Naruto Immersive Replay, The Curse of the Sharingan

"Double-headed... Prajna...!"

"I told you, you can't kill 'Two-Headed Prajna'!"

The golden chains suddenly grew longer, piercing into every joint of Black Zetsu's body.

It wanted to scream, but found that its vocal cords had been stripped away by some force. In the last moment before its consciousness dissipated, two overlapping voices rang out at the same time, "Kaguya's will... is nothing more than this."

The frenzied expression receded like the tide, and when you looked up again, only a deep, calm stillness remained in your eyes.

The moment the coffin lid was lifted, the smell of decaying earth mixed with the stench of blood rushed out.

You lower your gaze to the sleeping man in the coffin. His face is pale, his eyes are closed, and the wound on his chest, pierced by Hashirama's sword, has long since dried, yet it is still grotesquely etched on his body, like a mockery left by fate.

You reach out, your fingertips gently tracing the outline of his right eye—a hollow darkness, the price of Izanagi, eternal blindness.

The power of the Six Paths seeped into his eye sockets like fine threads, reshaping his flesh and blood, reviving his nerves, and causing his dark pupils to slowly rotate in the darkness.

"It's time to wake up, Madara." The words had barely left your lips when a cold hand suddenly gripped your wrist.

The next second, the world was spinning.

Do you miss me?

Fingertips brushed across Ban's cold cheeks; his skin still carried the chill of the grave soil, but his dark eyes were like a burning abyss, locking him in tightly.

Ban did not answer.

He bit your lip directly.

That wasn't a kiss; it was biting, devouring, and possessing.

His hand gripped the back of your head, his knuckles digging deep into your hair, as if afraid you would vanish into thin air at any moment.

You tasted blood, but you didn't know if it was his or your own.

You responded to him.

In that instant, Ban's movements suddenly went out of control.

His hand slid down your waistline, his fingertips caressing your skin, as if confirming your presence. His breathing grew heavier, and the desire in his eyes almost burned away his reason.

Your back slammed against the bottom of the coffin, the rotting wood groaning under the strain, while Ban's hand gripped your waist.

"You're not allowed here." You pushed him away, panting, but Ban's eyes were even more dangerous than before.

"Then somewhere else."

The next second, he lifted you up with one hand, your long hair falling down and brushing against his back. Ban's body temperature was very low, but his breath was frighteningly hot, spraying on your neck and sending a shiver down your spine.

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting for so long."

Your voice was soft, but Ban's arms tightened suddenly.

“If you really feel sorry,” his voice was terribly hoarse, filled with an intense, almost violent lust, “then give me a child.”

You were stunned. Ban was never one to mince words, but the possessiveness and obsession in his words were more naked than ever before.

You buried your face in his neck and shoulder, feeling the boiling blood in his pulse, and finally let out a soft "Mmm".

A low chuckle rolled down Ban's throat, like that of a triumphant beast.

Your future is just beginning.

This time, no one will be able to separate you again.

【Uchiha Madara】—"Love Trapped by a Curse"

I was born to be the future of the Uchiha clan.

From as far back as I can remember, my father has been gazing at me with his Sharingan eyes. He told me that I was born to lead the Uchiha clan to its peak.

When I was four years old, I stepped onto the battlefield for the first time. The blood that splattered on my face was still warm, but the eyes of the dead were frighteningly cold.

On the day Izuna was born, I stood outside the delivery room, listening to my mother's weak breathing and the baby's cries, and suddenly realized the fragility of life.

I gripped the kunai tightly, making a firm decision in my heart: I must become stronger, strong enough to protect everyone I care about.

But in the quiet of the night, I always dream of a woman.

I couldn't see her face clearly, only her eyes, as red as a blood moon, cold and deep, which made me irritable.

When I woke up, my heart was pounding, as if something was tearing my soul apart.

"Find her."

A voice whispered in my head, like a curse, or perhaps destiny.

I initially suspected I was under a genjutsu, or perhaps some insidious poisonous gu technique from a ninja clan, but after examining me, the clan's medical ninjas simply looked at me strangely and said, "Young clan leader, you are perfectly healthy."

If being tormented by the same dream every night is considered healthy.

As I grew older, I became stronger and stronger, and before I even opened my eyes, I was already able to wipe out an enemy squad on my own.

The girls in the tribe looked at me with admiration, but I just found it boring.

What they love is nothing more than the title of 'Young Uchiha Clan Leader' or my power.

What I want is something more twisted—a destined entanglement, a mark deep in the soul, an obsession that even death cannot sever.

Just like the woman in my dream.

Sometimes, after killing someone, I would stare blankly at my hands, imagining that she might be hiding behind a corpse, watching me with those blood-moon-like eyes.

I scoffed at myself, but I couldn't help but look forward to it.

One night when I was seven, I was curled up in my blankets, my fingernails digging deep into my palms. The whispers of those old men in the council chamber coiled around my eardrums like venomous snakes: "Lord Yoshio has been captured," "That monster," "He's still alive."

The rising heat from the tatami mats burned my back; I shouldn't have been curious.

My father once said that it is a sign of weakness to be interested in traitors.

But when I close my eyes, I always see a pair of eyes floating in the darkness, like a moon soaked in blood, chillingly cold yet burning so hot that my internal organs are wracked with pain.

The tatami mats felt like they were covered in thorns. On the fourth time I flipped them over, I stepped barefoot onto the cold floor.

I must see it with my own eyes.

