Published at 17th of September 2024 12:30 am

Chapter 53 Kabuto: The Serpent’s Shadow

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The silence of the forest was unnerving. A cold mist hung low over the ground, weaving between the gnarled trees like a serpent stalking its prey. Deep in the heart of the woods, in a secluded cave that had once been one of Orochimaru’s many secret hideouts, Kabuto Yakushi sat in meditation.

His silver hair fell in strands around his face, and his glasses reflected the faint flicker of candlelight. His eyes were closed, but his mind was wide awake, traversing the depths of his memories, searching for something. Or perhaps, someone.

Kabuto had always lived in shadows—first in the shadow of his adoptive mother, then in Orochimaru’s. He had been a tool for so long that the idea of having an identity of his own was something he could barely comprehend. But now, with Orochimaru gone, Kabuto had been left alone. Or so it seemed.

The snake sage within him stirred. The lingering essence of Orochimaru’s cells inside his body occasionally whispered to him, a haunting reminder of his former master’s influence. But Kabuto was no longer the servile follower he once was. He had transformed, quite literally, into something more. His body, merged with the DNA of Orochimaru and other powerful shinobi, had become a living testament to his ambition.

And yet, despite all his power, there was an emptiness inside him that Kabuto couldn’t shake.

He opened his eyes, revealing the cold, reptilian slits that had replaced his human irises. His body, though more powerful than ever, felt foreign. Kabuto had gained strength, knowledge, and techniques beyond what most could comprehend, but in doing so, he had lost himself.

The cave was quiet, save for the soft drip of water from the stalactites above. Kabuto’s mind wandered back to his earliest memories—memories of wandering the battlefield as a child, lost and confused. He had been an orphan, found by a kind-hearted woman named Nonō Yakushi, who raised him like her own. For a time, he had felt loved, safe, even useful.

But the shinobi world had a way of twisting things. Even love.

Kabuto clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palm. His life with Nonō had been a lie. He had been used by her, manipulated into becoming a spy for the village she served. And then, when the truth had finally come to light, he had been forced to kill her—his mother in all but blood.

A cruel smile tugged at Kabuto’s lips as he recalled the moment. It was twisted, grotesque—the act of killing her had shattered him, but also set him free. Free from the illusion of love. Free from the need to belong.

He had wandered after that, lost and empty, until Orochimaru had found him. The snake Sannin had seen potential in him, potential that even Kabuto hadn’t known he possessed. Orochimaru had shaped him, molded him into his right hand, his most trusted servant. In Orochimaru, Kabuto had found a new purpose, a new path to follow.

But that, too, had been an illusion. Orochimaru hadn’t seen Kabuto as a person—just another tool to use and discard. Just like everyone else had.

“Always a tool,” Kabuto whispered to the darkness, his voice dripping with venom. “Always someone else’s pawn.”

But no more.

He stood slowly, his form casting a long shadow against the cave wall. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, and his fingers flexed as chakra pulsed through his veins. He had long since surpassed Orochimaru in both power and knowledge, but the need for control—over himself, over his destiny—still gnawed at him.

In the dim light of the cave, Kabuto began to weave hand seals, his chakra swirling and coiling like a serpent around his body. His mind, however, was not on the jutsu he was performing. It was elsewhere—on the faces of those who had shaped his life. Nonō, Orochimaru, and even the Hidden Leaf Village, which had treated him as a disposable weapon.

Memories flashed in his mind: Orochimaru’s calculating smile, Sasori’s cold manipulation, Itachi’s red, spinning eyes. The battles he had fought, the lives he had taken, the countless experiments he had performed—all in pursuit of understanding his own existence.

And then, the memory of Itachi Uchiha—the man who had forced him to confront the truth of his identity, the man who had, even in death, broken the illusion that Kabuto had constructed for himself.

Kabuto’s hands froze mid-seal.

Itachi. The one person who had defeated him without lifting a single finger. Itachi had used the Izanami, a forbidden technique that trapped Kabuto in a never-ending loop of his own actions, forcing him to relive his mistakes until he came to terms with his own identity.

The memory still burned Kabuto’s pride. He had thought himself invincible, thought he had transcended the limitations of ordinary shinobi. But Itachi had shown him otherwise. He had shown Kabuto the one thing he had been running from his entire life—his true self.

The candlelight flickered, casting eerie shadows across Kabuto’s face. He hadn’t wanted to accept it at first. The idea that everything he had done, every step he had taken, had been part of a cycle he couldn’t escape. It had been maddening.

But over time, Kabuto had come to understand Itachi’s lesson. He had been so obsessed with gaining power, with becoming something more than a mere tool, that he had lost sight of who he was. He had abandoned his own identity in favor of becoming a reflection of the people who had used him.

And in doing so, he had become a hollow shell, filled only with the ambitions of others.

Kabuto’s lips twitched into a bitter smile. “I thought I was free,” he muttered. “But I was just another puppet.”

He took a deep breath, his hands falling to his sides. The jutsu he had been preparing faded into nothingness as his chakra settled. For so long, Kabuto had been trying to prove himself—to Orochimaru, to the shinobi world, to everyone who had ever doubted him. But what had it gotten him?

A life of isolation. A body that no longer felt like his own. Power, yes, but at what cost?

Kabuto glanced at his reflection in a nearby pool of water. His eyes, once filled with ambition, now stared back at him with cold indifference. He had lost so much in his pursuit of power—his identity, his humanity, even the ability to truly feel.

Itachi’s words echoed in his mind: “You cannot escape from yourself.”

Kabuto closed his eyes, letting the weight of those words settle over him. He had tried to escape—tried to run from his past, from the pain, from the loneliness. But in the end, there was no escaping who he was.

A monster. A tool. A shadow of something that once resembled a man.

The silence of the cave seemed to close in around him, the weight of his existence pressing down on his shoulders. For the first time in years, Kabuto felt something stir deep within him—not the cold, calculating ambition that had driven him for so long, but something far more primal.

Regret.

He had become everything he had once despised. A reflection of Orochimaru’s cruelty, of the Leaf Village’s indifference, of the shinobi world’s endless cycle of war and suffering.

And now, standing alone in the darkness, Kabuto realized that he didn’t want to be that anymore.

But what could he be? What was left for someone like him, who had lost everything—including his soul?

Kabuto opened his eyes, his gaze hardening with resolve. He didn’t know the answer yet, but he would find it. He would reclaim his identity, no matter how long it took, no matter what he had to do.

He wasn’t Orochimaru. He wasn’t the Leaf’s tool. He wasn’t anyone’s puppet anymore.

He was Kabuto Yakushi.

And he would decide his own fate.

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End.

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