You know, I always believed nature was fair—indifferent, even. It gave, it took, and it did so without malice. Just balance. But gods? Nah. Gods are biased as hell. Vindictive, even. I must've ticked one off at some point, because from the moment I woke up that day, everything went spectacularly wrong.
First sign? I was just walking to the store, minding my own business, when the ground literally rose up beneath my feet. Earthquake outta nowhere. A chunk of the street jutted up like a ramp, and—no joke—a 16-wheeler launched off it like it was in a Fast & Furious movie. Came straight at me. I had maybe half a second to react. I dove and barely managed a half-decent barrel roll. Felt like something out of a Michael Bay film.
Then, during my usual nap in the forest—my sacred, daily tradition—I woke up feeling colder than usual. I cracked one eye open to see lightning dancing above me, sizzling the air with the sharp stench of chlorine. That's when I realized: this wasn't normal lightning. I rolled to the side just as three bolts slammed into where I had been lying. Goodbye peace and quiet. Hello possible divine assassination attempt.
But the universe wasn't done yet. Not even close.
Later that same day, while sipping from a juice box and trying not to scream at the sky, a satellite—yes, a satellite—plummeted from orbit and crashed about three feet in front of me. The impact knocked me off my feet like a ragdoll. And right when I thought surely this was it, surely the gods had thrown all they had at me… my neighbor accidentally fired a gun while cleaning it.
And that's how I died. Not from the satellite. Not from the lightning. Not even from the semi-truck airshow.
Nope. Gun cleaning accident. Classic.
I don't even know how long I've been… here. Wherever "here" is. Time doesn't seem to work right. Seconds melt into minutes. Hours blur into days. Maybe months. Years? Decades? Centuries? Millennia?
I stopped counting after a while.
All I knew was that it was cold. Unbearably so. The kind of cold that bites your bones, gnaws at your thoughts, and tries to hollow you out. I remember thinking, this must be what the end of everything feels like.
But I didn't give in.
Through sheer boredom—and a deep-seated addiction to anime—I started meditating. Practicing breathing like I was training with Jiraiya himself. I imagined learning senjutsu. I imagined being like Naruto, like Hashirama, like Madara. Slowly, I adapted. The cold became a part of me. Eventually, I could create ice and snow. It was tough, especially with no water to draw from, but I managed.
Then, one day, while I was shaping a frozen lotus flower out of sheer stubbornness, I heard a voice behind me.
"Well damn, I didn't expect someone to last over a billion years here. Thought you'd go insane after the first month."
I spun around—and nearly froze all over again.
She was standing there with a casual smirk, gothic beauty in all her smoky glory. Pale skin, black eyeliner, dark clothes, the kind of presence that screamed "ethereal authority." It took me a moment to realize who she was.
Death. As in Death of the Endless.
"You said a billion years?" I asked, trying very hard not to sound like I was choking on my own disbelief.
"Yep," she said, popping the 'p.' "You've been here exactly 1,359,538,883 years, 5 months, 29 days, 12 hours, 34 minutes, and 45 seconds. Well… 12 hours, 35 minutes, and 12 seconds now."
I just stared at her, jaw hanging open like an idiot.
"Anyway," she continued, twirling her hair, "you died because some gods were having a stupid argument, and their powers flared, leaking into your plane and wrecking your day. As an apology, they've agreed to let me send you to a random anime world—with nine ability slots. So? You in?"
I didn't hesitate. I mean, how could I? This was the kind of opportunity that makes isekai protagonists weep with joy.
The moment I nodded, a screen materialized in front of me, glowing with golden text. Six slots for abilities, one for the world. Everything spun like a jackpot wheel on steroids, then gradually slowed to a stop. I leaned in, squinting at the results.
Beginner level Haki of all three types
Supreme Grade Blade
Shrine + Custom Curse Technique
Six Eyes Enhanced Sharingan
Indra Bloodline Potential
2 Reincarnation Abilities + yuki-onna physiology
I let out a whistle. "Damn. That's a lineup."
Death grinned. "Not bad at all. Especially for the world you're going to."
