Hey folks. Time for another chapter. Read and Enjoy and I'll appreciate any comments and crit....and rep XD
The broad rotunda was bright with warm sunshine which streamed in from the circle of windows near the ceiling and the golden illustrations of serpentine dragons on its scarlet marble walls gleamed in the abundant lighting, appearing more grand and beautiful, as did the jade ceiling and floor. The room was not empty, as a thin figure stood in its centre, cloaked in a snow white robe, which seemed all the more whiter in the sunlight, with a large yellow dragon emblazoned on the back and a large hood obscuring the face. Silence reigned for a few moments until the figure spoke in a low, placid and feminine voice:
“I’m here, my Lord.”
“Ah,” the deep, commanding voice of the leader of the Hikari organization boomed from nowhere, and the surrounding dragons suddenly gleamed brighter, “I’ve been expecting you for a while. I have two missions for you, Kumomaru.”
The cloaked figure threw back her hood and auburn hair danced in the sunlight as she jerked the strands of hair away from her face. To say that she was beautiful was an understatement. Her skin was malt-colored and flawless. Her round face was made all the more comely by the high cheekbones, the round forehead and the slightly prominent chin. This was all draped on the left and the right by long, soft curls of rich brown hair which also ran down to her back, and from which beautiful golden earrings could been slightly seen dangling. Narrow, almond shaped, green eyes capped by slender brows, glowed serenely from both sides of an immaculate, sharp, thin nose, jutting over full, supple, voluptuous red lips. The lower lip was more prominent than the upper, which gave her a perpetually pout-stricken face, but the childlike visage only detracted but little from the stone cold haughty expression she wore.
Kumomaru replied with an icy voice laced with deadly menace, “Your wish is my command.”
In less than twenty minutes, Itachi had packed up all his belongings, exited Mitsuki’s residence, and returned home. Luckily, his father was not home at the time, and he had very little trouble sneaking in and out under his mother’s nose. Itachi was very stealthy when it was necessary, though, he had a slight suspicion that her jonin level instincts did notice his arrival but she was simply considerate enough not to bother him. Itachi had to admit that his mother understood him in ways their father never would. After all, he was very much like her; quiet, gentle, thoughtful, and despite all appearances; softhearted. Not at all like their brash, brusque, imperious and commanding father. The only thing they had in common was hair, eyes and that serene and composed disposition before others, which belied pride, and most times came with great skill and talent, being particularly evident in Uchiha.
After leaving his home, and the Uchiha clan quarters altogether, Itachi was at a loss for where to go next. He knew that all his usual brooding spots were familiar to Mitsuki: The flourishing, verdure tree branch sprouting from that particularly tall oak in the forest on Konoha’s outskirts, with many birds nests and strange, bright flowers, bounded on one side by thick forest and on another by a beautiful meadow blooming in a wide clearing, was a particular favorite—and Mitsuki had also tried to push him off that perch countless times. The none too frequented Forest of Death, with its massive, grey, frowning trees, giant leeches and worms and tigers, which were used to scare genin during the Chunnin exams, was likewise one of Itachi’s havens when he felt in need of some quiet and meditation, but Mitsuki was so acquainted with the gloomy and sinister place that she enjoyed practicing Sharingan genjutsu on the oversized animals prowling therein.
Itachi sighed as he aimlessly strolled through the streets of Konoha, head sunken and thin hands shoved in his pockets. He sauntered on with slow steps, drifting through the crowd in the stifling midday heat, pondering on where exactly to go, when suddenly he felt the burn and the glare of the sun disappear altogether, as he found himself in a particularly large patch of shade. A tall, broad residential building had obscured the sunlight, Itachi gathered as he looked up. It was a very familiar building, with its lookalike green doors, all evenly spaced behind the iron parapets at the side of the structure which faced the road on all six floors. Itachi was no stranger to one particular door, the one bearing the plaque for RM 17 on the second floor.
This was Hoji’s residence.
He was struck by an idea, which he wasn’t too sure was a good one. But, without a second thought, the Uchiha’s feet were already echoing off the brick steps in the dark, somewhat dank stairwell. The second floor was reached and a few slow, slightly reluctant strides brought him in front of the door. Itachi froze at the entrance, as the two sides of his brain seemed to be debating on whether or not it would be a good idea to knock. The rational, logical side, was totally against the whole endeavor, arguing that he had no real or vital business being there at that time, while the curious, mildly adventurous side was quite encouraging, reminding him of the fact that he literally had nowhere else to go and nothing better to do. Still undecided, Itachi turned around and leaned against the railing at the side of the corridor with both elbows, gazing absentmindedly at the people flowing through the streets below.
Suddenly, as Itachi was on the verge of the giving up, the door swung open by itself and there was Hoji framed in the archway, one black bag of trash in his right hand, the other shoved in the left pocket of baggy white shorts. Itachi turned at the creak of the door and the shuffling of Hoji’s sandaled feet, and he saw the medic, whose facial expression was one of pleasant surprise; his jaw was dropped and yet the corners of his lips were raised in a half smile.
Itachi began to mumble something like a greeting when Hoji cut him off:
“Ha, well what do we have here!” the Senju exclaimed excitedly.
Hoji looked pretty much the same. His hair was however, bounded in that low ponytail which he styled when Itachi had first met him in the forest. He was shirtless and his slightly lank but nonetheless well built frame shone with sweat. There was a bandage around his upper right arm where, Itachi knew, his ANBU tattoo was engraved. Itachi stared up at the smiling face with a part embarrassed and part confused expression, silence falling over them for a few seconds, until Hoji chuckled and invited Itachi in.
