Uchiha Gen's life came to an end beneath the blood-red glow of the moon.
Obito stared at the shriveled corpse on the ground, an eerie chill creeping up his spine.
Gen's body was brittle and desiccated—like ancient driftwood exposed to time and torment. The once ominous brilliance of his Mangekyō had faded into a lifeless dullness. Yet even without light, the severed eyes beside him still radiated a quiet, malevolent pressure.
Every instinct in his body screamed that these eyes were dangerous—no, cursed. A final trap laid by a man who schemed beyond death.
Even now, the effects of Gen's final ability lingered in Obito's mind, unsettling in their implications.
He really did enhance my ocular power...
Back when Gen declared their contract complete, Obito had felt it—his Mangekyō had sharpened. Kamui's speed, precision, and duration had improved dramatically. Even the slow degradation of his vision seemed arrested.
More than anything, that confirmed the truth of Gen's left eye: an ocular support-type ability that strengthened the very concepts within another Mangekyō.
But it was the right eye that remained shrouded in shadow. And Obito needed answers.
He knelt by the corpse, hesitating.
"Tch. I don't ... but better I take them than leave them for Danzo or someone worse."
Carefully, he reached down and plucked the twin Mangekyō Sharingan from beside Gen's body.
The moment his fingers made contact, a wave of icy malevolence surged into him—unnatural, invasive, and vile.
Startled, Obito severed a patch of his Zetsu tissue and discarded it, cutting off the connection.
"Still scheming even in death, huh?"
He dismissed the sensation as a posthumous sealing jutsu and quickly pocketed the eyes. Without wasting another moment, he activated Kamui and vanished from the Uchiha Police Force Headquarters.
Behind him, unnoticed... the discarded Zetsu cells began to creep.
They slithered along the floor, quietly merging into Gen's husk.
Meanwhile, deep in the night...
The first wave of Root operatives arrived, dispatched urgently by Danzo after Shisui's Mangekyō in Danzo's body had an issue, he sensed something was seriously wrong.
Their arrival was late.
Bodies lay strewn across the floor, crimson pools soaking into wooden planks. The stench of blood saturated the air.
The Root ninja, moving efficiently and without emotion, secured the area.
But when they reached the innermost chamber, they stopped cold.
There stood Gen's corpse—upright, empty sockets weeping black ichor. Rigid like a grotesque statue, it emitted a presence that made even hardened Root operatives hesitate.
One operative stepped forward to inspect it.
He touched the corpse.
In an instant, the figure shattered into a mass of writhing, dry, blackened roots—twisted and grotesque, they exploded outward like a nest of living tendrils.
"Is this... Wood Release?!"
"No—this is something else!"
The squad moved to retreat, but it was too late.
The roots latched onto them like serpents, dragging them into the mass. Ninjutsu was useless. Their screams were brief.
The trees finished feeding, then slowly began to retract—creeping downward, spiraling deep beneath the foundations of the Uchiha compound.
What remained of Uchiha Gen vanished into the earth.
And from that moment on, the roots he left behind began growing unseen… into the very marrow of Konoha's underground.
Elsewhere, Uchiha Clan Grounds
Under the pale moonlight, Uchiha Fugaku sat in silence.
His expression was solemn, his gaze fixed on the son kneeling before him.
Itachi's face was unreadable. Shadows danced across his cheeks, and in his eyes flickered guilt, pain, and finality.
Fugaku, however, was calm.
"Don't be sad," he said gently. "I've never blamed you."
There was no anger in his voice. No resentment. Only sorrow—and something deeper.
"You made your choice," he continued, "and I understand the burden you carry. I'm proud of you, Itachi. Always have been. Take care of Sasuke. His future... depends on you now."
Itachi lowered his head further, unable to meet his father's eyes.
Fugaku closed his own, preparing himself for death. But just as his heart accepted his fate, a voice echoed through his mind.
"Fugaku-sama... what is your wish?"
The voice was soft, familiar.
He remembered now—a strange conversation under the moonlight long ago.
Gen had once asked him, half in jest:
"Is your wish to revitalize the Uchiha Clan?"
At the time, Fugaku had barely listened. He'd responded without thought.
But now, something stirred inside him. His eyes burned. His long-dormant Mangekyō, kept hidden even from his sons, pulsed violently in their sockets.
A terrifying pressure surged through him. He tried to speak—to warn Itachi—but no sound came.
His throat constricted. His body refused to move.
Itachi looked up, alarmed.
But Fugaku could only gape soundlessly, trembling as his vision blurred. His ocular power was being drained, siphoned away by an invisible, malignant force.
And within his mind, Gen's voice whispered again:
"Then let your wish... become mine."
Fugaku's head slumped forward.
His Mangekyō dimmed and died.
And with it, the last of Uchiha Fugaku's strength vanished into the night.