Man, it feels good to be really back on the internet again! Hope you all missed me cuz I'm back in every sense of the word! Look out friends and readers cuz your NB lives just got a bit more annoying...and hopefully a bit more interesting! But enough small talk, to the chap! Read and enjoy! But if you don't, feel free to let me know exactly why you didn't!
“So you killed the thing singlehandedly?” Mitsuki asked, eyes wide with amazement. Seated very close beside her on the wooden ledge which stood over the Naka river, Itachi was dressed in a V-neck, long sleeve shirt with dark pants, the red and white of his clan’s symbol brandished on his back, and his bare feet—as he had already removed his sandals—dangling ankle deep in the cool water beneath, as were Mitsuki’s. The boy threw a small pebble into the river, creating a circular waves which rippled out from the stone’s point of entry and disappeared quickly.
“It was a team effort.” he replied the female Uchiha.
She crossed her slender arms, the olive shade of both visible as a result of the tight, sleeveless shirt she wore, which was peppered with polka dots from top to bottom. It was blouse she donned in conjunction with grey shorts which terminated at her thighs and were designed with small representations of the Uchiha clan symbol lining the hems. Her long dark hair was thrown over one shoulder and her face was now transformed from an expression of marvel to a more familiar one of annoyance, with glimmering brown eyes narrowed, cute little nose wrinkled, and lips pursed. Strangely, Itachi found the later more beautiful than the former.
“But your genjutsu took care of everything at once!” she protested. Far being it from Mitsuki to actually let Itachi be humble. The young girl was almost as fiery as the stifling sun blazing overhead and causing the serene waters before them to glisten with beauty. It was one of those sunny days in Konoha when Itachi actually had some free time. The life of an ANBU was extremely demanding, as missions typically kept them away from the home which they defended so valiantly. However, on some days, Fate chose to smile down on them and there were given a break, one which typically only lasted for a few days and hardly ever up to a week. These poor excuses for holidays usually followed some extremely deadly and difficult assignment. The village’s government would gift them with a chance to stop and smell the roses only after they had nearly choked on the nauseating smell of blood—which was most times, usually that of the ANBU ninja themselves. This was the second of such breaks Itachi was receiving in a row; the first being a small resting period after the Hikari mission.
Itachi chuckled and jerked his head to dismiss the locks of hair hanging before his eyes. “It wasn’t that simple. We went through a lot before that. I wouldn’t be here if not for those guys.”
She snuggled into his chest and smiled like a baby, soft curls of shimmering black caressing Itachi’s neck and giving off a sharp, pleasant scent. Itachi was a bit taken off guard by this, as his brows arched on his forehead but then he smiled and turned to the waters, filling his nostrils with the waves of euphoria pulsing out of Mitsuki’s tresses as she purred softly, “Remind me to thank them for saving your life. And they better thank you for saving theirs!”
“Sure, sure.” the Uchiha replied with a smile.
It had been three days since the Itachi had returned from his mission with Akakuma. Although he had arrived with his heart heavy laden with worries; misgivings concerning a certain Scorpion, his new eyes, and of course the ever present dread of his clan’s coup, those three days had all but translated him from this somber frame of mind to more pleasant things. Mitsuki was the one to thank for this; Itachi had spent most of the time with her. After returning home for the sole purpose of informing his family that he was still in the land of the living, he hurriedly left without a word and moved to Mitsuki’s.
There were somewhat living together, Itachi passing his nights in the room that belonged to his deceased best friend Shisui who was also her brother. His days were filled with one wacky, hilarious adventure after another. If Mitsuki wasn’t nearly burning down the house in the name of trying out some new recipes, she was screaming in frustration at failing to properly clean the ink stains which had accumulated on the table and floors as a result of a woeful attempt at calligraphy and painting. Itachi would never forget how a whole wing of the building was saved from decimation by a timely water technique which the Uchiha conjured up to extinguish the blaze that poured out of Mitsuki’s lips in exasperation and annoyance at another one of her failed pastimes. It was such a big house and it constantly felt empty and hollow for her as she lived there alone, so the girl filled the void with strange hobbies and interests which she was apt to give up on shortly after she began; could be days, could be minutes, once it was seconds.
Itachi only went home to get a change of clothes and he was already careful to do so only when his father was not in. The man was the sole reason why Itachi found his own home to be unbearable. At these times, he got the opportunity to see Sasuke; he usually caught him when the boy was returning from school and they talked about Academy experiences. Sasuke jabbered on and on about how his shuriken were only few millimeters off the mark, how he had won a spar with a brown haired kid who always brought a weird, white puppy to school every day, or how he aced this test or almost got a perfect score on that; things which might have seemed mundane to most people, but Itachi savored every last detail, and it was with a stab of pain in his heart that the elder sibling would have to poke the boy’s head and hurry back to Mitsuki’s—his safe haven.
On this particular day, Mitsuki had bounced happily into the house with all sorts of scrolls and parchments, along with crates labeled ‘Ink bottles.’ Itachi watched in silent confusion as she meticulously laid these materials about the living room mat then declared in a loud and excited voice that she was going to be teaching herself Fuinnjutsu.
The Uchiha smelled disaster.
