Naruto Immersive Replay, The Curse of the Sharingan

"Damn it...!"

The violent chakra exploded, and the scroll unfurled with a whoosh the moment the knotted rope snapped.

"Izanagi"

Your handwriting is sharp as a knife, the last stroke even tearing through the paper.

On the night of Izuna's funeral, you hold his wrist in the shadows of the study, "but we need to play along."

Your eternal kaleidoscope swirls in the darkness, your fingertips drawing unformed spells in his palm.

It turns out that it wasn't a reassurance, but a hint.

Madara trembled as he stroked your heart. At the edge of the hole pierced by Black Zetsu, faint traces of chakra remained—the mark of activating a forbidden technique.

"You already..."

His laughter was more unpleasant than crying, and his scarlet Sharingan eyes stood out vividly in the snowy night.

"Did they even include their own 'death' in their calculations...?"

The snow suddenly stopped.

Within the suspended ice crystals, Ban saw your rebirth.

Rain dripped from the eaves like strings of transparent teardrops.

Madara Uchiha's back was pressed tightly against the cold coffin. He could feel the person lying inside—no, the body—separated from him by only a thin sheet of wood.

The funeral hall was filled with the fragrance of white chrysanthemums, mixed with the smell of damp wood chips and a faint trace of blood.

"Nagi, this joke should end now," Madara said in a low voice, so soft that only he could hear it.

His long, slender fingers traced the delicate patterns on the coffin, as if caressing his lover's pale cheek. "You're always like this, always teasing me."

Hurried footsteps could be heard outside the mourning hall, followed by the frantic attempts of the servants to stop them.

The door was suddenly pushed open, and Rin Kaga stood in the doorway, rain dripping from his hair and the hem of his expensive kimono covered in mud.

The usually elegant young nobleman now had bloodshot eyes, looking like a wounded wild beast.

Rin's voice shattered the silence of the mourning hall, "Tell me! Why didn't you protect her! Aren't you Uchiha Madara?!"

Ban slowly raised his eyes, his black pupils reflecting the boy's distorted face. He could see the boy's love for you, that almost insane obsession, just like his own.

But you are his, and always will be.

“I don’t want to kill anyone at her funeral.” Ban’s voice was eerily calm, like a stagnant pool. “Kowtowing, bowing, and then getting out.”

Rin Shika's chest heaved violently as he stared intently at Madara, but in the end, the young nobleman straightened his back and slowly walked toward the coffin.

The moment he knelt down, all the madness vanished from his face, replaced by the composure and elegance befitting a nobleman.

Rin's forehead slammed heavily against the wooden floor in front of the coffin, once, twice, three times. When he raised his head again, blood was streaming down his forehead.

"Please allow me... to see her one last time." Shika Rin's voice regained the restraint befitting a nobleman, but only Madara could hear the despair hidden beneath the calm.

Madara did not answer, but simply stepped aside to make way. He watched as Rin's trembling fingers traced the coffin, and watched the boy trying to hold back his tears. He felt neither pity nor anger.

People came to pay their respects one after another in the mourning hall. Tobirama Senju was the last to arrive. He stood in front of the coffin, his white hair wet with rain and plastered to his face. His red eyes were filled with a vulnerability that no one had ever seen before.

Hinata Hatozaki quietly offered a white chrysanthemum and whispered some vow, while Uzumaki Mito stood in the corner, her green eyes filled with resentment towards Madara.

Ban didn't care; he only cared whether the person in the coffin would open their eyes and smile at him.

"Lord Madara, it's time to seal the coffin," an older Uchiha clansman cautiously reminded him.

Madara Uchiha did not answer, but simply raised his hand to signal everyone to leave. When the mourning hall was finally empty, he turned around, placed his hands on either side of the coffin, and gazed down at your peaceful sleeping face.

"Liar." Ban chuckled softly, the sound echoing eerily in the empty mourning hall. "You always lie to me."

He leaned down, his lips gently touching your forehead. That once warm body, with its faint herbal scent, now exudes only the chilling aura of death.

