Chapter Forty-Seven: A Terrible Secret
Canon-Manga Info: Uchiha Clan's Katon Jutsus (compressed ones like The Great Fireball and Dragon Heads) tend to easily tear up solid ground and break apart stone. It's a testament to their unrivalled potent chakra. Madara's larger ones don't do that as they utilise uncompressed Chakra, as the Data-Book states. The Sharingan is also fully capable of seeing in the darkness as it gives colour to chakra. In fact, it's fully capable of seeing through solid stone and ground (Deidara and Kabuto battles).
It's also fully capable of seeing nano-sized objects, as well. This was shown during the battle between Deidara and Sasuke. Do check online as to how small a nano-sized object is. It might shock you. Furthermore, a Sharingan's capable of seeing the complete chakra network and its disturbance as Obito did with a single Tomoe; or as Itachi noted the chakra left inside Sasuke during their battle.
Kakashi stated the following: ". . . Along the Keirakukei (Chakra Pathway System; Literally meaning 'Meridian System') that we spoke of earlier, there are 361 chakra points . . . no larger than the prick of a pin. These nodes are called Tenketsu, and, in theory, if you can accurately hit them, you can halt the flow of an enemy's chakra, or enhance it, controlling it in any way you wish. But while we're on the topic, let me add, these Tenketsu (Chakra Points; Literally meaning, "Pressure Point") . . . they're undetectable, even to my Sharingan eye."
A lot of people take Kakashi's words to heart, but it's fairly evident that Kakashi's incapable of utilising Sharingan to its full capacity (which should be obvious, given his utterly pitiful use of Sharingan Genjutsu compared to Sasuke's suppression of Kyūbi at Three Tomoe, which shocked Kyūbi; his lack of knowledge on Uchiha Kinjutsus; his poor usage of Kamui compared to Obito, etc.) as the Uchiha have shown to see objects from far off distances and cast Genjutsu on opponents without making direct eye-contact: Sasuke successfully cast Genjutsu on Deidara twice whilst he was flying at least two hundred feet behind him (he cast the Genjutsu after he'd witnessed the effects of C-4 Garuda on animals, which makes the distance greater than what I implied before); Itachi cast Genjutsu on Bee whilst he was wearing glasses; so the "Direct Eye-Contact" concept's only reserved for the capability of the Genjutsu when it's awakened, not for all times, which makes the claim canonically false!
When an ability is introduced, the Data-Book defines the range. Take Sasuke's Amenotejikara, for instance, which is listed to have a range of ten-metres when the canon content shows the exact opposite during the later showings of the ability: its distance steadily increased with each usage to the point where Sasuke Teleported across several mountains to get behind Naruto's Bunshin Kyūbi Avatar. That would make it several hundred kilometres of Teleportation. (Many readers, I've noticed, are incapable of reading the Canon-Manga and Data-Book, aimed at children, that they vehemently claim to be beneath them, yet they can't seem to digest simple information that's presented with children's comprehension in mind.)
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Gazing up at the night sky, she narrowed her grey eyes, shrank that vast field of stars. She raised one white hand and held it aloft and curled her fingers into a tight fist, thinking that she had just snatched some of them out of the sky. Then she lowered her hand and stared down at the empty palm after she opened her fingers, slowly. It felt sad not to catch one, somehow . . . the girl in her was sadder.
Hinata turned her gaze to the manor: a sepulchral home, unfriended by her heart a long time ago. It was cast in night's shadows whilst it stood unmoving under the bare boughs of tall trees. Their crooked shadows swung over to the stone-path and grew with eagerness. Warm light poured out from the paper-screens, yet she preferred to stand out here in the cold. It was easier that way . . .
Her thoughts did not let her find peace. She liked to stay in her own home now. It did not matter if Naruto never came or Autumn bothered her; it was for the best. Turning her head away from the manor, she watched the clouds move in from the north. A cool breeze touched her cheeks. Its chill told the tale of the sleeping winter's whispers. Tenderly, she touched the skin there with the fingertips. It was cold under her warm touch.
Naruto would turn twenty-five soon. Did it matter to her anymore? She stole a quick glance at that heavy door and the wind chimes lightly spinning in the breeze. The sounds they created—almost mundane to her. She could see the silver bell shining in the light coming from inside. It was the same bell she had gifted Naruto almost five years ago.