Although Mitsuki, by virtue of being an Uchiha, possessed much shinobi talent in comparison to your average ninja, Fuinnjutsu was a field too advanced for most people and could only be practiced by the most learned and experienced of ninja—a very select few indeed. Even prodigies like himself could only dabble a little in that mysterious field of techniques. It was an extremely rare feat for anyone below the age of thirty to boast of a considerable mastery of Fuinnjutsu and it was near impossible for children of his and Mitsuki’s age to attain to any sort of skill in it beyond the most menial and basic forms of seals. Taking these facts into consideration, Itachi could not help but conclude that Mitsuki would find little success or satisfaction in this new endeavor of hers—and he was certain of the catastrophic rage that would follow.
This was why he quickly suggested that they both head down to the Naka river. Mitsuki quickly agreed. Although it was the site where Shisui’s remains were found after he had supposedly committed suicide, Mitsuki and Itachi had come to find a strange sort of joy in visiting its banks. There, they comforted themselves over the loss. Shisui was a brother to Mitsuki by blood but was perhaps even more of a brother to Itachi by virtue of the bond of friendship that knit them together. His loss was a great one to both of them. It was like Life had rudely torn away a part of their individual souls, but somehow, those threadbare edges of their very beings from which Shisui was mercilessly rent had become knit tightly to one another. And so, Itachi repaired Mitsuki even as she fixed him. They leaned on each other’s shoulders. One could smile only because the other was already smiling, and this river reminded them of that fact.
“Hey, I thought ANBU weren’t supposed to talk about their missions?” Mitsuki asked suddenly, still leaning on Itachi.
“Oh, aren’t you the one always begging me to talk about them?” Itachi inquired in reply.
“Yeah, but you always shut me down. Even that time when I tried to bribe you with natto sweets.”
Itachi smiled in recollection. It had been extremely difficult for him to refuse her then. They were his favorite, after all.
“Well, the whole of Aoran knows what happened so it’s not really much of a secret.” Itachi answered with an airy voice, as he ran the fingers of one hand through his hair.
“Ah, I see.” she said. “Here I was thinking you had finally gotten rid of the stick.”
“Huh? What stick?”
“The ANBU stick.”
“I’m absolutely confused right now.” Itachi said.
“The stick they shoved up your butt when you entered ANBU.” she replied with a teasing giggle.
Itachi gave no reply but a long, tired sigh, like that of an old man, which only made Mitsuki laugh even more.
“I can’t wait for you to leave ANBU; when the Uchiha finally take what’s rightfully theirs.” Mitsuki said, her tone suddenly very serious and brimming with anger. “Fugaku-sama will lead us out of this bondage.”
Itachi fidgeted imperceptibly. Mitsuki was a good-natured, lively, vivacious and happy young lady. This was in sharp contrast to Itachi’s demure, pensive and sometimes downright gloomy disposition. It had been remarked several times, even by Shisui who knew them both very well, that they were complete polar opposites; like fire and oil, light and dark, yin and yang. But there was an even more marked difference between them apart from personality, and that was their ideals. Contrary to Itachi’s universal peace loving beliefs, Mitsuki was a strong supporter of the Uchiha clan and nothing else. The red and white fan seemed to be seared indelibly onto her heart. Although she fulfilled all obligations to the village as a serving Chunnin, she thought little of the Will of Fire, regarding it with indifference. Sometimes when Itachi would express his admiration for the brave heroes who founded and maintained Konoha before their time, she would look at him as if he were speaking another language altogether.
Although, these beliefs were of little consequence for most of her life, they were quickly elevated to mad obsession upon Shisui’s death. She believed firmly that the village was somehow responsible for her brother’s untimely demise, and she hated the village more because she was convinced that they had deliberately framed Itachi for it. It made her seethe with rage that anyone would accept the possibility of Itachi even dreaming of doing harm to Shisui and yet her beloved clan suspected her beloved Itachi of murdering her beloved brother in cold blood—and, in her opinion, it was all Konoha’s fault. ‘They certainly had motive’, she would sometimes say, ‘they wanted Shisui-niisan’s eyes and they stole it!’ ‘It’s not enough for them to drive us out of the village we helped them build but now they’re picking us off one by one.’ Her hatred for Konoha served to fuel her devotion for the Uchiha—a blind love for her kinsmen regardless of the morality of their actions.
“Mitsuki,” Itachi began with some uncertainty, “you ever think that the Uchiha is…” he broke off, unable to complete the sentence. His sudden silence caused Mitsuki to lift her head and look him straight in the eye. She could see the consternation glimmering in those grey-black orbs, along with a slight tinge of sadness.
“What is it?” she inquired worriedly.
Itachi met her gaze with some hesitation. The young Uchiha had never revealed to anyone within the clan that he had even the slightest doubt about whether or not the clan’s coup d’etat was justifiable. He had simply assented to everything they planned. When he was instructed to join the ANBU, he complied without a single complaint. When asked to divulge village secrets he had learned, he revealed all(at least he gave off the impression that he was doing so). Although everyone in the clan treated him with some level of distrust, they could not question his allegiance because he fulfilled all his duties and obeyed all orders with a truly exemplary degree of excellence—or so he had led them to think. Only Shisui knew that Itachi hated the very idea of conflict and that a war instigated by the Uchiha clan would be his worst fear realized, but his best friend had taken that secret to his grave so no living Uchiha knew of Itachi’s misgivings.
He had considered telling Mitsuki times without number but always decided against it. After all, he knew where she stood in the matter. Whenever it came up in discussion, he simply changed the subject without sharing his opinions or more often, plainly lied. However, this time around, a certain boldness seemed to swell in his heart. He was overcome with the strong feeling that that he could trust her, though this confidence was not able to shape itself into actual words. Luckily, Itachi had formulated a plan that would not need him to speak at all.
