Huff... huff...
Akira's shadow clone, battered and winded, desperately evaded Pakura's relentless barrage. He panted heavily, every breath like a rasp dragged across sandpaper. But in truth, as more clones dissipated, the chakra from their dispersal fed into the few remaining ones, slowly strengthening them. This clone wasn't truly exhausted—he was following the last command from the main body: act. And act he did, with the desperation of a cornered beast.
The clone noticed Jiraiya and Gamabunta were reaching their limit against the rampaging Shukaku. If nothing changed, the village would be doomed. He subtly glanced at a distant ridge where the original Akira observed silently. A near-imperceptible nod passed between them.
That was the signal.
The clone deliberately misstepped, exposing an opening. Pakura, eyes gleaming with the thrill of victory, struck. The clone burst into smoke.
Now, only one Akira remained on the battlefield.
This final version of him staggered, feigning a ragged breath, sweat dripping down his chin. His knees shook as he maintained a weakened stance. Pakura, breathing hard herself and nearly depleted of chakra, finally allowed a victorious smile to rise to her lips.
"So, this is the real you at last," she said, voice rich with both relief and satisfaction. "You've given me more trouble than I expected. For one so young, your strength rivals legends. Even your ancestor—Uchiha Madara—might have struggled to keep pace at your age. But it ends here."
Akira's eyes flicked around the battlefield. His expression—wrought with a blend of stubborn defiance and quiet desperation—told a compelling story. But it was all part of the act. Inwardly, Akira calculated every variable, every second ticking by like a shogi clock in sudden death.
Pakura, sensing his lingering resistance, smirked. "Still searching for a miracle? Waiting for me to slip up in triumph? Don't waste your breath. There's no one left to save you. The Hokage and Orochimaru are entangled. Jiraiya is losing ground against Shukaku. Konoha is in chaos."
She raised her hand, chakra swirling as her signature Scorch Release gathered heat.
"Accept your fate, and I will make your death swift."
Akira gritted his teeth and roared—not in pain, but in performance. Lightning surged weakly around him, flaring briefly like a dying ember. He charged.
His speed had diminished, and Pakura easily dodged. With a scoff, she leapt back, shaking her head.
"You're hoping to trap me in genjutsu with your Sharingan? You'll die before I let that happen."
Akira lunged again—desperate, flailing—his body arcing toward her like a comet burning through the last of its fuel.
She stepped aside once more. His attack failed.
He collapsed to one knee. Sweat poured from his brow as he clutched at the earth, Lightning Release chakra finally fading.
Pakura slowly approached, eyes narrowing. "It's a shame. I respected your strength. But you're a threat to Sunagakure. If left alive, you could be our ruin. I'll put an end to that risk now."
She gathered her remaining chakra.
"Rejoice—your mother fell by my hand. Now you can join her. A reunion of the damned. Goodbye, Uchiha Akira."
The Scorch Release fireball whirled toward him. A sphere of death.
Akira raised his head—not in fear, but resolve. The sorrow and regret in his eyes were genuine, but the terror? That was theater. In the final seconds, Akira's thoughts drifted.
If only he hadn't been emotionally stunted in his last life... with acting this good, he could have won awards—Golden Horse, Golden Statue, maybe even an Oscar.
The fireball reached him.
An explosion of heat. A roar of searing wind.
And then... silence.
As the smoke cleared, Pakura's confident expression twisted into disbelief.
Akira stood unharmed.
Wrapped around him was an ethereal skeletal hand, enormous and wickedly shaped, its shadow pulsing with a malevolent energy. Black chakra coiled in thick ropes like smoke, protecting him from the deadly flames.
Pakura staggered back. "What—what is this technique...?"
Akira blinked, equally bewildered. His expression betrayed confusion—this wasn't part of the plan.
From behind her, footsteps crunched on scorched earth.
A black-robed figure approached. Face obscured by a deep hood, his presence exuded cold power. He passed Pakura without a glance and came to a stop beside Akira.
"Hmph. My foolish little brother," the man said, voice like a blade through ice. "I wanted to see if you could awaken the true power of the Uchiha under pressure. It seems... you're not ready."