A flash of anger came from inside her, but it faded too soon for it to matter. Her pink lips turned white in cold. A sudden dryness came to her throat, and she swallowed. She did not know anything about him. What did he like? It was always the same boyish answer in the same boisterous tone: different flavours of ramen! She did not understand how anyone could enjoy the same thing every day. It would make it a routine affair—a boring affair.
Hinata remembered that she liked the sharp taste of spicy meatballs when she was a child. She grew out of it in her adulthood. Maybe he liked the scent and smell of something familiar, something that made him happy. She asked Sasuke when he had come to her in the dead of the night a day ago: what was that one thing that made him happy? He told her that the soft petals and the beautiful scent of Purple Lilies made him smile. Did he lie? She felt that he wanted to speak of his brother's name, but he did not . . . was he shy? It was harder for men to speak of whom they loved . . .
Her gaze automatically moved to the corner of the manor, empurpled with so few of them. There they stood, untouched by the slow-moving breeze—tiny immovable sentinels that resisted Nature's mechanics. She could hardly see their magical purple glow in the shadows cast by the garden walls. They appeared so ordinary in the shade. She did not understand him, too.
Hinata breathed in deeply, closed her eyes, and felt the breeze trace the outlines of her face. She was trying to understand Sasuke—she truly was; but it was so difficult to peel away his icy exterior to see anything warm awaiting her underneath. He came to her when he desired and went away just like that. She felt that she was something he chose to taste occasionally on his travels. She wanted more. It was not fair to be an afterthought in his life.
Even those flowers mattered more to him than she. They made him smile. It was something she desperately wanted to see: a smile spread on his face and frighten away that unforgiving chill that always clung to him like a lover most desperate. She put her hand upon her forehead and blinked in the wind. She was trying, but he made it hard to get close to him: Itachi made it even harder . . .
He was a daemon to her, an evil spirit that stood behind Sasuke, always—a deep dark shadow cast by Sasuke's body. A look of angry disdain crossed her face, her eyes tracing the outlines of dark peaks below the horizon far off into the distance. They were like black coils of a serpent rising from the depths of sea. He, too, was like that, a black stain upon Sasuke's purity, spreading and invading the pure landscape of his heart. Sasuke's white spirit, still innocent and safe from the smudges of the daemon's sins, probably shuddered at the corruption he quite liked to imbue his soul with. It was that one familiar feeling Sasuke did not want to let go.
Soon, Sasuke would become a ruined painting and wear nothing but sad black strokes upon itself forever. The dull noise of the wind-chime got swept away by the wind. She did not turn her eyes to look at the iridescent sheen on the metallic bell there. It was not enough to distract her. She found herself drowning in the waters, getting stained by the black spots that fell upon her without warning from Itachi's sin-soaked soul to infect her, shame her, belittle her. In his eyes, she was truly unworthy of his younger brother—a burden to drag him down to the depths of dishonour.
It was . . . impossible to win this battle against him. Hinata was a simple woman, and he, the most cunning and crafty man she had ever imagined. He wore more colours upon himself than the rotten leaves and flowers did in autumn; but they never died out of choice: it was a fate forced upon them by the unfeeling Nature, which was eternal. They wanted to be free of deaths that awaited them at winter's harsher hand; but why was Itachi like this—a stranger to the warmth that still lingered somewhere in his body? She did not know . . .
Hinata's thoughts were beginning to spin and spin. They had become a whirlwind of passions for her small heart. Her hair was flying in the wind now, and she could not hear her own sigh when it slipped from her hurting lips. Their rosy hue was gone. She sat down close to the well. Its mouth was covered with thick wooden-boards. It was about as old as Naruto. Kushina told her that they had dug it up when Naruto was still growing in her belly.
It whistled when the wind gusted through the gaps between the loose boards. Its bottom was probably empty. There was a well in her home, too. It was older than she—older than her father even. She would not be surprised if it was as old as her Clan's first steps into Konoha. They came here so long ago. A mighty Clan—it lost that honour and strength over the years.
She had heard stories of their bravery in war, men laying down their lives for Konoha. It was an honour back in the days when wars were real. A heavy breath expanded her breast, and she exhaled wistfully.
