Naruto Immersive Replay, The Curse of the Sharingan

He stood up, the candlelight casting his shadow on the wall. "What kind of talk are you giving me? The elderly, women, and children are forbidden from participating in this mission. I don't want to say it a third time."

His Sharingan slowly rotated. "Anyone who disobeys will be dealt with according to the clan rules."

Chuan Lan's face turned deathly pale instantly. The Uchiha clan rules never showed leniency towards those who disobeyed the clan leader's orders; the lightest punishment was confinement, and the heaviest was the abolition of chakra.

"I will personally lead the team out first thing tomorrow morning." Ban coldly surveyed the crowd. "You may all step down."

The clansmen felt as if they had been granted a pardon. They bowed and left the clan hall. Huohe walked at the very end, his steps heavy as if filled with lead.

Just as he was about to step out the door, Madara suddenly spoke, "Fire Core."

The young elder froze on the spot, then slowly turned around. Madara stood at the boundary between candlelight and shadow, half of his face hidden in darkness. "Setsuna is right. Your wedding with Kawanashi is imminent. You shouldn't have joined."

Fire Core took a deep breath and suddenly knelt on one knee. "No, Clan Chief! Protecting the Uchiha is my own choice, as for Kawanashi..."

His voice softened, "I will explain to her."

Ban quietly watched this once reckless boy, who had now grown into an elder capable of standing on his own. The youthful arrogance was gone from his eyes, replaced by a firm sense of responsibility.

"Whatever you want." Madara simply waved his hand. "Go."

As the last person's footsteps faded into the distance, you stepped out of the shadows and gently pressed down on Ban's tense shoulder. "You did the right thing."

Ban grabbed your hand with such force that he almost crushed your bones. "No, I'm sending them to their deaths."

His voice was hoarse beyond recognition, "I knew this might be a trap..."

You leaned down, your forehead touching his. "But you know even better that inaction will cause more people to die."

Outside the window, a blood moon hangs high in the sky.

Ban buried his face in your clothes, took a deep breath, and smelled herbs and sunshine—his only antidote in this crazy world.

"If I..."

"Shh." You press your fingertips against his lips. "Don't say anything. I'll wait for you to come back."

Ban suddenly pulled you into his arms, and his kisses rained down like a storm.

The kiss carried the salty taste of despair, like a farewell, yet also like a vow.

When they parted, both of them had blood on their lips—it was unclear who had bitten whom.

The distant hooting of an owl echoed, mournful as a death knell. Ban fastened kunai to his belt, the clanging of metal particularly jarring in the silent night.

When the sun rises tomorrow, he will lead his people into a possible hell.

At this moment, all he wants to remember is the warmth of your embrace, the faint fragrance of your hair, and the feeling of being alive, because death is always closer than we imagine.

The twilight, like blood, dyed the study a dark red. You knelt alone before the desk, your fingertips gently caressing the yellowed manuscript.

This is something that Madara only allowed you to look through after you got married. Strangely, he once said that he had searched through all the books in the Forbidden Pavilion, but he couldn't see the words in this notebook.

"Uchiha Showa... what exactly did you leave behind?"

The leather cover of the journal had a strange feel to it; it didn't resemble animal leather but rather some kind of specially treated...human skin?

Turning to the first page, the faded ink suddenly comes alive, as if sensing the reader's pulse, and your pupils contract slightly.

These words would remain completely invisible to Madara; Showa had set up a restriction during his lifetime that only certain people could see them.

[From birth, I knew I wasn't an ordinary Uchiha. It wasn't until I awakened the Mangekyou Sharingan that I gradually uncovered my true identity.]

The handwriting was chaotic, like a spider web, with a frenzied air about it.

You quickly flip through the pages; your photographic memory allows you to absorb this forbidden knowledge like a sponge. Most of the techniques do indeed require the power of the Six Paths to be performed.

But what interests you even more are the private notes interspersed among the techniques; it seems that the Showa era was pursuing some truth beyond ninjutsu.

The strokes sometimes sink deep into the paper, and sometimes seem to fly away, as if the writer is in a state of extreme excitement.

