The Uchiha Clan's district lay in an unnatural silence.
What was once a lively, proud community was now still, suffocating, as though the very air itself had frozen in anticipation of tragedy. The lanterns that usually flickered along the main street had gone dark, and the whisper of leaves in the wind was swallowed by a dreadful quiet.
On this night, no laughter, no arguments, not even the barking of stray dogs broke the stillness. It was as though the clan had already been buried beneath the weight of fate.
A fleeting shadow crossed the rooftops. It darted swiftly, noiselessly, and vanished as though it had never been there at all.
That shadow belonged to Uchiha Obito.
His tall frame was concealed beneath a black cloak, his face hidden behind the swirling-patterned mask that revealed only a single eye. Beneath that mask, his gaze was colder than ice, merciless, and stripped of warmth.
Tonight was the night of the Uchiha's annihilation.
Together with Uchiha Itachi, he had orchestrated this bloody purge. Their roles were decided in advance: Itachi would deal with the clan members inside the district, while Obito would eliminate those stationed outside, particularly the Uchiha Military Police Force.
By now, Obito had already executed most of the list. Corpses littered the Military Police headquarters, lifeless bodies sprawled in hallways and offices. Blood still clung wetly to the wooden floors, its metallic stench thick in the air. The massacre was in progress, its shadow spreading like wildfire across the clan.
Only one name remained.
Obito pulled a blood-smeared scroll from his cloak. His lone eye narrowed on the final entry.
Uchiha Gen.
An obscure name.
From what little intelligence he possessed, this man was utterly insignificant — a clan member without a Sharingan, unremarkable in every way. His position in the Military Police was not due to ability, but the pull of some elder relative. His tasks were clerical, his strength negligible.
Obito's brow furrowed. A fragment of memory stirred.
This man… had once been his classmate at the Ninja Academy.
While Obito, Kakashi, and Rin had graduated to become shinobi, Uchiha Gen had failed and withdrawn from the Academy, returning to the clan to live quietly in obscurity. No ambition, no recognition, no brilliance — just a shadow in the background.
A faint, disdainful whisper escaped Obito's lips.
"Just a useless fellow…"
Without hesitation, Obito activated his Mangekyo. Space twisted silently, and his body melted into intangibility as he phased into the last office of the Military Police headquarters.
The room he entered was spotless, unnervingly so. The desk was perfectly ordered, stacked with scrolls, records, and ancient tomes concerning the clan's history, bloodlines, and secrets. The faint smell of ink and parchment clung to the air.
At the desk sat a lone figure.
Uchiha Gen.
He did not appear panicked. His short black hair was slightly disheveled, his posture calm, his eyes as still and dark as an ancient well. He was gazing quietly out the window at the pale moonlight, as if untouched by the bloodbath staining the night.
Obito remained intangible, watching from the shadows, preparing to strike.
But then, Gen spoke. His voice was low, composed, almost eerily detached.
"Tonight's atmosphere is particularly strange… It must be the night of the clan's extermination, correct? If I'm not mistaken… Uchiha Obito, you're already behind me, aren't you?"
Obito froze. His masked eye widened.
He had not revealed himself. His Kamui cloaking should have concealed him entirely. Yet his name had been spoken aloud, unflinchingly.
Obito said nothing. He waited, silent.
The man before him chuckled softly, though there was no mirth in it.
"Hmm? Obito hasn't appeared yet?"
Obito stiffened.
Gen's voice remained calm, void of emotion, as though he were reciting facts.
"It's rather ironic. I was born without the fluctuations of emotion. No matter what I face, fear, rage, sorrow — they never come to me. Because of that, I could never awaken the Sharingan. For years, I've tried to force myself to feel something… anything. But emotions are a luxury forever denied to me."
He shifted slightly in his chair, eyes still fixed on the moon.
"So I prepared another path. If I couldn't awaken my eyes naturally… I had to find another way."
Finally, he turned. His gaze settled directly on the space Obito occupied, as if piercing the veil of Kamui itself.
For the first time in many years, Obito felt a tremor of unease.
Those calm, emotionless eyes held not ignorance, but an uncanny clarity. Within them, he sensed no fear, no weakness. Instead, they seemed to hold a depth that threatened to drag him in.
"Truthfully," Gen continued, "I intended to speak with you tonight. To tell you of this Ninja World's true nature… and about the real intentions of the man you follow so blindly — Uchiha Madara."
The name struck Obito like a blade.
Madara. His master. His purpose. His conviction.
Yet this insignificant man dared to speak it aloud. How?
Gen's lips curved faintly, though it was not a smile of warmth, but one of pity.
"I had hoped my words might shake you, make you question the foundations of your beliefs. But perhaps that was always too fantastical. After all, Kamui could erase me in an instant. My plan was only to see your reaction before my end."
His tone remained level, his expression unchanging. And yet, the pressure in the air thickened. Obito's chakra flared instinctively in warning.
The silence stretched. Then Gen murmured to himself, voice quiet as falling ash:
"Still no response? Perhaps Obito has not come after all. As expected, he is unreliable…"
Obito's hidden eye narrowed. A rare flicker of doubt entered his thoughts.
And then—
Gen looked up.
His pupils shifted, transforming before Obito's very eye.
From lifeless black… bloomed the crimson glow of the Mangekyo Sharingan.
Obito's breath caught. Impossible.
This man had claimed he could never awaken the Sharingan. Yet the whirling tomoe patterns of the Mangekyo spun ominously, reflecting a depth of power that should not exist in someone so forgotten.
A chill swept the room.
Gen tilted his head slightly, his tone still calm, but his words carried a sinister weight.
"There is one truth I concealed from you, Obito. Though I could not awaken the Sharingan through the emotions of an Uchiha, I discovered… another way. A forbidden path. My Mangekyo was not born of grief, but of something far darker."
The tomoe rotated slowly, hypnotically, their light deepening into a vortex. Shadows bled from the walls, the air growing colder with every heartbeat.
Obito tensed, his Kamui ready, yet he hesitated. For the first time in years, he felt as though the ground beneath his convictions was unsteady.
Gen rose from his seat. The shadows clung to him, thick and suffocating, as though he carried the abyss itself within his body. His lips curved into a faint smile, one that unsettled Obito more than open hostility ever could.
His voice dropped, echoing like a whisper from the void.
"When you gaze into the abyss… the abyss gazes also into you."
His Mangekyo blazed, crimson patterns spinning with a gravity that seemed to devour the room itself. The aura he released was monstrous, oppressive, drenched in something beyond hatred — beyond comprehension.
In that moment, Uchiha Gen was no longer a forgotten clerk.
He was the abyss incarnate.
And Obito, the executioner of the Uchiha Clan, found himself hesitating before his final target.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)