It was like Sasuke had said . . . honour was all they had. Minato had little of that. The taint upon his soul was washed away with her life. The thought made her resent him more. It was like something upon her heart had possessed her soul; but Hinata was not like Sasuke. She was different. Her soul was a hanging-scroll in a lonely alcove. Its silk edges, barely touched by dust and ashes, had yet to bear time's traces. The black ink had just painted something unique upon the scroll's surface. A few strokes here and a few strokes there, but it was empty still.
She desired for something to fill its empty spaces with a bit of colour, a few flowers close to the edges to make her smile, too. How odd it felt to think this way? She lost her last train of thought with the bone-shattering noise of thunder. She turned her head when the heavy-door opened with a creak. A servant girl gestured her to come inside. Dinner was ready . . .
Dinner was quiet. They had little conversations about different little things. Minato and Kushina had argued enough about the heir yesterday. She was surprised that she did not have to defend herself tonight. Naruto was exasperated with them. He had so many cutting retorts to silence them. She felt . . . pity for his parents. Anguish hovered over Minato's youthful face. He was still so handsome. In shadow's sorrow, his blue eyes had turned deep sapphire.
Grief resided on Kushina's pretty face. She, too, had defied Nature somehow. Her red hair looked redder in the room's sparse lights. Hinata ate silently, stealing glances at both of them and looking at her aloof husband out of the corner of her eyes. He had a frown in his brow. His jaws were stiff with anger, and angry words were waiting to tumble out of his mouth. They did not look as though they wanted to draw his ire tonight.
Hinata was asked to lay with Naruto in his own room. It was that dreadful, private place where she had allowed him to take her virtue. Her eyes fell upon that futon, and she did not feel a thing. Were flowers really beautiful enough to make one smile? Was the taste of ramen so spicy, so different to experience a feeling of elation? Her lips began to shudder. It was that strong weakness coming up like bile again. She hid her face in the darkness of the warm room and walked to the window.
It was slightly open to let in the autumn breeze that blew from the hills. She closed it with trembling hands. Tonight, wind was colder on her skin. Fire crackled in the sunken fireplace, shadows dancing everywhere, and she sat down on the futon and looked at the cups sitting on a set of drawers by the window. The moving shadows were round and large behind them. All three of them were of different sizes, and this was the first time she was noticing it . . . strange . . .
Naruto slid open the door and closed it with a sigh. She did not turn to look back at him. He sat down on the futon and pulled at the yellow kakebuton. He wanted to sleep. "You should get some sleep, Hinata. You have your final Chūnin Trial tomorrow," he said and propped two makuras under his head and lay down on the bed.
"It's a bit cold," she said and turned her face to him. He had pulled the kakebuton over himself and was dozing off.
Naruto looked at her and shook away the sleep from his blue eyes to stare at the fireplace. It was warm. He looked back at her, smiling this time. "It should warm up the room in a couple of minutes," he said and pulled the kakebuton higher up. He went quiet again, and she heard him heave another sigh.
"I-I was thinking," she paused, biting her lower lip with a child-like nervousness she always loathed, "maybe we should help your father."
Turning his head, he looked deep into her eyes, and a memory floated from there like the sleep. A shade of emotion passed over his features. Then his face turned blank, almost rigid. "What do you mean?" he asked and propped his face in his hand, the pink skin of his cheek getting wrinkled in deep folds.
"He's your father, Naruto-Kun. He deserves more than your anger. I-I know it isn't my place to say this, but I want you to be his family. He's getting old—your parents are getting old. You can't hate them forever," she said and lowered her eyes. He was silent.
"You're kind, Hinata," he said with another sigh as though he was weary and sat up straight. He bent his head down and scratched wisps of golden hair hanging down over his forehead. A wistful smile was beginning to appear on his face, driving the anger away.
Silence, and she heard faint sounds of the breeze and fire. A sudden feeling of guilt and fear sent her heart to her throat. Hinata had said the words Sasuke had asked of her to say. She raised her fingers and touched the lips tenderly as if she was stopping them from uttering lies, stopping the lips he had kissed the night before. The room was getting warmer, and a warmth was rising in her face and breast in answer. A pink hue returned to her lips that showed her shame, too.
