Naruto: I'm in Konoha, my name is Uzumaki Menma

Chapter 143 The Demon Sprout Technique Acquired, Hiruko's Submission
The cold, black hole pierced through Hiruko's hands, pinning him firmly to the stone wall.

He could clearly sense the ominous aura emanating from the creation, which was purely formed from Yin-Yang Release chakra. It was icy cold and seemed to freeze all his chakra!

A drop of cold sweat slid down his pale temple and landed on the dusty rock with a barely audible sound.

All his madness and all his trump cards turned into powerless bubbles in the face of this absolute threat of death.

Menma's gaze pierced through the mask, staring at Hiruko's face, which was contorted with fear.

He was like a fish nailed to a chopping board, his eyes filled with resentment and despair!

"Lead the way." Menma's voice was calm and even, yet carried an unquestionable tone of command: "To your lair."

Hiruko's Adam's apple bobbed laboriously, and he uttered a dry syllable: "Yes..."

The instinct to survive overwhelmed everything.

The black mahjong tile was retrieved and disappeared into the palm of the hand.

Hiruko looked at the blood flowing from the holes in his hands, and without the slightest hesitation, he stiffly turned around, dragging his body soaked in fear, and staggered toward a hidden path covered by the shadow of a huge rock crevice.

Every step felt incredibly heavy, as if I were walking on the tip of a knife.

Behind him, Shura's white three-eyed fox mask followed silently like a leech, each step pressing on his taut nerves.

The battle between the chimera and Genbu in the distance had also ended. The chimera, which had been pinned to the ground by Genbu and unable to move, had its summoning spell released by Hiruko, while Menma also released Genbu's summoning spell.

As Hiruko watched the towering figure of Genbu disappear like ripples on the water, he was also shocked by this unusual summoning technique.

As you descend along a winding rock crevice, the light is completely swallowed up, leaving only the cold touch of the rock itself and the damp, decaying air.

Hiruko stopped in front of a seemingly seamless rock wall, his fingers trembling as he pressed on several hidden protrusions.

With a dull thud, the thick rock wall slid silently inward, revealing a large doorway.

Inside the door was a vast and eerie underground space.

The air was filled with a pungent smell, a mixture of disinfectant, preservatives, and a faint, almost imperceptible odor of blood.

The enormous glass culture tanks, resembling the eggs of giant beasts, were arranged along both walls. They contained distorted biological tissues, some of which vaguely resembled human or animal shapes. Black substances slowly writhed on their bodies; these were the Oni-Ya-Luo cultivated by Hiruko.

The metal operating table in the center gleamed with a pale white light, and dark brown stains remained on it.

On the metal rack against the wall, various surgical instruments, test tubes, and flasks, gleaming with a cold light, are neatly arranged, along with a large number of scrolls filled with complex formulas and diagrams.

This is the lair of Biluhu, a workshop where life is wantonly pieced together and desecrated.

Hiruko walked to the innermost heavy metal cabinet embedded in the rock wall and entered a complex password.

The cabinet door slid open, revealing a scroll stored separately inside, covered with multiple sealing runes.

With trembling hands, he took it out and handed the scroll behind him.

“This is the core of the ‘Oni-Garra Technique’…” Hiruko’s voice was filled with deep humiliation and fear.

Menma reached out and took it, without even glancing at Hiruko, and casually untied the rope at one end of the scroll, which then unfurled with a whoosh.

The crimson Sharingan glowed faintly beneath the mask, its three tomoe silently rotating like the most precise scanner, rapidly scanning the distorted tadpole-like characters, the complex meridian diagrams, and the eerie illustrations depicting the fusion process.

The scroll contained a mad theory about devouring, plundering, and stitching together different bloodline limits in pursuit of "perfection." A moment later, Menma flicked his wrist, rolled the scroll up again, and casually stuffed it inside his black robe.

"The item is good." Menma's tone was unreadable, as if he were simply commenting on an ordinary item.

Only then did he turn his gaze to Biruhu's face, which was filled with fear and resentment.

The underground space fell into a deathly silence, with only the faint popping sound of bubbles bursting in the culture tank.

The strange, mixed smell in the air seemed to have gotten stronger.

Hiruko's heart pounded in his chest; he knew the moment that would decide his fate had arrived.

This Asura before him has stolen the secret technique he cherished as his life. Does he, as the creator, still have any reason to exist?

Hiruko could feel the scrutinizing gaze beneath the other person's mask, coldly assessing his worth, or rather, how to deal with him.

Menma took a step forward, a very light step, but it instantly made all of Hiruko's muscles tense to the extreme, almost causing him to uncontrollably retreat.

"Your research is somewhat interesting." Menma's voice echoed in the underground space, carrying a condescending casualness: "Instead of hiding here like a rat, devouring some insignificant bloodlines, why don't you come with me?"

Beiruk suddenly looked up, a glint of disbelief flashing in his eyes, which was then covered by a deeper wariness.

Go with him? What for? To become a tool in his lab? Or the next one to be devoured?
"Submit to me." Menma's voice suddenly turned low, like the friction of cold metal. "Serve me."

As Shura uttered the words "Submit to me," an indescribable killing intent, seemingly originating from the depths of his soul, suddenly descended!
The killing intent wasn't violent, but it was like solid ice water, instantly permeating every cell of Hiruko's body.

There were no threats, no warnings, only a pure, declarative will: to submit or die.

Hiruko's body, wrapped in bandages, trembled violently, his sharp teeth chattering uncontrollably.

He looked at Shura's white three-eyed fox mask and it was as if he saw a death god hiding in the darkness, expressionless.

This is not an invitation, this is an ultimatum.

Shura wasn't asking for his opinion; he was announcing the outcome.

All luck and all scheming seem laughable and fragile in the face of absolute power and will.

escape?
The mysterious black rod that pierced his palms just now, with its ghostly speed, completely shattered his illusions.

Revolt?

His own synthetic beast was no match for the opponent's summoning beast, and his strongest Dark Release and Storm Release were child's play in the opponent's eyes.

no choice.

Not even a tiny bit.

The immense fear finally crushed the last shred of dignity and ambition that Hiruko possessed as a strongman.

“I… Hiryuhu…” His voice was hoarse and broken, filled with a trembling sound of humiliation and fear.

"I...I am willing to follow Lord Shura! I offer...I offer my loyalty and...the art of Oni-Ya-Luo!"

(End of this chapter)