There was a very strange occurrence in the Fire Country on this very afternoon. In the marketplace at Nagi, a small town very close the border of the nation, there was pandemonium as a sudden gust of wind swept through the thronging crowd, tearing off the roofs of some of the feebler stalls, overturning the tables where the sellers had placed their wares, flinging said goods here and there in a violent frenzy, filling the air with dust and grit. The breeze left as quickly as it came, moving at a very high speed. It wreaked havoc at the bazaar and yet, it seemed to have a purpose, a sentience, a goal, for it went in what was unmistakably a quite narrow straight line, from one end of the market to another.
If one were to ascend to a lofty vantage point and look down upon the market, they would see that the path of destruction and unsettled dust that was left in the wake of this odd event was a line, perhaps two or three meters thick, which ran without bend, from the south side of the market to the north, where it terminated simply because there was nothing left to annihilate as that end of the market opened into a river. One would also have observed( as did some of the fishermen who, being at their trade at the time, were eyewitnesses to the event) that after the wind had done its work in the market, it went on, in the same line, across the river, causing the body of water to splash and spray as if some massive object had darted over it at incredible speed. Certain people of the superstitious sort remarked afterwards that an evil spirit must have been passing through the town on some sinister assignment.
This strange gale went straight over the river, disturbing the water as it did, and seemed to end when it lighted on the shore of the other side of the water. Here, the violence and speed of the wind began to reduce. Fluttering over the muddy banks, it arrived at a great sea of deadwood; shriveled trees and crinkled yellow leaves spread over the terrain like a grim blanket for several yards. This was once the Aoran forest and the water from which this strange breeze had come was the Aoran Creek.
Slowly the gust wafted through the lifeless patch of land, only slightly unsettling the dead leaves that were spread over the landscape, until the very town of Aoran was reached. The gates of Aoran trembled for an instant as the breeze flowed through the main road into the settlement.
With a dull, pensive expression plastered on it, Itachi’s youthful face was turned to the open window, from which streamed in the muffled tumult of the busy village denizens. His hands were folded and resting on the sill just like they were at the inn in Aoran, when he was watching Himura’s training. This time however, he was in Hoji’s room, he did not command a view of a beautiful garden but rather of Konoha’s streets and buildings, and the Sarutobi was not by the bank of any pond, but was rather seated a few feet from him, on Hoji’s bed, a cigarette with a smoldering tip at his lips, which were cracked in playful grin.
Itachi was a little surprised to find Himura at Hoji’s apartment. Sato and Hoji were quite inseparable, and so he was not all that shocked to see the Hyuga seated on the floor, naked to the waist, dressed only in sleeveless yukata with the upper shirt portion simply dangling off his obi, and consuming a large plate of ramen with animalistic eagerness. However, Itachi was not aware of any sort of friendship between Himura and the Senju medic, and so he was almost astonished to see him seated on the bed. When he had greeted everyone present and seated himself by the window, Itachi put the question to Hoji, who had by this time returned from disposing of his garbage and sat at the foot of the bed. The medical nin explained that Himura, Sato and himself had been classmates at the Ninja Academy, where they met and became friends.
Hoji’s reminiscing did not end there; he entertained them with several wacky and humorous stories about their school days which his two former classmates were only too happy to laugh at. Itachi, not being familiar with any of these experiences, ended up feeling like the odd man out and so he fell silent and turned his attention to the window, offering the occasional polite smile without paying any particular attention to the trio and what they were talking about.
Mitsuki’s charming face flared up in his mind despite his best efforts. It was hearing the continuous buzz of a housefly despite one’s best efforts at waving it away. The soft voice which rose to greater heights of genteel when it spoke his name; the wild, dark hair, curling and shining, as it swept through the air during her frequent tantrums, the clear dark eyes twinkling with special delight whenever they caught a view of him, how he missed it all. But despite all this, Itachi painfully had to remind himself over and over again that she was just like all the rest; she was an Uchiha…
“Anyways, Itachi, tell us about your Academy days.”
“What?” Itachi asked, only just realizing that he was the one who Hoji had addressed. He noticed that the all present were quiet and their eyes fell on him with expectant gazes, except for Sato who simply stared hard at the Uchiha with a irritated expression on his face, the brows crushing against each other above his pale eyes in an intense frown, as he deeply abhorred Itachi’s company.
“Come on. Fill us in! Must have been real fun. I heard you were the best in your year!” encouraged Himura with a smile so wide that it made Itachi uncomfortable.
Itachi realized now that they must have noticed his gloomy disposition and were now trying to cheer him up with some genial conversation. Itachi scolded himself inwardly for making his low spirits so apparent. He was usually better at hiding his thoughts and moods. What happened with Mitsuki must have affected him more severely than he thought for these people to recognize his sorrow. He did indeed appreciate their effort in trying to make him feel better, especially because of the fact that he had rarely ever spoken to one of them (Himura), but they chose a rather dry topic of discussion; well, dry for him because—
“I spent only one year in the Academy so I didn’t really get the chance to know everyone or do much apart from study and practice.”
Everyone’s eyes went wide in surprise. Itachi could see the confusion that was now registered on the faces of two of his companions; Himura and Hoji, while Sato’s face was merely a picture of resentment and jealousy. Itachi was quite pleased with the latter change, but he felt guilty because he knew that the Sarutobi and the Senju were probably racking their minds for other topics to bring up.
“One year!” Himura said finally, “that’s downright impressive. How old were you when you graduated?”
“Eight.” Itachi replied simply, wishing they’d just leave him to his gloomy staring into space.
