Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Scarlet ❯ Testing The Limits ( Chapter 5 )

Yamisui: Yes, I have read Poe.

 

{OoO}---SCARLET---{OoO}

 

{OoO}---{OoO}---Chapter 4: Testing the Limits---{OoO}---{OoO}

 

After killing Shisui I went mad.

 

I didn't scream or rave. Nor did I destroy my clan in any violent fit of rage. When I did that, I was perfectly sane.

 

No. This was another kind of madness.

 

It was fortunate that I'd already forged Shisui's suicide note before I killed him, because afterward I would not have been capable of it. I climbed out of the river, spent, and sank dripping onto the stone walkway on the other side of the wall. Water from my sodden sleeves kept trickling down my arms and over my hands. I kept rubbing my palms against my pants; imagining in my horror that the water was blood.

 

After colorless years, I was seeing red again. Red enough to last a lifetime. The moon itself wept bloody tears.

 

I squeezed my eyes shut and hot darkness swallowed me.

 

When I opened them again, the moon had set. It was a blessing; with the light gone my clothes no longer dripped scarlet. Slowly, painstakingly, I rose to my feet. My hands and knees were shaking. It felt as if my vision were shaking, too. It was the beginning of the change in dojutsu, altering the focus of my eyes. I'd read about it before.

 

No sooner had I straightened to stand than I found myself doubling over again, vomiting. My knees hit the pavement with a bruising thud. On all fours I crawled away from the soiled ground and bowed over further, touching my forehead to the stone. It was clean and cold, like a hand on my brow.

 

“Shisui,” I whispered.

 

Then I pushed myself to my feet again. This time I didn't fall. If I didn't get up, move on, what I had done would be for nothing.

 

I found a bucket nearby and used river water to clean the soiled walkway. It would dry before dawn, and leave no trace. Then I staggered home.

 

No one saw me. If they had, I would have killed them.

 

As it was, I was able to climb in through my open window, remove my filthy clothes, and crawl into bed without waking anyone in the house.

 

I wanted to sleep. Part of me even wanted to die.

 

But I kept breathing. I lay on my stomach, pressing my face into my pillow. And because I was bold enough to live, madness took me again.

 

Blood beat a deafening tattoo in my brain, in my temples, in the veins stretched taut in my throat. I thought it was Shisui's heart, beating in my head, and the hair on my neck rose in horror. My own heart throbbed with grief too terrible to bear. I was chained in place; weighed down by the choice I'd made, of which there could be no unmaking.

 

The world spun and tilted behind my eyes, a maelstrom of chakra in my skull, dragging me over the edge of sanity again and again, each time plunging me to new depths of fear. But all through this, though I clutched the sheets to keep from tilting over each edge, I was dimly aware of my purpose. Aware that I mustn't wake anyone.

 

So the screams that contorted my face were smothered and silent. No one heard them.

 

Not even me.

 

{OoO} {OoO} {OoO}

 

Some time before dawn, I woke covered in sweat, like one does when a fever breaks. Carefully I eased over onto my side, wiping away the hair stuck to my forehead. I sat up and looked at my face in my window. Activated my Sharingan.

 

But I couldn't see it well. I slid out of bed and padded across the wood floor for a closer look.

 

“Itachi.”

 

At the sound of my mother's voice, I turned around so fast that my head reeled, and I was forced to lean a hand against the wall to keep from stumbling.

 

She rushed toward me, wearing a look of concern, and clasped me by the shoulders, supporting me over to the bed to sit down. She leaned over me, laying a hand across my brow. I wanted very badly to flinch---the gentleness of the gesture repulsed me. Her face, so familiar with its crown of black hair and doe-eyes lined with good humor . . . She seemed a different creature entirely.

 

Her fragility made my flesh crawl.

 

“You're sick,” she murmured, finally straightening and resting her hands on her hips. “I'll tell them you won't be going.”

 

I lifted my head sharply, squinting as the room whirled. “Who?” I asked hoarsely. “ANBU?” Alarm shot through me in a hot wave.

 

“They had a mission for you, but you will stay here and rest,” she ordered. Then she left me and walked down the hall. I remained tense, gripping the edge of the mattress and straining to hear. There were voices from the receiving hall, conferring in a civil tone.

 

Then silence.

 

When the silence went unbroken, I heaved a shaky sigh and lay down again. My mother didn't know it, but I had asked if ANBU was at our door for an entirely different reason. If they had found me out, I would not have known what to do next.

 

I buried my face in my hands, squeezing my eyes shut again. The truth was, even if they didn't find me out, I had no idea what I would do next. What does one do with that much power? What does one really do?

