The battlefield was drowning in silence, a silence so heavy it pressed on every chest, suffocating the air itself.
The night sky hung above with pale moonlight spilling across the broken ground, but even that silver light could not wash away the weight of disbelief that gripped every single shinobi present.
All eyes were fixed on the figure of the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen.
The man who had long been called the Professor.
The man who was once hailed as the Strongest Hokage.
The man whose strength and wisdom had once united the village.
And yet—here he was, his knees touching the dirt, his head bent low, his back hunched as though crushed by an invisible mountain.
Hiruzen Sarutobi was kneeling. He was bowing down. He was surrendering.
The disbelief rippled through the crowd like a violent storm. Eyes widened. Mouths fell open. The ANBU hidden in masks stiffened, their posture betraying the cracks in their discipline.
The clan heads in attendance felt their throats dry as they tried to comprehend the sight before them.
None could reconcile the figure of their Hokage—the pillar of their village—kneeling to Indra Uchiha.
Whispers would not come. Even murmurs of denial failed. Only the stunned silence stretched endlessly.
And then that silence shattered.
"HIRUZEN!"
A sharp, rasping shout tore through the night.
It was Shimura Danzō, unable to restrain himself. His single visible eye blazed with fury, and his voice cut like a blade across the battlefield.
"Have you finally gone mad, old fool?" Danzō roared. His words lashed out with venom. "Where is your prestige as Hokage? Where is the dignity of the leader of this village? You—the Hokage—cannot surrender like this! Not for a child! Not for your grandson!"
The words stabbed deeply into the already broken hearts of the onlookers. They flinched as if each syllable carried the sting of betrayal.
Danzō did not relent. He pressed forward, his cane digging into the dirt as he stepped closer, shouting louder, harsher, more unrestrained.
"So what if your grandson dies?!" Danzō spat the words like poison. "So what if Konohamaru dies here, tonight?
Then let him die for the Will of Fire you yourself preached for decades! It was you, Sarutobi, who taught this village that the will of one must be sacrificed for the whole!
Now live by your own words!
Withstand this test! Stand up and remove this Uchiha disaster with your own hands!"
Every syllable echoed across the still battlefield, hammering into the ears of the ANBU, the clans, the supporters.
Danzō's eye glared like a cold, merciless flame.
"Hiruzen! Are you really going to abandon the village for your grandson?"
The words hung in the air, cruel, unyielding.
And then—
Indra Uchiha's lips curled into a smile.
The young Uchiha stood there, his crimson Mangekyō glowing faintly in the dark, and broke into a grin that was neither warm nor joyful. It was cold, cruel, mocking.
Yes, Indra thought to himself, his grin stretching wider. This is it. Fight. Fight like monkeys, expose each other, tear down your masks, reveal your filthy secrets.
Crush the beliefs of your supporting faction with your own hands. Show them the reality I already know.
His grin widened further as he drank in the scene of Hiruzen kneeling, Danzō shouting, and the clans wavering.
The supporting faction—the elders, the ANBU, the loyalists—turned uncertain eyes toward Danzō. At first they had recoiled at his tone, but slowly, reluctantly, they began to nod. Quietly at first, then more openly, their agreement began to spread.
The words were cruel, the tone unbearable—but the logic, the cold logic of his argument, was undeniable.
Yes. The Hokage was supposed to stand for the village. Yes. The Will of Fire demanded sacrifice.
So why was the Hokage kneeling for his grandson?
Nods became subtle murmurs. Murmurs became silent acceptance.
Hiruzen felt it all. He could feel the shift, the disbelief, the doubt creeping in among those who had always stood by him. His heart clenched. His lips trembled. His old, weary hands clawed at the dirt beneath him.
And in his mind—fear.
Fear not only of Indra, not only of losing Konohamaru, but fear of Danzō's mouth.
The old warhawk was reckless, too reckless. He might expose the one secret Hiruzen had kept hidden even from many of his closest allies—the truth of his last resort, the plan he had been preparing silently.
Because in Hiruzen's mind, another path existed. He had already planned to summon back his disciple—Jiraiya—and with his help, resolve the Uchiha matter once and for all. That had been his hope, his hidden card, his unspoken faith.
But if Danzō continued to shout, if he continued to tear away at the façade in public, then that secret might be dragged into the open.
This fool will ruin everything, Hiruzen thought, panic flashing in his weary eyes. This reckless idiot…
But Danzō, far from restraint, was secretly rejoicing.
In his heart, he was savoring every moment. For years he had borne the shadow of Hiruzen's authority, the misfortune of being the man who was always second, never chosen.
Tonight—finally—he could watch Hiruzen kneel, could watch him humiliated before the clans and ANBU, could watch him sink under the weight of his own weakness.
Yes, Danzō thought, glee rising in his chest. Finally, this fool pays for everything. Tonight is the night you drown in your own weakness, Hiruzen.
His single visible eye gleamed with vicious delight.
