The clearing outside the Naka Shrine was a jagged mosaic of dusk and shadow, the Uchiha crest on its hidden entrance a faint outline in the fading light. Akira stood frozen, his two-tomoe Sharingan locked on the cloaked figure before him, its single glowing Sharingan spinning beneath a cracked mask, its bloodied blade glinting with a chilling promise. The figure's rasping voice, "You're persistent, Akira Uchiha. But persistence won't save you. Kenta learned that, and so will you", cut through the silence, confirming Akira's worst fear: this was Kenta's killer, the shadow with Madara's eye. Eight weeks remained until the Uchiha Massacre, and Akira's plans, woven with blood and deception, were unraveling under the weight of this enemy.
His heart pounded, his wound from their last fight a searing ache, blood seeping through his bandage. The visions of the *Naruto* series burned in his mind: the compound in flames, his parents dead, Sasuke broken. He'd killed without mercy, Root operatives, the masked figure's screams still echoing, but Kenta's death was a failure, a cousin lost to his own manipulations. The figure's blade, wet with blood, Kenta's?, was a taunt, a reminder of his limits. Itachi's warning, Sasuke's fear, the clan's paranoia, they were closing in, but this figure was a threat beyond them all. Akira's kunai trembled, his Sharingan tracking the figure's every move, his mind racing for a way out.
"You killed Kenta," Akira said, his voice low, raw with anger and guilt. "My cousin, my family. Why? What do you want with us? You're not Root, not with that eye. So who are you, hiding behind that mask, playing with our lives like it's some kind of game?"
The figure tilted its head, its Sharingan narrowing, its voice a venomous rasp. "Kenta was a fool, loud and reckless, stirring things he shouldn't have. You pushed him to it, didn't you, Akira? Whispering doubts, feeding his anger. You're not so different from me, using people, breaking them. As for who I am… let's just say I'm a shadow of what the Uchiha could be, if they weren't so weak."
Akira's blood boiled, the figure's words a mirror to his own darkness. He'd used Kenta, turned him into a weapon against Fugaku, but he hadn't meant for him to die. The figure's Sharingan, Madara's, Obito's, or something else, was a puzzle he couldn't solve, but its taunts were a blade he wouldn't dodge. He wove the *Veil of Shadows*, his chakra flowing, his presence fading into the dusk. It wasn't perfect, flickering under his strain, but it gave him a moment to move, circling the figure, his kunai raised.
The figure laughed, a guttural sound that chilled his spine. "Hiding again? You can't outrun me, boy." It raised its blade, and a wave of chakra surged, shattering Akira's jutsu. Pain lanced through his head, the figure's genjutsu coiling, weaving images of the compound burning, Kenta's blood pooling. Akira fought back, his Sharingan spinning, countering with an *Illusory Whisper*: *Your eye betrays you.* It was a desperate thread, disrupting the genjutsu, giving him a chance to lunge.
He struck, his kunai aimed for the figure's chest, his movements fueled by fury. The figure flickered, its Body Flicker Technique a blur, but Akira's Sharingan predicted the dodge, slashing his kunai across its arm, blood spraying. He didn't stop, driving his blade toward the mask, aiming for the eye. The figure blocked, their blades clashing, sparks flying. "You're learning," it rasped, its Sharingan blazing. "But you're still weak."
A tanto flashed, aimed for Akira's throat, but he twisted, the blade grazing his shoulder, fresh blood mixing with old. Pain flared, but Akira's rage burned hotter. This was Kenta's killer, an enemy who mocked his family, his clan. Mercy was a luxury he'd abandoned. He wove the *Illusory Whisper*, threading a cruel suggestion: *Your body is breaking.* The figure staggered, clutching its chest, its mind convinced its bones were shattering. Akira seized the moment, driving his kunai into its side, twisting with a brutality that left no room for doubt. Blood poured, the figure grunting, but it didn't fall.
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"Enough!" it snarled, its chakra surging, shattering the illusion. A wave of force knocked Akira back, his body slamming into the shrine's stone, the air driven from his lungs. The figure advanced, its Sharingan spinning, a genjutsu tightening like a vice. Akira's vision blurred, the compound burning, his parents dead, Kenta's accusing eyes staring. He screamed, his Sharingan burning, his chakra flaring to break the hold. He staggered to his feet, blood dripping, kunai raised.
"You're not Madara," Akira gasped, his voice raw. "You're just a thief, stealing his eye, his name. I'll kill you for Kenta, for my clan. You won't stop me."
