OBD: Chapter Thirty-Nine: Massacre

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Massacre

The air smelled of smoke, of scorched earth and old blood. Fugaku stood unmoving in the wreckage, his Sharingan burning in his skull, reflecting the assembled forms of the six Paths. His mind was focused, calm, the world stretching itself thin under the weight of his attention.

The first to move was the Deva Path, its hand rising with the familiar, terrifying pull of gravitational force. Fugaku felt the air shift, the pressure building behind him. Before the Deva Path could act, he was already in motion, moving with the pull as the world bent toward it.

"Fire Release: Great Fireball Jutsu!"

The inferno exploded from his mouth, drawn by the technique at such blistering speed that the Path was unable to avoid being consumed by the fireball.  fast way that consumed it in moments. Fugaku let the momentum carry him into the flames. Shielded from the view of the others by the blistering heat, he seized the blinded and immolated Path by the neck, snapping its spine with a swift, practised motion. 

Emerging from the fire, lightning arced across his fingers. The bolt crackled through the air, striking the Asura Path directly in the chest as soon as it came into view. The Path twitched, spasmed, then crumpled lifeless to the ground. Fugaku didn’t spare it a glance; there was no time for such distractions. His focus shifted—searching.

Bingo!

He moved again, his form flickering in a blur, closing the distance. The remaining Paths were too slow to react, too fixated on offense to even begin considering defense.

"Chidori!"

A split second later, Fugaku descended on the Naraka path—a single, lightning-coated palm to the chest. Moments later, it too collapsed, lifeless.

The battlefield shifted as realization dawned on Fugaku’s opponents. The remaining Paths began to retreat, but Fugaku had no intention of stopping. In another flicker of motion, he was in pursuit. The Animal Path halted its flight and turned to face him, hands rising to weave seals. In that instant, Fugaku opened his seventh gate for the briefest moment, his right leg whipping around to decapitate the path in a thunderclap.

Now, only the Preta and Human Paths remained, fleeing without even the hint of resistance. But Fugaku was not a man with an abundance of mercy. Two shadow clones emerged from his shadow, each more than capable of neutralizing the remaining Paths.

With the last of his enemies dispatched, Fugaku turned his attention to the chakra signatures flaring in the distance, darting off without hesitation to intervene.

***

Obito felt the strain in his body, every movement sluggish, every breath shallow. Itachi was no longer the cold, calculating prodigy he remembered—now he was a mirror of himself, bloodied and frayed at the edges. Their battle had dragged on for what felt like days, both of them locked in a dance of shattered genjutsu, kunai, and chakra-infused strikes. Itachi's Sharingan had long lost its sharpness, the relentless pace beginning to catch up with both of them. And yet, Obito could feel something lurking, an unsettling premonition crawling along the back of his neck.

He had no time to contemplate it.

Instinct took over as he spun, the air around him crackling with tension. His Sharingan flared—something was wrong. His body was already in motion before his mind could catch up, but it was too late.

From the shadows, a figure materialized, and then—Chidori.

Obito barely had time to react, his body jerking to the side just as the electric surge crackled past him. The attack grazed his left arm, a sudden, searing pain that sent waves of fire through his nerves. He hissed in pain, but he didn’t stop, didn’t dare stop. The blood from the wound stained his cloak as his body staggered back, struggling to stay upright.

Fugaku? Nagato, you fool! He should have expected it, but the timing—the speed at which the battle concluded was too fast—beyond anything pessimistic predictions he could have had for a Rinnegan user.

He glanced over his shoulder, and there stood Fugaku, eyes alight with the fire of the Sharingan, a cruel glint in his eyes. Behind him, Itachi was just as calm as ever, a flicker of his own Sharingan shining through the darkness.

Obito’s pulse hammered in his ears, a sudden fear gnawing at him. His mind raced, but there was no time for contemplations. His left arm hung uselessly by his side, blood dripping from the wound. His chakra was dangerously low; he could feel it. The fight was slipping away from him. He had no hope of surviving a battle with both of them in his current state.

A flash of desperation surged in his chest. He couldn't afford to be here, not with Fugaku and Itachi pressing in. The Kamui dimension. It was his only hope. Without hesitation, he activated his Mangekyo Sharingan, the black void warping before his eyes. The familiar distortion took hold, and in an instant, the battlefield around him vanished. He felt his body slip into the space between dimensions, away from the confrontation.

He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, the weight of exhaustion crashing down on him. It should be safe here in this dimension. Yet, something was wrong. His chakra flickered weakly, and he could feel the remnants of the fight pulsing within him, seeping into his consciousness. But it wasn’t just the physical strain. It was something else, something worse.

A sharp, piercing sensation—a sudden, agonizing clarity.

Obito turned in panic.

He saw them then—Itachi and Fugaku—standing before him, emerging from the shifting black void of the Kamui dimension. Itachi's gaze gleamed, cold as the grave, and Fugaku stood beside him a hand on his shoulder. But it wasn’t the sight of them that made his blood run cold—it was what he saw in Itachi’s left eye.

A Mangekyo Sharingan. Three stretched triangles evenly spaced around a pinwheel.

The same as his.

Obito's breath caught. The realization hit him like a thunderclap. No. The pieces slid together in a flash of understanding. The last time he had seen that eye, it was in the hands of Kakashi. His left eye. He had given it to the man who had once been his friend as a parting gift, never imagining what could come of it. There had been a possibility—a slim one—that Kakashi’s eye had evolved into a Mangekyo, and with it, he had unlocked the potential to use the techniques that came with it. But... how had Itachi found it? How had he taken it?

Had Kakashi been...?

Before the thought could even finish forming, a new realization struck him, sharper than any blade. Obito’s mind raced, but time had already run out. The brief moment of stunned disbelief had cost him.

Fugaku lunged.

Obito had no time to defend, no time to move. Chidori—the attack shot toward him with a blistering speed. The thunderclap of its arrival tore through the space, and Obito could feel it—a piercing, fatal charge aimed straight for his heart.

Instinct. His right eye flared as the Mangekyo Sharingan activated, and in that split second, he used Izanagi.

The world twisted. Reality warped. The attack vanished. Fugaku’s strike, once certain death, was undone, rewritten.

But the cost was steep.

Obito stumbled, his vision swimming, his chakra completely drained. His body shook as the strain of Izanagi took its toll. He could feel his remaining strength slipping away.

Fugaku and Itachi stood before him, unfazed, their eyes cold and unyielding. 

Obito’s legs buckled beneath him, but he refused to fall. He gritted his teeth, rising to his feet despite the searing pain in his chest, his left arm hanging limply, useless.

This wasn’t over. Not yet.

But as he stared at Fugaku and Itachi, the pair standing together in the dim light of the Kamui dimension, something deep within Obito’s gut churned.

He was alone. And the weight of that realization settled on him like a stone.

There would be no more running. Only this final stand. He had no choice now. The fight had come to him—here, in his private dark place between worlds. The last remnants of his strength surged forward.

And with a rasping breath, Obito raised his arm, fingers already making the familiar seals. His chakra flared weakly, but it flared nonetheless.

Obito knew it was going to be his last fight.

But it was one he wasn’t ready to lose without giving it a fair shot. 

However hopeless that might be.