Ban closes his eyes, imagining you suddenly opening them, laughing as usual as you push him away, saying it was just a bad joke.

But nothing happened.

Outside the mourning hall, the rain poured down harder, washing over the newly erected tombstone, which bore the name 'Uchiha Nagi'.

Ban stood in the rain, letting the cold rain soak his long hair and robes.

He could feel the sympathetic or resentful gazes behind him, but none of that mattered anymore.

"Madala." In your hallucination, you stand in the rain and reach out your hand to him.

Ban smiled as he walked toward the figure that only he could see. He knew he was slowly sliding toward the edge of madness, but he didn't care.

If going crazy can bring him back to see you, he'd gladly do it.

After the funeral, Madara returned alone to the Uchiha Shrine, where ancient scrolls contained forbidden ninjutsu.

The rain was falling like it was the end of the world.

The waterfall in the Valley of the End was dyed red, as if the sky itself was bleeding for this duel.

Madara Uchiha stood on the water, ripples spreading out from his feet, each wave reflecting his shattered Sharingan.

He knew this day would come, but he didn't expect it to come so soon.

"Earlier than I expected, Hashirama." Madara's voice was almost inaudible in the sound of rain. "This is the moment that was destined for us."

Hashirama Senju stood opposite him, water droplets constantly dripping from his katana.

His face showed no joy at the prospect of victory, only a bottomless weariness and sorrow. "Stop, Ban, it's not too late."

Madara laughed, a twisted smile spreading across his lips. His gaze passed over Hashirama and fell upon the gloomy sky in the distance.

There were no birds, no sunlight, only lead-gray clouds hanging low, as if they might fall at any moment.

"You know what, Hashirama, I dreamt about Nagi last night."

“She said she was waiting for me.” Ban raised his hand and wiped the blood mixed with rainwater from his cheek. “She’s been waiting for too long.”

Before he could finish speaking, Madara's figure had already disappeared from the spot. Hashirama instinctively raised his sword to block, and sparks from the metal clashing briefly lit up and then went out in the rain.

Their movements were too fast for the naked eye to discern; only the constantly exploding water testified to the intensity of this deadly battle.

Hashirama hesitated for a moment, and in that instant, Madara's fist struck him heavily in the abdomen.

Hashirama coughed up a mouthful of blood and staggered backward, but in the instant Madara pursued him, he slashed back with his sword.

The sound of the blade piercing flesh was so clear that it even drowned out the roar of the waterfall.

Ban looked down at the tip of the knife that had pierced his chest. Blood flowed down the cold steel and dripped onto the water, spreading outwards. Strangely, he felt no pain.

"Finally... I can see Nagi."

Madara's voice was soft, yet it made Hashirama's hand tremble.

He slowly drew his sword, watching as Madara turned to face him. His usually arrogant face now wore a relieved smile.

"I'm sorry, for my ideals..." Hashirama's voice choked, "I would have done the same for anyone."

Madara's laughter was mixed with blood and foam, and his vision began to blur, but Hashirama's pained expression was exceptionally clear.

"Still the same old story, Hashirama. Oh well..." he gasped, feeling his life force rapidly draining from his wounds. "Let's see what your so-called ideals can bring."

Hashirama tried to say something, but found himself unable to make a sound. He reached out to support the swaying Madara, but was pushed away by the other man.

Ban closed his eyes, and darkness surged in like a tide. In this darkness, he heard your voice, so clear, as if you were standing right beside him.

"Too slow... Madara."

Was it an illusion? Or a gift from death? Madara tried to open his eyes, but found he couldn't even do such a simple action, but it didn't matter anymore.

You are waiting for him, and you always have.

As Hashirama watched Madara's vital signs gradually disappear, the pain of parting from the boy who had once skipped stones with him on the river, the close friend with whom he had talked about ideals, and the nemesis with whom he would eventually fight was only realized belatedly.

"Blemish...Blemish!"

Hashirama held Madara's gradually cooling body and finally broke down in tears. The rain washed over them, but it couldn't wash away the blood on their hands.

He protected his ideals, but lost his most important friend. Is this the peace he wanted?

