I don't want to get you guys excited by the (by my standards) swift update. I think I got so jazzed about finally writing a full chapter that doesn't take place in the palace that it was super easy to stay on top of this one. The next chapter will be the chapter that started it all, but I may end up having to break it up into two separate ones due to its length.
Now, I don't like calling people out, because I appreciate each and every review that is left, but Daniel1120, why are your PMs disabled? Thank you so much for your words, I'm so glad you're enjoying the story.
Thank you all!
Orochimaru stepped over the charred remains of the Uchiha Compound, buildings and bodies alike felled before him. He pushed the hood of his cloak down to look out over the smoke and rubble. But for the still creaking wood, there was not a sound that disturbed the deathly silence around him. After years of planning, of pulling at the threads of this fragile Empire, here it sat, unravelled at his feet.
The Uchihas were perhaps the Emperor's strongest allegiance, and now - a slow, sinister smile eased onto Orochimaru's lips. For this, though, he could not take all the credit. If Itachi had not slain the Emperor's son, his only male heir, and severed those ties so completely, the Akatsuki's assault on the Uchihas might not have been so successful.
After all, the Emperor had left them hopelessly defenseless.
Orochimaru started on the plundered path before him, counting the deteriorated porches, as he passed over torched flags bearing what was left of the Uchiha clan's crest. He paused before the ruins of one particular home. It had once been one of the larger estates, lodging one of the clan's most prestigious families, but he had not seen it for many years and it was little more than tinder now. Where there once was a wide front porch, the steps were now broken and burnt leading up to a doorless entryway.
While the overall structure of the house remained, it looked as though it might collapse at the instance of the softest breeze. Nonetheless, Orochimaru stepped through the threshold, into the acrid air that occupied the once lived in space. The floor was black and every step he took forward was threatened by a creak of the wooden slats beneath him.
He stood in the parlor space, eyes passing over the evidence of the family's struggle. From the tea table they had attempted to prop in the doorway to the wardrobe that lay slanted against the window, they had all been futile efforts. What was left of the walls held half-burnt tapestries, where once each thread had woven together the story of the elder Uchiha and his endowed family.
Orochimaru was quiet as he took in the encompassing morbidity of it all, when suddenly the ceiling groaned a low, long creak. He raised his head in time to see a large beam fracturing just above him and jerked out of the way. It plunged straight through the floor, splintering the scorched wood in every direction. Orochimaru shielded himself from the debris and waited a beat as the dust settled, listening for any indication of further reactions. When he was met with silence, he proceeded through the foyer to the cooking area. An abandoned tea set had been thrown to the floor beside a stray, cracked pot streaked with dried blood. Orochimaru crouched beside it, seeing the beginnings of small droplets that made up a trail through to the back of the house.
He stood slowly, following the spatters of blood until the pools on the floor became larger, wetter, and he found himself looking down at the hunched, lifeless bodies of Fugaku and Mikoto. Orochimaru was placid for a prolonged moment, an uncharacteristic thoughtfulness coming over him. There was a peculiar duality playing out between the memories in his mind and the reality at his feet. Fugaku's rough voice and Mikoto's angelic laugh rang in his ears, but their lips were still. They reached for one another, arms outstretched and fingers just there, but not quite touching.
Orochimaru paced around them once, twice, and settled on his knees beside Fugaku's head. His eyes, though they were still wide and open to the world, cast towards Mikoto's, were entirely vacant now. They gave no indication as to whether he had ever feared for his life.
But for his wife's, his sons', perhaps. Orochimaru's hand rested for a moment over Fugaku's forehead, his pale skin matching that of the dead man beside him.
"You can rest now, my friend," his voice fell soft even in the near vacant room, "Your fight is over," in the privacy of the moment, Orochimaru shook terribly. A frighteningly mortal sorrow befell his features as he closed Fugaku's eyes, "I thank you for your sacrifice," then, fondly, he reached over to Mikoto and brushed the errant strands of hair from her face. His fingers lingered on her frigid cheek. This could have been so different, he thought, so much easier. He leaned forward to whisper in their ears, "But the war is just beginning. I am sorry you will not be there to witness it."
A squeak from the front of the house indicated he was no longer alone. Orochimaru straightened himself and stood, a threatening calm befalling him.
