Naruto: The Opportunity Plunderer

The crimson moon lingered above the Uchiha district, its reflection cracked and warped in the puddles scattered across the stone paths, painted with soot and ash.

The flames from earlier still licked the edges of the tiled roofs, glowing faintly, as if the village itself were holding its breath.

Smoke curled like the tail of a dying serpent into the heavens.

Amidst this broken silence, a figure emerged from the fading explosion.

Clad in a dark Uchiha standard flak jacket, his green eyes shimmered under the red moonlight. His black hair danced with the wind—shorter than it once had been. But his face—sharp-jawed and grim—was unmistakable.

Shisui Uchiha.

Gojo stood behind, silent and composed. He did not interfere.

Itachi, still clutching his ribs, stood frozen.

His voice cracked.

"No... Shisui is dead."

The man in front of him didn't move.

Itachi's eyes narrowed. "Who are you? How dare you impersonate him?! You deserve to die."

With rage laced in every syllable, Itachi charged.

But as he moved, a blur vanished from his sight. Before he could register the movement, Shisui had already shifted.

The infamous Body Flicker.

Itachi was forced to retreat, spinning around, sharingan wide with shock.

"That movement... that's..."

His doubt cracked through the anger. Memories surged in his mind—of training, of watching that exact movement executed dozens of times.

He paused.

His voice was lower this time. "Shisui...?"

Shisui raised his head slightly. His green eyes were cold.

"You no longer deserve to call me brother, Itachi."

The words sliced like kunai.

"I regret ever teaching you. You're unworthy of the Uchiha name."

Itachi didn't flinch.

His voice regained its edge.

"I will slaughter every Uchiha clan member tonight. That is the only path to peace."

Shisui exhaled, deep and tired.

He's even more brainwashed than I was, he thought.

No words were exchanged after that.

They moved.

Shisui rushed forward first. His speed cracked the air, a shockwave following his motion. Itachi met him head-on, and their fists collided with a thud that echoed across the abandoned street.

Taijutsu followed—elbow strikes, spinning kicks, blocks, reversals. Shisui pushed Itachi back with raw momentum. Despite lacking his Sharingan, his reflexes and instinct carried him, his body responding with honed memory.

Itachi adjusted quickly, throwing kunai mid-air, fire chakra coating the blades.

"Fire Style: Phoenix Flower Jutsu."

Flaming shuriken scattered like petals.

Shisui twisted mid-air, cloak fluttering like a broken wing, narrowly avoiding the barrage. He landed low and slammed both palms onto the earth.

"Water Style: Water Bullet Jutsu."

A stream of condensed water missiles burst from the air, colliding with Itachi's follow-up fire jutsu. Steam erupted, clouding the battlefield in thick white fog.

From within the mist, genjutsu struck.

Shisui saw illusions flicker—a field of swords, endless sky, chains wrapping around his limbs. But he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, centering himself.

It was basic genjutsu. Tricks.

He weaved a seal with one hand, pulsing chakra to break the illusion.

"You really learned my tricks, Itachi... but you still can't surpass me."

They clashed again.

This time, Itachi went for the throat.

His kunai aimed at Shisui's jugular, but Shisui ducked and countered with a spinning kick, knocking Itachi off balance. Following up, he pressed both hands together.

And then—chakra surged violently around him.

Translucent blue energy formed around his frame.

It took shape.

A ribcage of pure chakra emerged around him.

It was the first stage of Susanoo.

It shouldn't have been possible.

No Mangekyo Sharingan.

But Gojo's healing had regenerated his eyes—not the Sharingan, but basic vision. And yet, Shisui's muscle memory remembered what the eyes once did.

And his chakra answered.

Itachi's Sharingan widened in disbelief.

"No... that's impossible..."

Shisui didn't reply.

His skeletal Susanoo lifted an ethereal arm and slammed it toward Itachi. The ground cracked. Itachi backflipped, dodging narrowly, and returned fire with a stream of hand signs.

"Fire Style: Dragon Flame Jutsu!"

A snake-like torrent of fire roared forward.

Shisui's Susanoo blocked it, shielding his body.

But Itachi used the smoke as cover.

In a blink, he was behind Shisui, launching a kunai toward the spine.

Shisui stepped aside.

Another Body Flicker.

He reappeared behind Itachi and elbowed him in the back. Itachi hit the ground, rolled, and quickly recovered.

They stared at each other from opposite sides of the scorched road.

Their breathing was labored. Bruises painted their skin.

