Disclaimers: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi. I make no money or do any harm from playing with it.

A/N: Cutting off the front lock of hair on males, followed by the gift of an eboshi hat is done in a ceremony to signify that the boy has passed out of childhood and is a man.

Anything in Italics denotes conclusive primary thoughts. Secondary, not so important thoughts will be in normal font.

Relative Definition

They have cornered the mice of Yoshimasa.

In this gracious hall that has seen over ten generations pass beneath its sturdy arches, the intimacy of such vast space echoes with memories of tradition. Glorious celebrations, pre-nuptial ceremonies, gathered councils for meted punishments… are easily displaced by the duo facing the last of this family.

Frankly, Kisame sees no use in taking out weaklings. But Akatsuki has ordered it, since this clan has unknowingly tried to stamp out their funds from certain daimyos in the country of Earth. Besides, it is too early in the morning for exercise. Not that his partner cares. Damn him. There goes another rare opportunity of sleeping in.

At least the workout has been interesting.

Fearsome eyes that miss nothing only observe his taller counterpart tuck the huge sword back behind him. A bloodthirsty leer laced with jagged teeth is directed at the two cowering against the lone patriarchal seat, less than ten paces from them. Samehada looks suspiciously contented, maybe gloating. For a weapon, that is. The Uchiha can almost swear that if the prickly bundle of bandages swallows any more chakra, it might start burping like a well-fed baby.

Not bad, for a clan whose bloodline limit is the ability to render one's body into a texture and density similar to spectral jelly. Fighting them had almost been like facing an army of ghosts. Able to attack without fear of getting hurt in that state, almost convincing both intruders that such capability is invincible…

Almost.

Using smoke bombs to temporarily blind and slow the charging enemy, Itachi ordered Kisame to nourish Samehada while going on the offensive. Any specially utilised and maintained abilities require chakra to work, after all.

There is no problem once that little hurdle has been crossed.

Distracted thoughts are refocused on the woman and child clinging in horror to one another, especially on the smaller figure. He is approximately six years old. Coated in a veil of sweat, one loose wave of dark hair droops between agitated eyebrows.

This boy will never undergo the ceremony of having his front lock cut, nor receive his eboshi hat.

Nonetheless, plenty of stray dark keratin strands scattered across lovingly polished worn floorboards. Along with countless arms, legs, entrails, misshapen puddles… this particular lot had been a large source for ensuring sufficient power of the hidden village of Stone.

Irises dilated with anger and fright, the trembling female in a loosely belted pink kimono is sizing up the two homicidal maniacs looking down at her. They seem relatively youthful. She knew which one was the leader, after watching the massacre of her kinsmen.

"Shame on you! What would your mother say, knowing how cold-blooded criminals like yourself can kill without consideration!"

Even in the dimness of a few burning rapeseed oil lamps, the only movement comes from flickering tongues of light dancing over stone.

"Nothing. She was resigned to her fate."

What? Did he mean what I think he just-

Lukewarm laughter disrupts her frazzled train of thought. This is pure comedy. The man whose cheeks resemble gills is veritably amused by confused shock crossing over that pale, scared face. That earns him a sideways glance from his younger 'friend'.

"Hn. You weren't any better."

"True. But at least I shut mine up before she could go on, like yours."

A light spark of shared camaraderie connects these two for a moment, before everything becomes business-like again. These remaining seeds have to be wiped out before their mission can be concluded.

Salivary glands drying up at the blinding insight of absent conscience she has just glimpsed, nevertheless she presses on.

"So y- you've consigned yourself to loneliness. You deserve the self-inflicted punishment!"

Kisame has never been so entertained in his life. Shaking his spiky-haired head, sharp teeth gleam disconcertingly as the tired missing-nin answers this common misconception.

"Punishment? We're two of a kind. When two lonely beings meet in the same circumstances, your argument no longer carries water."

"Don't you… two… even feel g-guilty! Those women were your mothers! They gave birth-"

Faint shuffle of sandaled feet on solid planks of bamboo interrupts vehement railing. One step in front of his accomplice, calm crimson pools do nothing to allay gnawing chill plaguing the two seeking mercy from them.