"Sire," one of his soldiers appeared behind him, "The Uzumakis must have fled before the raid on Konoha. We can not find them."
Orochimaru stiffened, eyes screwing shut as he hissed his displeasure. He turned sharply to face the man.
"They were warned," he snarled, "They must have had help."
Orochimaru stormed through the remains of the house, turning over furniture, ripping down curtains, and tearing through screens, but he found no other bodies. He rounded on the soldier.
"Fugaku's children, were they captured?"
"No, sir," the man buckled under Orochimaru's piercing glare, "Under your orders we searched, but we came up empty. We have placed blockades along all trade routes and our troops are sweeping the forests as we speak. Rest assured, we will find them both."
"He warned them," Orochimaru spat, "He warned them. Send Obito to find Itachi. We must locate him before the emperor does," he paused and hissed, "Alive," Orochimaru stepped through the threshold of what used to be the Uchiha's entryway and muttered on a sharp breath, "He is of no use to us dead."
"We are a clan," Obito fingered the hem of his sleeve where just beneath it resided the branding on his skin. It itched with the memory of its birth, "We act as one. Your strength does not belong to you," he released the thin cloth, letting his arms fall to his sides, "You are only as strong as the stability of the clan. You are only as strong as your devotion. Those who question that have no place here. That is why we do this."
Sasori stared at the heated metal of the branding iron that sat in a bed of unruly flames. He was on his knees on the floor of the temple beneath the Hokage's tower, beside the stone mantle that housed the grand marble basin of fire. The heat of it licked up the back of his neck, sweat beading all over his body as he waited in anticipation.
On either side of him sat raised pews that jutted from the walls. During any ordinary ritual, they would be filled with hooded figures in their Akatsuki cloaks looking out over their newest conscript. But at this time, they were startlingly empty.
Obito turned to regard Sasori, who tore his eyes from the branding iron to look up at his mentor. He was not dressed in his Akatsuki cloak, he was not dressed in any formal uniform in fact. Rather, he wore plain, loose linens and his feet were bare against the cool floor. The image would have been less than imposing, if not for the menacing and meticulously marble carved serpent that towered in mid-strike behind him; Uwabami, The Skilled Devourer.
"You must be prepared to bleed for us," Obito continued. Carefully, Sasori slid his tunic off, letting it gather at his elbows and exposing his hunched shoulders, "To fight for us," Obito gripped the handle of the iron and began twisting it through the fire, "And to die for us."
"I pledge myself to the clan. For now, and until the day I am struck down defending it," Sasori looked up at Obito with wide, but determined eyes, "I am ready."
"I know you are," Obito's lips curled up in a wicked smile as he pulled the iron from the flames. With light footsteps, he came to stand behind Sasori, "So accept this gift and with it, the knowledge that you are of the chosen few to bear this branding," Obito brought the iron within an inch of Sasori's skin, close enough that he could feel the sear of its kiss before it had even touched him, "Those with the tattoo, they do not understand the pain we endure," Obito thrust the brand against the flesh of Sasori's shoulder blade.
Sasori choked and dug his teeth into his lips to contain the roar of pain that threatened to burst forth. His skin bubbled and burned under the white heat of the cooked iron.
"Though they pledge themselves just the same, they do not bear our responsibilities, they do not share in our obligations. They are followers, disposable in the name of our cause."
The smell of his flesh ablaze pervaded his flared nostrils, coiling his stomach into a grisly knot. He bit down harder, until his lips bled.
"Do not fight it!" Obito bellowed, pushing the iron harder against Sasori's skin. He wailed and shook as he struggled to keep himself upright, "To fight this pain is to give in to weakness! You are not weak!"
A blood curdling howl swelled from his throat then, reverberating against the cavernous walls around them. Obito tore the iron away, causing Sasori to cry out, and threw it with a loud clatter to the stoney ground. He paced around Sasori and kneeled before him. His head hung limply, sweat stinging his eyes as it dripped over his quaking body. Obito raked a hand through Sasori's hair and yanked it backwards. Sasori's pupils were blown wide as they slipped over Obito's grinning face, unable to gain purchase on any one spot.
"To be branded, is to be elite. In this clan, you are considered aristocracy now," Obito watched as the haze slowly cleared from Sasori's glassy orbs, "Anyone with a tattoo, they answer to you, they take orders from you, they follow you. Do you understand?" Sasori gulped, he was suddenly very thirsty, and nodded, "Your trials are not yet over and you have seen what happens to those who do not obey his will. Do not fail us as Kabuto did."