Akira's clone, ever the performer, widened his eyes in dramatic revelation. "You're... Uchiha Kawa?!"
The hooded figure slowly drew back his hood, revealing Akira's own face—twisted, older, colder. It was the original Akira, transformed into the long-lost Uchiha Kawa using the forbidden Formless Reincarnation technique.
Jiraiya was still struggling to stop Shukaku. The situation had spiraled out of control. To preserve the storyline—his advantage of foreknowledge—Akira had to intervene. But not as himself.
As Uchiha Kawa.
The clone gasped theatrically. "You vanished for years—how are you here now? Did you come to save me?"
Kawa sneered. "Save you? Perhaps. I can't let my future eyes be wasted by a low-level flame user."
The clone pressed on. "What do you mean? Future eyes? The true power of the Uchiha?"
Kawa turned to face Pakura at last.
"I came because Sunagakure dares to unleash Shukaku. I intend to test my strength on a Tailed Beast. And since the murderer of my mother stands here too, I'll kill you as a warm-up."
He raised his head.
"Nan, watch closely. This... is the true power of our clan."
In Kawa's eyes, the tomoe began to spin. Three tomoe merged and twisted, forming the intricate, spinning pinwheel of the Mangekyō Sharingan.
Pakura stared in horror as the air around Kawa rippled with raw, dark energy.
A new storm was coming—and it had the eyes of a god.
Seeing the mysterious black-robed man turn his gaze toward her, Yekura felt a sudden chill grip her heart. That stare—it was too calm, too sharp, as if it could see straight through her. She instinctively tensed, chakra bristling along her spine, her wariness heightened.
The ninjutsu he had used earlier when intervening had been unorthodox, precise, and devastating—nothing like the standard fare of ordinary shinobi. Yekura's sharp instincts screamed that this man wasn't just another warrior. He had the bearing of someone dangerous.
Her first suspicion was Konoha—perhaps a high-level ANBU sent in secret to guard Akira. More specifically, she thought he might be from the Uchiha clan, long rumored to produce prodigies in silence, born to stalk from the shadows.
She had intended to confirm his identity, but the man didn't even spare her a glance. His complete disregard stung. Yekura's pride flared, but she bit down on her anger. The truth was, her battle with Akira had consumed a significant portion of her chakra. She couldn't afford to make a move now.
Instead, she decided to recover her strength and observe, taking advantage of the interlude.
As the black-robed man began speaking with Akira, Yekura's sharp ears caught fragments of their conversation. Her eyes widened.
"Uchiha... Kaba?"
Her mind raced. That name carried weight. He was from the Uchiha clan, and if she understood correctly, his mother had died at her hands. That meant he was Akira's blood brother.
But unlike Akira, whose heart had been tempered in sorrow and forged in forgiveness, Kaba's aura radiated a different kind of intensity—cold and vengeful. A true avenger.
Yekura's body tensed as she realized their positions were utterly incompatible. This wasn't just a battle between shinobi. This was personal.
Even though he appeared to be a teenager, she didn't dare underestimate him. Anyone related to Akira by blood had to be talented. And judging by the dark glint in Kaba's eyes and his eerily calm demeanor, he had likely trained for this moment for years.
Then came the shock.
He was here—for Shukaku. Alone.
Yekura almost laughed aloud. He wanted to take on a tailed beast by himself? The audacity. Who did he think he was—Uchiha Madara?
But her sarcastic thoughts froze the moment she saw his eyes change.
"Those eyes..."
They weren't the standard Sharingan. They shimmered with a strange, almost haunting depth, like crimson galaxies slowly swirling into themselves.
She turned to Akira, searching for an explanation, but even he seemed confused at first. Then a flash of realization lit up his features.
"Could it be... the Kaleidoscope Sharingan?" his clone muttered, almost in disbelief.
Yekura had heard rumors of such a thing—a legendary evolution of the Sharingan said to appear only in the most tragic of circumstances, born of overwhelming emotional pain. But she had never seen it.
Then Kaba laughed—a dark, unhinged sound that made her skin crawl.
