The moon hung like a solemn guardian above Konohagakure, casting a pale glow that illuminated rooftops and alleyways with a ghostly light, as though the heavens themselves watched in mournful anticipation of the chaos brewing below.
Far from the peace of slumbering streets, an undercurrent of turmoil stirred—silent, unseen, crawling like rot beneath the bark of an ancient tree, waiting for the moment to unleash its wrath.
Moments before the waters swallowed what the world believed to be Shisui Uchiha's final breath, something stirred in the depths of despair.
Wooden vines burst from the cliffside like serpents from the underworld, coiling tightly around Shisui's limp form.
His body, broken and blind, dangled within their grasp, enveloped in nature's cold, merciless embrace, whispering promises of salvation and vengeance alike.
A shadow stepped from the trees, a figure cloaked in darkness and determination.
Senju Gojo.
His expression was a mosaic of mockery and cold calculation, his golden three-tomoe Sharingan gleaming like a divine eye of judgment, bright and haunting against the somber backdrop of the night.
"Well, well…" Gojo sneered, his voice as sharp as wind through rusted steel, cutting through the stillness.
"Trying to die like a tragic hero, Shisui? That cliff may have welcomed you, but I'm not so generous."
Shisui coughed, weak and trembling from the dual agony of despair and physical wounds.
His eye sockets were hollow and bleeding, the remnants of his vision lost beneath the weight of his choices.
"W-Who…?"
"Save your breath. I'm the only one left who'll speak the truth to you," Gojo said, stepping closer, the shadows concealing his true intentions.
"With your end, Danzo will move. Itachi will be his blade. Everyone who carries the Uchiha name… will be erased."
Shisui's body twitched involuntarily, an echo of denial coursing through him.
"No… Itachi… he wouldn't… the Hokage… wouldn't..."
Gojo laughed, low and bitter, the sound echoing like a warning bell in the shadows, reverberating through the trees.
"Naive. You're so damn naive."
He crouched, leaning in as if sharing a secret with a corpse, the intimacy of the moment weighted with dark implications.
"Let me ask you something. Did the Third Hokage ever fight in a war himself? No. He sat safely in Konoha while others bled on the battlefield. He reaped the rewards while calling himself wise. Where was that wisdom when White Fang was driven to suicide? Or when Minato—your precious Fourth Hokage—died alone with no backup? The 'hero' Hokage stood back and let a young man face a demon to protect the village. Then what? He orphaned his son and let the village throw stones at him."
Shisui trembled beneath the revelations, his lips parted but no words came forth, silence suffocating him beneath its weight.
"Still think he's a kind-hearted old man?" Gojo taunted, venom coating his every word like poison in a well.
"Then tell me, where is the Senju clan now? Gone. Vanished into the mist of forgotten bloodlines. And the Uzumaki? Their entire nation wiped out while Konoha did nothing."
Shisui clenched his fists, the weight of truth cracking the illusion he had clung to all his life, shattering it like glass beneath a hammer's blow.
"What about Orochimaru?" Gojo continued, relentless as the tides.
"His human experiments? Brushed aside. The Third couldn't bear to discipline his beloved student. And Nawaki—Tsunade's brother—was discarded like a failed draft. All of it swept beneath the Hokage's robe, buried under layers of deceit."
Silence grew between them, thick and suffocating, broken only by the night wind that howled with eerie mourning, echoing the sorrow embedded in the very fabric of Konoha.
"You still think your loyalty is to the right man?" Gojo whispered with a chilling intensity, drawing closer to the truth that lay buried within Shisui's heart.
Shisui's breath came in ragged gasps, thin and labored, his voice faint as it escaped his lips like dried leaves skittering on stone.
"What… do I do…?"
Gojo stepped back, folding his arms, the gesture almost casual, but laden with meaning as he assessed Shisui, gauging the weight of his desperation.
