The crimson moon hung high above Konoha that night, drenching the Uchiha compound in a ghostly shade of scarlet. Beneath its light, Uchiha Gen's life finally reached its quiet, tragic end. His body, once brimming with fierce resolve, had been reduced to a lifeless husk.
Obito stood in silence, his single Sharingan eye fixed on the corpse that lay sprawled before him. A cold, inexplicable sensation crept up his spine. Though death was something he had witnessed countless times, this was different. Gen's body was dry and emaciated, his flesh clinging to bone like bark on a withered tree. The once-bright Mangekyō Sharingan in his sockets had completely dimmed, the eerie glow snuffed out, leaving nothing but empty, lifeless hollows.
Beside him, resting ominously on the blood-stained floor, lay the pair of Mangekyō Sharingan he had left behind. Though robbed of light, they pulsed faintly with a chilling aura, as though something within them was still alive.
Obito narrowed his eye, unsettled. His instincts screamed at him that these eyes were dangerous—more than dangerous. They were ominous, cursed, not something a person should ever touch.
The memory of Gen's final jutsu surged back to him. That power—terrifying and unnatural—still lingered in his mind, making his chest tighten. He had watched as Gen poured not only his ocular power but his very life force into that final ability, a price so steep it had left him a withered husk.
Obito muttered to himself, his tone low and grave.
"…His first Mangekyō ability really did enhance my ocular power."
He remembered the moment vividly. When Gen had spoken of their contract being fulfilled, Obito had felt his Mangekyō sharpen, its power swell beyond its normal limits. Ever since awakening the Mangekyō, even with the aid of White Zetsu's cells, he had always felt a creeping depletion whenever he used its power. The cells delayed the inevitable strain but never erased it.
And yet—when Gen's final ability had been unleashed, something impossible occurred. His Mangekyō had been made whole. The constant gnawing sensation of depletion was gone, replaced by a complete, perfect flow of chakra through his eye. It was as if a flaw he had long accepted as unfixable had been erased in an instant.
This phenomenon alone proved that at least part of Gen's words had been true.
"The left eye… support," Obito whispered, recalling the cryptic promise. His gaze shifted again to the pair of Mangekyō on the ground. "Then… the right eye…"
A long silence followed. His face was expressionless, but his brow furrowed deeply. Whether he liked it or not, the path forward required him to confirm the truth behind Gen's words—the destruction of the shinobi world.
He exhaled slowly. "Although I don't want to touch your eyes… it would be worse if they ended up in Danzo's hands."
The thought alone was enough to harden his resolve. With careful, deliberate movements, Obito reached down. The instant his fingers brushed against Gen's withered body, a wave of cold, sinister energy surged out, washing over him like a flood of shadows.
Obito's expression twisted into a frown. His skin prickled under the weight of the curse-like power. Without hesitation, he severed a portion of the White Zetsu cells fused into his body, letting the discarded fragments absorb and neutralize the corruption.
The fragments fell away like dead skin. "Still scheming against me even after death?" Obito muttered with disdain. To him, it was nothing more than some elaborate sealing technique, a petty trap meant to curse the one who claimed the eyes. He dismissed it without concern.
He grasped the pair of Mangekyō, his hand tightening around them. Then, activating Kamui, his body blurred into intangibility. Within seconds, he vanished from the Police Force Headquarters, leaving nothing but silence behind.
Yet the discarded White Zetsu fragments did not remain inert. Slowly, as though guided by an unseen will, they slithered across the blood-soaked floor and seeped back into Uchiha Gen's corpse.
---
Not long after Obito's departure, figures cloaked in shadow arrived. The Root.
Danzo Shimura, upon sensing abnormalities with Shisui's transplanted Sharingan, had acted immediately, sending his elite to the Uchiha district. Silent and efficient, the Root operatives slipped through the ruined gates, their movements precise as blades.
What they found was carnage. The headquarters of the Uchiha Police Force was littered with bodies. Blood soaked the ground, pooling into the cracks of the stone floor. The acrid scent of iron filled the air.
With practiced calm, the Root began to move. They swept the area, cataloging corpses, erasing evidence, and ensuring nothing suspicious remained. Each step was carried out with an unnerving efficiency born of countless similar missions.
But when they reached the deepest chamber, their march faltered.
There, in the center of the room, Uchiha Gen's corpse stood upright. It did not fall as a dead body should. Black liquid seeped slowly from the hollow sockets where his eyes had been, running down his face in thick rivulets. He looked less like a man and more like a grotesque statue, frozen in time, exuding an aura that made their hair stand on end.