The red moon bore silent witness to a war between brothers.

And it wasn't over yet.

Shisui surged forward again, his chakra flickering like embers caught in a whirlwind. With each step, the earth cracked beneath his feet, and his ethereal ribcage expanded slightly. He hadn't used the Susanoo in years, and his control wavered.

Itachi's Mangekyo blazed. His fingers weaved signs rapidly.

"Shadow Clone Jutsu."

Four clones emerged, surrounding Shisui from all angles.

Shisui narrowed his eyes and swept his arm in a full arc. The Susanoo's arm followed, demolishing two clones in a single blow. The remaining two lunged from the flanks.

Shisui ducked, slid forward, and used his elbow to intercept the last clone—dispelling it.

But that was the distraction Itachi needed.

He appeared above, raining down a series of fire-style blasts.

Shisui's Susanoo shield held.

Cracks formed.

But it endured.

Then, Shisui charged through the smoke. His chakra burst forward, dispelling the haze with sheer pressure.

He tackled Itachi mid-air.

Both of them crashed to the ground, grappling.

Their hands locked.

Their eyes met.

It was not hatred.

It was sorrow.

The clash dragged on—minutes of strikes, counters, breathless movement.

Their bodies ached. Their chests rose and fell rapidly.

Finally, both landed blows at the same time.

Fist to jaw. Knee to ribs.

They tumbled back, collapsing to the ground on opposite ends of the cracked battlefield.

Neither could move.

Not yet.

The red moonlight dimmed slightly, cloaking the night in a deeper silence.

Ash floated through the air like snow.

And there, under the wreckage of shattered brotherhood, the two warriors lay—tied.

Unwilling to yield.

Unable to finish.

And the village watched silently, unaware of the storm that had nearly consumed it.

The air was thick with smoke. The once-pristine stone roads of the Uchiha district lay fractured and scorched.

Buildings groaned under the weight of damage, tiles broken, wooden beams charred black.

The crimson hue of the moon lingered like a curse in the sky, casting long shadows over the battlefield.

Gojo stood atop a low rooftop, his arms folded. His golden Sharingan glinted as he looked down at the two warriors lying still across the cracked earth.

Neither Shisui nor Itachi moved.

Their battle had shaken not only the street beneath them but also the bonds they once held sacred.

Wind swept through the district, lifting dust and ash into the air. The flames had died down. Silence returned—but it was a different silence than before. Heavy. Suffocating.

Gojo leapt down, his steps soundless against the broken path. He walked past Itachi without a word.

The young Uchiha's eyes fluttered—conscious, but barely. Blood coated his lips. His Sharingan had faded.

Gojo reached Shisui.

"Still breathing," he murmured, kneeling beside him.

Shisui's green eyes opened slightly. He looked exhausted. His breathing was ragged, but his gaze was steady.

"He's... gone too far," Shisui muttered.

Gojo didn't answer.

He helped Shisui sit up, draping one of Shisui's arms over his shoulder.

From behind, a subtle movement.

Gojo's gaze flickered.

Itachi was trying to rise.

He gritted his teeth, pushing his palms against the ground.

"I'll finish it," he rasped.

"Lay down," Gojo said flatly.

"I will bring peace," Itachi snapped weakly. "Even if I have to bury the Uchiha name myself."

"You already have," Gojo replied.

Itachi froze.

Shisui looked back at him, pain clear in his expression.

"You were once the pride of the clan," he said. "Now you're its executioner."

Itachi didn't reply. He fell back, consciousness slipping.

Gojo looked up toward the darkness where the rooftops met the sky.

A faint rustle.

He narrowed his eyes.

He could sense it.

Danzo's dogs.

Root had come to observe.

He didn't move. He didn't react.

But he spoke quietly.

"Tell Danzo," Gojo said into the night, "that if he sends anyone near this district again, I'll send their heads back wrapped in ANBU masks."

A pause.

And then—the presence vanished.

No one in Root saw Gojo clearly. His identity remained hidden from the outside world. Only three people had seen him—Shisui, Itachi, and the masked man. To the rest of Konoha, he was still a ghost in the shadows.

Gojo exhaled slowly.

The moon continued to burn crimson above.

Somewhere in the distance, a baby cried.

Some homes still had light. Some families still held each other close, unaware of the fate their clan had just escaped.

Gojo looked down at Shisui.

"Let's go."

They vanished into the shadows, leaving behind the battlefield—and the broken bonds that smoldered in the ashes.

[End of Chapter]

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