The text below is labeled with the words "Double-Headed Prajna," and the accompanying image will take your breath away.

It was a demonic totem: its curved horns were as menacing as a crescent moon, its gloomy eyes held three reverse-rotating magatama, and its gaping mouth, split to the roots of its ears, revealed menacing fangs.

What's most chilling is that this monster has two faces: the left face is covered in tears, while the right face is laughing maniacally.

As the ink varied in shades, the totem seemed to wriggle slightly, like a living creature sealed away.

Your fingertips trembled uncontrollably, and a strange sense of familiarity shot up your spine to the back of your head, like a long-awaited reunion.

Your Sharingan activates on its own, and the three tomoe spin wildly, creating a strange echo with the reversed tomoe in the totem.

[Possessing unparalleled strength and wisdom, I always felt incomplete, until...]

The writing stopped abruptly.

The remaining two pages were stuck together by some kind of viscous, dark red substance, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't separate them.

You put down your journal and looked out the window.

The cherry blossoms are still falling, like an endless snowfall.

You clench your fist tightly, your nails digging deep into your palm, blood seeping out between your fingers and dripping onto the table.

A sudden gust of strange wind swept through the study, causing the candlelight to flicker violently and casting your shadow on the wall, twisting it into the shape of a two-headed monster.

A drop of blood was swept up by the wind and landed precisely on the Prajna totem in the notebook.

Before you could react, a blinding golden light burst forth from the pages of the book, engulfing you completely.

The world was spinning.

When your vision clears again, you find yourself standing in a desolate wilderness. The sky is an eerie purplish-red, with no sun or moon, only countless rotating Sharingan patterns filling the firmament.

In the distance, a colossal divine tree pierced the clouds, its roots piled high with white bones.

Beneath my feet lies the blood-red water, each step creating ripples that reflect countless fragmented memories.

You see Uchiha Showa standing amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood, laughing maniacally.

I saw Madara holding his own corpse and weeping bitterly in the Valley of the End.

I saw myself... no, another "self," slowly emerging from the depths of darkness.

That "you" has demon horns on your head, tears streaming down your left cheek, and a sinister grin on your right.

"We've finally met..."

The voices of the two Prajna beings overlapped, as if millions of people were whispering at the same time.

"My upper body."

The water suddenly boiled, and countless bloody hands reached out and grabbed your ankles—

A woman dressed in tattered Uchiha clan clothing stood there, with skin as pale as paper, long white hair, and those iconic Rinnegan eyes.

But what's most chilling is that the outline of a second face vaguely emerges on her shoulder, grinning menacingly at you.

"Uchiha...Showa?" Your voice was so dry it didn't sound like your own.

The woman tilted her head, a movement that unnaturally lengthened her neck. "Yes, and no."

She walked slowly forward, and with each step she took, dark red liquid seeped from the ground. "I am just a wisp of her consciousness left behind, waiting for someone who can inherit the 'Double-Headed Prajna'."

You suddenly turn around and are met with a pair of huge, blood-red pupils—the very 'Double-Headed Prajna' from the notes.

He is more terrifying than in the illustration, with two faces that constantly twist and change, sometimes resembling the Showa era, sometimes resembling yourself.

You take a step back, and ripples spread across the water beneath your feet.

The monster emitted a piercing duet of laughter and tears, "I am your missing soul, your repressed instinct, the truth you dare not acknowledge..."

"Weren't you dead? Why did you bring me here?"

The woman's neck made a sickening cracking sound. "Death is but a brief rebirth for us."

She suddenly moved closer, pressing both her faces against your nose at the same time, "Just like you are now, both alive and dead."

You stagger backward, only to step on something soft. Looking down, you see your own corpse, a gaping hole in your chest, while Ban is holding you and weeping bitterly.

This scene is exactly the same as the Valley of the End scene I foresaw!

"A beautiful future, isn't it?" The woman's voice seemed to come from afar. "How heartbroken he was, willing to fight the whole world to resurrect you..."

"Shut up!" You swung your fist, but it passed right through the woman's body. The illusion vanished, replaced by countless fragments of memory.

