Danzo's Death

The cold winds of the Land of Iron carried snowflakes as they howled up through the abyssal gorge.

Danzo lay at the bottom of a crater of shattered stone, clutching the stump of his right shoulder with his remaining left hand.

Blood sprayed through his fingers, staining the broken bluestone beneath him bright red.

His wrinkled old face had twisted into a knot from the excruciating pain, while layer after layer of cold sweat beaded across his forehead.

A hoarse, wheezing gasp leaked from his throat as his body writhed feebly amid the rubble.

The right arm that had just been cleanly severed lay quietly on the cold snow three meters away.

Deprived of blood, the Sharingan embedded in that pale arm had gone completely dead, no longer spinning with their previous eerie motion.

Suppressing the piercing pain, Danzo desperately tried to squeeze out the last of his chakra, attempting to reconnect his severed arm to his body.

He still wanted to rely on Izanagi's reality-altering power to erase this fatal injury and return to the unscathed state he had been in moments ago.

But reality did not change in the slightest.

No matter how hard he forced it, even as his breathing turned rushed and ragged, the wound continued to pour out blood without end.

The rubble around him did not restore itself, and the severed chakra pathways no longer answered his call.

Without that arm filled with Hashirama Cells and Sharingan, he had completely lost every trump card he relied on.

At that moment, he was merely a blind old man who could bleed to death at any time.

Danzo laboriously rolled over, and undisguised terror finally appeared in his one remaining cloudy eye.

He raised his head and stared fixedly at Chenshu Senju, who looked down at