Itachi vs Fugaku

The moment the battle commenced; Itachi vanished.

A flicker, a blur of motion—then steel met flesh.

A sickening sound ripped through the battlefield as Fugaku's chest was pierced clean through. The cold steel of Itachi's blade emerged from his back, slick with crimson. Blood splattered onto the dirt below, the stark contrast of red against the earth freezing the entire clan in shock.

Silence.

No one had even seen him move.

Mikoto's scream shattered the stillness. She lunged forward, desperation overtaking reason, only to be caught by two Uchiha jonin.

"Lady Mikoto please calm down." One of the men said to her.

They held her firm, straining as she fought against their grip, her raw anguish fueling her struggle.

"Let me go! I have to stop this!" she cried out, eyes wide with horror.

'Did Itachi just kill Fugaku, her husband, his father, this can't be happening.' Mikoto thought as tears were coming down her cheeks for the second time today.

The Uchiha around her tried to calm her, their voices drowned beneath her pleas, but she would not be consoled.

Then—puff!

The body impaled on Itachi's blade dissolved into smoke.

Even the blood that once littered the floor was all gone.

A clone.

A sigh rippled through the crowd, those experienced enough to recognize the technique regaining their composure. But then they turned to look at Itachi's reaction. He showed noting.

No shock.

Not a hint of concern. 

He was like a statue with his eyes looking so cold.

The fact still remained clear from this. The intent was not to wound, but to kill.

Fugaku emerged a few feet away, unharmed, his expression unreadable. But his voice, when he spoke, was sharp as a blade.

"You didn't hesitate."

It wasn't a question—it was an accusation.

His son had struck to kill.

And Itachi… Itachi stood firm, his grip tightening around his sword. His eyes—those cold, unreadable eyes—held no remorse.

"I didn't," he answered, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "And you know why."

'Internally Itachi thought it was time for some emotional manipulation to throw Fugaku off his game. Smiling to himself over his plan.'

Fugaku's brows furrowed, but before he could respond, Itachi continued.

"You sent me into the ANBU, not as a soldier, but as a spy." His words cut through the silence, his gaze never wavering. "You were never afraid that I'd betray the clan, never feared that I'd become a double agent. You knew where my loyalty lay."

A ripple of unease spread through the gathered Uchiha.

"But you were wrong," Itachi said, his tone colder now. "Because what I found—the truth I came to understand—was never outside the clan." His gaze swept over the assembled warriors, over the faces of men and women who had whispered behind his back, who had doubted him, who had questioned Shisui.

"You all suspected us," he continued. "You whispered about our loyalty, but you never questioned it outright. Because deep down, you already knew."

Silence fell once more, heavy with realization.

That we betrayed the clan.

gasp rippled through the clansmen watching with some activating their Sharingan on impulse, but Itachi didn't pay attention to them.

"I was a fool," Itachi admitted, his voice quiet but resolute. "I was blind, just like Shisui. I thought the threat came from outside the village. Then I realized it was the village, from the elders, from those who feared us. 

That problem remains and we must change it. But the only way to do it is to solve the problem that Existed with the Uchiha since before I was ever born.

His gaze locked onto his father.

"The problem started here. With our own people. With you."

Mikoto inhaled sharply, her body trembling.

Sasuke's small hands clenched into fists, his young mind struggling to grasp what was unfolding before him.

Fugaku's expression darkened, but before he could speak, Itachi drove his point home.

"You failed as a leader," he declared, each word a hammer striking down. "You placed your ambitions above your people. You placed me above what's right for the clan. You gambled with the future of the Uchiha, and in doing so, you led us to this point." His grip on his blade tightened. "That is why you cannot remain as clan head."

He exhaled quietly before stepping forward. The murmurs died down as the clan members turned to look at him.

"Why?" Itachi's voice was calm, but it carried through the field with an edge sharper than any kunai. "Why is it that out of all the clans in Konoha, the Uchiha are the only ones divided into factions?" His gaze swept across to look at as many clansmen as he could. "Why do we hold a meeting for every minor inconvenience? Why do we sit here, night after night, voicing our frustrations, yet nothing ever changes?"

There was a pause. Some exchanged uneasy glances, others frowned, but no one spoke.

