Bounty Hunter Outpost 47
He was on edge.
How could he not be?
This… this was nothing like what he had envisioned. It wasn't part of any contingency, any strategy, any plan. Not in the darkest corners of his imagination could he have prepared for this.
His little brother, Sasuke, was in possession of the Rinnegan.
The thought alone was so absurd, so unfathomably ludicrous, bordering delusion, that had he not been staring it in the face, Itachi might have laughed. Not out of humor, but disbelief.
His first thought after the initial surprise was—
Could it be an impostor?
It could be a trick, a fake, perhaps another one of Orochimaru's heinous experiments gone wrong, or in this case, correct.
Clarity, he needed more clarity.
Itachi's Mangekyou Sharingan spun to life on instinct, the world around him becoming much more defined.
Chakra never lied, specifically one's chakra signature. It evolved, it matured, and could intensify, but it could not be forged nor could it be replaced. It was the one, absolute constant in every living being that possessed it.
And this one—it was without a shadow of doubt, Sasuke's. The same signature he had memorized years ago when they had last clashed, back when Itachi had toyed with a much weaker, angrier version of his little brother, back when he had tortured him for hours as a reminder to not get complacent, to pursue the path Itachi had laid for him.
This was no impostor.
And no wonder, no wonder, Sasuke had so brazenly threatened Pain with zero hesitation, with utmost calmness. With that level of power behind him, defiance was no longer foolishness, nor arrogance.
It was simply... a statement of fact.
Itachi's jaw tightened imperceptibly.
"How?"
Sasuke tilted his head slightly, questioning. He didn't respond, however, simply waiting for Itachi to elaborate. Itachi felt an unpleasant twist low in his gut. It should have been him standing there, inscrutable and untouchable, baiting his opponent into frustration. It had always been him, for a long time.
But now the tables had turned. Drastically.
Itachi's lips thinned. "How did you get the Rinnegan?"
Sasuke seemed to be enjoying his mounting vexation.
"That is only something for me to know, elder brother, a secret I shall keep until the end of time."
Itachi felt a muscle in his cheek twitch, his anger getting the better of him, something Sasuke took notice of, his right eye getting brighter with mirth.
Then Itachi's ever-critical gaze caught on a great opportunity.
His right eye... It's still black.
A chance that Itachi could not pass up.
With but a glance, he cast Tsukuyomi.
Within the illusory realm of crimson sky and fractured mirrors, Itachi and Sasuke clashed, trading blows faster than thought. With each second, each blow, each barbed speech, he could feel himself relax more and more, as he watched the real Sasuke stand perfectly still. Whatever grand power the younger Uchiha had, his Mangekyou still reigned supreme, even over the Rinnegan. At least for now.
Still... a deep impulse itched at the back of his mind. Something wasn't right.
He knew long to trust his instincts, the quiet unease that kept his muscles tensed, his real body poised, ready to act when something unexpected occurred.
He still felt like it wasn't enough, even as he stared at the real Sasuke's still body.
Back in the genjutsu, he sowed the seeds of rebellion against the Akatsuki, much as it seemed it wasn't needed. And when Sasuke, filled with doubt and confusion, demanded to know who had collaborated in the Uchiha massacre, Itachi answered without flinching. He spoke of the Mangekyou and its terrible power, a tool that allowed one to control the tailed beasts, but with a great trade-off. A power born of tragedy, steeped in the blood of kin.
And the most important secret of them all...
"Madara and his brother were the first to obtain the power of the Mangekyou Sharingan - the first in recorded history," Itachi's illusory form recited from memory, the knowledge passed down to him from his superiors. "But as I told you before, the light disappearing from our eyes, from the wielder of a Mangekyou - the darkness that takes place of the sharp clarity of the Sharingan is the great price to pay for such accursed power - the fate of every Uchiha who possessed these eyes."
He continued to weave the illusion as he watched his brother take in the sights of Madara and his kin, their fights, their awakening, and their fallout.
"Madara did everything in his power to regain that lost sharpness, that vision he once had - but to no avail. Desperation and hopelessness ensnared him, and like the madman he was, Madara stole both of his brother's eyes, killing him, putting an end to his own loved one's life - to obtain that light, that great unattainable power once again. He came to possess a much greater form of our clan's specialty."
Itachi's voice sharpened.
"The Eternal Mangekyou Sharingan."
"Wrong."
Wha—?
