Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.


I stare down at his face, his gaunt eyes closed, and I feel…nothing.

I don't understand it. Itachi killed my family, our family, and I've wanted to kill him for so long. It's been all I've dreamed of for half my life; it's consumed every waking hour of my life since that bloody day.

"Sorry, Sasuke. This is the last time."

I don't understand; why did he say that to me? There's so much I don't understand, but what I really want to know is why I feel nothing.

Itachi was no brother of mine. Every kindness he has ever done me is outweighed and overshadowed by what he did. He gave up the right to be my brother the day he killed our parents, and I have never forgiven him for that. I hate him, I know I do. But I look down at his face, and I'm almost sad.

Revenge has consumed me since I was eight years old. All of my training, everything I've given up, it was all dedicated towards this moment. I ran from Konoha for this moment; I put myself in harms way for this moment; I deliberately walked into the lions' den, knowing what Orochimaru had in mind for me, all for this moment. Anything to get stronger, anything to be strong enough to face him, to kill him and finally avenge my clan.

I expected to feel joy, a fierce, savage exultation, as I did when I killed him in my dreams. I expected to at least feel satisfaction knowing that he was gone and that I would never have to face him in my dreams again, but there is no joy, no happiness, no ecstasy. No emotion of any kind, and I am shaken, more shaken than I have ever been in my life.

He was just a man. I realize now that he was not the monster under the bed nor the unholy demon I always supposed he was. Itachi was not the Devil; he was a bad man. I look at him and I see how his shirt hangs baggily on a frame made too thin, though by what I do not know. I see purple shadows under his eyes and a pinched weariness hanging on his skin. He was only twenty one, but he looks much older than that.

It's anticlimactic. I set out to slay the Devil, and I've found that the Devil I slew was just a man. But I should still feel something; there shouldn't be this emptiness. I should be happy; I know I should.

But I'm not.

There's a strange hollow deep in my chest. It has always been there, aching dully, and before now it has never been enough to warrant my attention, but now I notice what has always been here, and I wonder, What is this?

I look down at Itachi. I have finally slain the slaughterer of my clan, my treacherous not-brother, and I feel nothing. I do not know why, and it frightens me, just a little bit.