Chapter Fifty-Four: Fathers at War
Canon-Manga Info: When Kakashi drew a barrier around Sasuke's budding Cursed Seal (CS) with Fuin-Jutsu, Sasuke was delirious with pain and exhaustion. He immediately fainted. Sasuke had only seen that seal and its usage once; however, he created his own Fuin-Jutsu technique to reverse it from his memory when he dragged Orochimaru out of Anko's inferior CS by using Senjutsu-infused Chakra flesh from Jūgo. The hand-seals used by Kakashi and the hand-seals used by Sasuke are not even remotely the same in Canon Manga. That alone proves that it's not the same technique.
If people have read the manga with care, they should know how incredible this feat is in terms of intelligence as Sasuke's had no experience in Fuin-Jutsu or the technique to bring Orochimaru back into the world. He still doesn't. He's just incredibly brilliant and a very fast learner.
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In the sunlight, his face was strangely white, almost sickly. His bright blue eyes had lost their shine in these past few days. He seemed weary, worn down by the burdens of his world. He had not spoken a single word and sat quietly. Somehow, dusk's glimmer was of more interest to him than anything else.
Hiashi sat opposite him, his eyes roving towards the hole in the mat. It was still there, and he never had the time nor the money to fix his own troubles. It made him feel shame, but the Clan came first—all else, an added burden. The shadow from the tree outside crawled slowly across Minato's face to envelop his cheek, and as if disturbed by its airy weight, he finally turned his eyes to meet Hiashi's. There was a strong determination in his eyes now. Hiashi did not know what had changed there.
Minato breathed in loudly, adjusting the last vestiges of his old life, impressed upon the mighty vesture he had draped around his shoulders with care. Konoha's joy, but to him, it was besmeared with the past he wanted to forget—forge anew. He pulled in another deep breath, and he was suddenly reminiscent of a man who desired freedom and change. Hiashi did not like his demeanour.
"I believe now is the right time to end the marriage," Minato spoke, his voice surprisingly soft, but his words went into Hiashi's heart like a vengeful Kami's spear.
Hiashi's grey eyes shrank dangerously in his sockets as though he was a putrefying corpse in a lonely old grave where the tongues of the dead and teeth of the animals were his only company. He did not say anything. His words were stolen by grief and poverty—even pride. He had last bits of it, hanging there from his heart that enjoyed few daily moments of vanity.
"Naruto has fallen ill again," he spoke heavily, steering his gaze again to look outside at the sun, "he is also stubborn. I have tried. I truly have. It has been so long. It is time for us to let this go."
"You make it sound easy," Hiashi spoke in a strained voice, his teeth clenched. Anger was wringing his throat good. A muscle bulged in his jaw. He wanted to say something hurtful, but they were no longer young for quarrels. Age bent men down and drove such passions from them—it always did.
The first roll of thunder hit the house hard, but Minato sat unflinching by the table. Hiashi's house looked old: paint was chipping off the walls in many rooms; mats were old, and the furniture, older still; there were many cracks and crevices his Byakugan could not even count. It was an arduous task for his eyes, and he had given up without another try. He had thought to mend the mat, at least, but everything ended so long ago. It was a hopeless wish . . .
"It is easy," he breathed out softly, his shoulders drooping a little. "There is no need to prolong this mess any longer. We are old men. We have seen the times change. We should be above this." And then he got to his feet slowly, wearing the advancing night's subtle shadow as the deep red of his past upon the robes faded beneath the hue of grey. Hiashi could only look on and say so little.
"Minato, I have been gathering evidence against Danzō. I can clear your name. You do not need to be so hasty," he spoke, and his voice tapered off to a fearful whisper. He had thought that it would bring a change upon Minato's hazy countenance, but he looked no less dejected as he did before.
Minato raised his hand to his brow and wiped at the sweat quivering upon his skin. It was a hard decision, even Hiashi could tell. "Hiashi, I have grown weary of all this. It is time—"
"Listen to me, you fool!" he cut him off and the tone of restlessness in his voice hung in the air like dust, "Danzō offered more to Yagura than the Byakugans. I feel that he did something to trap Fugaku. I do not know why and I do not know how, but you bore the burden of a crime, and I, of faithless promises he made you keep. Do you not see? He is still playing you. Naruto's illness cannot be a coincidence."
"Why does it matter?" he spoke and his words shocked Hiashi. The grey was flecked with anger and disbelief in his eyes. "We have no proof to pin him with anything. Your evidence is empty words. No one will believe it. The Council will do away with you as they did with me. You really want to shred the last pieces of your honour with your own hands? Then you are a courageous man. I choose to be a coward now."
"Minato," he spoke, eyes widening, "what has happened to you, my friend? You were never this defeated. Where is the strength in you I knew and admired?"