“Hmmm…you’re a real genius, I guess.” Hoji praised, “That’s no mean feat. You know Kakashi-san was actually five years old when he left the Academy. Plus, he became Chunnin when he was six.”
“Yeah, I was still playing hide and seek at that age.” Himura responded with a hearty laugh, taking another long puff of his cigarette and stretching himself on the bed.
“Must have been really cool becoming a shinobi at such a young age,” the Senju medic spoke again, “right, Itachi?”
Itachi was feeling a little uncomfortable with all the attention. Despite all the adulations from Academy teachers, Jonin-senseis, elder Uchiha, classmates and teammates, Itachi never really learned to enjoy being in the spotlight. Shisui had always advised him to do his best for his village with all passion and zeal, and to add to this the humility and prudence of drawing as little attention to himself as possible. It was exceedingly difficult when the very name Uchiha seemed to thunder louder than any trumpet in the streets, and his accomplishments and position as the clan’s heir did not make things easier. To counteract this, Itachi always tried to show people that being gifted didn’t exactly mean a perfect life.
“Yeah, but it leads to all kinds of expectations and pressure from everyone. Besides, it means nothing in the long run. Dead last of the Academy, Jiraiya-sama, is just as much a Sannin as Number One Rookie Orochimaru, and a more honorable shinobi over all, isn’t he? Early bloomers aren’t necessarily the best flowers.”
“Well said.” commented Himura with a vigorous nod. “After all, Hoji here graduated pretty low in our time and he could go toe-to-toe with you and he can also take on Sato from what I hear, who graduated with the best grades.”
“What about you?” inquired Itachi, wondering how someone with Himura’s incredible sword skills was not the most outstanding shinobi of his year.
“Oh, I came in second.” The Sarutobi answered with a languid shrug of his shoulders, smoke pouring from his nostrils and lips as he sighed.
“And yet, you’re ANBU’s Angel of Death.” Itachi plainly flattered, forcing a smile onto his features.
“Hmmm…that’s just ’cuz I was lucky to get a good Kenjutsu teacher. I’m sure you must have heard of Sarutobi Raiko.”
Of course, Itachi knew about the celebrated war veteran, who was also the most notable fighter in the Sarutobi clan apart from the Hokage himself. Participating in two Shinobi World Wars, and escaping death during both with his chest glittering with a multitude of medals, and his name ringing throughout every corner of the Ninja World, Raiko’s reputation certainly preceded him. He rose from skilled to legendary for his ninja talent, tenacity, prudence and leadership skills, but mostly for his unrivalled skill at Kenjutsu; the art of the sword.
Now, Itachi had replied in the affirmative, communicating to Himura that he did, in fact, know of the man, but that didn’t stop the Sarutobi from enlightening everyone present about Raiko. For about fifteen minutes straight, Himura regaled them with tales of Raiko’s exploits and accomplishments for Konoha, and his face gleamed with a magnificent joy and excitement which Itachi had never seen in him before. Himura didn’t just respect the man, he quite simply adored him and eventually, he told them all why;
“After my parents died in the Third Shinobi World War, Raiko-sensei took me in, raised me as his own son, and taught me everything I know about swords. I owe my life to him.”
In that moment, Itachi was reminded of Shisui. A pang gripped his heart, as he recalled the unkempt dark hair, standing in untidy straggles above the soft smiling face, from where sharp, ruddy eyes gleamed with unshakable firmness and warmth. Itachi was indebted to his deceased best friend in so many ways. Whatever aspirations towards peace and unity that Itachi held were birthed in him by watching Shisui’s tireless efforts as a ninja for the benefit of the village. Indeed, it was Itachi’s dream to follow exactly in Shisui’s footsteps and it was quite pleasant for him to meet someone who knew the feeling; a kindred spirit.
“That’s amazing.” Itachi said, beaming with a smile full of sympathy and empathy.
“Yeah, I want to make him proud, you know. Raiko-sensei has something of that old time Samurai pride. For him, it’s either victory or death. He was really disappointed with that Hikari mission you know, after Tenkaku beat me,” here Himura’s gleeful expression became somber, “and he told me to make sure I win next time. That’s why I literally can’t wait for another chance to fight those Hikari.”
The strange sentient breeze poured out of Aoran’s gates about thirty minutes after it entered, moving towards the dense forest beyond the town. The leaves of the mighty trees fluttered, bestirred by the gentle wind, which was still moving through them in a straight line and at a leisurely pace. The disturbed trees marked the path of the gale with the momentary animated dance of their leaves and branches, as if trembling in terror, when the air moved past them. After about ten minutes of wading through the trees, the strange squall suddenly ceased, and at the point where it vanished, a figure had appeared.
It was Kumomaru, still clad in her snow white cloak and now leaping gently from tree to tree. The robe, billowing in the wind due to the speed of her leaps, was thrown back and gave a glimpse of the attire she donned beneath. It was a sleeveless white blouse and a pair of dark, tight-fitting trousers. The Hikari symbol was painted on the right side of her busty chest, and it was glowing in the small flashes of sunlight that fell on it through the crevices and cracks in the canopy of leaves obscuring the sky. There was a dagger sheathed in a dark scabbard on the right side her waist which was partially visible through a vertical slit in the corner of the shirt, and a black leather pouch presumably containing weapons, hung from the left side of her waist. The hilt and sheath of the knife bore several intricate designs that suggested great quality. Her feet were shod in black high heeled sandals, which revealed her toes through its straps—the nails painted blood red, the same color as her long, talon-like finger nails. Her coffee-colored hair was swept back by the wind, flailing behind her in a very attractive fashion, as she bounded from tree to tree, and her face shone with a calm indifference as well as a singleness of purpose. The whole manner of her appearance was simply that of a gorgeous assassin.
