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Indra Uchiha POV:
The air in my quarters hung heavy with the lingering presence of Orochi-no-Yami, its dark chakra a phantom hum that reverberated beneath my skin long after I'd left the cavern. I lay on the futon, exhaustion sinking into my bones like lead, yet sleep remained a distant dream. My mind churned with restless echoes—those crimson eyes piercing through me, the Meiton's insatiable hunger gnawing at my edges, my mother's voice whispering warnings from a past I could barely grasp. "Balance, Indra…" Her words were a lifeline, but they felt frail against the abyss I'd glimpsed, a void that beckoned with promises of power and ruin.
The blood moon's crimson glow seeped through the narrow window, casting jagged shadows across the stone walls. I traced the serpentine etchings carved into them—symbols of the Kurokiba Clan, "The Fangs That Devour Light," a legacy forged in the chaos of the Sengoku Era. They were mercenaries, conquerors, wielders of the feared Dark Release, and now, my blood kin through my mother, Retsu Unohana. She had fled their cruelty, raising me in secrecy to shield me from this darkness, yet here I was, drawn into its heart by the very power she'd hoped I'd escape.
Dawn arrived with a merciless edge, its first rays barely brushing the horizon when a sharp knock shattered the silence. "Get up," came a voice—cold, authoritative, cutting through the haze of my fatigue like a blade.
Kurokiba Sayaka.
I pushed myself upright, shaking off the weariness that clung to me like damp cloth. The futon creaked beneath me as I stood, my muscles protesting the movement after the trial with Orochi-no-Yami. Stepping outside, the crisp morning air bit at my skin, doing little to lift the heaviness that had settled over me like a shroud. Sayaka stood before me, her high-collared cloak embroidered with the coiled serpent of her clan, her crimson eyes sharp as polished obsidian. Her long black hair, streaked with violet, swayed faintly in the breeze, but her posture was rigid, unyielding.
"Ryuga is waiting," she said, arms crossed, her tone flat yet edged with expectation. "You've been given a moment to catch your breath. That's more mercy than most initiates receive from the Kurokiba."
She turned on her heel, leading me through the stone corridors of the stronghold without a backward glance. The halls were eerily silent, the only sound the echo of our footsteps against the cold floor. The walls loomed around us, adorned with serpentine motifs—coiled bodies and bared fangs etched in crimson that seemed to writhe in the flickering torchlight. I felt the weight of unseen gazes, the elder council's scrutiny lurking in the shadows—Kurokiba Daizen, Hiyori, and Takuto, their presence a silent judgment of the outsider who dared to claim their blood.
We emerged into the training grounds, a vast arena carved into the mountainside of the Land of Rivers. A thin mist clung to the black stone, shrouding the jagged rocks that encircled the space like the teeth of some ancient beast. The air was thick with the residue of countless battles, the ground scarred and cracked from the clan's relentless trials. At the center stood Kurokiba Ryuga, his sleeveless tunic exposing the lattice of scars that marred his arms—testaments to victories carved in blood and steel. His spiky black hair, tinged with purple, caught the faint light, and his crimson eyes gleamed with a predatory glint as his smirk widened at my approach.
"Indra," he drawled, stretching his arms with a casual arrogance that belied the tension in his stance. "Survived the serpent's trial, did you? Good. That means you're ready for the real fight."
I met his gaze, my jaw tightening as I refused to let his taunts unnerve me. The Meiton stirred within me, a restless shadow eager to rise, but I kept it leashed—for now. "If you're so eager to test me, let's not waste time," I said, my voice steady despite the fatigue still clawing at my limbs.
Sayaka stepped between us, her expression a mask of cold calculation. "This is no mere spar," she said, her voice cutting through the charged air like a blade. "Father has decreed that your training begins with a proper initiation. You must prove you can wield the Meiton—not as an outsider, but as one of us. The Kurokiba Clan does not coddle weakness."
Ryuga's smirk darkened, his eyes narrowing with a glint of menace. "If you fail, you leave. Simple as that. No Uchiha pride or Chinoike alliances will save you here."
The challenge hung between us, heavy and unyielding. This was more than a test of strength—it was a trial of belonging. The Kurokiba Clan thrived on power, their loyalty bought with blood and their wrath a force that had carved their name into the annals of the Sengoku Era. If I couldn't master the darkness within me, prove myself worthy of their legacy, I'd be cast aside like a broken blade—useless, forgotten.
