The Spore Clone was implanting White Zetsu Cells into Itachi. It was, in effect, operating on him.
Itachi had not been given an anesthetic. Instead of putting him under, they performed the surgery while he was fully conscious.
Itachi hated being unconscious. It meant surrendering control.
His will was so strong that he did not even furrow his brow. Cutting open his abdomen was, to him, no worse than getting an injection.
Orochimaru joined in as Liao Wu's assistant, helping treat Itachi's terminal illness.
"With your body in this condition, you fought Sasuke? And sealed me with the Totsuka Blade?"
Orochimaru frowned as he examined Itachi's body. For the first time, he admired this Uchiha, who was decades younger than he was.
Just how bad was Itachi's condition?
His body was riddled with illness. It was a miracle he was still alive, and his immune system was extremely weak.
Any minor ailment could turn serious in him.
Orochimaru had once wanted to take Itachi's body and claim his talent.
But after seeing its condition, he abandoned the idea.
It was the body of a sickly man. Orochimaru had no desire to suffer like that; having both hands sealed by the Shinigami had tormented him enough.
Deidara stood nearby, fuming. He gripped a lump of clay, wanting to make a giant clay bomb.
He wanted to blow up both Itachi and Orochimaru.
Itachi opened his eyes and stared at the dim yellow light overhead in the basement. His eyes had returned to their normal form.
His gaze was unfocused.
Those eyes were nearly blind.
As the White Zetsu Cells entered Itachi's body, pain pierced him to the bone.
Even his face tightened. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let out a single groan.
Liao Wu asked him, "Itachi, what's your dream?"