“I think we should make this conversation more private.” he answered, his Sharingan suddenly activated in both eyes. She blinked once in reply and in the next moment, Itachi had her under a genjutsu. It was their way of communicating with utmost discretion. The Sharingan allowed members of the Uchiha clan to converse with merely mind alone, with no intrusions or interruptions, and with every form of expression. Itachi and Mitsuki had become quite accustomed to making use of it.
Currently, they were in an illusionary world which was composed of the whole village of Konoha, all its buildings and structures, its streets and avenues alive with the village’s citizens, the Hokage’s Office building towering above every other like a grim, aged sentinel. the great stone faces of Konoha’s previous leaders frowning from the mountainside and the sun beaming down on the great settlement. Itachi and Mitsuki were seated atop a cloud which floated just over the village, a small height above the tallest building which was the Hokage’s Office. There was a gentle breeze in the air which gently caressed Mitsuki’s cheeks with its pleasing coolness, and white doves flapped their wings softly, gliding easily and beautifully through the cloud streaked skies above. This illusionary Konoha was the very picture of tranquility.
Mitsuki took in everything around them, turning to Itachi in confusion. The boy was simply staring down at the serene and peaceful village from their lofty perch, the same sad look in his eyes. His intense concentration compelled the girl to mimic his actions, her eyes drifting below. She noticed nothing unfamiliar and out of place, and yet, Itachi seemed to waiting for something. Mitsuki had a nagging feeling that it was something bad.
Suddenly the doves turned into crows, their snow white wings transformed to a bleak coal-black, and the air vibrated with their ominous, doleful cries. A few moments later, this sound was eclipsed by the heart rendering boom of a great explosion; the great rotunda which served as the headquarters of Konoha’s leader had been obliterated in a moment and was now merely a pile of stones and burning wood, ravenous flames consuming every aspect of the once notable edifice, transforming it to smoke and ash, which was wafted by the wind into the rocky faces of the previous Hokage, as if to mock them. Mitsuki gasped in shock and turned to Itachi who was still staring down silently at everything with the solemn and mournful gaze of his blood red Sharingan.
Mitsuki kept watching in horror as the villagers began a mad scramble for safety resulting in a great stampede, with desperate men, women and children getting heedlessly trod underfoot by even more desperate and terrified citizens around them. While this happened, the air was peppered with the clangs of metal; shinobi flying from building to building, like streaks of lightning, as they clashed their weapons in combat. Mitsuki saw that they were Uchiha shinobi fighting against ANBU and regular Chunnins and Jounins. Itachi’s attention to detail was marvelously and yet horribly displayed in the fact that she could recognize those who were engrossed in heated battle. She sat, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the death matches taking place around them. Pleas for mercy were ignored, throats were torn, bodies were rent asunder, organs ruptured or pierced, bones shattered, and the air rankled with the smell of blood and burning flesh. The flesh of people which they both knew, within and without their clan. The horror in the vacant, unseeing eyes of the dead, who were slain by their own comrades, was only surpassed the horror in Mitsuki’s as she watched the nightmare unfold.
More explosions shook the village, and smoke wafted skywards from the rubble and ruins; piles of debris that stood as apartment buildings or business establishments mere moments earlier, darkening the sky and almost blotting out the sun. This haze gave the village a duller shade of light and yet, all the brightness in the world could not have made every single vile detail more distinct and horrifying to Mitsuki. Every element of this hell was burned into her mind.
Medics flooded the scene, picking up the injured and tending to them, only to be stopped by combatants of the opposing side and killed on the spot along with the wounded. The people fighting below were more like beasts than men and the two chiefs of both sides were also locked in combat: The Hokage and Uchiha Fugaku could been seen exchanging techniques, the old man using a massive splurge of water to quench the torrent of flames which the Uchiha leader fired at him, causing the two fighters to be swallowed up by the resulting fog of steam. There were children down below, lying dead or dying in the streets, or crying over the carcasses of their parents, who were torn apart by merciless shinobi that were supposed to protect them. Their wails were somehow very clearly audible above the clamor of the shinobi battle, the terrified yells and screams of scared villages, and the death song of the black crows hovering over it all. It positively broke Mitsuki’s heart.
She noticed, at some point, that the Hokage was panting on one knee, kneeling over the corpse of the Uchiha clan head. With great strain, the old man extracted a kunai, raised it over his helmeted head and drove it into Fugaku’s heart, ending his life on the spot. Hiruzen leaped away after a few moments during which he eyed his vanquished foe with pity, leaving the body of the leader of their clan lying in the street, spread eagled, between the carcasses of a citizen and another shinobi who, by his attire, was an average chunnin. There was a kunai rooted grotesquely into his right eye socket and he was missing his left arm.
She could see a young Sasuke speeding through the streets in complete fear and terror, blood dribbling from a deep gash at the side of his head, frantically screaming the names of his family members, the urgency of his cries increasing as he saw more and more of the dead bodies which paved the streets on either side, and the blood that crimsoned the avenues, and heard the high din of death and destruction rising even higher around him. The boy eventually found Fugaku’s body. He stood ramrod still in shock, his small face pale and ghastly as he stared blankly at the still form that once housed the soul of he who he knew as father. Taking a few slow, measured steps with trembling feet, his chest rising and falling in quick, short breaths, he strode forward and collapsed on top of the remains, his spare form racked with sobs. Tears poured from his eyes as he lifted up a lamentable cry which coalesced with the terrible wails that already filled the air.