She paused, eyes gleaming. "Oh, and one last thing—I'm giving you a surprise bonus. But first, out of the three Haki types, which one do you want to start with?"
I didn't even need to think about it.
"Conqueror's Haki," I said immediately.
Observation Haki was cool, but I had the Six Eyes—my perception and awareness were already top-tier. Armament Haki was powerful, but with Six Eyes enhancing chakra flow and physical strength, I could replicate most of its effects. But Conqueror's Haki? That was different. Raw presence. Authority. Willpower weaponized. And if I could combine it with the techniques I'd dreamed up, or borrowed from fanfics... oh, I'd be terrifying.
Death gave me a knowing look. "Smart choice."
She snapped her fingers.
And just like that—everything went black.
[TIMESKIP
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a blade screaming toward my face.
Time didn't slow—it shattered.
My heart thundered once, and in that single beat, everything changed.
Memories—foreign yet achingly familiar—crashed into my consciousness like a tidal wave of fire and blood. I saw battlefields drenched in ash, the faces of brothers and enemies blurred by war. I heard a name shouted through the roar of chaos.
My name.
That's when I realized the truth. I wasn't just reborn into the Naruto world—I was reborn into legend.
I was the second-oldest son of Tajima Uchiha, the war-hardened head of the Uchiha Clan. That made me Izuna's older brother… and Madara Uchiha's younger one.
I always had a feeling I'd end up in the Uchiha clan—one of my prizes from Death hinted at it—but this? This was fate dealing me a wildcard. Madara's blood ran through my veins. Not some diluted legacy. The true Indra bloodline, raw and unfiltered.
But there was a problem.
I wasn't the chosen one.
Madara awakened his Sharingan at eleven. Izuna followed suit at thirteen. Me? I was fifteen—and still blind to that crimson eye.
Tajima looked at me like I was a cracked sword in a clan of masterpieces. A shame. A weak link in a house of legends. The only thing that kept me from being cast aside was my rare affinity for four chakra natures—Fire, Water, Wind, and Lightning.
And yet… the only jutsu I could perform was the Fireball Technique. Barely.
I wanted to slap myself. Repeatedly.
But I hadn't come into this world empty-handed.
As the inherited memories settled, another wave of knowledge quietly unfurled—information granted by Death of the Endless herself.
I understood Cursed Energy. I could wield it like Sukuna—Dismantle, Cleave, Malevolent Shrine, and even the terrifying Divine Flame. But that wasn't the real prize. That came in the form of a unique ability:
Binding Vow Manipulation.
A freedom no one else had. I could bend the rules of cursed energy. Rewrite the limits. Forge pacts that twisted logic itself.
And then there were the Six Eyes.
Unlike Gojo, I didn't suffer the cerebral overload. My mind was calm, precise. My chakra control? 80% baseline—on par with elite Uzumaki jonin. With my Sharingan active?
99% chakra control.
That wasn't just efficient. That was god-tier.
I could perceive chakra threads, blood flow, weaknesses in jutsu patterns—all in terrifying clarity. My vision, both natural and enhanced, saw through lies, feints, and illusions alike. With a single glance, I could learn more about a technique than some did in months of study.
And that was before my Reincarnation Gifts kicked in.
Gift One: Overactive Imagination
I could copy any skill or technique I witnessed—as long as I met the requirements. The more I observed, the deeper my understanding. I could break down patterns in fighting styles, calculate probabilities, and predict a dozen possible futures before choosing the most likely.
And once I mastered a technique?
I could dismantle it, reforge it, and fuse it with any number of others to create something entirely new.
The downside? I needed to see it—either in person or in memory—and the more complex the technique, the longer my brain needed to decode it.
A fair price for mastery.
Gift Two: Dark Cryokinesis
This was tied to the Yuki-Onna physiology I'd inherited. I could manipulate black ice and snow—not just cold, but an element that drained heat and energy from its surroundings. It dimmed the light, drained chakra, and weakened anything it touched.
It was beautiful, terrible, and entirely mine.
The colder the battlefield, the stronger I became. I was immune to frostbite and chill. In the dark or at night, I gained a minor power boost, and my cryokinesis gained more freedom and speed.