 

I was like a bird who had lived all its life in a cage, only to find the cage sprung open and to realize that so much else lay beyond the prison. Does it stay? Is having the freedom to choose enough, or must it take wing and see the sky?

 

But I was not a bird. And my wings weren't clipped.

 

In the end, I was ready to escape.

 

{OoO} {OoO} {OoO}

 

When I woke up later, it was already mid-morning. I rose and found my strength returned. I washed, I ate something. My sanity had also returned. But I was unnerved, not relieved. Had everything I'd suffered the previous night been for nothing? I remembered clearly what I'd done, and the pain of it was still with me. But I was frightened---frightened that the power that had driven me mad had somehow deserted me.

 

An unfounded fear, but not one I could ignore.

 

I sat down alone, on the back porch, to think. But Sasuke joined me. And for once, I was glad of the company. Somehow, it brought me peace to be with him. To sit beside Sasuke---my other, purer self---when my own heart was shattered into splinters.

 

“'Tou-san is always talking about you,” he said with childish frankness, staring glumly at the dust on the street in front of us.

 

“Am I . . . unpleasant?” I found myself asking. I was curious, for the first time, to hear what he thought of me from his lips instead of reading it from his behavior.

 

It's absurd the things that become important when you stand on the brink of becoming a new creature. I was asking him something so simple, but in my mind it was already a question about the past. By that point, you see, the idea of what I would do with my newfound power was beginning to take shape.

 

From Sasuke's troubled silence, I could tell he knew much was amiss with me. I was indeed unpleasant. And I detected, beneath his confusion, traces of the hate-love that only rivalry can breed.

 

“That's not so bad,” I said lightly, leaning forward to rest my arms on my knees. “Shinobi usually live as hated people. Because they're said to be a problem.” The ghost of Uchiha Setsuna, speaking through my lips.

 

He was right, my former Sensei. We were a grand mistake. Every one of us, striving toward a purpose because, to begin with, we had none.

 

Life without meaning is its own brand of hell.

 

I laughed, short and light and bitter. “To be top notch is really something to think about,” I expounded. “To have strength is to become isolated and arrogant. Even though at first you were only chasing a dream.”

 

Then I stole a glance at Sasuke. His little face was a study in misery. But not for himself; for me.

 

He, with his child's simplicity, had a peace I'd learned to detest and long for all at once. And even though he didn't understand, he was sad for me. Like Shisui, standing next to me on the bridge. That look cut me to the quick.

 

I had to turn away. “You and I are special,” I told him. “To overcome your barriers, you and I have to continue living together.”

 

And I will make you my creature.

 

We were special, my shadow and I. And I was intrigued, in realizing that, to realize also that we needed no one else. I needed no one else. My clan, my village, meant nothing at all. Just him. A brother; an equal. A soul attuned to mine.

 

I smiled sadly at Sasuke.

 

“Always together, you and I,” I murmured, “even if it means hating each other. That's what being an older brother means.”

 

But he wasn't looking at me any more. He'd turned at the sound of wood banging from somewhere inside the house. And then the sound as they called me out, demanding to speak with me.

 

I knew, already, why they'd come. And the knowing gave me a queer sort of confidence.

 

Yes, I know why you're here. I've killed. And I can do it again. What would you say to me?

 

“We had two men missing at last night's meeting,” they said when I came to answer the door. “Why did you not come?”

 

Uchiha Araki, Uchiha Itsumo, Uchiha Masaki. My kinsmen. Their eyes were full of hate.

 

Why do you ask, when you know already? I thought, anger flashing through me white-hot. I couldn't answer them. I wanted to spit in their faces.

 

“I can understand,” Itsumo said, “that you've been occupied with various missions since you joined the ANBU. Your father also told us that, and he's looking after you. However, we have no intention of treating you any differently.”

 

I am different, and you know it. Or you would not be hiding fear behind your outrage.

 

“I understand. I'll be more careful from now on. Please leave.” Before I kill you.

 

Their shadows loomed closer still, oppressive and aggravating. I stood my ground, hating them.

 

“Bu before we go, there's one more thing you need to answer,” Masaki said, eyes narrowed to slits. He was older than the other two, and of higher rank in the police force. He was all business. “It's regarding the suicide by drowning in the Nakano River last night . . . of Uchiha Shisui.”

 

My heart leaped to my throat. But instead of fear, I was beginning to feel strangely excited. They knew. Of course they knew. Would they try to take me? I could test my strength on them . . .

 

“The other man absent last night was Shisui,” Itsumo elaborated. “I thought that you considered Shisui as a true brother.”

