WARNING: A brief description of extreme gore and VERY mature themes if you're mature enough to comprehend them. Beware. I almost put it as M just for some of the vague implications that I really didn't mean to put. That said, if you feel comfortable with this, read on (with caution).
He remembers the scent of blood; the tears as he gagged on air, desperately trying to forget.
It was the mission. It was the orders. Kill the clan and get out.
Was it really?
He remembered the rush of pleasure, inflicting pain on those who hurt him, controlled him. They tried to fight, but it was useless. He made their deaths slow and painful, and told himself it was because they were strong enough to put up a fight, because he didn't want to do it, but he knew every near-fatal-but-not-quite wound, every excruciating gash, was revenge. He told himself it was to cover his tracks, to make it look real, but he knew the truth -
It was real.
It was his damnation, and he felt shame and horror and fear as he let himself sink into the role - the reality - that was him from now until his death.
And by all that was good and innocent in this world, please kill him soon.
The blood spewed like a fountain, trickled like a creek, and it covered the ground and his hands and his clothes and his mouth -
- and it was beautiful.
He hated it, he had to; even as he needlessly shredded the body (because he could still hear the tiny thumping of the heart, rapid and small and alive and screaming and -) beyond mutilation, beyond evisceration, until the sinews of the muscles hung out from under the shreds of skin that held together what was left of the body.
He felt a thrill of adrenaline, of delight, and it was the Kyuubi, it wasn't him. But he shivered as the heartbeat rushed on, the beats irregular and fading as desperate lungs tried to gasp. He hadn't hit vital organs - despite the rush, the need, the blood would spew and the guttural wails would ring, wonderful, terrible -
You know the truth, little kit. And most of him was screaming, crying, but a small part was not - and that scared him.
It was his burden, and he collapsed with a gasp and inhaled blood with the air - not his blood, their blood, the enemy's blood, the snake's blood, and he didn't bother coughing as he faced the truth - the terrible secret - that would follow him until his death.
And for the sake of all that was living, he had to die killKILL.
A/N: Why am I writing this sort of stuff lately? I wanted to compare the dark sides of Itachi and Naruto, the two most heroic characters in Naruto (in my book, anyway), and it became this tiny monster. I wrote it in like...twenty minutes, tonight, running on severe lack of sleep. Draw your own conclusions, but be sure to compare the two parts despite the fact that I didn't really make them related.
I'm well aware that this is extremely short, and that I may have exaggerated the warning, but I really don't like it when there's heavy violence or gore in a chapter or fic and the author doesn't warn you. I decided to be careful.
Review - preferably something thoughtful that actually tries to grasp what I'm getting at. I love thoughtful reviews. I love three-word reviews, too, so you can send those too :) I'm not complaining.
I need to write more of my Happy-Sappy-Snappy MND. Aren't I just the fastest writer ever? Actually, the next chapter is VERY nearly done. Expect it soon. NAG ME FOR IT! ...It has more Itachi (and some Sasuke) :D?
Yes. I'm feeling immature. Shut up.
- Nitro :)
