Chapter Sixteen: The Clever Older Brother
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Rain returned to Konoha—autumn arrived. It would be many months before Autumn faded and Winter settled in and stepped away and let spring and earth breathe with life; but even this season had its charms: Purple Lilies, smiling and singing, had begun to grow from the ground, after the rains had filled their roots with life; small animals burrowed their snouts into the earth and uprooted the yellow flowers. Autumn was not completely affected by death. (It told its own story of new beginnings.)
It was autumn when Hinata was wedded off to Naruto . . . and what followed were five long, lonely years. Sometimes, she wondered: what if it were spring when she was given over to the Uzumaki clan under the bloom and quiver of Sakura flowers? Would they have blessed her marriage, made it last longer—made it happier, made it blissful? She sighed and dragged in a breath.
Her gaze wandered south, and then she looked down to the roots growing above ground that cradled a mass of fresh autumn flowers. It was then that her eyes fell upon the yellow ones and there sprang hope in her heart—that yellow that brought back memories of . . . the one that was left behind in summer's frolics. She had finally managed to forget the yellow, the sun, the summer; It did not matter to her now, but yellow was the colour of autumn for her, a colour she wanted to forget!
So she was not surprised by this new string of strength she had grasped. Out of all the ones that governed her fate and jerked her about, this one was her own; no one would take that away from her! Her eyes managed to fend off fear when she saw Naruto standing few metres from her. He looked happy, oblivious to the pain he had given her. A part of her cruelly thought that he should have raised his hand to her years ago. Maybe then she would not have fooled herself that he would come around, change himself for her. She had no one to blame but herself.
She did not look away this time and met his blue eyes, which had the same boyish innocence she had once dearly loved, with a bold disposition. That look . . . it broke her heart, but she steeled it and managed a little smile of her own. It ghosted over her lips like a kind spirit and vanished just like that. A wide grin broke Naruto's face, and he scratched his sunny hair. He waved at her quite energetically and then lowered his face to hide his blush: he looked like a Genin boy getting his very first kiss.
Hinata did not know what to think. Was he mad? When she thought of it, her imagination came to a shuddering halt. He blew hot and cold. When he was warm, he would respect her, treat her kindly, albeit they shared no intimacy; but, lately, he had become cruel to her—cruel as autumn's wind that whipped her skin without compassion. Where had he hidden his loving half—that half of him that loved her as a friend, even if he never wanted their bond to progress?
When Hinata felt the ice-cold droplets fall down on her face, she realised that she did not want to know him, not anymore! She would not unravel his cursed half that taunted her like something evil in her nightmare; so she rejected the idea to know more of this mystery and put a stop to her curious nature that wished to tread far into his mind's darkness: what lay beyond his curious blues? It was better if she did not know . . .
Yesterday, Sasuke told her that someone poisoned Naruto and that drove him momentarily mad; he was the sole heir of the wealthy Namikaze family, after all. It was not the first time someone had tried to take his life. Poisoned? she thought. It did not matter . . . she was standing out here now after withstanding the lash of Sasuke's tongue last night: he had asked her to be here or leave his team.
Itachi was to take her with him on a mission. She thought of his brother, but for the life of her, she could not recall his face clearly. She had seen him years ago when she was a Genin! What was he like? She would find out soon . . .
Standing amidst the Team she would be a part of in the future, Hinata took comfort in the thought that some things should take their course. She was thankful to Sasuke, even Neji, for shouldering her when she needed someone to lean back on. Her eyes wandered to the left, and her gaze fell on Neji's face: he had his eyes downcast whilst he stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He always wore his hair long; it was a tradition passed down in her clan. Her father, her uncle . . . everyone kept long hair; it was a sign of pride!
His wood-brown hair was gathered into a ponytail, with two lank tufts hanging loose from above the headband around his forehead, framing his fair face. She let her gaze trail over his countenance and noticed tiny brown freckles adorn the area around his nose. It was odd how they did not affect his features. Her eyes went lower to his lips, dotted by raindrops. He passed his tongue over his lips when they collected upon them by the dozens.