As she calmly and quietly ambled through the forest, her left hand was raised and the fingers took the form of half the Tiger seal. Immediately, she heard a voice.
“Kumomaru, where are you now?”
It was the deep drawl of the enigmatic leader of the Hikari. To her it was as audible as if she were standing right in his chamber while he spoke, but in reality, the only sounds in the air was that of her light footsteps against the tree branches, the swish of her cloak as it was thrown back by the wind, the rustle of leaves disturbed by her presence, and the melody of birds twittering in the distance. The organization’s leader was communicating by telepathy.
“Heading to Konoha.” she replied without moving her lips. Her response to the question was also mental and not vocal.
“So you have already captured the Red Beast of Aoran?” inquired the Voice.
“No, from what I heard, Konoha beat me to it. They sent shinobi to destroy the monster less than a week ago. My apologies.”
For a moment there was complete silence.
“It’s my own fault. I should have sent you earlier. Now, I have a double grievance against Konoha. Not only did they discover our existence and announce us to the shinobi world, they have now foiled my plans for the thing known as Akakuma. Kumomaru, in addition to your mission, I’m entrusting you with dispensing the full measure of my wrath. You will be my arm of vengeance. Show no mercy.”
“But, my Lord, would it be wise for the organization to exhibit itself so openly?”
“It hardly matters who knows about us now. I have begun unraveling the secrets of the Second Hokage’s scroll. Once I’ve attained it all, even the five Nations will be mere insects to me—and to us. So, give them hell.
The female Hikari shinobi cracked a wicked grin. “You will not be disappointed.”
A moment later, she leapt off one of the many boughs and before she could land on the one in front of her, she vanished completely, and the breeze returned in that instant, and from that spot, continued its journey in its unbending path, the trees shaking their leaves in acknowledgement of its passing. If the mighty trunks could speak, they might have cried out to warn the village of Konoha about the deadly, living squall that tended towards the settlement, and the even more menacing phantom that sent it.
The air was ripe with laughter and mirth as Itachi and his companions chatted animatedly. As the hours simply flew by, the ashtray beside Himura became more and more occupied by the discarded butts of several cigarettes, Hoji was obliged to prepare another scrumptious meal, this time accounting for Itachi’s belly, Sato eventually gave up his surly attitude and joined the conversation, becoming one of its most active participants, booming with the loudest laugh at every joke and giving the longest monologue whenever his opinion was sought, the humdrum of the villagers down below progressively lessened in volume, and the bright light which flooded the cramped room, dimmed into a dull fiery orange, as the sun retreated to its perch beneath the horizon. The day was coming to an end and by this time, Itachi reckoned that, thought he was the least talkative of them, he had never in his life spoke so much, or joked so freely, or laughed so hard, or eaten so savagely and happily, or coughed so vehemently(Himura’s habit was quite hard on his lungs after a while), or felt so free and light, like a flower swooning in the breeze.
The sky was still a sea of vermillion when he, rising to his feet, announced that it was getting late and he would have to be heading home.
“Got a curfew?” quipped Sato, who then s******ed to himself though no one else laughed.
“Got a brain?” Itachi countered quickly and he distinctly heard Himura chortle for only a moment.
“You know, today was really fun.” commented the Sarutobi who was crushing the last of his cigarettes on the gleaming surface of the ashtray, watching absentmindedly as a thin sliver of smoke ascended from the discarded stump. Then, he added, “Maybe we should do this again sometime.”
Itachi was struck with déjà vu, recalling how those exact words were spoken to him as he exited this very room after his first time. He remembered the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his belly as he acquiesced then, and was happy to discover that he was not conscious of any such awkwardness as he replied, a smile curling on his face, “Tomorrow for sure.”
After some hasty goodbyes, Itachi was in the streets again. After a slow and short walk, which he purposely prolonged in order to enjoy both the gentle breeze that stroked his skin with a refreshing coolness, the sight of the flaring disc that was disappearing into the horizon, and also to delay his arrival at his destination, he was in the Uchiha quarters. Quiet footsteps under a darkening sky which only deepened the outline of the pale, crescent moon, and he was in his house. Even more stealthy movements—for utmost covertness was necessary this time as his father was at home—and he reached his room.
The place seemed like a stranger to him as he strode in a bit hesitantly and after he closed the door behind him, he was gripped with the sensation of being locked in a cage. Yes, as far as he was concerned, this place, this house, was a veritable prison. Itachi lay on his bed with this melancholy train of thought, and the softness of his pillow and mattress held little pleasure for the Uchiha prodigy. Things worsened when his quarrel with Mitsuki shot into his mind with all the gentility of a sledgehammer, leaving him a very sorry sight to behold indeed for the dreary, despairing gleam in his eyes and his sad and worn expression as he stared up at the ceiling through the strands of hair that spread over his face.
He comforted himself with the thought that Sasuke, his beloved younger brother, was sleeping in the next room, happily oblivious to the grim fate of the world as he knew it, pleasantly ignorant of the dangers that loomed ahead. And he would keep things that way, Itachi decided firmly and actually brought himself to smile. The thought of another outing as enjoyable as today’s, with his friends Himura, Sato and Hoji, managed to console him to sleep.
Meanwhile, a soft, lethal breeze wafted gently and completely unnoticed into the slumbering village of Konoha.