The horrific scene went on for a few minutes, every passing second charged with death and suffering, each moment stained with blood, after which all that was left of Konoha was a big pile of ruins and carcasses. It was suddenly night, the sun now transformed to a very pale full moon, and the crows which hung above the skies in a dark, grim and ominous configuration, were settled across the battlefield in thousands, picking hungrily at the multitude of dead shinobi that littered the landscape, defiling the earth. There were no survivors in the aftermath of the carnage which they had just witnessed. Itachi and Mitsuki were still seated on their little cloud as they observed this distinct portrait of hell. The girl, by this time, had both hands over her mouth, her skin as white as the moon and eyes wide as they glistened with tears and with pure horror.
“This,” began Itachi suddenly as the whole illusion faded away and there were returned to the ledge by the river, “is what I fear will happen to Konoha if the Uchiha revolts. This is my own personal nightmare.”
Though the genjutsu had ended, Mitsuki was yet to recover from the shock of it. Her whole body trembled with fear and cold beads of sweat streamed off her face as she stared blankly at the water with a vacant look in her wide terrified eyes. It seemed to her that every rapid beat of her racing heart was pounding thunderously in her ears and her breaths were shallow.
Itachi glanced at the troubled expression on her face with remarkable serenity. He was so calm, so unruffled, that it was difficult to believe the hellish illusion had sprung from the depths of his mind. He decided to give her a few moments to regain herself, during which time he simply stared dead ahead with an empty gaze. There was a soft breath of wind which filled the silence between the two individuals.
“Wha…what…” Mitsuki began to mutter in a low whisper. Itachi’s gaze shifted immediately to her as he heard the low words she uttered. His eyes were searching keenly in her face for what her lips proved unable to say. She was still struggling to find the words and to utter them—and it was a losing battle.
“I haven’t told anyone else about my fears.” Itachi said suddenly, eyeing her with a concerned look. “I don’t…trust anyone else. I believe that the Uchiha clan are on a destructive path. Destructive to them and the village. The bloodshed will be unimaginable.”
“But Shisui…” she mumbled. Her eyes were still wide with terror and they were fixed on the glittering water below. The pallor had also not diminished on her skin.
“Shisui, as everyone knows, was no advocate of war.” Itachi said softly, and there was a hint of sadness in his tone.
“My brother….my clan…” she protested in a low voice, still transfixed on the Naka river, skin blanched.
“Our clan will suffer.” replied Itachi.
“The village will pay!” she shouted suddenly, turning to Itachi, her eyes, in the glare of the sunlight, set afire with the flame of vengeance and her cheeks flushing with color out of rising fury. The desire for retribution was hot within her, and getting hotter. It seemed as if the flame of her passionate longing for revenge flashing her eyes would vaporize the pacific ideals in the soft gray ones that stared back into hers. But Itachi met her gaze with confidence.
“And we will pay the same price.” the boy retorted with a silky voice.
“My pain…”
“Will only be magnified by this conflict.” interposed the young Uchiha placidly.
“We will win the battle.”
“No, we won’t. No one will. Konoha will simply destroy itself.”
“They deserve it!”
“Not all of them. What about the innocent?”
“They are on the side of the traitors—bastards!”
“They don’t even know anything about this. Think of the helpless, ignorant citizens caught between this conflict of shinobi. Think of people’s fathers, mothers, sons—”
“Think of your own family!” she thundered back, leaping to her feet in one quick motion, curls flying haphazardly as she did, eyes still glaring murder at Itachi between the scattered tangles of hair that fell over her face. Mitsuki’s two hands were clenched tightly into fists and her whole frame shivered with every quick, raspy, impassioned breath. She swept away the locks on her face before she continued;
“They’re showing us cruelty! How dare they after all our clan has done for this village. This is unfair, we have to take action!”
“No,” retorted Itachi, still as unruffled as the waters before them, his eyes meeting Mitsuki’s with a firm and steely glare, “this is mere arrogance. The same pride that drove Madara into disrepute and disgrace. That foolhardiness will be the death of our clan.”
“The Uchiha are the strongest! We can’t lose!”
“We’re outnumbered.” Itachi rebuffed, exasperation in his voice, “Konoha’s too big. Even if we do win, what about the losses? Those who will die in the process?”
“Necessary sacrifices.”
“Your family means that little to you? I mean that little to you?”
Mitsuki was stunned for a moment.
“No—no,” she began desperately after she gained herself, “that’s not what I mean. Itachi—”
“It’s enough.” the boy said with a tone of finality, turning away from Mitsuki with a cold expression.
The wind wafted through the scene once more and stirred his hair as he fixed his eyes on the water, brows furrowed, jaw clenched, mouth set in a thin, grim line. So icy was the look in his eyes that Mitsuki thought the river would freeze over from the mere intensity of his gaze. Itachi was clearly extremely angry. It took a lot to incite the boy’s ire, Mitsuki knew, and once his temper was stirred, it also required great efforts to quell it.
“Itachi—”
He instantly raised a hand to silence her.
“Foolish…it was foolish of me to hope you’d see things differently. I guess I was…” his voice was pained and low, almost a whisper, while the words were bitter. Itachi still did not look at Mitsuki, as he sighed. She was already sobbing vehemently next to him, with her face resting in her palms, the tears leaking out of the spaces between her fingers.
“Tell no one what I’ve told you. The last thing I need right now is more suspicion. They already think I killed my best friend. If they find out I don’t support this foolish war, then I would be branded as a traitor. Regardless of my doubts, I am still loyal to my clan and would do what I think is best for them. Goodbye.”