Her eyes admired him, a lingering sense of longing there. She spent many years chasing after Naruto, not looking Neji's way, not once! It took time for her love to crumble away into many bits and pieces; and she would swear to herself that she would never be able to re-collect and piece them all together! Nothing lasted forever, and she had been a fool to believe in that. Her love was lost, gone with summer's winds. She breathed in loudly, lowered her head a little, and looked through the curtain of black fringe on her eyes when Sasuke came into view from behind the trees, with another tall man.
This was the first time she had seen Itachi after many years; the brothers looked so alike! He had deep tear lines under his eyes that gave him a more sober appearance. His countenance was hard to read—void of any emotion. He looked colder than Sasuke (colder than the coldest winter), whiter than Sasuke (whiter than the whitest camellia), which she did not think possible. It was entirely possible for women to become envious of their appearance, too beautiful in its unnaturalness.
It was not till Itachi's eyes wandered in Sasuke's direction as he talked that they filled with a flare of something so subtle . . . what was it? Affection? Love? Something else? It was a look that fled too soon, impossible for her eyes to read.
She put a stop to her wayward thoughts and raised her head when Sasuke's smooth voice wafted to her as he talked of the arrangement with Neji and his brother. The time to feel pity for herself was gone. She did not have many to trust, but she always had herself!
Sasuke walked with Itachi to her and stopped. Then he looked at his brother with an innocent, child-like obedience, his lips sealed whilst he waited for him to speak first. "You are Hyūga Hinata?" Itachi spoke in a voice that presented a mismatch with his face.
"Y-Yes!" she replied and bowed down. He was the Head of Anbu Division but still a year shy of thirty: the youngest Commander in the history of Konoha!
Itachi looked at her with a sort of curiosity in his face, his deep eyes appraising her. "My brother has told me of your Byakugan. Does it require work?" he asked, stealing a quick look at his brother who wore the typical dutiful expression on his face now. "But I believe we can agree that he can be a little . . . over-critical."
"Nii-Sama!" he protested, with a barely audible mumble, and looked around to make sure that no one heard his brother's words.
A smile, ghost-like and vanishing, came over Itachi's face. "You child—I doubt anyone heard," he spoke and patted his head. "I may tell you of a trick or two to control your Dōjutsu more, but for now, you will only contribute your Byakugan to the mission. Let my men worry about battles."
"Take notes—you might learn something," Sasuke said and created a ready-made expression of a Captain—an expression his face was tediously familiar with.
"Did you bring your supplies along? The mission might take more than a day."
"Y-Yes. For three days—just in case!" she said and clasped her fingers together, feeling nervous. She did not want to perform badly in front of the Anbu Captain, so she had asked Yuu about as many details as he could possibly give her.
"She did take notes. You over-work your mind. Let it rest for a while," Itachi spoke in an almost offhanded manner and steered his gaze to look at his brother who was about three inches shorter than he.
"It's a part of my duty. You take things lightly, Nii-Sama. You can—I don't have that luxury. Most of your Anbu squad members are charlatans. They shame you," he said, his voice profoundly deep. There was a hidden thread of emotion behind it, something that went beyond the present conversation. Hinata did not understand . . .
"If they fall behind, I might drink the bitter tea that makes you so angry every morning. Then they may learn something. How right am I?" Itachi asked and put his hand on Sasuke's head again.
Sasuke did not say anything. A deep colour flared in his cheeks. He looked embarrassed. "We will whip them to shape, together then—that is a promise," he assured his younger sibling and returned his attention back to Hinata who was staring at them both. "Follow me."
Hinata nodded and started behind Itachi who had with him four other men that she had never seen before. Stopping for a moment, she looked back at Sasuke who turned his head away and started talking with two men who came into the clearing: one of them was unusually tall, and the other had a mean child's expression on his face and a very large sword on his back. She did not know who they were.
Yuu told her this morning that Sasuke was going on a mission with two new Team members and that they would meet up with Itachi on the second day; she did not know what kind of mission she was being sent out for . . .
When his brother disappeared from sight, he brought his gaze to Jūgo and Suigetsu. Jūgo was carrying several birds on his too-wide shoulders. They must have considered them a comfortable perch. Suigetsu was smiling from ear to ear. The wet weather pleased him. He took a sip from his bottle and stopped next to Sasuke.
"More drinks, and in this rain? You'll make the ground soggier," Sasuke said, his lips pulling into a small but tantalizing smile.