To Be Continued
The broad rotunda was bright with warm sunshine which streamed in from the circle of windows near the ceiling and the golden illustrations of serpentine dragons on its scarlet marble walls gleamed in the abundant lighting, appearing more grand and beautiful, as did the jade ceiling and floor. The room was not empty, as a thin figure stood in its centre, cloaked in a snow white robe, which seemed all the more whiter in the sunlight, with a large yellow dragon emblazoned on the back and a large hood obscuring the face. Silence reigned for a few moments until the figure spoke in a low, placid and feminine voice:
“I’m here, my Lord.”
“Ah,” the deep, commanding voice of the leader of the Hikari organization boomed from nowhere, and the surrounding dragons suddenly gleamed brighter, “I’ve been expecting you for a while. I have two missions for you, Kumomaru.”
The cloaked figure threw back her hood and auburn hair danced in the sunlight as she jerked the strands of hair away from her face. To say that she was beautiful was an understatement. Her skin was malt-colored and flawless. Her round face was made all the more comely by the high cheekbones, the round forehead and the slightly prominent chin. This was all draped on the left and the right by long, soft curls of rich brown hair which also ran down to her back, and from which beautiful golden earrings could been slightly seen dangling. Narrow, almond shaped, green eyes capped by slender brows, glowed serenely from both sides of an immaculate, sharp, thin nose, jutting over full, supple, voluptuous red lips. The lower lip was more prominent than the upper, which gave her a perpetually pout-stricken face, but the childlike visage only detracted but little from the stone cold haughty expression she wore.
Kumomaru replied with an icy voice laced with deadly menace, “Your wish is my command.”
00000
In less than twenty minutes, Itachi had packed up all his belongings, exited Mitsuki’s residence, and returned home. Luckily, his father was not home at the time, and he had very little trouble sneaking in and out under his mother’s nose. Itachi was very stealthy when it was necessary, though, he had a slight suspicion that her jonin level instincts did notice his arrival but she was simply considerate enough not to bother him. Itachi had to admit that his mother understood him in ways their father never would. After all, he was very much like her; quiet, gentle, thoughtful, and despite all appearances; softhearted. Not at all like their brash, brusque, imperious and commanding father. The only thing they had in common was hair, eyes and that serene and composed disposition before others, which belied pride, and most times came with great skill and talent, being particularly evident in Uchiha.
After leaving his home, and the Uchiha clan quarters altogether, Itachi was at a loss for where to go next. He knew that all his usual brooding spots were familiar to Mitsuki: The flourishing, verdure tree branch sprouting from that particularly tall oak in the forest on Konoha’s outskirts, with many birds nests and strange, bright flowers, bounded on one side by thick forest and on another by a beautiful meadow blooming in a wide clearing, was a particular favorite—and Mitsuki had also tried to push him off that perch countless times. The none too frequented Forest of Death, with its massive, grey, frowning trees, giant leeches and worms and tigers, which were used to scare genin during the Chunnin exams, was likewise one of Itachi’s havens when he felt in need of some quiet and meditation, but Mitsuki was so acquainted with the gloomy and sinister place that she enjoyed practicing Sharingan genjutsu on the oversized animals prowling therein.
Itachi sighed as he aimlessly strolled through the streets of Konoha, head sunken and thin hands shoved in his pockets. He sauntered on with slow steps, drifting through the crowd in the stifling midday heat, pondering on where exactly to go, when suddenly he felt the burn and the glare of the sun disappear altogether, as he found himself in a particularly large patch of shade. A tall, broad residential building had obscured the sunlight, Itachi gathered as he looked up. It was a very familiar building, with its lookalike green doors, all evenly spaced behind the iron parapets at the side of the structure which faced the road on all six floors. Itachi was no stranger to one particular door, the one bearing the plaque for RM 17 on the second floor.
This was Hoji’s residence.
He was struck by an idea, which he wasn’t too sure was a good one. But, without a second thought, the Uchiha’s feet were already echoing off the brick steps in the dark, somewhat dank stairwell. The second floor was reached and a few slow, slightly reluctant strides brought him in front of the door. Itachi froze at the entrance, as the two sides of his brain seemed to be debating on whether or not it would be a good idea to knock. The rational, logical side, was totally against the whole endeavor, arguing that he had no real or vital business being there at that time, while the curious, mildly adventurous side was quite encouraging, reminding him of the fact that he literally had nowhere else to go and nothing better to do. Still undecided, Itachi turned around and leaned against the railing at the side of the corridor with both elbows, gazing absentmindedly at the people flowing through the streets below.
Suddenly, as Itachi was on the verge of the giving up, the door swung open by itself and there was Hoji framed in the archway, one black bag of trash in his right hand, the other shoved in the left pocket of baggy white shorts. Itachi turned at the creak of the door and the shuffling of Hoji’s sandaled feet, and he saw the medic, whose facial expression was one of pleasant surprise; his jaw was dropped and yet the corners of his lips were raised in a half smile.
Itachi began to mumble something like a greeting when Hoji cut him off:
“Ha, well what do we have here!” the Senju exclaimed excitedly.
Hoji looked pretty much the same. His hair was however, bounded in that low ponytail which he styled when Itachi had first met him in the forest. He was shirtless and his slightly lank but nonetheless well built frame shone with sweat. There was a bandage around his upper right arm where, Itachi knew, his ANBU tattoo was engraved. Itachi stared up at the smiling face with a part embarrassed and part confused expression, silence falling over them for a few seconds, until Hoji chuckled and invited Itachi in.