The single word cut through the genjutsu like a blade, the response so jarring, so out of place, that Itachi's head snapped to look at the real Sasuke.
The younger Uchiha stared back, his right eye, no longer empty, no longer passive, swirling with the active pattern of the Sharingan.
"I wonder who fed you that lie?"
Itachi's Tsukuyomi shattered.
Pain exploded in his left eye, as his knees nearly gave out, just barely managing to stand. He pressed a trembling hand over his eye socket, struggling to focus through the haze, staring up at the brother who had overturned his strongest genjutsu like it was nothing.
He had faked it.
He should've known, should've further leaned into his instincts, putting down Sasuke while he stood still.
He gritted his teeth, unwanted anger bubbling up in his throat, cursing his own foolishness, cursing his arrogance.
"You pretended - pretended to be taken over by my genjutsu."
Sasuke didn't bother dignifying that with a response, instead opting to address something else.
"It was not Madara who killed his brother... it was Tobirama, the Second Hokage." Sasuke spread his arms wide. "Izuna - the younger brother's name - had fallen prey to a newly invented jutsu, a never-before-seen technique that incapacitated him, nearly ending his life. Hashirama ordered the battle to be put to a stop, to establish a truce - a peace offering - but by then, it had already been too late. Madara escaped, his wounded brother in tow."
Itachi could only stare as his brother lectured him.
"On his deathbed, before his demise, Madara's brother gave him his Mangekyou Sharingan as a gift - out of love - to carry their united strength in order to protect what strength the Uchiha had left."
Sasuke dropped his hands to his sides.
"That is the reality, Itachi, the true history of our founder."
Slowly, clarity returned.
Itachi's chakra knit itself together in sluggish pulses, the world sharpening at the edges as the pain dulled to a muted throb. His vision steadied, barely, but the damage had been done. He could feel it, the toll of the Mangekyou Sharingan, the light slipping away from his eye, ebbing like the last trails of smoke from a dying flame.
Still, he stood tall.
Sasuke did not attack, his face a stone-cold mask, seemingly content with watching Itachi gather himself, arms loose at his sides.
Questions burned at the edge of his mind. How? How had Sasuke shattered Tsukuyomi? How had he acquired the Rinnegan? How long had he been hiding such power? How did he know more than Itachi about the strongest Uchiha to walk the Earth?
But he knew better than to ask. His earlier question had been met with smug silence. He would get nothing from his brother now but veiled amusement and contempt.
"It does not matter. People live with their own knowledge, their own perception of what they believe is true - a limited perspective," the kin slayer started, his voice calm as ever. "What you believe to be reality is someone else's falsehood."
Itachi stepped forward, a kunai in one hand, multiple shuriken in the other. He didn't have time for more questions, baffled as he was.
A maniacal gleam entered his eyes as he continued walking forward, mechanically, slowly, giving an image of a deranged ghost.
"So, you see, it is irrelevant what you speak, what you believe, or what truths you think you've uncovered. I will make my dream a reality. I will take your eyes, just like our ancestor did, and surpass him, fulfilling my destiny, the true prodigy - the pinnacle of this accursed clan."
The odd blankness and glazed eyes with which Sasuke watched him were disturbing, but Itachi forged on, knowing that he was dying. He had to secure Sasuke's future.
By any means necessary.
Itachi forced a ragged laugh, hollow and manic.
"Sasuke, my foolish little brother! It is our fate to end each other, but it is mine to end as the victor. My vision dulls, but you - you could stop it, end it - you will help me attain my fate! You are my light, my spare!"
A psychotic smile adorned his face.
"I will have your eyes!"
Itachi lunged.
_____________________________________________________________________
His name was Uchiha Itachi, a man famous across nations, and not for good reason. To the world, he was the infamous kin slayer, the prodigy who betrayed his own blood, who murdered his clan in the dead of night with surgical precision and left a single child alive to bear the burden. He was the monster behind the massacre, the traitor who turned his back on the Uchiha, the rogue ninja who vanished into the shadows and reemerged under the banner of the Akatsuki. Stories followed him like smoke, stories of shinobi butchered, civilians cut down, children silenced. It didn't matter whether they were armed or not. To the outside world, he was a disgusting brute with a blade, a merciless, unfeeling, untouchable, beast of a man, with nothing but innocent blood to his name.
The man was many things, many terrible things, no doubt, but most importantly.
He was his brother.
CLANG!
Shuriken met shuriken, clashing midair.