"Mean!" Suigetsu said and swilled the ice-cool water around his mouth, his face now bearing the marks of his water-like form. "It'll just give me spit a longer range. Last time, I managed it just two centimetres short af Karin's cup. This time, success is mine!" He bared his pointy teeth and gave Karin, who stood by a huddle of trees, a side-long glance.
"Why don't you two ever get along?" Sasuke sighed out and looked from Jūgo's ever-calm face to Suigetsu's countenance that always made him look like a mean Genin-academy-going prankster.
"I keep telling them that, Sasuke," Jūgo stated and petted one of his birds. "Their quarrelsome nature disturbs the Natural Energy in the area. It's bad for the animals, us, and even your temper." He brought his hand to Sasuke's shoulder and tapped it lightly.
"Dontcha worry, Jūgo. Anger's his motor. He likes it angry and rough!" Suigetsu joked and let out a bark of laughter. A confused expression scurried across Jūgo's face—he did not understand.
"With such keen sense of insight, I see a bright career for you in Konoha politics," Sasuke said, smiling.
"Tell me 'bout it. I kept insistin' in Mist that I'd make a great Intelligence-Division member. I can cut off them limbs—like a ninja," he whispered and made several dance-like gestures with his hands. "Tell me, does that pile o' dust still live?"
"Danzō? Haven't seen him in years, but I'm sure he does," Sasuke said and his face began adjusting itself into a look of mild irritation, but he subdued it quickly.
"Sage's bollocks be damned!" Suigetsu said, surprised. "Must look like a fuckin' dried up turnip right 'bout now." He reached to his back and slipped the bottle into the fanny-pack he was carrying, along with few supplies.
"Who knows—all he needs is a nudge," Sasuke said in such a subdued voice as if he was talking to himself.
"Do the other two corpses breathe, too?" Suigetsu asked and stretched his eyes wide in disbelief when Sasuke gave a silent nod. "Unreal! No wonder when I passed by their office, it stank ta high-heaven. They don't change their poop-soakin' cloths often, I'll bet."
"Keep it down. Not everyone dislikes the political lobby here," Sasuke warned as his eyes skittered about the grounds and then he lowered them.
"Who says I dislike 'em all?" Suigetsu asked and made a loud gurgling sound. He spat out a gob of spit that went south like a bullet and tore clean through a tree. "Yor Hokage's a fine woman. Tell her that I'm wet enough fer the both af us!"
"She'll probably call you in for evaluation. You can tell her that yourself," Sasuke replied lazily. His gaze wandered a bit to the right, and his jaw went tense: Sakura was making her way over to them. He bent his head down and said, "go and stand by the back-gate and call Karin. We'll leave in a few minutes."
"Okie-dokie! Come on, Birdman. I see so much humour and tragedy in these sad and abandoned birdies' eyes." Suigetsu walked behind Jūgo and waved at Karin. She fingered her sparkly clean spectacles grudgingly and then moved.
"New team members?" Sakura asked, her gaze flitting from Suigetsu to Jūgo to Karin. Her eyes were glazed over with few raindrops, yet they still measured their every subtle movement.
"Yes—is that why you came here?" Sasuke asked and angled his head to look into her eyes that still glinted with desire for him. His lips twitched with something between irritation and amusement, but he chose to keep his words to himself this time.
"No, I—" she stopped and reached into the fanny pack to pull out a scroll, "—I came here to give you this."
He took it from her hand and unrolled it. A low sarcastic laugh rumbled in his throat that brought out a humiliated expression on her face. Her cheeks burnt from pink to red, and she clenched her right hand's fingers into a rock-solid fist, her nails digging into the wet palm.
"Congratulations. You finally got into my Squad with your own hard work. Aren't you proud of yourself?" he said and burnt the scroll with a flame that flared up on his palm.
"Don't mock me!" she retorted, and her voice cracked with emotion. Her eyes, which cradled a hint of gentleness, were blurry green: they bore the marks of a woman defeated. Every time they met, his tongue wounded her heart—wounds from heartaches did not heal easily; she wanted him to say something sweet to her, but as time passed her by, it had turned into a wish . . .
