Whispers…
Dark clouds loomed endlessly above, and the rain fell harder with each passing moment, soaking the earth in sorrow.
Roar!
Yet, even this relentless downpour couldn't extinguish the black flames of Amaterasu that devoured the forested mountains—eternal fire summoned by the Mangekyō Sharingan, consuming everything in its path.
Amidst the scorched terrain, a single area remained untouched: the epicenter of the clash. This was once a hidden Uchiha stronghold, known only to clan members—now reduced to a ruin of shattered stone and memory, annihilated by overwhelming force.
The once-secret base lay in rubble.
Heat.
Towering above it all was a spectral titan—a crimson-armored figure of ethereal chakra, a divine warrior: Susanoo. In its left hand, a curved Yata Mirror; in its right, the sealing blade known as the Totsuka Sword—also called the Ten Fist Sword.
Within the glowing heart of this divine avatar staggered a broken man. Scarred, bloodied, vision fading, Uchiha Itachi pressed forward with faltering steps.
"It looks like Itachi won. Sasuke had no chance," whispered a voice from the shadows.
Wrapped in giant reed leaves, a black-and-white figure observed from afar—Zetsu, the spy of Akatsuki, watching the final act of a long-awaited tragedy.
Susanoo faded. Itachi walked forward unsteadily. His blurred vision still caught a glimpse of the boy before him—the younger brother he had protected from the shadows.
"I can't collapse yet… I'm almost there…"
Despite the pain and impending death, Itachi clung to his final purpose, driven by a brother's unwavering love.
"Don't come near me, damn you!"
Leaning against a collapsed wall, the Uchiha crest visible on his back, Sasuke screamed, exhausted and horrified.
But Itachi continued.
Sasuke's heart sank. He had used Chidori, Kirin, and even Orochimaru's cursed power—and still, he was helpless. All his efforts, all his hatred, were meaningless before the absolute power of this so-called traitor.
Images swirled in his mind.
The day he came home at age seven… The day he saw his parents lying lifeless, blood pooled beneath them, and his beloved older brother standing in the dark, eyes cold and red.
Since that night, Sasuke's life had been consumed by vengeance. He had severed bonds, betrayed Konoha, and nearly become Orochimaru's vessel—all to kill this man.
But now…
Tap… Tap… Tap…
The sound of Itachi's footsteps echoed like death knells in his ears.
That face—the one he hated—drew closer.
Then, Susanoo's remaining form raised an arm. From the crimson energy, Itachi extended two fingers from his right hand, walking forward slowly.
Sasuke's body froze.
He thought Itachi would take his eyes. That was always his fear.
But just as Itachi's fingers reached his eyes… they stopped.
The expression on Itachi's weathered face changed. A soft smile, weary but relieved, crept across it.
His lips moved. Though no sound came, his heart whispered the words:
"Forgive me, Sasuke. This is the last time."
With the gentleness of old times, Itachi tapped Sasuke's forehead—just as he had when they were children.
At that moment, he activated Tsukuyomi—transferring his final thoughts and a hidden technique into Sasuke's eyes, unknown to the boy.
Roar…
The Susanoo crumbled. The crimson light vanished into the rain.
"Sasuke… this is all I can give you. After defeating me, you'll be hailed as the hero who avenged the Uchiha. Go home…"
Itachi's body swayed. His sight dimmed completely. In his final thoughts, he saw the night of the massacre—the tearful faces of his parents as they accepted their fate.
"I'm sorry, Father. Mother… I couldn't protect Sasuke well enough."
"When I join you in that world… you may curse me all you want."
He stumbled forward, struck the wall, and collapsed—his story seemingly at its end.
—
But… is death truly the end?
Even in the ninja world, few understand death. Most define it as the cessation of the body and mind.
Itachi's will, submerged in darkness, drifted for an unknowable time.
Then, he opened his eyes.
"Where… am I?"
A white void stretched infinitely in all directions. Not even the keen eyes of an Uchiha could find the horizon.
"Is this… the afterlife?"
He remembered his death, his battle, and Sasuke's face.
Strangely, relief filled him. He still couldn't face his parents—not yet.
With no sense of time, memories resurfaced.
His life… so brief… so burdened.
"A man who murders his kin deserves this fate," he thought, smiling bitterly.
Though the massacre was a forced choice—meant to prevent a coup, civil war, and another great ninja conflict—he never forgave himself. He had spared only Sasuke.
And still, he had failed. Sasuke fell deeper into hatred, and Itachi could only leave fragile hope in Naruto's hands.
As these thoughts spiraled, a voice echoed in his mind:
"Do you truly have no regrets?"
His eyes widened. The blank void seemed to respond.
The Mangekyō Sharingan ignited once more. The tomoe spun into a triangular sickle—the unmistakable pattern of Itachi's kaleidoscope.
Whoosh!
A red light surged from his right eye, solidifying into a gourd-like form—the spiritual vessel of the Totsuka Blade.
"The Ten Fist Sword…?" he whispered, stunned.
The blade that sealed targets in a dreamlike genjutsu realm—it still lingered within him.
The gourd trembled. From its mouth, a brilliant light erupted.
Buzz!
It had the force of a summoning—no, a pull. As if recognizing its master's soul, it drew Itachi in effortlessly.
He had no body now, only a soul.
Drawn into the Totsuka Blade's dimension, he vanished as the space itself shuddered, then collapsed into the gourd.
His consciousness slipped once more into sleep.
How much time passed… he couldn't say.
"Waaah… Waaah!!"
Then—suddenly—through the haze of dreams, a baby's cry pierced the silence.
Itachi stirred.
And slowly… he opened his eyes.