Izuna's voice cut through the tent like a thrown kunai.
"Is there really no other way, brother?"
Madara didn't even hesitate. "No."
The word landed heavy. Too heavy. Even someone as battle-hardened as me would feel it. And I'm not even the one going blind.
Madara kept his face carved out of stone, but anyone with a functioning pair of eyes could see the truth: he knew a way. He just refused to walk it. Absorbing the Mangekyō of blood kin… taking his brother's eyes… that kind of darkness wasn't a myth in this era. It was a temptation.
But Madara had one family member left. Just one.
And Izuna was the one person he'd burn the whole world to protect.
Izuna felt the same tremor I did watching the scene. He swallowed it down, then forced his voice steady.
"Brother… I've already seen the inscription in the ancestral hall. The one about the Mangekyō. It records a method. If the Mangekyō of loved ones is fused, vision can return."
He inhaled sharply. "So even if you're losing your sight, it doesn't matter. I still have my eyes. I can give them to you."
Madara's head snapped toward him like a triggered trap.
"Izuna, stop. Never say that again."
His voice cracked at the edges. For Madara, that's basically sobbing.
"As your elder brother, I refuse. I'd rather fight blind than use your eyes."
Izuna opened his mouth again. "But—"
"No."
Madara cut him off, steel returning to his tone. "My vision is blurred, not gone. And the Senju are about to move. Go prepare. That's an order."
Izuna's breath hitched, barely audible. He bowed his head and slipped out of the tent, shadows clinging to his steps.
Alone at last, Madara touched his darkening eyes. He exhaled once, long and tired, then shoved the fear away. Fear doesn't matter on a battlefield where gods die like insects. He had a clan to lead and a war to win.
Izuna lingered outside in silence. The kind that crushes your lungs a little.
Madara had lost all his brothers. All but one. That's why he guarded Izuna like a second heartbeat. And Izuna—raised in the shadow of an older brother who carried the Uchiha name like a curse—knew exactly how much Madara had endured.
Patriarch. Shield. Warrior.
And somewhere between all of that, a brother.
Izuna muttered to himself, eyes dark but shining with resolve.
"Big brother has always been the one facing everything. I could only follow behind him… always looking up at his back. I want to surpass you one day. And if I can't surpass you… then at least let me protect you once."
His voice scattered in the spring breeze.
Then he steeled himself. War wouldn't wait.
The Battle of Baichuan Gorge
By the end of May, the half-month standoff shattered. Senju and Uchiha met on the field at Baichuan Gorge, and the world erupted.
Smoke. Screams. Steel flashing like lighting.
The riverbed shook from the force of exploding jutsu.
Uchiha and Senju shinobi clashed without restraint. Centuries of hatred ignited in seconds.
A roar tore across the battlefield.
"Tobirama!"
Izuna was already there. Mangekyō spiraling violently, he blurred through the carnage, blade raised high. His strike tore the air apart, momentum cracking like thunder.
Tobirama met him with that calm fury only he had.
"Izuna! Today, you die!"
Their blades collided. Sparks swallowed the space between them.
Izuna's right Mangekyō twisted, warping the world around his blade. The slash swelled in power, heavy enough to shear stone. With a metallic shriek, Tobirama's blade snapped clean.
"Tch. This again."
Tobirama retreated instantly, but not fast enough. Izuna's amplified strike carved a deep slash through Tobirama's armor, ripping crimson across his chest—
Except the body collapsed into water.
A clone.
Izuna clicked his tongue, frustration flashing across his face. Tobirama's Water Style was monstrously efficient. Faster than what even a Mangekyō could track in close quarters.
Izuna didn't linger. He pivoted, instincts screaming.
And then a shadow dropped from above.
A kunai gleamed like a killing star. A perfect, lethal angle.
Izuna's left Mangekyō spun violently, kicking his body into overdrive. His speed tore past the threshold of normal movement, barely scraping past Tobirama's ambush.
A breath slower, and the story of Uchiha Izuna would have ended in the dirt.
The battlefield didn't slow. It never does.