Uchiha District.
Smoke choked the skies.
A thick, metallic stench of blood filled the air, mingling with the acrid sulfur from detonated explosive tags. Corpses littered the streets—severed limbs and scattered entrails made for a grotesque scene.
In the Uchiha Police Force's underground prison—
Uchiha Doka sat slumped against the wall, barely breathing. The anguished screams from the clan grounds rang through the corridors, piercing his heart.
In those voices, he heard his parents, his brothers, his clan.
"They... they're calling me… to join them…"
His cracked, pale lips moved faintly. The blood on his face had long since dried.
His consciousness began to fade.
But he couldn't die yet.
He had to hear of Uchiha Inzuki's death first.
Only then would he be ready to descend into hell.
His bloodshot three-tomoe Sharingan trembled, just as a strange distortion rippled the space before him.
A twisting spiral of chakra spiraled clockwise.
From it stepped a man in a mask, a single Mangekyō Sharingan glowing from the eye hole.
"Another... Mangekyō?!"
Doka's eyes widened.
His fragile sanity nearly snapped. But the sight of the masked man grounded his awareness, if only barely.
The masked figure surveyed the rooftop prison area—ruined and littered with corpses. He stepped forward, walking over Doka's half-dead body, crouching to inspect the corpses of the Uchiha officers nearby.
He lifted one, checked it, shook his head and sighed, then moved on.
He made a slow circuit around the prison and returned to his original spot.
His brow furrowed deeply.
There were over fifty corpses of elite Police Force officers here.
And not a single Sharingan left among them.
Splat—
Suddenly, sticky footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Uchiha Itachi ascended, stepping over his kin's lifeless bodies.
His entire body was soaked in blood. Every step left a crimson footprint, as if he'd just crawled out of a mountain of corpses.
Murderous intent still clung to him like a second skin.
Doka turned his head with great effort. When he saw Itachi, fury surged through his battered body. Clenching his fists, he rasped:
"The screams from the clan… was it Inzuki? Did he massacre the civilians?"
"Inzuki is a traitor to the clan!"
"Itachi… did you kill him?"
But Itachi ignored him, offering no reply.
It was the masked man who broke the silence. His glowing Sharingan fixed on Doka as he asked calmly:
"All these Police Force members... they were killed by that Uchiha Inzuki?"
"He also harvested their Sharingan?"
"You're saying he alone slaughtered the entire Police Division?"
Doka's face turned ashen. Memories flooded his mind, and he nodded weakly in despair:
"Yes... he killed all of my men first. Then left me alive to lure in reinforcements—only to butcher them as well."
"You're lying," Itachi said coldly, suspicious. "Inzuki is just a regular jōnin, one of the division leaders. He doesn't have the power to pull this off alone."
According to the original plan, Itachi was to eliminate the civilians while the masked man handled the elite Police Force.
Not because Itachi was incapable—but because it would take too long.
But based on the scene before them—
Inzuki had wiped out these elites faster than the masked man had finished off his own targets.
Doka gave a bitter laugh.
"It's the truth. You can go check for yourselves. I... have no reason to lie to you."
Itachi's pupils shrank. From Doka's tone and expression, he realized he wasn't lying.
The masked man gave a sharp exhale of laughter, clearly rattled.
"No wonder all that's left of the Police Force are a few old geezers who can't even form a full set of three-tomoe eyes. What a disappointment."
"But… how interesting."
"Inzuki has already collected all the Sharingan for me. I won't be shy, then."
"Itachi."
"I'll leave this one to you. Take his three-tomoe eyes."
"I'm going to hunt down the rest of those fleeing rats."
With that, the masked man activated Kamui. His body twisted into a vortex and vanished.
"My Sharingan…"
Doka murmured blankly. But then he sensed killing intent. His bloodstained three-tomoe Sharingan glared at Itachi in defiance.
Itachi's face was emotionless. He sighed softly, then stepped forward, drawing his sword.
"Itachi, what are you doing?!"