"Don't talk back," Sasuke said and the low hiss of his voice died against the sudden surge of wind—he never liked playing games with her. Then the wind slowed down to a pleasant breeze that carried with itself the smells from wet earth and flora. "Consider yourself lucky that I didn't make this public. Imagine, the rest of the Team would've thrown you out all by themselves if they knew. I didn't even tell Nii-Sama. You should thank me—and Naruto. He begged me to go easy on you. No one would've coddled you the way I did."
"Thank you for not forgetting to remind me," Sakura said, her voice defiant, her lips shaking. Deep passion that she felt for him burnt higher and brighter with oils of anger; they mingled into an exquisite mixture that would need to be snuffed out later . . .
Sasuke created a sober stone-cold face that followed a fleeting smile that did not stay upon his countenance for long. He did not seem affected by her desperate comebacks when he knew that he sent her heart tumbling at his words, made her spirit weak with a mere intense cast of his gaze. (She was weak—she had always been weak.) He never played games with her, but he won them—always!
She whipped her head away, not wanting for him to see the yearning glut on all the anger in her eyes. He made her so weak, and she was beginning to resent it all. Why did he not want her? She told him once that she did not need a reason to love him, and she was honest—for she loved him with all her heart. It belonged to him—its every beat, every pulse that made her live; but he did not care . . . her obsession, of which parts were mad and violent, for his beauty and flesh was season-less—time-less!
"Tsunade-Sama probably won't accept them," she whispered, her face still turned away. "You know what happened to the other Teams' applications."
"I don't have time for you," Sasuke spoke, with nothing but irritation in his voice. Sakura's eyes trailed along the side of his face before he walked away. His face, which was forever marked with nothing but frigidness for her, made her heart ache for him.
Her gaze lingered where he stood with his new Team, and then she directed it skyward. These mornings were bleak. She felt signs of ache go down her cheeks; but rain hid her shame today, and wind overpowered the moan that drifted from her lips (but could not make it to his ears to break into his stone-heart that probably held desire for no one) . . .
"Keep an eye on Naruto. You're staying here," Sasuke commanded Karin. He turned his head and gestured Neji to come over to him. Neji was standing with Yuu. He jogged to Sasuke and stopped close to the motley bunch—that was one word for them, he thought. "You and Karin are in charge. Don't make Naruto over-exert himself. He was ill. If I need someone, I'll send in a message with Kirin."
"All right, Sasuke-Sama," he said and moved his lips to say something more, but stopped.
"You shouldn't worry. Hinata is with Nii-Sama. He's a better Shinobi than I am," he assured and then returned his gaze to Karin who did not look happy with the arrangement. "Help Neji manage Naruto and the Team. I don't want any complaints when I get back."
"Sasuke, I—"
"We both know how stubborn you are. You're a part of the Team now. Do your part," he cut her off, turned around, and ignored Suigetsu's wink and loud whistle that rang around them like an annoying Genin Academy days' halftime bell, despite the persistent pitter-patter of rain.
In a moment, Sasuke and the other two men disappeared behind the trees. Karin turned to face Neji. "Introduce me to the Team. I'd like to know them," she said and put on a sweet smile that had Neji completely fooled!
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A swathe of greyness hung low over Konoha's forest that stretched for miles on end. Mist, white as snow, settled thickly over trees and fell through the naked branches to float down. The soil under their feet was white and invisible. Itachi felt the chill bite into his feet through the thick sandals. They were wet with moisture; but he had experienced worse, far worse.
His Sharingan was out, and an eerie red light shone magnificently from his eyes. In the midst of ghostly whiteness, his red was a Philosopher's Stone that pulsed, something sagely to answer the prayers from devout men. Moving his gaze, he kept his vision as steady as a boat on a tranquil lake. Hinata followed him and three other men followed in back, their swords out.
As their feet moved, mist's layers rippled and ruffled. It felt as if they were moving through the divine lake that cascaded down from the heaven where the Sage lived. Their journey had the illusion of being blessed; but Itachi knew that beneath the veil of devotion lurked misery, hate, revenge, and even death. He had seen a sea of human shambles as a child when he ran away with a newborn Sasuke in his arms . . . from a village burning down in flames!
