Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 47

The battlefield on the island had long grown silent, but the whispers it left behind echoed through every campfire, every barracks, and every war tent across rebel-held territory.

Itachi Pottaru, the masked warrior known by many as "Indra," had become a legend.

Soldiers, young and old, spoke of how he burned entire legions with black fire, how he fought like a phantom, and how the heavens themselves seemed to bend under his will. His Mangekyō Sharingan had reshaped the morale of the rebels and instilled dread in the hearts of the loyalists.

And now, in the aftermath of that battle, more and more missions arrived—directly addressed to him.

Raids. Infiltrations. Strategic assassinations.

Every division wanted Indra.

But he remained calm through it all, accepting only what he knew he could complete.

Inside the command tent draped in the green and blue banners of the rebellion, Mei Terumi stood beside a table filled with maps. Her crimson hair was tied tightly back, and her eyes, usually filled with sharp wit, now carried the burden of war.

Itachi entered silently, his cloak rustling behind him.

“You called for me, Lady Terumi,” he said.

Mei turned toward him, offering a faint smile. “Yes. There’s something we must discuss.”

He stepped forward, waiting.

“I know you’ve been overwhelmed with requests, Indra,” she said, arms crossed. “But time is short. You said you have only three months before you return to Konoha.”

Itachi gave a firm nod. “ I got word from the Hokage. That’s the time I’ve been given.”

Mei sighed, tapping a marked location on the map. “Then I need to use those three months wisely. You’re not just a soldier anymore—you’re our edge. A blade I can point where the enemy is weakest. But we won’t win this war until we confront the Mizukage himself.”

“He’s too well-guarded,” Itachi said. “You said yourself—he’s moved underground, hidden his presence with genjutsu specialists.”

“Exactly,” Mei replied. “That’s why we must take back every major island and corner him from the inside. Only then will he have nowhere left to run.”

Itachi studied the map. “Give me the most dangerous targets. I will lead the missions myself.”

Mei smirked. “I thought you’d say that.”

That night, back in his camp quarters, Itachi sat by a small fire. Alone. The stars above him glinted like the eyes of his ancestors.

Suddenly, his mirror glowed—magic and chakra stirring together. He touched the surface, and a familiar figure emerged.

Harry Pottaru.

“Father,” Itachi said, straightening.

“I heard,” Harry said softly. “You’ve become quite popular in Kiri.”

Itachi shrugged faintly. “They overestimate me.”

Harry smiled. “Or perhaps they’re only now beginning to see what I’ve known all along.”

There was a short pause. Then Harry’s expression turned serious.

“I wanted to talk about your eyes. Your Mangekyō Sharingan.”

Itachi nodded. “Tell me what I need to know.”

Harry leaned forward, and the magical flame on his side flickered blue. “Every Mangekyō is unique. It is said that the power one unlocks is tied to the trauma that triggered it. Amaterasu is a powerful flame jutsu—but you haven’t even scratched the surface yet.”

Itachi listened closely, silent and focused.

“Some have the ability to manipulate time or space,” Harry continued. “Others wield powerful genjutsu that can paralyze minds. But the most dangerous truth about Mangekyō is this—use it too much, and you’ll go blind.”

Itachi’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve felt the strain.”

“Then you must train with discipline,” Harry warned. “Control it. Don’t rely on it as a crutch.”

“And Susanoo?” Itachi asked.

Harry’s expression deepened. “Yes… If you master both eyes’ abilities, Susanoo will become available to you. A colossal avatar of chakra—your ultimate defense, and a weapon of destruction.”

“Have you used it?” Itachi asked.

Harry hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. But only because I possess… different eyes.”

“You don’t suffer the blindness.”

“I don’t,” Harry confirmed. “But you will—unless you find a solution. Either through healing jutsu, or…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Itachi understood.

The only other way to preserve the light in Mangekyō eyes… was to take the eyes of another Uchiha.

“I’ll find another path,” Itachi said firmly.

Harry smiled. “I expected nothing less. Just remember—you are not your power. You are not your pain. You are my son.”

“And I will make you proud,” Itachi replied.

“You already have,” Harry said quietly, before the mirror dimmed.

The night returned to stillness.