 

My emotions had become as inconstant as the tides on the shore. At this mention of Shisui, my blood turned to ice in my veins and my heart clenched. Such pain. Unbearable. I closed my eyes briefly, not wanting to see him die again in my memory.

 

When I opened them again, I felt drained. “I see. I haven't met with him recently. That is sad to hear.”

 

A silence stretched between us. They were puzzled---they could see my grief was real. Behind me, I heard Sasuke shifting from one foot to the other, nervous.

 

At last, Itsumo swallowed and volunteered, “Thus we, the police force, have decided to investigate this incident fully.”

 

“An investigation,” I echoed softly. They knew it was me. My grief puzzled them, but they knew. They only needed proof.

 

“This is Shisui's suicide note,” Masaki announced, holding up a folded sheet of paper I recognized immediately. “We already finished the handwriting analysis; there's no doubt it's his handwriting.”

 

“If it's suicide, what's left to investigate?” I asked. Thanks to years of wearing the mask of stoicism, I was able to keep the ragged edge from my voice. My head was pounding; would they never shut up? I hated the sound of Shisui's name.

 

“For those who can use the Sharingan, it's quite easy to forge one's handwriting,” Itsumo pointed out. His eyes were already tightening the noose around my throat.

 

They handed me the note I'd forged.

 

I'm tired of the duties.

There is no future for the Uchiha or for me.

I cannot walk the path any further.

 

I stared at it. It was indeed a suicide note I'd written. Only it was the epitaph for my conscience, not for Shisui.

 

“He was feared as Shisui of the Mirage,” Masaki intoned. “One of the most talented Uchiha. He was someone who would do any mission for the clan.”

 

Itsumo's black eyes bored into mine. “I doubt a man like him would leave something like this behind and die.”

 

My hand began to tremble. I lowered the paper, denting it as my fingers squeezed into a fist. A man who does any mission? Is that all he was to you? A tool? Rage surged through me. I am sick to death of your gods of duty.

 

My face burned as I glared at them. “It's not wise to judge others by your preconceptions and their appearances.”

 

“I'm going to leave the matter to you,” Itsumo informed me. “Take the note to the ANBU and request that they investigate as well.”

 

I said nothing as they shifted, reluctantly turning to go. Were they punishing me, assigning me the task of solving the murder I'd committed? My own guilt was greater than anything their accusations could inflict. They left me with a warning: “We have connections with ANBU, also. If you hide anything, we'll know immediately.”

 

I looked down at the floor. Watched dust motes settle in the sun. Their backs were turned, so they didn't see my face contort.

 

I couldn't seem to keep my emotions in check. It no longer seemed worth the effort; they were deaf and blind and stupid.

 

The words came spilling out. “Why don't you be more direct?”

 

All three came to a halt at once, like marionettes on the same string. Looked at me over their shoulders. I knew then they'd been waiting for this; their eyes wheeled red with the Sharingan. They had been playing upon my anger to get me to confess.

 

“So you're suspicious of me,” I murmured. My own eyes changed.

 

Turning, Itsumo snarled, “Yes, brat.”

 

Turning, Masaki threatened, “Listen, Itachi: if you betray the clan, you won't go unpunished.”

 

My heart turned to flame. And I ceased to think.

 

They flew at me. I became like a cornered beast---a beast with bite. With taijutsu, with ninjutsu, I pushed them back from my doorway, into the street.

 

In doing the unthinkable---to attack one's clan members---I found an unexpected exhilaration. When they lay beaten around me, and I knelt out of sheer exhaustion in their midst, I thought, I've broken the pattern. And seen a glimpse of the possible.

 

With a grunt, I pushed myself to my feet.

 

“As I've said just now . . . don't judge others . . . simply by your preconceptions and their appearance.” I swayed where I stood, panting; a weary god glaring at ants. “You assumed . . . that I have patience.”

 

My exhaustion granted me a kind of drunken exultance. And my shattered heart came spilling out as spite. “The clan, the clan,” I sneered raggedly. “You all fail to measure your own capacity, and to see the depth of mine. And as a result you lie beaten here.”

 

“Shisui was told to keep an eye on you,” Masaki said darkly, attempting to push himself into a sitting position. “Within half a year of your entrance into the ANBU, your actions and speech were getting stranger than ever. What exactly are you thinking?”

 

What are you thinking? Amazing how no one thought to ask until I became a danger! People acknowledge power, and only power. Deep down, we all know there's nothing else.

 

I rounded on Masaki. “You hold onto the organization, your clan, your name. These things limit us and our capacities. These things deserve to be cast aside.” My voice lowered to an impassioned whisper. “It is foolish to fear what we've yet to see and know.”

