Kapitel 316: 315-Waves
The sprawling expanse of the island, dotted with jagged rocks and patches of mossy grass, seemed to float in serene isolation, its edges dissolving into the sky's hues of orange and crimson. The vast emptiness around him was both calming and daunting—a perfect stage for the chaos he was about to unleash.
Renjiro closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying himself. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate rhythm as he drew upon the immense reserves of chakra within him.
He felt his pulse, the rhythmic drumbeat of his life force, steady and strong. With a sharp exhale, he began. Slowly, deliberately, he reached inward, unraveling the intricate pathways of his chakra network to open the Eight Gates.
The first gate, the Gate of Opening, yielded with ease, flooding his body with a gentle warmth. His muscles become more responsive and agile. But this was only the beginning. He skipped the second gate, the gate of healing, since his body did not have any need for that.
Then came the Gate of Life, the third. His chakra flared brighter, and his blood coursed through his veins with exhilarating speed. But he didn't stop there. Renjiro gritted his teeth as he opened the Gate of Pain.
A sudden, almost overwhelming rush of power exploded within him, sending shockwaves through every nerve in his body. His muscles bulged, their fibers straining against the skin as raw energy pulsed through them.
The sensation was indescribable—like standing at the edge of a thunderstorm, the air charged and electric, every sense heightened to an almost unbearable degree. His tenketsu points in the brain and spinal cord, responsible for the first four gates, buzzed like a thousand lightning bolts firing in perfect harmony. It was exhilarating and terrifying, a razor-thin balance between power and self-destruction.
Renjiro clenched his fists, feeling the strain on his body. His hands had reddened, the skin hot to the touch. He glanced at them briefly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
'I still cannot get used to this,' he thought, flexing his fingers.
The Eight Gates demanded much, and while he had spent the last week mastering the Gate of Pain, the toll it took on his body was a constant reminder of its risks. He remembered the gruelling hours of training—punching through wooden posts until they splintered, collapsing from exhaustion only to rise again, his body battered and bruised. Progress had been slow, but his determination had been unyielding.
Opening his eyes, Renjiro surveyed his surroundings. The breeze tugged gently at his clothes, cooling his overheated skin. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate the beauty of the floating island. The sky, ablaze with the colours of the setting sun, cast a golden glow over the terrain. Ahead of him stood twenty shadow clones, their postures mirroring his own. Each one was a perfect replica, their crimson eyes gleaming with the same intensity as his.
Renjiro reached into the storage seal etched onto his wrist.
"Whoosh"
With a flick of his fingers, the seal glowed faintly, and his Bō staff materialized in his hand. The weapon felt familiar and comforting in his grip, its weight perfectly balanced. At the same time, his Sharingan flared to life. The three tomoe in each eye spun rapidly, merging into four. A moment later, the transformation completed, revealing the intricate six-star pattern of his Mangekyo Sharingan.
The unique fourth tomoe—an anomaly among the Uchiha—had appeared ever since Renjiro began using the Eight Gates. He still didn't fully understand the connection, but the power it granted was undeniable. However, his Mangekyo did not retain this enhancement, but its brilliance remained undiminished by the strain of opening the gates.
Renjiro tightened his grip on the Bō and lowered himself into a fighting stance. The clones responded immediately, spreading out in a wide arc, their movements coordinated and precise. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent promise of the battle to come.
"Spread out," Renjiro commanded, his voice steady yet authoritative. The clones obeyed immediately, fanning out across the field. The atmosphere shifted, the air growing thick with anticipation. Gripping the Bō tightly, Renjiro lowered himself into a fighting stance, his muscles coiled like springs.
With a swift motion, Renjiro swung his Bō in a wide arc.
"Whir!"
The staff sliced through the air with deadly precision, connecting with the first clone's chest. It exploded into smoke with a soft poof. Pivoting on his heel, Renjiro jabbed the staff backward, catching the second clone in the stomach. Another puff of smoke.
More clones surged forward, their attacks relentless. Renjiro twirled the Bō, deflecting blows and countering with devastating strikes. The staff became an extension of his body, moving with fluid grace and speed. "Thwack! Crack! Wham!" Each strike was accompanied by the satisfying sound of impact, followed by the dispersal of his clones.
Suddenly, Renjiro's Mangekyo Sharingan flared brighter, revealing something he had discovered a few days ago. Without warning, silver adamantine chains materialized out of thin air, shimmering like molten light in the dimming evening.
They appeared in an instant, coiling and twisting as though alive, spanning the battlefield within a thirty-meter radius. Renjiro extended his hand, his movements fluid yet commanding, and one of the chains snapped forward, striking a clone directly in the chest.
