Yahiko. Nagato. Konan.
Three Orphans.
Three like-minded individuals, all fighting for peace.
Three individuals whose lives ended up in a tragedy.
Hanzo's betrayal had ended the vision of the original Akatsuki. The death of Yahiko marked a rebirth, a new beginning for the Akatsuki. With the aid of Madara by their side, the two living members of the founders of the notorious organization eradicated the message of hope from the vision of the Akatsuki.
"The Akatsuki's ultimate goal was to be achieved in three steps. We required an immense amount of money to complete these stages."
Nagato continued from where his right-hand woman left off. "Once we obtained the necessary capital, we moved to phase two of our plan. Shinobi villages make their money by taking part in conflicts - both inside and outside their borders. Having a powerful shinobi village is a key business aspect for any nation, playing a central role in the nation's profit structure. As such, war is often used as a way to generate immense wealth by these societies. However, they cannot have a direct hand in such clashes for reputation purposes, not unless the conflict is too large to ignore. In order to maintain their image, these minor clashes are caused through militia, unaffiliated mercenaries - organizations such as ours - to keep the money flowing."
Sasuke knew all of this through Orochimaru's rants about how hypocritical 'Sarutobi-sensei' was for daring to judge him for his actions when the Hokage had ordered much worse.
"The current era has been relatively peaceful beyond a handful of skirmishes across country borders - partly our handiwork. It is due to this reason that many nations have resorted to cutting down their villages, eliciting a lack of jobs for shinobi." Nagato gave a sharp smile. "Of course, because of trust and sheer power, the Five Great Nations remain as stable as they could ever be. The smaller nations, on the other hand..."
"They reduce the number of shinobi they have. They suffer the consequences," Sasuke whispered, completing the sentence.
Nagato nodded.
"Indeed. Due to the overwhelmingly smaller number of troops, the weaker nations are unable to respond to conflicts often instigated by the Great Nations. They are caught in the crossfire and used as battlefields by these shinobi to wage war. As such, it is not surprising that the smaller nations are often impacted negatively - far more than their more powerful counterparts. That is where we, the Akatsuki, come in."
"The Akatsuki planned on taking hold of all conflicts, regardless of who and why we were hired - small nations, small shinobi villages, poor payment - none of that mattered. If someone requested our aid to create rift, conflict, pain - we would do it, no questions asked. And if they requested our aid to end the conflict, we would do that as well. Eventually, once we had a monopoly over the war market - causing and nullifying conflict at will - the shinobi villages themselves would become irrelevant."
Nagato's eyes glinted with something cold.
"If we - the Akatsuki - controlled the battlefield completely, then there would be no need for massive, costly shinobi villages anymore. Why would the Nations spend to fund them when they could handle all conflict themselves for cheaper?"
Nagato paused.
"Once the profit goes down, the shinobi become obsolete. A thing of the past. And when the shinobi become obsolete... so do the villages."
The words hung in the air.
Sasuke, outwardly, remained as placid as ever.
But internally, his mind reeled.
This... this was something entirely different than what he had anticipated.
It was a complete contrast to the simplistic, idealistic fantasy that was the Infinite Tsukuyomi. Unlike Madara's delusion of casting an eternal dream over the world—a fantasy—Nagato's plan was real. It was brutally pragmatic, built upon a real, incisive understanding of the shinobi system and its flaws, the cogs and gears that churned the machinery of war and profit. The Uzumaki wanted to choke the system at its very foundation. To strip the villages of their relevance, to render shinobi culture an obsolete relic of the past.
A real revolution, not a mass delusion.
Very similar to Sasuke's own.
But even so... there was a damning flaw.
"The Five Great Nations would not sit idly by. They would realize what you were doing, sooner or later. And when they did, they would unite. You would face the full combined might of their armies. No matter how powerful your organization, it couldn't withstand that kind of assault indefinitely."
Nagato, sickly and skeletal as he was, gave a small nod, almost as if he had expected the question.
"Of course. That outcome was inevitable. That is why we needed something else."
A cutting smile.
"You already know the solution to that problem."