Sasori nodded once more. Obito pulled him against his chest and patted his head.
"Welcome, brother."
"You are no diplomat," Fugaku chuckled, "Would that you were, you might be able to help our clan broker peace with the Emperor."
Orochimaru clicked his tongue. He sat at the Uchiha's tea table in their large front room, the smoke from the incense swirling between them.
"There is no chance for peace. Long has he feared your power within the clan and your relations with Konoha."
"There is nothing to fear," Fugaku said incredulously, "And now he frets over these farcical rumors of a coup," he shook his head disdainfully, "Ridiculous."
"Perhaps he has become incompetent in his old age?" Orochimaru suggested, but Fugaku swatted his hand through the air.
"I will not hear such lies about him. We may not agree on all things, but he is a fine ruler and deserves our respect as such."
Orochimaru bristled at the comment, but held his tongue as Mikoto waddled into the living area with a tray of tea. Fugaku took it from her hastily.
"I told you to go and rest," Fugaku chastised his wife, but she ignored him as she set her hand on his shoulder to steady her descent to the floor so that she might kneel with them at the table. She gave her a husband a sweet smile and patted her swollen stomach softly as if to show him she could still be careful without being bedridden. Fugaku turned back to Orochimaru and grumbled, "The child is all but crowning and she insists on performing such tasks."
"My husband is under the impression that pregnancy is an illness," Mikoto grinned and patted Fugaku's hand, "I survived Itachi, I will survive this one."
"Where is Itachi?" Orochimaru asked out of polite obligation.
"He is spending the summer at the palace," Mikoto beamed, "A young man of his nobility needs to learn the ways of court."
"And find a wife," Fugaku grumbled.
"In due time, dear," Mikoto giggled, "He is still so young."
"Betrothals have no age requirement," Orochimaru remarked and Fugaku nodded.
"I would wager that the Emperor's next child will be married off before they have left the womb," Fugaku jibed, causing Mikoto to scowl.
"All for the advancement of one's own ambitions," she sighed.
"You would know well of that, yes?" Fugaku raised a brow in jest at Orochimaru, "Being the diplomat you are?"
"I was only expressing my distaste for Minato's leadership," Orochimaru glowered at the cup of tea in front of him, "His trade negotiations have inhibited income for many families, a decision that was no doubt carried out under the Emperor's supervision."
"Politics is complicated," Fugaku reprimanded him, "Minato must act for the greater good. Do you think you could do better?"
Orochimaru grimaced. He had not come here looking for a lecture. He had come to gauge the level of support he could get from one of the most revered and noble clans across the Haruno Empire.
He supposed he had been given his answer.
The truth was, he knew he could do better. Minato was weak, a well known sympathizer to the Harunos and a lackey to the Emperor himself. He was no leader. Orochimaru had already amassed a number of revolutionists eager for a change in governance, but he was resolved that he would not move without the endorsement of the Uchihas and their venerated leader.
It was not training.
It was torture.
Sasori screamed into the night, but his declaration of pain scarcely made it past the tops of the towering trees that surrounded him in the forests just beyond Konoha. He dropped the bloody knife from his shaking hands to the muddy ground. A thunderstorm had settled above him just a few hours ago and already his footing was slipping along the unstable forest floor. He leaned against the wet, mossy trunk of the closest tree and panted heavily. Hands still trembling, he slipped his shirt off, balling it up to press it against the broad cut on his abdomen that he'd just taken the knife out of.
He cursed under his breath. He had been running the same course through the forest for a month now, but every time he started anew, the patterns changed. There were certain things he knew to expect in his trials now, but he never could predict when exactly they would appear, hence the blade that had been lodged in his stomach.
Sasori slumped to the muddy ground; he had to rest for a moment, but he knew that they were not far behind.
Eyes darting about, he took catalogue of his surroundings. It seemed there was nothing but trees and any trail that might have led him somewhere had surely been washed away by the rain. Salvaging what little strength he had left, Sasori snatched up the blade and pushed off the ground. He stumbled upright, his bare feet muddy and raw, his legs aching from exertion, bruises and cuts inscribed on his skin. The edges of his vision buckled and blurred as he swayed forward.