And he vanished with the Body Flicker Technique.
“So you killed the thing singlehandedly?” Mitsuki asked, eyes wide with amazement. Seated very close beside her on the wooden ledge which stood over the Naka river, Itachi was dressed in a V-neck, long sleeve shirt with dark pants, the red and white of his clan’s symbol brandished on his back, and his bare feet—as he had already removed his sandals—dangling ankle deep in the cool water beneath, as were Mitsuki’s. The boy threw a small pebble into the river, creating a circular waves which rippled out from the stone’s point of entry and disappeared quickly.
“It was a team effort.” he replied the female Uchiha.
She crossed her slender arms, the olive shade of both visible as a result of the tight, sleeveless shirt she wore, which was peppered with polka dots from top to bottom. It was blouse she donned in conjunction with grey shorts which terminated at her thighs and were designed with small representations of the Uchiha clan symbol lining the hems. Her long dark hair was thrown over one shoulder and her face was now transformed from an expression of marvel to a more familiar one of annoyance, with glimmering brown eyes narrowed, cute little nose wrinkled, and lips pursed. Strangely, Itachi found the later more beautiful than the former.
“But your genjutsu took care of everything at once!” she protested. Far being it from Mitsuki to actually let Itachi be humble. The young girl was almost as fiery as the stifling sun blazing overhead and causing the serene waters before them to glisten with beauty. It was one of those sunny days in Konoha when Itachi actually had some free time. The life of an ANBU was extremely demanding, as missions typically kept them away from the home which they defended so valiantly. However, on some days, Fate chose to smile down on them and there were given a break, one which typically only lasted for a few days and hardly ever up to a week. These poor excuses for holidays usually followed some extremely deadly and difficult assignment. The village’s government would gift them with a chance to stop and smell the roses only after they had nearly choked on the nauseating smell of blood—which was most times, usually that of the ANBU ninja themselves. This was the second of such breaks Itachi was receiving in a row; the first being a small resting period after the Hikari mission.
Itachi chuckled and jerked his head to dismiss the locks of hair hanging before his eyes. “It wasn’t that simple. We went through a lot before that. I wouldn’t be here if not for those guys.”
She snuggled into his chest and smiled like a baby, soft curls of shimmering black caressing Itachi’s neck and giving off a sharp, pleasant scent. Itachi was a bit taken off guard by this, as his brows arched on his forehead but then he smiled and turned to the waters, filling his nostrils with the waves of euphoria pulsing out of Mitsuki’s tresses as she purred softly, “Remind me to thank them for saving your life. And they better thank you for saving theirs!”
“Sure, sure.” the Uchiha replied with a smile.
It had been three days since the Itachi had returned from his mission with Akakuma. Although he had arrived with his heart heavy laden with worries; misgivings concerning a certain Scorpion, his new eyes, and of course the ever present dread of his clan’s coup, those three days had all but translated him from this somber frame of mind to more pleasant things. Mitsuki was the one to thank for this; Itachi had spent most of the time with her. After returning home for the sole purpose of informing his family that he was still in the land of the living, he hurriedly left without a word and moved to Mitsuki’s.
There were somewhat living together, Itachi passing his nights in the room that belonged to his deceased best friend Shisui who was also her brother. His days were filled with one wacky, hilarious adventure after another. If Mitsuki wasn’t nearly burning down the house in the name of trying out some new recipes, she was screaming in frustration at failing to properly clean the ink stains which had accumulated on the table and floors as a result of a woeful attempt at calligraphy and painting. Itachi would never forget how a whole wing of the building was saved from decimation by a timely water technique which the Uchiha conjured up to extinguish the blaze that poured out of Mitsuki’s lips in exasperation and annoyance at another one of her failed pastimes. It was such a big house and it constantly felt empty and hollow for her as she lived there alone, so the girl filled the void with strange hobbies and interests which she was apt to give up on shortly after she began; could be days, could be minutes, once it was seconds.
Itachi only went home to get a change of clothes and he was already careful to do so only when his father was not in. The man was the sole reason why Itachi found his own home to be unbearable. At these times, he got the opportunity to see Sasuke; he usually caught him when the boy was returning from school and they talked about Academy experiences. Sasuke jabbered on and on about how his shuriken were only few millimeters off the mark, how he had won a spar with a brown haired kid who always brought a weird, white puppy to school every day, or how he aced this test or almost got a perfect score on that; things which might have seemed mundane to most people, but Itachi savored every last detail, and it was with a stab of pain in his heart that the elder sibling would have to poke the boy’s head and hurry back to Mitsuki’s—his safe haven.
On this particular day, Mitsuki had bounced happily into the house with all sorts of scrolls and parchments, along with crates labeled ‘Ink bottles.’ Itachi watched in silent confusion as she meticulously laid these materials about the living room mat then declared in a loud and excited voice that she was going to be teaching herself Fuinnjutsu.
The Uchiha smelled disaster.
Although Mitsuki, by virtue of being an Uchiha, possessed much shinobi talent in comparison to your average ninja, Fuinnjutsu was a field too advanced for most people and could only be practiced by the most learned and experienced of ninja—a very select few indeed. Even prodigies like himself could only dabble a little in that mysterious field of techniques. It was an extremely rare feat for anyone below the age of thirty to boast of a considerable mastery of Fuinnjutsu and it was near impossible for children of his and Mitsuki’s age to attain to any sort of skill in it beyond the most menial and basic forms of seals. Taking these facts into consideration, Itachi could not help but conclude that Mitsuki would find little success or satisfaction in this new endeavor of hers—and he was certain of the catastrophic rage that would follow.