 

I don't know what I might have done then, if my father hadn't appeared to stop me. In fact, everything might have ended then and there if he hadn't. I might have killed the three who'd come to arrest me, but I was weak from the night before, and tired. I could not have taken on the entire clan then without being subdued and apprehended.

 

But thanks to my father's stupid pride in his heir, I survived to fight another day.

 

“Stop this,” he told me wearily, as if I were some naughty child he found it a chore to rebuke. “What in the world is wrong? You've been acting strange lately.”

 

I had the sudden, wild urge to laugh. But I didn't, knowing I might never stop once I'd started. There was a time when I was proud that the dutiful mask I wore fooled everyone. But now I had no pride left, and the mask was lined with cracks. I just wanted to be seen for once. My true face.

 

“Nothing's strange,” I told my father heavily. “I'm just carrying out my duty . . .” I faltered---the word duty was like acid on my tongue.

 

“Then, why did you not come last night?” he pressed. So naïve. He must have loved me, or he wouldn't have been so weak.

 

At last I finished my sentence: “. . . in order to reach the height.”

 

“The what?”

 

Of course he didn't understand. Of course. How could he? His stupid loyalty to me was as much a dagger in my heart as my kinsmen's accusations. My eyes flared crimson. SEE me. SEE me! For once, open your eyes and SEE what I AM!

 

My fist rose. In a blur, I'd snapped a kunai backward, sending it on a crow's path behind me. There it embedded itself in wood, dead center on its target.

 

The Uchiha emblem.

 

In order to test the limits . . .

 

“. . . of my capacity,” I finished aloud. My tone could have frozen hell. “I've lost all hope for this pathetic clan. You forget what is most important to you because you cling to something small like your clan. True change can't be made if it's bound by laws and limitations, predictions and imagination.” It was like someone else was speaking through my lips. Then I remembered that Orochimaru had also said this. And that he'd spoken of an organization, whose members were above laws and strictures. Suddenly, his proposition began to appeal to me.

 

“What arrogance!” my father barked. “Enough already. If you continue this nonsense, we will have to take you to jail. So what now?”

 

A heavy silence fell between us. The gravity of the situation washed over me in a hot wave of alarm.

 

I could not go to jail. I could not. It would have been easy for me to say my very life had become a prison to me, but it would not have been the same. Do you know what shinobi prisons are like? Perhaps the most infamous is the jail in the Village Hidden in the Clouds, but that is another story entirely. The point is that I wanted to investigate Orochimaru's organization. And I was determined that nothing---no one---would stop me.

 

“We can't put up with you any more,” Itsumo snarled, on his feet at last and glaring at me. “Captain! Please order an arrest!”

 

“Stop, brother!” Sasuke cried.

 

I closed my eyes. There it was.

 

My way out.

 

I sank to my knees before them. I bowed in the street, my forehead touching stone, and I heard them shift in surprise.

 

“It was not me who killed Shisui,” I told them, “but for the words I have spoken I am deeply sorry.” My voice was indeed thick with sorrow, for speaking Shisui's name made my eyes burn with tears.

 

Then I waited, keeping my head bowed. I could tell my father's reaction simply by his silence. He knew. But I was his future. And his child. He was a proud man, who couldn't bear to hate anything he viewed as a part of himself. He should have known; if I was ever a part of him, the ties had been frayed relentlessly over the years until they severed. In my heart, I was no longer Uchiha.

 

“Lately, he has been busy from ANBU missions, and has been worn out,” my father said at last.

 

“Captain!” Itsumo protested.

 

“ANBU is a battalion under the Hokage's direct authority,” my father continued. “Even the police forces cannot arrest them without an official order. Besides, I will take full responsibility for my son.” He could not keep the weariness from creeping into his tone when voicing that last reason. I might have been his future, but I was also his burden. Poetic justice.

 

He bowed his proud head before his kinsmen. “Please.”

 

That was the final deciding factor. In humbling himself before them, my father had vouched for my character in a way that even laws and strictures could not. I will never, to this day, understand why anyone is impressed by humility.

 

“Understood, Sir,” Itsumo consented. He turned away from me, and strode off with his comrades. But before he turned, I saw the line of his cheek and brow in silhouette. He was sad. It reminded me of Shisui---Shisui with his sorrowful acceptance of me even when he sensed the dark path I was on. Except my kinsman was sorry for my father.

 

“Itachi, come inside,” my father called to me, already heading for our porch.

 

Still kneeling in the road, I cast him a look of pure hatred. I hated his receding back. I hated his weariness. I hated the symbol he wore, and in that instant imagined a kunai embedding itself not in wood, but flesh.

