Hikaku is a good shinobi; some would even say a great one, and yet his name is absent from most of the history books rooting away in Konoha's dusty libraries.
Hikaku is an Uchiha through and through. He embodies their traits with every fiber of his being. Family and loyalty. Love and passion. Pride and stoicism. And yet, if you asked any Konoha-Nin, they would tell you he is nothing like those arrogant, stuck-up assholes. They would tell you he is calm, reasonable, polite, and down to earth.
Hikaku is terribly bland in comparison to other names of his generation. He is no Hashirama or Tobirama Senju, unstoppable monsters on the battlefield, gifted with more unique talents than he can count on his hands. He is not Mito Uzumaki, a sealing mistress like no other with chakra to fill oceans and a sharp wit. He is no Madara or Izuna Uchiha, burning brighter than life itself, moving around battlefields like dancers, smooth and effortless, with eyes that bend time and reality around them.
Hikaku is Hikaku, and had he been born in another generation, perhaps he would have been hailed as a prodigy, making a name for himself. However, that was not the case. He was born in the midst of gods turned human flesh, with enough power at their fingertips to shape the landscape itself.
.
.
Hikaku is the third strongest in his clan, and he is invisible to most. He doesn't mind. Those he cares about, his closest family, Madara and Izuna, treasure him and his abilities, as meager as they may be in comparison. They love him, and he loves them, and that's enough.
Until it's suddenly not enough anymore. Until Izuna falls in battle, and Hikaku can do nothing but watch as his younger cousin bleeds in Madara's arms; as Izuna's condition worsens, and he slowly wastes away in agony.
Hikaku is no healer. He is proficient with Katon-Jutsu and a katana, a passable sensor with a strong Sharingan, and a fast learner, but he is no healer. He is not enough; Izuna dies quietly and takes a part of Hikaku and Madara with him.
The following months are hell. Madara is devastated, a husk of his former self. He barely leaves his room, doesn't eat or sleep, only allowing Hikaku to see him.
"Am I dying, Hikaku?" Madara whispers one night, staring emptily at the sole candle flickering in the cold room. "It feels like I'm dying."
Hikaku holds onto Madara's too-lifeless hand tighter, fearing he might slip away too. His breathing is choked and irregular, his eyes squeezed shut. Silent tears drip down his chin. There are no words he could say that could take Madara's anguish away, so he doesn't say anything at all. Nothing could fill the hole Izuna left behind in their hearts.
Hikaku loses his beloved cousin, who was more like a brother, to the war, and he fears Madara will follow him soon. But there is still the clan to think about, and Hikaku is nothing if not devoted to his family. The duties of a clan head are nothing new to him; he had always supported Madara and Izuna from the shadows, from the moment he took his first steps in this world. Hikaku buries his grief deep and his pain deeper, and holds the Uchiha clan together in Madara's stead.
Duty keeps him blessedly busy, and his mind far away from cooling corpses and empty eyes. It's all a haste of urgent missives, trade contracts, and clan meetings. Before he knows it, he is standing on the battlefield once more, next to Madara this time, where Izuna is supposed to be - not Hikaku, never Hikaku.
Hikaku cannot match Tobirama in a fight, and Madara is exhausted from days upon days of grieving. The battlefield turns silent like a grave much too quickly, with Hashirama and Tobirama standing over a beaten Madara, and Hikaku bleeding and bruised, lying at the sidelines.
He doesn't hear what is being said between the three of them. He is too far away, and his head is hazy from chakra exhaustion, his every limb aching. Standing up seems like an impossibility in that moment. Humiliation and burning shame weigh him down in addition to his injuries. Tobirama was not even trying his hardest, yet Hikaku was helplessly outclassed. Once again, he was not enough, and he can only watch as Madara and his clansmen get surrounded by the enemy, utterly at their mercy, with no choice but to accept what they decide to give.
What follows is a frantic rush of events. Konoha is being built, and the Senju and Uchiha are coming together, then come the Hatake, the Nara, Yamanaka, and Akimichi, the Hyuuga and Sarutobi. Time is flying, and buildings are rising so rapidly Hikaku can't keep up, but Madara is smiling again. He is laughing and drinking alongside Hashirama.