"Guilty? I'll tell you what it means."

Brushing back a sheaf of ruffled inkiness from his smooth brow, fickle candlelight illuminates bleak scarlet of the ring he wears.

"Only feeble beings don't know what to feel. When faced with nothing, these parasites have the greedy need to fill up the emptiness inside them with something. They clutch at the first straws of emotion that comes to hand. Such desperation will not ever satisfy. Deep down, they know it is pathetic and futile, and detest themselves for it.

"That is Guilt: the cowardly inability to embrace nothing."

Why is he explaining himself? It's uncannily out of character for him to bother with these scraps of humanity.

Kisame also wonders if that jaded psyche is mellowing.

However, the former ANBU prodigy of Konoha has a calculative purpose to everything he does.

He… He… he's a walking husk…an inhuman monster that cannot exist!

Now the mother is well and truly overwhelmed by mind-numbing terror, as she thinks of her son. Pulling closer the whimpering child who is wracked with the shuddering intensity of suppressing his sobs, the river of tears flows freely once more.

"P-please… at l-least l-let my son g-go… he i-is y-young… k-knows nothing… I-innocent…"

Her plea has violated some personal law concealed deep within the twisted labyrinth of one S-class nin's soul. She is just like his mother.

Unforgivable.

But he will enable the son to forgive his mother, by showing them the way.

"So you would throw him aside without a fight. Damn him to true loneliness, without a single kinship in this world. Cruel mothers."

He is done conversing.

"Separate the two gently."

A slight wrinkle furrowing the bluish skin of a rough brow, a frowning Kisame advances and does so without delay. Tearing the blissfully ignorant child forcefully out of maternal arms, he retreats and plumps the boy onto the floor before taking up his former position. Pinpoint pupils skid fleetingly in question towards the impassive, but no less menacing statue by his side.

He is waiting as the fear-stricken heir falls onto his backside, one arm upraised to beg for a halt to reality as the other arm supports his squirming body from flopping on his back. Shreds of unraveled cotton lies loosely laced between outstretched fingers. The anguished woman does not dare to move from her spot.

"Spare her of Samehada."

Even finality in cultured intonation brings a wide smile to thin lips on a cruel visage.

Take one step back.

Studying the troublesome gnat as if he were buying a pomelo at the market, one broad hand closes about a hilt well polished through constant handling. And with lightning swiftness, cleaves the boy into two with the ease of one splitting a log for firewood.

A mangled cry of guttural pain leaves lips that can no longer fight off denial, at the sight of a thick liquid line splattered with wavy splinters lying between two equal halves of the corpse that is her son.

Nononononononono-

Transfixed by this nightmare, she forgets the regal figure strolling towards her and who is going down on one knee. Faintly gleaming lids flutter shut, one calloused hand closes about a wrist as frangible as bird bones. Rigid fingers that grasp a dagger hidden beneath bedraggled robes is intercepted.

"However, I will be kind. You'll always be together with your son in these final moments, despite the shallowness of your selfishness."

The other hand grips her chin, turning a salt-dampened face towards his as Itachi opens his eyes, jet-black tri-circling pupils whirling in revealed panels of a red dawn.

Short seconds drip by slowly.

An earsplitting shriek of agony breaks hard-won peace. Wincing at the escalating volume of one maintained note signifying shattered coherence, Kisame just wishes she would shut up.

He's ruined her will to live. No one in this village can undo the effects.

"Hn, and here I was thinking you'd finally relented a little. So much for going soft in your old age."

Rising, black cloak patterned with fiery plumes rustle softly as the ninja who has just carried out Tsukuyomi walks languidly past a grinning jounin- formerly from the hidden village of Mist.

"Others will be here soon."

Nodding briefly, they both vanish.

The concluding note of their completed mission is of a hollow thump, the pleasing sound of one mentally tortured survivor collapsing onto unfeeling floorboards. To be left eternally alone, with the repeated remembrance of an abruptly leaving son?

Asking for kindness from the wrong hands of Fate is an error few will ever get to commit twice as a mistake.