The dawn came like a blade across the horizon, thin streaks of cold light piercing through the morning haze. I felt it first in my chest, a quiet vibration, a heartbeat in rhythm with the wind that carried the scent of iron and ash. I sat cross-legged on the damp earth, the soil cold against my skin, my twin Nichirin swords resting beside me like silent sentinels. My breath came in slow, deliberate waves, a measured cadence as I drew upon the Nature Breathing technique, feeling the subtle flow of life around me — the trees, the breeze, the faint moisture in the air. My mind cleared of the chaos within, yet the chaos without waited patiently, relentless and inevitable.
Two hours passed like a dream measured in the pulse of the world. When I opened my eyes, the Six Eyes shimmered in ethereal blue, catching the first pale light of day. They were clear now, almost painfully so, reflecting every shadow, every intention around me. My twin swords, one a fiery red, the other a deep green of living nature, felt alive in my grasp, resonating with the Sun and Nature breathing styles I had honed in my life simulations, in worlds I had walked and conquered. The Phoenix Sun Sword burned with silent, passionate energy; the Nature Dragon Sword hummed with calm and persistent life. Together, they were not opposites but two halves of a single, absolute force — ready to cut through this world's hatred.
Then the siren rang.
The wailing of steel and the roar of a thousand warriors echoed across the camp. I rose, sliding my armor into place with mechanical precision. The twin swords found my hands as though they were extensions of my very being. When I stepped out of the tent, the battlefield spread before me like a wound that refused to heal. Smoke coiled into the sky, black and viscous, hiding the sun. The mud underfoot was a canvas painted in red, the screams of men and women mingling with the clash of steel. Senju and Uchiha, once allies in distant times, were tearing each other apart with the same desperation and pride that had haunted generations.
I felt my stomach tighten, the same reaction I had felt during simulations — only this was different. These were real lives, real blood. My heart surged, torn between the need to act and the horror of inaction. My fists clenched. I have killed demons, yes. But never humans. Never these innocents, caught in the hatred of their ancestors. My gaze scanned the battlefield, analyzing, calculating, sensing. Every breath, every movement, every hesitation in the warriors around me was a piece of a greater equation my Six Eyes could unravel — if I allowed them to.
And then I froze.
In the midst of the carnage, I went still, stepping into the Limitless. The world blurred, slowed, expanded beyond human comprehension. Every motion, every intent, every beat of every heart within a hundred meters was visible to me. Yet, in that heightened clarity, a peculiar mockery rose from the elders, echoes of disdain and incredulity from both sides.
"Is that a child?" one of the Uchiha elders hissed to another, his voice carrying the derision of a man whose entire life had been spent honing skill and pride. "Summoned here as if he could lead? A child, mind you, barely more than six summers!"
Another elder, from the Senju side, scoffed, voice sharp like a blade. "Hah! Your boy is nothing but a puppet of fate. This war is not for children. Let him die and learn the limits of his so-called genius!"
My body stood still — but my mind wasn't lost in fear.I had slipped unconsciously into the Limitless Realm — the world between thought and movement. Everything around me slowed — fire mid-air, blood droplets suspended like red glass, screams stretched into whispers.
It was beautiful, horrifying, infinite.
But my six eyes… they were still incomplete.The information, the vision — too much. My brain faltered, drowning in data, my consciousness fragmenting between past and present. To the world, I looked like a statue — eyes open, unblinking, lost in trance.
Then it happened. A Senju warrior, young and reckless, spotted me standing apart. With a cry that betrayed both fear and ambition, he lunged forward, blade aimed at my chest. Time slowed, every microsecond stretched into an eternity. I could see the intent of his muscles, the angle of his wrist, the very rhythm of his heartbeat.
"INDRA!" The scream ripped from Tajima Uchiha's throat, raw and desperate. He was locked in his own deadly dance with Butsuma Senju, the two clan leaders a whirlwind of steel and hatred. He saw his son, his brilliant, fragile son, moments from being skewered. He tried to disengage, but Butsuma pressed his attack, a cruel, mocking smile twisting his lips.
