Moon in Turmoil

Deep within the moon, the magnificent palace complex of the Ōtsutsuki Clan has long lost its former sanctity and solemnity.

The once softly glowing moon-white columns are now cracked, and the exquisite murals are charred black from smoke and fire.

On the cold, moon-rocky ground, congealed dark red bloodstains, like ugly scars, were deeply etched into this space that was considered Pure Land.

The shattered remains of the Puppet, intertwined with lifeless bodies, lay scattered among the broken walls and ruins, their empty eye sockets gazing up at the simulated, false starry sky above the dome.

More than a year ago, the intense energy fluctuations detected in the Ninja World confirmed the arrival of "Celestial Being," like a boulder thrown into stagnant water, completely disrupting the millennia-long silence and balance of the Otsutsuki on the moon.

The accumulated conflicts and ideological differences between the Main Family and the Branch Family over the past thousand years finally erupted and were brought to the forefront at that meeting.

From then on, every tribal meeting became an arena for a battle of ideologies and survival.

Gentle admonitions were dismissed as weakness, and harsh declarations were seen as tyranny. The sharp blades of words, tempered with millennia of accumulated resentment and fear, clashed fiercely in the solemn council hall, sparks flying.

The Main Family were heartbroken. "Katsuya! You are dragging our clan into an abyss of no return! How can we fight against a true enemy when we are at war with the land and weakened by internal strife?"

Katsuya's answer was resolute, echoing through the dome. "Your folly will lead to utter ruin! Unifying the Ninja World is the only way out! A loose fist cannot deliver a fatal blow."

The argument continued, it accumulated, and finally—

The thin layer of ice that maintained the surface of peace was shattered completely in yet another dispute over the future direction of the race.

It's unclear who first released the suppressed Chakra surge, or who first threw a fist filled with anger and fear.

A suppressed roar served as a signal, and the Council Hall instantly transformed into a battlefield!

The mild-mannered members of the Main Family were horrified; they had never imagined that such bloodshed among fratricide would come so suddenly.

Branch Family Hawks, which had been plotting the breakup for a long time, never expected that the fuse would be ignited in such an out-of-control way.

The pent-up anger and fear erupted like a volcano suppressed for a thousand years, and the scorching lava instantly swallowed reason.

"Protect the elders!"

"They've rebelled over the Branch Family! Let's fight!"

"To survive! Clear the obstacles!"

Curses, roars, the shrill cries of Ninjutsu, the grinding of Puppet joints, the muffled thuds of flesh being torn apart—countless sounds mingled together, forming a death tidal wave that instantly swept across the entire core area.

The loyal guards instinctively rushed toward their leader, and the battle spread like wildfire along the palace corridors and passageways.

The news, like uncontrolled arrows, shot towards every corner of the tribe's territory. Panic ignited even more pent-up tensions.

When the first young figure belonging to the Branch Family was torn to shreds by Wind Style unleashed in anger by an elder of the Main Family, all illusions about restraint were shattered.

A crimson mist of blood spread out, and the pungent smell of rust ignited the bestial instincts in everyone's hearts.

That warm, kinship-like blood became the best catalyst.

The compassion in the eyes of the moderates of the Main Family was quickly replaced by hatred, while the fanaticism on the faces of the Radical Faction the Branch Family turned into a bloodthirsty ferocity.

Kill them all! Leave no one alive!

"For the glory of the Main Family! Fight to the death!"

War, this bloodthirsty beast that was accidentally unleashed, has completely broken free of its reins. It is no longer limited to ideological disputes, nor is it a carefully planned power grab by the Branch Family divided family; instead, it has evolved into a hysterical struggle for survival that has swept across the entire clan.

From the core palace to the outer residences, from white-haired elders to teenagers who have just been able to gather Chakra, anyone who can pick up Kunai and control Puppet has been drawn into this bloody vortex.

The once peaceful and serene Land of Moon was completely soaked in the blood of its own kind in just three days, turning into a desolate crimson hell.

Katsuya Otsutsuki stood atop the ruins of the main hall, which had once symbolized the supreme authority of the Main Family.

This was once the most magnificent building in the entire lunar space, but now only ruins remain.

A jagged hole was torn open in the enormous dome, revealing the eternal, unchanging dark void outside.

His face lacked the triumphant air of a victor, displaying only a bewildered sense of relief after surviving a catastrophe and a deep-seated weariness.

In just three days, an ancient clan with a thousand-year-old tradition has withered away to this extent.

A series of staggering footsteps broke the silence.

A young member of the Branch Family, dragging a twisted and deformed leg, struggled through the ruins to reach Katsuya.

His face was streaked with wet tears and congealed blood. The battlefield frenzy had subsided, leaving only endless sorrow. His voice was hoarse and choked with emotion, like a broken bellows. "Clan—Clan Chief, the count—the count is complete!"

Katsuya slowly turned his head, his gaze falling on the young man's face, a hint of barely perceptible hope mixed with deep fear. "Speak."

