Pathological Fanaticism and Kabuto Yakushi's Desperate Cover

The excruciating pain of one's soul being ripped apart alive felt like countless red-hot steel needles stirring wildly in the deepest recesses of the mind.

Every nerve emitted an unbearable, agonizing wail, and every inch of meridians retained the scorched, foul stench left behind by the burning of that golden divine power.

Orochimaru lay in the cold snow, dark, filthy blood constantly spilling from the corner of his mouth, staining the accumulated snow beneath him into an eerie, ink-like hue.

His body convulsed, his vitality draining at an unprecedented rate.

Yet, within those signature golden slit pupils, far from harboring a shred of fear toward death, a fire raged—one sufficient to burn away all reason, bordering on madness.

"Hehe... Heheh..."

A hoarse laugh, sounding like a broken bellows, squeezed out from the depths of his throat, accompanied by the sticky sound of blood bubbles bursting.

"Lord Orochimaru!" Kabuto Yakushi watched him in panic, his palm pressed against Orochimaru's chest, able to clearly feel that heart beating wildly at a self-destructive frequency. "Your... your spirit..."

"Spirit?" Orochimaru raised his head slowly, as if using every ounce of his remaining strength, his gaze passing over the panicked Kabuto Yakushi, passing over those trembling Hyuga clansmen, and locking firmly and greedily onto the figure bathing in golden light high in the air.

"My spirit... is clearer than ever before, Kabuto."

He saw it.

Just then, the moment that Cursed Seal core was crushed, he had glimpsed a sliver of the essence of that golden power through the connection of their souls.

That was not chakra.

No, that was an ancient, much purer life energy that transcended chakra!

It possessed no attributes and no forms, yet it could purify everything, create everything, and destroy everything!

Hashirama Cells? Sage Transformation?

In Orochimaru's eyes, the peak