The stone walls of the Hawk's Chamber reeked of blood and rust. I moved close to the shadows, and then—I saw it.

Moonlight slanted in through the skylight, like a silver knife cleaving through the darkness.

She was suspended in the center by iron chains, kneeling on the ground, her black hair hanging down to cover her face.

Despite being completely powerless to resist, it reminded me of the demonic sword my father kept—a weapon that sent chills down my spine even when lying in its sheath.

My heart suddenly started pounding painfully.

Just as my fingertips touched the edge of the moonlight, a chill suddenly swept over me from behind.

Leng Xi's withered hands gripped my arm like iron clamps. "Young Clan Chief?"

His voice was extremely low, and as his Adam's apple bobbed, I could smell the blood emanating from his cuffs. "This is not a place for you."

Footsteps echoed from the depths of the secret room.

Leng Xi's pupils contracted sharply, and she suddenly dragged me into the shadows of a dark corner.

His chakra enveloped me. The sound of Yoshio's cane stopped in front of the cage. I heard him ask in a voice like scraping glass with a knife, "Uchiha Madara was here?"

"I have been keeping watch here the whole time." Leng Xi's lie was terrifyingly smooth. "I have not seen any trace of the young clan leader." Yi Fu slammed his cane heavily on the ground.

Once the footsteps had completely disappeared, Leng Xi immediately dragged me outside. As we passed through the passageway, I inexplicably turned back—

The moonlight shone directly on those eyes, not the crimson of the Sharingan, but something darker, like a thousand needles being shoved into their sockets and stirred. My blood boiled instantly.

When we were finally led out of the secret room, I grabbed Leng Xi's sleeve and asked, "Who is she?"

Leng Xi's lips trembled, as if uttering that name alone would bring about her death.

"Uchiha... Nagi."

Blood roared in my ears, and I suddenly remembered when I was five years old, my back was burned by a Senju clan ninja's fire jutsu. The scalding pain crawled up my spine and into my brain, and now it was a hundred times hotter than it had been then.

When this syllable is ground between the teeth, a metallic taste seeps out from deep within the gums.

I couldn't control the smile on my face, which made Leng Xi take two steps back. This boy, who was always as silent as a shadow, was now looking at me as if I were a laughing corpse.

Back in my room, I bit my index finger and wrote on my palm. The blood spread along the lines of my palm, and the horizontal and vertical strokes felt like they were burning my nerves.

Nagi... Nagi... It sounds so nice. The tatami mats gradually turned dark red, much like the shadow cast by the moonlight when she was suspended in the secret room.

It turns out that the one who cursed me was none other than someone else.

She is a beast lurking deep within her bloodline, a boiling poison in her Sharingan, and something etched into her soul long before she was born.

The cawing of crows came from outside the window, and I suddenly pressed my bloodied palm against my left chest.

Beneath the skin, the heart was beating at an absurd frequency, as if countless thorny vines were bursting forth from the ventricles.

How ridiculous! The young Uchiha clan leader went mad because of the name of a traitor.

But I know this isn't madness; it's fate finally baring its fangs.

Just like what was written in the forbidden scroll that my father kept: Some encounters are like being burned alive. You know that getting close will burn you to ashes, but you still can't help but put your hand into the flames.

Many years later, when she touched my eyelids with her blood-stained fingertips, I finally understood.

It turns out that the moonlight on the night we were seven years old had already nailed us to the same curse. We were destined to tear each other apart and devour each other until our bones and blood were fused together.

【Uchiha Nagi】—From *The Human Skin Demon*

There was blood everywhere.

The father's kunai was still stuck in the third Jonin's eye socket, but the flame in the mother's eyes had already been extinguished.

Su was crying, but I couldn't cry. I covered his mouth tightly and hid in the pile of corpses.

The warm, viscous blood flowed over my ankles, dragging me down like a swamp.

"Sister...I'm scared..."

Su's voice trembled, and so did my hands, but I gripped the blood-stained dagger tightly.

Seven executioners came to wipe out the remaining members of the party.

I want them all dead!

When the Sharingan awakened, I heard the sound of my spine breaking.

The first one had his throat slit open by a kunai.

The second one stepped on the explosive tag I had laid.

When the third... the third person died, my eyes suddenly felt like they were being branded with hot irons.

The world became incredibly clear in that instant; I could see the trajectory of his chakra flow and predict every hand seal he made.

"Monster...this brat is a monster!"

They started to get scared, but it was too late.

When the last Jonin's neck bone broke in my hands, Su finally fell into a deep sleep.

I held him in my arms, sitting amidst the pile of corpses, watching my reflection twist and deform in the pool of blood, my scarlet eyes resembling the legendary Grim Reaper.

"Found it! It's here!"

The torchlight pierced the rain curtain, and I looked up to see the Uchiha clan crest flickering in the darkness.

It should have been a time to feel at ease, but I held Su tightly, my newly acquired eyes able to see the scheming on each of their faces.

"That's her? The brat who killed seven Senju?"

"I heard her parents just died on the northern battlefield..."

"Those eyes...they've already opened..."

The sound of wooden clogs crushing fallen leaves grew louder as they approached.

Uchiha Yoshio's toe brushed aside the strands of hair covering my face. In the moonlight, his wrinkles were studded with bloodstains, like a snake that had failed to shed its skin.

As his shoe pressed against my spine, I heard my bones creak under the strain.

The smell of muddy water choking my nose reminded me of the blood clots my mother vomited when she was dying. The dark red liquid mixed with fragments of internal organs was also sticky and smeared on my face.