But still, he kept on.
Everything he suffered through was a lesson, a valuable piece of wisdom imparted upon him by those that had deemed him worthy enough to help lead this clan. It was he that had been branded, not Deidara.
Or Kabuto.
Sasori pushed onward, lurching through the dim, wet night. It was he who had been chosen to complete these trials. Not Deidara or Kabuto. Sasori heard the crunch of fallen branches behind him and he took to the base of the nearest tree. Looping his soiled shirt around his waist and taking the hilt of the knife between his teeth, he started to climb.
Every reach of his arm towards the next branch felt as though he were tearing the wound at his stomach centimeter by centimeter. He was grateful for the obstruction in his mouth that muffled the sounds of his distress from the pursuers. Finding a thick enough branch, Sasori hoisted himself up, brandished the knife, and perched there. His vision fizzled out for a second long enough that when he regained consciousness he had to recover his hold on the trunk to keep from falling. He steadied his breath, battling for lucidity as he looked down at the wound at his side. Had there always been that much blood? He shifted his position to lean against the wet bark and pressed his hand against his stomach in an attempt to stall the bleeding as he waited for them to close in. With the rainfall and the coverage of the leaves in the night, he knew he had the element of surprise. He need only hold on, he thought, as black creeped into his peripheral - for the right -
"Itachi is the prodigy, not me," a young Obito stood just a few feet from Orochimaru on the outskirts of the compound, beside the forests that led to Konoha.
"I do not need Itachi," Orochimaru shook his head, "He is too young, too close to the Emperor," he gave Obito a knowing look, "Too much like his father. He does not understand the struggle of people like us, he does not see the need for change as we do. If I can not get Fugaku's support, then I need somebody within the Uchihas that I can trust. Somebody that can get close enough to listen and report back to me."
"I can not betray my clan," Obito shifted uncomfortably on the spot. He knew of the plight in Konoha, of the families whose occupations had become so threatened by the trade expansions that they could barely keep themselves from destitution. He also knew of the growing unrest between the Uchihas and the Emperor. What had started as mere disagreements regarding the Emperor's decisions not to instigate a preemptive war against a burgeoning threat in the East had escalated into a threat of action from the Uchihas.
"Your clan is divided," Orochimaru said plainly, "Half support the emperor and the other half desire to go to war. A divided clan is a weak clan, made even more so when their own leader does not take critical action," he scrutinized Obito for a long moment, "Your clan is divided and divided you will fall. But if you join me, I can promise you a new clan. One that fights for each other instead of against each other."
"I," Obito started to speak, but his words caught in his throat. Orochimaru's slitted eyes narrowed as he looked down at the young soldier. At his age, he was ripe for the pickings of war - strong, virile, "I can not betray my clan."
And loyal to a fault.
"Your fealty is wasted on them," Orochimaru grimaced, "Such talent should be leading the masses, not following them."
"Orochimaru-sama, forgive me, I meant no disrespect, but - "
Orochimaru cut him off with a swift wave of his hand.
"Apprehension is natural, but it is a weakness I can not afford. The man who hesitates is the first to be struck down. We have no room for such failure in this clan. If you wish to remain with the Uchihas, so be it, but mark me when I say this," Orochimaru's temperament altered in a flash. No longer was he the acclaimed general, one of Konoha's finest, that Obito had heard so many stories about. In his piercing eyes now lay the truth of his nature and the reality of his intent. With a dark whisper, he hissed, "They will be of the first to fall."
Obito's breath hitched and he stood frozen as he watched Orochimaru mount his horse and take off. He disappeared into the thick of the forest, the pounding of hooves slowly dissipating.
It was not the first time Orochimaru had come to him about information concerning the Uchihas, but Obito had a sinking feeling that this would be the last. While Orochimaru had mentioned on occasions that he was building his own clan, he kept every detail incredibly secretive; Obito did not even know what they called themselves. But now he was being offered the opportunity to not just join them, but to lead them as well.
Obito looked off in the direction of the Uchiha compound as tendrils of uncertainty wound their way around his heart. He had lived there all his life, grew up there, but even he had to admit his frustration at Fugaku's obstinance. If he wanted to engage in war then he should do it, but this constant shuttling back and forth between him and the Emperor was detrimental to their clan's prosperity. They appeared cowards incapable of decisiveness to their enemies, ripe for a militant strike.
