Warning. This chapter is the Uchiha Clan Massacre.

This means there will be blood, there will be corpses, and there will be suffering. There will be pain involved. It will not be as explicit and gory as some stories, but this chapter is not pleasant. If you are uncomfortable with any of that, please skip this chapter. The most relevant events will be mentioned in the next few chapters.

Chapter 6


"Everyone has regrets. Everyone has something they wish they could go back and change. But no matter how much you regret it, some things just can't be fixed. I'm sorry.

I'm so, so sorry."


Masaru forcibly slapped his hands over his mouth to stifle the scream that desperately threatened to escape. Dull red eyes stared at him, the trio of tomoe still and motionless around the pupil. Unwillingly his eyes raised from the body and flickered over the rest of the street, his stomach lurching even more at the sight he found.

Corpses surrounded him, familiar faces staring at the sky lifelessly with black and red eyes as kunai peppered their forms. Deep and ugly gashes marred their bodies at various points, their skin neatly sliced open to expose the muscles and organs inside with a neat precision he recognized as a sword. Rivulets of blood streamed through the cracks in the pavement and flowed outwards until it filled every gap, forming a web-like pattern of crimson streaks that seemed to glow against the gray stone.

Chest tightening as he slowly looked over the carnage, Masaru's mind became blank, too overwhelmed by horror to think.

At seven, Uchiha Masaru had never truly encountered death. He had been to funerals, bid farewell to old clan members before their burials or cremations, but their bodies had looked peaceful. They had laid with their eyes closed as if asleep, their skin taking on an odd pallid quality with a dull sheen that reminded him of wax.

These corpses were nothing like that though. Every face he saw was contorted into a pained expression of some sort or another, frozen snapshots of the violent torrent of emotions they felt at their moments of death. So many had their mouths open in horrified screams, their eyes ranging from wide open to pinched shut to block out their death. Ferocious scowls twisted some of the shinobi's faces, tinged with varying degrees of panic, each one fueled by a mixture of fear and a fierce determination to survive, to protect, to get away—

Why? Why are they dead? What's going on? Why is there so much blood how did they all die why did they die whywhywhywhy—

Another scream cut through the silence, a feral roar ringing with furious resolve and wrath, only to abruptly cut off just like the others. More screams and shouts soon followed, each ending sharply and abruptly mid-syllable. It snapped him back to reality, breaking his momentary shock. He couldn't afford to zone out right now, he was in danger—

Mom.

The thought of his mother set Masaru's blood cold in his veins, his eyes widening in horror. Before he knew it he was running, his backpack discarded as he desperately raced past the corpses to get to his house. Tears burned in his eyes as he forced himself not to look at the bloody corpses, shuddering as he heard more splashes under his sandals and felt more warm blood splatter the insides of his legs.

Their house was far from the front gate compared to others, a good ten minutes walking, but with adrenaline and fear fueling his footsteps Masaru found the trip more than halved. Screams continued to echo behind him, a horrible chorus of death and bloodshed that gradually dwindled to silence, but he ignored it. Horrible as it was, some gut instinct told him that as long as he could still hear them he'd have time, so he did his best to ignore them and moved faster.

When his house finally came into sight his feet ground to a stop, his heart sinking at the sight. Right now his house was completely dark, the interior of the windows hidden in shadows. Ryoko always kept a lantern lit in the front window from sunset to sunrise, even if she wasn't home, but right now he couldn't even see its outline against the darkness.

Stomach fluttering with dread, Masaru swallowed and glanced over his shoulder. The screams had stopped, the last one sounding about a minute ago. Whoever was responsible for it would surely be there soon. If they could kill chuunin and jounin from the Uchiha, one of the strongest clans in Konoha if not the strongest, Masaru had no doubt they'd be able to find a mere academy student. Maybe he should have run away when he saw the first body, tried to get help, but... it was a bit late for that.

He swiftly shook his head and steeled his nerves, swiftly walking towards his house.

Finding the front door unlocked filled Masaru with equal parts dread and apprehension. Mom always locks the door when she leaves. His hands shook as he quietly closed the door behind himself and bent down to unstrap his sandals, almost gagging as his fingers brushed against blood. He could adjust his weight in his steps more accurately barefoot, making it easier to move quietly, so ditching them seemed common sense.

Eerie silence filled the house as he crept down the halls quietly, every nerve in his body on high-alert and his eyes darting around erratically in search of danger. Rapidly fading natural light drifted through open doors and windows, casting everything in a faint dusty blue tint that made him shudder. He could feel the grooves and splinters in the floorboards beneath his bare feet, and he periodically cast worried glances downwards in search of any blood.

Each doorway showed him only empty rooms, filling him with a growing blend of relief and anxiety. Relief because he didn't see any corpses, no blood or signs of a fight. Anxiety because he didn't see any signs of his mother either. He faltered slightly as he passed the half-closed shoji door leading to the sitting room, hesitating before sliding it open. Three teacups sat on the low table, each given its own side, and as he slowly walked closer he recognized the painted designs on their sides.