"Too late. Itachi will sell your clan's blood for his brother's life. A deal with Danzo has already begun forming in the shadows. Your clan? Slaughtered. Your parents? Murdered. Even the children… won't be spared."
The words struck Shisui like daggers to the heart, twisting deep into his chest.
"No… no…" He muttered, shaking his head in denial.
"Itachi… would never…"
"Don't delude yourself," Gojo snapped, the derision spilling from his lips like acid.
"He's not the messiah you thought. He's a coward with bloodied hands who thinks saving one life excuses the slaughter of hundreds."
Shisui collapsed in despair, his breath hitching in agony as he struggled to reconcile the horrors being revealed to him.
"But… Sasuke and the other children are innocent…"
"Yes," Gojo said, his voice somber, devoid of any false compassion.
"And that's what makes Itachi even more monstrous. He's willing to murder everyone—even his own parents—just to protect one child. That's not love. That's madness."
A tense pause enveloped them, the world closing in around Shisui, compressing with every heartbeat.
Then, with trembling hands, Shisui reached into his bloodstained flak jacket, pulling out a small scroll.
"Then… then you must… stop him. Save the clan… save those children. If I was wrong… then I beg you to make it right."
He unsealed the storage scroll, revealing a pouch of savings, a bundle of jutsu scrolls, and a small, sealed vial glowing with faint chakra, the contents shimmering with the promise of power and hope.
"I give you everything," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his despair.
"My savings… my techniques… my last wishes."
Shisui then did the unthinkable.
He knelt.
The proud prodigy of the Uchiha… bowed before Gojo, a child he once looked down upon, surrendering his pride for the sake of love.
"Please, Gojo… save the Uchiha. Even if it means killing Itachi. I… I can't… I can't live knowing I let them all die." The vulnerability in his voice resonated through the stillness of the night.
Gojo's expression softened slightly, perhaps at the sight of Shisui's fallen spirit, but only for a moment.
The hardness soon returned to his features, steeling as he contemplated the weight of the request.
"You're lucky I care about more than you do," he said.
"Your clan might be worth saving… but don't mistake me for a saint." The words were blunt, a dagger piercing the tender fabric of Shisui's hopes.
As the wooden vines slowly lowered Shisui to the forest floor, Gojo vanished into the night, his presence fading like a shadow in flame, leaving behind an echoing silence filled with unresolved futures.
Behind him, Shisui knelt beneath the stars, broken, weeping—not from the pain of his wounds but from the honest weight of shattered ideals, the remnants of loyalty unraveling like threads frayed by time.
Above, the moon bore silent witness… to the first spark of a vengeance that would soon ignite the dark, a flickering flame in the cold void of night—a promise of coming storms, the ensign of a conflict far beyond what any of them could foresee.
Shisui's thoughts whirled like the leaves caught in a tempest, memories flashing before his eyes—laughter shared with friends, family gatherings that felt soaked in love, and a future he had once believed would shine bright.
Now, those dreams seemed to crumble to ash, carried away by the winds of fate.
As he stood, unsteadiness coursing through his limbs, the reality of what lay ahead began to crystallize.
Gojo, though cynical and ruthless, had revealed a path—a chance to change the course of destiny, even if it required unimaginable sacrifice.
The grotesque amalgamation of hope and despair clawed at him, a duality he could not escape.
With trembling hands, he clutched the small scroll, his last thread of resolve binding him to the fight for his clan, igniting a flicker of purpose that began to smolder within him.
The night stretched before him, vast and foreboding, but within that darkness, he could almost see flickering remnants of flame—embers of defiance refusing to be extinguished, igniting the path ahead.
Somewhere, beneath the shadows of the Uchiha compound, the chorus of whispers echoed through the tree branches—cries for justice, revenge, and ultimately, the quest for peace.
They were messy, tangled dreams, but they were his to reclaim.
And as the moon continued its silent vigil, Shisui prepared to challenge the very fabric of his fate and the destiny intertwined with the name he bore.
To be continued...
(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
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