The Shimura Clan's compound lay in ruins.
The fires in the Ruins had gone out completely. Only a few wisps of smoke still curled among the broken walls before the morning breeze scattered them. The air smelled of burning, damp ash, and earth.
Dark brown bloodstains remained on the ground, dull beneath the morning light.
Danzo was dragged to the center of the Ruins.
He wore a shabby gray kimono, its front hanging open to reveal bandages around his chest. His right eye socket was empty, and black-purple scabs covered three bloody holes in his left arm. His left hand was bound with rope, its loose end gripped by Zhan Zhao.
His head hung low. His half-open left eye stared at the ground, unfocused. A shiny thread of drool clung to the corner of his mouth, and he looked utterly witless.
Clearly, he had yet to recover from the aftereffects of Tsukuyomi.
"Kneel."
Zhan Zhao kicked the back of his knee. Danzo's legs buckled, and he pitched forward, striking his forehead against the flagstones with a dull thud.
He lay sprawled there, forehead pressed to the cold stone, his left eye still open. A glimmer flickered in his pupil—then froze.
A corpse appeared in his field of vision.
It lay half a meter away, faceup beneath a broken beam. A white cloth covered its face, stained with dust and dried blood.
The night wind blew in from the south and lifted a corner of the cloth, revealing the face beneath.
It was his eldest son.
The right eye was half-open, its pupil unfocused, with a ring of dark blue shadow around the socket. His lips were parted, showing pale teeth. A hideous wound ran across his neck from left to right, the flesh peeled back to expose the dark Kurenai