00000
There was a very strange occurrence in the Fire Country on this very afternoon. In the marketplace at Nagi, a small town very close the border of the nation, there was pandemonium as a sudden gust of wind swept through the thronging crowd, tearing off the roofs of some of the feebler stalls, overturning the tables where the sellers had placed their wares, flinging said goods here and there in a violent frenzy, filling the air with dust and grit. The breeze left as quickly as it came, moving at a very high speed. It wreaked havoc at the bazaar and yet, it seemed to have a purpose, a sentience, a goal, for it went in what was unmistakably a quite narrow straight line, from one end of the market to another.
If one were to ascend to a lofty vantage point and look down upon the market, they would see that the path of destruction and unsettled dust that was left in the wake of this odd event was a line, perhaps two or three meters thick, which ran without bend, from the south side of the market to the north, where it terminated simply because there was nothing left to annihilate as that end of the market opened into a river. One would also have observed( as did some of the fishermen who, being at their trade at the time, were eyewitnesses to the event) that after the wind had done its work in the market, it went on, in the same line, across the river, causing the body of water to splash and spray as if some massive object had darted over it at incredible speed. Certain people of the superstitious sort remarked afterwards that an evil spirit must have been passing through the town on some sinister assignment.
This strange gale went straight over the river, disturbing the water as it did, and seemed to end when it lighted on the shore of the other side of the water. Here, the violence and speed of the wind began to reduce. Fluttering over the muddy banks, it arrived at a great sea of deadwood; shriveled trees and crinkled yellow leaves spread over the terrain like a grim blanket for several yards. This was once the Aoran forest and the water from which this strange breeze had come was the Aoran Creek.
Slowly the gust wafted through the lifeless patch of land, only slightly unsettling the dead leaves that were spread over the landscape, until the very town of Aoran was reached. The gates of Aoran trembled for an instant as the breeze flowed through the main road into the settlement.
00000
With a dull, pensive expression plastered on it, Itachi’s youthful face was turned to the open window, from which streamed in the muffled tumult of the busy village denizens. His hands were folded and resting on the sill just like they were at the inn in Aoran, when he was watching Himura’s training. This time however, he was in Hoji’s room, he did not command a view of a beautiful garden but rather of Konoha’s streets and buildings, and the Sarutobi was not by the bank of any pond, but was rather seated a few feet from him, on Hoji’s bed, a cigarette with a smoldering tip at his lips, which were cracked in playful grin.
Itachi was a little surprised to find Himura at Hoji’s apartment. Sato and Hoji were quite inseparable, and so he was not all that shocked to see the Hyuga seated on the floor, naked to the waist, dressed only in sleeveless yukata with the upper shirt portion simply dangling off his obi, and consuming a large plate of ramen with animalistic eagerness. However, Itachi was not aware of any sort of friendship between Himura and the Senju medic, and so he was almost astonished to see him seated on the bed. When he had greeted everyone present and seated himself by the window, Itachi put the question to Hoji, who had by this time returned from disposing of his garbage and sat at the foot of the bed. The medical nin explained that Himura, Sato and himself had been classmates at the Ninja Academy, where they met and became friends.
Hoji’s reminiscing did not end there; he entertained them with several wacky and humorous stories about their school days which his two former classmates were only too happy to laugh at. Itachi, not being familiar with any of these experiences, ended up feeling like the odd man out and so he fell silent and turned his attention to the window, offering the occasional polite smile without paying any particular attention to the trio and what they were talking about.
Mitsuki’s charming face flared up in his mind despite his best efforts. It was hearing the continuous buzz of a housefly despite one’s best efforts at waving it away. The soft voice which rose to greater heights of genteel when it spoke his name; the wild, dark hair, curling and shining, as it swept through the air during her frequent tantrums, the clear dark eyes twinkling with special delight whenever they caught a view of him, how he missed it all. But despite all this, Itachi painfully had to remind himself over and over again that she was just like all the rest; she was an Uchiha…
“Anyways, Itachi, tell us about your Academy days.”
“What?” Itachi asked, only just realizing that he was the one who Hoji had addressed. He noticed that the all present were quiet and their eyes fell on him with expectant gazes, except for Sato who simply stared hard at the Uchiha with a irritated expression on his face, the brows crushing against each other above his pale eyes in an intense frown, as he deeply abhorred Itachi’s company.
“Come on. Fill us in! Must have been real fun. I heard you were the best in your year!” encouraged Himura with a smile so wide that it made Itachi uncomfortable.
Itachi realized now that they must have noticed his gloomy disposition and were now trying to cheer him up with some genial conversation. Itachi scolded himself inwardly for making his low spirits so apparent. He was usually better at hiding his thoughts and moods. What happened with Mitsuki must have affected him more severely than he thought for these people to recognize his sorrow. He did indeed appreciate their effort in trying to make him feel better, especially because of the fact that he had rarely ever spoken to one of them (Himura), but they chose a rather dry topic of discussion; well, dry for him because—
“I spent only one year in the Academy so I didn’t really get the chance to know everyone or do much apart from study and practice.”
Everyone’s eyes went wide in surprise. Itachi could see the confusion that was now registered on the faces of two of his companions; Himura and Hoji, while Sato’s face was merely a picture of resentment and jealousy. Itachi was quite pleased with the latter change, but he felt guilty because he knew that the Sarutobi and the Senju were probably racking their minds for other topics to bring up.
“One year!” Himura said finally, “that’s downright impressive. How old were you when you graduated?”
“Eight.” Itachi replied simply, wishing they’d just leave him to his gloomy staring into space.
