## Chapter 11 : Eternal Mangekyo Sharringan
Ren reappeared in the suffocating silence of his room, the stolen treasures clutched in his hands. The backlash hit him like a physical blow. He crumpled to his knees, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as white-hot agony lanced through his skull, centered behind his eyes. Blood, thick and warm, welled in the corners, tracing crimson paths down his cheeks. He pressed his forehead against the cool tatami floor, breathing raggedly. "No time... have to do it... now," he gritted out, the words thick with pain. The stolen minutes were bought with agony; Danzo would be hunting.
Pushing himself up, he placed the reinforced vial of swirling, viridian-green Hashirama cells and the two sealed containers holding the stolen Sharingan eyes carefully on the floor. His hands shook, but his resolve was iron. He opened one container, revealing the pale, three-tomoe eye floating in preservative fluid. It looked alien, dead
.
He drew a kunai. Without flinching, he sliced a deep line across his palm. Blood welled, dark and vital. Holding his bleeding hand over the eye, he let thick droplets fall, spattering onto the milky surface and the preserving fluid. "You are mine," he whispered, his voice raw. "You are the eyes of my father. You carry his blood, his legacy, his will. This is *reality*."
He closed his fist, letting his blood soak the stolen organ. Then, he activated his Mangekyo Sharingan. The intricate, terrifying black geometries ignited in his crimson eyes. The pain intensified, a searing fire threatening to consume his vision, making the blood flow faster, streaking down his face like tears of rage. He poured his will, his chakra, his very *definition* of truth into the eyes through his bleeding hand. His fist began to glow with an intense, deep crimson light, pulsing like a captured star. The light wasn't fire; it was raw, shaping power.
He held the glow for a long, agonizing moment. When the light faded, he uncurled his fingers. The eye in his palm was transformed. No longer pale and inert, it pulsed with a faint inner light. The three black tomoe were gone, replaced by a unique, intricate Mangekyo pattern. It wasn't his own; it was a new design, born of his will and blood – sharp, interlocking angles radiating from the pupil like shards of obsidian lightning, connected by flowing lines of utter darkness. It mirrored the terrifying potential of his own eyes, yet was distinctly *his* creation. He repeated the process with the second eye, the crimson glow flaring anew, the pain a constant, screaming companion. Soon, both stolen eyes bore the same, newly forged Mangekyo design.
No hesitation. No sterile tools. Survival demanded speed. Using the kunai again, he worked with brutal efficiency. The pain of removing his own damaged eyes was lost in the greater agony already consuming him. He scooped the newly forged Mangekyo eyes from his bloody palm. The sensation of pushing the cool, unfamiliar orbs into his empty sockets was grotesque, surreal. He channeled a trickle of chakra, the bare minimum needed to stimulate the optic nerves and begin the healing process. The world snapped back into focus – sharper, clearer, yet viewed through alien, self-created lenses. He could *feel* the difference immediately. The constant, grinding ache behind his eyes, the precursor to blindness, was gone. Replaced by a deep, cool thrum of immense, stable power. **Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan.** The Curse of Hatness was broken. His vision was secure.
Relief was fleeting. The bigger challenge remained. He snatched the vial of Hashirama cells. The green liquid inside seemed to writhe with primordial life, radiating palpable energy that prickled his skin even through the glass. He uncorked it. The scent was overwhelming – damp earth, ancient forests, raw, untamed power. He didn't pause. Tipping his head back, he drank it down in one swift, desperate gulp.
It hit him like a tsunami.
Raw, volcanic life force exploded within him. His veins felt like they were filling with molten sunlight. His muscles spasmed. His bones groaned. Vines seemed to writhe under his skin. He could feel the cells multiplying, invading, trying to *consume* him, to overwrite his very being with the Shodaime's overwhelming vitality. He gasped, his new eyes snapping wide. Panic threatened – this was assimilation, not integration. He'd be consumed, turned into a tree, a monster.
*No.* He slammed his will down, channeling it through his newly forged Eternal Mangekyo. **Genjitsu no Ishi.** He didn't fight the power; he *shaped* it. He focused on the concept: *Merge. Harmony. Stabilize. This power is mine. Its vitality fuels my eyes, my body. It bends to my reality.*
The crimson patterns in his eyes blazed with an intensity that lit up the dim room. The chaotic, overwhelming surge of green energy within him seemed to pause, then *flow*. It was no longer an invasion; it became an integration. The violent growth calmed, the burning vitality settling into a deep, resonant hum that pulsed through his core. The writhing under his skin subsided. The sense of being consumed faded, replaced by a profound, grounding strength. He felt invincible. Limitless. The colossal chakra reserves of the First Hokage merged seamlessly with his own, a vast ocean now under his command. The regenerative power thrummed in his cells, a constant, healing warmth.
The blood still stained his cheeks and hands. His room was a mess. But Ren Uchiha slowly stood up. The blinding pain was gone. The fear of blindness was gone. The desperate weakness was gone. He looked down at his hands, clean now by his silent command, the cuts vanished without a scar. He flexed his fingers, feeling the impossible vitality humming within him.