I didn't slip on ice—I glided. I didn't feel cold—I thrived in it.
And there was one strange side-effect: I didn't touch ice or snow. My body hovered just above it, as if even the frost knew I was its master.
A detail I felt could become a powerful advantage—if I figured out how.
But I didn't have time to experiment. Because right now, I was about to get slashed by a Senju who had ambushed our squad.
Only… I wasn't the same person anymore.
The second I truly took control of this body, I felt it—the change in the air. My cursed energy flared to life. I twisted sideways, dodging the incoming blade by an inch, and reached for the power now nestled deep within my core.
This world didn't know what was coming.
The Senju thought he'd caught a weakling.
He didn't know he'd just picked a fight with a reincarnated warrior armed with knowledge from three different worlds, cursed techniques, godlike chakra control, and blood as ancient as Indra's rage.
Now?
Now, everything was going to change.
The sword screamed toward my face, catching the fading light just right. I didn't flinch.
I exhaled.
My foot shifted, grounding me as instinct took over—and with a twist of my body, I flowed under the strike like water and drove my palm forward. The impact crackled.
The Senju swordsman's eyes went wide as his chest caved in with the blow. Before he could stumble back, I raised my hand. Cold mist spilled from my fingertips—midnight black and hungry. The temperature dropped in a heartbeat.
"Freeze," I whispered.
Dark frost exploded from my hand, crawling over his body like a living shadow. His scream never escaped his throat. Black ice consumed him, encasing flesh and bone in a glistening, jet-black statue of frozen agony. The surrounding air dimmed as though the ice had devoured the light itself.
I stared into the mirrored finish of his blade, still clenched in his frozen hands.
My breath hitched.
There it was.
Two tomoe spun slowly in my crimson eyes.
Finally.
The sound of branches snapping under boots snapped me back into focus. I turned.
Eight Senju chunin broke through the treeline—armed, armored, and ready to kill. Their leader, a tall kunoichi with twin kunai and a hawk's glare, glanced at the ice statue and snarled.
"You bastard… You're not just some Uchiha."
I tilted my head, letting my fingers curl open. The shadows of cold gathered at my feet like loyal hounds.
"I'm not just anything," I said.
No banter. No smirk.
Just clarity.
I stepped forward.
One of them threw a barrage of shuriken laced with chakra. My Sharingan tracked each one with perfect clarity. I sidestepped, twisted—then flicked my fingers. A lance of black ice shot out, piercing the attacker's shoulder and pinning him to a tree. He screamed. The ice crawled up his body, devouring his chakra as it rose.
The rest charged.
Smart.
They didn't wait for me to finish.
I grinned.
"Cleave."
My hand split into blurred motion. A single swipe. Reality shuddered.
The chakra around the two closest Senju was split like paper—one's sword arm slid from his shoulder before he even realized it. The second didn't make a sound before the horizontal slash of Cursed Energy severed him at the waist.
Blood sprayed.
The others froze.
That hesitation saved me effort.
I felt my eyes burn with motion—the pattern of their teamwork, their spacing, their hesitations.
Overactive Imagination: Engaged.
I could already see it—the rotations, the backup formations, who'd protect who. Their leader was watching my hands, not my eyes. The second one on the left flinched every time he saw black ice move. The youngest of them was slower in the left leg—previous injury.
A web of futures spun in my mind. Possibilities. Timelines.
And only one was true.
The kunoichi moved first, feinting right. I slid left. Her comrade threw an earth bullet jutsu my way. I raised a palm—
"Dismantle."
The jutsu shattered midair like glass under a hammer, fragmented into raw chakra particles that scattered into nothing.
"What the—?"
I didn't let her finish. Black ice bloomed beneath them like roots from a nightmare. They leapt to avoid it—but the ice followed faster. One got snagged mid-air, his leg frozen. He crashed into a tree and vanished beneath a spreading blanket of black crystal.
Now they knew it wasn't just ice.
This was absence.