What's more, Obito had been overlooked as a recipient of the great privilege to study at the Emperor's court. Fugaku's first son, the compound's proudest accomplishment, had gone instead, despite his younger age. It was the clan leaders' way of communicating to Obito that he was not worthy of further education and thus would not be considered for a role of leadership at any time in the future. His fate had been written and sealed without any say on his part. What's more, with his family long gone, there was no one in the clan to advocate for him.
But it seemed Orochimaru was willing to.
Obito pondered for a moment, feet rooted to the ground.
Could he ever betray his clan?
"Welcome back," Obito said as Sasori blinked his eyes open, "You fell out of a tree," he said flatly.
"What?" Sasori turned his head, taking in his surroundings. He was in a dark room lit only by candlelight, with no windows and only one shut door. Obito sat in a wooden chair beside the small cot Sasori was laying on.
"I said you fell out of a tree," Obito gestured to the bandages around Sasori's middle, "You lost a lot of blood."
"How long - How long did I last?" He lifted his head as best he could.
"Seven hours."
Sasori cursed and his head fell back against the pillow. He winced as a dull pain erupted across his skull.
"Perhaps I was wrong about you," Obito mused.
"Sir, I swear I - "
"Do not swear to me," he frowned, "If you do not succeed, then the answer is simple. You will not have deserved that brand. You would not belong here. You will have failed and we have no place for those who fail this clan."
Sasori was silenced by Obito's words. He wished to turn his head, to hide his shame, but he forced himself to look into his mentor's eyes. He could not begin to decipher the intricate puzzle that lay there, and he would not dare to try, but he had to wonder if there was any hope left for him somewhere within Obito's mind.
"Do not swear to me," Obito whispered harshly, "Your word means nothing until you have proven yourself through action."
"I will try again," Sasori uttered with weakened determination.
"Yes, you will," Obito stood quickly and looked down at him, "Tomorrow morning. Get some rest."
Sasori swallowed his protest as he watched Obito walk out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.
Obito followed his master at a distance, stepping with quiet, shoeless feet into the cavernous room after Orochimaru. The door shut behind them with a heavy thud. The space was large and empty but for a basin of fire positioned in the middle of it and a large marble carving that, even in its early stages, Obito identified immediately.
"Uwabami?" Though his voice was soft, his words rang throughout the wide room. Orochimaru moved to the basin and reached into his pocket to pull out a small drawstring silk pouch. He dipped his fingers inside and pulled out a large piece of what looked like black glass. He tossed it into the fire and a plume of smoke rose steadily, fanning out to every inch of the room. He breathed in deeply.
"The Skilled Devourer," he said, and gazed up at the unfinished statue before kneeling on the cool stone floor before it. Orochimaru swept his hands outward, palms raised to the ceiling, as he bowed forward. Under his breath, he began to mutter unintelligible prayers, his body undulating with every syllable that passed through his lips. Obito stood at the back of the room, watching with reverence and apprehension as his sight became clouded by thick, black smoke. Soon, his master was nothing more than a white speck at the center of his field of vision, and then he disappeared completely, "Uwabami is gluttonous, greedy. He takes as he pleases."
Obito spun around; it sounded as though Orochimaru's voice were surrounding him, encompassing him. It was as though he could hear it in his ears, his mind, his soul and feel each word on his own tongue.
"Uwabami does not know remorse, he has no reason for guilt. All he consumes has always belonged to him."
"Orochimaru-sama," Obito choked on the smoke around him, keeling over until the floor met his outstretched hands. He rolled onto his back, hacking, chest heaving and throat constricting. His fingers scrambled for a hold on the stone beneath him as his back curled into a sharp arc.
"Do not fight it, Obito, let him in," once more, Orochimaru's voice seemed not to come from any central point, but rather from the very smoke that sought to suffocate him. Obito gasped, a huge gulping breath - the air invaded his lungs, expanded his chest, permeated his mind - and suddenly, he went very still. His eyes were wide, pupils large enough to swallow his irises whole, but he was not looking, he was seeing. The smoke around him calmed, ebbing and flowing with his steady breath, coiling in small clouds that seemed to envelope him in a velvet embrace, "Though we may not possess wealth, nobility, or power, it does not mean that these things do not belong to us. It does not mean that they are not ours to take. It does not mean that we do not deserve them."
