[EVERY 100 POWERSTONES=EXTRA 1 CHAPTER]
The air in the newly-christened "Valley of Death" still crackled with the ghost of annihilated chakra. The very atoms seemed bruised, the landscape a permanent testament to a battle that had reshaped the local reality. Where majestic canyon pillars had once stood, there were now plains of glassy slag. Where rivers had flowed, there were steaming crevasses. And in the center of it all, standing amidst the ruins they had created together, were the four progenitors.
Indra, his golden Six Eyes still burning but now with a faint, underlying weariness, looked at the three exhausted figures before him. Toka's knuckles were raw and bleeding, her gi torn. Hashirama's Sage markings were fading in and out of existence, his body trembling with the effort to remain upright. Madara leaned heavily on his gunbai, his Eternal Mangekyo dulled by fatigue, the arrogant set of his shoulders finally broken by the sheer, humbling scale of the power he had witnessed.
Without a word, Indra raised a hand. The space around them twisted, compressed, and then snapped back into place. The desolate valley vanished, replaced instantly by the stunned silence of the Uchiha-Senju festival grounds. The transition was so abrupt, so absolute, that for a moment, no one could process it. One second, they were watching distant, apocalyptic flashes on the horizon. The next, the four combatants stood in their midst, the scent of ozone and scorched earth clinging to them.
Agni, who had been a vigilant, mountain-sized guardian, now shrunk in a cascade of harmless embers, settling onto Indra's shoulder as a magnificent hawk-sized phoenix, her fiery plumage the only vibrant color in his monochrome presence.
Indra's gaze, still holding the chilling indifference of a celestial watchman, swept over the assembled clans. It lingered on the hardliner elders—Hikaku, Temari, Kota—who flinched as if physically struck.
"From this day forward," Indra's voice was quiet, yet it carried to every ear, a final decree etched in stone. "You elders, whose pride and shortsightedness ignited this war, are stripped of your titles and authority. You are elders no more. You will live out your days in quiet contemplation of the graves you have filled." He paused, letting the demotion sink in, a punishment perhaps worse than death for men who lived for status. "And let this be law, carved into the foundation of this new world we build: Anyone, from any clan, who dares to start a war again, for any reason, will be executed. Immediately. I do not care about your lineage, your power, or your excuses. The price of war is now your life."
There were no protests. No muttered grievances. Only a sea of bowed heads and a unified, shuddering acceptance. The seven-day spectacle had burned away all resistance.
Then, Indra turned. His steps were measured as he walked towards the two figures who were the heart of this entire tragedy. The crowd parted before him like wheat before a scythe.
He stopped before Izuna, who sat with a blank, bandaged gaze, and Tobirama, who was pale and rigid in his wheelchair. The air grew thick with anticipation.
"Look at me, little brother," Indra said softly to Izuna.
As Izuna turned his head blindly, Indra's eyes changed. The cosmic blue of the Six Eyes receded, replaced by a swirling, profound darkness. The tomoe melted and reformed not into a Mangekyo pattern, but into something far more ancient and complex—the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan. It was a void that held spinning galaxies within its depths.
"He's activating his Mangekyou!" someone whispered, the myth of the Uchiha's cursed power now made manifest before hundreds of witnesses.
But this was different. The chakra that emanated from Indra was not malevolent. It was fundamental. From his left eye, a silvery, shimmering light began to bleed out, enveloping Izuna and Tobirama. It was the light of causality itself.
"Toki no Gyakusetsu," Indra intoned, his voice echoing with the weight of epochs. (Time Paradox)
The world did not reverse. But for the two injured young men, it did. The witnesses saw a impossible spectacle: around Tobirama's severed leg, the air flickered. The bandages unwrapped themselves. The scarred, cauterized stump blurred, and then, like a film reel playing backwards, flesh, bone, muscle, and sinew regrew in a matter of seconds, culminating in a perfect, unblemished foot and leg. Simultaneously, the vile, purple-black corruption that had festered in their chakra systems was pulled out like a venomous thread, unraveling from their bodies and dissipating into nothingness.
But that was only half the miracle. From his right eye, a golden, commanding light erupted.
"Kami no Shihai." (Dominion of God)
This was the alteration of reality. Indra looked at Izuna's blinded eyes and simply… rejected their state. He imposed a new truth upon them. The damaged optic nerves rewired themselves. The retinas regenerated. The lifeless orbs behind the bandages were flooded with vitality and power. When the light faded, Izuna's own Mangekyo Sharingan—the very eyes Madara now possessed eternally—were restored, spinning wildly in their sockets, seeing the world anew.
The bandages fell away from Izuna's face. He blinked, his vision clearing, focusing first on the face of his elder brother, who smiled down at him with a love that seemed to transcend time. Tobirama looked down at his own leg, wiggling his toes with an expression of pure, unadulterated shock.
A collective, gasped inhale was taken by every single person present. The Uchiha, the Senju, the Uzumaki, and the spies from the Hyuga, Aburame, Shimura, Sarutobi, and the Ino-Shika-Cho alliance stood in stunned, terrified silence. This was not ninjutsu. This was divinity.
It was then that Tajima Uchiha, the silent, stern former clan head, stepped forward. He saw the fear, the awe, the potential for destabilizing worship. And he saw an opportunity. He would solidify his son's legend not as a man, but as an unassailable force of nature.
"People of the clans!" Tajima's voice, rarely raised, cut through the silence. "What you have witnessed is the power of Indra Uchiha's Mangekyo Sharingan!"
