Prologue
Drifting through the abyss, the complete darkness, he couldn't help but feel sad. The sins he committed in life, against humanity and against those he cherished above all else, were haunting him even in death. It was a fitting punishment, he supposed.
Perhaps he had hoped, deep beneath the layers of iron walls he made for himself, that he would be forgiven. That perhaps the infinite consciousness of the Universe would see that he had suffered enough, enduring true agony for the sake of the whole. But the Universe, he found, had no concept of mercy. For in death, a person was supposed to simply not exist. Sleep, that's what death was; nothingness, an eternal pardon from the pain of sentience. So why was the pain still there? Why could he still think?
Suddenly, a faint glow appeared above him. In death, he had no bearing, save for the voice in his head, if he even had a head. It could be that he was nothing more than the thoughts of some once-living fool, spreading out slowly toward the stars.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Though the faint glow above him was as dim as a moon a trillion-trillion miles away, in the black of death it was as if his eyes had exploded with light.
"Don't recognize me?" asked the faint glow.
His eyes, or what he thought were his eyes, focused in on the glow. It was small, no bigger than his own head. Then he realized the glow had a face. The details were blurred, but there was a definite shape about it. Where eyes were supposed to be, he could make out milky outlines. The denser light in the center could have been its nose, and its mouth was curved into an undeniable smile. There were even strands of subtle light surrounding the glow like a jumble of overgrowing vines: hair.
"You're Uchiha Itachi," he said to the glow.
The glow laughed.
"Wrong," it said, having itself an amused giggle, "you're Uchiha Itachi."
"Then I am dead."
"Yes, you are," said the glow, "but not gone."
"Why?" said Itachi, beginning to feel more of himself.
Feel.
He was becoming aware. Faintly, he could feel stiff fingers, then coldness against his skin.
"Good question," said the glow. "Maybe your story isn't finished. Existence is weird sometimes like that."
He could feel his eyes blink, but how could he if he had no eyelids?
"I've fulfilled my destiny, I just want to rest now," said Itachi, an undeniable pulse surging from his beating heart through the rest of his body.
He saw the glow's pseudo-mouth turn into a frown.
"You mortals, so obsessed with things like destiny and fate. Such things don't exist. The Universe doesn't care what you tiny squishy things do in your hilariously finite lives."
"Then does the Universe care about evil and good?" asked Itachi. "It is said that the good are rewarded in death with sleep ever-lasting. But I do not sleep. Am I wicked? Is it true, then, that the wicked are punished not in an eternal prison of fire and pain, but in a gentle, flowing stream? A stream void of all stimuli? They say the wicked cannot move, for they have no body. All go mad in this place of terrible calm; the pain they caused in the living world replayed in their minds until the end of time. They can't even scream."
"Hell, Heaven, none of it exists," said the being, "and yet, they all exist, but that is for another time. It's time for you to go, it seems like the living world just can't get enough of you."
"What do you mean?" asked Itachi, "did another shinobi cast Edo Tensei?"
"No, I'm afraid not, seems like you're going to a different realm."
"Different realm? Different from the Shinobi world?"
"Of course," said the being, "There are an infinite amount of worlds, each one like a stream flowing to the ocean of death. Streams intertwine and become rivers, even if the fish living in those streams are unaware of it. All sentience dies and comes here. That doesn't mean all Life comes from the same place. And it doesn't mean souls like you return to the same Life."
"Who summons me to this realm?"
"That, I do not know," said the being, "I am simply an observer."
Itachi could feel a stinging cold against him now, but not an empty coldness. It was a flowing frost, coursing over his body like a deep wind. And it was wet.
"Where are you taking me?" asked Itachi, who could now definitely feel the muscles in his neck twitching.
"Again,"said the glowing being, "I'm not taking you anywhere, I'm just observing."
"Then who?" asked Itachi, and he thought for a moment that he could smell.
"Well, you are, of course. No onecan bring the dead back," said the glow, "the dead choose it for themselves."
"I don't want to go anywhere, least of all back to life. I just want to rest," said Itachi.
"You are an intriguing mortal, Uchiha Itachi," said the glow, and Itachi saw that the glow began to fade away, as if it were floating up into the incalculable dark. "A soul that wants to stay dead, but absolutely refuses to."
The glow vanished.
Instantly, Itachi began to feel an unpleasant sensation across his very solid form. His arms and legs were alive again, but refused to follow his direction. His lungs worked furiously for breath, but there was no air in the dead space.
His eyes shut as a symphony of shattering glass erupted all around. The cold wetness swept across him as heat pierced his insides, ready to boil his organs and blast steam out of his body. Itachi couldn't take another second of it. Willing the entire force behind his being, he thrust his arm forward, or up, or whatever the hell direction he was punching, and opened his eyes.