Sasuke said nothing.
Because he did know, he had known from the moment Nagato began laying out his plan.
The Ten-Tails.
The weapon that could wipe a nation from existence in a single heartbeat.
The deterrent.
Nagato continued from where he had left off
"As mentioned, once we had a monopoly over hired firepower - the war market, we would use the Tailed Beasts to create a weapon powerful enough to erase an entire nation in the blink of an eye. Then we would utilize - they would utilize this weapon to create conflict with ramifications so severe that the Great Nations, all nations, out of their own will and understanding of... Pain would unite to put a stop to their suffering. The third step."
"I was going to show this world true Pain, to stop any war, any minor skirmish, any inconsequential battle through sheer terror alone. Entire nations gone, in the blink of an eye - genocides so horrific, they would have no choice but to band together. People will begin to yearn for stability and peace through a shared understanding of their suffering. Then... eventually, once that era of stability and harmony ends, the Akatsuki would once again be hired by those willing to instigate more conflict. The world would once again experience a short period of immense suffering, and their desire for peace would return full force."
"That is my dream, my sole purpose to exist - to create short durations of peace that interrupt the endless cycle of hatred. Or at least... it was."
For the first time, throughout the conversation and the explanation.
For the first time—
Anger burned in Nagato's eyes.
"To know that it was all a farce, that all of it was nothing but dictations from him. Every action I took, every kill I made, no matter how violent or cruel, was done for that dream. My reason to live - That is what you and he - have taken... from ME!"
A feeling rose from his stomach, an ugly, sad, melancholic feeling. A sentiment he hadn't expected himself to feel once more.
Pity.
Sasuke felt pity for the man. After all, who was more familiar with having impossible truths shatter any dreams and aspirations than him?
"I did not take anything from you. I simply told you what you did not know. I told you the truth."
Nagato stared at him for a long moment before reining in his anger. "Yes - yes, you have. I cannot begrudge you for that." He closed his eyes for a second before reopening them. "However, now that you know everything about us, our purpose, our organization - I would like to know what you will do?"
A raised eyebrow was his response.
Narrowed eyes stared at him with unbridled curiosity.
"You have such great power, such great potential - potential Madara saw in you, and I have witnessed myself," Nagato leaned forward, interested. "I wonder, what is your goal beyond your...revenge? What will you do after you have killed your brother?"
"Peace."
The response caught everyone in the room off guard, including Sasuke himself. He hadn't intended to reveal this, hadn't planned to give voice to the thoughts that lingered in the back of his mind, shaping every move, every decision.
Why was he telling them this?
What am I doing?
Nagato was suddenly much more interested. "Oh? Do continue."
Sasuke stared at the pair in front of him, weighing the potential consequences of revealing his plans.
He could kill them.
It would be easy. A flash of lightning, a twist of space, and the crippled man and his loyal subordinate would be reduced to nothing more than scattered ash. He felt his gaze flick, almost unconsciously, to the blue-haired woman. She was poised, wary, but Sasuke could tell she would be powerless to stop him if he chose to end things now.
It would be simple. Clean.
But... would it be wise?
Sasuke turned his gaze back to Nagato.
The Hidden Rain was ruled by this man's hand, his iron fist, a true authoritarian rule. Every alley, every patrol, every whisper of resistance was kept in line because of the god Nagato pretended to be. If he were to strike him down now, it would not bring peace. It would bring chaos. Militia groups, desperate warlords, and petty tyrants would rise from the ashes, funded by the Great Nations, plunging an already scarred people into yet another endless cycle of blood and suffering.
He would only sow another battlefield here, the very thing Sasuke had sworn to annihilate.
He did not want that.
A sudden thought struck him.
Of course. I don't need to rush things anymore.
Nagato had already surrendered. And now, with the true architects of the Akatsuki's madness, Obito and Zetsu, already dead, there was no longer any reason for Sasuke to hasten his plan.
I have time, he realized, plenty of time. Time to rebuild the world properly and time to shape it with precision, to prepare, rather than declare all-out war out of sheer recklessness.