The Root operatives exchanged wary glances, but one stepped forward, intent on confirming the corpse's state.
His hand had scarcely brushed against the cold skin when Gen's body shuddered violently.
In an instant, the corpse dissolved. Dry, twisted branches erupted outward, splintering into countless withered trees that spread like a storm.
"Wood Release?" one ninja cried, leaping back.
Another shook his head in horror. "No… this isn't Wood Release…"
It was too late.
The withered trees writhed and twisted as though alive, wriggling like grotesque serpents. They lashed out, wrapping around the Root operatives with terrifying speed. The ninja struggled, weaving seals, spitting fire and steel in desperation. But their ninjutsu had no effect. The trees consumed chakra like water, drinking in every attack.
One by one, their cries were cut off, swallowed by the sound of creaking wood and the grotesque, wet noise of flesh being devoured.
And then—silence.
The chamber, once filled with death throes, became eerily quiet. The withered trees, their work complete, writhed once more and then began to retreat. They burrowed downward, sinking into the ground like living roots. Within moments, they vanished entirely, leaving behind nothing but a pristine floor, devoid of corpses, blood, or even dust.
Uchiha Gen's body had disappeared. In its place, those sinister roots had stretched deep into the bedrock beneath the Police Headquarters, digging their way into Konoha's very foundation.
Unseen by anyone above, they became what could only be described as the true "Roots of Konoha."
---
That same night, beneath the heavy silence of the Uchiha district, Fugaku sat quietly within his room. The once-proud head of the Uchiha clan appeared calm, his expression as still as a pond untouched by wind. His eyes, however, carried the weight of a man who had seen far too much.
Before him stood his eldest son. Itachi, head lowered, shoulders heavy with the burden of his decision.
Fugaku's gaze softened. A pang of sorrow welled up in his chest, though not for himself. It was for his sons—for the family that would remain after tonight.
"Don't be sad," Fugaku said at last, his voice gentle, almost tender. "I never blamed you."
There was no anger in him. No hatred. Though the coup had failed and his clan stood on the edge of annihilation, he felt none of the fear or bitterness that should have consumed him. Instead, he felt peace, as though he had already accepted the inevitable.
"You made your choice," Fugaku continued, his tone steady. "I understand your difficulties, and I respect your decision. I have always been proud of you, Itachi. No matter what happens tonight… do not be afraid. And do not blame yourself."
Itachi's lips parted slightly, but no words came. His gaze fell to the floor, his fists trembling at his side.
Fugaku smiled faintly. He looked upon his son with a warmth that belied the weight of the night. "From this day forward, Sasuke is entrusted to you. His future rests entirely in your hands. Protect him, guide him… that is the one duty I ask of you."
With those words, Fugaku closed his eyes. His mind was quiet, his heart steady. He was prepared to die—not as the head of a clan, but as a father who wished to give his son closure.
But just as his thoughts began to still, a voice echoed suddenly in his mind.
"Fugaku-sama… what is your wish?"
The voice was chillingly clear, threading through his consciousness like a serpent. Familiar, yet impossibly strange. It was Uchiha Gen.
Fugaku's eyes snapped open in shock. Memories he had long buried surged forward. He recalled a night, years ago, beneath the same crimson moonlight. Gen—Izumi—had asked him a strange question.
"Is your wish to revitalize the Uchiha clan?"
At the time, Fugaku had brushed it aside, neither answering nor giving it thought. But now, that conversation replayed in his mind with startling clarity.
He remembered something else. Not long after that night, his Mangekyō Sharingan—long dormant—had felt stronger, its power strangely replenished, as though some unseen hand had restored it.
And now, that power was stirring again. Violently.
His eyes burned, chakra pouring out uncontrollably. A strange, invasive sensation clawed its way into his vision, dragging the power from his Mangekyō without mercy.
Revitalize the Uchiha…
The words echoed like a curse.
Fugaku's chest tightened. He tried to speak, to warn his son, but his throat constricted as though bound by invisible hands. Only a strangled whisper escaped.
"Itachi…"
"Father?" Itachi's head shot up, alarm flashing in his eyes.
But Fugaku could not respond. His body trembled, his vision blurred. His ocular power was being devoured, siphoned away by that sinister force. He fought to resist, but his strength slipped from him like sand through open fingers..
His head drooped slowly. His lips parted in one last attempt to speak, but no words emerged. His life force, drawn out alongside his eyes, dissipated into the heavy night air.
And then, silence.
Itachi stood frozen, staring at the still body of his father. His voice cracked with disbelief. "Father's… ocular power has been drained…"
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