Chapter 86: Manda, it's your turn

It's shedding its skin.

Realizing this, Orochimaru leapt off the gray python's body, retreating to a safer distance near its head. From there, he observed the creature with growing interest.

Ordinary snakes shed their skin to accommodate growth. Their outer layer—composed of keratinized skin and scales—offers several benefits: toughness, wear resistance, water resistance, and protection against dehydration. However, it lacks one critical trait—it doesn't stretch. So, as a snake grows, it must periodically shed its skin. The older the snake, the more times it molts. It's a fundamental law of growth—a natural physiological process.

But in Ryūchi Cave, the snakes are far from ordinary. Their shedding carries deeper, more profound meaning.

Take the white snakes of Ryūchi Cave, for example. Led by the White Snake Sage, they also shed—but not to grow larger. Instead, their shedding reduces body size. The outer layer petrifies and falls away, replaced by a new, denser form within. This process, refined through the use of senjutsu (sage arts), allows them to evolve by reversing the burdens of their size. It's a complete philosophical reversal from the Warrior Snake's path.

Then there's Manda, the colossal and temperamental serpent. Though it lacks mastery over senjutsu, it has a similar ability. Through instinct alone, Manda can shed its skin mid-battle, leaving behind a decoy to escape danger. It's a crude version of what the White Snake Sage does, but effective. The outer skin peels away, but Manda neither shrinks nor grows. It's not evolution—just survival.

Orochimaru had seen Manda do it many times. He was intimately familiar with the signs.

But this—this gray python—was doing something different.

It wasn't fleeing.

It was evolving.

It was growing.

Orochimaru's eyes sparkled with fascination. He restrained his urge to interfere with the first-generation cells and instead continued watching with deep interest.

If the gray python's molting resembled that of the White Snake Sage, it could mean a consolidation of its body—a powerful leap in chakra control and physical refinement. That alone might allow it to withstand the overwhelming pressure of the first-generation cells.

And if it succeeded, the White Snake Sage would undoubtedly take notice. That would make this entire experiment worth it.

But… if it was just growing in size, then the process would be exponentially more dangerous.

Growth meant complete cellular fusion—first-generation cells rapidly integrating and rewriting the python's body. It was a path to perfect genetic merging. On paper, it sounded like the ultimate goal—total harmony between foreign cells and host. But in reality? It often ended in tragedy.

One misstep, and the snake's body would lose control—turning into a tree, consumed by the very cells meant to empower it.

That was why Orochimaru had always used localized transplants of first-generation cells—never full-body integration.

Which path was this one taking?

As he pondered, the python thrashed and writhed, coiling and uncoiling within the cave. Its snout scraped furiously against the ground, rubbing against the hardened rock. After several tense moments, the first tear appeared in its outer skin.

"Hisssss…"

A guttural cry escaped from the python—not just from the pain of molting, but because the inhibitor's effects were fading. The first-generation cells were awakening again, surging with renewed activity.

The gray python didn't dare waste a second. Its head twisted and rubbed side to side, widening the tear in its outer skin. Soon, the opening was large enough for its body to slip through.

Rustle… rustle…

On the rocky ground, the sound of its body sliding against the shedding skin was unnerving—like a dull blade sawing through flesh. It was slow, harsh, and deeply unsettling.

Orochimaru watched intently, eyes fixed on the emerging body of the python. Unconsciously, he licked his lips, his gaze sharp with fascination.

The python's new skin was no longer gray-brown. It had turned a vivid emerald green—resembling a forest-dwelling tree snake.

Judging by how it shed, this wasn't some refined senjutsu technique like that of the White Snake Sage. No—this was pure, unfiltered growth.

A bit disappointing, perhaps, but not without merit.

Orochimaru raised an eyebrow. His shadow clone, linked to him, had already prepared the experimental equipment and was steadily recording the data.

To witness a perfect fusion of the first-generation cells within the python's body was extremely valuable for his future research.

And more importantly—the snake didn't die.

So even if the White Snake Sage decided to question him later, there wouldn't be much trouble. He had plausible deniability.

Just then, the emerald-green python hissed sharply and rolled violently across the rocky floor again.

Its newly formed skin—barely fresh—began to crack and split open. In just moments, it was covered in ruptures.

Orochimaru blinked in surprise.

"It's shedding again?"

Unexpected. But... not impossible.

With the first-generation cells' incredible ability to replicate and proliferate, it made sense that the python could accelerate through growth phases in rapid succession.

But Orochimaru's expression darkened slightly.

Such rapid growth meant the fusion process was far more volatile—and dangerous—than he'd anticipated.

Suddenly, a storm of dust rose from the ground. The emerald python twisted violently, throwing chunks of dirt and stone into the air as it thrashed.

This time, the shedding was far more chaotic. It couldn't methodically peel off the skin from its snout like before.

If it had been any ordinary snake, even one like Manda, it would've been torn to pieces by now. But the first-generation cells were doing their work. Though blood poured freely, the python's body remained outwardly unharmed.

And yet, its desperate struggle made it clear—it was still a snake at heart, not some perfected creature.

After a while, despite the resistance and several adhesions, the snake managed to break free from most of its molted skin. The exposed body beneath had darkened—from emerald green to a deep forest shade.

A hoarse, pained howl escaped the serpent's mouth—quieter now. Weaker. The double molt had drained it. It could no longer suppress the volatile force of the first-generation cells.

Soon after, new cracks formed along the snake's now-darkened body. But this time, it wasn't shedding.

Beneath the broken scales, countless clusters of granulation tissue began to sprout.

They multiplied rapidly, splitting and growing. As they extended, the growth began to lignify—turning hard. Then, from their tips, tiny branches and green leaves emerged.

Orochimaru's tongue brushed his lips again, eyes gleaming with expectation.

And just as he predicted...

The giant snake's body, now a fertile vessel for unnatural growth, birthed an entire forest from within itself. Saplings of various sizes burst from its flesh, absorbing its vitality, and within moments, the lifeless cavern was transformed into a dense grove.

Orochimaru didn't even glance at the failed experiment anymore. Instead, he reflected on what went wrong—what he could refine. Then, without hesitation, he leapt toward Manda.

"You… You can't do this to me!"

Manda had watched everything unfold, frozen in horror. Seeing the fate of the gray python, even the mighty serpent trembled in fear at the human standing before him.

Orochimaru gave a familiar, almost playful smile.

"Manda... it's your turn."

"No… No, Orochimaru! If you do this, the White Snake Sage will never forgive you!"

Manda shouted, his voice rising with panic. But the threats rang hollow. Deep down, even he knew—no one was coming to stop it.

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