Delicate indigo blossoms decorated one—anemones, according to his mother. A branching web of slender twigs sprouting red and gold leaves adorned the other, the sight making him freeze. When Ryoko had first painted the teacups Akari had specifically requested the one with autumn foliage be reserved for her exclusive use, and since then only she used it. It didn't make sense for it to be out, she should be at the hospital, right?

Right?

Chills running down his spine, Masaru smothered his growing sense of dread as he turned to study the final cup. Wisps of orange flames curled and twisted to resemble stylized flowers, and he noticed an amber-colored liquid glinting inside it. Hesitating, Masaru slowly dipped a finger in it and found it to be cool, suggesting it had been sitting there for a while now. A glance at the other cups revealed them to be empty.

He shook his head violently, turning and slipping back into the hall. Glancing down both directions, he turned and pressed onwards in his original route, hoping to find—what? Something? Nothing? He didn't know anymore.

Masaru just wanted to close his eyes and open them to find it was all a dream. That the main street of the compound wasn't littered in corpses and bloody weapons, that he didn't have blood splashed on his legs. He wanted his mom to come into his bedroom to gently chide him for oversleeping, for Akari to tease him about sleeping in and running late for class.

Creeeeaaaak.

Masaru froze as he heard the low groan of something wooden come from the front of the house, recognizing it instantly as one of the squeakier floorboards by the front door.

Someone is here.

Ice filled his veins, and he swiftly ducked into the nearest open door while making as little noise as possible. He found himself in the spare sitting room they used for guests who may spend the night. Cabinets and shelves lined the walls, the sliding doors of a closet half-open to reveal folded blankets and a futon piled on the floor. Masaru practically flew to it and squeezed through the open gap, careful not to disturb the blankets as he climbed over the pile, and swiftly smoothed them of any wrinkles.

Cold sweat dripped down his face as he crouched in the corner behind the other door, slowly raising his hands and lacing his fingers over his mouth to suppress any sounds he might make. Quiet footsteps slowly moved through the house, each creak of the floorboards unnaturally loud in the absolute silence. Masaru's heart pounded erratically and painfully in his chest from the tension as they drew closer, his fingers pressing harder against his face as they paused just outside the sitting room.

Holding perfectly still, he squeezed his eyes shut and stilled his breathing, silently praying to whatever deities existed for the intruder to move on. After a long moment that felt like hours the footsteps finally resumed, continuing down the hall.

As the squeaks marked the intruder's path moving further away from his hiding spot Masaru's tense shoulders sagged slightly, releasing a large breath through his nose. Masaru held no illusions he was safe, knowing it would only be a matter of time before his hiding spot would be found, but for now he focused on regulating his breathing to soothe the tight and painful feeling in his chest. Then bloody metal stabbed through the closet door just inches in front of his face.

A strangled scream tore through Masaru's throat, stifled by his fingers which still pressed against his lips. His back slammed against the wall as he reeled fell backwards in surprise, but he barely noticed the dull pain, his gaze transfixed on the bloody blade as it slowly retracted through the flimsy rice paper door. Body going numb with fear, Masaru could only press against the wall in terror as the door slowly slid open, hands ripping away from his mouth to brace against the wall as tears streamed down his face.

A shadowy figure loomed in the doorway, dark red splashed across the whitish-gray vest and armored plates of the ANBU. Shadows concealed most of their facial features, but Masaru's breath hitched as he saw the distinct glow around their eyes, a ring of three tomoe orbiting a pupil against a backdrop of bloody crimson—Sharingan. Masaru's blood ran cold at the sight, paralyzed and unable to move.

"Uchiha Masaru," the intruder intoned monotonously, and his eyes widened as he recognized the voice.

Uchiha Itachi.

The highly vaunted prodigy and heir to the Uchiha clan, Sasuke's elder brother who would supervise their spars and help them train, always gentle in his demonstrations of techniques and his voice warm as he praised their improvements. His eyes held none of that gentle light now, the burning crimson of the Sharingan rendering them harsh and uncaring as his gaze bore into Masaru.

"Pathetic," the elder Uchiha droned, his voice flat yet sounding almost disgusted. "Faced with danger, yet you hide in a closet and don't even arm yourself. Has the academy truly taught you nothing, or have you refused to learn?"

"I-I-Itachi-s-s-san," Masaru sputtered, his voice wobbly and weak as he shrunk further under Itachi's disdainful gaze. "W-w-what's g-going on?" He could see the older boy's lips curl back in a sneer, disgust evident on his face.

"Is it not obvious?" He raised his sword slightly and Masaru's gaze instantly snapped towards it, flinching as Itachi pointed it at him. Fresh blood glinted darkly on its surface, the tip hovering so close to his throat he could almost feel it. Masaru's body stilled at the proximity, eyes slowly raising to meet Itachi's apathetic gaze. "I am wiping out this pathetic clan."

Masaru didn't speak, didn't even breathe in fear that the slight motion might cause his throat to bob and meet the blade. Just one thrust, and he would die. Skewered at the throat, neck torn asunder to expose his spine and vocal chords as he choked on his own blood. Slowly Itachi lowered the sword, moving it to point to his stomach instead. Cold metal pressed his skin through the fabric of his shirt, light enough to avoid puncturing his skin but the pressure sending chills down his spine nonetheless.

