On the scroll, the blood-and-chakra etchings left by the Kurama Clan Head gradually came into full view, their once-chaotic strokes now forming a coherent and haunting picture.
At the center of the scroll stood a mysterious woman, draped in white feathers that seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow. Her expression was serene, almost divine, yet her cold, indifferent gaze exuded a sense of authority that was utterly inhuman. She appeared to be descending into the world, stepping lightly upon invisible threads of fate.
Behind her loomed an enormous moon, its pale surface cracked with sinister veins of shadow. And upon that moon was emblazoned a single, colossal Sharingan—its pupil wide and crimson, swirling with hatred and curses so deep it felt as if the eye itself was alive, watching, judging, and condemning all below.
Beneath the woman's feet, a tree of unimaginable size and grotesque form stretched toward the sky. This was no living tree. Its bark was ashen and decayed, its countless branches twisted like skeletal fingers reaching upward, clawing at existence itself. A palpable sense of death radiated from it, suffocating and unyielding.
And hanging from its branches were countless cocoons, each one glowing faintly red. When looked at closely, the surface of these cocoons revealed spiraling Sharingan patterns, their pupils flickering faintly, as though something within them was stirring, incubating a terror yet to be born.
At the roots of this ghastly tree knelt a humanoid figure completely black, its form seemingly made of liquid shadow. It stretched its arms upward, as if in worship or servitude, welcoming the descent of the white-feathered woman—a goddess of divine yet dreadful presence.
At the very bottom of the scroll, in jagged strokes written with trembling fingers and blood, were words that seemed to curse the very air:
At your wish, descend upon this world…
Tobirama's expression hardened, his sharp gaze narrowing as he read the line aloud in a low, steady voice.
"'At your wish'…" His tone carried an undercurrent of unease, his mind racing.
"Whose wish… was granted?"
A cold chill ran through him. "Could it be… that this is not only about Uchiha Gen's meteor? That this world faces not one, but multiple disasters?"
He clenched the scroll tighter, his brow furrowed.
A memory stirred—an old conversation with Orochimaru.
Orochimaru had once mentioned something crucial: Uchiha Gen's Mangekyō Sharingan ability was tied to a power known as Kotodama, a power that could turn words into reality—a divine command.
Could this wish be nothing less than the manifestation of Gen's Kotodama?
The thought was like ice water poured over his mind. He forced himself to record every detail, every hypothesis, every image, burning them into his analytical memory. If even one clue was missed, the consequences could be catastrophic.
The "Goddess of the Rabbit" drawn on the scroll—what was she?
Could this figure be the herald of a greater disaster, one that would descend after the meteor's impact? Was everything—this tree, these cocoons, the moonlit Sharingan—called forth by someone's wish? Was Uchiha Gen's will behind it all?
He turned sharply toward Hiashi.
"Clan Head Hiashi, what abnormalities did you see during your observation? When you performed the jutsu, what exactly distracted you?"
Hiashi's brows furrowed deeply. Shame flickered in his pale eyes—shame that his momentary lapse had cost the Kurama Clan Head his life. Still, he answered, his voice low but steady.
"My lord… what I saw was unlike anything I've ever witnessed before."
Tobirama's piercing gaze urged him to continue.
Hiashi took a breath, forcing himself to recount every detail.
"I observed the chakra threads connecting these Sharingan. They were Yin-based chakra—dark, refined, controlled… Yet in a single instant, those Yin threads reversed. They became Yang-based chakra, before reverting back to Yin again, all in the blink of an eye."
"Reversal of Yin-Yang Release?" Tobirama repeated sharply, his mind already processing the implications.
"Yes." Hiashi's expression tightened. "But the transformation was too fast. Even with my Byakugan, I could barely track it. The chakra lines didn't merely shift—they twisted, inverted, and reformed as if existence itself was rewriting their nature. It… it made me doubt if what I saw was real."
His words carried visible unease.
Tobirama fell silent, his expression grim. This was no simple genjutsu, no ordinary curse. If the Sharingan's chakra could reverse Yin and Yang at such a level, the very foundation of chakra theory was being mocked.
A thought chilled him to his core: What if the curse of the Sharingan wasn't simply Yin-based at all? What if it was a constantly shifting amalgam of Yin and Yang, intertwining and reversing infinitely, birthing something beyond comprehension?
The true source of its corruption might not be darkness alone but a far more terrifying balance—an ever-changing, unstable duality that even the Sage of Six Paths might not have foreseen.