“Hmmm…you’re a real genius, I guess.” Hoji praised, “That’s no mean feat. You know Kakashi-san was actually five years old when he left the Academy. Plus, he became Chunnin when he was six.”
“Yeah, I was still playing hide and seek at that age.” Himura responded with a hearty laugh, taking another long puff of his cigarette and stretching himself on the bed.
“Must have been really cool becoming a shinobi at such a young age,” the Senju medic spoke again, “right, Itachi?”
Itachi was feeling a little uncomfortable with all the attention. Despite all the adulations from Academy teachers, Jonin-senseis, elder Uchiha, classmates and teammates, Itachi never really learned to enjoy being in the spotlight. Shisui had always advised him to do his best for his village with all passion and zeal, and to add to this the humility and prudence of drawing as little attention to himself as possible. It was exceedingly difficult when the very name Uchiha seemed to thunder louder than any trumpet in the streets, and his accomplishments and position as the clan’s heir did not make things easier. To counteract this, Itachi always tried to show people that being gifted didn’t exactly mean a perfect life.
“Yeah, but it leads to all kinds of expectations and pressure from everyone. Besides, it means nothing in the long run. Dead last of the Academy, Jiraiya-sama, is just as much a Sannin as Number One Rookie Orochimaru, and a more honorable shinobi over all, isn’t he? Early bloomers aren’t necessarily the best flowers.”
“Well said.” commented Himura with a vigorous nod. “After all, Hoji here graduated pretty low in our time and he could go toe-to-toe with you and he can also take on Sato from what I hear, who graduated with the best grades.”
“What about you?” inquired Itachi, wondering how someone with Himura’s incredible sword skills was not the most outstanding shinobi of his year.
“Oh, I came in second.” The Sarutobi answered with a languid shrug of his shoulders, smoke pouring from his nostrils and lips as he sighed.
“And yet, you’re ANBU’s Angel of Death.” Itachi plainly flattered, forcing a smile onto his features.
“Hmmm…that’s just ’cuz I was lucky to get a good Kenjutsu teacher. I’m sure you must have heard of Sarutobi Raiko.”
Of course, Itachi knew about the celebrated war veteran, who was also the most notable fighter in the Sarutobi clan apart from the Hokage himself. Participating in two Shinobi World Wars, and escaping death during both with his chest glittering with a multitude of medals, and his name ringing throughout every corner of the Ninja World, Raiko’s reputation certainly preceded him. He rose from skilled to legendary for his ninja talent, tenacity, prudence and leadership skills, but mostly for his unrivalled skill at Kenjutsu; the art of the sword.
Now, Itachi had replied in the affirmative, communicating to Himura that he did, in fact, know of the man, but that didn’t stop the Sarutobi from enlightening everyone present about Raiko. For about fifteen minutes straight, Himura regaled them with tales of Raiko’s exploits and accomplishments for Konoha, and his face gleamed with a magnificent joy and excitement which Itachi had never seen in him before. Himura didn’t just respect the man, he quite simply adored him and eventually, he told them all why;
“After my parents died in the Third Shinobi World War, Raiko-sensei took me in, raised me as his own son, and taught me everything I know about swords. I owe my life to him.”
In that moment, Itachi was reminded of Shisui. A pang gripped his heart, as he recalled the unkempt dark hair, standing in untidy straggles above the soft smiling face, from where sharp, ruddy eyes gleamed with unshakable firmness and warmth. Itachi was indebted to his deceased best friend in so many ways. Whatever aspirations towards peace and unity that Itachi held were birthed in him by watching Shisui’s tireless efforts as a ninja for the benefit of the village. Indeed, it was Itachi’s dream to follow exactly in Shisui’s footsteps and it was quite pleasant for him to meet someone who knew the feeling; a kindred spirit.
“That’s amazing.” Itachi said, beaming with a smile full of sympathy and empathy.
“Yeah, I want to make him proud, you know. Raiko-sensei has something of that old time Samurai pride. For him, it’s either victory or death. He was really disappointed with that Hikari mission you know, after Tenkaku beat me,” here Himura’s gleeful expression became somber, “and he told me to make sure I win next time. That’s why I literally can’t wait for another chance to fight those Hikari.”
00000
The strange sentient breeze poured out of Aoran’s gates about thirty minutes after it entered, moving towards the dense forest beyond the town. The leaves of the mighty trees fluttered, bestirred by the gentle wind, which was still moving through them in a straight line and at a leisurely pace. The disturbed trees marked the path of the gale with the momentary animated dance of their leaves and branches, as if trembling in terror, when the air moved past them. After about ten minutes of wading through the trees, the strange squall suddenly ceased, and at the point where it vanished, a figure had appeared.
It was Kumomaru, still clad in her snow white cloak and now leaping gently from tree to tree. The robe, billowing in the wind due to the speed of her leaps, was thrown back and gave a glimpse of the attire she donned beneath. It was a sleeveless white blouse and a pair of dark, tight-fitting trousers. The Hikari symbol was painted on the right side of her busty chest, and it was glowing in the small flashes of sunlight that fell on it through the crevices and cracks in the canopy of leaves obscuring the sky. There was a dagger sheathed in a dark scabbard on the right side her waist which was partially visible through a vertical slit in the corner of the shirt, and a black leather pouch presumably containing weapons, hung from the left side of her waist. The hilt and sheath of the knife bore several intricate designs that suggested great quality. Her feet were shod in black high heeled sandals, which revealed her toes through its straps—the nails painted blood red, the same color as her long, talon-like finger nails. Her coffee-colored hair was swept back by the wind, flailing behind her in a very attractive fashion, as she bounded from tree to tree, and her face shone with a calm indifference as well as a singleness of purpose. The whole manner of her appearance was simply that of a gorgeous assassin.