A rancid emotion spreads in Hikaku's gut. What is it that Hashirama has that Hikaku doesn't? Why can he heal Madara's wounds when Hikaku couldn't? The emotion quickly disperses again. It doesn't matter; as long as Madara laughs, as long as he is happy, Hikaku is happy. And for a few months, the world is alright, not perfect, but it's looking upwards. Peace is on the horizon.
Only for it to shatter into a million pieces behind everyone's turned backs. Madara has one fallout after the other with Hashirama; their friendship becomes a fragile thread, held together only by a distant past at a riverbank. Hikaku once again can do nothing but watch as the world around him breaks apart.
Madara becomes distant again. The clan alienates itself from him, unwilling to hear his increasingly desperate warnings. Hikaku listens, but he is one of a few. "The Uchiha are doomed!" Madara screams frustrated, his words falling on deaf ears. "Tobirama is already spreading rumors about the Uchiha, and Hashirama is unwilling to stop him, can't you see?"
Hikaku does see and hear. Rumors circulate about some Curse of Hatred that is inherent to the Uchiha alone, destined to lead them to hate and destruction. Distrust is spreading in Konoha, for now focused on Madara himself, the scapegoat for everything bad happening lately it seems, but for how long will it stay that way?
Hikaku is unable to sway the clan's opinion on Madara and Konoha as a whole - how could he when Madara was not successful? The Uchiha clan remains loyal to the Hokage, and Madara falls into disgrace, grows bitter.
"I can't stay, Hikaku. This village… it's not what I envisioned. It's a disgusting mockery of my dream… I'm sorry, Hikaku, I can't stay." Madara leaves one night, disillusioned and betrayed, and Hikaku's world dissolves into ashes. He understands why Madara left, he truly does, but that does not mean he has to accept it, that he must tolerate the status quo.
Becoming clan head a second time is easy. He takes up his duties and unites the clan under his command as best as he can, with the little charisma and leadership skills he has – he is not Izuna with his disarming smile and cutting words, he is not Madara with steel in his voice and burning determination in his eyes. Hikaku is Hikaku, a shadow in their towering personalities, but perhaps that is for the best.
Hikaku is unassuming, quiet, and often overlooked. He is diligent but not overachieving, confident but not arrogant, pleasant company but never captivating anyone's attention. He is subtle, barely interesting enough to avoid being boring, and so he hears things here and there, bits and pieces. His position as clan head allows him to fill the gaps where he needs to, to read scrolls he is probably not supposed to, and enter laboratories and storages he most definitely is not allowed to, but no one intercepts him. It's just plain old Hikaku; he must have a reason to do what he does. He is a good shinobi after all, loyal to Konoha.
Hikaku hears rumors about experiments performed under the Hokage mountain, deep in the belly of T&I, about the kind of Jutsu Tobirama develops there and keeps under lock and key. About rising corpses and returning souls.
Things always come in pairs, Hikaku has come to understand, to balance each other out. As soon as one piece of two is taken away, balance is broken, the scale tips, and harmony is crushed. In Konoha, the scale has been askew for a long time.
From the foundation of the village, there had been no equal to challenge Tobirama and oppose his influence as there should have been. There is no one keeping him in check, allowing him to do as he pleases and letting his fears and prejudices run wild. Now, there is no Madara anymore either to stand in his way, or to match Hashirama for that matter. However, it doesn't have to stay that way. If there is even the slightest chance of bringing Izuna back, then Konoha could have a purpose for Madara again - a place to keep his little brother safe. Surely then Madara would be willing to return, and a balance between the Uchiha and Senju could be established.
Above all else, Hikaku is loyal to his family. The family he will mend back together from the scraps they left, and if it's the last thing he does. He works when no one is looking, in the darkness of his room, tirelessly with the pieces of knowledge he finds around the village. Unfinished seals, half-backed chakra theory, and dubious techniques, he soaks it all up and pours his whole being into making them complete, into making them better. He may not be a genius like Tobirama or Mito, but no one learns faster than an Uchiha with a Sharingan and an obsession.
During the day, Hikaku is a devoted clan head and Konoha-Nin; in the dead of the night, he continues with his research and espionage like a man possessed. It takes years, but he makes steady progress, hidden away deep in the Uchiha compound out of sight of prying eyes. Hikaku clings to his many scrolls and theories with bloody nails and teeth.