I took my place opposite Ryuga, planting my feet firmly on the cracked earth. The air crackled with anticipation, the mist swirling around us as though drawn to the tension. My Sharingan flickered to life, the three tomoe spinning slowly, sharpening my senses to every shift in his posture, every ripple of chakra beneath his skin.
Sayaka raised a hand, her crimson eyes glinting in the dawn light. "Begin."
Ryuga moved first, vanishing in a blur of motion so swift it rivaled the wind itself. My Sharingan tracked him, but he was upon me before I could fully react, his fist wreathed in dark chakra as he aimed a brutal strike at my ribs. I twisted, the blow grazing my side with a searing sting, but he was relentless—a shadow given form, his movements fluid and predatory. The ground trembled beneath his steps, his speed a testament to the Meiton's enhancement.
"Meiton: Eclipse Fang!" he snarled, his voice a guttural roar as darkness surged from his palm in a spiraling arc. The blast tore through the air, a jagged beam of energy that shimmered with malevolent hunger, its edges crackling as it sought to consume me.
I reacted on instinct, thrusting my hands forward. "Meiton: Absorption Fang!" The attack slammed into my palms, the familiar rush of siphoned chakra flooding my veins like a torrent. The energy coiled within me, a tempest of shadow that set my nerves ablaze—but as with Orochi-no-Yami, the darkness was alive. It writhed against my control, seeking to consume rather than be tamed, its whispers curling through my mind like tendrils of smoke. "More… feed me…"
Ryuga's grin widened, his crimson eyes glinting with savage delight. "Let's see how long you last, Uchiha."
He pressed the attack, his movements a blur of ruthless efficiency that left no room for respite. Serpentine tendrils of Meiton lashed out from his hands—"Meiton: Black Serpent Barrage"—their sinuous forms homing in on me with a precision that spoke of years honing this deadly art. The ground cracked beneath our feet as our techniques clashed, my Sharingan weaving between his strikes, my own dark chakra surging in defiance. Each tendril I absorbed fueled the Meiton within me, its hunger growing with every exchange, its voice louder, more insistent.
A flicker of doubt crept in, cold and insidious. Was I truly mastering this power, or was it mastering me? The line between control and surrender blurred, the Meiton's pull a siren's call that threatened to drown my will. My breath came in ragged gasps, my body straining under the relentless onslaught, and for a fleeting moment, I faltered—my focus slipping as Ryuga's next strike grazed my shoulder, the dark chakra burning through my tunic.
"Focus, Indra!" Sayaka's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and unyielding, snapping me back to the present.
I gritted my teeth, tightening my grip on the Meiton's reins. No—I would not lose myself. I had defied Orochi-no-Yami, faced its crushing memories and emerged unbroken. Ryuga would not be my undoing. My mother's lessons surged to the forefront—her gentle insistence on balance, her quiet strength that had carried us through years of isolation. My father's resolve echoed in my blood, the unyielding fire of the Uchiha that refused to bow.
Summoning the chakra I had absorbed, I thrust my hands forward, my voice raw with determination. "Meiton: Devouring Abyss!" The darkness erupted from my palms in a spiraling vortex, a maelstrom of shadow that roared with the fury of a caged beast unleashed. It collided with Ryuga's barrage, the two forces clashing in a cataclysmic explosion that sent us both skidding back across the fractured earth. Dust and debris swirled around us, the mist thickening as the shockwave rippled through the arena.
A tense silence descended, broken only by the faint crackle of settling stone. Ryuga stood across from me, his chest heaving, dust clinging to his spiky hair. Then, to my surprise, he let out a short, barking laugh, shaking his head as he brushed dirt from his tunic. "Not bad," he admitted, his tone grudging but laced with a flicker of respect. "Maybe you're not as weak as I thought, cousin."
Sayaka stepped forward, her crimson eyes studying me with a calculating intensity that made my skin prickle. "You resisted the Meiton's pull," she said, her voice low and measured. "That is the first step—proof that you can wield it without succumbing. But the real test is yet to come."
She gestured to the edge of the training grounds, and my gaze followed her motion. A group of figures emerged from the mist—cloaked warriors, their dark robes emblazoned with the coiled serpent insignia of the Kurokiba Clan. There were five of them, their movements silent and deliberate, their crimson eyes glinting with predatory intent beneath hooded masks. The air around them thrummed with a quiet menace, a palpable aura of danger that set my nerves on edge.
Ryuga's smirk returned, sharper now, as he crossed his arms. "Meet the Devouring Fangs," he said, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Elite hunters of the clan—our finest killers. Your final trial is to fight them—and win."