 

{OoO} {OoO} {OoO}

 

I think, after that, my father began losing hope in me.

 

Certainly he didn't trust me. He watched me like a hawk. And for a while, he would not allow me to go out on missions. I was to rest. As if disillusionment is a disease you can recover from.

 

I stalked the halls of our house on tiger's feet, restless and ready to explode at a word. But the people in my family began handling me as if I were so fragile a word might shatter me. My mother's kindness became stifling. My father's choice to overlook the changes in me reached the point where he could hardly speak to me at all. He had decided to ignore the darkness building to a crux in me, but in doing so I became invisible to him, because the darkness had become who I was. His deliberate inattention made me feel like a ghost in my own home.

 

And Sasuke . . . Sasuke, with his incessant asking. He wanted me to train with him. At the time, my temper simmered constantly, and I hated him for his devotion. I'm a prisoner. You have your freedom, because your heart is warm and you follow their pattern. Stupid little brother, why should I care what you do?

 

But I never told him these things outright. I thought he was so empty of hatred that he could never understand me . . . I thought that. Until it came to me at last: a way to teach him hatred.

 

{OoO} {OoO} {OoO}

 

I can't say when the idea officially began to germinate in my mind. But I can say when it was that it finally took hold of me. It was the day my father told me I seemed well enough to resume missions. On that morning, I awoke with a clear sense of purpose, and a clear head. I, Itachi, was going to seek out Orochimaru. And the time could not have been more ripe.

 

The Rice Country was in turmoil. Civil war had broken out, with the new feudal lord on one side and the Fuma Clan on the other. I knew immediately upon learning the news that it was Orochimaru opposing them, using the new lord as a puppet through which to wage his war. Obviously he intended to stamp the clan out to cement his hold over the country.

 

It was almost as if he'd timed his battle to accommodate me. I knew exactly where to find him.

 

But it was going to require a risk on my part. I was going to have to go missing for a while.

 

The morning of my departure found me seated on the front porch, fastening my sandals. I wasn't taking anything with me---no food or supplies, which might arouse suspicion. I carried soldier pills in my pouches and kunai, and nothing else. I needed nothing else. I was a weapon, and I knew my strength.

 

I also knew my weakness. Its name was Sasuke.

 

My weakness found me sitting there, and called my name.

 

“Can we train with shuriken today?” he asked.

 

I half-turned. He looked so hopeful. “I'm busy,” I answered. “It would be better if you asked Father.”

 

He held his ground; he was stubborn. “But you're the best with shuriken. Even a kid like me can see that. You always treat me like a burden.”

 

You ARE my burden, I thought, eyeing him intently. Or, you will be. I'm not ready for you just yet.

 

All I can teach you now is patience. To learn true strength from me, you must wait a bit longer.

 

I waved him closer. He came, wide-eyed and obedient. Then I poked him hard in the forehead. I wanted an equal, not a shadow. Let him see what obedience earned him.

 

Then I rose to my feet. “I don't have time to look after you today,” I told him. I left him standing there, muttering something resentful and rubbing at his forehead. By that time, no part of me wanted to stay, to reject the destiny I was chasing. Not even for him.

 

After all, I was chasing it for him, as well. To save him from his own weakness.

 

{OoO} {OoO} {OoO}

 

I never made it to the Rice Country. I cut through the cemetery in the morning, and spent the day running through the forest to the northwest of Konoha, beneath a dreamlike canopy of green. It was cool there, and the wind of my passage rushed against my face, cooling my skin and calming me. Another brand of calm was stealing through me at the same time, from the inside out. For so long I'd been waiting, like a worm in its cocoon, for the change to come. And now I knew what it was, and I was waking from that long dream.

 

But come dusk, when the shadows lengthened and the dying sun burned the treetops, my quest ended before it had even begun. Ahead, where the forest thinned into a clearing, someone stood waiting for me.

 

He measured a head above my height, cloaked in black with red clouds embroidered on the cloth. He wore a straw hat that hid his face in shade, but I could still see the intensity of the gaze fixed upon me from beneath the brim. He stood motionless as a pillar in the shade of the thick branches. And he stopped my slow advance with one sentence.

 

“You will not go to Orochimaru.”

 

I knew this interloper wasn't from Konoha. The Akatsuki have a way about us that sets us apart: we do not kneel; we do not bow. And we speak our minds without preamble.

 

“Who are you, that I should listen?” I asked.

 

The stranger's eyes flickered. “You would be wasted on him. But . . . I think you knew that.”

 

I rose slowly from the defensive stance I'd assumed. He seemed to read my face like a scroll.