"Hahaha... Yes! The legendary eyes of our Uchiha ancestors! The eyes that rivaled the God of Shinobi himself—Senju Hashirama!"
He raised his gaze toward the heavens as if offering a challenge to the universe itself.
"Now they are mine. And with them... I possess the power of a god."
His eyes dropped to Yekura, and the laughter faded, replaced by cold fury.
"And it's all thanks to you, Yekura. I watched her die—my mother—by your hand. That agony awakened this power. And as thanks... I'll let you die under it."
He raised a single hand.
"SUSANOO!"
The earth trembled. A monstrous black giant erupted into existence, its chakra form towering with a dreadful presence. Only its upper half manifested, arms rippling with power, wrapped in darkened chakra armor. In its grip, a blade as tall as a mountain shimmered with terrible intent.
The blade fell.
Yekura's body tried to move, but her chakra was too depleted. Her limbs, sluggish. Her defenses, weakened.
She couldn't escape in time.
The blade pierced through her.
Blood gushed from her mouth as the world slowed. Her vision blurred. The sensation of pain was secondary to the shock that someone could summon such terrifying power so suddenly.
As the blade was withdrawn, she collapsed, her body crumpling into a widening pool of blood.
But Akira—disguised as Kaba—was precise.
Though it looked fatal, he had deliberately avoided her vital organs. With his vast knowledge of anatomy and medicine, he had crafted the perfect illusion: brutal but survivable. Yekura had to live.
After all, what good was a performance without an audience?
Akira suspected that his growing fame in the Wind Country was beginning to attract unwanted attention. Figures like Uchiha Madara or Black Zetsu might be searching for a worthy successor. He had no intention of being that candidate.
By creating Kaba—an arrogant prodigy wielding the Kaleidoscope Sharingan—he gave the world a new obsession. They would chase shadows while he moved freely in the light.
As he turned to leave, pretending not to notice that Yekura still clung to life, he allowed himself a faint, cunning smile.
Yet he paused.
Something was off.
The blood pooling around Yekura was... minimal.
He knelt, pretending to inspect her body.
In truth, he was verifying what his instincts already suspected.
Yekura, ever the cunning survivor, had used Scorch Release to sear the wound as soon as she was stabbed. The chakra-burn cauterized the damage instantly, preventing lethal blood loss.
A smirk twitched at the corner of Akira's lips.
"She's tougher than I gave her credit for..."
Fine. That made her even more useful.
With Yekura out of commission but alive, he turned his attention to the true stage—where Shukaku continued to wreak havoc.
Jiraiya, battered but still battling with Sage Mode activated, stood alone. Gamabunta had already been dismissed, his chakra exhausted.
It was time.
Akira stepped forward, wrapped in the haunting armor of the Susanoo, its ominous chakra setting the sky alight.
The moment he appeared, both Jiraiya and Shukaku noticed.
Jiraiya narrowed his eyes.
"Who... is that?" he murmured.
He saw the Sharingan, though not its evolved state. Still, the black robes, the sheer power in Akira's stance, all suggested he was one of Konoha's own.
"You there! Are you with Konoha?" Jiraiya called out. "Get out of here! This isn't a battle you can jump into! That thing will tear you apart!"
Jiraiya's voice was urgent, protective. To him, Akira was just a bold but misguided youth.
Akira didn't respond. He cast Jiraiya a dispassionate glance—one part acknowledgement, two parts condescension—before turning his gaze back to Shukaku.
Shukaku grinned, massive jaws opening.
"Well, well, a child with the Kaleidoscope Sharingan. You must be a descendant of Indra. Why interfere, brat? Looking to die?"
Akira's voice was calm, cold, brimming with pride.
"I've had these eyes for a while now. I've tamed their power."
His gaze burned into Shukaku like a torch against shadow.
"Today, I will kill a tailed beast. Not with a team. Not with sealing jutsu. But alone."
He raised his head, the Susanoo roaring behind him.
"To prove that I am the strongest shinobi alive."
Lightning cracked across the sky.
And the battle for legend truly began.