General POV:
The storm had broken, but its echoes still grumbled in the distance, a guttural reminder of nature's fury. Morning light filtered through the dense canopy above the Kurokiba training grounds, muted and cold. Where sunlight failed, the black ceremonial flames filled the void, flickering as if stirred by unseen breath.
A hushed crowd of Kurokiba elites and allied commanders formed a ring around the ritual ground, their expressions carved from stone. Among them, Madara stood with arms crossed, eyes sharp beneath furrowed brows. Izuna flanked him, gaze narrowed but burning with a fire of silent support.
Indra stepped into the circle, barefoot over soil etched with ancestral runes still pulsing from Raizen's preparations. The earth felt alive beneath him — no, it throbbed with power. Each heartbeat seemed to synchronize with the ancient energy coursing through the ground, the legacy of Kurokiba bloodlines crying out for recognition.
Raizen's voice thundered through the still air, dispelling the murmurs of the onlookers.
"Indra Uchiha," he intoned, unrolling the iron-bound scroll with deliberate weight. "By blood of Uchiha and Kurokiba, by flame and fang, you stand at the brink of legacy and oblivion. Today, you face the Trial of Blood — not to inherit our power, but to become it."
He raised the Staff of Umbral Judgment skyward, dark clouds swirling in answer. Black lightning forked between the heavens and the staff's clawed head, illuminating the ceremonial field in strobes of shadowed light.
Indra's expression hardened. He inhaled deeply, steadying the maelstrom within. Memories of his clash with Soifon flashed through his mind — not as a distraction, but as fuel. Her ferocity, her resolve, her passion. All these things reminded him that strength was not born of hatred alone. It was forged in the crucible of purpose.
"Let the first rite commence," Raizen declared.
Without warning, the ground at Indra's feet split open, and from the abyss rose obsidian pillars carved with snarling wolf heads. Black chains shot out, wrapping around Indra's limbs and torso, searing into his skin with biting heat.
Yet, he did not cry out.
Raizen's gaze darkened in approval. "To master the Kurokiba power, you must first submit to the will of our ancestors. Their pain, their wrath — their undying thirst for dominion."
As Raizen began chanting in the guttural tongue of the old clan, the pillars blazed with cursed energy. Illusions clawed at Indra's mind, dragging him into a tempest of visions. He saw countless battles, rivers of blood, clans torn apart by tooth and flame. Faces blurred between friend and foe, loved ones and enemies.
Then — a figure emerged.
A towering warrior with wolf-like features and eyes like molten iron. Raizen's ancestor, the progenitor of the Kurokiba bloodline.
"You seek our mantle, boy?" the specter growled. "Then prove your fangs are sharp enough."
With that, the illusion attacked.
Instinct took over. Indra twisted his body, snapping the chains taut, and drove his knee upward into the phantom's gut. But this was no mere hallucination. His strike connected with bone-crushing force, yet the specter barely flinched.
Black talons raked across Indra's chest, tearing through flesh. Blood splattered the scorched earth, feeding the pulsing runes beneath him.
Good.
Pain sharpened Indra's senses, narrowed his focus.
His Sharingan spun furiously, not evolving — but perfecting clarity within its existing form. He saw the faint ripple of chakra before each spectral strike, the flaws in its otherwise flawless form.
He moved accordingly.
Weaving through the barrage, he planted his palm to the ground. "Flame Release: Crimson Maw!"
A torrent of vermillion fire erupted upward, engulfing the phantom in searing heat. For a moment, the specter faltered — but then it emerged from the blaze, half-consumed yet grinning.
"You have fire, child," the phantom rasped, "but fire alone does not rule the wild."
From the crowd, Madara's brows knitted closer, voice low. "He pushes too hard. He fights like an Uchiha still."
"No," Izuna murmured beside him. "Look closer."
Indra's breathing slowed. He remembered Raizen's teachings — power from the abyss was not seized through brute force alone. It required acceptance of the shadows, a harmony with the primal chaos.
Closing his eyes for a heartbeat, Indra let the shadows lick at his consciousness, let the snarling voice of the Kurokiba bloodline coil around his spine.
When he opened his eyes once more, they burned not brighter — but deeper.
"Come," he whispered to the phantom, "I will not cower from the dark."
They clashed again, but this time, Indra didn't resist the pull of the abyss. He flowed with it, redirecting the specter's savage strikes, turning raw aggression into precise counters. His footwork grew heavier, more grounded — the Kurokiba Fang Style awakened fully in his movements.
One final strike. Indra roared, driving his palm into the phantom's chest, not to destroy — but to anchor it to himself.
The illusion froze.
"You… bind me willingly?" the specter rumbled, its form flickering.
"You are my shadow," Indra answered, chest rising and falling with controlled fury. "And I will carry you."
With a final burst of chakra, the phantom dissolved into swirling black energy, funneling into Indra's core. The chains snapped, the pillars cracked and crumbled, and the runes flared in a brilliant, blinding blaze before fading into ash.
Silence.
Then Raizen stepped forward, his eyes sharp as a hawk's.
"It is done."
Indra swayed but remained standing, sweat beading on his brow. He felt it — the abyss no longer clawed at him from the outside. It resided within, coiled and waiting, but it obeyed.
He had not vanquished the darkness. He had claimed it.
A murmur rippled through the gathered crowd, warriors bowing their heads in grudging respect. Even the most skeptical among them could not deny it now: Indra Uchiha had become a vessel worthy of Kurokiba legacy.
Raizen lowered the Staff of Umbral Judgment, planting it into the ground with finality. "From this day forth," he proclaimed, "you are no longer heir of Uchiha alone. You are Indra of the Fanged Abyss. Wielder of storm, flame, and fang alike."
Indra drew a breath, steadying his pulse as he met his father's gaze across the field.
Madara's lips, usually a firm line, tugged into the barest hint of a smirk.
Izuna's nod was subtle but firm, pride glinting in his eyes.
And yet, even amid triumph, Indra's thoughts drifted — not to victory, but to the memory of Soifon's storm-wreathed eyes, and the unspoken promise left beneath the rain-soaked canopy.
This was no end.
Only the beginning.
Of a path paved in fire and shadow alike.
The end of chapter 36