The young man abruptly lowered his head, his shoulders trembling violently, and a suppressed sob squeezed out from deep within his throat: "We—"

We have only eighty-five left—only eighty-five of us are still breathing.

9

This number struck Katsuya's heart like an invisible hammer.

"Eighty-five?" Katsuya's body swayed violently, as if all his strength had been drained in an instant. His vision went black, and he staggered backward, his legs unsteady.

His tribesmen reacted quickly and caught his swaying body.

A once prosperous clan of over seven hundred people! In just three days! Only eighty-five survivors remained! The shock of this chilling number was far more heart-wrenching than any wound on the battlefield.

He closed his eyes, and countless familiar or unfamiliar faces flashed through his mind. They shattered, fell, and turned to ashes amidst flames, Ninjutsu, and flashing blades—a metallic sweetness welled up in his throat, which he forced down.

"Shō- Toneri!" Katsuya suddenly opened his eyes, a terrifying light flashing in his single eye. He gripped the arm of the clansman supporting him tightly, his voice trembling without him even realizing it, "My son— Toneri —is he—is he still alive?"

Fear gripped him.

He personally ended the lineage of the Main Family patriarch, from the white-haired old man to the toddler who was just learning to speak. He understood all too well the principle of eliminating the root of the problem, and he also knew how the other party would seek revenge in despair.

His only son, the young Toneri, was the only hope for the continuation of his bloodline and beliefs!

"Don't worry, Clan Chief!" The young man nodded hurriedly, forcing a look of relief that was more like a grimace. "Young Toneri— "

He—he's fine! It's just—"

His voice hesitated again, his gaze darting away, unable to meet Katsuya's eyes directly.

Upon hearing that his son was safe and sound, Katsuya's tense nerves suddenly relaxed, and a huge sense of exhaustion accompanied by relief swept through his body.

As long as the Toneri remains, the bloodline endures, and so does hope! So what if the population is small? Back then, our ancestor, Lord Hamura, led a few dozen clansmen to this desolate moon, and didn't he establish a thousand-year legacy?

Ruins can be rebuilt, and the people can multiply! He took a deep breath, trying to make his voice steady and strong. "But what? Speak! Now that things have come to this, what is there that we cannot bear?"

The young man trembled, lowered his head abruptly, and screamed with all his might, "Madam—Madam—she—was surrounded—besieged—by the Puppet of the Main Family —and died in battle—while protecting Toneri!"

Time seemed to freeze at that moment. The slight relief on Katsuya's face shattered and crumbled like fragile glass in an instant.

He stood frozen in place, like a stone statue that had suddenly lost all support.

The woman, who always smiled gently, silently supported all his decisions, and comforted him on countless lonely moonlit nights, died protecting their child?

Katsuya slowly, very slowly, raised his head and looked at the huge hole in the dome.

Outside lies an eternal, cold, all-consuming dark universe.

A single, murky tear finally broke free from its confinement and silently slid down his blood-stained and soot-covered cheek.

He made no sound, but simply gazed up at the void, as if trying to see through the boundless darkness and whether his deceased wife's soul had returned to the stars.

"I see."

After a long while, a sigh, so hoarse it was almost inaudible, finally escaped from his cracked lips. It was light yet heavy, and was instantly dispersed by the howling cold wind amidst the ruins.

One day later.

The dilapidated Council Hall had been barely cleared out, with several huge pieces of moon rock serving as tables. The surviving elders, almost all of them wounded, sat together in silence.

The air was as heavy as solidified mercury, and every breath was incredibly difficult.

The relief of surviving the disaster had long been crushed by the shadow of the enormous casualties, leaving only a deep-seated exhaustion and uncertainty about the future.

Katsuya sat in the first seat, the throbbing pain from his severed arm far less intense than the emptiness in his heart.

He mustered his strength, tapped the stone table with his intact hand, and said in a hoarse but unwavering voice, "Cheer up! The war is over, but our journey has just begun! The mission of our ancestor Hamura cannot be lost in our hands!"

The meeting proceeded in an almost numb, oppressive atmosphere. Inventorying the remaining supplies and Puppet, discussing how to rebuild their homes on the ruins, and planning for the survival of the remaining tribespeople—each issue was like rubbing salt into their wounds, reminding them of the devastation of their losses.

Finally, the focus fell on the ultimate weapon that embodied all the ambitions of the Branch Family.

"The construction of the Giant Tenseigan must be accelerated!" A clan elder with terrifying burn scars on his face spoke in a hoarse voice, his eyes flashing with a fanatical light.

"This is our only hope against the enemies in the heavens and to unite the forces on earth! All—all the Byakugan of our fallen clansmen, regardless of whether they belong to the Main Family Branch Family, must be collected, extracted, and integrated into the core of the Tenseigan as soon as possible! Let their power continue to fight for our survival!"

No one objected. This was the core objective of the Branch Family, and it was the only lifeline they could grasp at the moment to combat the fear of the unknown.

Orders were swiftly issued, and the remaining Puppet army was activated once more. Like cold worker ants, they silently moved among the ruins and skeletons, carrying out the cruel task of stripping the eyes of their fellow humans.