But inside Itachi’s heart, a storm continued to rage.


Though his name was unknown to most, his eyes had already betrayed more than he intended.

Riku, Daiken, Kaen, and the rest of his trusted team had long suspected something about Itachi’s heritage. They had seen glimpses—moments in battle where his reflexes were inhuman, where his vision seemed to predict every move. And then there were the rare slips, when his Sharingan glinted red for a second too long.

They hadn’t asked, not directly. But they knew.

Only the Uchiha Clan possessed those eyes.

And though they still didn’t know his full identity, there was only one name that came to mind when rumors reached them of an Uchiha with Wood Release.

Itachi Pottaru.

The moment he let that power slip, his true identity would no longer be secret.

So he didn’t.

No Sharingan. No Wood Release.

Itachi fought with pure skill—ninjutsu, fūinjutsu, and genjutsu more refined than any shinobi in the rebellion. He fought like a ghost, and even without his bloodline powers, he was more than a match for any foe.

And now, he was going on a mission no one else could complete.

A solo strike-and-leave.

At the edge of the rebel front, Mei Terumi handed him the scroll herself.

“You’re certain about this?” she asked.

“Yes,” Itachi replied, calm and focused. “It must be me. If we eliminate that outpost, it will collapse their regrouping efforts.”

“That fortress is deep inside the main island,” Mei warned. “The Mizukage has his elite there. If they catch you—”

“They won’t.”

She gave a tight nod. “Good hunting.”

That night, under the cover of mist and moonlight, Itachi vanished from the camp.

He didn’t run. He glided.

Using a combination of chakra suppression and layered genjutsu, he moved like a shadow. No scent. No sound. No trace.

Twenty-eight layers of illusion encased his presence, each one prepared to fool even the sharpest sensors and hounds. And beneath it all, a sealing formula of Harry’s own design pulsed on his chest, further cloaking him from detection.

He crossed rivers.

Passed through enemy patrol zones.

Slipped into hidden tunnels.

And finally reached the edge of the enemy fortress—a jagged, ironclad structure sunk halfway into the earth, its underground levels housing hundreds of Kiri loyalists.

It was more than a fort. It was a strategic command center.

He activated his Earth Release jutsu with surgical precision, slipping silently beneath the ground. Every step he took beneath the surface was calculated—no more than a whisper in the earth.

In his hand was a scroll.

A masterpiece of his own making: a time bomb seal array, tuned to chakra pulses and delayed detonation.

One thousand seals, each one hidden deep beneath the stone foundations of the base.

He planted them in silence, dozens at a time, covering the entire subterranean structure.

He paused only once, staring up at the muffled sounds above—footsteps, orders barked, plans whispered. He could hear the war being waged above.

He closed his eyes. I’m sorry.

Then he activated the final anchor seal and vanished underground—a ghost in the stone.

By the time he surfaced half a mile away in the forest beyond the valley, the timer was already ticking.

He stood alone for a moment, beneath the cold mist of Kirigakure, waiting.

And then—

Boom.

A deep, thunderous crack shook the earth.

Then another.

Then hundreds.

The ground erupted in fire and light as the fortress imploded from beneath. Shockwaves tore through the valley. The sky lit up with flames. Dozens of enemy shinobi were incinerated before they could react.

Itachi didn’t look back.

He turned and walked.

But fate wasn’t done testing him.

Only a mile into his retreat, he sensed chakra signatures—fast, aggressive, approaching from the east.

A Mizukage elite pursuit party, five jonin-level shinobi.

So they felt the explosion faster than expected.

He stopped, closed his eyes for a moment, and took a slow breath.

Then he stepped forward to meet them.

The first kunai flew.

He didn’t dodge.

Instead, he formed a seal and whispered: “Fire Style: Great Fire Destruction.”

A massive wave of searing flame burst forth from his mouth, so hot it scorched the trees and melted the earth itself. The enemy shinobi screamed—three were consumed instantly, two more thrown off their feet.

The flames didn’t stop.

He walked through the inferno like a phantom, unsheathing his blade, and cut down the remaining two as they tried to recover.

The clearing fell silent once more.

Itachi stood amid the smoldering forest, eyes dim, his breathing steady.

He hadn’t used his Sharingan.