The stench of burnt flesh danced in the air, and it was a day like this—misty and bleak. Screams of man, woman, and child alike speared the smog in the village that burnt on the outskirts of Rain. It was an inhuman sight as swords fell down over and over to slaughter everyone indiscriminately. He had gone there to visit his friend. His caretaker died, and they chased after him out of the village—a frightened little animal, followed by the purposeful shinobi from Mist: they wanted their still-dormant Sharingans!
He remembered that black sky as mist touched his cheek; now, twenty-one years later, it was pleasant; but it brought back a flood from memories that roared like waves against the barrier of his composure, cracking it a bit to let memories come out, like organs from flesh. His lips trembled a little, but he remembered. No, the mist made him remember: little Sasuke cold and still in his arms, after he had cried himself to sleep from hunger and thirst.
The cloth Itachi had wrapped around Sasuke's tiny body got tattered in the chase as it caught the thorns on the rose bushes. He stumbled and wheezed with fear, carrying Sasuke who looked fearfully back into his eyes. He did not know when his sandals' straps broke and when they came off his feet. Scrambling on stones, his naked feet bled out, but he did not stop. Sasuke was only a few months old. His little brother understood that they would be killed if he let slip even a tiny sob—it was a connection they shared.
The babe did not make a sound when Itachi hid in the dank and clammy cave that was dark and lonely. There he sat behind harsh stones, squeezing Sasuke to himself as he breathed slowly, watching Sasuke's tiny hand curl with love around the hair of his ponytail—his reds had calmed the little thing!
The men went away, but he kept hiding there like a frightened animal that had escaped the fire and found refuge in a burrow. The battle continued on for three days, but Itachi sat there, fearful that, if someone from Mist found them, they would kill him and his little brother for Sharingans; so he did not leave and put his tongue into his brother's mouth when the thirst would make him wail like leaves in autumn. Sasuke would suckle on it and then lose consciousness.
When the pitiless thirst became unbearable for the eight-year-old child, he would unfurl his tongue and catch the few droplets that fell down from the roots poking into the cave. They were ice-cool, but they moistened his tongue that was like a piece of dry-wood in his blistered mouth. Then he would clutch Sasuke to himself whose fragile, hurried breathing made him look like a child on the verge of tasting that eternal blackness from where there was no return.
Itachi had put his tongue willingly into Sasuke's mouth again and felt him suck out the few drops of water he tasted, leaving himself on the brink of death; but Itachi did not care. He loved the little thing with obsession, without limit. His boyhood's love for it knew no bounds!
"There there, Sasuke," he whispered and planted a kiss on the child's cold forehead when he cried with thirst. "I'll always protect you." Then Itachi rocked it to sleep and watched Sasuke's lips bleed from dryness when he gave out a series of tiny sobs—he had no wind in his small lungs to cry anymore.
He knew Sasuke wanted to suckle on Mikoto's nipple, draw out milk to his heart's content. He lifted Sasuke's shirt and saw his condition: Sasuke was hungry; his stomach, bloated; his skin, stretched grotesquely over his pronounced ribs. Itachi did not know when tears broke from his eyes and fell down on Sasuke's sallow cheeks as his breathing slowed down . . . the little body in his arms was so close to death—he had felt another change in his vision then. With so little strength in him, he managed to carry Sasuke outside on the fourth day. Sun was warm on his skin when he squinted his eyes to look skyward. That was when his strength gave out, and he collapsed, hugging Sasuke tightly in his small arms.
He had promised to himself then that he would shield Sasuke from the world, drag him towards light when shadows would try and take him. His love made Heaven envious of its purity: his obsession made Hell angry at the intensity of his attachment to this child and the would-be sinner he would become for him. Yes, Sasuke was his everything, and he would gladly bear his shame and his burdens, as long as it would keep Sasuke safe and near—and Itachi happy . . .
A smile disturbed his face, but it faded behind the white. No one could see a man taking joy in his own little world. His thoughts always remained undisturbed, no matter what happened beyond his mind. He was secretive that way; he was dangerous that way; he was obsessed that way. No one could read his face: his features did not map any emotions for all to see; they remained locked within, and he was unafraid to bear them for all eternity.