"Maybe," Hinata said and lost her voice for a moment, and her heart beat noisily in disapproval, "if we had a few records that t-talk of that night, we might help your father—clear his name. It doesn't feel right to abandon him. He's your father, Naruto-Kun." She peered at him with wary eyes, like a naughty child, from behind the soft ringlet of black hair, which hung supple from the fringe over her forehead. She would have to get them cut.
Naruto heaved in a painfully long sigh and blinked. His eyes stared at the window behind her. "I wish I could," he said after a long pause, "the records are sealed away in our old home. Only a pure-blooded Uzumaki can open them, and I'm not one. My mother's put so many seals on 'em. They've been passed down in her family—private things, she always tells me." He forced out a humourless laugh and lay back down.
Noises from wind and fire kept coming. Silence fell down again, solid as a thump of something heavy tumbling down to the floor, and she could hear her heart and blood beat again—beat loudly and wildly like something mad let loose in the forest. "T-Then nothing can be done?" Hinata asked and gritted her teeth as she turned her head away. She had gained nothing from coming here!
"I'll ask her again if it makes you happy, but I doubt she'll give me anything," Naruto said, his voice sad and small, turned to his right side, and positioned his hand under his cheek the way he did when he was a boy. "Good night, Hinata."
Hinata clamped her lips together, holding in a sob that was beginning to hurt her throat. She straightened her back and tilted her head back to look at the dark ceiling. Why did she even come here? Sasuke had said that she would gain something from here—a glimmer of hope to keep Minato's schemes at bay, to keep her father's honour safe. He was a liar . . .
Hinata sat there in silence, looking at the rippling paper in the screen. If the wind picked up pace, the screen would not be able to bear it. It would be torn to shreds. She looked back and found Naruto sound asleep. The fire was still burning, and the room was warm. Now, her cheeks wore a rosy glow. She grabbed the bag that had few scrolls in it and got to her feet. Maybe if she went there, she might find something.
It was foolish to think this way. Sasuke had told her not to do anything silly, but it was all right. There was a trail that led to the old home from here: it was not that far from here. With that thought, she left the room and slid shut the door as gently as possible. When she stepped out into the corridor, she heard faint voices coming from Naruto's parents' chamber. She caught the word 'Hiashi' and curiosity stopped her from going over to the main-door.
Hinata turned on her Byakugan. The big house was empty save the lot of them. The servants were gone. She took slow and careful steps and moved into the shadows that lay close to the beam of light that came out from a slightly ajar door. She sat down and dug through the bag to pull out a peculiar scroll. She spread it out on the wooden floor and made hand-seals and pressed her ear against the wood.
Silence, only silence; then soft, muffled voices came to her, and words began to appear on the scroll, too. "It is not easy to go against him," a heavy voice spoke. It was Minato's.
"We cannot keep shielding him. Hiashi said he would find something, but he is silent. You were disgraced for someone else's crime. It is not fair to you, my dearest love," Kushina spoke softly, and there was anguish in her voice that Hinata had never heard before.
"Danzō made me a Hokage and Hiashi my advisor," he spoke and Hinata's eyes widened at the revelation. "You know it was always a bargain. The essence was placed under my care by him. Hiruzen did not want it that way, but he was outvoted by us all. Danzō and Elders . . . they are fish of the same pond. They always had so much power. I never realised it in my youth."
He went silent and Hinata could hear nothing. She stared down and all of his words, as he said them, had appeared as fine blank ink on the scroll. It was used for confessions. It was troubling to sit in the darkness that way and listen to their private conversations. What had she become? Yet she had always been a curious one; so she twisted her back and pressed her breast and cheek against the wood, feeling the chill enter her body from there.
"Hiashi was a part of the bargain, too, was he not?" she asked and a jolt of curiosity, fear, and something else, ran down Hinata's young spine. "Why must you bear this burden alone? Talk to him—end this. Naruto will not back down. He is my son, and you are my husband. I cannot let this union tear us all apart." She drew in a sharp, sorrowful breath.