Indra, meanwhile, was deeply entertained. The Uchiha youth's grin sharpened, his crimson eyes gleaming brighter. The tension, the betrayal, the cracks spreading among the Hokage's own faction—it was like music to his ears.
But he was not a man of patience. He could not allow them to waste his time with bickering and politics.
He took a step forward.
And then—
Murderous intent.
Indra released it like a tidal wave, an overwhelming surge of killing aura that crashed across the battlefield. It was suffocating, sharp, unbearable.
The shinobi gathered felt their knees buckle, their throats constrict. Even the most battle-hardened veterans trembled under the sheer weight of Indra's intent.
Masks cracked. Foreheads beaded with sweat. Even the proud clan heads stiffened and faltered.
Indra's lips twisted into satisfaction. Their fear was intoxicating. Their trembling was his reward.
And then he spoke. His voice was deep, cold, resonating like thunder rolling across the earth.
"I want you to make your judgment, old man. Right now. Your grandson… or your village."
The words struck like the toll of a death bell.
Konohamaru's small, frightened voice rang out. His cries were raw, desperate, cutting through the suffocating air.
"Grandpa! Save me! Please, Grandpa!"
Hiruzen's heart clenched violently. His hands shook. His aged body trembled with the war raging inside him. His mind screamed of duty, of the Will of Fire, of the weight of his title. But his heart—the heart of a grandfather—screamed louder.
Tears threatened at the edge of his vision.
Danzo's mind sharpened with ruthless clarity. He saw the hesitation, the weakness, and his lips curled into a smirk.
Yes, he thought. This is it. This is the choice. This is the moment to drag him down forever.
He decided to act, to twist the knife deeper, to destroy what remained of Hiruzen's dignity in front of everyone.
He raised his voice again, cruel and sharp, filled with accusation that could not be ignored.
"Hiruzen! You are really selling out the safety of the village for your grandson!"
The words echoed with venom, cutting through the field and slamming into every ear present.
The ANBU, the clans, the loyalists—hearing this accusation was unbearable. Their beloved Third Hokage, the man they had trusted, now being accused so openly, so directly.
Faces turned pale. Mouths tightened. The burden of betrayal pressed heavily upon their chests.
Hiruzen opened his mouth to speak, to deny, to explain—
But then—
Indra moved.
So fast, so suddenly, that not even the trained eyes of the ANBU could follow.
The atmosphere of the great gathering was heavy, suffocating, and drenched with disbelief.
Moments earlier, they had already seen Danzo cut down by Indra in a way so swift that even the seasoned veterans could not properly follow his movements.
They had seen the Third Hokage, the man known as the "Strongest Hokage," bowing down, kneeling before Indra in shameful surrender, shaking the very faith of all who supported him.
But what came next was something none of them could have predicted, something far more terrifying than even surrender itself.
Danzo Shimura, who had been killed instantly by Indra, suddenly appeared again—alive. His body reformed as though death itself had been cheated.
The entire crowd froze. The Third Hokage's face turned white with shock as his old rival stood tall once again, unharmed, his death erased as though it had never occurred.
And then, in the very next breath, Indra moved again. With the same ruthless speed, he killed Danzo for a second time. Another strike, clean and merciless, and Danzo's body collapsed lifelessly before them.
But, impossibly, he revived once again, appearing whole before everyone's eyes.
The crowd of shinobi, clansmen, and leaders gasped in horrified confusion. Disbelief spread like wildfire among them. Murmurs and cries rippled through the air as they tried to comprehend what they were witnessing.
"How… how is this possible?"
"Is this an illusion?"
"No… this is real! He died—yet he lives again…"
The Third Hokage stood frozen, his lips trembling, unable to hide his terror.
For decades, he had known Danzo's cunning and obsession with forbidden techniques, but to see him resurrecting himself again and again in front of the entire village was beyond even his darkest suspicions.
At that moment, a voice rose loudly, sharp enough to cut through the shocked cries.
It was Uchiha Setsuna—Indra's grandfather. His aged but commanding voice carried authority, and when he spoke, the crowd listened.
"Look carefully, all of you! Danzo has stolen the eyes of our clan. He is using the forbidden jutsu—Izanagi—to alter reality and crawl back from death like a coward!"
Setsuna's words rang like iron across the courtyard. It was not the accusation of an enemy, but the declaration of a patriarch, a grandfather standing tall at his grandson's side. His tone was proud yet furious, exposing Danzo's crime without hesitation.
The declaration shook the crowd even harder. A cold sweat broke across the foreheads of countless shinobi.
Izanagi. A technique that could bend death, rewriting reality at the cost of a Sharingan eye.
The very thought of such a jutsu being wielded by Danzo filled them with horror.
They now imagined the nightmare of fighting against Uchiha who could wield such power—dying and returning, dying and returning, until all enemies were ground down in despair.
Even the calm and calculating Nara Shikaku, known for his composure, was rattled. His usually sharp mind trembled at the implications.
For once, he could not maintain his calm analysis. His face revealed fear, an open display that all those around him shared.
