Itachi vs Fugaku - Wicked Eyes Clash

The Uchiha compound was silent, save for the whispers of the gathered clan members. The tension in the air was suffocating, thick with the weight of generations of pride and expectation. In the center of the training ground, Itachi and Fugaku stood across from each other, their crimson eyes locked in an unspoken challenge.

"This is the difference between those who speak and those who act," Fugaku said, his voice even, but the underlying authority unmistakable. "Show me, Itachi. Show me the conviction behind your eyes."

Itachi remained still for a moment before nodding. "Very well, Father."

The moment the last syllable left his lips, both their Sharingan spun violently, casting the entire field into an illusionary battlefield in an instant.

Demonic Illusion: Mirage of the Crimson Moon 

The world around them twisted, shifting into an endless red sky with black crows circling above. Itachi's genjutsu struck first—Fugaku's feet sank into the ground as if swallowed by an unseen force, his body growing sluggish, his movements hindered by the illusion of gravity itself.

Some Uchiha gasped for the power of it, this technique is similar to the infamous Tsukuyomi and was the original base in which he built on to make Tsukuyomi. With him reserving help from Shisui, which is why he added the crows, to honor his memory.

"He's controlling the very perception of reality… incredible," one murmured.

But Fugaku's eyes glowed brighter, and he merely smirked.

Demonic Illusion: Mirror World Reversal 

A subtle flicker passed through the air, and suddenly, it was Itachi who found himself sinking, his limbs heavy as if lead had been poured into them. The crows that once circled above now cawed at him, their beady red eyes glowing with malice.

A Genjutsu reversal. Itachi's own illusion had been reflected back at him.

"The wicked eye… so he still has it," another Uchiha whispered, remembering why Fugaku was once feared across battlefields.

Itachi, unfazed, took a step forward. The illusion shattered like glass.

Demonic Illusion: Phantom Chain Burial 

Dark chains erupted from the ground beneath Fugaku, each link pulsing with an eerie red glow. They coiled around him, tightening as they pulled him into the void. A genjutsu designed not to attack the mind, but to trap it in an eternal cycle of false imprisonment.

Fugaku exhaled sharply, his expression finally shifting into something resembling surprise. But he did not resist—he simply smiled.

Demonic Illusion: Thousand Killing Shadows 

The chains dissolved into the wind. In their place, a thousand silhouettes of Fugaku emerged, each wielding a blade dripping with crimson light. They moved as one, closing in on Itachi from all directions.

Itachi flicked his wrist, unsealing his katana. He thrust it forward—only to feel it pass through empty air.

An illusion within an illusion.

"A layered genjutsu," one of the elders murmured in shock. "He cast another illusion before he even escaped the first… Fugaku's control over genjutsu is unmatched."

For a moment, the clan believed Itachi had lost.

Itachi was not fazed by this display, instead he moved forward. As Fugaku went to pierce his neck, the clan gasp as it looked like a killing blow. But nothing happened as Itachi kept moving, as he moved one by one allowing the clones to pierce his body. 

With Itachi swing his katana towards a particular form of Fugaku. Fugaku moved away in time.

But then, his Itachi's Sharingan spun into its Mangekyō form.

Demonic Illusion: Vanishing Truth 

The thousand blades, the silhouettes, even the battlefield itself—vanished. The only truth left standing was Itachi's blade through Fugaku's abdomen. It was the real Fugaku. Itachi pulled out his blade as it made a sickening sound. Blood covered the floor, and Fugaku staggered back.

Fugaku stood still, his own Sharingan still activated, but the Genjutsu had been completely undone. He had lost control of the illusionary realm.

A tense silence filled the air. The clan, once whispering in awe of Fugaku, now turned their gazes to Itachi.

Fugaku let out a slow breath before deactivating his Sharingan. His expression was unreadable, but for the first time, there was something in his eyes that had never been there before.

Pride.

"You've surpassed me," he admitted, turning away. "Perhaps, you were right after all."