"This is a failure," Itachi continued, his tone unwavering. "A failure of leadership. A failure of vision. A failure of unity." His eyes landed on his father, Fugaku, before shifting back to the rest of the clan. "We built this village, yet we have no say in what happens within it. We claim we want power, but we do not even understand how to obtain it. We speak of the Hokage seat as if it is our birthright, but do we even know what it takes to sit upon it?"

His Sharingan burned to life, casting a crimson glow over the room. "You never had a chance at it," he stated, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "Not like this. Not as a fractured clan that cannot decide its own future. You cling to old grudges, expecting the village to bow to us when we refuse to understand how the game is played."

The weight of his words settled over them like a suffocating fog. Some clenched their fists, others averted their eyes, but none could deny the truth in what he said.

"But it does not have to be this way," Itachi continued, his voice lowering. "We have spent too long chasing shadows, lost in a cycle of resentment and inaction. If the Uchiha are to move forward, we must move as one. Not as divided factions, not as a clan that merely reacts—but as a force that dictates its own destiny."

He stepped back, his expression unreadable once more. "As for me… I will go down a different path. I will not waste my life in endless meetings, nor will I watch my clan destroy itself from within. The road ahead is uncertain, but I will not remain stagnant."

Silence.

Then, murmurs—uncertain, contemplative.

For the first time, the Uchiha were not just reacting. They were thinking.

And Itachi had planted the seed of something new.

The weight of his words crushed the air between them.

"And if I have to kill you to ensure that, then so be it." As Itachi's chakra flared, though he was looking at Fugaku when he said it they felt it, they knew it, it was also a statement directed towards all of them.

Mikoto's knees buckled.

The crowd inhaled sharply.

Sasuke's eyes—so innocent, so full of admiration for his older brother—went wide with shock, the image of his family fracturing right before him.

The battlefield was no longer just a place for a contest, a passing of the torch, Itachi made it clear.

Its possible that only one of them was leaving standing.

The air thickened as Itachi's eyes remained locked on Fugaku. In the span of a heartbeat, the space between them vanished. Itachi was a blur, his movements precise and swift.

Fugaku reacted instantly, drawing his blade just in time to parry the strike aimed at his chest. The sound of metal meeting metal rang out, followed by a flurry of movements. Fugaku's foot swept low, aiming to catch Itachi off balance, but Itachi was already leaping back, twisting his body in midair with fluid grace. His foot landed lightly on the ground before he darted forward again, his kunai flashing toward Fugaku's throat.

Fugaku, barely managing to sidestep the thrust, twisted his body in a counterattack. His kunai clashed against Itachi's, sparks flying as the blades slid against each other with a sharp screech. They locked eyes, both warriors testing each other's strength, before they pushed off, creating distance.

It was the first round being a battle of Taijutsu, the basic of all shinobi arts.

But the moment of separation was fleeting. Itachi advanced again with a speed that left the air almost cracking, his movements a blur. Fugaku barely raised his blade in time to block a rapid series of strikes—each kunai thrust, slash, and stab coming faster than he could react. His body moved on instinct, a seasoned fighter, but even he had to admit he was on the backfoot.

Clash. Clash. The sound of kunai against kunai filled the air, their faces inches apart as each strike was met with a counterattack. Fugaku ducked under one slash, his leg shooting out to trip his son, but Itachi anticipated it, flipping backward and landing on his feet in one smooth motion.

Fugaku pressed forward, desperation creeping into his attacks. He twisted his kunai in an arc aimed at Itachi's ribs, but Itachi effortlessly blocked it, using the momentum to pivot his body and twist Fugaku's arm behind his back. The older Uchiha growled, quickly twisting his body in an attempt to break free, but Itachi was too fast—before he could react, Itachi was already several feet away, kunai raised in a defensive stance.

The next exchange was even faster. Fugaku's movements were sharp and calculated, but Itachi moved with an uncanny precision, anticipating every one of his father's strikes, redirecting them with ease. His kunai met Fugaku's in midair, the sound of their blades clashing ringing through the battlefield.

In a blur of motion, Fugaku attempted to slash across Itachi's face, a killing blow aimed at the eyes, but Itachi's Sharingan flared—his gaze unwavering as he shifted, narrowly avoiding the strike. He moved in a fluid, almost unnatural way, countering Fugaku's assault with a lethal combination of his own. 