"Looks like your little prodigy is frozen with fear, Tajima!" Butsuma taunted, his voice cutting through the din. "Did you bring a child to a battlefield only for him to soil his armor? A shame upon the Uchiha name!"
But I couldn't move.
The sword grew closer — a comet of death.Time crawled.
Then, a blur of black and red intercepted.
And — impact.
Warmth splattered across my face. Not mine.
It was a young Uchiha man, perhaps no more than sixteen, whose name Indra would later learn was Kenta. He had been fighting a few yards away and, seeing the imminent death of the clan's hope, acted on pure instinct. He threw himself between his clansman and the blade.
The steel pierced his abdomen clean through. His blood — thick, crimson, and alive — painted my cheeks and armor.
His eyes met mine — trembling, fading.
"Y-Young master… please… live…"
The warmth of the blood was a shock, a brand. The metallic smell filled his nostrils, a hundred times more potent and personal than the ambient stench of the battlefield.
The world snapped back into real-time.
The Limitless faded. The analytical coldness of the Six Eyes was burned away by a hotter, fiercer fire. Indra's pupils, reflected in the sheen of Kenta's dying gaze, constricted to pinpricks. He saw the light fade from the young man's eyes, a life extinguished for him. He saw the Senju warrior, his face a mask of surprise and fury, wrench his blade free from Kenta's falling body.
Something in me broke. A scream clawed its way up my throat but never escaped. My pupils dilated, and then — they burned.
A heat, unlike any he had ever known, erupted behind his eyes. It was a searing, psychic pain, a key turning in a lock deep within his soul. The world, for a single, blinding moment, went completely red. When his vision cleared, his eyes were no longer the calm blue of a serene sea.
Blue dissolved into scarlet. Six Eyes dimmed, replaced by something older, darker, divine.
My pupil changed, the ethereal blue giving way to a blazing scarlet. Two tomoe swirled within, the Sharingan awakening in all its terrifying majesty. His once-calm aura, which had been like the deep, still ocean, underwent a violent transformation. It became the scorching, oppressive heat of a desert sun at its zenith. The very air around him began to waver, distorted by the sheer, dense pressure of his chakra. It was no longer just chakra; it was raw, untamed power, laced with a grief so profound it turned to ice.
"W-what… what is that chakra!?""His eyes— look at his eyes!"
Impossible— Straight into Awakening Two Tomoe Sharingan—!"
The battlefield stilled as if the wind itself held its breath.
The air grew hot, unbearably so. The very ground quivered. Chakra poured out of Indra like a storm breaking free of the sea. Indra aura blazed — heat waves rolling outward, forcing even seasoned warriors to step back.
Even Tajima and Butsuma froze mid-clash, their weapons trembling under the unseen weight pressing down upon them
Butsuma Senju's voice broke the quiet, trembling with disbelief. "Tajima… is that… your son?"
Tajima's voice was steady but low, carrying the pride and fear of a man who knew he had summoned a force beyond comprehension. Tajima's throat tightened. "Yes… Indra Uchiha. My firstborn."
Butsuma's lips parted in shock, his mind struggling to reconcile the child before him with the reality of his eyes. "How… how old?"
"Six and a half years," Tajima answered. His voice wavered only slightly, pride tempered by fear.
A chill ran through the battlefield. The elders of both clans shivered as if the earth itself had whispered a warning. A child, barely older than infancy in the eyes of men, had awakened powers that could rival legends. Whispers traveled like wildfire.
That was when Indra moved.
His hand reached over his shoulder, his small fingers closing not around the fiery hilt of the Phoenix Sun, but around the calm, textured grip of Nature's Dragon. He did not even draw the blade from its moss-green sheath. He simply held the sheathed sword in front of him.
His voice, when he spoke, was flat, devoid of the childish cadence it should have had. It was the voice of the earth itself, old and implacable.
"Nature Breathing: First Form. Mother of Nature's Wind Storm."
He swung the sheathed sword. It was not a slash, but a wide, rotating motion of his entire body. As he spun, a visible vortex of emerald-green energy erupted from the tip of the sheath. It wasn't just wind; it was a gale infused with the very essence of life and separation. It howled across the battlefield, but it did not cut. It pushed. It was a wall of irresistible force that swept between the clashing lines, plucking Senju and Uchiha alike from their feet and gently, yet firmly, hurling them back to their respective sides. It was the hand of a stern mother, separating her squabbling children. When the wind died down, the two clans found themselves standing on opposite ends of the field, a clear, no-man's-land of churned earth between them.