 

“He has fallen into . . . disfavor with us,” he continued. “He begins to forget our ambitions for his own. And he would have you, with your bloodline limit, give him your servitude. And your flesh.”

 

“I seek the strong,” I replied. “If your organization is stronger than the one you warn me against, why don't you kill him?” A muscle in my wrist was twitching---there were kunai inside the sleeves of my black Uchiha jacket, and I was ready to draw one if need be.

 

The stranger's cold eyes narrowed. “It might interest you to know that even in his deviance he serves us. Whether he wishes to or not. Just as being part of us serves his purposes. He has laboratory facilities spread across four countries. Whom do you think supplied him with replacements, for the resources he lost access to after he fled Konoha sixteen years ago?”

 

I sensed the same ruthless truth in this man that Orochimaru possessed. And it gave me hope.

 

“I know what you've done,” he said, unexpectedly. “We have spies in Konoha. You have already made one sacrifice to gain power. But your situation is unique, for your actions have gone unpunished. Under the shadow of your village's shelter, you are still bound to the path you were raised to walk. So there remains one barrier between you and the Akatsuki.”

 

A muscle in my jaw quirked. I knew what barrier it was.

 

And in my heart, I had already killed them.

 

Then he spoke the words that forever linked my fate to his:

 

“A man can't know himself until he knows his weaknesses. If you desire true power, you must let go of what you've become, and start learning what you are.”

 

Without a word, I turned from him. Shed my jacket, dropping the Uchiha emblem into the dirt. And started back to the village.

 

{OoO} {OoO} {OoO}

 

They let me in through the gates without question. It was laughably easy. They saw a genius and a boy and a Jounin instead of the seething blackness of my intent. I strode down the familiar, colorless streets, looking at nothing and no one.

 

Then I came to the Uchiha compound. Fan emblems, painted or sewn onto everything. My chest burned, as if I could still feel the scars from where they'd tried to stitch their emblem into my soul. In the peculiar shadows of evening, time lengthened and distorted.

 

I began killing almost without thought.

 

I strolled down the walkways, along fence after fence, and with my own two hands I slashed the throat of every one I met. The eerie calm that had stolen over me in the forest that day hardened into a core of steel, so that every familiar face, every gasp, every cry, every gurgled last breath struck me but did not penetrate my flesh. I used my Sharingan on them and they dropped where I passed. The power was extraordinary. It was as if I were wearing Shisui's death like armor, and no one and nothing could touch me.

 

I had already killed my soul, on a moonlit night on the river. There was nothing left to touch me.

 

Or so I thought.

 

{OoO} {OoO} {OoO}

 

I carved myself a path straight to the police headquarters. By virtue of the swift deaths I'd dealt---to those who were so stupidly surprised by my betrayal that some even died smiling---no alarm had been raised yet. I strode directly in. Itsumo was there. And the others, who'd accused me. I came in boldly, with the blood of our kinsmen splattered across my shins and forearms. In places there were red hand-prints, where some had dug their fingers into me, as if touching me would save them from my blades.

 

The police force, gathered for a meeting, was not the herd of lambs I'd slaughtered on the streets. They knew immediately what I'd done. They flew at me, snarling vengeance. But they died. The Mangekyou Sharingan felled them like trees---great proud oaks axed asunder, lying pathetically on the wood floor and weeping, screaming, clawing at themselves. Their minds were broken even before I broke their flesh.

 

From that point on, it was easy. So easy.

 

No alarm was raised. That may sound unreasonable, but it wasn't. There is just no way to describe the speed with which I killed. It seems unreal, even to me, and I know my capabilities. I learned my capabilities on that day. That slow. Eternal. Day.

 

I was a footstep in a doorway. A katana edge. A dark hand blurring as it slashed each throat. A slice. A puncture. A flick of wrist to spatter red drops like jewels from the end of kunai.

 

Did any of it touch me? None.

 

Children, women, adults, the old. Everyone bleeds the same.

 

Heads rolled. Hearts burst like overripe fruit.

 

At last, when the hunter's moon rose round and full as a pearl, I crouched atop a high pole, peering down through a web of wires to survey what I'd done. It was . . . I felt . . .

 

I had killed everyone who had returned home on time. Except for one house.

 

My house was large and set back on its own, quieter street. I saw no signs of alarm from within, though lantern-light glowed through the panes of the windows. They didn't know yet. Good.

 

I heard from afar the sound of small feet pattering over the dirt. I knew who it was, even though from that distance I couldn't see his face. He had been absent all day. But instead of rushing to confront him now, I turned and leaped down from my eyrie. There was work to be done.

 

My father's back was to me when I entered. He sat across from my mother, at the low kitchen table.