His blade, unsheathed, came up just as Itachi slammed his kunai into it, steel on steel, fast and close.
Sasuke pivoted, letting the kunai glance off his blade with a flick of his wrist. His sword barely moved more than a few inches at a time, just enough to deflect.
His opponent lunged again, faster this time, aiming for the ribs.
Sasuke tilted his blade, caught the kunai's edge, and slid it off with a motion he had practiced a thousand times. He stepped back half a pace, sandals silent in the dirt.
Itachi's breath came harder now. Frustration and fatigue were obvious on his face. Despite this, his strikes grew sharper, wilder, arcing swings, stabs meant to pierce or catch skin.
Sasuke outwardly stayed calm, betraying his internal turmoil.
His opponent rushed with another swipe. Another block. And then—
Sasuke moved.
A blur forward, his sword sweeping down and twisting at the wrist. Metal clanged, spun, and the kunai flew from his brother's hand, skittering across the ground with a shrill clatter.
The younger Uchiha didn't press, and he didn't raise his sword.
He just stood there, eyes on his opponent, blade low but steady.
"No matter what you decide to do from now on... I will always love you."
It was oh so easy to forgive, to pretend he was nothing more than a tragic martyr, especially when his last words, spoken through a crumbling reanimated body, the Edo Tensei, had been that. A dying whisper of love that had softened years of pain, that had momentarily soothed the fire in his heart, enough to leave him sufficiently sane to question the Hokage. In that moment, Itachi had seemed like a saint, a true hero who bore all the weight of the world so others wouldn't have to.
But here and now...
Facing him, breathing the same air, locked in combat once again...
Sasuke could feel it, the old hatred, festering beneath the surface like rot, burning like hot charcoal underneath his skin.
Control yourself.
Easier said than done.
Itachi's hand flashed through signs.
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Jutsu!"
The fire surged forward, a roaring inferno spiraling through the air, casting long shadows over the clearing.
Just as the fireball reached him, a ripple pulsed from his body. His left eye shimmered, the pattern of the Rinnegan flaring to life.
Fsshh—
It twisted, collapsed in on itself, and disappeared into the void of his left eye, the air crackling as if space itself had been swallowed. The ground sizzled, still steaming from residual heat, but Sasuke remained untouched. His hand was now raised, palm open, fingers relaxed, the glow of the Preta Path still fading from the veins of his right arm.
He dropped the appendage to his side.
"Chakra absorption?" Itachi breathed, barely audible. He took a step back as he reassessed the situation.
The door creaked open under his trembling hands. His small, unsteady feet raced across the hall, heart pounding in his chest.
"Move! Move! Move!"
His legs shook as he stumbled into the room—
Sasuke's jaw tightened.
He had thought he was ready for this. Sasuke had prepared himself, steeled every nerve, and rehearsed the confrontation in his mind. It was more of a conversation, an emotional one, yes, but a conversational one nonetheless. The man before him was the same brother whose final words in another life had been a whisper of love, not blood. He had even allowed himself the naive hope of reconciliation, built on reason, on truth. He had already forgiven this man once… hadn't he?
But that illusion cracked the moment Itachi opened his mouth.
Hearing him regurgitate the same old dogma, of Uchiha sin, of stolen eyes, of self-righteous destiny, hearing Itachi spew the same polished lies and parroted myths, watching him wear that same tired mask. That serene mask Itachi hid himself with, like he was some philosopher dragging the world along toward a better truth.
It made Sasuke's blood boil.
His mother. His father.
Lying motionless on the tatami mats, their eyes glassy, unblinking, soaked in silence and blood.
At the far end of the room stood his brother, Uchiha Itachi, standing tall, composed, sword at his back, bathed in the pale moonlight that filtered through the window, his elder brother, his hero.
"F-Father? Mother?" The words tore out of him, hoarse. Desperation, horror, and denial clawed through every being.
Why?
Why would Itachi…?
"Brother! Brother! Father and Mother!" he cried, voice cracking as his knees hit the floor beside their lifeless bodies.
But they did not answer.
He turned to stare at their executioner.
He stared at Itachi, jaw locked. His fists clenched by his sides, he felt his emotional control slip slowly through his fingers like sand in a storm.
The old hatred resurfaced, uncoiled from the depths where he had buried it beneath his greater ambition, beneath his revolution. It clawed its way back up with feral hunger, the hatred of a little boy whose only sin was wanting to understand why, why his brother had looked him in the eyes after piercing their parents' hearts. Why did he stare coldly through the screams? Why had he left him with nothing but corpses, lies, and blood?