The clone had no time to react before it was flung backwards, colliding with two others in its path.
"Boom! Poof!" All three clones dissipated into smoke.
The chains moved with a grace that belied their immense power, weaving through the air in intricate patterns. They seemed to anticipate Renjiro's thoughts, reacting to his will with flawless precision.
One chain emerged a few meters behind him, intercepting a clone mid-charge, while another spiralled upward before striking down like a thunderbolt, obliterating two clones at once.
Renjiro's heightened chakra control, a gift awakened alongside his Mangekyo, was on full display. He could now manifest the chains without his body acting as a medium for the chakra seinou. He gestured with subtle flicks of his fingers, directing the chains to ensnare and crush his shadowy adversaries.
At one point, he summoned five chains simultaneously, their radiant lengths forming an impenetrable barrier as they coiled around a group of clones. With a single thought, the chains constricted.
"Crack! Poof!" The clones were no more.
As the battlefield cleared momentarily, Renjiro took a deep breath. His eyes glimmered with resolve, the intricate star pattern of his Mangekyo Sharingan spinning as though feeding off his determination.
Without pause, he split his Bō into two batons, the seamless mechanism releasing with a metallic shing.
The blades extended from the ends of the batons, sharp and gleaming. A chain, born of chakra, materialized once more, connecting the two weapons into a kusarigama-like configuration. Renjiro spun the weapon with expert precision, the chain cutting through the air with a sharp whirl before lashing out. It caught a clone around the neck, yanking it forward, where a swift slash from one blade dispatched it.
The chains danced with deadly elegance, their golden light casting shadows across the battlefield. Clones closed in from all sides, but Renjiro met them head-on, his kusarigama sweeping in wide arcs. His movements were a blur of speed and efficiency, the combination of blades and chains making him an unpredictable force.
"Clang! Crack! Poof!" Each clash ended with the sound of clones bursting into smoke.
Despite the intensity of the battle, Renjiro maintained control over the chains' radius, manifesting new ones at strategic points to either attack or defend. A group of clones attempted a coordinated assault, but chains materialized above them, crashing down like golden hammers.
"Boom!" The ground trembled slightly as the clones were obliterated.
The fight stretched on, wave after wave of clones pressing against Renjiro's limits. Each round pushed him further, his body and mind tested by the unrelenting demands of the Mangekyo and the Eight Gates. The golden chains continued to manifest, each one an extension of his iron will.
By the time the final clone fell, Renjiro's chakra reserves were nearly depleted. He dismissed the last chain with a flick of his fingers, watching it fade into the ether. Smoke from the destroyed clones lingered in the air, curling like ghostly tendrils in the breeze.
Renjiro dropped to his knees, his kusarigama clattering to the ground beside him. His chest heaved, sweat dripping from his face and soaking his clothes. He leaned back, resting on his palms as he gazed up at the darkening sky. The stars were beginning to emerge, their faint light a reminder of the vastness beyond.
When he finally felt his strength returning, Renjiro reached into his pouch and retrieved two scrolls. This was where he copied the two jutsus he got from the private library. The jutsus in question were the forbidden jutsu of the Uchiha clan: Izanagi and Izanami.
Kapitel 317: 316-New Prince
The first scroll detailed the Izanagi, a forbidden that defied reality itself. He read the lines slowly, the script emphasizing its origins in ancient times when the Uchiha and Senju clans were still at war.
The Izanagi had been devised as a last-ditch survival method, a way for a shinobi to evade death and turn defeat into victory. With it, the user could rewrite their destiny, erasing mortal wounds or even death itself for a brief moment.
'And yet the Senju clan was still at par with the Uchiha clan. Just how broken were they?' Renjiro wondered
But such an extraordinary act required an equally extraordinary price—the permanent loss of a Sharingan.
Renjiro's Sharingan flared as he absorbed the deeper implications of this jutsu. The scroll described how the Sharingan's unique ability to perceive and store information on a metaphysical level was integral to the technique.
When activated, the Sharingan would fuse the user's chakra with their reality, creating a temporary god-like control over existence. For those brief moments, fate bowed before the user's will.
Yet the scroll also described its dark legacy. Renjiro learned of how the technique had been abused during clan wars, where desperate warriors traded their eyes for fleeting victories, leaving themselves vulnerable and blind in the aftermath.
Izanagi's use came to symbolize hubris, the arrogance of mortals attempting to play god. Its prohibition was not just about the cost to the user—it was about the instability it could bring to the world. A single misuse could tip the balance of power, and repeated use could doom an entire bloodline to weakness.