 

At the sight of me, my mother's smile froze and her face went death-white. I blinked, standing on the threshold and grasping the door frame to keep from swaying where I stood. I was suddenly, poignantly reminded of the feudal lord and his wife, whom we'd assassinated. Past and present blurred.

 

`They're the same,' I thought, and the realization staggered me. `Those we killed, and these two sitting here. All of them, the same.' Even familiarity, the ghost of love, couldn't sway me. I knew that now.

 

My father spoke at last, rising to stand. “Itachi. Where have you gone.” He didn't turn yet, but there was very little question in his words. “What have you done?” he asked when I kept silent. But he knew.

 

“Itachi,” my mother said softly, rising as well and approaching us.

 

I could answer neither of them. I stood rooted in place. It was as if I'd become something mute and unmoving---a pale statue in ANBU garb who'd forgotten human speech, capable of nothing more than staring at a back he hated while trickling scarlet from the edge of the two katana clenched in his fists. Was it fear that made me hesitate? Perhaps. These two were the last impediment . . . but then, at the last, I felt the connection between us. The ties of blood. Now that they were seeing me for what I really was.

 

As if of its own volition, one of my feet shifted forward, toward my father's back. He turned, at last.

 

“What have you done.” He repeated it in that same non-questioning tone, flat and dead. His eyes were aflame now. He was going to do it. He was ready to fight Itachi, at last. Not the genius, not the heir, not the ANBU nor the Jounin, nor the beloved son.

 

There were no more names left between us.

 

His Sharingan wheeled into life. His hands formed a seal.

 

My hand moved before his. The katana point cut an arrow's straight path for his chest. It struck my mother instead.

 

The blow of her death broke my father's concentration. He caught her, and his red eyes turned downward in a stare of disbelief. I made no immediate move to follow the attack; I merely stood there, panting. Something about this death had made me wearier than the others. I waited as my father lowered her to the ground, then rose with murder in his eyes.

 

Then I struck him with the Mangekyou Sharingan.

 

With Tsukiyomi, the bane of sanity. In it, I showed him what I'd done.

 

“What is this?” he cried. “Where am I? Itachi!”

 

My voice came out glacial and sharp, penetrating the darkness in which I'd imprisoned him. “This is nowhere. This is hell. This is emptiness. Know it, and despair.”

 

“Why?” he roared, clutching himself and sinking to his knees. “Why are they all gone? Why are they all dead? Why did you have to take everything?”

 

Despite myself, I swallowed hard. To show you what it means to be truly alone. To show you the world through my mind. To make you UNDERSTAND me . . . was what I wanted to say. But I hated him too much to show him that weakness. Instead, I answered, “I am only doing as you've taught me.”

 

His jaw clenched so tight in agony that his breath whistled between his teeth. “I did not teach you this,” he hissed.

 

“The greatest goals require sacrifice. No power without a price; no strength without cost.” My face was a mask of ice. “Did you not teach me that? Shinobi are not born powerful to make martyrs of themselves.”

 

His voice dropped to a whimper, like a child's. “Even . . . even Sasuke?”

 

“I won't end his life,” I said. “But his soul I will take.”

 

I lifted the second katana and swung.

 

{OoO} {OoO} {OoO}

 

When it was finished, exhaustion claimed me so quickly I was absurdly tempted to lie down on my own bed and sleep. Part of it was the strain of using the Mangekyou Sharingan. Part of it was that portion of me that I couldn't erase. The connection I'd felt at the last.

 

I am truly alone now, I thought. In flesh and spirit.

 

I don't know what moved me to do so, but I carried them into their bedroom. I planned to lay them on their sleeping mats, side by side, as if this were some ordinary night from which morning would wake them.

 

But in the end I was distracted by the sound of my brother calling for them.

 

“Sasuke . . . Don't come in . . .” My voice sounded hoarse and strange. Like a man who hadn't slept in weeks.

 

He came in anyway.

 

“Father! Mother!” he cried. Briefly, I averted my gaze. Sighed. He was still so very much a child. So innocent.

 

It was time to rob him of that.

 

My eyes flashed crimson at him.

 

“Brother! Father and mother are . . . ! Why?! Why?! Who the hell . . . this . . .”

 

He was becoming hysterical. This wouldn't do. He must listen and listen well to what I had to say, or he would never understand. And if he never understood, he would never become the equal I longed for.

 

I snapped a small shuriken past his face. It sliced a line of scarlet across his thin shoulder, then embedded itself in the door behind him.

 

And still he looked at me with those awful innocent eyes. Wide and blameless. I couldn't stand it. I hated his innocence and craved it all at once. I wanted it gone. To make him what I'd already become, so he couldn't cause me pain by loving me.