Two left flanked me. One came high, the other low. I spun with a trail of frozen mist behind me, parried a kunai strike with my forearm, and kicked the other in the ribs so hard I heard bones crack. He collapsed.
Only three remained.
They circled me, warier now. Breathing hard. Chakra flared around them.
"Whatever this freak is," one growled, "we end it now. All at once!"
I closed my eyes. Let the cold seep through my veins.
Then opened them again.
The tomoe spun faster.
I raised my arms—and the ground froze. Black veins of ice erupted outward like a spiderweb, stealing all heat from the air. The grass withered. The wind went silent.
Then—
"Cleave."
I vanished forward.
My foot connected with the lead Senju's chest. He flew back—but I was already behind the second, blade in hand. My swing was silent.
He fell.
The last girl—the leader—stabbed for my ribs. I caught her wrist. Frost exploded from my grip. She screamed.
"I told you," I whispered, looking her dead in the eyes as her kunai dropped.
"I'm not just anything."
Her body locked up as ice crawled into her chakra network. She collapsed, twitching, barely breathing but alive.
Black snow fell around me.
And for the first time… the forest was silent.
I stood in the center of a battlefield that had taken less than two minutes to make. Shattered jutsu, frozen earth, and silent black statues marked where warriors once stood.
And in the reflective curve of a fallen blade, my eyes glowed.
Two tomoe.
Blood red.
The ground shuddered with a distant explosion, a booming echo tearing through the stillness of the forest. My head snapped toward the sound — and without a second thought, I sprinted toward it, leaves and dirt kicking up under my sandals. I remembered: I wasn't alone. I was part of a squad — a squad of Uchiha.
It didn't take long to close the distance. The explosion had come from barely two hundred meters ahead. As I neared the clearing, instinct kicked in — I slid to a halt and pressed my back against a wide, knotted tree, its bark rough against my palms. I peered around its trunk, my heart thudding in my chest as I surveyed the battlefield.
It only took one glance to describe it:
A massacre. A one-sided battle.
Out of the twelve-man Uchiha squad, besides me, only three were still standing — bloodied, battered, barely able to hold their footing. One of them, standing stubbornly at the front, was the squad leader: Raiyu Uchiha, the man known by a name that inspired even veteran shinobi to hesitate — the Scarlet Phantom. He was at peak Captain level, or what would be considered a top-tier Jonin in the future... but even he was wounded.
Not fatally — not yet — but enough that his combat ability was clearly impaired.
Facing him were twenty-three Senju.
Half — maybe a little more — were injured, but still very much in fighting condition. A tired enemy was still an enemy with teeth.
But what truly made my blood run cold wasn't the Senju.
It was the man standing beside their leader — red hair wild, armor battered, eyes sharp with bloodlust. One glance at the symbol on his headband made my heart stop.
Uzushiogakure.
The home of the Uzumaki clan.
Worse — the band tied around his arm marked him unmistakably as a Captain-level opponent.
In the Warring States period, there were few formal ranks — but a band on the arm meant strength recognized by your whole clan. A sign that you were a living weapon.
My mind raced, trying to calculate, to find any advantage — and then, as if the world decided to spit in my face, a glowing screen blinked to life in front of me.
[Quest: Save Your Clansmen]
Requirements: Don't let a single clansman die.
Bonus: Kill Senju captain or eliminate 80% of enemy squad.
Rewards: 1 B-rank Jutsu Card, 2 Random Meitō Weapon Cards.
Bonus Rewards: 1 Luck Card (5 minutes), 1 A-rank Jutsu Card, 1 additional B-rank Jutsu Card.
Failure: Death.
My eyes widened.
This wasn't just a death mission — this was practically a suicide order. Two Captain-level enemies on the field? My ambush tricks wouldn't work twice, not when high-sensors were teamed up with the enemy elite. This was death dressed in mission orders.
Panic clawed at my chest.
I wasn't ready for this.
I wasn't ready to die.
As I gritted my teeth, feeling the crushing weight of despair creep in, another screen popped up:
[Contented Death of User Detected...]
[Beginner Reward Unlocked. Accept?]
"YES! YES! YES!!!"