At the age of six, Showa awakened his Sharingan in the shrine;

The twenty-year-old Showa laughed wildly when he awakened the Rinnegan;

The black creature emerged from the shadows, its claws piercing her chest...

The last memory is exceptionally clear: the dying Showa drew circles on the ground with his blood, grinning maliciously at the black creature, saying, "You can't kill 'Double Head,' we will meet again in hell..."

"Let us become one..."

You find your feet are entangled in blood-red vines.

The monster's two faces came close together at the same time; the left face cried out, "Kill me," while the right face laughed and whispered, "Become me."

The most terrifying thing is that you actually feel a sense of belonging from this monster.

A faint chime came from afar, like a distress signal from the real world.

Your Sharingan spins wildly, and just as the monster is about to embrace you, you suddenly remember Madara's eyes—those eyes that are forever burning with obsession, eyes that you both hate and love.

When you call out this name, it's like a spell.

The world suddenly shattered.

In the actual study, the notebook was being flipped through frantically, finally stopping at the last page.

There was only one line of blood-red text above:

Welcome back, Uchiha Nagi—no, I should call you 'Twin-Headed Hannya' now!

The sound of the Namga River was more rapid than usual, as if it were anxiously anticipating an impending disaster.

Madara Uchiha stood on the riverbank, suddenly clutching his chest. His heart began to clench with pain without warning, as if it were being gripped tightly by an invisible hand.

"Nagi...?"

He suddenly turned around and looked towards the direction of the clan's territory, his Sharingan unconsciously activating.

The outline of the Uchiha clan's territory in the distance was blurred in the twilight, with only the barrier in the direction of the mansion glowing faintly. He had personally reinforced it this morning to completely isolate you from the outside world.

"Madala!"

Hashirama Senju's voice interrupted his unease. Madara turned around and saw the Senju clan members approaching in full armor. They wore special masks, their hands were wrapped in bandages soaked in medicine, and even their headbands had been replaced with a more airtight design.

This almost exaggerated level of protection silently speaks volumes about the terror brought by the plague.

Chapter 69: Choice

Hashirama's eyes gleamed with familiar admiration and gratitude as he handed over a map. "This is Tobirama's analysis of the plague's extent. The red areas are the hardest hit."

Madara took the map, his fingertips briefly touching Hashirama's. Even through the fabric, he could feel the other's unusually high body temperature. Was it nervousness, or...?

He squinted, his Sharingan carefully scanning the chakra flow between the pillars, and only relaxed slightly after confirming there were no signs of infection.

"Liangying, Lengxi," Ban called out without turning his head, unfolding a map and pointing, "Take two teams to set up firewalls along the south bank, with intervals not exceeding ten meters."

Two voices responded simultaneously. When Uchiha Yoshihide took the map, Madara noticed that his fingers were trembling slightly, not from fear, but from a kind of suppressed urgency.

This discovery made Ban glance at him again, but Liangying had already turned and left, his back stiff as iron.

Ban continued assigning tasks, his voice calm and utterly unwavering.

The tribesmen silently obeyed and dispersed. Soon, walls of fire lit up the riverbank, turning the twilight blood red.

The high temperature distorted the air, making the distant Thousand Hands territory appear as illusory as a mirage.

"Thank you," Hashirama suddenly said, his voice so low it was almost swallowed by the flames, "For Itama, and for..."

Madara raised his hand to interrupt him, "No need. The flames of the Uchiha are only for purification, not for redemption."

Hashirama gave a wry smile and did not refute. The two stood side by side, watching the flames merge into one on the banks of the Naka River.

Years of hostility have made silence more persuasive than words; they all know that behind this plague lies a conspiracy deeper than the river itself.

Suddenly, a commotion arose in the distance. Madara frowned and looked over, only to see Ryoei grabbing the collar of a Senju ninja. His usually gentle face was so distorted that he was almost unrecognizable.

Leng Xi stood to the side, her hand on the hilt of her knife, her posture wary rather than aggressive.

"What's going on?" Ban's voice wasn't loud, but it was like an ice pick piercing through the noise, and everyone instantly fell silent.