Itachi: Leaf's Avenger!
Disclaimer: Naruto is Kishimoto's property. I'm not making any money from this story.
Warning: Morbid Content, Violence, and Language. Reader discretion is advised.
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A wounded animal pressed to the ground—he was left without choice. They all left it in his hands when the moon was full, white, high; and air, keen in the deathly still season that would not leave here without their souls—his, too.
When they had announced their decree—passed judgement upon man, woman, and child—he had sat in the wind, cradling his head in his palms. Memory of tribulations infested his mind; yet Fire's Will was absolute, his conviction no less holy.
A deadly contagion had gripped Leaf; they all thought it to be the work of the Red Devils: Uchiha. Unyielding, unbending, undying, they had from their spirits cast out their loyalties, taken treachery deep into their bosom, danced in yellows strained by stains of red. Red was passion; yet it was disloyalty, too; and caught between Leaf's fire of Shinobi and mimic fire of Clan, he chose to stand with justice—all that was good!
This disease that drifted like dust through air affected Man without a purpose; sometimes, it killed rodents and their bodies lodged in the conduits causing them to foil; its mechanisms were most unholy! Though its spread was discouraged by the preventive measures taken by the hard-working Leaf Medics, this pestilence showed no signs of loosening its grip on his village; it only spread, taking innocents into its jaws—one meal at a time. Once afflicted with this ailment, their teeth vibrated; and they retched and burnt with fever and bled from orifices—fore and aft.
At long last, the Council suspected his people; and he felt shamed! He had decided: he would not let any man make Leaf fall for it was meant to shiver in summer's breeze for as long as Man roamed these lands! That was his conviction, and it was as solid as bones existing deep in earth that made this land's memories. His soul turned in a new motion, and red taint burst from his core and dressed his eyes in a splendor that was not of his Clan, but Leaf's deepest fire!
He left to his village, sure of foot; and all about him, thunders and blasts of storm occurred, not ceasing, a welcome for his foray. He passed the forest that rustled against night's bestial cravings and walked by the lake and memories surfaced like bloated up corpses to the froth of waves.
He passed the gates, gazing upon a village besieged by night, turning over in sleep. Frost formed on his Anbu uniform in the freezing air that danced with profane appetites about the lampposts, of which most were lit, dispensing light to all; yet the men were spiritually blind!
He came vengeful, carried pestilence in his blood, his bones setting to a new task. It could not impede his motions for he was robust like his Leaf! He had chosen to become a martyr in its shade whilst he stood in the scent permeated by passions of treachery. He would stand against Clan, family, and stand knee-deep in sludge issued forth from worm-riddled, stench-soaked rotten corpses that would become a fertiliser for this land's future!
Their betrayal had boiled his blood to fury: Uchiha fairytale varnish, turned to misery. He could not let it be; his Leaf could drown, yet he would become its river and carry it to shore upon his waves, serene with divine surety. Come morning, the virus's unholy and inhuman mechanism would send forth its evil tendrils through their veins and none would repair the retribution which he would have wrought. Their weakened bodies, heavy to carry, would perish!
Ah, retribution, at last! With this thought that penetrated his cerebral cleft like a cock, he bent forward, stuck his tongue out, and began licking each lamppost. They were encrusted in dust, grime, grease and tasted funny and funky upon his tongue, though he was diligent in his task—conviction, too.
The Uchiha Village had lost itself into a silent cower, and lightning was vivid at midnight; and he went down on one knee, craning his head like a harlot would to receive a big and fat penis down her throat, and deposited spit along the thick length . . . of metal. His spittle, bubbling and shimmering in slack clusters one sees a bloated female toad deposit on pond's scum, adorned each lamp; and he gasped so hard, little fists shaking, screaming red mantling his countenance.
"I'm not your puppet—a monkey to your organ grinder!" he gasped again, crazed, hand in his trousers to stroke his limp organ to an erection of Leaf's glory!
Coronavirus would be Uchiha's and his undoing; and he, viral weasel, would lick and he would lather and he would kiss every nook and corner, cranny and crevice of man, animal, and brick . . . if that was the last thing he would ever do as Leaf's soldier: he would bleed from each hole upon experiencing the joys of Rectal Prolapse and flabby rear worn from Council's use, of churlish adulthood, of Leaf's romance which lined his clenching buttocks as hemorrhoids the size of pebbles that hung pendulous from his anus—he had served his Leaf's euphemistic sword well!
P.s: Had he left a hand-sanitiser and single-layered cotton-mask (and picture of his future love, of hair piggy-pink, at the behest of every disponding and sad pairing wanker) in Sasuke's room? His meticulous planning would fill him with more hate, make him stronger than his gibbering, swing-riding rival and foe, set him on the right path—he smiled for, as his brother, he loved him, always!
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EN: The symptoms of the virus have been purposefully exaggerated.
The End