His revolution did not need to be sudden, nor did it need to be blood-drenched in every corner.
He thought of the war he had once lived through—the war that had united the Five Great Nations against a common enemy, Madara. Back then, the world had banded together under the pressure of a looming apocalypse. But that was a completely different time, a scenario that no longer existed, only in Sasuke's memories. Now, in this era, disunity still reigned supreme. Fear, distrust, profit... they ruled the nations from the shadows.
He would need to change that. Slowly, thoroughly, and eventually... permanently.
As for Nagato...
Sasuke's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Nagato, crippled though he was, was an experienced man. He had seen the machinery of the world's darkness, had an entire, well-funded, experienced organization that took part in it. He had the knowledge of how the hidden villages functioned, how the world economy ebbed and flowed on the blood of soldiers and civilians alike. Knowledge that Sasuke, even with all his power, had only scratched the surface of understanding.
Dead, Nagato would be a memory. Alive, he could be a resource.
A necessary tool, if handled correctly. Nagato could be more useful as an ally than as a corpse.
A faint, almost imperceptible nod passed through Sasuke's mind. His decision was made.
He would tell him.
Not because he trusted them, but because they could be made to understand. And if they understood... they could be used.
And if they didn't, well—
It would make no difference.
What were they going to do about it? Stop him?
No, no, they could not. No one can. Not anymore.
He was too powerful to stop anymore, arrogant as it sounded, and he did not intend to stop growing, both in power and knowledge. He would only get stronger.
And so, Sasuke decided to lay bare the depths of his ambition, to tell them his goal, his revolution, his ideology. He decided to tell them...
Everything.
_____________________________________________________________________
Bounty Hunter Outpost 47
"Bounty Hunter Outpost 47, the closest to the Hidden Grass, Today. This is the location where we will meet."
The forest blurred past him in streaks of green and brown as Itachi leapt from branch to branch, his black cloak waving against the wind. His movements were fluid, silent; not even the chirp of a bird or the snap of a twig betrayed his presence.
He had misled Kisame and left the man to his devices to wherever his trusted summon had chosen. There was a slight amount of guilt he felt at betraying a comrade, but that feeling was swiftly replaced by detached apathy at the man's plight. After all, what was a little treachery when he planned to die in the battle against his little brother?
Sasuke. The name echoed in his ear.
Itachi and Sasuke once had a strong bond, but were only prevented from growing stronger because of duty. Itachi still reflected on the smiles the doe-eyed toddler would send his way after any time apart, the cute little laugh he had. No matter how mired he had been in the shadows of the village's sins, Sasuke had remained pure, untouched, the one bright light in his life.
That light had to be protected, even from itself.
And yet... had he protected it the right way? That was a question even he, with all his certainties, had never fully answered.
No matter.
That Sasuke was gone now.
A false hope Itachi thought bitterly. I made sure that version of my brother was dead.
A necessary sacrifice. If only the clan hadn't forced his hand.
The Uchiha Clan had sealed its own fate. They had clung to their pride, to their bloodline, to their arrogance, even when the world around them demanded evolution. They had chosen the sword rather than humility, rebellion rather than reconciliation. They had gambled the fragile peace of Konoha for the sake of their wounded pride.
Itachi of the Leaf had made his choice without regret. He did what had to be done. For Konoha, for her peace, for her future.
The Uchiha Clan had perished at his hand because they could not see beyond themselves. Because their hatred would have drowned the village in war. They had earned their extinction.
But Sasuke...
Itachi's fists clenched imperceptibly as he sailed between the trees.
Sasuke had been different.
Sasuke was the one part of the clan he had never intended to destroy. Sasuke was supposed to live, to grow stronger, to one day become the shield and sword of the Leaf, tempered by pain but untainted by the clan's poisonous pride.
The plan had always been simple: let Sasuke grow in hatred, defeat him, die by his hand, and in doing so, pass on the mantle of the Uchiha to his little brother. Not the Uchiha clan that his father preached about, of course. Not that accursed clan, his impulsive, easy-to-anger, arrogant clan. No, his version of the clan was truly one with the village, a pillar, a powerful foundation for Konoha to stand on. His little brother was supposed to inherit the Will of Fire, not the Curse of Hatred.
