the power of the Sharingan embedded there. Reality warped as Izanagi rewrote his fate, erasing the wooden tendrils that bound him.
He lunged forward, kunai in hand, aiming for the figure's heart.
But the intruder didn't flinch.
In an instant, the kunai was knocked aside, and a crushing blow to Danzo's chest sent him hurtling across the room. The wooden tendrils surged again, binding him with even greater force, leaving him gasping and immobilized.
"Izanagi," The figure said, their tone dripping with disdain. "How fitting that you rely on stolen power even now. But that was your last chance, Danzo. You've run out of lives to rewrite."
Danzo coughed, blood trickling from his lips. Yet his defiance hadn't waned. "Kill me if you must. But without me, Konoha will fall. The Uchiha will rebel, and the village will burn. Is that what you want?"
The figure crouched before him, their voice low and unyielding. "The Uchiha wouldn't have rebelled if not for your meddling. You pushed them into a corner and turned their loyalty into resentment. You created the very threat you claim to protect against."
Danzo's expression faltered for the first time. "The Uchiha… were always a threat…"
The figure stood amidst the ruins, their presence a tempest of cold fury and resolve. They stared down at the broken man before them, their voice resonating with an unyielding authority.
"Your lies end here, Danzo," They declared, their tone sharp as a blade. "No longer will you manipulate and destroy lives for the sake of your twisted vision. The village will thrive without you poisoning its roots."
Danzo's breath was ragged, his single exposed eye narrowing with defiance. "You... you think you're better than me? Everything I've done... was for Konoha's future!" he spat, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his fear.
The figure laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and laced with contempt. "For Konoha's future? You have the audacity to utter those words after the lives you've shattered, the dreams you've trampled underfoot?"
The figure stepped closer, their shadow looming over the defeated Warhawk. "Sakumo Hatake, the White Fang, a hero who bore the weight of this village on his shoulders, was driven to despair because of your whisper campaigns. You turned his honor into a blade against himself."
Danzo's mouth opened, but no words came. The accusation hung heavy in the air.
"And Nonō Yakushi," The figure continued, their voice rising with righteous anger. "She was a healer, a beacon of light amidst the darkness, and you used her kindness against her. You turned her into a weapon against her own heart, manipulating her into forsaking her ideals. And Kabuto... a child you plucked from innocence, molded into a spy, and discarded when his usefulness waned. How many more, Danzo? How many others have suffered under your ambition?"
Danzo's lips curled into a sneer. "They were tools. Sacrifices for a greater purpose."
"Sacrifices?!" The figure roared, their chakra flaring. The room seemed to tremble under the weight of their wrath. "What about the Senju clansmen? The remnants of Hashirama's bloodline you so cruelly exploited, twisting their gifts into abominations in your quest for power. You desecrated the very legacy of the First Hokage, all for your pathetic imitation of his greatness."
Danzo coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he glared at his tormentor. "You're no different. You have no idea what it takes to protect the village."
The figure's gaze hardened. "I'm nothing like you," They said coldly.
With a single hand seal, the wooden tendrils that had emerged from the rubble tightened their grip. The grotesque roots and vines, a haunting echo of Hashirama's Wood Style, constricted around Danzo. His body buckled under the relentless pressure, and his screams echoed briefly before silence claimed him.
For a moment, all was still. The figure's breathing steadied as they reached into the folds of their cloak, retrieving the prized Mangekyō Sharingan that Danzo had stolen from Shisui Uchiha.
They held it for a moment, the crimson eye glinting ominously in the dim light, before slipping it into their pouch.
The mission was complete.
As they turned to leave, their gaze swept across the ruined remains of Root's headquarters. Broken walls, shattered furniture, and the lifeless bodies of Danzo's operatives painted a grim tableau of justice served.
Each step they took was deliberate, the echo of their boots a requiem for the fallen.
In the faint light of the smoldering wreckage, their hood shifted, and for a fleeting moment, a lock of golden hair caught the air. Their face remained obscured, but the glimpse of gold hinted at the legacy they carried—a lineage steeped in tragedy and triumph.
They vanished into the shadows without a sound, leaving behind only destruction.
--- ✦ ✦ ✦ ---
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