He hadn’t used Wood Release.

And yet… he had leveled a fortress and annihilated a pursuit squad in one night.

Just another shadow in a war that was no longer silent.



The sky over Amegakure was dark, as always—heavy clouds cloaking the city in eternal twilight while raindrops tapped endlessly on metal rooftops. Thunder rumbled in the distance, like the growl of some great sleeping beast. At the top of the towering God Tower, in the circular, dimly lit Akatsuki headquarters, a meeting was underway.

Inside, a quiet hum of chakra flickered in the air, tense and uneasy.

At the head of the chamber sat Nagato, his body gaunt, pale, and fixed into the mechanical throne that sustained his failing health. His Rinnegan eyes stared with detached calm at the figures before him. Beside him stood Konan, her paper angel wings folded behind her like blades of origami. And across from them stood the masked figure known only as Tobi, hands behind his back, posture relaxed—too relaxed.

The silence was broken by a strange sound—soft, wet, like roots shifting beneath soil.

From the floor, Black Zetsu and White Zetsu emerged, rising from the earth like ghosts.

“I bring news from Kirigakure,” White Zetsu announced, his voice half amusement, half mockery.

Tobi’s head tilted slightly. “Go on.”

Black Zetsu's voice followed, colder, more deliberate. “The rebellion led by Mei Terumi has escalated. One of the largest fortresses under the Mizukage’s control was destroyed last night. Reduced to rubble.”

Nagato blinked slowly. “The rebels are gaining momentum?”

Zetsu nodded. “They are… thanks to a particular individual.”

Konan narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

White Zetsu grinned. “An unknown shinobi… calling himself Indra.”

That name sent a small ripple through the room. Tobi’s relaxed stance stiffened—just slightly.

Nagato’s expression remained unreadable. “Indra?”

“Yes,” said Black Zetsu. “He’s an elite. Possibly more than that. He appears out of nowhere, annihilates squads, then vanishes. He is precise, efficient, and completely unpredictable.”

“And?” Tobi asked flatly.

White Zetsu chuckled. “The reason we noticed him… was because of the Amaterasu he unleashed on the White Battlefield. Black flames. Inextinguishable. We weren’t sure until then—but now we are.”

Tobi’s silence was loud.

Konan stepped forward. “You’re saying he’s an Uchiha?”

“Undoubtedly,” Black Zetsu confirmed. “He uses Mangekyō-level jutsu. But… his identity remains hidden. Even our most sensitive infiltration seals failed to locate his true name.”

“He wears a mask,” White Zetsu added. “Clever one, too. Chakra suppression, multiple genjutsu layers. We’ve never seen anyone use genjutsu that deep without the Sharingan active.”

Tobi turned slowly toward Zetsu, voice low and tight. “And you’re certain it's Amaterasu?”

“Absolutely,” Black Zetsu said. “There’s no mistaking it.”

For a moment, the air in the room grew heavy.

Tobi’s one visible eye narrowed behind his swirling orange mask. His voice came out cold and sharp.

“The Bloodline Purge was supposed to destroy the village from within.”

Konan raised an eyebrow. “You were the one who helped orchestrate the purge in Kiri, weren’t you?”

“I was,” Tobi admitted without hesitation. “Not because I hated bloodlines. But because of what Kiri took from me.”

The name remained unsaid.

Rin.

“I wanted to bury their legacy,” he continued. “To see them rot in their own bloodshed.”

Zetsu, watching the slow shift in Tobi’s demeanor, added, “But this Uchiha… this Indra... he’s rebuilding their hope. One victory at a time.”

“Another Mangekyō wielder…” Tobi said under his breath. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

Nagato finally spoke again, his voice flat and commanding. “Do you wish for us to intervene?”

Tobi shook his head.

“No. This is my concern now.”

He turned to face the door, the rain casting long shadows as he began walking toward it.

Konan called after him. “You’re going to Kiri?”

“I am,” Tobi replied. “If this Indra is truly one of ours, I will find him.”

“And if he’s not?” asked Nagato.

Tobi paused at the threshold.

“Then I’ll burn him to ash.”

With that, the masked man disappeared into swirling space-time, leaving only silence behind him—save for the steady sound of rain against glass and steel.