This was why he quickly suggested that they both head down to the Naka river. Mitsuki quickly agreed. Although it was the site where Shisui’s remains were found after he had supposedly committed suicide, Mitsuki and Itachi had come to find a strange sort of joy in visiting its banks. There, they comforted themselves over the loss. Shisui was a brother to Mitsuki by blood but was perhaps even more of a brother to Itachi by virtue of the bond of friendship that knit them together. His loss was a great one to both of them. It was like Life had rudely torn away a part of their individual souls, but somehow, those threadbare edges of their very beings from which Shisui was mercilessly rent had become knit tightly to one another. And so, Itachi repaired Mitsuki even as she fixed him. They leaned on each other’s shoulders. One could smile only because the other was already smiling, and this river reminded them of that fact.
“Hey, I thought ANBU weren’t supposed to talk about their missions?” Mitsuki asked suddenly, still leaning on Itachi.
“Oh, aren’t you the one always begging me to talk about them?” Itachi inquired in reply.
“Yeah, but you always shut me down. Even that time when I tried to bribe you with natto sweets.”
Itachi smiled in recollection. It had been extremely difficult for him to refuse her then. They were his favorite, after all.
“Well, the whole of Aoran knows what happened so it’s not really much of a secret.” Itachi answered with an airy voice, as he ran the fingers of one hand through his hair.
“Ah, I see.” she said. “Here I was thinking you had finally gotten rid of the stick.”
“Huh? What stick?”
“The ANBU stick.”
“I’m absolutely confused right now.” Itachi said.
“The stick they shoved up your butt when you entered ANBU.” she replied with a teasing giggle.
Itachi gave no reply but a long, tired sigh, like that of an old man, which only made Mitsuki laugh even more.
“I can’t wait for you to leave ANBU; when the Uchiha finally take what’s rightfully theirs.” Mitsuki said, her tone suddenly very serious and brimming with anger. “Fugaku-sama will lead us out of this bondage.”
Itachi fidgeted imperceptibly. Mitsuki was a good-natured, lively, vivacious and happy young lady. This was in sharp contrast to Itachi’s demure, pensive and sometimes downright gloomy disposition. It had been remarked several times, even by Shisui who knew them both very well, that they were complete polar opposites; like fire and oil, light and dark, yin and yang. But there was an even more marked difference between them apart from personality, and that was their ideals. Contrary to Itachi’s universal peace loving beliefs, Mitsuki was a strong supporter of the Uchiha clan and nothing else. The red and white fan seemed to be seared indelibly onto her heart. Although she fulfilled all obligations to the village as a serving Chunnin, she thought little of the Will of Fire, regarding it with indifference. Sometimes when Itachi would express his admiration for the brave heroes who founded and maintained Konoha before their time, she would look at him as if he were speaking another language altogether.
Although, these beliefs were of little consequence for most of her life, they were quickly elevated to mad obsession upon Shisui’s death. She believed firmly that the village was somehow responsible for her brother’s untimely demise, and she hated the village more because she was convinced that they had deliberately framed Itachi for it. It made her seethe with rage that anyone would accept the possibility of Itachi even dreaming of doing harm to Shisui and yet her beloved clan suspected her beloved Itachi of murdering her beloved brother in cold blood—and, in her opinion, it was all Konoha’s fault. ‘They certainly had motive’, she would sometimes say, ‘they wanted Shisui-niisan’s eyes and they stole it!’ ‘It’s not enough for them to drive us out of the village we helped them build but now they’re picking us off one by one.’ Her hatred for Konoha served to fuel her devotion for the Uchiha—a blind love for her kinsmen regardless of the morality of their actions.
“Mitsuki,” Itachi began with some uncertainty, “you ever think that the Uchiha is…” he broke off, unable to complete the sentence. His sudden silence caused Mitsuki to lift her head and look him straight in the eye. She could see the consternation glimmering in those grey-black orbs, along with a slight tinge of sadness.
“What is it?” she inquired worriedly.
Itachi met her gaze with some hesitation. The young Uchiha had never revealed to anyone within the clan that he had even the slightest doubt about whether or not the clan’s coup d’etat was justifiable. He had simply assented to everything they planned. When he was instructed to join the ANBU, he complied without a single complaint. When asked to divulge village secrets he had learned, he revealed all(at least he gave off the impression that he was doing so). Although everyone in the clan treated him with some level of distrust, they could not question his allegiance because he fulfilled all his duties and obeyed all orders with a truly exemplary degree of excellence—or so he had led them to think. Only Shisui knew that Itachi hated the very idea of conflict and that a war instigated by the Uchiha clan would be his worst fear realized, but his best friend had taken that secret to his grave so no living Uchiha knew of Itachi’s misgivings.
He had considered telling Mitsuki times without number but always decided against it. After all, he knew where she stood in the matter. Whenever it came up in discussion, he simply changed the subject without sharing his opinions or more often, plainly lied. However, this time around, a certain boldness seemed to swell in his heart. He was overcome with the strong feeling that that he could trust her, though this confidence was not able to shape itself into actual words. Luckily, Itachi had formulated a plan that would not need him to speak at all.
