Do Not Attempt to Revive Tobirama

On Danzo's right arm, ten Sharingan had originally been embedded.

Now, under the personal operation of Orochimaru, new Sharingan were being slowly implanted, one by one, deep into his flesh.

The count climbed from eleven, twelve, all the way to twenty...

With each implantation, the chakra fluctuations grew more intense, and the cellular fusion reaction became increasingly violent.

These Sharingan were precisely positioned across Danzo's shoulder blades, his back, and even the gaps near his collarbone were not spared.

That right arm, devoured by Wood Release Cells until it resembled a mass of tree roots, could hardly be called a human limb anymore; it was more like an extension of some grotesque creature.

Under the stimulation of the new ocular power, the Wood Release Cells did not collapse; instead, they stirred restlessly, like a beast awakening.

During this new round of fusion, that restlessness strangely began to subside.

Chakra flowed like a tide, surging back and forth between the Sharingan and the Wood Release Cells, eventually weaving into a terrifying equilibrium.

Within the shadows, the gentle ocular power that had originally belonged to Shisui's Sharingan had long since been tainted by this series of violent fusions, becoming cold, profound, and exuding an unfathomable, dangerous aura.

At this moment, Danzo was permeated by an almost demonic, chilling murderous intent.

He stood silently in the shadows of the operating table where the light could not reach, the bandages on his face yet to be re-wrapped, revealing half a pale and gaunt visage with eyes that were bottomless.

"The final Sharingan, it seems to be Fugaku's?"

"Indeed... what a pity. If only his eyes had also evolved into Mangekyo."

"How terrifying..."

Before the experimental table, Orochimaru stood in the shadows, his movements as precise as ever.

He took the Sharingan sealed within a glass container and gently embedded it into the center of Danzo's open right palm.

This time, the position differed from the previous ones on the shoulder or back; placed in the palm, it seemed to symbolize some form of absolute control.

The moment the Sharingan was transplanted, it seemed to tremble slightly, as if a sliver of consciousness were struggling.

"Fugaku's left eye."

Orochimaru said softly, his tone laced with a hint of regret.

Of Uchiha Fugaku's eyes, one was in Danzo's possession, while the other had fallen into the hands of Hiruzen Sarutobi as a memento...

"Orochimaru, this appearance of mine... isn't this what you wanted to see?"

Danzo spoke indifferently, his voice as low as a stagnant pool, devoid of any fluctuation.

His palm slowly closed, as if that Sharingan had become an inseparable part of his body.

The Mangekyo Sharingan belonging to Shisui, embedded in his right eye, trembled imperceptibly, its ocular power surging like a tide.

For some unknown reason, the eyes of Shisui and Fugaku began to resonate within his body.

The cold, eerie chakra aura swirled like a vortex, winding and flowing through him, causing the very air around him to grow gloomy.

Danzo stood up, his entire presence becoming even more chilling and bizarre.

He slowly lowered his arm, the palm embedded with the Sharingan clenching quietly.

He moved his shoulder, and as several Sharingan opened and closed in a grotesque rhythm, the veins beneath his skin coiled like tree roots, pulsing with the faint throb of life.

The air throughout the laboratory seemed to congeal.

Orochimaru still wore a smile, but he did not take another step closer.

"I will warn you one more time."

Danzo walked slowly out of the shadows, his footsteps steady.

"Do not harbor any delusions of resurrecting Tobirama."

The words carried no anger, yet they contained an unquestionable pressure.

Orochimaru was slightly taken aback, then lowered his head and began to chuckle; the sound was as grating as snake scales rubbing together, tinged with a hint of deliberate compromise and perfunctoriness.

"I would naturally never do such a thing... Danzo-sama."

Though the words were low, the voice echoed clearly against the surrounding walls.

He would not openly defy him, but he would never truly submit.

Danzo understood this, of course.

He let out a cold snort, a flicker of icy killing intent crossing his eyes, but he said nothing more.

For now, Orochimaru was still useful.

"Do not think I believe you."

Danzo said in a low voice, slowly raising that arm covered in Sharingan.

Twenty-one Sharingan slowly opened under the light, and scarlet patterns emerged one by one within the pitch-black pupils.

It was as if twenty-one vengeful spirits were silently staring at this world.

Orochimaru did not answer.

He simply watched in silence, a rare trace of... appearing in his gaze.

Is it fear?

Is it excitement?

Or perhaps... morbid curiosity?

Perhaps it is all of the above.

Danzo stood before him, draped in an eerie aura of chakra...

A multitude of Sharingan had been grafted into his body...

"Uchiha, in this way, you are finally reunited."

Land of Fire, high noon...

Forty-three days until the destruction of the Shinobi World...

Sunlight spilled over a bustling commercial street, where pedestrians came and went, as if the entire world remained immersed in the illusion of peace and revelry.

Kakashi, cloaked in his Anbu mantle, slowly wove through the crowd, his gaze landing on a somewhat desolate tavern at the corner of the street.

The door curtain fluttered slightly, and the faint scent of sake mixed with the smell of charcoal drifted out, carrying an ancient and heavy atmosphere.

He pushed the door open and entered.

Under the dim, amber light, Jiraiya sat alone at a wooden table in the corner, half a flask of sake already gone.

His frame leaned slightly forward, his usual devil-may-care smile long since faded, leaving him looking exceptionally composed.

"Kakashi, you've come."

He did not look up, speaking only a single, quiet sentence; his tone was flat, yet carried the certainty of one who had already foreseen this.

Kakashi paused for a brief moment, then stepped forward and sat down across from him.

"Lord Jiraiya."

Jiraiya finally raised his head, those eyes etched with the weariness of the world now filled with gravity and clarity.

He picked up his cup and took a small sip, but instead of drinking with his usual boisterous flair, he gazed deeply out the window.

"The Great Toad Sage of Mount Myoboku has already contacted me."

His voice was low, yet carried an irrepressible weight...

"The Shinobi World... is going to be destroyed."

Kakashi felt a slight tremor in his heart; it was as he had feared.

Jiraiya had not been kept in the dark.

As the meteor approached, the world itself felt the shift, and the toads of Mount Myoboku—the native summoning clan of the Shinobi World—had long since sensed in the ethereal void that destiny was nearing its end.

"So that is why you were waiting for me here."

Jiraiya nodded, picked up the sake flask, and drained it in one go; that familiar, heroic posture now held a hint of profound sorrow.

"I had truly believed that after enduring three Great Shinobi Wars, this world might at least earn a measure of lasting peace."

He muttered to himself, as if speaking to Kakashi, or perhaps to his own soul...

"What a pity... in the end, it could not be avoided."

The voice of the Great Toad Sage still echoed incessantly in Jiraiya's mind, low and ethereal, like a prophecy from the very end of fate:

"The Eye of Curses shall begin on the night of the Blood Moon... cursing the entire Shinobi World until the moment of its extinction."

That voice seemed to pierce through time and space, reverberating in the depths of Jiraiya's consciousness, causing his heart to constrict involuntarily for a fleeting moment.

"However, there is still one more person I need to bring back..."