He used the term "Mangekyo," Because the secret of the Eternal transplant to remain Forgotten. The crowd hung on his every word.
"His left eye holds the power of Toki no Gyakusetsu—the Time Paradox! With it, he can alter the flow of time itself, reversing wounds and undoing tragedies!"
Murmurs of terror and awe rippled through the crowd.
"His right eye," Tajima continued, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper, "wields Kami no Shihai—the Dominion of God! Within a certain radius, reality is his to command! He can rewrite the very laws of nature, heal the unhealable, and restore what was lost! He has used these two powers, not for conquest, but to heal your future leaders!"
The explanation was met with a silence so profound one could hear a leaf fall a mile away. Control Time and Reality… as if they were playthings? Is he even human? The thought was a shared tremor that ran through every heart. Even the ever-logical Tobirama and the newly-sighted Izuna were left reeling, staring at Indra as if seeing him for the first time.
Only Madara, his own Eternal Mangekyo quietly active, knew the truth. He saw the subtle, profound difference in Indra's eyes from his own. But he held his tongue. To reveal it would diminish the terror, and the terror was the point.
Indra let the silence stretch, then spoke again, his voice now holding a faint strain. "The flesh is healed. The eyes are restored. But the chakra pathways… that requires a different medicine."
He drew a kunai and, without flinching, drew it across his palm. But instead of blood, five perfect, glowing crimson orbs, each the size of a marble, welled up from the cut. They were not mere blood; they were concentrated life force, pulsing with immense, vibrant energy.
Before Toka, Hashirama, Madara, Izuna, or Tobirama could react, Indra's will took over. A faint, purple-black aura—Cursed Energy—flared around him for a split second. Using its telekinetic properties, he guided the five orbs with impossible speed, directly into their open mouths. They swallowed instinctively.
The effect was instantaneous and profound. For Izuna and Tobirama, the reconstructed but fragile chakra pathways in their bodies didn't just heal; they were reforged, becoming wider, stronger, and more resilient than ever before. Their chakra reserves, once depleted, flooded back, deeper and more potent.
For Toka, Hashirama, and Madara, the effect was a rejuvenation of a different kind. The seven days of fighting at their absolute limits, the constant use of Self-Healing, Mystical Palm, and Sage Mode had carved years, perhaps decades, from their lifespans. They had been burning their very souls as fuel. Now, Indra's blood acted as a divine tonic. The lost life force was not just restored; it was amplified. Their chakra pathways also widened, their reserves expanding to new heights. The deep-seated fatigue that had plagued them vanished, replaced by a vibrant, thrumming vitality.
"A small portion of the Uzumaki bloodline flows in my veins," Indra stated, his voice now noticeably weaker. "My blood has potent healing properties. It will mend any injury."
Toka, who had known John Pendragon's every tell, every half-truth, saw through the lie instantly. This was not Uzumaki vitality. This was something else, something far more personal and costly. But she saw the warning in his weary eyes, the slight shake of his head. Don't ask. She understood. Whatever he had just given them, it had taken something from him. She remained silent, her heart aching with a love that was now mixed with a profound, fearful understanding.
His task complete, Indra's body flickered. But it wasn't the sharp, clean shunshin of a master shinobi. It was a ragged, strained movement, a flicker of existence that seemed to stutter. He vanished from the crowd.
Hashirama, Madara, Izuna, Tobirama, and Toka exchanged a single, alarmed glance. They had seen it. The imperceptible tremor in his hand, the slight stumble in his step as he disappeared. They moved as one, following his chakra signature—a beacon that was now guttering like a candle in the wind.
They found him at his small, secluded house on the Uchiha compound's edge. He had not even made it to his bed. He stood in the center of his spartan bedroom, his back to them, his shoulders heaving with ragged, shallow breaths. With a final, monumental effort, he looked up at the ceiling and made a tearing motion with his hand. The entire roof of the room ripped away, vanishing into motes of dust, exposing the room to the open sky and the setting sun.
He collapsed onto his bed, his body lying perfectly still.
"Indra!" Toka cried, rushing to his side.
His eyes were open, staring at the darkening sky, but they were vacant. The Blue and gold of the Sage mode Six Eyes and the deep cosmos of the Eternal Mangekyo were gone, replaced by the dull, lifeless blue of a stormy sea. He was breathing, but each breath was a slow, mechanical process.
"Brother!" Madara and Izuna called out in unison, their voices tight with a fear they had never felt before.
Indra's lips moved, the sound a bare whisper that they had to strain to hear. "…Pushed… too far… Hibernation…"
He took another slow, painful breath. "Months… to recover… Sun… energy… Don't… close… the ceiling…"
His head lolled to the side, his gaze finding Toka's. The love in that look, buried deep beneath the exhaustion, was unmistakable. It was John, looking at Vidya.
His voice was the faintest sigh, a breath on the wind. "Agni… help them… safeguard my body… until I… wake…"
With that final, fractured command, all awareness left his eyes. They remained open, fixed on the first stars appearing in the twilight sky, but the consciousness behind them was gone. He had entered a deep, restorative hibernation, his body a vessel now silently drinking the faint radiation of the moon and the distant promise of the coming dawn.
The five most powerful shinobi in the world stood around his still form, the victorious architects of a new era, now humbled guardians of the comatose god who had made it all possible. The price of peace and power had been laid bare, and it was the very life of the man who had sacrificed everything to give it to them.
[EVERY 100 POWERSTONES=EXTRA 1 CHAPTER]
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