 

“Foolish little brother,” I murmured. Not without sadness.

 

Then I took a deep breath, and in the throes of my power, showed him what hell was.

 

When it was over, he lay trailing spittle from one corner of his mouth. I waited as he lifted his head. To see how he would judge me.

 

“Why?” he asked softly. “Why . . . did you . . . ?”

 

Twisted relief seeped through me. He wanted to understand. Because he could not envision me doing this without reason. I was filled with hope for him.

 

But now was not the time for me to show it. I had to break him before I could reshape him into something strong. “It was to measure my capacity,” I told him calmly.

 

“To test your . . . capacity?” he pressed. “That's all? That's the only reason . . . you killed everyone . . . for that?”

 

Was it? I lowered my gaze. Probing the depths of my own intentions. No, it wasn't the only reason. There was so much more. But he was a child, who had never killed before. I doubt he'd even drawn blood. Time would have to cure him of his lack of insight. Time, and what I was about to tell him.

 

“It was essential,” I answered.

 

“That's . . . CRAP!” he cried. And rushed me.

 

Adrenaline washed through me. Excitement. Even as I struck him down with one fist. I knew, then. He was destined to judge me, one day, as an equal. He had already learned hatred. He wanted revenge.

 

He hit the wood floor with a bruising thud. When he pushed himself up again, his eyes shimmered with tears, and his nose with snot.

 

He fled me, mewling like a wounded animal. Threw open the sliding doors with a bang. I matched him stride for stride. Cut him off in the street.

 

For a moment, I just stood there, letting my presence quiet him. Even terror stricken, even with our parents' blood still drying on my hands, he turned to me, like a flower to the sun. I was all he had now.

 

Listen to me, I said with my silence. And ask why. Never stop asking why.

 

“You can't be my brother,” he wailed, “because . . .”

 

I had no patience for denial. He had to accept what I'd done. That I had done it.

 

“The brother you wanted to spend time with has done this,” I cut him off, “to ascertain your capacity. I acted the older brother, as you desired. To see if that potential lies hidden in you. You found me disagreeable and hated me. You continued wanting to surpass me, and for that, I will let you live . . . for my sake.”

 

I told him then. I had to. To burn it forever into his mind.

 

“You can awaken the same Mangekyou Sharingan I can. However, there is a requirement.” I lowered my gaze, fixed him hard with it. Remember this. Remember it, my eyes were saying. “You must kill . . . your closest friend. In order to become like me.”

 

Again, I let my silence speak. Let the poisonous secret seep into his marrow. I could see him processing it. I could see his tongue searching for words, standing in the empty dust on a dead street.

 

“Ah . . . brother . . . brother, did you kill Shisui-san?”

 

My eyes narrowed. I no longer allowed myself the indulgence of lingering over that pain. I could not afford to. I was exhausted, and before me stood the last step in becoming what I was always meant to be.

 

“Thanks to him, I was able to obtain this `eye.' At the main temple of the Nakano Shrine, on the far right side under the seventh tatami mat, is the clan's secret meeting place. There you will find what purpose the dojutsu of the Uchiha clan originally served.” I felt the ghost of a wry smile twist my lips. “The real secret is written there.” The smile sharpened, and hunger crept into my tone. “If you open your eyes to the truth . . . including myself, there will be three people who can handle the Mangekyou Sharingan. In that case . . . there would be a reason to let you live.” I took a step toward him. Threatening. “Right now . . .”

 

He began to retreat, a high-pitched choking noise emitting from his throat. His pupils were round and pale as the moon.

 

“It would be worthless to kill someone like you, my foolish brother,” I continued inexorably. “If you want to kill me, curse me! Hate me! Live with your unsightly cowardice, until you grow twisted. Run away, run, and cling to your pitiful life. And someday, when you have the same eyes I do, come before me.”

 

I used the Mangekyou Sharingan, for the last time that night. And he dropped into the dust.

 

I left him lying there, cold as the corpses around him.

 

And I put him from my mind.

 

It was now my prerogative to escape Konoha. All was quiet, but soon someone cutting across the Uchiha quarters from above would look down from the rooftops or fence-lines and see the dead-strewn roads. Then the alarm would sound.

 

And beyond Konoha's gates, I suspected greater dangers than the Leaf awaited me. And also, great things.

 

I started running.

 

End of Chapter 5

 

Yamisui: Stay tuned for chapter 6: “Akatsuki.” I intend to fill in what the canon leaves out between Itachi's massacre and the near-present, ending ultimately with Itachi's encounter with Sasuke in Otafuku village. I believe there will be nine chapters total.