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[23] Gouged out - [Gore] {Sponsored} New
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Goal 1 ✅

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The night ruptured like a severed artery.

Screams tore through the Hyuga estate—raw, frantic, wet with blood. Hiashi Hyuga snapped awake, not from slumber, but from instinct, battle-honed nerves already tightening like a vice. His Byakugan erupted into vision, veins bulging, his heartbeat a war drum. Blood. Everywhere.

He didn't need to move to smell it.Didn't need to breathe to taste it.

The scent clung to the air like rot.Something ancient, savage, had seeped into the clan's sacred ground.

And then—he saw it.

Raikou.

The defected wretch stood in the moon-soaked courtyard like a statue of rot. Cloaked in corrupted chakra that twitched and flickered like a flame on spoiled oil, his frame trembled with madness. And in his clawed grip—

Hinata.

Her body hung like a slaughtered rabbit. One eye gushed blood, the optic nerve dangling like a torn thread from her skull. The other eye—wide, glimmering with tears—was fixed on something distant, maybe heaven, maybe hell.

Hiashi didn't scream.

He moved.

He tore through the compound like a divine executioner, chakra screaming through his meridians as Eighty-Four Palms detonated forward. His fingers didn't touch flesh—they pierced, shredded, ripped through Raikou's joints like iron needles.

Tendons snapped. Bone splintered. Nerve endings boiled under his touch.

Raikou shrieked—his own stolen Byakugan eye dropping to the ground with a wet plop. A twitching pearl in a puddle of his sins.

Hinata collapsed in a heap.A twitch.A gasp.A whimper that sounded like it came from the bottom of the world.

"Otou-sama..." she choked, teeth pink with blood. "Did I... did I uphold the Hyuga's pride...?"

Hiashi didn't answer.He couldn't.

Because Raikou was still breathing.

"I'm going to crush this eye!" Raikou spat, blood-froth bubbling from his lips. But his fingers were ruined—spasming claws more than hands. He raised the eye with the last ounce of strength.

Hiashi's voice was colder than death.

"Try."

Then came the Rotation.

But this was no defense. No elegant flourish.This was a storm of butcher's intent.

The chakra storm ripped through Raikou—flesh tearing from bone, ribs cracking open like dry timber. Organs twisted, burst, liquefied. His scream gurgled and cut short as his body collapsed in on itself, a meat puppet with its strings severed.

Raikou's body slumped to the ground in a heap of pulp and blood. His head hit the earth with a sickening crack.

Hiashi knelt.

Hinata was still warm.

Still breathing.

Barely.

Far above. In the dark. A witness.

Neji.


Crouched on a tall tree, the boy had seen it all. Every second. Every scream. Every drop of his cousin's blood etched into his soul.

And something inside him snapped.

His gums bled from the force of his teeth grinding together. His nails dug crescent moons into his cheek. And from the wound—a glow.

The Moon Mask.

It formed like frost from vengeance. A silver film of chakra that crept over his face and sank into his flesh like molten sorrow. Born not of power. But of hate.

Hinata—his only light in that house of silence—had been defiled.

He vanished.

Hiashi didn't sleep.

He sat by Hinata's bed. Her face was wrapped in thick bandages soaked in antiseptic and grief. Her eye—gone. Chakra—flickering. Her hand clutched the sheets even in unconsciousness, as if afraid the world might vanish if she let go.

The stolen eye lay preserved on a silver tray beside her bed, wrapped in a sterile cloth like a sacred offering to a god of pain.

Hiashi couldn't look at it. Couldn't scream.

Raikou had been no lone madman. He had been guided.

The clan was fracturing.

Elsewhere. Deep in the Hyuga crypts.

A door groaned open. Candles flickered, then died.

Neji stepped into the dark.

He moved without sound, his chakra now cold, devoid of the warmth of family or innocence. The Moon Mask had grown—now a full half-helm of silver-blue chakra, veined with jagged streaks like cracks in glass.

His old scars had vanished. The pain had been burned from his body. What remained was precision.Purpose.

Neji began reading the forbidden scrolls of the Hyuga archives.Not to rebel.Not to usurp.

But to create a weapon so devastating, so surgically perfect, that none would ever touch Hinata again.

Not punished.Not imprisoned.

Erased.

Hiashi finally rose from Hinata's bedside.

His fists were white. His resolve colder than the grave. He called the elders into council and stared into their eyes—some smug, some afraid.

"You let this happen," he said. "Through silence. Through tradition. Through cowardice."

No one spoke.

Hiashi didn't ask for permission. He declared:

"The Hyuga will change. Or I will burn this name into ash."

And somewhere in the Hyuga compound…

In the places where old blood dries on stone…

Neji sat cross-legged, surrounded by seals and blades.

His new eyes opened.

Not white. Not human.

A fusion of Byakugan clarity and the Moon Mask's raw vengeance.

Silver-blue. Merciless. Unforgiving.



Check out other works: Demon Slayer: Iron Requiem | Naruto: The Author and The Jinchūriki


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A Note of Thanks to Samuel Steinike

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Patron of Fate

In the vast scroll of Shinobi history, few names are etched in chakra and flame.
Today, we add one more: Samuel Steinike.

Your support transcends the ranks of jonin and kage —
You stand among the Ōtsutsuki, beings who reshape destiny itself.

Under moonlight and starlight, your presence bends the weave of fate.
Even the Sage of Six Paths would nod in respect.

