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[Warning: This story contains graphic violence, gore, and psychological trauma—reader discretion is strongly advised]
But the moment his hand touched the air near Hinata, a burst of defensive chakra exploded outward — a Hyuga barrier seal he hadn't detected.
Thrown against the wall with a crash, the jutsu collapsed.
Alarms screamed into the night. Footsteps echoed everywhere.
Raikou, bleeding and gasping, looked up into the eyes of the sleeping heiress as her lids fluttered open.
She looked into his eyes with confusion… and something else.
'No time,' he thought.
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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 beneath genjutsu layers, 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.
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