I exhaled slowly, my breath misting in the cool air as I steadied myself. The battle with.Izuna had warned me of the Kurokiba's ruthlessness, but this was beyond anything I'd anticipated. The Devouring Fangs closed in, forming a loose circle around me, their presence a wall of shadow that pressed against my senses. Each bore a weapon—katanas, kusarigama, a naginata—their blades glinting faintly in the dawn light, etched with the same serpentine motifs that adorned the compound.
Sayaka's voice rang out again, a cold command. "Survive, Indra. Prove you belong."
The first Fang lunged, his katana slashing downward in a silent arc aimed at my throat. My Sharingan tracked the strike, and I sidestepped, the blade whispering past my ear as I countered with a burst of dark chakra—"Meiton: Absorption Fang"—siphoning the faint energy he'd infused into the weapon. He recoiled, but another struck from my left, the chain of his kusarigama whistling through the air. I ducked, rolling across the ground as the weighted end smashed into the stone where I'd stood, sending shards flying.
They moved as a unit, their attacks coordinated with a precision that spoke of years hunting together. A third Fang thrust her naginata forward, the blade a blur of steel and shadow, while a fourth unleashed a wave of "Meiton: Silent Fang"—soundless destruction that slipped past my Sharingan's perception until it grazed my arm, leaving a searing ache. I gritted my teeth, forcing the Meiton within me to rise, its hunger now a weapon I could wield.
"Meiton: Devouring Abyss!" I roared, unleashing a vortex that swept outward, catching two of the Fangs in its pull. They stumbled, their chakra draining into the void, but the others pressed forward, undeterred. The fifth Fang—a towering figure with a scarred face visible beneath his hood—slammed his katana into the ground, channeling a surge of dark chakra that erupted in a radial blast—"Meiton: Judgement Fang." The force knocked me back, my feet skidding across the earth as I struggled to absorb the onslaught.
My breath came in sharp gasps, my body aching, but I refused to yield. The Meiton's whispers grew louder, urging me to tap into its deeper reserves—the forbidden techniques Raizen had hinted at, like "Meiton: Endless Hunger"—but I shoved them down. I would win this on my terms, not as a slave to the darkness.
Drawing on every ounce of my training—my mother's precision, my father's resolve, the Uchiha's fire—I wove through their attacks, my Sharingan a beacon in the chaos. I absorbed their chakra where I could, redirecting it with bursts of "Meiton: Black Mirror Fang" that sent their own techniques crashing back into them. The naginata-wielder fell first, her weapon clattering to the ground as my reflected strike overwhelmed her. The kusarigama-user followed, tangled in his own chain as I turned his momentum against him.
The remaining three tightened their formation, their crimson eyes narrowing, but I could feel their fatigue—my absorption had taken its toll. With a final surge, I unleashed "Meiton: Devouring Abyss" once more, the vortex roaring with all the chakra I'd claimed. It engulfed them, pulling them into its depths, and when the darkness cleared, they lay sprawled across the ground, unconscious but alive.
Silence fell, heavy and absolute. I stood panting, my tunic torn, my arms trembling, but unbroken. Ryuga let out a low whistle, his smirk replaced by a grudging nod. Sayaka stepped forward, her gaze piercing as she assessed me.
"You survived," she said, her voice devoid of warmth but carrying a faint trace of approval. "You've proven your strength. For now."
I nodded, too weary to speak, as the mist began to lift, revealing the scarred arena in the growing light. The Devouring Fangs were defeated, but their presence lingered in the ache of my wounds, the weight of their chakra still pulsing within me. The abyss had beckoned me forth, and I had stepped deeper into its depths—not as a victim, but as a warrior.
Yet as I turned to follow Ryuga and Sayaka back into the compound, the Meiton's hunger whispered once more, a shadow that refused to be silenced. The trials were far from over, and the true test of my will still loomed ahead.
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To Be Continued…
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Author's Note:
Thank you for joining Indra Uchiha as he endures the brutal trials of the Kurokiba Clan! Chapter 27 was a crucible of strength and willpower, forcing Indra to confront not only Ryuga's relentless challenge but also the deadly precision of the Devouring Fangs. The Meiton's hunger continues to gnaw at him, its whispers growing louder as he teeters on the edge of control. But amidst the darkness, he has begun to carve his own path—one that defies both his Uchiha blood and the ruthless expectations of the Kurokiba.
Yet, his journey is far from over. The real test of his mastery is still to come, and the abyss waits with bated breath. Will Indra prove himself worthy, or will he become just another lost soul swallowed by the shadows?
Stay tuned—the trials have only just begun!