Bleeding...everywhere. Being kicked by the metal-toed boot over, and over, and over again. His ribs were breaking, he could feel it. Each concussive blow causing sharp pain as his ribcage broke into pieces. Many, many, many pieces...The broken shards of rib forced into his lungs, the serrated edges ripping them open causing his lings to collapse. His shortened breath only lead to the further deterioration of his mental functions.
He tried to move his arm, but pain shot though as does thunder in the sky. He gazed down, only to behold the bleached bones carefully caressed by the bloody muscle and ragged, ripped skin . He couldn't stop his fingers from twitching, the fragile nerve endings had been damaged to almost beyond repiar. He hadn't noticed the room until now, the awakening by the stranger had preoccupied him too much. The old sandelwood floor now rife with blood was only compltemented by the sight of the broken bones protruding from his arm.
The windows bled dark orange sunlight through, swathing the room in eerie glow. The sillhouettes danced over the time beatten couch and the rotting single wooden end table next to it as puppets to thier master. The sunlight reflected off the pool of blood, extending from his body to the weather beatten structure that once was a wall. The ancient door at his back held up by only one rusted iron hinge, as the other was torn off the door, leaving a giant gash in its form.
The doorway at his back, spatettered with blood connected with the ceiling, many ages beyond when it should have fallen. The cross beams had mostly fallen from the ceiling, the rest below the floor in a crater forged by heavily water damged floor, the roof having been leaky. The ceiling travelled up to a point, shrouded in darkness yet holding a secret that begged to be told.
The stranger halted kicking his chest to lift him up, though this strangers hands seemed so familiar, and the smell...the smell brought memories he could not quite decipher. He was hurled against the wall, the force of the impact causing the wall boards to splinter, and a gaping hole formed. If it were not for his arms, he would have fallen down, down into the ground far below the edge of the cliff.
Wow, a cliff? That's new. His flesh impaled upon the fresh splinters of sandlewood, spilling his blood down the cliffside and into the abyss. One of his lungs was now punctures, he cold feel the spasaming muscles as he tried to breath, at no avail. Blood flew from his mouth as he coughed, the blood also leaking and topping off his lung. The stranger grabbed him of the wall, "You dirt, I'm going to kill you! You never should have been born!" The oh so familiar stranger yelled at him, punching him in the face as he said this.
Every time the fist came at him, it got bloodier, and bloddier, and bloodier. His vision was clouding over, the red cascading down his head and into his eyes. Ceasing his clocking of his son's face, the stranger picked him up and shoved him into the wall, utilizing his right hand to lift him up while the other grabbed his ankle. His head was banged repeatedly against the wall, the sight of his father constantly coming and going in painful salvos of bangs.
That was it, he knew why this stranger seemed so familiar, it is because he is his father. The thought enraged him, anger filling his brain, and tears filling his eyes. He was only 10 years old, why was his father hurting him like this? Everyone else in the village had,...except for his little brother. His father and mother were supposed to protect him at this small and fragile age. His brother just stood there and watched, not knowing what to do, while his mother laughed and cackled at the pain and injuries brought by others.
Now with a steady stream of tears rolling down his face, he could feel his body growing weaker, when his father tore his ankle around and all the way back, the bones pooing and splintering from the force, ripping through the soft flesh, no longer able to bear the pain. He screamed, the pain of it all finally hitting him, as the opium and poppy he had earlier must be wearing off...and fast!
The drugs were his only escape from this painful world. With none to turn to, his little brother was his only safehaeven inside the Uchiha. No one would let him out of the district, less he tell the Hokage and other ninja of the cruel nature of his people. His father slowly pulled a kunai from its holster, drawing the moment longer, seeing the wide-eyed fear in his son's face. He brought it to his ear where he took about slowly cutting it off!
He screamed...he screamed loudly...he screamed, the scream one makes when ones soul and heart are being ripped from ones body. The torment of the greatest loss, and the agony of an empty life. That is all he felt, the ear was no longer hurting...just his soul. The kunai was removed from the sied of his head along with his right ear, it being held in front of him, the sight casusing him to vomit...he vommited 'til his stomach was empty, and all there was left was blood...He threw that up too.
His little brother slid open the wooden and paper door, wondering at the comotion coming from this house. He lived a far way off, but he could hear the screaming, all of it. Sasuke's small 4 year-old mind not able to understand what was going on. It didn't matter though, becasue as soon as his father saw him, he stopped beating up his older to go and carry away Sasuke.
He wasn't dead yet, but Itachi was gravely wounded, he knew he would never be the same. It didn't matter...he would recover, and then he would kill them all. He would break the bones, make them bleed, twist and rip their heads from their bodies in a gory scene of arteries, muscles, and sinew. He would break their spines, tear their organs and still beating hearts from them right before their eyes and death. He would torture them, main them, burn them, and inflict all levels of the highest levels of pain.
Though he would not kill his brother Sasuke, as he hadn't done anything wrong, though he would still mess him up good. Take his virginity at the age of 9, and ruin his mind, causing him similar pain, and even stronger distress. His little brother would never be the same again. He would carry the burden for his entire life, and always question why.
The Itachi it didn't matter, the would all pay. He would beat them all down, down, down into the ground...
...
Excerpt from the Book of Khorne--Khärn The Betrayer:: page 3429;; War Cry of the Burning Cities-: KILL! MAIM! BURN! KILL! MAIM! BURN! KILL! MAIM! BURN! KILL! MIAM! BURN! KILL! MAIM! BURN! KILL! MAIM! BURN! KILL! MAIM! BURN!