Yoru planted a foot on Jigen's chest, the force so great that his ribs cracked like dry branches snapping.
Jigen's face, already swollen like a pig's head, twitched with pain.
The leather shoe, stained with old grease and battle dust, pressed directly against his white robe, leaving behind a grimy gray print.
"Three... three days..."
Blood filled Jigen's mouth, making his words slurred and indistinct.
"This old man... this old man can still live... for three more days."
His mismatched eyes were filled with unwillingness—the despair of someone who had nearly succeeded, only for an unexpected obstacle to appear halfway through.
He clawed desperately at the floor, his nails packed with black ash kicked up by the battle, his whole body writhing in pain as though being steamed alive.
"Three days?"
Yoru raised an eyebrow, utterly casual.
He pulled a piece of gum he had chewed tasteless from his coat pocket, rolled it into a little black ball, and flicked it onto Jigen's forehead.
The wad stuck to Jigen's greasy, sweat-soaked forehead, looking utterly disgusting.
"Orochimaru, did you hear that? This old bastard sure values his life."
Yoru turned toward Orochimaru, who was kneeling beside a culture tank with a dropper in hand.
The hem of his lab coat was riddled with corroded holes, and a sharp formaldehyde smell drifted into Yoru's nose on the wind.
Yoru curled his nose into his collar in disgust. The collar still carried the stale smell of sweat from last night.
Orochimaru gave a sinister laugh, his tongue flicking restlessly.
"Lord Yoru, based on the Karma pattern data we just scanned."
"This old thing really only has three days left."
"Perhaps... even less."
Orochimaru held that battered jar to his chest. The tea stains on it had built up nearly half a centimeter thick,