Dark clouds pressed low over the sky, the rain falling harder with each passing moment. Yet even this relentless downpour could not smother the raging black flames that consumed the mountain forest. The unnatural fire spread outward in waves, devouring everything it touched, as if intent on burning the very world to ash.
In the heart of the devastation, one place remained untouched by the creeping inferno—the battlefield where the blaze had begun.
Once, it had been a secret stronghold of the Uchiha Clan. Now, after a battle of unimaginable ferocity, it lay in ruins. The ground was split and charred, walls shattered, and debris scattered like the bones of a fallen titan.
At the center of it all stood a colossal, spectral warrior—its form shaped from a blazing scarlet light. Like a divine Valkyrie, it bore a massive shield in its left hand and a gourd in its right. Within its chest, encased in the glowing armor of Susanoo, a lone figure moved forward in halting, pained steps—a man battered, bloodied, and on the brink of collapse.
"This battle is over. Itachi and Sasuke have no room left to fight," murmured a voice from the shadows. Hidden among a pile of rocks, a strange figure—half black, half white, its body wrapped in reed-like tendrils—watched with sharp, calculating eyes.
The words were not wrong.
Inside the Susanoo, Itachi's breaths came shallow and ragged. His vision had dulled, the world around him fading into a blur, yet he could still make out the boy standing before him.
I can't fall here… he thought. He knew his end was close, but still, his feet carried him forward.
"Don't come any closer, traitor!" Sasuke's voice cracked with rage and desperation. He was slumped against a crumbling wall, the Uchiha crest emblazoned behind him.
But Itachi did not stop.
Sasuke's hands trembled. He had thrown everything at his brother—every jutsu, every hidden technique—and still, the man before him refused to fall.
Memories surged unbidden. A dark night. The faint creak of a door. The warm, coppery scent of blood filling a dimly lit room. A seven-year-old boy staring in horror as his parents lay lifeless at his feet—and the smiling shadow of the brother he once adored.
That night had shattered everything. From then on, Sasuke had lived for a single purpose: to kill Itachi. He had trained relentlessly, abandoned his home, and risked his very soul, nearly becoming a vessel for Orochimaru—all for this moment. Yet now, faced with the overwhelming might of his brother's eyes, all his efforts felt meaningless.
Footsteps crunched against the broken stone, each one echoing in Sasuke's mind like the toll of a funeral bell. The face he hated more than any other loomed closer and closer.
Itachi's right hand rose. Slowly, inexorably, it reached toward him. Sasuke's body was spent; he could not even flinch.
Itachi stopped in front of him. His lips moved, but the words came weak and strained.
"Forgive me, Sasuke… but this is it."
His fingers pressed lightly to Sasuke's forehead—the same familiar gesture from their childhood. In that instant, he poured a fragment of his power into Sasuke's eyes.
The Susanoo flickered, its radiance dimming before collapsing entirely.
This is all I can give you now, little brother. When they tell the tale, you will return to the village as the hero who struck down a Missing-nin. Whatever path you choose from here… I will accept it. You never have to forgive me.
In his final moments, another memory came—his parents standing in their home, proud yet solemn.
Father… Mother… I couldn't protect him after all.
With that thought, his strength gave way. His body staggered and then crumpled to the ground.
Darkness swallowed his sight. His spirit felt weightless, drifting upward, carried away from the ruined battlefield and into the endless sky.