Kushina had fallen silent, too. It was like the echoes of her voice were travelling through the empty house, hitting her over and over again. The whole manor was bathed in black and white, and as she turned her eyes up to look at the garden, she saw rain dance like grey pearls upon the boughs and leaves and Purple Lilies, which looked joyful now. It felt cold . . . forlorn and it wrenched fear out from her heart. What were they speaking of? She eased that fear and breathed shallow breaths, listening.
"Danzō convinced Hiashi to hand over the Byakugans to the Squad," Minato spoke and Hinata's heart tripped and stalled, tripped and stalled. "He was poor—he still is. It was always about money for his failing Clan. He clings to this union as his Clan is left with nothing. I pity him. Hyūga are not what they used to be. Honour is all they have and wealth is all I am left with. That was all I could give him."
Wind came in whistling through the gap underneath the front door, and the light's beam wavered. Her heart had gone cold as her childhood dolls. It was shameful to hear such words from his lips, words of pity that hurt her soul and made her heart writhe with a keener ache: her poor father. He was just a victim of all this. Tears rose to her eyes, and she pulled away from the door. With trembling hands, she made the seals to stop the ink's flow. It was done.
"Worry not, my dearest. I shall speak to him myself. He needs to know that he cannot hope to win alone. He needs us," Kushina spoke in a soft, reassuring voice this time. "Lay with me. Forget this for now. I have not felt your touch in so long."
Hinata raised herself to her feet and looked back to the see the light flicker and waver behind her. Tears sat in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut just to feel them burn her with shame. There was nothing left to do here. She breathed in a cool breath that made her tremble and left for her room silently, the scroll held tightly in her trembling hand . . .
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Rain and wind blew in across the desolate room and his face. He turned his face a little to the left as the splash of water slid down his throat. It soaked through his shirt, and icy droplets trailed down in slow, crooked lines upon his shivering breast. That Anbu jacket was not proving to be so effective. It felt that his skin was being stabbed with tiny pins. He did not know why his body felt so weak. This weather would surely give him a fever . . .
He turned his eyes ever so slightly to look at Karin's flushed face. Water was dripping from her head, and she was shaking all over. Two of her fingers were pointed up—she was Sensing. He looked down the broken window of the ruined palace and watched as the Shitchi men fought with the bandits. It was a battle fought under the grey light of a kind sun and the cover of heavy rain.
Noises of grunts, screams, and breaking bones rose into the air, but the rain and angry thunder were stronger. The noises died too quickly for them to matter. Metal clashed against metal and spurts of blood flew out in many directions. They landed in the mud and got dissolved too soon. Then the colour disappeared. Their deaths would not leave any marks on the ground.
Few arrows flew his way, and he casually deflected them with his sword. It was child's play. The room lurched and creaked slightly to the right. Karin let out a tiny yelp. This place would not hold their weight for long. They had to find their hideout and end this. She wiped at her mouth, her eyes open wide behind the glasses, and she began the task again.
He was still looking at the broken sign of the village, moving back and forth in the wind. At last, its corner broke apart and it slammed down onto a big rock and shattered into pieces there. The sound jarred his nerves, disturbing his peaceful thoughts: he had sent two missives to Sasuke, yet he did not reply to even one of them . . .
He exhaled out a long sigh, his warm breath staying before his face like a ghost. The child was still angry. He smiled a small smile of amusement. It was Sasuke's right. He was too unkind to him that night. He should have expected this wrath. Sasuke's anger always took long to die down. It was easy for it to rise. Like boiling water in a kettle it was, just bubbling to the brim, waiting to spill over with a little rise in that flame.
His eyes watched as more men spilt blood. It was war. He had taken this task for Sasuke—to keep him safe. He had anticipated Tsunade's eagerness to make a bargain: a life for a life. It did not matter. As long as he did not catch that foolish girl slipping, he could leave it alone.
His thoughts went back to Sasuke's eyes. It was the same as before. What was Danzō planning to do this time? His thoughts were cut short by the creaking steps on the ruined wood. It was Kikyo. She wore a very colourful kimono today and held a new fan before her thoughtfully painted face. He could tell that she was smiling.
"You still haven't found them, Itachi-Sama?" she asked in the same simpering voice, drawing the fan closer to her lips.