That is until the day Madara returns with madness in his eyes and the Kyuubi at his heel, and Hashirama follows his call into battle. The fight lasts for days. Chakra waves and tremors are felt all the way back in Konoha, keeping everyone on edge and twitchy—an explosive combination in a shinobi village. At the end of it, Hashirama returns with Madara's corpse and a chakra beast to be sealed into his wife.
Hikaku is utterly numb for days afterward, a puppet held upright by invisible strings. Madara's name goes down in history as Konoha's first traitor, becoming a stain on the Uchiha name. Hikaku doesn't understand. The world makes no sense anymore. It's but a dull caricature of what it once was. He barely remembers the following year, a washed-out blur of movements and sounds around him, bleak and meaningless. The duty to his clan keeps him going, and after a while, his hope returns; he can salvage this still.
When Hashirama dies shortly after, Tobirama becomes Nidaime Hokage, and things take a turn for the worst for the Uchiha. Tension rises with every passing day; war lingers in the air, not between clans but between nations, about to erupt with a single spark. The Konoha police force and ANBU are founded. Uchiha are forced to join the KPF and forbidden to interfere with anything related to ANBU.
A spark flies at last, and the powder keg that is the Elemental nations explodes in a rain of fire and shrapnel. The first shinobi war is a hurricane that rages across the entire continent in the span of hours, sinking it into chaos and destruction. Thousands die in the first months of it, corpses flooding the land with blood and gore.
Hikaku is soon called to the frontlines. There, at least, he finds more than enough test subjects for his experiments, but with each passing day, his doubts grow. Would Madara and Izuna even want to return to this hell? Every day, Hikaku wakes up to the screams of the dying, to the stench of rot and mud and ashes. He pushes those thoughts away, distances himself from the world or it might swallow him whole.
Food is scarce on the border to Iwa. Some days, hunger is all Hikaku can think about. Those days, especially, he gives his ration to the children stationed in his outpost. They have yet to grow after all, and he can endure a bit of famine. Whenever he doesn't see some of those children return at the end of the day from the frontlines, when they are absent from the campfire, he is glad they at least didn't die hungry and prays for their souls before he lies down for another sleepless night.
Tobirama doesn't survive the first shinobi war, and Hikaku feels nothing. Balance has been restored after all, he thinks with a sort of distant detachment that comes from years of seeing nothing but death. Hikaku merely hopes it will get better for the Uchiha from here on out.
It doesn't. The war ends, yes, but Tobirama's students take over the important governing positions in Konoha by his decision. Danzo barely bothers to hide his disdain for the Uchiha, and Hiruzen is a sentimental fool bowing to his friend's every whim. Hikaku grows uneasy. The first voices of protest among his clansmen begin to rise, and promptly, ANBU are stationed all around the compound as surveillance.
Kagami, the Uchiha's sunshine, dies on a mission, following his adored Sensei into death far too young, leaving behind a wife and a newborn son. The kid had never gotten over Tobirama's demise, stuck in a constant state of grief and self-loathing, and Hikaku wonders idly if Kagami is content now, being reunited with his Sensei.
Voices of protest in the clan get more numerous but also more silent. Unrest is rising in the shadows, and Hikaku is getting old. His age is setting heavily in his stiff and aching bones. He is no longer fit to lead the Uchiha, so he gives over leadership to the young, retreating once more to the background.
Madara's words ring in his head louder than ever before. The Uchiha clan is doomed, but also trapped inside Konoha. The war weighs heavily on them; their shinobi numbers and resources have dwindled significantly. They are dependent on Konoha's protection in this vulnerable state, at the same time, the village is making it increasingly difficult for them to get back to their feet. The KPF is not paid well compared to high-ranking ANBU missions that they are not allowed to undertake but would be more than capable to complete.
Hikaku hides himself away in his rooms for days on end, buried under scrolls and books. Edo Tensei, Tobirama had called his reanimation Jutsu, but it's not good enough. The reanimated body may be indestructible but also dead. A husk with a soul stuffed into it, nothing more. Hikaku wants to create something better, something more. He finds out about a technique of Sunagakure's Puppet Brigade that can reanimate the dead, and his obsession becomes nearly uncontrollable.