Before anyone could process this, Indra's voice cut through the air again, cold and final.
"Nature Breathing: Second Form. Mother of Nature's Earth Split."
He raised the sheathed Nature's Dragon high above his head, and then brought it down in a straight, vertical swing. There was no contact with the ground, yet the earth obeyed the silent command. With a sound like a thousand mountains cracking, the ground in the center of the field tore itself asunder. A chasm ripped open, snaking its way across the battlefield, a deep, dark scar in the land that was a hundred meters wide at its broadest. It separated the two clans as definitively as a continent from an ocean. On one side stood the stunned and terrified Senju. On the other, the awestruck and equally terrified Uchiha. And standing alone on the Uchiha side of the precipice, a small, blood-spattered figure with scarlet eyes, was Indra.
He let the silence hang for a moment, letting the reality of the chasm, of his power, sink into every soul present. Then he spoke, his two-tomoe Sharingan scanning the faces of both clans.
"The war," he said, the words simple, absolute, and brooking no argument, "is over."
No one dared to speak. No one dared to move. The Uchiha, who moments before had been ready to die for their cause, could not muster a single word of protest. Their pride was eclipsed by sheer, unadulterated awe. Tajima could only stare at his son, his mind reeling, the image of the splitting earth burned permanently into his memory.
Seeing that his decree would not be challenged, Indra turned his back on the Senju, on the chasm, on the entire theater of war. He slid Nature's Dragon back into its place on his back and began to walk, his steps measured and calm, back towards the Uchiha camp. He did not look back.
As his small form receded, the spell was broken. Butsuma Senju, his face pale, his hands trembling slightly, called out across the hundred-meter-wide split to Tajima. His voice was weak, stripped of all its former arrogance.
"Tajima…" he breathed. "What kind of monster have you brought into this world?"
Tajima, shaken to the very core of his being, looked across the divide at his lifelong rival. A strange, sorrowful resolve settled on his features. The secret could no longer be kept. Not after this.
"Butsuma," Tajima's voice was heavy. "He is your nephew."
The words landed not like a whisper, but like a thunderclap. Butsuma's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? What nonsense are you speaking?"
Tajima shook his head, his gaze drifting to the sky, as if seeking forgiveness. "Butsuma, he is mine and Hana's son."
The name 'Hana' sent a jolt through every older member of the Senju clan. The battlefield, which had been moving towards a murmuring recovery, fell into a pin-drop silence once more.
Butsuma's face crumpled. The strong, ruthless leader of the Senju looked, for a moment, like a lost boy. "Tajima… please… say that this Hana… she wasn't the Hana I know. Right? Tell me it's not her."
Tajima's slow, sad nod was a confirmation more devastating than any sword stroke. "Indra is Hana Gojo's son. The last descendant of the Divine Six Eyes Clan. The Gojo Clan. Before she died… in childbirth… she gave him to me. She gave him life."
Butsuma staggered back a step as if physically struck. The Senju, the Uzumaki, and the Gojo—they were brother clans, bound by ancient oaths and shared blood. Hana Gojo, with her own strange and powerful eyes, had been his half-sister. His bright, beloved sister who had disappeared from the world, a loss he had buried deep beneath layers of war and hatred.
He looked up at the sky, the tears he had never shed for her now streaming down his battle-hardened face, cutting paths through the grime and blood. His voice was a broken whisper, filled with a sorrow so profound it silenced the very wind.
"Hana…" he wept. "Even before you departed for the Pure World… you proved yourself to this worthless brother. The brother who couldn't protect his one and only sister. And you… you gave birth to a monster. A beautiful, terrifying god."
And on the newly scarred earth, under a sky that had witnessed the birth of a new era, the two clans stood separated not just by a chasm of stone, but by the awesome, terrifying legacy of a boy who was the son of two worlds, and the heir to a power that could shatter the very foundations of their own.
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