“I think we should make this conversation more private.” he answered, his Sharingan suddenly activated in both eyes. She blinked once in reply and in the next moment, Itachi had her under a genjutsu. It was their way of communicating with utmost discretion. The Sharingan allowed members of the Uchiha clan to converse with merely mind alone, with no intrusions or interruptions, and with every form of expression. Itachi and Mitsuki had become quite accustomed to making use of it.
Currently, they were in an illusionary world which was composed of the whole village of Konoha, all its buildings and structures, its streets and avenues alive with the village’s citizens, the Hokage’s Office building towering above every other like a grim, aged sentinel. the great stone faces of Konoha’s previous leaders frowning from the mountainside and the sun beaming down on the great settlement. Itachi and Mitsuki were seated atop a cloud which floated just over the village, a small height above the tallest building which was the Hokage’s Office. There was a gentle breeze in the air which gently caressed Mitsuki’s cheeks with its pleasing coolness, and white doves flapped their wings softly, gliding easily and beautifully through the cloud streaked skies above. This illusionary Konoha was the very picture of tranquility.
Mitsuki took in everything around them, turning to Itachi in confusion. The boy was simply staring down at the serene and peaceful village from their lofty perch, the same sad look in his eyes. His intense concentration compelled the girl to mimic his actions, her eyes drifting below. She noticed nothing unfamiliar and out of place, and yet, Itachi seemed to waiting for something. Mitsuki had a nagging feeling that it was something bad.
Suddenly the doves turned into crows, their snow white wings transformed to a bleak coal-black, and the air vibrated with their ominous, doleful cries. A few moments later, this sound was eclipsed by the heart rendering boom of a great explosion; the great rotunda which served as the headquarters of Konoha’s leader had been obliterated in a moment and was now merely a pile of stones and burning wood, ravenous flames consuming every aspect of the once notable edifice, transforming it to smoke and ash, which was wafted by the wind into the rocky faces of the previous Hokage, as if to mock them. Mitsuki gasped in shock and turned to Itachi who was still staring down silently at everything with the solemn and mournful gaze of his blood red Sharingan.
Mitsuki kept watching in horror as the villagers began a mad scramble for safety resulting in a great stampede, with desperate men, women and children getting heedlessly trod underfoot by even more desperate and terrified citizens around them. While this happened, the air was peppered with the clangs of metal; shinobi flying from building to building, like streaks of lightning, as they clashed their weapons in combat. Mitsuki saw that they were Uchiha shinobi fighting against ANBU and regular Chunnins and Jounins. Itachi’s attention to detail was marvelously and yet horribly displayed in the fact that she could recognize those who were engrossed in heated battle. She sat, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the death matches taking place around them. Pleas for mercy were ignored, throats were torn, bodies were rent asunder, organs ruptured or pierced, bones shattered, and the air rankled with the smell of blood and burning flesh. The flesh of people which they both knew, within and without their clan. The horror in the vacant, unseeing eyes of the dead, who were slain by their own comrades, was only surpassed the horror in Mitsuki’s as she watched the nightmare unfold.
More explosions shook the village, and smoke wafted skywards from the rubble and ruins; piles of debris that stood as apartment buildings or business establishments mere moments earlier, darkening the sky and almost blotting out the sun. This haze gave the village a duller shade of light and yet, all the brightness in the world could not have made every single vile detail more distinct and horrifying to Mitsuki. Every element of this hell was burned into her mind.
Medics flooded the scene, picking up the injured and tending to them, only to be stopped by combatants of the opposing side and killed on the spot along with the wounded. The people fighting below were more like beasts than men and the two chiefs of both sides were also locked in combat: The Hokage and Uchiha Fugaku could been seen exchanging techniques, the old man using a massive splurge of water to quench the torrent of flames which the Uchiha leader fired at him, causing the two fighters to be swallowed up by the resulting fog of steam. There were children down below, lying dead or dying in the streets, or crying over the carcasses of their parents, who were torn apart by merciless shinobi that were supposed to protect them. Their wails were somehow very clearly audible above the clamor of the shinobi battle, the terrified yells and screams of scared villages, and the death song of the black crows hovering over it all. It positively broke Mitsuki’s heart.
She noticed, at some point, that the Hokage was panting on one knee, kneeling over the corpse of the Uchiha clan head. With great strain, the old man extracted a kunai, raised it over his helmeted head and drove it into Fugaku’s heart, ending his life on the spot. Hiruzen leaped away after a few moments during which he eyed his vanquished foe with pity, leaving the body of the leader of their clan lying in the street, spread eagled, between the carcasses of a citizen and another shinobi who, by his attire, was an average chunnin. There was a kunai rooted grotesquely into his right eye socket and he was missing his left arm.
She could see a young Sasuke speeding through the streets in complete fear and terror, blood dribbling from a deep gash at the side of his head, frantically screaming the names of his family members, the urgency of his cries increasing as he saw more and more of the dead bodies which paved the streets on either side, and the blood that crimsoned the avenues, and heard the high din of death and destruction rising even higher around him. The boy eventually found Fugaku’s body. He stood ramrod still in shock, his small face pale and ghastly as he stared blankly at the still form that once housed the soul of he who he knew as father. Taking a few slow, measured steps with trembling feet, his chest rising and falling in quick, short breaths, he strode forward and collapsed on top of the remains, his spare form racked with sobs. Tears poured from his eyes as he lifted up a lamentable cry which coalesced with the terrible wails that already filled the air.