The murmurs among the clan members grew. The legendary "Wicked Eye" Fugaku had been bested in a battle of genjutsu. And Itachi—Itachi had risen to claim the title of the strongest Uchiha of this generation.

But instead of triumph, there was only silence in his expression.

Because for Itachi, he wasn't done, he knew this man had another level of power he hadn't shown.

Itachi stood firm, the weight of the fight heavy on his shoulders. He wasn't afraid. The spiritual strength of his adult self had already surpassed Fugaku's, but his body was still young, not yet matched in physical form. It was a frustrating weakness that he would have to overcome. In their battle, the struggle wouldn't be decided by mere strength, but by their eyes, the most powerful weapons of the Uchiha.

He had the advantage here. Genjutsu would be a battle of wits, but both he and Fugaku were masters of that craft, just as Shisui had been. This battle was headed for a decisive moment: the eyes would determine the victor. Itachi knew that if he unleashed the full power of his Mangekyō Sharingan, he could crush his father. The Susanoo—his true trump card—would be the ultimate testament of his strength.

Fugaku, however, had his own potential. He was far from weak, and if he had ever fully trained in the Mangekyō Sharingan, Itachi knew the fight could have ended differently. Fugaku could have surpassed even the Hokage and Danzo, had he honed the power of his eyes. But that wasn't the case. Fugaku had always relied on his own strength, his physical prowess, and never fully embraced the depths of the Sharingan's potential.

Itachi's eyes flickered. He wasn't going to allow his father to forfeit the title to him without showing the clan how much he's held back. He had to push Fugaku into a corner where there was no escape. He needed Fugaku to use his Mangekyō Sharingan, or else he would be forced to end it.

And so, Itachi made his move.

Fugaku stood motionless, his Sharingan still active, but his body defeated in the eyes of the clan. The whispers of the gathered Uchiha swirled around them—awed, uncertain. The match was over.

But Itachi didn't move. His expression remained unreadable as his crimson eyes bore into his father's.

"This isn't how it should end," he muttered.

And then, the air trembled.

A monstrous, suffocating chakra erupted from Itachi's body, crackling with an eerie golden light tinged with red. The clan gasped as an enormous ribcage of spectral energy materialized around him, its curved bones exuding a pressure so intense it made even the battle-hardened Uchiha step back.

The Susanoo had taken form.

In an instant, the ribcage shot forward, skeletal fingers wrapping around Fugaku's body like an unbreakable prison. The ground cracked beneath their feet from the sheer force as Fugaku's body tensed, his eyes widening in genuine shock for the first time.

Then, the pressure increased.

A sickening crack echoed as Fugaku's ribs gave way, blood spurting from his mouth, dripping down his chin onto the spectral fingers gripping him. His face twisted in pain, but he did not scream. Even as his bones began to break, even as the Susanoo's grip threatened to shatter his very form, he endured.

"Father," Itachi's voice rang out, cold and commanding. "What are you doing?"

Mikoto gasped, stepping forward. "Itachi, stop!"

"That's enough, Itachi!" another clan elder called, but none dared to interfere, too shaken by the sheer power on display.

The Uchiha had seen Susanoo before, but never in the hands of someone so young, never wielded with such merciless precision.

But Itachi ignored them all. His fingers twitched, and the grip tightened. Another crack sounded—Fugaku coughed, more blood spilling onto the earth.

Mikoto stood among the gathered Uchiha, her heart pounding, hands clenched at her sides as the battle between father and son unfolded before her. She had watched the Sharingan awaken in her children before—had seen the wonder, the sorrow, the inevitable burden that came with it.

But this…

When Itachi's eyes shifted, when the three tomoe melted into the dreadful pinwheel of the Mangekyō Sharingan, her breath caught in her throat.

Her body went rigid, her mind racing. How?

The answer was cruel, immediate.

He has seen pain.

