"What's happening?"
"What terrifying pressure… this isn't chakra—it's something far beyond!"
"Could this be… the Death God the captain spoke of?"
A shiver pierced every soul present. The air itself grew heavy, pressing down like an invisible mountain. Breathing became agony; even the strongest Uchiha could barely stay conscious beneath the crushing force.
Silence.
Only ragged gasps echoed through the night.
Whoosh—
A single sound tore through the air. A dark figure appeared in the center of the street.
Pinned beneath the pressure, Fugaku forced his Sharingan open. The tomoe spun wildly, merging into a strange new pattern. Gritting his teeth, he lifted his head.
White tabi. Wooden sandals. Black hakama swaying in the moonlight.
At the man's waist—an elegant sword.
The Death God had arrived.
Such power… this is what it means to be a Shinigami.
Shihōin Yanmo swept his gaze across the street, where the entire Uchiha clan lay prostrate on the ground. He nodded slightly, satisfied.
He had waited until Fugaku finished explaining. Then, at the height of their confusion, he appeared and released his spiritual pressure—just enough to silence them.
"I dislike noise," his calm voice cut through the air. "Decide quickly."
With a thought, the suffocating force vanished.
The Uchihas gasped as the weight lifted. Trembling, they stood, eyes filled with awe. Under the pale moonlight, none dared to speak.
Even Jōnin and veterans who had faced death countless times found themselves powerless. Against this reiatsu, their chakra meant nothing. If Yanmo had unleashed his full strength, not one soul would have survived.
Fugaku bowed low. "It was my failure to restrain my clan. Please forgive our offense, my lord."
Yanmo smiled faintly. "No harm done. The ignorant are not to blame."
Fugaku's humility pleased him. The lesson had worked.
Then, commotion rose at the edge of the district. The Police Force had returned—led by a young man with short hair and a short blade on his shoulder. His crimson eyes bore a pattern of four blades linked in a ring.
"Shisui…"
Fugaku froze, then relaxed.
The man before him was Uchiha Shisui—long dead.
Shisui led his men forward and knelt. "My lord, I have gathered the Police Force. I explained everything on the way. All have agreed to go to the Soul Society."
"Well done," Yanmo nodded.
Shisui had been left as a guide among the dead—a messenger to explain the truth. Their timing was perfect. Upon arrival, they too had felt the Death God's might.
Yanmo had not just arrived in the Shinobi World.
When he first appeared in Konoha, he had found Shisui's dying body and captured his soul.
They negotiated. Shisui would serve him, and in return, Yanmo would lead the willing Uchihas to a second life.
Yanmo hadn't chosen him by chance.
When he discovered that Shisui could still feel hunger, he realized the man possessed the rare potential to become a Shinigami.
Among thousands, others might share that same spark.
For Yanmo, bringing them to the Soul Society was effortless.
"Time is short," Yanmo said. "Decide quickly."
With a flicker, he vanished.
Shisui turned to Fugaku. "Captain, Itachi's actions led us here. Please—make the right choice this time. Don't let the Uchiha repeat the same fate."
Before Fugaku could reply, Shisui disappeared as well.
The crowd broke into low murmurs, debating their path.
Following Yanmo's fading reiatsu, Shisui used a clumsy flash step and landed on a nearby rooftop.
Yanmo sat there, overlooking the clan below. When Shisui appeared, he smiled. "Impressive. You've already learned Shunpo."
The Four Skills of a Shinigami: Sword, Fist, Step, Spell.
Yanmo had taught him the basics, yet Shisui had mastered flash step within days—a feat that had once taken Yanmo months.
Genius, he thought. Some things never change.
Shisui bowed. "Your instruction is unmatched, my lord."
Known in life as Shunshin Shisui, the master of speed, he adapted easily to the new energy system. His body remembered how to move.
Yanmo's tone softened. "When we reach the Soul Society, I'll arrange your quarters. Keep the clan in order. Once they adjust, I'll entrust you with greater duties."
"Yes, my lord."
After giving further instructions, Yanmo glanced down—the crowd had quieted. Their debate was over.
In a single step, he was among them again. The street fell silent. None dared look at him.
"Have you decided?" he asked. "Who among you will follow me to the Soul Society?"
Fugaku stepped forward, kneeling. "My lord, the Uchiha clan chooses to follow you—life and death alike, without regret!"
As one, the entire clan knelt.
Voices rose like thunder:
"We will follow our lord!"
"We swear eternal loyalty!"
The cries joined together, echoing through the night sky.
Yanmo nodded. Their choice was no surprise.
Each of them carried regrets. Each longed for redemption. The chance to live again was irresistible.
"Then let us seal the contract."
Fugaku looked up. "How shall we do so, my lord?"
Yanmo drew his sword. The blade gleamed with icy light.
"This is my Zanpakutō. One of its powers allows me to link our souls and draw a fragment of your strength. But know this—if I die, you die. Should you betray me, the sword will strike you down."
Fugaku bowed his head. "We dare not. Our loyalty is absolute."
The clan echoed as one.
"Good."
Yanmo raised his sword. "Connect—Setsuna!"
The name rang through the night. The blade pulsed with pale light. Threads of spirit energy spread outward, weaving between every soul in the compound.
"I'll ask once more," he said quietly. "Will you truly follow me? Any who refuse may step away."
"We will!"
Their unified shout shook the heavens.
They were already dead. To live again was blessing enough.
Serving the one who granted that gift felt only natural.
Once, they were tools of Konoha. Now, they would be tools of a god.
A god strong enough to crush them with mere presence.
"So be it," Yanmo said. "The contract is complete."
The glowing threads faded into nothingness. A new connection formed—subtle, but unbreakable.
From this moment on, Shihōin Yanmo and the Uchiha clan shared the same fate.
Live together. Die together.
Through that bond, he could feel their presence—each heartbeat of spiritual power feeding into his own. Skills, talents, pressure… all flowing toward him in quiet streams of strength.
It was only a fraction from each, but together it was limitless.
In time, he would rise above all.
A god among gods.