I screamed internally, hammering the acceptance with my mind.
In a flash, two cards materialized before me, floating in the air — one stamped with the letter "A," and the other gleaming with the words Kekkei Genkai.
Hands trembling, I snatched them, crushing both instinctively.
Immediately, a flood of knowledge and power surged into my brain — my body nearly buckled from the sudden overload. I had to clamp my mouth shut to keep from laughing like a lunatic.
Chidori.
Black Lightning.
Not basic mastery either — proficient understanding. Enough that I could use them properly without blowing my own arm off.
My hands moved on their own, flashing through signs. I had an insane idea — desperate, reckless — but in a battle like this, hope was better than despair. I had to try.
(???)
I watched from a distance, bored out of my mind.
The so-called Uchiha captain, Raiyu, was occupied fighting Kaito and two of my men — both captains in their own right — which left the rest of the battlefield a joke. Easy pickings.
I yawned, propping my chin on my hand.
Not even worth the effort.
But then... I felt it.
A spark.
A sudden surge of chakra.
It was faint — the kind of flicker you'd ignore in a war zone — but... something about it made my eyes narrow.
Curious, I scanned the treeline.
And there, hidden clumsily behind an oak, was a boy.
Young — barely out of childhood — hands flashing through seals faster than they had any right to move.
A normal kid escaping from a nearby village?
That's what I thought... until I saw it.
The fan symbol on his back.
Uchiha.
A slow, hungry smile spread across my face.
Finally, some entertainment.
Without hesitation, I blurred forward — closing the gap between us like a shadow with a dagger.
(Jinx POV)
I was about done figuring out the hand signs for my plan, my fingers moving through a few dozen desperate combinations. Just as I was about to finish the final seal, a massive wave of killing intent washed over me, sharp enough to make my skin crawl. My eyes snapped upward—and widened in pure terror.
A massive fist, wrapped in chakra and belonging to the red-haired Uzumaki captain, was already just inches from my face.
Only my Sharingan saved me. To the normal eye, the punch would've seemed instantaneous, but to me, it was slower, like the world had dipped into thick syrup. I realized I didn't have time for fear. A desperate idea flared in my mind. Without hesitation, I sent a violent surge of chakra through the soles of my feet and slammed my heel down, manipulating the moisture in the earth.
A black spike of ice erupted from the ground between us.
The Uzumaki sensed the danger at the last second, twisting his body backward in a leap that left a thin, bloody scratch along my cheek from the sheer force of his initial strike. But that tiny wound was a small price to pay—it bought me just enough time.
I slammed my last handseal home and grabbed my own wrist to stabilize the raw force gathering at my palm. I willed my yin chakra to merge with my lightning chakra, forcing them into balance.
The air cracked apart.
A violent, black-and-white lightning current, streaked with flickers of deep purple, exploded to life in my hand. Just touching the ground with it made the earth sizzle and shatter in small spiderwebs of destruction.
Unlike regular Chidori, this felt colder. Sharper. Controlled.
A grin tugged at my lips.
"I hereby name you... Yami no Shiden," I whispered, my voice almost reverent.
I turned back toward the Uzumaki, who was regaining his footing, wiping the dust off his armor and glaring at me with growing irritation.
Without waiting for him to fully recover, I charged forward.
He noticed instantly, a flash of excitement igniting in his crimson eyes. He met my charge head-on, swinging a palm coated in dense chakra at my side. I ducked low, dragging the edge of Yami no Shiden along the ground, carving a blackened trench. Sparks flew as I twisted and aimed a thrust toward his heart.
He spun around the strike with inhuman grace, clapping his hands together and unleashing a shockwave of raw force that blew me back. I barely managed to land on my feet, the soles of my sandals sliding against the torn-up dirt.
"You're pretty good for a brat!" he barked, his voice rough like stone grinding against stone. "Name yourself, Uchiha!"
I smirked, panting heavily but refusing to show weakness.
"Name's Jinx," I said, tilting my head. "Yours, Red?"
The Uzumaki chuckled, a sound both amused and genuinely bloodthirsty.