Mikoto felt her knees weaken as her vision blurred. How much did my son suffer? The base Sharingan was a burden enough, a weight that forced its wielder to see the world's truth more clearly than most. But the Mangekyō…

The Mangekyō meant trauma. Loss. Suffering so deep it shattered the soul.

Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them, spilling silently down her cheeks.

Around her, the clan reacted with mixed emotions—some in hushed whispers, others in awe, and then there were those whose gazes burned with something far darker.

Envy.

Some of the Uchiha looked at her son with nothing but hunger, enthralled by the sheer power he wielded. They did not see the pain behind those eyes, only the strength.

"How incredible... a Mangekyō Sharingan at his age."

"With this power, the Uchiha can take back our place."

"If he continues to grow, no one will be able to stand against him."

Mikoto barely heard them.

Her hands trembled as she covered her mouth, shaking her head. They didn't understand. They couldn't. They didn't see what she saw.

Her baby. Her sweet, gentle child, who had once been so kind, so distant from the lust for power that plagued so many of their kin—he had this cursed eye.

What have you gone through, Itachi?

But her grief deepened when she saw what happened next.

"Prove them right."

Itachi's voice echoed in the stunned silence, filled with something beyond anger—beyond sorrow. His Susanoo's skeletal fingers tightened, crushing Fugaku's ribs, drawing more blood from his father's mouth.

And for a moment—Mikoto saw death.

"Stop it!"

She barely recognized her own voice, raw with emotion. She took a step forward, but her feet felt heavy, locked in place as fear warred with instinct.

Itachi meant it.

He will kill his father.

The other Uchiha could only watch in shock, in awe. Some called for him to stop, but none of them dared to act.

Mikoto's nails dug into her palms. Cowards.

She looked at the frozen figures of the clan, their hesitation, their silent acceptance that the strong would devour the weak—even if it was father and son. And she realized…

They would let him do it.

They will let my son kill his father.

Something inside her snapped.

No one noticed it in that moment but her eyes, they started to spin into their own unique pattern.

Her body moved before she could think—rushing forward.

"Mikoto, stop!" Someone grabbed for her, but they had forgotten who she was.

She wasn't just the wife of the clan head.

She was a jōnin.

A blur of movement, a sharp twist, and she slipped past their grasps like water through trembling fingers. She darted forward, her heart hammering in her chest, pushing past the fear, pushing past the suffocating weight of Itachi's chakra that sent shivers of terror down her spine.

And then—a shadow loomed over her.

A second hand of chakra grabbed her—another level to Susanoo.

Gasps erupted from the clan as the spectral hand lashed out, seizing her mid-step.

Mikoto choked, her body jerking to a stop as the monstrous grip locked around her, pressing down with terrifying force. The sheer, crushing power made her bones ache, made her lungs struggle to draw air.

She looked down at Itachi—his face unchanged.

The realization hit the clan like a wave of ice.

"Another one?" a voice trembled.

"Two Susanoo arms at the same time…"

"What is he?"

Her pain was nothing compared to the agony swelling in her chest as she stared at her son.

"Itachi…" she gasped, her voice breaking.

For the first time that night, he hesitated.

His grip did not tighten. His fingers trembled. His face, so cold, so distant, wavered—just for a moment.

And in that moment, Mikoto did not see a warrior, or a prodigy, or the heir to the Uchiha's future.

She saw her son—the child she had held, the boy who once held her hand when he was afraid of storms, the boy who had laughed under the cherry blossoms as his baby brother chased him.

And she saw the weight in his eyes.

You don't want to do this.

Her tears fell freely now.

"My son... what have you become?"

And for the first time since the fight began—

Itachi's expression cracked. 'Damn it mother why the hell are you getting involved? I guess she really thinks I'll kill this lucky guy. Serious Fugaku your such a indecisive man that you make your beautiful wife die with you in the first life then in the second life come save you. Have you no shame.'

Itachi didn't even look at her, as his eyes were locked on the form of Fugaku.

But Itachi ignored them all. His fingers twitched, and the grip tightened. Another crack sounded—Fugaku coughed, more blood spilling onto the earth.