Each pair of Byakugan, carefully removed and placed in a special container, seemed to silently accuse the absurdity and tragedy of this fratricidal conflict.

With initial postwar affairs seemingly finding direction, the atmosphere at the meeting eased slightly. Katsuya wearily rubbed his temples, his gaze falling on a newly compiled roster on the table.

That was the newly compiled list of all surviving members of the Otsutsuki clan on the Moon Otsutsuki Clan.

He extended his slightly trembling fingers and opened the roster. One by one, familiar or unfamiliar names came into view. He looked at them slowly and carefully, as if trying to engrave each name into his heart.

These are his fellow tribesmen who fought alongside him, who crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood; they are the hope for future revival.

However, as he watched, an indescribable chill suddenly shot up his spine without warning!

He suddenly increased the speed of turning the pages, his eyes scanning the roster anxiously, and his breathing became rapid.

Something's not right!

He abruptly flipped the roster back to the first page and started again from the beginning, carefully checking each name one by one.

His fingers traced the roster faster and faster, with increasing force, until his knuckles turned bluish-white from the excessive pressure.

Finally, when the last name came into view, he felt as if he had been struck by an invisible hammer, all the color draining from his face instantly, leaving it ashen.

"Clatter."

The register that carried Otsutsuki's last hope slipped from his limp hands and slammed heavily onto the cold stone table with a dull, desperate sound.

"Katsuya?" Sitting beside him, the clan Otsutsuki Sousuke, who was closest to him, was the first to notice his unusual silence. He nudged his arm in confusion. "The battle ended days ago, and you still haven't recovered? You, the clan leader—"

"It's over—" Katsuya seemed not to hear, his lips trembling as he uttered broken, dreamlike syllables, "It's over—"

It's all over----"

Although his voice was soft, everyone present was an expert, and all the lights focused on his lifeless face.

"Katsuya! What nonsense are you spouting?" Sousuke's heart skipped a beat, and he shouted angrily.

"Women—" Katsuya suddenly raised his head, his eyes filled with terrifying bloodshot veins, staring intently at Sousuke, as if looking through him into nothingness, "No women in the clan! Not a single one! All the women of our clan—all—all died in battle!"

Dead silence!

Absolute silence!

It was as if even the mournful sound of the wind amidst the ruins had vanished completely at that moment.

Time was frozen, and the air was sucked out.

Everyone's expression froze on their faces: shock, bewilderment, disbelief—and finally, all turned into a deathly despair.

"Impossible!!" A middle-aged clansman suddenly stood up, knocking over the stone bench behind him with a screeching sound.

He grabbed the roster in front of Katsuya, his hands trembling violently as he frantically flipped through it, screaming incoherently, "My sister—my sister is clearly behind us— Reiko! Reiko! Where are you?"

His fingers traced haphazardly across the register, faster and faster, with increasing despair. The leather pages of the register were torn by his fingernails, but he remained oblivious.

"My wife—she's hiding with the children—" Another tribesman, his face ashen, muttered to himself, then lunged at the tribesman in charge of the statistics, grabbing his collar. "You missed it! You must have missed it! Check again! Check again right now!"

Desperate cries rose and fell, and the Council Hall instantly descended into a frenzy of collapse.

Some people collapsed to the ground as if their spines had been removed, emitting wild, beast-like howls;

Some people appeared to be insane, laughing wildly to the sky, their laughter shrill and piercing, filled with endless mockery and sorrow;

Many others sat there listlessly, staring blankly into the void, as if their souls had vanished along with the missing names on the register.

Hahaha!

Otsutsuki Sousuke also laughed, tears streaming down his face. His laughter was filled with endless sorrow and absurdity. "Fight! Struggle! Kill! Struggle to the end, kill to the end—and this is the result? Extinction of our lineage! Our bloodline severed! Hamura, we—we have become the final gravediggers of our entire clan! Hahaha!"

This maniacal and desperate laughter, like a final death knell, tolled in the hearts of every survivor.

The pride passed down for a thousand years, the mission to Guardian Ninja world, the ambition to pursue power—at this moment, in the face of this cruel truth, all of these have become a huge, bloody irony.

They won the war, but they destroyed the future of their entire people.

Pure bloodline? Noble ideals? Before this absolute severance, all vanished into nothingness.

A chilling despair, like a tangible tide, completely engulfed the dilapidated Council Hall, swallowing up even the last vestige of life.

Just as this suffocating silence and despair were about to crush everyone to the brink of collapse, a faint, almost inaudible voice, trembling like a drowning person grasping at a last straw, timidly rang out from the corner: "Clan—Clan Chief—we—have we forgotten—"

All the movements, crying, and laughter of everyone stopped abruptly at that moment, and all eyes turned to the youngest elder in the corner.

"On the ground—on the ground, there's still a branch of the Otsutsuki lineage!"

This short sentence, like a match suddenly struck in the darkness, was faint, yet it instantly pierced the darkness that enveloped the Council Hall.

A thick, impenetrable cloud of despair!