Tobirama's analytical mind surged with questions, but one phrase on the scroll echoed louder than all else:
At your wish, descend upon this world…
For the first time, his pulse quickened with genuine dread.
This was no longer a puzzle to solve. It was a prophecy—a warning.
His mind drifted to Hashirama. Could he revive his elder brother now, to seek his counsel? But no. Tobirama's jaw tightened.
He couldn't risk it. Not yet.
Hashirama's kindness, his idealism… In the face of this apocalyptic threat, those qualities could be dangerous. Hashirama might even seek peace with Uchiha Gen.
And Tobirama could not allow that. Not now.
Every decision from here would decide the fate of the world.
The crucial detail was that Uchiha Gen's grandfather's Sharingan had closed and lost its visual prowess…
When Tobirama carefully rolled up the Kurama Clan's scroll, his sharp eyes caught a subtle shift in the illustrations within.
The once static depiction of the massive moon had changed.
Now, the giant Sharingan etched into its surface seemed almost alive—its crimson glow sharper, deeper, and far more sinister than before. The inked image radiated a strange vitality, as though it were watching him through the parchment itself. A faint malice seemed to seep from its pupil, curling through the air like smoke.
Tobirama narrowed his gaze.
"This Sharingan…"
It was identical to the strange eye left behind by Uchiha Gen's grandfather just moments earlier.
The resemblance was so precise that Tobirama could not dismiss it as mere coincidence. It was as if the moment that ancient Sharingan closed, its power had flowed into the scroll, embedding itself into this moon illustration, lending it life.
He clenched the scroll slightly tighter.
"I need to verify this."
For a shinobi forged in the crucible of the Warring States era, verification was everything. In that age, deception and half-truths were as lethal as any blade. No matter how convincing the evidence appeared, he would never accept it without cross-referencing every clue.
In his mind, Tobirama replayed everything: Gen's meteoric rise, his impossible Mangekyō ability, and the chilling phrase written in blood on the scroll:
At your wish, descend upon this world…
The only certainty so far was the existence of this mysterious "Goddess of the Rabbit." Yet even that left him uneasy.
Something about her imagery—the serene yet indifferent face, the looming moon, the ghastly tree of death—felt inextricably tied to the Sharingan's origins.
If Black Zetsu knew about this speculation... he would probably curse Uchiha Gen as an evil Uchiha brat, with malicious intentions to shift the blame onto him...
Tch… that Uchiha brat. He's practically shaping himself into the embodiment of evil, Tobirama thought grimly.
Meanwhile, in the distant Land of Water, far from the chaos brewing in Konoha, Danzo Shimura sat cross-legged on the rocky shore of a tranquil lake just outside the Hidden Mist Village.
The silence here was thick, unbroken except for the soft whisper of wind rippling across the water's glassy surface. The lake reflected the overcast sky like polished steel, and for once, Danzo allowed himself to close his eyes.
Fatigue from his relentless journey weighed on him, and he drifted into a light slumber.
In his dreams, he stood once again in the warm sunlight before the Hokage Office. He was younger, sharper, brimming with ambition. And standing across from him was Hiruzen Sarutobi, the man who had taken what Danzo had coveted all his life.
"Hiruzen…" Danzo's younger voice hissed in memory. "You will regret this."
But the vision shattered like glass. His eyes snapped open, and the present rushed back in.
The lake was calm as ever. Yet what startled him was not his surroundings—but his reflection.
He leaned forward slightly, peering into the rippling water.
His face… it was no longer the withered mask of age. The skin had regained firmness and elasticity. The light in his eyes had sharpened, rekindled like an ember brought back to flame.
Danzo raised a hand, staring at his own palm as an unsettling realization washed over him. His body pulsed with vitality, his blood coursed like a roaring river, and deep within, he felt the Hashirama cells stirring violently.
They weren't merely sustaining him anymore—they were thriving, accelerating, rewriting his body.
"Impossible…" he muttered under his breath, though a slow grin curved his lips.
In seconds, his analytical mind had already begun calculating. Judging by the intensity of this cellular activation, his physical state had already been rewound decades. Forty, perhaps younger. His body felt lighter, stronger. The chakra flowing through him burned like a storm.
"Heh… heh… heh…"
A low, rasping chuckle escaped him. Not a laugh of mirth, but of something darker—an acknowledgment of power.
Danzo, the old war hawk of Konoha, was shedding his age like a serpent's skin.
And somewhere in the shadows, unseen forces moved, setting the stage for calamities greater than any in living memory.