The chains that bound him were heavy, biting into his wrists and ankles with every slight movement, yet Kisame felt a strange clarity in the suffocating pressure. The absence of Samehada left a hollow ache, but it also opened a space of singular purpose. He could no longer rely on his companion blade to defend him or absorb chakra for him. Now, every decision, every move, every breath was his own. And in that realization, a cold, precise resolve took root.
The Allied Shinobi Forces closed in, sensing the shifting currents of his chakra. Ino's fingers brushed against the air, preparing a Mind Reading Jutsu designed to pierce the fortress of his mind. Kisame's eyes narrowed. They did not understand. They could try, but they would fail. Years of battles, betrayals, and survival had honed his defenses to a razor's edge. No technique could extract the secrets he carried, no matter how sophisticated, no matter how cruel.
A fleeting thought passed through him-Itachi. The Uchiha's death, serene yet sorrowful, lingered in Kisame's memory. He had been there, watching from the shadows, and had chosen not to intervene. That quiet respect, that restraint, had left a mark deeper than any blade could carve. And now, Kisame understood the gravity of loyalty, the weight of honor, and the necessity of sacrifice.
He closed his eyes, inhaling the cold, rain-scented air, and let the memories wash over him.
The missions of his past-the violence, the bloodshed, the moments when life was cheap and loyalty was tested-flashed before his mind's eye. He saw the faces of those he had fought against, the comrades who had fallen, and the battles that had forged him into the shark-like enigma of the Hidden Mist. Yet among all the chaos, one constant remained: Itachi. The man who had recognized him, understood him, and, in his final moments, had shown him a grace Kisame would never forget.
The rain intensified, hammering against his soaked body, cold and unrelenting, as if the heavens themselves bore witness to the storm of his thoughts. Kisame exhaled slowly, letting the water drip into his eyes, mixing with sweat and blood. His lips twisted into a faint, humorless smile. The moment had come. The time to protect the secrets of the Akatsuki, to honor those he had sworn to, was now.
With deliberate calm, he acted. He raised his hands to his mouth and, without hesitation, bit down, silencing the possibility of mind-reading jutsu piercing his consciousness. Pain flared-sharp, sudden-but it was insignificant compared to the cost of betrayal. His body shuddered as the taste of iron filled his mouth, but his resolve remained unbroken. Every instinct, every breath, every heartbeat was anchored in purpose.
The water around him stirred, responding to the surge of chakra he released. Kisame's eyes glinted, shark-like, as he raised them to the storm above. He felt the currents of power, the invisible threads of life and death, the delicate balance of the battlefield shifting in response to his will. He would not die as a prisoner. He would die on his terms, as he had lived: with power, with purpose, and with unwavering loyalty.
A subtle motion, barely perceptible, indicated the presence of approaching shinobi. They were ready, poised to intercept, to extract, to capture. But Kisame was beyond fear. He summoned his chakra, the water roiling and twisting around him, forming a vortex of energy. Water Release: Shark Bomb. Sharks erupted from the swirling depths, their teeth glinting, eyes black as the void. The beasts moved with precision, following his silent commands, their presence both a shield and a declaration.
Even in the eye of this self-made storm, his thoughts returned to Itachi. He recalled the serene expression, the faint smile, the grace with which the Uchiha had embraced death. Kisame's chest ached with the weight of unspoken feelings-loyalty intertwined with something deeper, a quiet admiration, perhaps even affection. Itachi had been the only one who truly saw him, beyond the shark-like exterior, beyond the legend, beyond the brutality. And now, facing his own final moments, Kisame allowed himself to honor that memory.
The sharks circled closer, responding to his chakra, their immense forms reflecting the gray, rain-laden sky. He stepped forward into the swirling waters, letting them envelop him. Each bite, each pull, each thrash of the beasts was a deliberate act-a final declaration that he would not be used, broken, or betrayed. He chose the terms of his death, a final act of loyalty and defiance.
Pain coursed through him, sharp and relentless, but within that storm of sensation, a rare peace began to settle. He thought of the Akatsuki, of the secrets he had protected, of the lives that would continue because of his choice. And most of all, he thought of Itachi, the man who had defined a part of his soul he rarely acknowledged. In the fleeting clarity between pain and consciousness, Kisame felt a quiet serenity. He had honored his bonds, preserved his integrity, and fulfilled his purpose.