The horrific scene went on for a few minutes, every passing second charged with death and suffering, each moment stained with blood, after which all that was left of Konoha was a big pile of ruins and carcasses. It was suddenly night, the sun now transformed to a very pale full moon, and the crows which hung above the skies in a dark, grim and ominous configuration, were settled across the battlefield in thousands, picking hungrily at the multitude of dead shinobi that littered the landscape, defiling the earth. There were no survivors in the aftermath of the carnage which they had just witnessed. Itachi and Mitsuki were still seated on their little cloud as they observed this distinct portrait of hell. The girl, by this time, had both hands over her mouth, her skin as white as the moon and eyes wide as they glistened with tears and with pure horror.
“This,” began Itachi suddenly as the whole illusion faded away and there were returned to the ledge by the river, “is what I fear will happen to Konoha if the Uchiha revolts. This is my own personal nightmare.”
Though the genjutsu had ended, Mitsuki was yet to recover from the shock of it. Her whole body trembled with fear and cold beads of sweat streamed off her face as she stared blankly at the water with a vacant look in her wide terrified eyes. It seemed to her that every rapid beat of her racing heart was pounding thunderously in her ears and her breaths were shallow.
Itachi glanced at the troubled expression on her face with remarkable serenity. He was so calm, so unruffled, that it was difficult to believe the hellish illusion had sprung from the depths of his mind. He decided to give her a few moments to regain herself, during which time he simply stared dead ahead with an empty gaze. There was a soft breath of wind which filled the silence between the two individuals.
“Wha…what…” Mitsuki began to mutter in a low whisper. Itachi’s gaze shifted immediately to her as he heard the low words she uttered. His eyes were searching keenly in her face for what her lips proved unable to say. She was still struggling to find the words and to utter them—and it was a losing battle.
“I haven’t told anyone else about my fears.” Itachi said suddenly, eyeing her with a concerned look. “I don’t…trust anyone else. I believe that the Uchiha clan are on a destructive path. Destructive to them and the village. The bloodshed will be unimaginable.”
“But Shisui…” she mumbled. Her eyes were still wide with terror and they were fixed on the glittering water below. The pallor had also not diminished on her skin.
“Shisui, as everyone knows, was no advocate of war.” Itachi said softly, and there was a hint of sadness in his tone.
“My brother….my clan…” she protested in a low voice, still transfixed on the Naka river, skin blanched.
“Our clan will suffer.” replied Itachi.
“The village will pay!” she shouted suddenly, turning to Itachi, her eyes, in the glare of the sunlight, set afire with the flame of vengeance and her cheeks flushing with color out of rising fury. The desire for retribution was hot within her, and getting hotter. It seemed as if the flame of her passionate longing for revenge flashing her eyes would vaporize the pacific ideals in the soft gray ones that stared back into hers. But Itachi met her gaze with confidence.
“And we will pay the same price.” the boy retorted with a silky voice.
“My pain…”
“Will only be magnified by this conflict.” interposed the young Uchiha placidly.
“We will win the battle.”
“No, we won’t. No one will. Konoha will simply destroy itself.”
“They deserve it!”
“Not all of them. What about the innocent?”
“They are on the side of the traitors—bastards!”
“They don’t even know anything about this. Think of the helpless, ignorant citizens caught between this conflict of shinobi. Think of people’s fathers, mothers, sons—”
“Think of your own family!” she thundered back, leaping to her feet in one quick motion, curls flying haphazardly as she did, eyes still glaring murder at Itachi between the scattered tangles of hair that fell over her face. Mitsuki’s two hands were clenched tightly into fists and her whole frame shivered with every quick, raspy, impassioned breath. She swept away the locks on her face before she continued;
“They’re showing us cruelty! How dare they after all our clan has done for this village. This is unfair, we have to take action!”
“No,” retorted Itachi, still as unruffled as the waters before them, his eyes meeting Mitsuki’s with a firm and steely glare, “this is mere arrogance. The same pride that drove Madara into disrepute and disgrace. That foolhardiness will be the death of our clan.”
“The Uchiha are the strongest! We can’t lose!”
“We’re outnumbered.” Itachi rebuffed, exasperation in his voice, “Konoha’s too big. Even if we do win, what about the losses? Those who will die in the process?”
“Necessary sacrifices.”
“Your family means that little to you? I mean that little to you?”
Mitsuki was stunned for a moment.
“No—no,” she began desperately after she gained herself, “that’s not what I mean. Itachi—”
“It’s enough.” the boy said with a tone of finality, turning away from Mitsuki with a cold expression.
The wind wafted through the scene once more and stirred his hair as he fixed his eyes on the water, brows furrowed, jaw clenched, mouth set in a thin, grim line. So icy was the look in his eyes that Mitsuki thought the river would freeze over from the mere intensity of his gaze. Itachi was clearly extremely angry. It took a lot to incite the boy’s ire, Mitsuki knew, and once his temper was stirred, it also required great efforts to quell it.
“Itachi—”
He instantly raised a hand to silence her.
“Foolish…it was foolish of me to hope you’d see things differently. I guess I was…” his voice was pained and low, almost a whisper, while the words were bitter. Itachi still did not look at Mitsuki, as he sighed. She was already sobbing vehemently next to him, with her face resting in her palms, the tears leaking out of the spaces between her fingers.
“Tell no one what I’ve told you. The last thing I need right now is more suspicion. They already think I killed my best friend. If they find out I don’t support this foolish war, then I would be branded as a traitor. Regardless of my doubts, I am still loyal to my clan and would do what I think is best for them. Goodbye.”
And he vanished with the Body Flicker Technique.
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