Fugaku swung again, but this time Itachi anticipated it, catching the older Uchiha's wrist with a single hand. With a twist, Fugaku's weapon was knocked from his grip, sending it skittering across the ground. But Fugaku didn't falter—his eyes glinted with determination. With a roar, he closed the distance, throwing punches, strikes aimed at Itachi's throat, his ribs, his head—relentless.

Itachi dodged and weaved, his body moving with the fluidity of a serpent, narrowly avoiding each blow. His own hands became blurs of motion as he deflected Fugaku's strikes with precise movements, using Fugaku's momentum against him. With a sharp movement, Itachi grabbed Fugaku's wrist mid-swing, twisting it violently before planting his knee into his father's abdomen.

'Wow this old man isn't bad but I can see he hasn't been training in these last couple of years.' Itachi thought to boost up his confidence against a much more seasoned fighter.

Fugaku staggered back, his breath ragged as he regained his footing, but Itachi was already there—his kunai aimed for his chest.

The older Uchiha grimaced, sidestepping at the last moment, and with a guttural yell, swung his leg to kick Itachi in the side, sending him tumbling to the ground. But before Fugaku could capitalize on the opportunity, Itachi sprang back to his feet with unnatural speed, his Sharingan flashing with renewed intensity.

Fugaku's expression darkened. He was feeling the pressure. His son, once a prodigy of calm precision, had become something more—a force of nature.

Itachi's movements were less about brute strength and more about controlling the flow of the fight—redirecting Fugaku's attacks, exhausting him with relentless counters and traps. This fight would decide the fate of his family.

With a sudden shift, Itachi dropped into a low stance, his kunai flashing in the moonlight, and moved in for a decisive strike—his every motion a perfect execution of the art of combat, sharp and deliberate. The two collided once more, their weapons locked, faces inches apart, sweat dripping from their brows as they both realized the fight was closer than they both thought.

Both Itachi and Fugaku activated their Sharingan, the air around them crackling with the weight of their chakra. It was a clash of legendary bloodlines, the might of father against son, and the true battle had begun.

Itachi was the first to make his move, throwing two kunai with calculated precision. The speed at which he launched them was breathtaking, but Fugaku's sharp eyes and decades of experience made it clear he was prepared. The first kunai flew toward Fugaku's chest, while the second followed closely behind, slightly slower but with a twist—Itachi's brilliance at work.

Fugaku's instincts kicked in. He sidestepped the first kunai, but just as he did, he noticed the second one—aimed at his right eye. It was almost as though the kunai had anticipated his movement, closing the gap with unnerving accuracy. He reacted just in time, his body twisting, narrowly avoiding the strike.

But Itachi wasn't done. Without missing a beat, he threw a shuriken at the second kunai, the spinning blade deflecting it just enough to change its course, grazing Fugaku's cheek. The blood that trickled down his face was a small price to pay for narrowly avoiding a deadly strike.

Fugaku froze for a split second, the realization sinking in. He had underestimated Itachi's growth. He'd trained his son, yes, but that was years ago—before the war, before the responsibilities of clan head. And now, Itachi fought like a seasoned shinobi, honing his skills every day outside the walls of the village. Fugaku hadn't fought seriously in years. His last true battle had been in the war, and even then, it was nothing like this—nothing like facing his own son in a fight to the death.

He's grown too fast, Fugaku thought bitterly. Too fast for me to keep up. His heart ached, but he quickly buried it beneath the weight of the fight. His son had become something else—something powerful, dangerous, and he couldn't afford to hold back anymore.

Fugaku's gaze hardened. His eyes burned with fierce determination as he stared his son down, the battle taking on a new intensity.

Itachi didn't flinch. His own Sharingan spun, and he shifted his stance, waiting for Fugaku's next move.

Fugaku surged forward, his speed now matched by the power of his Sharingan, and with a mighty roar, he lunged at Itachi. Each of his strikes was sharp and deliberate, his kunai aimed to incapacitate—but Itachi danced around him with the grace of a predator. He was faster, his reflexes honed by constant combat, outpacing Fugaku's attacks, making the elder Uchiha look slow in comparison.

It was then that Fugaku realized the truth: his son was not just a prodigy. He was a weapon—one sharpened in the crucible of war, of the village's hidden shadows, on a path Fugaku had been too blind to see. This was no longer a father teaching his son the ways of the Uchiha. This was a battle for the future of the clan.

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