Crazy Shinobi: Rise of the uzumaki Clan

Madara's POV

Darkness.

For a moment, that was all I knew. A deep abyss, empty and endless. There was no pain, no sound—just the void.

Then, a pulse.

A slow, rhythmic throb behind my eyes, faint at first but growing stronger with each beat of my heart. I felt the weight of my body return, the sensation of fabric beneath my fingers.

The procedure had been done.

I forced my eyes open. At first, everything was a blur—shifting shadows, vague shapes—but then, clarity.

And it was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

The world was sharper, more vivid. Every detail stood out with startling precision, from the flickering candle flames to the grain of the wooden walls. My vision was no longer hindered by the dull haze that had plagued me for years.

I lifted a hand, pressing my fingers to my eyes. The pain was gone. The exhaustion that had come with every use of the Mangekyo Sharingan had vanished.

Slowly, I stood, my body still adjusting. The medics had left—I had ordered them away once the procedure was complete. This moment was mine alone.

A polished bronze mirror sat in the corner of the room. I stepped forward, feeling the weight of my new gaze settle upon me.

And then, I saw them.

My Mangekyo Sharingan had changed. The familiar patterns of my old eyes were gone, replaced by something new—something greater. The two designs, mine and Izuna's, had merged into a single, perfected form.

The Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan.

A surge of power rushed through me, raw and untamed. It was overwhelming, intoxicating. I had never felt such clarity before, never experienced such unshakable strength in my vision.

Izuna…

I exhaled slowly, letting the moment settle over me. This was his gift. His power now lived through me.

My hands clenched into fists. The Senju had taken him from me. Hashirama had spoken of peace, but what peace was there in death?

I would not allow my brother's sacrifice to be in vain.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.

"Enter."

The door slid open, and a young Uchiha warrior stepped inside. His expression was tense, his posture rigid with barely concealed urgency.

"Madara-sama, the Senju are moving. Scouts report that they are preparing for another battle."

So soon?

I turned away from the mirror, my expression unreadable. I had expected Hashirama to hesitate, to give his clan time to mourn. But it seemed that even in his grief, he still understood the reality of war.

Or perhaps, he was the one hesitating, and it was Tobirama pushing for blood.

It didn't matter. The war would not stop, not now.

"Gather the clan," I ordered. "We march at dawn."

The warrior hesitated for a moment, then bowed. "Yes, Madara-sama."

As he left, I turned back to my reflection one last time. My new eyes gleamed in the dim candlelight, the power within them undeniable.

This was no longer a battle of mere survival.

This was destiny.

And when I met Hashirama again, he would understand.

To Be Continued...