"Daigo Uzumaki, Captain of the Blood Tide Battalion!" he roared, slamming his fists together in a loud, deafening crack of chakra. "And you're about to be crushed underfoot!"
He came at me again, faster this time.
We clashed violently—his fists colliding against my black ice shields, my Yami no Shiden striking out in bursts of controlled chaos. Each blow from Daigo cracked the ground; each of my strikes left scars of blackened frost and molten dirt.
Still, the gap between us was real.
Daigo was an elite warrior, decades of experience behind every movement. I was clever, desperate, and newly armed with power, but even so, I found myself struggling. Every blocked punch rattled my bones. Every parried blow forced me a step back.
But I wasn't just surviving—I was hunting.
In the chaos of our duel, I sent thin spikes of black ice through the ground, aiming them underfoot at the Senju soldiers still locked in battle with my clanmates. Every time Daigo threw a wide, showy attack to pressure me, I used the distraction to aim another spike.
One.
Two.
Three.
Silently, bodies dropped—pierced through vital points without a sound. The Senju forces began to thin without Daigo noticing, too consumed with the fight.
"You're sloppy," I taunted, side-stepping another hammering fist and slashing at his shoulder. He grunted but caught my wrist before it could do serious damage, swinging me like a ragdoll into a nearby tree.
Pain exploded in my back, but I gritted my teeth, using the momentum to backflip and land in a crouch.
Daigo grinned savagely, blood dripping down his left arm where my lightning had seared him.
"You're a sneaky little rat, Uchiha," he said, voice almost fond. "Good. Makes killing you worth the effort."
"You talk too much," I muttered, weaving another string of hand seals as fast as I could.
Daigo lunged again, and this time, I met him halfway, the full power of Yami no Shiden screaming to life in my palm.
Our final clash was inevitable.
The battlefield erupted in a flash of black lightning and blood-red chakra.
The air cracked and groaned with every clash. I could feel the fatigue setting into my muscles, the strain of juggling my chakra control and rapid calculations pressing against the edge of my mind like a vice.
Daigo grinned through bloodied teeth, circling me like a wolf. His wounds dripped steadily, yet his presence never dimmed—if anything, he seemed more alive, more hungry.
I needed an opening. And fast.
Spitting a thin line of blood from my mouth, I wove three rapid handseals, inhaled sharply—
"Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu!"
A massive fireball exploded from my throat, roaring forward in a searing wave of heat and flame. The ground beneath it charred black as the roaring sphere barreled toward Daigo.
He barely flinched. With a powerful stomp and a flex of his chakra, he launched himself through the edge of the fireball, scorching his armor but not halting his charge.
A feint.
I was already moving. Chakra surged to my feet, propelling me low and fast along the ground like a black streak. My Sharingan spun wildly, tracking every twitch of his muscles.
I caught him off-guard, slipping under his guard with the speed of a striking snake.
Yami no Shiden flared in my hand, shrieking like a thousand caged birds.
I drove the lightning-wrapped hand straight toward his chest—dead center, a kill shot.
But Daigo roared, twisting at the last second. His left hand grabbed my forearm, and he violently yanked the trajectory downwards—burying my strike into the dirt instead of his heart.
The explosion of black and purple lightning turned the ground into a volcanic mess, the force kicking up shards of earth and ice.
Still—he wasn't fast enough to completely avoid it.
My lightning grazed across his side, leaving a deep, jagged gash across his ribs. Blood sprayed outward in a thick arc, and for the first time, I saw it—
A flicker of pain in Daigo's eyes.
He staggered back, but even wounded, he stood tall, blood pouring down his armor, staining it deeper red.
"Nice trick," Daigo grunted, cracking his neck. "That one almost hurt."
I exhaled sharply. That technique drained a huge chunk of chakra—but it wasn't over yet.
Time to bring out the nightmare.
I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, focusing inward.
Curse Technique: Echoes of Madness.
The battlefield changed instantly.
To Daigo, the world around us twisted—the sky bled into a deep, pulsing red. Shadows writhed at the edges of his vision, whispering unintelligible horrors. Corpses of fallen comrades rose in the distance, their faces twisted into grotesque parodies, reaching out to him with broken, charred fingers.