Years go by, and the world forgets about Hikaku. Most of the time, he is alone, sitting at his desk and pondering over seals and chakra. Sometimes, however, he watches over the little ones. Hikaku is gentle with them, telling tales of the days before Konoha, of Madara and Izuna, and sometimes himself. The children listen with rapt attention; the parents scowl conflicted but don't interrupt his history lessons. Others would be sentenced for treason, telling the stories Hikaku does—biased and sometimes not all that friendly towards their esteemed Shodai and Nidaime—but Hikaku is Hikaku. He means well, they say; he's just getting a little brusque in his old age, they say and leave him be. Another war washes over the land and leaves it drenched in red misery.
Hikaku grows older than he ever hoped to be; however, his work is not finished quite yet. So, each morning when the Shinigami knocks on his door, he tells them, 'Not today, perhaps tomorrow'.
Sakumo's ultimate death does not surprise Hikaku. What surprises him is the depth of its impact, how deeply it affects him. It's a stark reminder that he's still capable of feeling loss – not just the loss of a comrade but also the loss of Konoha's values. The vaunted 'Will of Fire' has become nothing but a farce, mere pretty words, an empty lie. Hikaku can't help but wonder what Hashirama and Madara would think of the nightmare their dream has been twisted into. Izuna, he imagines, is likely laughing in the Pure Lands, proclaiming to anyone willing to listen that he was right all along.
Watching little Kakashi bury his father is the last push Hikaku needs to finish his work after decades of dedicating his very life to it. Konoha is nothing more than a graveyard filled with the corpses of loved ones. A third war is looming over them all; the rusty shovels are already laid out beside neat rows of gravestones, ready to dig into cold soil a dozen times more. There is nothing Hikaku can do about it. His bones are brittle, and his muscles weak; his time is coming to an end.
Mikoto is a sweet child, on her way to grow into a wonderful woman and a strong kunoichi. She had always enjoyed greatly hearing about the old days from Hikaku on his engawa on lazy afternoons, listening with an excited smile and cheeks stuffed with sticky sweets. Today she is sitting beside Hikaku's deathbed with mournful eyes and warm hands. "Mikoto, my dear," Hikaku says. "You are an observant girl. Surely you have seen the signs in the clan and the village."
Mikoto's hands stiffen, and Hikaku smiles up at her; such a smart child. "There will come a time when the animosity boils over. When the Uchiha are finally fed up, and Konoha will take drastic measures to shut us up."
"Listen carefully," he continues, and Mikoto does because she understands, she has learned under Sakumo's tutelage for a while and has seen what the village is willing to do to its shinobi. "When the time comes, you need allies, powerful ones."
"Ojii-san… the Uchiha have no allies left in the village. Danzo made sure of that."
"I know, that's why you need to forge new alliances before it's too late. That Uzumaki girl is a good start; she holds great sway in the village." He holds her hand tighter, pulls her closer, and lowers his voice—there are ears everywhere in the compound these days. "If you cannot find friends within the village, and all hope is lost, go to the Naka shrine, look underneath the stone tablet, there you will find a Jutsu scroll. Use it."
Mikoto nods with determination in her eyes, and Hikaku knows the clan is going to be fine. He closes his eyes content, looking forward to seeing his family again.
.
.
Clan members are shouting through each other, agitated and frustrated, the elders and young ones in equal measure. A headache is pounding between Mikoto's temples, and her irritation grows, though she doesn't show anything of it. Her posture remains straight and proper, her face carefully pleasant. Fugaku, beside her, is doing much the same; Mikoto, however, can see his annoyance when no one else can, as well as his deep exhaustion.
This discussion has been going on for hours and has gotten them nowhere; it never does, but the pressure on the clan is increasing by the day. The animosity from the elders and Danzo, the surveillance, the open distrust, and segregation—the clan is tired of it all, but their protests are not being heard.
The little progress Minato and Fugaku painstakingly made during his short reign to reintegrate the Uchiha into the village has long since been undone by the elders, and the other clans pretend to see nothing, as if they couldn't be the next ones to get targeted by Danzo's bigotry at any time. As if they are safe in Konoha when the Uchiha are not.