As the water closed over him, a final thought crystallized, unspoken but profound: he had lived as he had chosen, and now he would die as he chose, with dignity intact. The currents carried him downward, a predator returning to the depths, free in a way he had never known in life. His last glimpse of the surface was tinted with rain and blood, a world chaotic and unyielding, yet a world he had navigated with unwavering resolve.
Somewhere above, the voices of the Allied Shinobi echoed-Might Guy's voice, calm yet begrudgingly respectful, calling him "the most honorable of enemies." But Kisame barely registered it. His focus was inward, a quiet acknowledgment of a life defined by survival, loyalty, and a rare, unspoken bond. He had chosen honor over fear, loyalty over self-preservation, and in that choice, he found peace.
Even as the final darkness claimed him, there was a faint, lingering awareness-a presence he had always cherished. Itachi's memory, serene and unwavering, remained with him, a quiet light in the encompassing depths. And though the water closed over him, though the world above faded into storm and shadow, Kisame's spirit was unbroken.
He had lived, he had loved in his own way, and he had died with meaning. In the swirling depths, amidst the sharks and the currents, there was a final, fleeting smile-the shark finally at peace, finally free, finally honored.
The world above became a distant memory. Rain, mud, and the cacophony of battle faded into nothing, replaced by the cold, enveloping embrace of the water. In the stillness of his final descent, Kisame Hoshigaki's mind did not surrender to panic or regret. Instead, it opened to reflection, a torrent of memories cascading like the very currents that now carried him into the depths.
He thought of the Hidden Mist, the village of his birth, and the harsh lessons of survival learned there. The early days of his life had been nothing but struggle, each moment a test of strength and cunning. The cold seas had mirrored his soul-turbulent, unyielding, dangerous to those who dared enter. And yet, even in that crucible, he had discovered the value of purpose, the power of loyalty, and the rare, precious moments of connection that gave meaning to the blood-soaked path he walked.
His thoughts drifted to missions past, battles where life had been cheap and trust nonexistent. He recalled the faces of enemies, fleeting and fearful, who could never truly understand the depth of his convictions. He remembered allies who had fallen, comrades lost to the relentless tide of war and chaos. Each memory, sharp and unyielding, shaped the man he had become. A predator, yes-but one capable of reflection, of honor, of love in a form as deep and unfathomable as the oceans he commanded.
And then, as always, he returned to Itachi. The Uchiha's image was vivid in his mind, a beacon in the storm of recollection. Kisame remembered the calm precision, the quiet strength, and the subtle acknowledgment that had meant more to him than words ever could. Itachi had been more than a leader, more than a comrade-he had been a rare presence, someone who recognized Kisame beyond the shark-like exterior, beyond the mask of violence and brutality.
Kisame recalled the final moments of Itachi's life, standing at a distance, watching, restrained. The serene expression, the faint smile, the grace with which he had embraced death-all of it etched into Kisame's memory. In that moment, he had felt an ache deeper than any wound could inflict, a sorrow mingled with profound respect and, though unspoken, something closer to affection. To witness that, to understand the sacrifice and restraint Itachi embodied, was both painful and illuminating. It had left a mark upon him, a truth he rarely allowed himself to confront.
The currents of the water shifted, carrying him further into the embrace of the deep. The cold pressed against his skin, but it did not chill the fire within him. Even in death, even as the sharks circled and the weight of the ocean claimed him, Kisame's resolve remained unbroken. He had lived as a warrior, a loyalist, a predator whose existence was defined by strength and honor. And now, he would die in accordance with that same principle, protecting the secrets of the Akatsuki, safeguarding the lives intertwined with his fate, and preserving the legacy of those he respected most.
He remembered the faces of his Akatsuki comrades-Itachi, Pain, Deidara, Konan, Sasori, Kakuzu, and the others. Each had left an imprint on him, a reflection of a shared purpose, of bonds forged in blood and fire. They had all carried burdens, regrets, and ambitions, yet each had understood, in their way, the necessity of loyalty and the cost of failure. Kisame had been part of that, a cog in the larger mechanism, a predator who had embraced the role with unwavering commitment.
