Capítulo 280: 279-Grand Design
Inside, shadows danced across rough, damp stone walls, their movements dictated by thin rays of sunlight that pierced the ceiling through cracks in the rock. The beams were faint, like hesitant intruders, illuminating the cavern in a wavering, almost eerie light that added to the place's oppressive aura.
The air was thick and stale, carrying with it the sharp scent of damp earth and decay, a scent reminiscent of graves. Near one of the cave's edges, there lay a broken-down bed.
The frame was twisted, its once-sturdy wood now splintered and warped with age. A thin layer of grime coated the tattered mattress, which had sagged in the middle, collapsing under years of neglect. Threadbare sheets faded beyond recognition, clung to the bed in sad tatters, each fiber coated in dust and webbed with thick, sticky spider silk.
Bowls sat scattered on the ground beside the bed, cracked and chipped, half-buried in layers of dust and earth. These relics looked as if they hadn't been touched in decades, their surfaces caked with mold and streaks of age-old grime.
The dull gleam of metal hinted at rust eating away at their once-smooth surfaces. One bowl had a spider's nest tucked inside, tiny, newly hatched spiders crawling along its rim as though the bowl had become a part of the cavern's ecosystem.
On the far side of the cave, standing in silent malevolence, was a massive stone statue. Its grotesque features were lost in shadows, but the jagged lines and twisted form suggested agony, a tormented figure caught in a silent scream. Thick veins of stone stretched across its body, each one pulsating with dark energy as if it were an ancient conduit of power.
It loomed ominously, with hollow, empty eyes staring into the darkness, and massive hands, clawed and outstretched, seemed to reach toward the sky in a terrible, eternal plea.
The aura it exuded was stifling, an oppressive presence that hung heavily in the air, as though the statue were alive, watching, waiting.
In the heart of the cavern, seated on a simple, unadorned chair, was an old man. His form was still, wrapped in silence, a figure of patience and relentless focus. The flickering beams of light illuminated his face, casting shadows that highlighted the deep lines etched into his skin.
His features were sharp, aged, and his skin had taken on a pale, almost ashen tone, as if his life force had slowly drained away. Wisps of hair, white as bone and hanging down to his waist, obscured his right eye.
Only his left eye was visible, and in its socket, the unmistakable red of the Sharingan glimmered softly, its three tomoe spinning as he observed the statue before him.
For several long moments, he remained still, his breathing slow and steady, as though lost in meditation. Then, with a low hiss, his eyelids opened wider, and he gazed out at the statue before him. His breaths came shallow, then deeper, the sound echoing in the cave's silence as if amplified by the stillness around him.
He closed his eyes again, retreating into the depths of his mind, but minutes later, his eyes snapped open again, his breathing more laboured this time, each inhale drawn with visible effort.
He could feel it: the slow, inevitable decline of his chakra. His body, once powerful and full of vigour, was now a vessel wearing thin, and each time he tried to channel his energy into the statue, it left him feeling drained, closer to his final breath.
It had become harder with each passing year. Channelling his chakra through the colossal statue, once a simple task, now required everything he had. Every time he directed his energy into the stone, he could feel his life ebb away, which was quite ironic as it was the source of his long life.
Yet he persisted, pushing through the pain and weariness that threatened to consume him. There was still work to be done. Time was a luxury he could no longer afford; he had to see his vision fulfilled before his frail body finally surrendered to age.
Suddenly, the silence of the cave was interrupted by a faint rustling, a movement that seemed to come from the ground itself. The old man's eyes opened, the red of the Sharingan now replaced with a pattern of purple rings—a Rinnegan.
His left eye gleamed with an ethereal light as he stared intently at the ground before him. From the earth, a figure began to rise, emerging like a ghostly wraith from the shadows. It was humanoid in shape, its body chalk-white and devoid of distinct features, save for two slits where eyes would be and a twisted, half-smiling mouth. Its limbs were slender, almost skeletal, and its form seemed to merge with the shadows around it as if it were a creature of darkness itself.
The old man's voice, raspy and hoarse, broke the silence. "Have you found them?"
The creature nodded, its head moving in slow, deliberate motions. "Yes. I have found three of them. They were not difficult to track down."
The old man's expression did not change, but his gaze sharpened, his focus entirely on the creature. "And you are certain they all possess the Senju bloodline?"
"Yes," the creature replied, its voice hollow, detached. "All three have traces of Senju lineage. We only need to choose one."
A silence settled between them, thick and tense. The old man's eyes narrowed slightly as he pondered the information. He did not respond immediately, retreating into thought, weighing the choice carefully.
His body may have been frail, but his mind was as sharp as ever, calculating each possibility with precision. He knew he had to make the right selection; his grand design depended on it.
The creature tilted its head, as if uncertain, then spoke again, its tone almost questioning. "Why are we specifically looking for those with the Senju bloodline? We already have the other one with the Uchiha bloodline. Wouldn't he be more suitable for your plans?"
The old man's lips curled into a thin, humourless smile, his eyes still closed. "Yes, he would be suitable," he replied, his voice soft but laced with authority.
"But we require one with Senju blood. The balance of power must be maintained, and the Senju lineage will serve as a vital component. An Uchiha can come later when the time is right."
The creature seemed to nod in understanding, though a trace of confusion lingered in its expression. The old man's methods and motives were quite unclear, layered with contingencies that only he could fully understand. Still, the creature had learned to obey without question, trusting in the old man's judgment.
After a moment, the old man's expression turned thoughtful. "What news from Kirigakure?"
"The Mizukage is still recuperating," the creature reported, its tone tinged with disdain. "If we're going to move there, it should be now, while he is still weak."
The old man gave a slow nod, the gesture deliberate and measured. "Yes… now would be the perfect time. Find someone suitable there. I do not care who, as long as they fulfil our needs."
The creature inclined its head once more, acknowledging the order. For a moment, it seemed to linger, waiting for any additional instructions, but the old man had already closed his eyes, his breathing evening out as he resumed his meditation. Without another word, the creature sank back into the ground, melding into the shadows as it left to carry out its master's will.
Silence reclaimed the cave. The statue loomed in the shadows, casting a long, ominous presence that was palpable even in the absence of light. The old man sat in stillness, merging with the solitude around him.
Though age had worn down his body, his spirit remained unyielding, driven by a purpose that burned with a cold, relentless fire. He had sacrificed everything in his pursuit of this vision, pouring years into meticulous planning, and he would not allow death to claim him before it was realized.
---
Far from the shadowed depths of the cave, Renjiro sat cross-legged on a mat, staring down at the parchment in front of him. Intricate symbols, patterns, and lines crisscrossed its surface, forming a complex network that he was slowly beginning to decipher. His fingers traced over the ink, feeling the marks beneath his fingertips, absorbing the meaning of each stroke.
He looked up at Kushina, who stood across from him, her arms crossed and a pleased expression on her face, as if she were watching a student make his first breakthrough.
"Are you sure this is the translation?" Renjiro asked, raising his eyebrows in uncertainty.
Kushina chuckled softly. "It's not a direct translation, but it'll help us integrate the chakra absorption ability into the Rashomon gates. With this, the gates will be able to absorb chakra from any attack, fortifying your defences."
Renjiro's eyes glimmered with newfound understanding. He turned back to the parchment, a faint smile playing on his lips. The possibilities were beginning to take shape, and as he traced his finger over the patterns, he felt the thrill of untapped potential coursing through him.
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