The figure paused, its mask cracking further, its voice a low chuckle. "Bold words, Akira. But you're fighting shadows, and shadows don't die." It vanished in a blur, leaving Akira alone, gasping, his wound screaming. He'd survived, drawn blood, but the figure's escape was a failure, a threat still alive. Kenta's killer was out there, and the clan was closer to collapse.
---
The Uchiha compound was a cauldron of anger as Akira returned, the morning light gray and heavy. He slipped through the streets, his *Veil of Shadows* flickering, his wounds, old and new, throbbing with each step. The clan's paranoia was a blaze, Kenta's absence now a rallying cry. Whispers of spies, traitors, Danzō's Root echoed through the alleys. Akira's manipulations, Fugaku's doubt, Shisui's focus on Root, were working, but the figure's words haunted him: *You're not so different from me.*
At home, Hana's voice was sharp with fear. "Akira, you're hurt worse than ever," she said, her hands trembling as she reached for his bloodied shoulder. "This isn't training, don't even try that lie again. You're sneaking out, coming back like you've been in a war. Kenta's gone, the clan's falling apart, and I'm terrified you're next. I'm your mother, I deserve to know what's happening, so please, just talk to me."
Akira pulled away, his throat tight, his smile forced. "Kaa-san, I'm sorry, I really am. It's just… the clan's a mess, and I got into a bad spar, okay? I'm trying to be strong, to help, but it's hard. I don't know about Kenta, I swear, but I'll be more careful. I don't want you to worry." The lie was a knife, but the truth, Kenta's blood, the masked figure, his own cruelty, would destroy her. He could only protect her with silence.
Taro's gaze was hard, his voice gruff. "The elders are hunting for Kenta, Akira, and they're not stopping. They're saying he was killed, maybe by Root, maybe by one of us. You were close to him, always talking. If you're hiding something, it's gonna come out, and it won't be pretty. Speak up, or you'll regret it."
Akira's heart raced, but he kept his expression neutral. "I don't know anything, Tou-san. Kenta was scared, talking about spies, but he never told me where he was going. I hope he's okay, but I'm as lost as you." He took a sip of tea, his mind spinning. Taro's suspicion was a warning, the clan's hunt a noose tightening. He needed to act, to keep the focus on Danzō.
After breakfast, Akira headed to the training grounds, his wounds aching but his resolve firm. He needed to find Sasuke, to ensure his silence after witnessing the killing. Sasuke was sparring alone, his shuriken throws sharp but distracted, his eyes shadowed. Akira approached, his voice soft, urgent. "Sasuke, you okay? You've been quiet since… you know, that night. I'm sorry you saw that, but I was protecting us, I swear. You haven't told anyone else, right? I need to know I can trust you, because this is bigger than us."
Sasuke's eyes widened, his hands trembling, his voice shaky. "I didn't tell anyone, Akira, I promise. But I keep seeing it, the blood, the way you… you didn't even blink. You said it was training, but it didn't look like that. I'm scared, okay? I don't know what you're doing, but Aniki's worried too, and I don't want you to get hurt."
Akira's stomach twisted, Sasuke's fear a mirror to his own guilt. He wove an *Illusory Whisper*: *It was a dream.* "I'm sorry, Sasuke," he said, crouching to his level. "It was a mess, but I'm trying to keep us safe. Don't tell Itachi-nii, okay? He's got enough to worry about. You're strong, I know you can keep this between us." Sasuke nodded, his eyes wet, and Akira stood, his heart heavy. He'd silenced him, but at what cost?
---
That afternoon, Akira slipped into a secluded alley behind the police force headquarters, a place to practice without eyes. He spread the stolen scrolls, his eyes on the *Genjutsu: Mind's Fracture*. Its cruelty was his weapon, used to break enemies without remorse. He practiced the *Veil of Shadows*, his presence fading for nine minutes before collapsing. Progress, but not enough. He turned to the *Mind's Fracture*, its hand signs brutal, but the jutsu failed, his chakra faltering.
The Mangekyō was his only hope against Itachi, against the masked figure. He wove a self-inflicted genjutsu, the world dissolving into flames, his parents dead, Kenta's throat slit, Sasuke screaming. The masked figure loomed, its Sharingan blazing: "You're weak." Akira screamed, his Sharingan spinning, but the Mangekyō didn't come. He collapsed, gasping, blood dripping from his wounds.
He stood, kunai in hand, ready to leave, when a faint rustle stopped him. His Sharingan flared, scanning the alley. A crow perched on a rooftop, its black eyes glinting, its cry sharp. Itachi was watching, always watching. Akira's heart raced, his wounds throbbing, a new fear taking root: the masked figure was out there, Kenta's blood on its blade, and Itachi was closer than ever.