The name alone made his heart freeze.
Danzo.
The man who moved like shadow.Who traded eyes like weapons.Who'd kill a god if it meant control.
And now—he was here.
Inside the Grave.
The boy stood, trembling.
Not with fear.
With fury.
But he forced himself still.
Breath low.
Eye dim.
The stone around him groaned as chakra seeped in from above. Heavy. Controlled. Multiple signatures.
ANBU.
Danzo didn't come alone.
Of course not.
The Warden spoke again, voice like stone cracking underwater.
"One of the old ones. Root."
The boy turned. "Can you stop them?"
The Warden didn't move.Didn't answer.
Then finally—
"No. They do not belong to this realm. But neither do you. This is your war."
The boy clenched his fists.
Then heard the footsteps.
Closer now.
Climbing down the spiral.
He ran to the left path—the mirrors.
Behind him, the roots slowly sealed the chamber.
The mirror corridor felt alive.
Each reflection twisted.
Not just showing him.
Showing versions of him.
One—eyes blackened, face scarred, laughing over corpses.
Another—blind, crawling in blood.
Another—older, robes torn, leading an army of children with the same eye.
He looked away.
But the mirrors followed.
They curved the hallway.
Bent space.
And when he finally reached the end—
A gate.
Wooden.
Ancient.
Carved with eyes.
He touched it.
The wood didn't move.
It breathed.
Then—split open.
A chamber.
Empty.
Except for a pool in the center.
Still. Black. Deep.
The boy approached it.
And his reflection rose.
Not like a mirror.
Like a creature.
It stepped out.
No sound. No splash.
Same face.
Same clothes.
But eyes glowing.
Both eyes.
The right eye—he didn't have one.
But this one did.
A second dojutsu.
Perfectly symmetrical.
The boy stepped back.
The clone smiled.
Then lunged.
They collided.
No chakra.
Just hands.
Fast.
Raw.
The boy blocked the first strike, twisted, drove a knee into the clone's ribs.
No effect.
The clone bled smoke.
Its right eye flared.
Time bent.
The boy was thrown back—into a mirror.
Glass shattered.
His shoulder tore open.
Blood dripped.
The clone walked forward.
Each step echoed like thunder.
Then—
Boom.
The chamber trembled.
Outside.
A root exploded.
Stone cracked.
Voices.
"Secure the lower vault!"
"Danzo-sama wants it alive!"
The clone turned.
Distracted.
The boy didn't hesitate.
He rushed forward—Slid beneath the clone's arm—Drove his hand into the clone's chest.
The left eye flared—
And burned.
The clone froze.
Then shattered.
Like porcelain.
Gone.
The pool stilled.
The boy collapsed beside it.
Gasping.
His eye spun down.
Silent.
Then—
A whisper in the pool.
"One more piece unlocked."
He looked into the water.
And saw something new.
Another sigil.
On his chest.
Branded like flame.
He touched it.
It burned.
Behind him—stone shattered.
Roots peeled apart.
Footsteps.
Danzo entered.
Wearing the same old robes.
But his right arm—wrapped in bandages—moved slightly.
Alive.
Eyes under the cloth twitched.
He stepped into the chamber. Calm. Cold.
The boy stood.
Bleeding.
Shaking.
But standing.
Danzo looked him over.
Then spoke, voice like old wood snapping.
"You shouldn't exist."
The boy smirked.
"I get that a lot."
Danzo raised a hand.
"Give me the eye."
The boy raised his own.
"Come take it."
Danzo smiled.
A rare, cold thing.
He removed the bandages from his arm—
Eyes.
Dozens.
All Sharingan.
All spinning.
The chamber dimmed.
The roots screamed.
And war began.
To be continued.