But Sasuke had complicated everything.
Originally, he had intended to dictate the battlefield, the time, the location, and the circumstances. Everything planned, everything controlled. It was supposed to be his stage, he was supposed to be the one weaving the layers of illusion, dragging Sasuke into a confrontation perfectly sculpted by his own hands. The fight and the inevitable end on his terms. That was the only way to ensure the truth remained hidden until the last possible second.
Instead, here he was, answering Sasuke's summons and obeying Sasuke's demands.
Itachi barely reined in a scowl. Blackmailing the Akatsuki, threatening Pain himself. Dragging the leader's fury onto himself without hesitation.
If Pain decided Sasuke was a threat...
It made the hairs at the back of his neck rise. Itachi could not allow that, he could not allow all his work to be gone for naught.
The future of Konoha, the peace he had slaughtered his kin to preserve, needed Sasuke alive.
His plan would have to change.
He glanced at his right hand briefly. His palm itched, a familiar, ancient tingle.
The crow that held Shisui's eye.
A last contingency, hidden deep within his eye socket, planted years ago for a moment just like this. Itachi released the subtle seal placed on his chakra network with a thought, feeling the crow stir from its dormant sleep.
One final insurance policy, should all else fail. If worst came to worst... if Sasuke truly went down a path that could not be mended... then Shisui's legacy would guide him. It would ensure that the Sasuke Itachi loved and envisioned would remain.
Itachi landed softly atop a thick branch and stared down through the sparse leaves. There, nestled between the trees and the winding stone path, was the bounty hunter outpost. A battered, crumbling structure nestled into the forest floor, stone paths half-covered with moss and grime.
Itachi descended gracefully, touching down onto the cold earth without a sound, his black cloak pooling around his feet. He moved forward slowly, his sandals crunching against dry stone as he approached the outpost. His Sharingan spun to life with a thought, three tomoe blossoming in each crimson eye. His senses sharpened instantly; every droplet of mist, every flicker of motion among the branches, every tiny shift in the earth was viewed with utmost clarity.
He pivoted, scanned, and recalculated every corner and every shadow. His eyes were far from still, constantly revolving in fast little twitches.
Nothing.
It was too quiet.
An ambush then.
If it was an ambush, then Itachi would have no choice but to take the bait, despite his distaste for factors out of his control. The kin slayer had unwavering faith in his abilities, confident that he could adapt should anything go... awry.
He moved forward again, wary, each footstep soundless, every muscle wound tight in preparation for a strike.
"You're late."
Itachi froze, then spun in an instant, his cloak flaring around him as he faced the source of the voice. He felt incredibly bothered that the figure had managed to sneak up on him without his notice.
Then he really took in the person's appearance.
For a moment, just a moment, he thought he was staring into a mirror.
The first thing he noticed was not the attire, or the slight height difference, though he noted with clinical precision that Sasuke had grown, almost reaching his own stature. It wasn't even the sword or the confident, straight-backed stance.
It was the chakra.
Thick. Suffocating. Heavier than iron chains, it pressed down on the world around it like the sky itself had fallen to earth. Dense, refined, monstrous—more potent than anything Itachi had ever sensed, even compared to the greatest shinobi he had faced.
And the eye, the left eye.
Not the crimson look of a Sharingan he had expected. The familiar tomoe patterns of the Sharingan were there, orbiting a single black dot. But the eyes were purple, dark purple, with concentric circles. The eyes of Pain, the eyes of the Akatsuki leader.
Itachi prided himself on his serenity, his control, the cold composure that no opponent had ever broken. He had faced death, betrayal, slaughter, and loss without flinching.
But nothing, nothing, had prepared him for this.
The Rinnegan.
His throat worked soundlessly for a moment before he finally managed to breathe a single word.
"Sasu...ke?"
His brother gave a miniscule smile.
"Hello, Itachi. It's been a while, hasn't it?"