A Few Minutes Earlier
"Has it started already?"
Itachi's voice was barely a whisper as he moved through the dimly lit streets, his every step silent yet purposeful. His keen eyes swept the darkness, searching—anticipating.
Then, a flicker of movement.
His fingers tightened around his kunai as he snapped into a defensive stance. "Who's there?" His voice cut through the silence, firm and commanding.
A shadow shifted.
"It's me, Itachi."
The familiar voice made him lower his weapon slightly, though his guard remained.
"Father..."
Fugaku Uchiha emerged from the shadows, his expression unreadable. His gaze locked onto Itachi's, and then—his eyes changed.
The distinct pattern of the Mangekyo Sharingan spun to life in his pupils.
Itachi's breath hitched.
"You awakened it?" His voice was barely above a whisper, shock evident in his crimson gaze.
Fugaku nodded. "It has been a long time."
A heavy silence settled between them before Itachi finally spoke. "Why did you keep this a secret?"
Fugaku's eyes darkened, focusing beyond the present. "With my Mangekyo, I can glimpse into potential futures—paths shaped by the choices we make."
Itachi's grip on his kunai loosened slightly.
"Not only that," Fugaku continued, his voice carrying an eerie calm, "I can share these visions with others, guiding them toward the future that best serves our clan's destiny."
Itachi remained silent, absorbing the weight of his father's words.
"This power is not just a weapon. It is a responsibility."
Then—in a blur of motion, he was gone.
The flicker of his form dissipated into the night, leaving Itachi standing alone, his mind churning with revelations.
The Following Night
Darkness draped over the Uchiha compound like a suffocating veil.
Itachi moved through the shadows, his steps light, his breathing controlled. A stillness hung in the air—unnatural, expectant. The distant cries of nocturnal creatures only made the silence more ominous.
He entered the courtyard cautiously, his pulse steady but his thoughts racing.
Fugaku had become his greatest opponent.
"We're here." His whisper barely disturbed the air as he scanned his surroundings, his senses sharpened to their peak.
Then—a voice.
"Come in. There are no traps."
Fugaku's voice carried no malice, only certainty.
Itachi hesitated, then slid the door open.
Inside, his parents knelt side by side. Their backs were to him, their presence both unnerving and familiar.
"Father…" His voice was steady, but his mind churned with unease.
"I don't want to fight, my son." Fugaku's words were calm, but there was a finality to them.
Itachi's heart tightened.
"So… you know where I stand."
Fugaku exhaled, his shoulders rising and falling with slow deliberation. "It seems you've chosen Konoha over the clan."
A painful silence followed.
Mikoto's voice, gentle yet firm, broke it. "We didn't call you here to fight, Itachi."
His mother turned slightly, her gaze warm yet burdened.
"The Mangekyo Sharingan is both a gift and a curse. Tonight, we pass that burden to you."
Fugaku's voice remained steady, yet something in his tone carried the weight of centuries. "This power is not to be used recklessly. It exists to protect, not destroy. The fate of the Uchiha now rests in your hands."
Mikoto's gaze softened. "And more than anything, Itachi—Sasuke needs you."
A sharp pang struck his chest at the mention of his brother.
"Guide him, shield him from the darkness that may surround our clan. Your path will be difficult, but you must endure."
Itachi's fingers curled around the hilt of his blade. His breath came slow, measured—yet his resolve wavered.
Fugaku's voice grew softer. "Although our paths differ, know this—I am proud of you."
Mikoto smiled faintly. "Do not hesitate, my son. Our pain is momentary compared to yours."
The room blurred at the edges as Itachi raised his sword, his hands steady—but his heart faltering.
Then—
A deafening roar.
The ground shook violently.
Itachi barely had time to react before the entire compound trembled. The wooden walls groaned, dust and debris raining down from the rafters. His pulse quickened—not out of fear, but instinct.
Something was coming. Something massive.
He ran.
Fugaku and Mikoto followed, their movements sharp and precise—but as they reached the exit, an invisible weight crashed down on them.
Itachi froze mid-step. His lungs clenched. His vision blurred.
He couldn't breathe.
The three of them stumbled forward, but it was like moving through deep water. The air itself was thick, pressing against their skin, filling their bones with an unnatural heaviness.
Then, they saw it.
A golden giant stood in the distance—taller than anything they had ever seen.
It wasn't just big. It wasn't just powerful.
It was wrong.
Its golden light wasn't warm, wasn't divine. It twisted the air around it, bending space like a heat mirage, warping everything just by existing.
And then—it looked at them.
Itachi's breath stopped.
A chill shot through his spine like a blade of ice. His chest locked up, his knees almost gave out. His body was fighting him, every muscle screaming to move—but nothing happened.
Fugaku, a man who had stood against countless enemies, was silent. His Mangekyo spun wildly, trying to make sense of what his mind refused to accept.
Mikoto clutched her chest, her lips parted in a silent gasp. Her face was pale.
The golden Susanoo took a step forward.
BOOM.
The ground exploded under its weight, cracks spider-webbing through the stone.
The force of that single step hit them like a tidal wave. Their bodies buckled.
The air rippled, distorting like shattered glass.
Itachi's heartbeat slammed against his ribs, fast and uneven.
His mind screamed at him to act—to move, to fight, to do something—
But his body wouldn't listen.
Fugaku swallowed, forcing himself to breathe. Even that felt like a battle. He had never experienced this before.
Mikoto's hands trembled. She wasn't weak. She had lived through war, had seen death up close.
But this?
This wasn't power.
This was something else.
Then, the Susanoo lifted its sword.
The very sky trembled.
Itachi's Sharingan burned, taking in every impossible detail—the sheer size of the blade, the way its golden light bent the air, the way the fabric of reality itself seemed to shudder beneath its weight.
Fugaku forced his legs to move, to stand tall. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched, his voice barely a whisper—
"This... this isn't just Susanoo."
Mikoto exhaled her first breath in what felt like an eternity. Her voice was weak, almost lost in the pressure crushing down on them.
"It's him."
Fugaku's eyes narrowed. The weight on his shoulders, the burning in his chest, the instinct screaming at him to run—
None of it mattered.
His Sharingan locked onto the golden titan, and he spoke at last, his voice steady despite the chaos.
"Susanoo."