Doka's voice shook with fury. And suddenly, everything clicked.
Inzuki's actions, Itachi's silence, the betrayal that ran through his blood—
All of it made horrifying sense.
"Doka… Use that remaining Sharingan of yours," Inzuki's final words echoed in his mind. "And witness what's about to unfold in the Uchiha District.!"
And at last—
Doka understood.
But the next instant—
Splurt!
Blood sprayed.
"Sorry. The clan's deaths… were all at my hand."
Itachi's sword pierced Doka's heart, the blade exiting cleanly through his back.
Doka's face contorted in agony. His life flickered out, and the light in his Sharingan faded—anger, grief, and regret forever frozen in his dying glare.
The one who truly wanted the Uchiha annihilated tonight—
Was Uchiha Itachi!
In that final moment, Doka finally understood:
What Inzuki had done—killing his fellow Police Force officers as a branded traitor—was actually an act of mercy.
If those officers had died by Itachi's hand—the one they had trusted most—they too would have died with bitter hatred and unfulfilled souls.
The Police Force building and its underground prison were only a few hundred meters apart.
Long before his staged imprisonment, Inzuki had already arranged the night's patrol roster.
He made sure the patrols were far from the district, then slaughtered the underground guards, lured in the Police Force, and butchered them all—harvesting their eyes.
Once the patrols arrived, he let them chase him out of the village.
He pulled them all out—away from the massacre.
No wonder he'd said that as long as he lived, the Uchiha would have a future in the shinobi world with dignity.
He had already prepared the spark that would rekindle the Uchiha legacy.
Inzuki's plan moved like a finely tuned machine—every time, location, and person perfectly in place.
He was far beyond anything Doka could ever hope to be.
Far beyond that useless clan head.
Far beyond those incompetent elders.
One day... he would return with a reborn Uchiha.
Doka's expression grew complicated.
For once, he admitted—in not understanding Inzuki, he had deserved to die.
He sighed.
Inzuki had always been kind.
He hadn't slaughtered civilians.
And his blade… was swift and precise. Mercy cloaked in steel.
Unlike the cold-hearted traitor before him.
His thoughts faded.
Doka drew his final breath.
His eyes didn't close.
The last gift Inzuki had left him—his three-tomoe Sharingan—was swiftly and coldly plucked by Itachi.
Itachi rose and turned to leave.
The corpses of their kin no longer mattered.
The priority now—
Was eliminating the rogue Uchiha squad.
If they escaped, Konoha's higher-ups might break their promise to protect Sasuke.
---
Outskirts of the Uchiha District
Screams echoed endlessly.
The small-scale battle between Root and ANBU had ended.
The ANBU emerged victorious—but at a steep cost. Nearly half of their forces were lost.
Eighty percent of Root was wiped out.
The remaining twenty percent lay writhing in pain, clutching wounds, groaning and rolling on the ground—utterly incapable of further combat.
The ANBU captains were stunned and shaken.
They quickly withdrew from the area, still haunted by what had just occurred.
None of them had expected such devastating tactics from the enemy.
But it wasn't the Third Hokage who arrived next.
Instead, five jōnin appeared—greedy for glory.
Woof woof woof!
Ninken howled nervously, barking at the lingering chakra residue in the air—fear palpable in every sound.
Five figures emerged.
"Phew... what a bloodbath."
Asuma exhaled a cloud of smoke, glancing around.
He tossed the half-smoked cigarette to the ground, the forest floor littered with corpses sending chills down his spine.
And yet—somewhere in his heart—he was excited.
The Root and ANBU had both suffered heavy casualties.
Whoever was responsible…
Capturing them would mean a massive promotion.
In that moment, Asuma Sarutobi saw a chance.
If he could climb high enough in status, then perhaps he could start challenging his father's questionable legacy—Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage.
It was a lesson he'd learned while protecting the feudal lord:
Power required reputation first.
Thinking this—
The young Asuma no longer felt fear.
The bigger the crisis, the greater the glory.