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Black Zetsu's POV:
The subterranean depths of the Land of Fire were a realm apart—a cold, timeless abyss where the sun's warmth was a forgotten myth. Roots twisted through the earth like the veins of some ancient beast, sprawling in a labyrinthine web that pulsed with secrets older than the clans above. Here, beneath the surface, time stagnated, trapped in a stillness that mirrored my own eternal existence. I stirred within this shadowed sanctum, my form coalescing from the gnarled trunk of a petrified tree—an obsidian silhouette, fluid and silent, blending seamlessly with the darkness. The ground trembled faintly under my presence, whispering tales of forgotten powers, fragile alliances, and a boy whose every move was rewriting the shinobi world I'd shaped for centuries.
My single yellow eye burned through the gloom, a lone beacon of intent in the oppressive void. The events at the Uchiha compound—mere echoes filtering through the roots—hit me like a seismic tremor. Disbelief clawed at me, sharp and unfamiliar, mingling with a fascination I couldn't suppress. The arrival of Zōnotatakai, that towering elephant from Zoshima, had been a spectacle beyond even my vast understanding—a mythic beast of storm-gray hide and moonlit tusks, radiating power that dwarfed mortal reckonings. The summoning pact it forged with the Uchiha was a twist I hadn't foreseen, a bond sealed in gratitude and blood that defied the chaos I thrived on.
But it was Jogendra Uchiha—the boy at the heart of this upheaval—who gripped my focus like a kunai to the throat. His gifts to his clan weren't just techniques; they were ruptures in the fabric of power I'd woven over eons. The Flame Master Technique, Rokushiki, Haki—these were tectonic shifts, and their audacity sent a chill through my essence, a primal fear I hadn't felt since the days of Kaguya's reign.
"Jogendra Uchiha…" My voice slithered out, a hiss that merged with the earth's whispers, low and venomous. "You are an anomaly—a disruption I never saw coming."
For centuries, I'd been the shadow behind the curtain, pulling strings with a patience honed by time. Madara Uchiha had been my masterpiece—a vessel of rage and ambition, molded by my whispers into a tool for Kaguya's return. I'd sown discord among clans, nurtured hatred, watched empires crumble—all part of a grand design. But now, this boy, this speck of a child, threatened to unravel it all. Jogendra wasn't just power; he was intellect, a mind that bent the shinobi arts into shapes I couldn't predict.
The Flame Master Technique was a marvel—a refinement of the Uchiha's fire jutsu, yes, but more. It wasn't raw destruction; it was control, precision, flames wielded as an extension of will. Healing neo-green fires, freezing sky-blue bursts—imagination unbound by limits I'd never dared test. Rokushiki was stranger still—a taijutsu suite that mocked human frailty. Speed to vanish, kicks to slice steel, a body hardened to stone—these weren't skills; they were redefinitions of what a shinobi could be. The thought of Uchiha warriors mastering them twisted my gut with dread.
And Haki.
My form quivered at the memory of that power—Conqueror's Haki flattening five elite shinobi like wheat in a storm. Observation to see through deception, Armament to pierce defenses, and Conqueror's to break wills—it was divine, a force that elevated the Uchiha beyond my reach. Their Sharingan was already a nightmare; paired with Haki, they'd become gods among men.
"Unacceptable," I snarled, venom dripping from the word. "This boy endangers everything."
The Zoshima alliance only deepened the wound. Elephants—ancient, sage-like beings of legend, said to have clashed with the primordial chaos that birthed this world. Zenzō, their god, was a name I'd heard in whispers, a power I'd dismissed as myth. Now they stood with the Uchiha, bound by Jogendra's act of mercy—an unbreakable pact I couldn't twist or sever. Their strength, their wisdom, their sage arts—it was a fortress against my influence, a shield I couldn't breach.
And Jogendra.
He was a thorn, a splinter in my eternal plans. I'd spent lifetimes sowing seeds of strife, guiding clans to ruin, all to resurrect my mother, Kaguya. Yet this child—barely a blip in time—was knitting the Uchiha together, giving them purpose, strength, unity. Every step he took bolstered them, every gift tightened their bonds. He was a wildfire I couldn't extinguish, and it gnawed at me—a rare taste of uncertainty.
I needed answers.
I sank deeper into the earth, my form melting through roots and stone until I reached a cavern vast and damp. Moss clung to the walls, glowing faintly with bioluminescent fungi—ethereal lanterns casting a blue sheen across the dark. In the center, atop a weathered dais, lay a pool of black water, its surface a mirror of polished obsidian. I knelt before it, my hand hovering, and the water rippled, then stilled, reflecting my essence back at me. I stared into its depths, my eye blazing, and images flickered—Jogendra's sharp features, the black bracelet and ring, Zōnotatakai's towering form, the scrolls of his techniques.
The pool whispered, a chorus of ancient voices. The boy grew stronger daily, his knowledge vast beyond his years—too vast. No child amassed such power so swiftly, crafted arts so profound, without something guiding him.
"He's not normal," I rasped, the realization sinking in like a blade. "No one leaps to this level alone."
My mind churned—bloodline anomaly? Divine gift? A puppet of some hidden force? None fit. There was something else, something ancient, something… familiar. A chill crept through me, a shadow of a thought I couldn't grasp.
My resolve hardened. Jogendra couldn't be allowed to rise unchecked. The Uchiha were already formidable; with him, they'd become invincible—a force to shatter my plans, to bury Kaguya's dream forever. Direct confrontation was folly—he was too cunning, too unpredictable. No, I'd play the long game, as always. Watch. Learn. Strike when the moment was ripe.
The shadows murmured promises—hatred, pain, loss. As long as these endured, I had a foothold. The Uchiha were my creation, my legacy of darkness. Jogendra might gift them light, but I'd drag them back into the abyss, splinter their unity, drown them in despair.
With a final glance into the pool, I dissolved into the earth, my form fading like smoke. The game had shifted, the board tilting beneath my feet—but I'd adapt. I always did. In the end, the shadows would claim all.
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