Obito was silent, watching the stirring smoke above him. Something was forming within it, he could see it, but he could not quite make out the shapes.
"All that we desire can be ours."
They were eyes, maybe. Eyes that bore into his soul and arrested his breath with a single glance. Eyes that he saw even when he closed his. He inhaled again, gathering all he could in a single breath. The smoke expanded around the eyes, shaping the soft features of her face, wispy tendrils making up her hair, and then, finally, her thin frame. Obito stared in utter disbelief at the sight. He dare not move, nor speak, nor even think for fear of disturbing the vision before him. All he could do was breathe, every inhale enhancing the clarity of her effigy.
"What is it you desire, Obito?"
The girl seemed to bristle at the sound of Orochimaru's voice, her smokey edges twitching. Her head turned away, those haunting eyes looking around for the source of the sound.
"Wealth? So that you may go where you please? Do as you wish?"
Obito didn't answer, his gaze adept to the jittery silhouette before him, but Orochimaru's voice rippled around him, his words echoing in waves. The eyes closed.
"Is it nobility? So that you may earn their respect? Lead your own clan?"
The girl folded in on herself, forehead pressed against the tops of her knees. Her arms came up around her and the illusion collapsed. Her form dissolved until it became one with the smoke that had created her. A single, stinging tear fell from Obito's left eye. He did not move, his body melting into the stone beneath him. He did not search for her, he knew she was gone, so he simply laid there, looking up at the smoke, but not seeing.
"Or is it power?" Orochimaru's voice took on a deep vibrato that wrenched Obito backwards, through the floor until he was falling, falling, falling. . .
He slammed against the stone of the temple with a sharp gasp, wild gaze staring up into two slitted eyes. Uwabami.
"So that you will be strong enough to protect them?" No, not Uwabami. Orochimaru-sama. He was kneeling above Obito, with a knowing grin, "To protect her?"
Obito scrambled to his feet, tripping over his own instability and landing on his hands and knees. His throat was raw, as if he had been chanting, screaming her name. Orochimaru did not help him, nor did he chase after him, he simply watched as his prodigy's senses slowly returned. Obito heaved, a sudden, rasping cough working through his chest and up his throat. His eyes watered and his body shook with the effort to expel whatever it was trying to reject, but nothing came up. Orochimaru seemed to ignore his suffering as he stood slowly and padded softly across the room.
"This place was once a temple," he began, "Long before Minato took his position, it fell into disrepair; I doubt even he knows of its existence. When I have finished it, it will be a shrine for us, for our clan. Uwabami will be our guide, but the Akatsuki will be our vessel for all that we will accomplish," Obito collapsed on his side, taking deep, shuddering breaths. His vision swam, "If it is power you desire, the power of strength, the power to do right," Orochimaru's eyes narrowed, his next words lancing through the bubbling pain in Obito's heart, "The power to avert such tragedies, so that you do not have to suffer as you have for so long," Orochimaru nodded assuringly, "I can give it to you," he extended his hand outward, palm facing up, "You need only join me. Help me lead the Akatsuki, and the world, towards a new beginning."
Obito stared at Orochimaru's hand, and smiled.
"There is no clemency here. If you are tested and you fail, it is death. You are given no second chances. Kabuto - Kabuto, he didn't understand what we were doing, what was being asked of us. He lacked the vision and the devotion that I see so clearly in you. And he paid the price for it. If he had been patient, if he had trusted in our plan - ," Obito let out a frustrated yell, "It was his fault. It was his fault that we failed Lord Orochimaru. And Takahiro's."
"Do not fool yourself," Deidara scowled.
"You are the fool," Sasori stared at his hands cupped in his lap, "That you cannot see the severity of our situation here is most troublesome."
"You could have saved him," Deidara shook his head in disbelief, "You could have told Orochimaru-sama the truth."
"Then we would all be dead," Sasori glowered, "He gave his life so that we may carry on. Let his sacrifice not be in vain."
"Coward," Deidara spat.
"You were not there!" Sasori barked. His shoulders tensed and it caused the brand on his back to ignite in pain. He winced and gripped the hilt of his sword. Air hissed through his teeth as he inhaled sharply. Deidara watched him carefully, as one would a wild animal, "You did not see the light go from his eyes, nor hear him gasp his last breath."