Renjiro paused, leaning back. "To wield Izanagi is to gamble with the essence of who you are," he murmured. His fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the scroll. The sheer audacity of the jutsu was both awe-inspiring and chilling.
Setting the first scroll aside, he unrolled the second with care. This one seemed heavier somehow, its ink darker, its tone graver. The Izanami, described here, was not a tool for survival but for judgment. Renjiro's eyes moved quickly over the text, absorbing its ominous warnings.
Unlike Izanagi, Izanami did not rewrite reality but instead trapped its target in an unbreakable genjutsu. The victim would relive a sequence of events repeatedly, forced to confront their decisions and accept their fate.
Only then could they escape.
What struck Renjiro was the scroll's explanation of its purpose. Izanami was never meant for combat; it was a tool of correction. In times of conflict, when Uchiha warriors had strayed from the clan's values or acted recklessly, the Izanami was used to force them into self-reflection. But its use came at the same price as Izanagi—the permanent loss of a Sharingan.
Renjiro's frown deepened as he read on. The jutsu's history revealed it to be a technique of desperation, wielded only in moments of great internal strife within the clan. Its creators had envisioned it as a way to maintain unity and order, but its cost ensured it was rarely used. The Uchiha's pride in their Sharingan made the sacrifice unthinkable except in the direst circumstances.
He paused at a particular line in the text: "Only those with unwavering resolve can wield Izanami, for its purpose is to destroy arrogance and rebuild humility." Renjiro closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of the words settling over him.
"A jutsu meant to break pride…" he murmured. It was both poetic and brutal, a reflection of the Uchiha's complex values.
His gaze returned to the scroll. It described the intricate process of casting the Izanami, which involved recreating a loop of actions that the victim had taken.
The caster would then lock the victim within the loop, using their Sharingan to stabilize the sequence. The complexity of the process was daunting, requiring both precision and emotional detachment.
The scroll warned that failure to master these elements could trap both the caster and victim in the genjutsu indefinitely. Making its use a double-edged sword
Renjiro sat back, exhaling deeply. "These are not techniques to be used lightly," he thought, his eyes narrowing. The power promised by these jutsus were intoxicating, yet the warnings etched into the margins of the scrolls spoke volumes. The creators of these techniques had understood their own weaknesses, crafting methods to both defy and enforce destiny.
He couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for the Uchiha clan's, and partly his, ancestors. They had pushed the boundaries of ninjutsu to its limits, yet they had also recognized the dangers of their own hubris. The Izanagi and Izanami weren't just jutsu—they were lessons, reminders of the thin line between power and self-destruction.
He couldn't deny the allure of these techniques, but he also understood why they were forbidden. "To wield these jutsu is to risk your very identity," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible.
He frowned, his mind racing. The Uchiha clan revered their Sharingan as a symbol of pride and power. To willingly destroy one for a fleeting advantage was a sacrifice few would dare. "This is why they're forbidden," he thought. It wasn't just the personal cost—it was the ripple effects such power could unleash on others.
'Thank good, I have my healing so this removes their 'forbidden aspect.' ' Renjiro thought.
He closed the scrolls carefully, securing them with precise movements. "These techniques are beyond me for now," he decided, his tone resolute. His thoughts lingered on the need for more Sharingans to experiment safely. "Only when I've stored enough Sharingan will I attempt these."
Renjiro formed a hand seal, his chakra surging briefly. With a quiet pop, he reappeared in the cosy confines of his living room. The familiar surroundings brought a momentary sense of comfort, and he collapsed onto his futon, intending to rest. His ANBU rank-up mission was imminent, and he needed every ounce of energy for the challenges ahead.
But his reprieve was short-lived. The muffled sound of laughter and chatter drifted through his walls, growing louder by the second. Renjiro sat up, frowning. The Uchiha clan's compound was typically serene, especially in its innermost sections where he resided. For there to be noise here meant something significant was happening.
He rose, donning a simple robe before stepping outside. The cool night air greeted him, but it did little to soothe his curiosity. Around him, groups of Uchiha clan members bustled toward the heart of the compound, their faces alight with joy.
Renjiro stopped a passing clansman, a younger man whose grin stretched ear to ear. "What's going on?" he asked.
The man blinked in surprise. "You don't know? We're having an Okuizome!"
Renjiro's brow furrowed. "Okuizome? Did Lord Daichi have another child?"
The clansman laughed heartily. "Lord Daichi? No, no. It's Lady Mikoto! She gave birth to a boy two weeks ago. A new prince of the clan! They named him Itachi, after the founder of our clan!"
Renjiro froze, his eyes widening. "Mikoto… gave birth?"
=====
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