His senses turned against him.
The earth seemed to scream under his feet.
Daigo froze mid-step, confusion flashing through his eyes for the first time. His breathing quickened. His fists trembled slightly—only slightly—but I noticed.
He swung at a shadow that wasn't there.
A wide, wasted arc.
Perfect.
I blurred forward again, black ice forming underfoot to speed my steps.
In an instant, I was on his flank—Yami no Shiden crackling alive once more, a second black ice spike forming at my other hand—and with a savage roar, I launched a dual assault.
One aimed to pierce his heart.
The other aimed for his neck.
But Daigo... Daigo was built different.
Through sheer instinct—or maybe madness—he ducked and rolled at the last second. I still felt the resistance as the ice spike carved a long wound down his back, spraying more blood into the cursed landscape.
I pressed the assault harder, not letting him breathe.
Slashes. Feints. Fake-outs. My mind raced, analyzing every micro-movement he made, feeding it into my Overactive Imagination.
Already, I was starting to see it—the gaps in his stance, the slight stutter before his heavier punches, the sag of his left shoulder where I wounded him.
He was powerful, but he was slowing.
And then—
Another opportunity.
I shifted, melding my Curse Techniques.
Shrine: Dismantle.
With a twist of my wrist, black energy arced out in a sudden, vicious slash—not aimed at Daigo directly, but the very space between us. A thin black line cut across the field, warping and slicing space itself.
Daigo barely saw it. He jumped back with a grunt, losing a chunk of armor across his left thigh.
Blood. Wounds. Mental strain.
It was adding up.
Still, Daigo laughed—a hoarse, half-crazed sound.
"You... you're good, kid," he said, grinning like a man possessed, despite the blood streaming down his body. "You're making me feel alive again!"
I narrowed my eyes, preparing another round of seals, gathering the last threads of my chakra. I had more—so much more—but every second this dragged on, my body was breaking down a little more.
And I had a terrible feeling Daigo wasn't fighting seriously yet.
(Third-person POV – Squads' Viewpoint)
The battlefield was a mess of smoke, fire, and blood—but the squads standing on the fringes couldn't look away from the storm at its center.
Jinx and Daigo were blurs of motion, locked in a savage duel. At first, it seemed normal enough—chakra clashing, elemental attacks flying—but then something changed.
The Senju and Uchiha watching could only stare in confusion as Daigo began swinging violently at empty air.
"What the hell is he doing?" one of the Senju soldiers muttered, shielding his eyes from the smoke.
"He's... fighting nothing?" another gasped.
Daigo lunged at thin air, roaring curses at invisible enemies, his attacks vicious but missing wildly. His expression twisted with terror and rage, as if he were trapped in some unseen nightmare.
Meanwhile, Jinx never stopped moving. He circled Daigo like a shark, striking opportunistically, carving new wounds with deadly precision.
"What... what kind of genjutsu is this?" whispered an Uchiha recruit, eyes wide.
"It's not normal genjutsu..." murmured the Senju captain grimly. He tightened his grip on his blade. "Something... darker."
But while everyone's attention was drawn toward the madness unfolding, a different mind saw opportunity.
Raiyu.
Standing further back among the Uchiha forces, the silver-eyed prodigy narrowed his gaze, chakra surging in his gut.
"Now."
He weaved signs quickly—tiger, horse, ram, snake—then sucked in a deep breath.
"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!"
A roaring sphere of flame exploded from his mouth, hurtling toward the distracted Senju squad.
The Senju soldiers had barely seconds to react.
"Incoming!" the Senju captain barked, eyes snapping toward the sound. He yanked two of his soldiers to the ground just as the fireball screamed past, incinerating trees and grass in its path.
The explosion of flame shook the earth, leaving a blackened crater where the Senju had been standing a heartbeat before.
Smoke and burning embers rained down.
"Move!" barked the captain, rallying his troops before Raiyu could press the attack.
The Senju were quick, reorganizing and preparing to counterattack—but before they could surge forward—
CRASH!
