The cliffside loomed high above the roaring waterfall, mist drifting like sorrowful breath into the moonlit air.
The hush of night, broken only by the pounding river, surrounded everything.
Darkness draped the valley like mourning robes, and the stars above blinked silently as if bearing witness to a moment history would never forget.
Shisui Uchiha stood at the very edge. His black cloak fluttered slightly in the wind, blood trailing from his empty right socket and painting a red line down his face.
His remaining eye, his Mangekyō Sharingan, glowed weakly in the dim light. Poison coursed through his veins. His chakra had already begun to collapse.
He had made his decision. He had given Itachi his left eye. He had said his final words.
And so, with one last glance at the crying Itachi behind him, he stepped back.
His body vanished into the abyss.
"SHISUI!!" Itachi's cry cracked the night like thunder.
He dropped to his knees.
For a long time, Itachi could not breathe. The world spun. His body trembled. His tears fell without pause, unheeded by the shinobi who always kept his composure.
The river below roared.
—
Meanwhile, Shisui fell.
The air rushed past him. Time slowed.
And then — the memories began.
His life passed before him like fragments of film.
He saw his mother's gentle smile. Her lullabies at bedtime. The way she used to place her palm over his chest and whisper, "You're strong. Stronger than you know."
He saw his father — the hard eyes of a shinobi who returned from battle each day with new scars, both on skin and soul. A man of few words, but fierce pride.
He remembered entering the academy. So small, so eager. Always pushing harder. Always trying to outdo himself. While others played, he trained.
He remembered earning the headband. Becoming a genin. The pride of wearing the Uchiha crest stitched across his back.
The battlefield came next.
The Third Great Ninja War.
Shisui remembered the smoke, the blood, the screams of comrades dying beside him. He remembered holding the hand of a dying Chunin. The shivering breath. The red-stained teeth. The silence that followed.
That was when he awakened the Mangekyō Sharingan.
He remembered standing before the Hokage. Being praised. Being feared. Being respected.
They called him a genius. A prodigy. A legend in the making.
But he had never wanted glory.
Only peace.
And now, after all the pain, all the loyalty, all the sacrifice — he was dying alone.
"Maybe... maybe this is enough..." he whispered to himself, eyes closed, wind rushing past. "Maybe I can rest now."
He felt the cold mist nearing his skin.
The final moment.
But death didn't come.
Instead — arms, strong and swift, wrapped around his midsection and pulled him away.
His descent stopped.
They moved at impossible speed — away from the cliff, away from the river, into a dense forest bathed in moonlight and shadow.
When he finally regained awareness, he was lying on the forest floor, back resting against a tree.
He couldn't see.
His vision was gone. His right eye stolen by Danzo. His left given to Itachi. But his mind was clear.
He was alive.
And someone was there.
Footsteps rustled against leaves.
"Who... who is it?" he croaked.
Silence. Then laughter — deep, low, cruel.
"Tch. You don't recognize me by voice alone, Shisui? I'm wounded."
Shisui's brows furrowed.
That voice — smug, commanding — triggered recognition.
"You're... Indra," he rasped. "Uchiha Indra. Grandson of Setsuna. The one who supported the Uchiha coup... The one who defied the Third Hokage..."
The man laughed again, pleased.
"Ah, you haven't dulled at all. Even blind, you're sharp."
Shisui clenched his teeth. His body was too weak to move, but his tone turned frigid.
"Why save me, Indra? You hate the Leaf. You want war. I won't let you—"
"Please," Indra interrupted with amusement. "You think I saved you out of pity? Don't flatter yourself."
He took slow steps around Shisui, circling.
"I brought you back because there's something I want you to know before you die — truly die. I thought it fitting you hear it from me."
Shisui remained silent, wary.
Indra crouched beside him.
"Your noble sacrifice? It won't change anything. You gave your eye to Itachi... but it'll only make things worse."
Shisui turned his head toward the sound of the voice.
"What do you mean?"
Indra's tone turned colder, sharp with delight.
"Danzo will use your death as fuel. He'll twist the tragedy. He'll use it to pressure Itachi."
Shisui's breath caught in his throat.
"Pressure him... to do what?"
"To slaughter your clan."
Silence.
"That's absurd! Itachi would never—"
"Wouldn't he?" Indra leaned in closer. "You told him yourself to protect the village. You asked him to safeguard both sides."
Shisui's heart pounded in his chest.
"He'll protect the village... by butchering the Uchiha," Indra said slowly. "All of them. Women. Children. Elders. No exceptions, except one — his little brother."
Shisui trembled. "You're lying..."
"I'm not," Indra said with eerie calm. "I'm merely stating what's already in motion. Your noble ideals gave birth to a massacre."
The forest air felt colder now.
Every breath Shisui took felt heavier.
He wanted to scream.
But he knew, deep inside, that it was true.
He had seen the pain in Itachi's eyes.
He had seen his hesitation, his guilt.