The mist seemed to thicken as though it was a white brick-wall that would not break even if it was left alone for centuries under the storms. It kept piling on them like tons of snow, only weightless and cool. His Sharingan was starting to fail him for in this mist was the taint of trickery; a coloured chakra was hindering his vision. A trap—but he came prepared. He made a gesture with his hand, signalling Hinata to look at the surroundings.
Hinata turned on her Byakugan and closed her eyes and her vision made it through the closed eyelids. The world was drenched in black and white and grey. She saw men standing all around them. Despite the cold that hung listlessly in the air, her face broke out in sweat. It struck her body like a bucketful of ice-cold water and made an electrifying sensation shoot along her spine. Her body shook with the fear of mortality now. She had never been in such a situation before!
Itachi looked over his shoulder, Sharingans glowing in his sockets, and made another gesture with his hand. She quickly stood behind him with a fighting stance, and the three men behind her fanned out. He pushed his body forward and created seals so fast that her eyes could not read a thing.
"Katon—Gokakyu no Jutsu," he spoke aloud with a heavy accent, and, the next moment, a monstrous fire-orb tore up the ground and travelled forward at high speed.
The surrounding mist dispersed and revealed many men standing high up in the trees around them. About ten of them were not so lucky: they got burnt to a crisp, unable to evade the fire in time. The heat in the area made the sweat on Itachi's skin tingle. He clenched his fingers into a stone-firm fist and stopped the flow of chakra. The fire disappeared in answer. Itachi swung his sword wide and deflected several shurikens thrown at him and Hinata with ease.
"Spread out," he commanded and jumped up, leaving Hinata alone in the fray. She took one step back, then another . . . and then another one and looked at Itachi dispatch ninja after ninja with lightning speed. They surrounded him like flies, but got swatted like them, too. His face was calm and composed and bore no signs of the anxiety that was beginning to spread in her body.
She wanted to run away into the woods, but there were too many of them. They would chase and kill her with sheer numbers. No matter where she looked, blood flew into the air and splattered over the soil and foliage. The place, now, had been re-created to a scene from a macabre scroll-painting: a new mist rose up, guided by nature this time; the whole scene appeared to move sideways, like a scroll being unrolled, in slow motion before her eyes—red droplets froze in mid-air against pure white, a scene of martyrdom!
Fear slowed down time and her voice. She tried to whisper Itachi's name when her Byakugan caught sight of a dagger launched at the back of her neck. It was a sudden reflex action: she fell forward to the ground to avoid it, but quickly got back up on her shaky feet and pushed out one of her hands in a Taijutsu stance. There was no helping it: it was kill or be killed!
The man grinned, amused by her expression that was bathed in nothing but fear. She was rusty, but that did not mean she would stand still for him to kill her. "Vacuum Palm!" she shouted, her voice trembling like a terrified child's. The chakra she expelled from her palm hit the shinobi square in his abdomen and knocked the wind out of him. (He was not expecting it—his shocked expression showed as much.) He got thrown several feet back and smashed into the tree behind him; but that did not stop his movement. He knelt down and spat out blood. She had hit his internal organ, but the damage was not enough to stop him.
He tightened his hold on the sword and lunged at her. He was fast, too fast, as he swished his sword left and right and desperately tried to cut her head clean off her body. She kept bouncing back, glancing off every quick strike of his blade with nigh perfect counters of her Gentle Fist; but she was still on the defense. If this continued, she would be in deep trouble.
Her fear distracted her, and, not a moment later, his sword sliced perfectly through the branch on the right and nicked her shoulder, opening a half an inch wound. She had stepped back just in time. The wide swipe managed to cut off the tip of her fringes, but, thankfully, the rest of her face was intact. She stumbled and fell back against the tree and grabbed her wounded arm, feeling slippery hot blood under her palm. It stung! Clenching her teeth, she breathed heavily as if she had run for miles.
Behind her back, sounds of metals clashing permeated the air. Blazing hot fire ran to the left and then steam rose up. These shinobis had Suiton Jutus. They knew Itachi was coming? Her hair floated up against her face, guided by warm currents that gathered about her feet as Itachi used another Katon attack shaped like large dragon heads. What followed were flesh-shaking screams and the stench of sizzling human flesh. She wanted to vomit . . .