Then, Itachi spoke again, his voice ringing through the air, carrying a weight that sent shivers down the spines of every Uchiha present.

"You hold meetings for every inconvenience with the village, yet nothing is ever accomplished. You debate endlessly while we rot in a corner of the village we built with our own hands, stripped of power and influence. We talk of reclaiming our place, of taking the Hokage seat, but do any of you even understand politics? Do you understand what it takes to obtain it? The Hokage is a position passed down like royalty from Hokage to his apprentice sense the time of the second Hokage. Tobirama chose his student Hiruzen who in turn chose Jiraiya but because the man would rather make dirty novels he passed it down to his student's student after he couldn't give it to Orochimaru or Tsunade choosing the Yellow flash through Jiraiya's connect. If it was about the best resume then Orochimaru would be Hokage, if it was about royal blood of the founders then an Uchiha would get it after a Senju. But it's not. It's also about who the people want as their leader, something the Uchiha police know very well isn't our clan. We never had a chance!"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some Uchiha looked away, others clenched their fists. The ones who attended the secret meetings stiffened in shock.

Then Itachi's next words sent ice through their veins.

"And now we plot a coup."

The world seemed to stop.

Some gasped in disbelief. Others turned toward their kin with wide eyes. Some looked ready to deny it, to claim Itachi was lying—but the weight in his tone told them otherwise. The truth was out.

"The higher-ups already know."

The words crashed over them like a tsunami. The Uchiha were warriors, trained to handle death and war—but this? This was something else.

"They won't just fight back," Itachi continued, his voice calm but merciless. "It won't just be the Hokage or Danzo. It will be the entire village. And they won't fight us like a former ally—they will eradicate us like an enemy of the highest caliber. Like a plague"

Silence.

"You still don't understand?" His voice was sharper now, cutting through the air. "They plan to kill all of us. Every man. Every woman. Every child. Even those who do not fight. Every last Uchiha will be wiped out. And the Uchiha name will go down in history to be fools who betrayed their own people, who died in the very home they built, as only the winners write the history books."

A storm of emotions erupted in the crowd.

Some stood frozen, unable to comprehend the words. Others shook their heads in denial. A few clenched their fists in anger, while others felt the crushing weight of despair. But none of them were happy.

And then Itachi turned back to Fugaku.

"This is why I'm doing this," he said, his voice quieter now, but just as lethal. "The clan stands on the path of annihilation. One thousand years of history, erased. Our legacy reduced to nothing. And all under your leadership."

Fugaku's eyes narrowed, despite the blood trickling down his lips.

"And all because you hold back."

Itachi's grip tightened. Another crack.

"While your clansmen are being killed in the streets like dogs, you close your eyes and do nothing. You wait for death like a man resigned to his fate."

His eyes burned into his father's, the crimson glow of his Sharingan illuminating his face.

"Why are you still holding back?"

His voice, barely above a whisper, rang through the entire training ground.

"Have you forgotten?" His voice, louder now, sent a chill through everyone present. He leaned in slightly, the tomoe in his Sharingan spinning like a vortex. "The people outside these walls are vying for our eyes. The Hokage, Danzo, the masked man who unleashed the fox, the other nations. They all look at us the same way."

Itachi's grip tightened again—Fugaku's bones breaking under the pressure, but his eyes never left Itachi's.

"They think we're monsters.

Then prove them right!!!"

His voice darkened, the weight of his words crashing down upon his father and every Uchiha watching.

"Show them why they should fear you… or die here with nothing."

The silence that followed was absolute. No one dared to speak. No one dared to breathe.

And then, something shifted.

A flicker. A whisper of chakra.

And Fugaku laughed.

It was low at first, strained by the pain in his chest, but it grew louder, stronger, until the entire compound felt its reverberations. His bloodied lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl, and then—

"Very Well then Itachi Let us kill each other!" Fugaku screamed.

His Mangekyō Sharingan came alive.