A scared whimper escaped him, his stomach muscles tensing and pulling inwards away from it. The blade withdrew slightly but kept Masaru still as Itachi crouched down, leaning forward so his mouth hovered near the young boy's ear. "You truly are pathetic," he murmured, his breath ruffling loose hairs. "I am sure Akari-chan would be much braver."

Akari. Masaru's eyes widened at his sister's name, his blood chilling even further, and then his gaze hardened. Swallowing harshly, his fists clenched at his side as he slowly turned his head to look at Itachi as the older boy pulled away, meeting his gaze directly. Flecks of black and pink visibly danced in the background of the Sharingan's red irises at this distance like a bloody jewel, the outline of the tomoe as they glided atop his corneas even more distinct.

"L-leave her alone," he growled, glaring at him hatefully. He saw a faint twitch in Itachi's features, the creases extending down his cheeks next to his nose flexing minutely as his eyelids parted ever so slightly before narrowing. His gaze seemed sharper now, even more intense than before, but Masaru still met his eyes, his own face pinched in tense resolve.

"Perhaps, you have more potential than I expected," Itachi whispered. Then a blossom of pain exploded in Masaru's stomach as the blade plummeted into him, ripping an agonized scream from the young boy.

Yanking it out, Itachi rose to his full height as Masaru hunched over with another cry, his hands flying to clutch the growing bloom of red around his abdomen. Burning pain seared from the wound, his vision blurring with tears as he gasped and choked in agony. In his periphery he could see Itachi's dark sandals retreat a half-step, and he shakily raised his head to glare at the older Uchiha.

"L-leave h-her alone!" he repeated loudly. Pain shook his voice and he hissed as he felt another tingle, but he remained firm in his resolve as he snarled, "Don't you d-dare touch her!" Hate filled his eyes as he glared at Itachi's apathetic face, catching another minute twitch in his otherwise blank features. The corners of his lips quirked upwards slightly, smirking at the pained boy.

"Yes, perhaps you will do after all," he mused thoughtfully. Then his hand shot out and yanked Masaru by the hair. The boy released a pained cry as he felt his hair sharply tug at his skin, the rest of his body jerking after it as his torso forcibly hunched over. Spots danced in his vision as the stab wound exploded into pain, eliciting another agonized shriek as he clutched it tighter and squeezed his eyes shut.

With one swift sweep of his arm Itachi had flung the boy into the air and over his shoulder, taking off almost instantly. His head and stomach throbbed as the fast steps harshly jostled his body, forcing him to grit his teeth to bite back more screams, and then he found himself roughly thrown onto something soft yet firm. Eyes opening with a gasp, he had enough time to recognize he was on top of a bed before Itachi forced his attention back to him, his shadow stretching over him as he crouched over him.

"When it comes to clans with doujutsu, there is a certain taboo regarding the eye," he began, slipping a kunai from the pack on his leg. He pressed it to Masaru's cheek just below his right eye, barely brushing the skin as the boy reflexively winced at the proximity and squeezed his eyelids shut. "Due to our dependence on it we develop an instinctual need to protect our eyes above all else. Ultimately, we begin to tie our eyes to our own value, to the point we would prefer to lose all of our limbs than lose a single eye."

Masaru's breaths grew shaky and sporadic as Itachi spoke, his body shaking violently as he began to quietly sob. Metal glided down his cheek, the cool flat of the kunai dragging a trail of icy tingles in its wake. He heard the metallic sweep of Itachi sheathing his katana before his other hand pressed his cheek, forcing the boy's head to turn onto its side so his ear pressed against the pillow.

"We begin to abhor inflicting such injuries on opponents," he whispered, his breath warm on Masaru's ear and his voice echoing in his eardrums. "We project our own insecurities onto our opponents, instinctually viewing such attacks as a torment no one deserves. We target every weak spot we can save for the eyes. It overrides other basic instincts, allowing us to give our opponents openings to attack."

Then bright pain surged from the side of his head and Masaru's eyes snapped open, gasping in shock. Warmth rolled over the side of his skull and trickled down his cheek, drops of red dripping past his eye. The elder Uchiha drew back from him and removed his hand from his skull, a blood-stained kunai dropping on the pillow in front of Masaru's face. The young boy winced and rolled his head to stare upward, wincing as he felt blood slosh around the side of his skull.

"W-w-what," he rasped, aware of how strange his voice sounded as he shakily raising a hand towards his head. His fingers threaded through his tangled locks, his fingertips brushing against sticky skin before grazing something soft and fleshy. Sharp pain exploded once more as the object shifted and he screamed, his voice sounding raw and hurt and weird and wrong.

Above him Itachi merely watched with an impassive gaze, his features blurring as tears filled Masaru's eyes. "Struggling will make the blood loss worse," he commented blandly, sounding slightly muffled and off-kilter. "You would be better to just remain still." He gripped Masaru's chin and forced the boy to meet his gaze, the tomoe spinning faster and faster until they blurred into a ring of blades, each one bent sharply and connecting directly to the next.

The world tinted red, and Masaru finally passed out.