There was no time to look behind her back. If she turned back, she would let her guard down and this man would never miss that chance! Hinata's heart jumped in her breast, but she did not try to soothe it this time. She moved her hands down and clenched them into the tightest fists she could make. Chakra glowed over her fists and took on the shape of Twin Lions. They were still not properly formed; her chakra control . . . it was only now that she realised how crucial it was.
Hinata opened her mouth wide, her face drenched in sweat. She sucked in the charred air deeply as though she was about to take a deep plunge into the deepest blue. The decision was made, and there was no holding back now. She lunged forward and frantically swung her arms wide; even the brush of his skin against her blue lions sucked out the chakra from his body; warm and fresh energy flowed into her system, replenishing her, giving strength to her weak legs. She was afraid, but the shakiness was being throttled by her resolve to live!
The aura from her Twin Lion Fists swirled and moved in circles around her, trailing behind her attacks. Every single movement drew more and more of his chakra till his movements became slow and simple. Now was the time to finish this off before more men came running to his aid. She knew she would not be able to handle them—not now.
So Hinata curled her fingers, pointed out two of them, and jabbed them into his chakra points. What followed was a barrage of finger stabs in quick movements: she closed off thirty-two of his points when her skill reached its limit; she stumbled forward, unable to extend her Jutsu to sixty-four strikes. He coughed out more blood as he remained rooted to the spot, but he moved his hand up shakily to strike her down. Seeing his attack, Hinata whipped her arm back, but she was too close and too slow!
She blinked when a flying kunai landed into his forehead. A shocked expression froze on his face and blood sprayed out from the deep wound. It landed on the side of Hinata's neck. She whipped around and found Itachi standing behind her. He was holding three kunais in his hand. Behind him were corpses strewn about the ground; some of them were coal-black and others cut up to pieces.
The rest of their Team members landed on the ground. One of them looked injured. "I chose not to interfere. You seemed to be doing well," he spoke to Hinata and slipped the blood-dotted sword into its sheath. "This is what a shinobi's life is like. It is constant danger. Be certain of the life you are signing up for."
Hinata did not say anything. It was a dangerous experience. Her heart was still not calm as it skipped beats, going against her command, unwilling to soothe itself. It had been five long years since she last moved her hands to use Taijutsu. It felt strange somehow. She still felt the battle's heat that managed to keep the chill in the air at bay. The smell of death was overpowering. She wanted to go as far away from this place as possible.
A sizzling sound came from behind them. One of the men was still alive, and he had many Explosive Tags stuck under his jacket. "Itachi-Sama, he's about to blow us all up!" one of Itachi's men shouted.
Itachi threw a kunai at his forehead, but his hand was still falling down. Before it could touch the earth and pull down the string to trigger an explosion, Itachi grabbed Hinata and used the Fuma-Shuriken strings he had tied to a tree several metres away as a backup plan. He swung up with Hinata in his right arm, the rest of the ninjas trailing a little behind. They had not even made it ten metres into the air when the area blew up. Fire blazed and expanded outwards right at their heels.
The tree where the strings were tied was so high up. The strings were . . . elastic? The hot shockwave from the blast was starting to catch up: it burnt on Hinata's face, and her hair shrivelled up as it reached the tips. She was flying, looking at the forest speed past her eyes; but the growing blast of fire died down. They swung across and landed safely into a clearing. Itachi pulled back what was left of his strings and looked at her. "That was a little close," he spoke coolly and wiped his sweat-drenched forehead clean.
The life of a ninja was dangerous, he had said; she did not know what to feel . . .
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EN: Itachi hasn't used Fuma Shurikens at any point in Canon; Sasuke has; so this part of my narrative's most definitely non-canon. After Part I, Sasuke's the most skilled Shuriken-Jutsu user in Canon by a long shot as he can not only use Fuma Shurikens very skillfully but he can also use them in conjunction with wires, Raiton, and trap Fuma Shurikens (Sasuke fooled Itachi by hiding a Shuriken inside the shadow of the other; sure, Itachi could've dodged the Shadow Shuriken if he was faster, but that doesn't mean he wasn't fooled). No other character has displayed that level of skill in Shuriken-Jutsu, especially since Sasuke brought down an aerial opponent, Deidara, and his dragon by using them.