A fleeting thought surfaced, quiet yet insistent: he had never truly been alone. Even in the shadowed corners of the world, even in the most isolating missions, even in the moments when betrayal had seemed inevitable, he had been recognized, understood, and-most importantly-seen. Itachi had provided that acknowledgment, that rare and precious understanding. It was a gift he carried into this final moment, a tether to life, purpose, and identity that no force could sever.
Kisame's thoughts turned to the choices that had defined him, the sacrifices he had made, and the moments he had survived against impossible odds. He reflected on the battles where instinct had been his guide, where strength alone had not been enough, and where the courage to endure had been the only path to survival. In the water, with sharks circling and currents pulling, those memories crystallized into a quiet, unyielding clarity. He had lived well, according to his own code, and he would die well, on his own terms.
Even as the sensation of teeth and water tore at him, the pain was distant, almost irrelevant. It was the final act, a culmination of years spent honing strength, testing loyalty, and understanding the complexities of life and death. He thought of the smile he had allowed himself at the end, a small, defiant gesture of dignity and pride, knowing that he had fulfilled his purpose.
And yet, amid the storm of his final moments, a quiet ache lingered-a subtle, persistent longing for Itachi, for the bond they had shared, for the recognition and understanding that had meant more than life itself. The feelings were unspoken, unacknowledged for much of his existence, yet in this final act, they surfaced with an undeniable force. Itachi had shaped him, guided him, and honored him in ways that words could not capture. The memory of those moments, vivid and enduring, was a solace as he descended into the depths.
The water closed around him, enveloping him in darkness, yet in that darkness, there was light. A memory of Itachi's calm eyes, his subtle smile, and the grace with which he had embraced fate illuminated the shadowed corners of Kisame's mind. It was a light that carried him, a final acknowledgment of connection, loyalty, and unspoken affection. Even as his body was consumed by the ocean, even as the currents dragged him further from the world above, that light remained, unwavering and eternal.
In those final seconds, Kisame allowed himself a faint smile, a gesture that mirrored the peace he had glimpsed in Itachi's final moments. He had lived as he chose, loved in his own way, and died with honor intact. The predators beneath the surface moved with him, a final testament to his will, his strength, and his purpose. And as the darkness claimed him, a sense of release, of fulfillment, and of profound peace settled within his consciousness.
Kisame Hoshigaki, the shark of the Hidden Mist, the loyal enforcer of the Akatsuki, and the silent admirer of Itachi, had lived fully, fought fiercely, and died with dignity. His final moments were not of fear, not of regret, but of clarity, understanding, and the quiet acknowledgment of a life lived according to his own principles.
Somewhere, beyond the surface, beyond the battlefield, beyond the rain and chaos, his spirit lingered, carrying the unspoken words, the enduring loyalty, and the subtle, unacknowledged affection for Itachi. In the currents, in the endless ocean, Kisame was finally free.
The water that surrounded Kisame was no longer just a battlefield-it had become a sanctuary. The chaotic roar of combat, the pounding rain, the distant shouts of the Allied Shinobi Forces-all of it had faded into a muffled silence, replaced by the quiet, suffocating embrace of the ocean he had summoned. Each movement of his body, each throb of his heart, was mirrored by the currents swirling around him, carrying him into the depths with the weight of inevitability.
Pain, sharp and insistent, gnawed at him, but it no longer mattered. It was a distant echo, a reminder that he was alive in the way the world above defined life. Yet, beneath the surface, a different kind of existence awaited him, one untethered from the constraints of flesh and fear. Kisame's consciousness drifted, tethered to memory, reflection, and the quiet pulse of loyalty that had defined him from the beginning.
He thought of Itachi once more. The calm, composed presence that had guided him, understood him, and seen him in a way the world never had. Kisame's chest tightened at the memory-the sharp ache of loss, mingled with an enduring sense of respect and affection he had never voiced. Itachi had fallen, serene and unyielding, and Kisame had been there to witness it. He had restrained his instincts, held back his power, knowing that Itachi's path was his alone to walk. And even in that restraint, Kisame felt the depth of his connection, a bond that transcended words, actions, and even life itself.
The currents shifted, pulling him deeper, yet his mind remained sharp. He reflected on the Akatsuki, the organization that had defined so much of his existence. Each member had left an indelible mark-their strengths, flaws, ambitions, and regrets intertwined with his own in a complex web of loyalty and shared purpose. He had served with dedication, fought alongside them, and protected their secrets with an unwavering resolve. And now, in his final moments, he understood that his life had not been in vain.
Kisame allowed his thoughts to drift to the moments of quiet connection, the rare glimpses of understanding that had punctuated his life of violence. Itachi had been the most profound of these moments, but others had mattered as well-the camaraderie of his partners, the unspoken agreements of loyalty, the fleeting recognition that even in a world defined by betrayal, bonds could endure. These memories provided a strange comfort, a tether to something beyond the immediate agony of death, a reminder that his choices had meaning.
As the water closed around him, Kisame's mind shifted to reflection on his final act. The sharks, the currents, the deliberate sacrifice-all of it had been more than an escape from interrogation. It had been a declaration, a final testament to his principles, his loyalty, and his understanding of honor. He had chosen death on his own terms, preserved the secrets of the Akatsuki, and maintained the integrity of his being. In that choice, he found a rare peace, a clarity that few in life ever achieved.
Even in the midst of this peace, a quiet ache lingered-the ache of unspoken words, of feelings never voiced, of a connection that had transcended death. Kisame's thoughts returned to Itachi, to the Uchiha's serene expression, to the faint smile that had marked his final moments. He had admired Itachi in life, respected him, and in the silence of death, he realized that the bond they shared had been something deeper, something enduring. The acknowledgment, the understanding, and the subtle affection that had existed between them now resonated more profoundly than ever.
A faint ripple of movement caught Kisame's awareness-an echo in the currents, a subtle shift that reminded him of the world he had left behind. He allowed himself to imagine the battlefield, the rain, the shattered trees, and the distant forms of the Allied Shinobi Forces. He pictured Itachi, not as a memory, but as a presence, serene and unwavering, observing the flow of events with a calm that belied the chaos around him. That image anchored him, a final connection between past and present, between life and what lay beyond.
In the depths, Kisame's consciousness began to separate from the constraints of the physical world. The pain, the blood, the chaos-it all receded into insignificance. What remained was the essence of his being: the loyalty, the strength, the subtle, unspoken bond with Itachi, and the clarity of purpose that had guided him through life. He understood now that death was not an end but a transformation, a passage that preserved what mattered most.
And then, a thought surfaced-a possibility, faint yet undeniable. In the distant currents of fate, in a world not yet shaped by the hands of destiny, there was a chance for connection, for continuation, for the bonds that had defined his life to manifest anew. It was not the world he had known, but it was a world in which he might still honor the memory of Itachi, protect those he cared for, and navigate the currents of loyalty, love, and purpose once more.
Kisame's final moments were not marked by fear or regret but by a profound, encompassing peace. He allowed himself to acknowledge the emotions that had been buried for so long-the respect, the loyalty, the subtle affection, and the enduring connection to Itachi. These feelings were his alone, unspoken, and eternal, carried with him as he descended into the depths.
A faint, almost imperceptible ripple moved through the water, as if the currents themselves responded to his resolve. The sharks, once instruments of his final act, now became part of the transformation, guiding him, marking the passage from life to something beyond, yet still anchored by the essence of who he was. Kisame's eyes, clouded with the haze of consciousness fading, reflected the faint light from above-the last glimpse of the world he had known, of the bonds he had cherished, and of the path that had defined him.
And then, just as the darkness began to claim him fully, a single image crystallized in his mind-a memory, vivid and enduring, of Itachi's final smile, the calm eyes, the serenity that had always been his hallmark. It was a beacon, a tether to the world of the living, a reminder that even in death, connection, loyalty, and love could endure. Kisame allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible smile, a gesture of acknowledgment, farewell, and hope.
Somewhere, beyond the storm of the battlefield, beyond the currents and sharks, beyond the rain and blood, Kisame Hoshigaki found the peace he had long sought. The predator, the warrior, the loyal Akatsuki enforcer-he was finally free. Yet in the stillness of the deep, a quiet, lingering awareness remained, hinting at the threads of fate yet to be woven, the connections yet to be rekindled, and the bonds that would endure even across the boundaries of life, death, and worlds yet to come.
And in that faint glimmer of possibility, the story did not end. It merely paused, leaving the predator of the Hidden Mist in a moment of quiet anticipation, a hint of future paths, and the enduring memory of the one who had defined a part of his soul-Itachi Uchiha.