Chapter 12: The Weight of a Blade
From his distant perch, Kamikawa Hiraoka watched Uchiha Itachi move through the carnage. The older boy's face was a hollow mask, his actions devoid of any discernible emotion. It was as if he were culling weeds, not people. Not family.
Hiraoka saw Itachi clean his blade on the clothing of a fallen clansman, the motion chillingly practical. The metallic scent of blood was a phantom presence even at this distance, clinging to the back of Hiraoka's throat. He forced himself to remain perfectly still, his breathing shallow and silent. A single misplaced sound, a cough, a swallowed gasp, could draw the attention of the shinobi who had just exterminated an entire clan. In that moment, he was painfully aware that the chasm of power between them was an ocean.
The night was a tapestry of dying sounds. The initial clashes of steel had given way to something worse: the final, guttural cries of the dying, the desperate, unanswered calls for loved ones. He saw the occasional, brief flare of crimson—the awakening of Sharingan in moments of ultimate grief and betrayal, only to be extinguished a heartbeat later.
The fighting, if it could be called that, had lasted for what felt like an eternity, yet was over in a horrifically short time. Now, only one destination remained for Uchiha Itachi.
The main house. Uchiha Fugaku's residence.
Hiraoka's gaze followed Itachi as he stopped before the familiar gate. The prodigy, the clan killer, now stood frozen. His shoulders, which had been set with unwavering purpose, now trembled almost imperceptibly. It was the first crack Hiraoka had seen in his facade.
He can slaughter a hundred clansmen, Hiraoka thought, a cold understanding settling in his gut, but facing his own parents is a different kind of hell.
Itachi pushed the gate open, his movement slow, as if wading through deep water. He crossed the threshold, and for a long while, there was only silence from within the compound. A silence more deafening than any scream.
Hiraoka could only imagine the scene inside. The final, painful conversation. The unbearable weight of a father's last request. He knew the outcome, but the imagined details were somehow more terrible than the bloodshed he had witnessed.
Then, a single, raw, and agonized scream tore through the quiet night. It was a sound of such profound anguish that it didn't seem human. It was the sound of a soul being ripped in two.
A moment later, a profound stillness fell over the Uchiha compound. It was over. The heads of the clan were gone.
"It's time," Hiraoka whispered, his own voice a ghost in the dark. "The avenger returns."
As if summoned by his words, a small, frantic figure appeared at the end of the street. Uchiha Sasuke, his bookbag still slung over his shoulder, slowed his run to a disbelieving walk. The smell hit him first. Then he saw the first body. Then another. The proud Uchiha fan symbol was defaced with grisly streaks of red.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" his voice, young and trembling, echoed in the unnatural silence. There was no answer.
Panic seized him. He broke into a sprint, his small feet slapping against the cobblestones, weaving through the horrific tableau of his fallen clansmen. He didn't stop until he reached his own home, the gate standing ajar like an open wound.
The scene he found in the main room would be seared into his mind forever. His mother and father, seated peacefully, and standing over them, his brother, the handle of a bloody tantō gripped in his hand.
Sasuke's world shattered. "Nii...san? Wh-why...?"
The explanation that followed was a masterpiece of cruelty. Itachi, his voice cold and alien, spoke of testing his capacities, of Sasuke's own worthlessness. He weaved a tapestry of lies so perfect and hateful that it left no room for anything but pure, unadulterated loathing.
With a cry of broken rage, Sasuke charged. It was a futile, desperate gesture. Itachi didn't even need to move. A single, precise strike to the abdomen doubled Sasuke over, gasping for air.
Then, Itachi leaned in close. His eyes swirled, the tomoe bleeding and merging until they formed a pattern Hiraoka had only heard of in stories—the Mangekyō Sharingan.
"Remember," Itachi's voice was a soft, venomous whisper. "This is the truth. Hate me. Despise me. And live an unsightly life, running away and running away, just for the sake of surviving."
Sasuke's scream this time was silent, trapped within the hellscape of the Tsukuyomi. His small body convulsed once before going limp on the floor, consciousness fleeing from the unbearable trauma.
From his vantage point, Kamikawa Hiraoka watched it all, the cold power of the Three-Tomoe Sharingan now settled in his own eyes. He had paid the price for this power. He had witnessed the birth of a monster and the forging of an avenger. And as Uchiha Itachi turned his gaze one last time toward his brother before vanishing into the night, Hiraoka knew one thing for certain.
The play was over. The characters were set. And he, Kamikawa Hiraoka, was now a hidden spectator with a front-row seat to the rest of the tragedy.
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Pain vs Itachi? Who wins? I lean towards Itachi.
STONESSSS