As she calmly and quietly ambled through the forest, her left hand was raised and the fingers took the form of half the Tiger seal. Immediately, she heard a voice.
“Kumomaru, where are you now?”
It was the deep drawl of the enigmatic leader of the Hikari. To her it was as audible as if she were standing right in his chamber while he spoke, but in reality, the only sounds in the air was that of her light footsteps against the tree branches, the swish of her cloak as it was thrown back by the wind, the rustle of leaves disturbed by her presence, and the melody of birds twittering in the distance. The organization’s leader was communicating by telepathy.
“Heading to Konoha.” she replied without moving her lips. Her response to the question was also mental and not vocal.
“So you have already captured the Red Beast of Aoran?” inquired the Voice.
“No, from what I heard, Konoha beat me to it. They sent shinobi to destroy the monster less than a week ago. My apologies.”
For a moment there was complete silence.
“It’s my own fault. I should have sent you earlier. Now, I have a double grievance against Konoha. Not only did they discover our existence and announce us to the shinobi world, they have now foiled my plans for the thing known as Akakuma. Kumomaru, in addition to your mission, I’m entrusting you with dispensing the full measure of my wrath. You will be my arm of vengeance. Show no mercy.”
“But, my Lord, would it be wise for the organization to exhibit itself so openly?”
“It hardly matters who knows about us now. I have begun unraveling the secrets of the Second Hokage’s scroll. Once I’ve attained it all, even the five Nations will be mere insects to me—and to us. So, give them hell.
The female Hikari shinobi cracked a wicked grin. “You will not be disappointed.”
A moment later, she leapt off one of the many boughs and before she could land on the one in front of her, she vanished completely, and the breeze returned in that instant, and from that spot, continued its journey in its unbending path, the trees shaking their leaves in acknowledgement of its passing. If the mighty trunks could speak, they might have cried out to warn the village of Konoha about the deadly, living squall that tended towards the settlement, and the even more menacing phantom that sent it.
00000
The air was ripe with laughter and mirth as Itachi and his companions chatted animatedly. As the hours simply flew by, the ashtray beside Himura became more and more occupied by the discarded butts of several cigarettes, Hoji was obliged to prepare another scrumptious meal, this time accounting for Itachi’s belly, Sato eventually gave up his surly attitude and joined the conversation, becoming one of its most active participants, booming with the loudest laugh at every joke and giving the longest monologue whenever his opinion was sought, the humdrum of the villagers down below progressively lessened in volume, and the bright light which flooded the cramped room, dimmed into a dull fiery orange, as the sun retreated to its perch beneath the horizon. The day was coming to an end and by this time, Itachi reckoned that, thought he was the least talkative of them, he had never in his life spoke so much, or joked so freely, or laughed so hard, or eaten so savagely and happily, or coughed so vehemently(Himura’s habit was quite hard on his lungs after a while), or felt so free and light, like a flower swooning in the breeze.
The sky was still a sea of vermillion when he, rising to his feet, announced that it was getting late and he would have to be heading home.
“Got a curfew?” quipped Sato, who then s******ed to himself though no one else laughed.
“Got a brain?” Itachi countered quickly and he distinctly heard Himura chortle for only a moment.
“You know, today was really fun.” commented the Sarutobi who was crushing the last of his cigarettes on the gleaming surface of the ashtray, watching absentmindedly as a thin sliver of smoke ascended from the discarded stump. Then, he added, “Maybe we should do this again sometime.”
Itachi was struck with déjà vu, recalling how those exact words were spoken to him as he exited this very room after his first time. He remembered the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his belly as he acquiesced then, and was happy to discover that he was not conscious of any such awkwardness as he replied, a smile curling on his face, “Tomorrow for sure.”
After some hasty goodbyes, Itachi was in the streets again. After a slow and short walk, which he purposely prolonged in order to enjoy both the gentle breeze that stroked his skin with a refreshing coolness, the sight of the flaring disc that was disappearing into the horizon, and also to delay his arrival at his destination, he was in the Uchiha quarters. Quiet footsteps under a darkening sky which only deepened the outline of the pale, crescent moon, and he was in his house. Even more stealthy movements—for utmost covertness was necessary this time as his father was at home—and he reached his room.
The place seemed like a stranger to him as he strode in a bit hesitantly and after he closed the door behind him, he was gripped with the sensation of being locked in a cage. Yes, as far as he was concerned, this place, this house, was a veritable prison. Itachi lay on his bed with this melancholy train of thought, and the softness of his pillow and mattress held little pleasure for the Uchiha prodigy. Things worsened when his quarrel with Mitsuki shot into his mind with all the gentility of a sledgehammer, leaving him a very sorry sight to behold indeed for the dreary, despairing gleam in his eyes and his sad and worn expression as he stared up at the ceiling through the strands of hair that spread over his face.
He comforted himself with the thought that Sasuke, his beloved younger brother, was sleeping in the next room, happily oblivious to the grim fate of the world as he knew it, pleasantly ignorant of the dangers that loomed ahead. And he would keep things that way, Itachi decided firmly and actually brought himself to smile. The thought of another outing as enjoyable as today’s, with his friends Himura, Sato and Hoji, managed to console him to sleep.
Meanwhile, a soft, lethal breeze wafted gently and completely unnoticed into the slumbering village of Konoha.
To Be Continued
You must be registered for see links
/
You must be registered for see links
Last edited:
