The night sky above Gotham was restless, flickering with neon and the distant roar of traffic. Itachi's form blurred, and in a sudden motion, he dissolved into a flurry of crows. Hundreds of black birds erupted from his cloak, scattering into the night like smoke.
From above, the city seemed small, fragile, chaotic. Below, the Bat-family slept—or patrolled, unaware that one of their youngest allies had just been broken, defeated, and marked.
In a single, silent moment, the crows swirled around him, twisting and coalescing. Where the flock had been, a lone figure stood on the edge of the city, the wind tugging at his black-and-red cloak. Crimson eyes scanned the horizon, calculating, always calculating.
Itachi's boots touched solid ground again on a cliff just outside Gotham, overlooking the city he had just reshaped in a few brutal hours. He flexed his fingers, feeling the pulse of chakra beneath his skin, the hum of power in his body.
He could feel it—the system pushing him. Quests, milestones, rewards. The path was clear: more power, more domination, more mastery. But with each step, a moral weight pressed down on him. The system wanted a villain. Gotham's predators wanted a villain. And yet… he was not eager to surrender himself completely to darkness.
Power matters, he thought. Everything else is secondary.
He adjusted his cloak, slipping quietly into the shadows. Using the resources he had stolen from the mafia earlier, he approached a safe house on the outskirts of Gotham—a modest building, reinforced and hidden. The keys were in his pocket; it was fully stocked, prepped for years of contingency.
The door clicked open, and he stepped inside. Silence. Only the faint scent of antiseptic and old wood greeted him. For the first time in hours, he allowed himself a pause.
The Bat-family would be hunting him now, the young prodigy turned monster who had bested them all. He had made enemies he could not afford to underestimate.
Itachi moved to a table, laying out maps, stolen tech, and his own supplies. His mind, sharper than ever, already mapped his next moves: the allies he could manipulate, the information he needed to acquire, the ways to consolidate his strength without letting Gotham's chaos swallow him whole.
Yet, despite the pragmatism, a thought lingered:
I am becoming a villain. The system wants it. The world wants it. And yet… I will not be a slave to darkness. Not completely. Not ever.
He looked at his reflection in a shattered window, the crimson of his Sharingan shimmering faintly. He was a child in body, a monster in power, and a master of shadows in thought.
The night outside roared on, indifferent. And Itachi, silent as the crows that had carried him here, disappeared into his plans.
Gotham had just lost its peace, and the city would never forget the name of the child who wielded the power of a god in a boy's body.