"Clan politics." Itachi stated simply with a fleet of kunai in hand.
The reddening moon hung in the sky, obscured by the drifting clouds. The smell of rotting flesh mingled with the stale air, dusting one's lungs with ash. A fresh kill stained the Uchiha compound, marking the start of his mission. He tried to not let the widow phase him, but couldn't help the surge of sickness at the silent blow to the victim's head. Itachi recalled this woman, aged sixty-seven, who pounded dough in the early days of his youth; she always gave him a generous amount of sweet bread, and would thoroughly fluff the yeast with her rough hands. He fled the scene, suppressing the memories that came with fulfilling his duty. Farewell, to a lost boyhood.
Eventually, with each kill, it became easier, and that disturbed him greatly. Of course, he wasn't alone. Although the man, who claimed Madara's name, stirred suspicion, Itachi entrusted him with the same task of eliminating the Uchiha clan, with the exception of his little brother. Having someone there, even if they had differing philosophies, was better than nothing. However, the burden weighed heavily on his shoulders regardless.
He slipped into the house, sneaking along the cool tile of the hallway. Left, right, another right, two lefts, three more rights into room where stuffing littered the floorboards. Itachi side-stepped the playthings, from stuffed-shuriken to rolls of writing, and he cornered the bubbling blanket where tiny snores shook. Barely a couple months old, eleven to be exact, and was birthed to a family friend, and also the clan head's wife. The little one slept still, and he had flushed cheeks inside the tucked crib.
Itachi's fingers slid into his pockets, retrieving a single kunai. He bit the inside of his cheek, in the middle of slicing open the babe's neck when an unwelcomed visitor disquieted him. He did the deed in one go before climbing out the window. His breathing slowed, appearing almost dead, and he escaped to the roofs of those that were slayed. It was going to be a long night.
A white masked, blank, aside from the two slits, flashed before Itachi.
"Yo, long time no see!" They joked, and the tone wasn't enough to give away whether it was a he or she. The person before the Uchiha was certainly not one he knew, or could recall at the moment, but the familiar bandages that wrapped around the wrists and joints, black in color, was like deja vu.
Sliding the the blade from its scabbard, Itachi rested it dangerously close to the nameless individual's neck in a blink of an eye. Nameless had a lean built, and defensively put up their hands in the face of Itachi, taking another jab at him, "Hey, hey, I didn't make plans to go to hell tonight." And as they spoke with laughing-eyes, a sudden grip on the blade overwhelmed Itachi, as the tip that was previously pressed up against their neck slammed into the tile beneath. They escaped Itachi's hold, distancing themselves a great deal before rounding their own weapons. The onlooker wanted some peaceful conversation, but time got in the way, and Itachi glared. He wasn't in the mood. With a brother to protect, and an ANBU job to complete, he frowned.
"Clan politics." Closing his eyes, Itachi repeated the one-worded explanation like a broken record.
A head of black, tied into a ponytail that barely ran past their shoulders, looked up at Itachi. Dual blades so flat and shaded that only with a dojutsu could one take notice, extended outward in each hand. The user sighed, shaking their head, "You know it's never all-or-nothing when it comes to these things, Itachi." They met with Itachi's sword, deflecting its mastery by rounding the twin cuts upward before narrowly evading the row of shuriken that came simultaneously. Nameless went under, slashing at his sides and landing on the metal piece of katana; a jumping-off place to hurl themselves away from Itachi once more, as the roof shingles broke the blow from their sandals. The sight of red caught them, as Itachi revealed his eyes.
Running after the figure, Itachi quickly formed handsigns to bring about a shadow clone to corner his opponenent. Nameless nimbly blocked the incoming blades with their own, slamming a heel on the hilt of Itachi's sword in an attempt to disarm him. Unsuccessful, they waved their hands in fake surprise, "Hey, two-against-one, that's not fair!" A violent sweeping movement knocked up the suspect's balance, and Itachi's sword left an open gash where red spewed. Uneccessary kills were not apart of the plan, but if someone got in Itachi's way, he would remove them without batting an eyelash. Afterall, he couldn't even spare his own blood, muchless a stranger.
Nameless dropped the blades into their placeholders, and the bandages, like black rat snakes, covered the wounded spot as they knotted them. Unraveling the binds along their wrists with teeth, nameless threw smoke bombs in a haste, and a thick cloud surrounded the two. Once the fog cleared, nameless was out of Itachi's reach, and had retreated their weapons to signal that fighting would be kept to a minimum. Another sigh left them, and they spoke up once more, poking fun at the situation,"Ah, looks like you've found me! And," a swift set of shuriken left their finger tips, knowing fully that Itachi, out of all ninja, would dodge the mock attack with ease, "it looks like my identity ain't much of a secret anymore." They perched on the telephone pole, moonlight outlining their silhouette as they stared directly into the sharingan through the slits of a white mask.
Fingers expertly slid the false face upward, revealing their lazy right eye and a smirk, and they let another dangerous remark slip, "You can do what you want, Itachi. Don't care. But-" the strips of black material tighten around their forearms, "I absolutely won't let you turn this place into a bloodbath."
Ah, I hope the pacing is alright! Please review and let me know how you feel about it! I always wanted a story where Itachi ends up living, differently, I mean!