Beside him, Hyuga Hiashi's face had gone pale. His veins bulged slightly near his temples as his Byakugan instincts made him understand the dreadful truth.
If the leadership of Konoha, the so-called guardians of the village, were targeting bloodline dojutsu—stealing the Sharingan, and even possibly seeking Byakugan—then the clans were not allies of the Hokage but prey to his advisors' schemes.
Rage boiled in his chest as he realized the future his clan could have faced if these secrets had never been revealed. His anger was silent but seething, visible in the clenching of his fists.
The revelation had shattered the illusions many had held about their leadership. The so-called Will of Fire, which was preached for unity and sacrifice, now looked like hypocrisy when the very leadership had been preying upon the eyes and bloodlines of their allies.
Danzo's disgrace stood exposed before the entire gathering. But before he could defend himself, before he could even speak, Indra struck again.
In the blink of an eye, Danzo was killed a third time—no hesitation, no mercy, just pure execution. Indra's eyes gleamed with the power of his Mangekyō Sharingan, and Danzo crumbled lifelessly once more.
But again, his body reappeared, cheating death a third time.
The cycle repeated.
Indra killed him again, and again he revived. Each time, the crowd grew more unsettled, their fear building with every death and return. It was like watching a ghost that refused to stay dead.
The faces of the shinobi turned grim, dread filling their stomachs as the repeated spectacle made the forbidden power undeniable.
Finally, after one more instant kill, Danzo in his desperation revealed another hidden weapon. His hands formed seals, and from his body burst forth wood—branches and roots sprouting, twisting, and reaching out toward Indra.
The crowd froze once more, this time in sheer disbelief.
"Wood Release…" someone muttered, their voice breaking.
"No… that's impossible… that's Hashirama-sama's power!"
"He… he even stole the First Hokage's cells…"
It was weak, pitiful compared to the grand, awe-inspiring power of Hashirama Senju. The branches were fragile, the growth unnatural and forced. But even so, the implications were monstrous.
Danzo had stolen not just Sharingan eyes from the Uchiha clan, but also grafted the cells of the First Hokage into his body to forcefully wield Wood Release.
The weight of his sins fell upon everyone like a crushing boulder.
The Third Hokage's face turned deathly pale. Hiruzen Sarutobi, known as the Professor, the guardian of Konoha, stood frozen, unable to defend or deny what was in plain sight. His long-time comrade, his trusted advisor, had gone further into darkness than anyone could have believed.
Indra's expression remained calm, merciless, unmoved by the revelations that shook the crowd. To him, this was nothing but an expected confirmation of the rot within the so-called village leaders.
Without hesitation, Indra struck again. Danzo's pitiful Wood Release was obliterated as easily as if it were dry twigs before a raging fire. Indra cut him down, killing him yet again, and again the man revived, Izanagi forcing reality to bend and twist to his survival.
Indra did not relent. He killed Danzo again. And again. And again. Each revival closed another Sharingan eye implanted upon Danzo's body. With each death, another eye shut forever, the price of his stolen power consuming itself before everyone's eyes.
The crowd could barely stand to watch. Their hearts pounded, their stomachs twisted, their breathing grew heavy with fear and anger. The spectacle of Danzo's repeated death and return was grotesque, horrifying, and unforgettable.
Finally, after countless cycles of death and resurrection, after the last of the stolen eyes had been consumed, Danzo's power was gone. His body trembled, his strength exhausted.
It was then that Indra turned his Mangekyō Sharingan upon him with a cold gaze. A dark, swirling power filled his eye as he reached out with a technique few had ever witnessed.
In one move, Indra seized the stolen eye of Shisui Uchiha. The technique of Fugaku's Mangekyō Sharingan allowed him to take it effortlessly, ripping it from Danzo's possession with terrifying ease.
The crowd stood frozen.
Shisui's eye—an eye of incredible power, of Kotoamatsukami, the genjutsu that could manipulate the will of others. An eye that had been believed lost, swallowed in Danzo's greed, now lay in Indra's possession.
The entire gathering gasped in disbelief, their bodies stiffening with shock. They had seen not just one, not two, but multiple Mangekyō Sharingan techniques emerge from Indra. His mastery of different powers, his sheer overwhelming dominance, was beyond what any had imagined possible.
At that moment, Uchiha Setsuna, the grandfather, looked at his grandson. His eyes shone with a mixture of pride and dread.
So this is your power, Indra… you are not just my blood, not just my heir. You have surpassed every boundary. Even we, the Uchiha, cannot measure you any longer.
Nara Shikaku's mind struggled to find explanations, but Setsuna did not need them. He accepted what he saw with grim pride. Indra was the storm that none could resist.
The chapter closed with the weight of revelation pressing down upon all.
The crowd stood in disbelief, fear, and awe, their faith in their leaders shattered, their eyes fixed on Indra—the boy who had turned their world upside down, the one who had ripped apart every illusion of safety, exposing every rot within their beloved village.
The silence that followed was not peace. It was terror.
And the end was only beginning.
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End of Chapter
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