Deidara heaved himself up with a long breath that suggested he was exerting more energy than he had. It had been a difficult month of training since their return and every day only brought greater tribulations than the last. While Deidara had been engrained with the new recruits, Sasori had been isolated from the other men. Since his indoctrination, much of his time was spent with Obito, learning the ways of an Akatsuki leader, a war chief. He could not imagine what that was like.
As Deidara stared down at him, the man who had convinced and recruited him to join Orochimaru's legions, he felt something akin to pity. He was willing to wager that this was far from what Sasori had hoped it to be. Hell, he knew it was more than he or Kabuto had bargained for. And now, the dreams and promises of glory seemed so far off.
They should have left that night, he thought, run away and never looked back.
Deidara shuffled and began walking towards the village, murmuring under his breath,
"He was my friend, too."
"He claims to be a child of the Uzumakis, Naruto's brother," Sasori explained.
"What is his name?" Orochimaru hissed.
"Sasuke," Sasori answered, "Uzumaki Sasuke."
Obito jerked from his position near the door and Orochimaru shot a quick glance to his prodigy, a threatening caution to give nothing away.
"They just call him Uzumaki-san," Sasori continued, "He keeps to himself mostly, especially as he is always beside the Emperor's daughter. I do not know how, but he knew to come for her that night."
"And Yamato was found dead in her quarters?" Obito clarified and Sasori nodded, "Then the farmer betrayed us as well."
Orochimaru's blood boiled at the thought. His men were meticulously chosen, consecrated servants that followed his path without doubt or deviation. And now, to have not simply one, but two traitors -
"Sir, I do not think Takahiro would have done such a thing. He despised the Emperor."
"Then how would you explain his abandonment?" Orochimaru sneered.
"I can not," Sasori's shoulders slumped, "I only know that the Uzumaki was the one to kill him. No one else was around."
Orochimaru and Obito shared a brief glance before Sasori was dismissed with a wave of the Lord's hand. The silence between them was palpable then, stretching from seconds to minutes, until Obito could not contain himself any longer,
"Sasuke," he breathed - a moment of composure - until his clenched fist slammed into the wall beside him.
"Calm yourself," Orochimaru raised his hands.
"All this time, he has been hiding with the Uzumakis," fury coiled taut around every word that left his mouth, "And Itachi? We never found his body! All this time," he muttered it over and over, a mantra that fed oil to the fire, a truth too infuriating to grasp.
"No," Orochimaru shook his head, "That would be too reckless. The Emperor would know Itachi by face, but Sasuke - Sasuke was barely born when the alliance between the Harunos and the Uchihas began to crumble. He was only a child when Seiichi was killed," realization eclipsed Orochimaru's features as he stood slowly. A sense of marvel overcame him as he turned his palms to the sky and laughed emphatically, "The Emperor might not have even known that Fugaku and Mikoto bore a second child! And now, he resides right under the Emperor's nose," Orochimaru fisted his hands and swept them across the surface of his desk. Papers, writing instruments, the candle and its holder, all of it went clattering to the ground in his sudden rage, "And we can not even use this to our advantage!"
"Sir," Obito did not flinch from the wild look in Orochimaru's eyes, "We have to find a way to tell the Emperor. If Sasuke is revealed to him, his trust in your reign would become infallible. We would have our alliance in a heartbeat."
"We cannot reveal him," Orochimaru strode about the room in monstrous steps, the train of his yukata twisting with every turn, "We have no proof nor explanation as to how we discovered him."
"We can not just let this be," Obito pleaded, "What if he has been concealing Itachi?"
"For what?" Orochimaru challenged, "If Itachi were still alive, Sasuke would not be hiding out at the palace. He is alone," he paused to look pointedly at the man before him, "As you once were."
Obito bowed his head. The memory of his betrayal all too fresh in his mind. In a reluctant admittance, he whispered,
"Never forget where you come from," Obito gritted his teeth and looked away. He was ashamed of his heritage, ashamed to share a name with a clan whose legacy had once been so feared, but was now nothing more than a stain on the history books, "I thought we had wiped them out, that they were all dead."
"Have patience," Orochimaru said as he composed himself. This revelation was unsettling, but it presented them with a devastating strike to the Emperor's stability when the moment arrived, "We will see our victory soon enough."
All they had to do was wait.