"You should step back. This room might fall down into the mud. The palace is old. Even the roof is cracked," Itachi spoke and looked up. Water was dripping down from the cracks. The room suddenly lurched a little again, and another cracking sound filled their ears. Serizawa let out a startled gasp, his face a little white; he was the strangest Shinobi who had a fear of heights . . . perhaps that was the reason he worked the most on the chakra that collected under his feet.
"Sitting in the palanquin downstairs bores me. I came here to look upon you," Kikyo said, her voice soft and seductive in the wind.
"A wayward shuriken or an arrow might kill you. You are not a shinobi. Having a powerful chakra in your head would not prepare you for the feel of a cruel death," he spoke tonelessly and turned his eyes to look at the two masked men standing by the door. They wore wolf masks: their eyes and mouths were painted red.
A clever light glinted in Kikyo's eyes, rimmed by lashes and coated with a bit of black soot. She let out a laugh that rippled in his ear. "You are so honest. Many women would find that irksome," she said and drew closer, her gaze bent over the scar on his shoulder. "I wonder how you got this on your skin. The Sharingan reads all I've heard." There was such wonder in her eyes, and she pulled the fan back to look keenly at the thin line travelling under his black glove.
"It was a long time ago," he spoke and looked ahead at the rain falling down upon the last of men fighting for their lives. This outpost had become a painterly scene of carnage. Severed arms and heads lay strewn about in blood, black, and brown. The rain did not make the crows and vultures, sitting tight on the naked branches, afraid. Their wings were too wet for flight, but this was an easy meal for their hungry beaks.
"Does it crawl like a pesky spider all the way down your arm?" Kikyo asked with a little tilt of her head, appearing as curious as a little child. She moved her hand to touch it, but pulled it back with a jerk as though she was being playful. "I'd have requested of you to roll that glove down and show me, but it leaves little to the imagination." She shielded her face from the rain with her hand, eyes upon his face, and she parted her lips in an almost innocent grin filled with small, pearly-white teeth. She was such a theatrical actress with the way she behaved. It was starting to irk him.
Another splash landed on his face and neck. His lashes dripped water into his eyes. He wiped his hand across his face, eyes, mouth. He heard his heart beat with a stranger rhythm. His skin was getting a little warm. A fever? He had not slept in three days. This sudden, bone-chilling weather was difficult for his body to bear. He needed a little rest.
"Found them, Itachi-Sama. T-They're in the cave behind a w-waterfall—a little to the north," Karin said, her teeth chattering. Her cheeks were deep red, and she was dripping water everywhere on the floor.
Itachi created a crow and heard a gasp from Kikyo. It flew and sat down on Karin's shoulder. She stared at its whirling eye, terrified, as if it was about to poke out her eyes. "Keep informing me," Itachi spoke and stepped closer towards the balcony to jump down. Serizawa stood right behind it.
"I hope you're successful, Itachi-Sama. I wish you all the luck and good fortune in the world. It was so wonderful to stand by your side today," Kikyo said and hid her mouth behind her hand, her eyes flashing boldly in the light. "The skin on your throat and cheeks is so pink now. Is it fever? I thought you to be as cold as marble for that. It looks lovely upon you." She bent her head down in a bow.
Itachi did not say anything. He turned around and jumped down, his ears catching the last dying wail from another bandit as he hit the ground. He rammed his sword into the rocks on the right to break his fall. It was a smooth landing. Serizawa landed behind him. Muted sounds from Karin's lips filled his ears. He could see her lips moving through his crow's eyes. There was a cave hidden behind the waterfall about four miles beyond this outpost.
Thirty men. Just thirty. He would end their lives, soak his hands in more blood, and earn a bit of her favour. This had to end soon. He had to go back. Leaving Sasuke with Kai was not wise. The child would outwit him with playful ease. Itachi thought that he should smile that his brother was such a cunning Shinobi, but the father in him was angered at this careless thought. He was meant to protect him and his innocence. He had failed miserably over the years . . .
He turned around with a frown still forming on his wet brow and put that sword away in its sheath. Then he ran as fast as he could. Serizawa followed. He suddenly gained speed and Serizawa fell so far behind. His legs worked harder and harder and it widened the gap between them still more. The rain around him slowed down. It was soft on his cheeks. Rotting trees whooshed past with such speed that the scene turned into a single bold stroke of brown upon a scroll.