Memories flood back uncontrollably. Your slender fingers twirl the teacup, your eyes sharp as knives. "Naive and innocent ideals will only bring more regrets sooner or later."

At that time, he just laughed it off, thinking you were too pessimistic.

Now he understands that you've seen through everything.

Peace requires sacrifice, but sacrifice brings new hatred, and hatred breeds new wars.

This cycle is harder to break than any ninjutsu.

Hashirama suddenly spat out a mouthful of blood, staining the puddle in front of him red. He looked up at the gray sky, where rain and tears mingled together, indistinguishable from each other.

"Is this... fate's arrangement...?"

Two clear tears finally fell, merging into the blood of the Valley of the End.

In the distance, the rising sun pierced through the clouds, casting a golden glow over the ruins.

A new day has begun, but for some, it's forever stuck in yesterday.

Hashirama picked up Madara's body and walked unsteadily into the distance. His figure looked particularly lonely in the morning light, as if the weight of the whole world was pressing down on his shoulders.

The waterfall in the Valley of the End still rushes on, as if mocking humanity's insignificance and persistence.

In the distance, a black crow landed on a branch, its blood-red eyes watching everything. It tilted its head, let out a piercing cry, and then flapped its wings and flew into the darker clouds.

[Happy Ending] - Izanagi Part 2

The moonlight, like a pale shroud, covered Madara Uchiha's tombstone.

Black Zetsu's claws dug into the damp soil, the crevices of his nails filled with the stench of humus.

It had been digging for three whole hours when finally a corner of the coffin lid was revealed, the dark wood covered with cracks that looked like maggots.

"Finally..." Black Zetsu grinned, and viscous fluid dripped from between his teeth.

Just as its hand was about to touch the coffin lid, a patch of tiny goosebumps suddenly appeared on the skin of the back of its neck.

Something was watching it, not just an ordinary gaze, but an almost insane stare, as if countless ants were crawling along its spine.

“An illusion…” Black Zetsu muttered to himself, but his claws trembled uncontrollably.

The coffin creaked painfully, and the moment it was opened a crack, the feeling of being spied on intensified.

Black Zetsu suddenly turned around, and a figure wearing a black cloak stood in the shadows.

"How could it be you!"

You, who should have died three years ago, are now standing in front of it.

"Golden Escape: Thousand Birdcages"

With a crisp snap of his fingers, countless golden threads pierced through the ground. Black Zetsu, who had just turned into liquid and was about to escape, discovered that each golden thread was wrapped with Six Paths Sage Chakra.

It was pinned in mid-air, like an insect twitching in a specimen room.

"Long time no see, you damned monster!"

Your cloak slipped off, and the moonlight illuminated your face. Your gloomy features were now twisted into a maniacal smile, and your eyes almost froze Black Zetsu's blood.

A pair of Rinnegan eyes that shouldn't exist in this world, with golden tomoe floating in purple ripples.

"How could you..." Black Zetsu's scream caught in his throat.

"Let's take another look... Who am I, really?"

Your face suddenly drew close, so close that Hei Jue could see the golden runes moving in his pupils.

A more ancient and terrifying aura emanates from you; it's not the look you usually have in your eyes, but the pleasure of a hunter toying with his prey.

"Uchiha... Showa!" Black Zetsu's voice was shrill and piercing. His cloak moved without wind, revealing the twelve Truth-Seeking Balls floating behind him.

These pitch-black spheres rotated slowly, each reflecting a terrifying image of Black Zetsu.

The biggest variable killed by Black Zetsu a hundred years ago was the madman Uchiha Showa, who obtained the power of the Six Paths with a mortal body at the age of twenty.

"Lord Showa... please let me explain..."

"Shh—!" A cool index finger is pressed against its split mouth, and your right eye suddenly transforms into the same Rinnegan as your left, two ripples spinning wildly. "What should you call me?"

The moonlight was completely swallowed up at this moment. In the absolute darkness, Black Zetsu saw a huge double-headed Hannya phantom appear behind you. On the left was Showa's maniacal smile, and on the right was Nagi's indifferent gaze.