Because of Ōtsutsuki like you, the story continues.
Battles rage, eyes awaken, legends are born — and it's your chakra that fuels it all.

From the Hidden Scrolls to the outer realms of time,

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[24] Failed Plan - [Sponsored] New
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Goal 1 ✅

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The ash-etched parchment crumbled like charred skin beneath Hoshino's gloved hand.

Its scorched edges whispered of a conspiracy consumed by its own fire. The faint heat still clung to it, like breath on a corpse. Inside the Cloud delegation's quarters—silent as a crypt in Konoha's heart—Hoshino turned, his face carved from cold resolve, though the beast behind his eyes twitched, hungry.

"So," he murmured, each syllable like a blade scraped across stone, "the trap broke its teeth."

Behind him, a boy in a man's armor nodded. A Chūnin, young enough to still dream of peace, old enough to know better. He did not speak. He knew the ritual.

"You will scream," Hoshino continued. "Rage. Cry. Be the cracked vessel that spills our grief. You are the mask. I am the fist behind it."

Then came the second Chūnin—his eyes wide, his breath ragged. He stormed in, voice strangled with feigned panic.

"Hoshino-sama! The Captain—he's gone!"

The timing was perfect. So perfect it stank of premeditation. Hoshino liked the smell.

"Did you scour every dark place?" he asked, voice low, dangerous.

"All of them," the boy choked. "No sign. I… I suspect Konoha's hands…"

The words fell like meat into a wolf pit.

The shadows stirred. The ANBU lurking in the walls breathed louder. Chakra flickered like bared fangs. Someone—a watcher, a predator—twitched. The game had begun.

Hoshino didn't wait. He turned, the tails of his robe slashing the air like a butcher's smock. He walked with purpose, not away from the lie—but deeper into it.

The Hokage Tower bled amber lamplight like a wound.

Hoshino stood beneath its oaken maw and roared, voice echoing like a war drum.

"Hokage! A guest is dead in your village. A captain. A diplomat. We demand your eyes, your truth—and perhaps your throat."

The ANBU at the gates hesitated, and that moment of pause fed Hoshino's hunger. He saw the doubt bloom. Delicious.

Inside, the War Room was no longer just a council chamber. It was a den of age-wearied beasts. Hiruzen, the ape-king, sat among his carrion court. Shikaku Nara leaned forward, the faintest gleam of fear behind his wisdom.

"Call Kakashi," Hiruzen said, the words crumbling like old bones.

The silver ghost appeared moments later, ozone on his breath. He whispered to the Hokage. What he said drained the old man's eyes.

Hoshino leaned in like a wolf pressing his nose to a wound.

"Speak, Jōnin. Let's hear your village scream."

Kakashi lifted his mask only enough to let the words rot the air.

"Raikou is dead. Killed by Hiashi Hyūga. He tried to steal their child—the Hyūga heiress."

And then the mask shattered.

The Chūnin wailed—a raw, animal scream. Another cursed, his voice gurgling with false bile. Spittle flew. Fists clenched. Righteous fury—so precise, it almost gleamed.

"Konoha did this!"

"They planned it!"

"This is bloodshed wrapped in lies!"

The room buckled under the noise.

But Hoshino—still, silent—raised a hand. The storm stopped. He turned to the Hokage with the calm of a priest delivering last rites.

"Our captain died here. Your clan head's hands are slick with his blood. We demand retribution. Give us Hiashi Hyūga."

Hiruzen said, voice barely above decay. "We need time."

"You have until tomorrow, the next day Lightning will be in front of the fire village" Hoshino replied, stepping forward until he could see the cracks in the Hokage's soul.

Later, beneath the tower's gut, darkness whispered.

Hiruzen gathered his old ghosts: Shikaku, Koharu, Homura. Their faces were ash and paper.

"This was always a ritual," Shikaku muttered. "A blood rite. They never wanted the child. They wanted war."

"The abduction happened," Hiruzen rasped. "But everything after—it's theater built on a corpse."

"What do we give them?" Koharu whispered.

"His body?" Homura asked. "There is none."

"Hiashi crushed him. His organs burst like rotting fruit."

"Then they'll say we burned the evidence," Shikaku replied. "Because we did."

The silence grew roots.

"I need time," Hiruzen said. "One day to birth a lie worthy of peace."

Back in the Kumo quarters, incense curled like smoke from a funeral pyre.

Hoshino sat cross-legged, the storm now coiled in his lap.

"They'll stall," he said. "They think delay is safety. But delay is rot."

"They'll never hand him over," one spat.

"They don't need to," Hoshino whispered. "By dawn, this village will be festering with guilt and doubt. That's the infection we need. The war won't start with kunai—it will begin in their dreams."

"And if they find the truth?"

"By then…" Hoshino opened his eyes.

"…lightning will already be splitting the Leaf open."



Check out other works: Demon Slayer: Iron Requiem | Naruto: The Author and The Jinchūriki



patreon.com/aizenDuchiha0

Patreon Supporters:

Samuel Steinike; Tim Hall; Ronald; novel66835; Kali Creation; Imevbore Irele Ifijeh; Liban -> Ōtsutsuki Level

Furry Bear -> Kage Level


Shofi Ullah -> Elite Jounin Level

El Gordo; Fire_Fox2590; Louis Kasser; -> Jounin Level

Lucas Gossett -> Hashira Level
 
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