Kyojiro Uchiha was no longer just fighting for an ideal—he was fighting for survival. Not just his own, but for the comrades who had fought for the Leaf.
Those who had come here to defend the mines.Those who had died in an ambush by the future Fourth Hokage.
Despite the situation, Kyojiro still had trust in Orochimaru. Despite his obvious personality issues—that man is dangerous as an enemy.
And since Kyojiro fought for survival, he didn't look back. He didn't try to be noble, or kind, or charming. He simply fought to kill.
Like a ninja.
Kyojiro hadn't realized it then, but something was happening to him—A metamorphosis that both Jiraiya and Minato had once gone through.
Such kind and lofty ideals didn't live long in the ninja world. Despite his memories—both of Earth and the idealistic, respectful Hashira—His ideals were dying.No—being overwritten.
Was it the lack of strength? Or perhaps the weakness of his will?
Whatever the cause, Kyojiro Uchiha, in his battle against the five Jonin, had long since forgotten about saving the Leaf. His mind was trapped in a single, burning instinct—murder.
To kill....
The ground burst apart in a heatwave of fire. The colossal explosion tore through the area—the earth cracked, dried, and flung upward in countless fragments.
The Shinobi who had barely saved themselves exhaled in shaky relief—yet before sweat could even reach their temples, before they could swallow or steady their trembling hearts—
Something new came.
Something far more terrifying.
Kunai wrapped in crimson chakra.
For a moment, the Jonin were reminded of their opponent's Sharingan.Yet somehow, deep in their gut, they could feel it—the air trembled around those Kunai. The crimson spheres flickered, expanding and contracting as if alive.
It was almost like a trembling bomb.
And shinobi trusted their instincts more than anything.
The Jonin didn't try to counterattack or face it head-on. They ran—desperately trying to escape the impending zone of destruction.
Kyojiro, seeing the sight, pushed more chakra into his Sharingan, locking onto one target fast enough to barely escape the area of effect.And then—he moved.
Chakra surged into his legs, his eyes sharpened to a deadly focus.Flame Breathing—Fifth Form: Flame Tiger.
Then, boom.
The ground cracked. Kyojiro blurred—and vanished, reappearing beside the fleeing Jonin.
The air shimmered, the wind itself struggling to keep up with the Uchiha's speed.
The Jonin barely reacted in time. Despite Kyojiro's one-armed handicap, the Flame Tiger pressed forward—multiple strikes from multiple angles overwhelmed the already panicked shinobi.
Behind him, Kyojiro could feel the heat at his back, the roaring thunder of the explosion shaking his senses. His ears rang, breaking his concentration for brief moments.
His jutsu—Phoenix Sage Flower Nail Crimson—was a continuous bombardment of fire. Terrifying, domineering, and consuming.
Kyojiro's nose twitched. He could smell it even from afar—the charred stench of the earth, the ozone thick in the air, the suffocating smoke that felt more imprisoning than freeing.
I need to end this soon.
The Jonin trembled. Fear and frustration overtook him.In between the clash of steel and fire, he shouted, voice cracking with despair, "Why the hell aren't you dying?!"
He had seen three of his comrades die—Even the fourth wasn't faring any better.
His body trembled from exhaustion, from pain… from longing for home. This was going so easy, he thought, eyes reddened as he glared at the emotionless figure before him, before you appeared.
His chakra was nearly depleted. Fatigue set in—his body felt cold, feverish, and weak.
Every strike from Kyojiro made his arms shake; his heart darkened. And somewhere between blows, tears began falling down his cheeks. I'm going to die here.
It wasn't a prophecy. It was instinct.
Hate filled his heart.His body, once losing strength, now moved with frenzy. He screamed and swung his weapon wildly, muttering like a broken man, "Die, die, die, die, die!"
But reality cared little for rage.
The Uchiha was merciless—like a demon wrapped in human skin. First, he tore off the Jonin's arm, then sliced his Kunai clean in two.
The next instant, a katana pierced his heart. His body froze—shaking—before collapsing to his knees.
And yet… something remained.
Hatred.
Hatred for the man who had taken everything.
The dying shinobi glared at the blood-drenched specter before him. He tried to speak—but blood gurgled in his throat. Yet somehow, through sheer willpower, his trembling voice rasped out one final curse:
"I hope you suffer, demon… You'll feel pain unlike any. You'll pray for mercy—but God will take away all your chances…"
His voice broke by the end, fading into silence as his head slumped forward.
Dead.
Kyojiro stared at the corpse, ears still ringing from distant explosions.The words lingered in his mind—then shattered against the wall of his belief.
He muttered softly, hollow but certain, "I had no choice. Such is the world I was born into."
And then—he moved.
Stoic. Cold-hearted. His Sharingan sliced through the smoke-filled air, piercing the haze of destruction.
His gaze soon landed on the charred remains of another Jonin, burned alive by his jutsu—unable to escape.
I did it, huh?No—wait. There's still one left.
The swordsman he had struck earlier was just waking up. His eyes darted around, searching for his comrades—or the accursed shinobi who had slaughtered them.
Then, a tired, hollow voice whispered beside him:
"Looking for me?"
Chills crawled down his spine. He turned, trembling—only to see a ghostly face staring back.
"Wait—no, leave m—"
His words died mid-sentence.
His head, cleanly severed, rolled across the dirt—finally stopping at Kyojiro's feet.
"It seems… I really did it, huh," Kyojiro muttered, his voice faint and weary.