His breath hitched as he repeatedly told himself to control it. Once. Twice. Thrice.
And then his brother had to open his mouth.
"You have grown, foolish little brother."
"Why... Brother... why did you do this?!"
It didn't make any sense, ANY SENSE! WHY?! WHY DID HE DO THIS! WHY ITACHI, WHY! WHYWHYWHYWHYWHY—
"That was foolish of you, little brother."
It wasn't even a taunt. Just a dry, casual remark, a quiet, passing judgment.
But the words... they came in the same tone, the same rhythm, the same maddening detachment as they had all those years ago, so eerily similar to that day.
Something inside Sasuke snapped.
His foot cracked the earth as he launched forward with barely a thought, barely any restraint.
Itachi's eyes widened just slightly, raising his arms enough to brace.
He needn't have bothered.
Sasuke was a blur, one second distant, the next already past the arc of Itachi's vision. He didn't strike head-on. He curved, twisted in mid-air at an angle no shinobi could track, let alone counter. His foot connected cleanly with Itachi's ribs, a dull, crunching thud echoing across the clearing. Through his Sharingan, Sasuke watched the air erupt from his brother's lungs in a silent, involuntary exhale, his body folding from the impact like paper around a stone.
Then came the whisper, two words that had haunted him for more than a decade, for almost his entire lifetime.
"Mangekyou Sharingan."
The world twisted.
Pain exploded. Memories of that night were etched into every nerve as Mangekyou patterns spiraled in his brother's eyes. Sasuke screamed. The scene repeated over and over, his parents' deaths playing on loop, like a cursed theatre of agony.
"Why! Brother NOOOOOOO!"
Sasuke didn't let him fall.
Before Itachi's feet even had the chance to meet the earth, Sasuke blurred forward again, faster than a breath, faster than a thought. His right fist came down like a hammer, slamming straight into Itachi's collarbone with barely enough restraint to not crack bone on impact. The elder Uchiha reeled, his body twisting unnaturally midair, a choked gasp torn from his throat.
"Why! Brother NOOOOOOO!"
He pivoted low, twisting at an angle that defied physics, his left hand sweeping up into Itachi's gut with a jab so quick it was almost invisible. The hit folded his brother forward, breath expelled in a hoarse cough, but no organ ruptured, no rib cracked.
"FATHER AND MOTHER! GYAAHH!"
Sasuke grabbed Itachi by the front of his cloak mid-spin and hurled him sideways into a lone tree, chakra-enhanced strength turning the throw into a blur of black fabric and dust.
"STOP IT, BROTHER, PLEASE! PLEASE STOP! PLEASE BROTHER PLEAAAAAAA—!
He didn't stop, he couldn't stop, as he closed the distance to where he had thrown his brother previously. His fists rained down with brutal speed, strikes hammering against Itachi's chest, shoulder, ribs—never enough to kill, but just enough to punish, to make him feel a sliver of what he had felt all those years ago.
He had begged his brother to end the nightmare, to end the hours of torture. He had clawed and shrieked until his voice bled, until he couldn't speak, until he couldn't breathe, again and again and again—
Through it all, Sasuke's face remained set, grim, teeth clenched, not shouting, not crying. Even in this fury, in his anger, he had to remain calculated, in some form of control. He knew exactly how far he could go. He knew exactly how hard he could hit without ending it. Because Sasuke, despite everything, despite the reignited hate boiling in his blood, he did not want Itachi dead, not until the elder Uchiha would see the eventual fruits of his Revolution, not until his brother would see the Konoha Sasuke envisioned.
A sharp, wet snap cracked through the clearing.
"GhhAAH!"
The shout wasn't from his nightmares, wasn't a phantom echo from his past, nor the voice of his younger self screaming behind his closed eyelids at night.
It was real. That sound had come from Itachi.
Sasuke's eyes snapped down, and only then did he see it. His foot was still planted in the aftermath of a vicious oblique kick. Itachi's right leg was twisted at an unnatural angle beneath him, knee crumpled in the wrong direction. His elder brother lay half-sprawled on the ground, his breaths ragged and shallow, one eye barely open, the other completely shut with pain.
Sasuke took a step back, hand slowly unclenching from where it had been halfway through another strike.
What... what have I done?