The meeting is concluded without anything to show for it. When the last Uchiha left the room, Fugaku sighs wearily, the stoic mask slipping off his face. Mikoto wordlessly grabs his hand, and together they sit in silence, watching the shadows cast by the candles dance on the walls.
They are out of options and ideas. Mikoto can almost taste the lingering violence in the air, the cinder that has been piling up for decades, ready to burst into an inferno with the smallest trigger. A peaceful resolution seems out of their grasp at this point.
"I think it's time," Mikoto whispers into the quiet.
"Time for what?"
Mikoto smiles at her husband, fond memories playing in her mind. She is glad she recorded some of her best moments with Hikaku with the Sharingan. "I don't know yet."
Fugaku frowns in confusion, watching in interest as Mikoto crouches down by the stone table to inspect it more closely.
It doesn't take long to find the faintest of scab marks on the floor. Mikoto lifts the tablet to the side, revealing a storage seal carved into the floor. A drop of chakra is enough to activate it, and a pristine scroll puffs into existence in a cloud of smoke.
"What is this?" Fugaku asks over her shoulder.
Mikoto doesn't know, so she simply opens the scroll and begins to read. Hikaku's clear handwriting is familiar to her, one line after the other she reads, her eyes widening in shock and awe the further she progresses. Fugaku is stock-still behind her. Mikoto had no idea something like this existed, that something like this could exist.
By the end of the text, Mikoto is in disbelief. Her hands tremble as she rolls up the paper and reseals it carefully under the tablet. Intricate seals and detailed instructions echo in her mind like the second coming of a thunderclap.
"This scroll could cause an entire war," Fugaku says, his voice airy.
Mikoto turns towards him, allowing a flicker of hope to shine in her eyes. She remembers Hikaku's stories, his gentle voice when telling her about his family. "It could also prevent one. The clan will listen to his words this time."
.
.
The decision on whether Mikoto and Fugaku will use the scroll is made the moment they learn of Danzo's interest in Itachi and Shisui specifically. Mikoto is not willing to risk losing a child to that bastard's machinations, and time is running out faster and faster. The noose around their neck tightens to a suffocating degree, and tempers are getting heated on all sides.
That's why she is kneeling in the hidden meeting room underneath the Naka shrine, Hikaku's scroll spread out before her, and four bound shinobi arranged like offerings – the living sacrifices were easily obtained for the head of the KPF. Two bodies will be the vessels for the summoned souls, while the other two will serve as payment for the subsequent reincarnation of those souls into warm, living human flesh.
Mikoto weaves hand sign after hand sign, each one carefully noted down on parchment by Hikaku years prior to this night. Chakra is gathering in her core into a tight sphere, following her call, twisting and molding. Black seals crawl across the dusty floor, around the human sacrifices in intricate spirals, making them squirm in place and scream around the gags in their mouths.
Mikoto pays them no attention; her concentration is focused on the ritual, sweat dripping from her brows, and Sharingan spinning rapidly. Ash-white dust gathers around the four sacrifices, clumps together, and crawls up their limbs in layers like bugs on an already decaying corpse. The muffled screams intensify before stopping completely, suffocated under the white substance that condensed around the bodies, tighter and tighter in a second skin. New shapes and faces form over the old ones, pale and glazed. Dull colors seep back into two of the white husks, intensifying into bright reds and elegant purples, soft pinks, and earthy browns. The other two shells remain bleak, turn brittle, and finally crack and crumple like dry clay, leaving nothing but heaps of dirt behind.
The two remaining bodies are unmoving as Mikoto waves the last hand sign. She releases a deep, controlled breath, lowering her arms. The room is deadly still for a painfully long minute; a cold draft ghosts over her damp skin, making her shiver, and the shadows flicker.
The silence is shattered by a greedily sucked-in breath, then another falling in tandem with the first. Erratic coughing follows, and the piercing stare of two pairs of Sharingan eyes. Mikoto is not afraid. She bows deeply, palms and forehead on the ground. "Madara-sama, Izuna-sama. Hikaku-o-jiisan sends his regards."
.
.
AN: There is no Kaguya in this, meaning no Gedō Mazō either. Both Madara and Obito died. The Kyuubi attack still happened, and Minato and Kushina died too; I'll leave it to your imagination to decide how that unfolded.