And he had placed the burden on him.
Shisui turned his face away. "...Please... Indra... whatever you are, whoever you are... if you have any honor left... protect them. The ones that can be saved."
Indra was silent for a long time.
Then he moved.
Metal gleamed in the moonlight.
Kusanagi, sharp and merciless.
With swift precision, he drove the blade into Shisui's heart.
The Uchiha gasped, blood pouring from his mouth.
His body seized. His hands gripped the ground, then fell limp.
Indra's voice was low now.
"I'll protect them. That's a promise. But you won't live to see it."
He withdrew the blade.
Shisui's body slumped forward.
His final breath was a whisper.
"Itachi... forgive me..."
—
The moon hung high over the forest, its glow filtering softly through the trees.
The air was quiet, cold, and still — the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
Not a single leaf rustled, not a single insect chirped. The silence was profound, heavy with the weight of what had just occurred.
Shisui Uchiha lay motionless beneath the shadows, his body pierced through the chest.
Blood soaked into the soil beneath him, pooling slowly into the earth like the final ink of a fading story. His breath was gone.
His heart had stopped. The prodigy of the Uchiha, the hope of peace, was no more.
Indra stood calmly over him, his blade — the legendary kusanagi — drawn back, its tip glistening with the life essence of Shisui. There was no hesitation in his stance, no sorrow. Only cold calculation and ambition.
But this was not the end. It was only the beginning.
He gazed down at the lifeless figure, his Sharingan spinning.
Then, his Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan ignited.
Dark chakra erupted from his eyes, wrapping around Shisui's corpse.
The forest trembled. Animals fled from the unnatural pressure. The air warped, heavy and tense.
"Now... let's see what a genius like you is worth..."
A spiraling void of chakra formed above the body, shaped like a vortex of shadows.
This was Indra's unique devouring technique — a power hidden within his Eternal Mangekyō, capable of absorbing the very essence of a person: chakra, soul, memories, bloodline, and skill.
The technique surged violently, drawing in Shisui's entire being.
His soul began to fragment, pulled from his lifeless shell.
The vortex shrank and vanished in an instant — all of it absorbed into Indra's mind.
And then it hit him.
A blast of overwhelming power exploded within Indra's body.
He staggered, clutching his chest.
Chakra, dense and ancient, flowed into his core, fusing with his own. He grit his teeth, veins bulging across his temples. The ground beneath his feet cracked.
His muscles swelled slightly, refined to new levels. His senses sharpened. His awareness expanded.
He roared silently, absorbing it all.
Images flashed through his mind — memories not his own.
Shisui's birth. His parents. His first time awakening the Sharingan. His battles. His pain. His smile. His fears.
His loyalty.
His betrayal.
Everything.
And then came the technique — the core of Shisui's Mangekyō Sharingan.
Kotoamatsukami.
A genjutsu so perfect it could alter a person's will without detection. A godlike ability that could rewrite decisions, bend iron convictions, change the heart without suspicion.
And now... it was Indra's.
But unlike Shisui, whose version had a ten-year cooldown, Indra's Eternal Mangekyō had enhanced the ability beyond natural limits.
His cooldown?
One month.
Only a month between each usage. A power beyond comprehension.
Indra's eyes opened, burning with crimson light. He raised his hand, feeling the surge of chakra crackling at his fingertips.
"This... is evolution."
He felt every nerve in his body tingling with strength. His muscles tightened, more refined than before. His speed had increased. His taijutsu would now be more lethal. His ninjutsu would flow effortlessly.
And more than that — he now possessed the power to rewrite fate itself.
He stood in the moonlight, letting the moment settle.
He could still feel the last fragments of Shisui's soul merging into his own. There was no regret. No resistance. Shisui had fought and died for a dream.
Now, that dream — and everything else he was — belonged to Indra.
A faint chuckle escaped his lips.
Then a laugh.
It grew louder, deeper — triumphant.
He looked toward the sky.
"Thank you, Shisui."
—
Back at the cliff, Itachi still remained motionless.
The wind whispered gently through his hair. The vial containing Shisui's eye remained clenched tightly in his fist.
His knees dug into the stone. His eyes, though dry, were vacant.
He was breaking.
"Shisui... why did it have to be this way..."
He whispered the words to no one.
The guilt sat on his shoulders like lead.
And above, high in the trees, a masked figure watched.
The lone eye of Obito Uchiha peered through the spiral of his orange mask.
He had seen enough.
"Perfect... Everything is proceeding as planned."
His body turned to swirling mist as he vanished.
—
Back in the forest, Indra sat beneath a tall cedar, the stars above shining through its leaves. His eyes had dimmed, but the grin on his face had not.
He reached into his cloak, retrieving a small scroll, unsealing it with a flick of his finger.
A list of targets.
A list of ambitions.
His next steps.
"One more step closer to unifying this world... one eye at a time."
The forest rustled as his laughter echoed softly.
---
End of Chapter
---
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