He jumped and landed smoothly on both feet and it propelled him into a faster run that he covered the last kilometre in a flash. It took him mere fifteen seconds to cover such a big distance. His heart was beating a little faster than usual. He really was very tired. He could have been a little quicker, shaved a second or two off that time.
Itachi waited for his heart to cool down and find that familiar pace. Sharingan pulsed in his eyes like a beating heart: red and hot and alive. He looked around and found nothing out of the ordinary. There was no well-trodden path that led to the cave. The bandits had been careful. A loud, gurgling sound permeated the air. He glanced up and found that the waterfall had turned muddy, and the lake beneath it had swelled because of rains. Most of its water was still clear.
Serizawa came running. He had slowed down when he caught sight of his Sharingan. He was red in the face. "You are slow and half a minute too late," Itachi spoke, turning around with a hard look on his face. "Work on your speed."
With a bit of shame, Serizawa bowed, and his cheeks grew redder like blooming blossoms. He watched Itachi take out his sword from the sheath and flash to the pile of moss-covered stones that lay close to the cave's mouth. He waited for Itachi to give him a signal. Itachi looked at the water through his Sharingan, and then he moved his sword through the water, cutting it in two. He flicked his free hand to indicate that Serizawa should proceed.
Smelling the salty smell of lake water, Serizawa inhaled deeply. Rain and thunder and water were still so loud. It would give them a good cover. He made hand-seals and created a Suiton Jutsu to raise the water gently. Both of them stepped in through the parted curtain of water. The cave was damp. A heavy smell of rot went up their nostrils. It was a bit dark, but their Sharingans saw several men behind the rock.
One of them was a Sensor. Karin had already told him. Itachi smiled. They were foolish. He pulled in a deep breath, kneaded that monstrous chakra, and spewed out a large orb of flame. Serizawa did the same. The flames tore into the rock and spread wide in the tight area. Fire clawed at them, their supplies, the oils dribbling from the lamps sitting in the gaps. They exploded and loud screams filled the space.
Flame's wave went up, curling along the roof and sweeping over their heads to the cave's mouth. They heard sounds of steam from the waterfall and closed their lips and stopped the chakra flow. Water was dripping in streamlets from the roof. It put out any flames left on the dead bodies: they had burnt to death.
Itachi looked around and felt an uneasy feeling settle firmly in his heart. Something did not seem right. There were no weapons' supplies anywhere. It looked like a hiding place.
"Itachi-Sama," Serizawa spoke as he knelt down. He brushed away the ashes and grabbed a slightly melted headband from the forehead of a dead Shinobi that lay by his feet. The heat had contorted its smooth shape.
Itachi took it from his hand. His long fingers wiped away the smudges of soot and ash from the metallic surface. Shock came to his face, and he looked about at the bodies that littered the cave. Their faces and muscles were crumbling away in ashes. Smoke rose from them and curled in thin wreaths in the air.
"Cloud . . . " Itachi whispered, and then shock gave way to anger, and his Shurikens began to spin and spin with violence in his eyes. His face contorted, and he could barely control himself. These were not Bandits, but Shinobis from Cloud . . .
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EN: Here's the etymology of two words that are of great importance in this work:
Soul: From Anglo Saxon sāwol; from Dutch ziel and Gothic saiwala. For figurative senses and collocation with body, life; as applied to individual (good soul, not a living soul, every soul on board) perhaps due to ecclesiastical; a character of medieval administration.
Spirit: Latin spiritus, from spirare, to breathe, used in Vulgate for sense-development. Partly also via Old French esperit, espirit (esprit). Replaced, in certain senses, native soul, ghost, but was not generally adopted by the other Teutonic languages. In reference to temperament from medieval science that believed in three "spirits" or "subtle fluids" pervading the individual, as it did in four "humours". Alcohol sense (c. 1600) from earlier use by the alchemists, who recognized four, videlicet quicksilver, orpiment, sal, ammoniac and brimstone; similar use of German geist: To spirit away, abduct, was originally used (17 century) of kidnapping boys for the Wind, plantations, as though they had been supernaturally removed. Littleton has plagiarius, "a spirit, who steals other mens children or servants". Spiritualism, in table-rapping sense, appears 1855. Spirituel (French) has developed also the special sense of esprit, wit, intellect.