A massive Black Ice Wall erupted between the two squads, splitting the battlefield with a screeching howl of frozen air.
Jinx stood atop the forming wall, blood dripping from a cut on his brow, his breathing ragged but his eyes blazing with deadly focus.
"Raiyu! Get the injured and RUN!" Jinx roared, voice echoing across the chaos. "I'll hold them off! GO!"
Raiyu opened his mouth to protest—his fists clenching—but instinct, and years of battle discipline, stopped him.
Before Raiyu could say a word—
The Senju captain launched over the ice wall in a fierce chakra-enhanced leap, blade drawn to strike at Jinx's exposed back.
But Jinx had predicted it.
Without hesitation, he slammed his palm onto the wall.
CRACK.
Black ice spikes erupted like jagged spears from the surface, slamming upward with terrifying speed.
The Senju captain had to twist mid-air, barely dodging impalement as the deadly spikes forced him back down onto his side of the wall.
He landed in a crouch, snarling.
The squads on both sides froze for a heartbeat, taking in the battlefield:
Jinx standing defiantly atop the black ice barrier, arms outstretched like a guardian demon.
Raiyu hauling the bloodied Uchiha survivors onto their feet, racing to retreat.
Daigo still thrashing and cursing within the twisted illusions of Echoes of Madness, his massive frame dripping blood.
The Senju soldiers tensed, poised to charge—but none wanted to be the first to challenge the black wall, or the furious young warrior standing atop it.
Jinx pointed at them, his hand sparking with black lightning.
"Come if you dare."
(Daigo POV)
The roar of battle around him dulled into a low hum, like he was underwater.
Daigo stopped moving, his fists lowering slightly as he staggered back, breath hissing through gritted teeth.
The monsters—the phantoms—that he had been battling so viciously only moments ago flickered, their grotesque forms growing even more twisted. Their limbs elongated, their eyes blackening into bottomless pits of hatred... but at the same time, they were... fading.
"What the hell is this...?"
Daigo shook his head hard, trying to clear the dizziness clouding his mind. Sweat trickled down his face, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
"Genjutsu?" he thought, almost laughing at the absurdity. "No... impossible. I know how to break genjutsu."
He had already tried—had poured chakra through his system again and again, attempting the genjutsu dispel technique.
It hadn't worked.
No matter how hard he tried to disrupt the chakra flow, the illusions persisted, gnawing at his sanity.
And that made no sense.
He hadn't even looked the Uchiha brat in the eyes. He had been careful. His instincts had screamed not to.
So this couldn't be a Dōjutsu Genjutsu.
It couldn't.
But if not that... what was it?
Daigo snarled and turned sharply, his blood-red eyes searching for the boy—
—and there he was.
Standing about twenty meters away on the black ice wall, body heaving with ragged breaths.
For a heartbeat, Daigo thought he saw the boy smirking—mocking him.
But then he saw it.
Jinx suddenly clutched his head, a low, strained groan escaping his lips, as if something inside was tearing him apart.
Panic—genuine panic—flickered across Jinx's face for just a moment, raw and unhidden.
Daigo narrowed his eyes.
"He's struggling too...?"
The phantoms around Daigo grew weaker, the illusions beginning to unravel at the edges, losing their horrific solidity.
The monsters' jaws slackened. Their bodies twitched and blurred. Their towering forms were no longer solid flesh and malice—they were becoming thin like mist.
The more Jinx lost control, the more the illusions frayed.
Daigo's lips pulled back into a feral grin.
"You're losing it, brat."
Still, a tiny knot of unease coiled in his stomach. If this technique could drive him—a hardened, blooded warrior—to near madness, what kind of monster had the Uchiha unleashed from within himself?
He slowly rolled his shoulders, forcing the last clinging shadows of madness off of him. His vision sharpened.
The battlefield came into clear focus again—the ice wall, the retreating Uchiha, the battered Senju preparing to charge.
Daigo let out a long, slow breath, cracking his knuckles one by one.
His body was bloodied, and the deep wound that brat carved into him still ached sharply.
But Daigo grinned anyway.
The fight wasn't over.
Not even close.