"Children defeat you," he spoke, and a bitter smile trembled on his youthful face that bore the first signs of an aged man's face, defeated by daemons that came relentless as terror from his past. "Naruto has defeated me. I have nothing left in life if I lose him, too. He is my future, and I am willing to sacrifice my life, my ruined honour, for his sake. It is a fruitless battle, a thing of the past, and I have already lived through it. It is only a memory now . . . "
Hiashi narrowed his eyes against the light spilling out from the chink in the clouds. A cool breeze blew in through the slightly ajar door, and the peach-scented air delighted his senses for a moment. It was a small moment of distraction, and it faded too soon. He wanted to say something more, but his tongue was motionless in his mouth.
He watched helplessly as Minato turned around, the last light of the sun illuminating his eyes like water under the full moon. He truly had such clear blue eyes. He stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder to speak, "I will send you the money Hinata deserves. You can keep the rest I offered. Consider it an apology from me—a friend." And then the garden's misshapen shadows crossed his form like a quick blur, and he left the room in silence . . .
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The firmament, a dark expanse, of stars and clouds—moon was a little shy tonight, but its sparse light shined down onto the balcony below them. His cunning Sharingan saw more than others, cut through more than others. There were tendrils of that quick chakra lingering in that room like a neat ravel of a harlot's hair. A masked man stepped out, and he saw his right-hand twitching again with a curious uneasiness that amused him.
A smile crawled with the hastiness of a snail on his lips, and he slightly turned his red eyes to look at the mischievous face of the Uzumaki girl he now thought to be far more useful than he had imagined; his child was more cunning than he had imagined; and the thought amused him more!
Bright crimson flushed her cheeks, and she fondled the kunai rather suggestively in her hand. Her mannerisms were still quite delightful to watch—he had not disagreed with this notion yet. "How many times have you used this seal?" he asked, and she twisted her rosy lips into a naughty smile.
"Itachi-Sama, you don't like surprises?" Karin asked, pushing red strands from her eyes as wind ravelled her long hair.
He smiled. "Sasuke is full of innocent surprises. I have learnt to . . . bear them, but I believe he has become an apt pupil of your Fuin-Jutsu tricks by now. Surprises be damned," he spoke in a voice afflicted with a bit of amusement, and she let out a soft trill of laughter in reply. "Do I amuse you?" He stepped into the darkness, and redness issued forth from his eyes more magnificently—a sharp contrast between quarrelling shades. There was concealed danger there, and her sensing made her heart suddenly quiver a little like a nervous note in a clumsy symphony.
She really could not see his face clearly, but she continued to smile that lustful smile of hers. Though there was a faint hint of challenge there in her face, his keen eyes did not miss the innocent tricks befitting a child. "Why do ask me—don't you already know? Does my nervousness amuse you, Itachi-Sama? You can be playful and passive when you want to be. Why not show me such a courtesy?" Karin asked softly and passed her teeth slowly over her plump lower lip in a manner as though she was seducing him. He found it rather . . . endearing.
A small bell chinked in the tree that grew tall in the garden. Her face was full of a bright kind of chakra that whirled as a ferocious gyre about her breasts and genitals. She was in a mood to play with him just to give Sasuke some footing. Her childlike designs were almost charming.
Itachi smiled and stepped out of the shadows. Moon was cruel to half his face; it was as white as a theatre actor's mask now. Even the smile on his lips was unnatural: frosty and cunning like an actor's. "Whistle when the moon is high. You can sing pretty songs," he spoke in a deep, calm voice like he was speaking to a child and bent his head a little, his red eyes penetrating her thoughts.
There was a passing smile's hint upon his lips, and his countenance mesmerised her. He was a strange man, and as she watched him walk down the corridor towards his own chamber, letting the walls bear the burden of his blacker shadow, she could not stop her words from coming out. "You wouldn't have found Sasuke that night if it wasn't for me," she burst out, and he stopped and half-turned to look back at her. "I didn't do it for you—I did it to protect him!" She let out a deep and raspy breath, her red cheeks covered in the sweat of fear.
Itachi tilted his head a little to the right as if he was observing her for the first time. Then he turned around, a smile's mirage forming on his shadow-face, and left her standing in the corridor.
When he opened the door to his chamber, a familiar scent of berries hit his senses hard. It was a little stronger than before, and it came from the cup she had placed on the table. The liquid was an intoxicating sake and something else. Obediently, Kikyo sat on his bed, legs folded beneath her thighs and a fan before her face. The lantern's bright light fought the darkness in the room and shone on the bed, making it seem that he was about to experience quite the performance from a theatre prostitute before him.
He pushed the door and it clanked shut. That metal lock on the thing was sturdy and made to protect the customers from the bandits. The smile was gone from his face, and Sharingan had cooled off. It had become weary to enjoy this playtime: she was a dull lover to him now.
"I was waiting for you," she said and smiled widely in a manner that he could tell was fake.
"You cannot come in here as you please. It might become an irksome habit, and habits die hard," he spoke and took off his jacket. His face bore no signs of emotions for her eyes to watch and interpret, and it disappointed her again.
"I came here with a proposal," Kikyo said and did not let the smile fade for his appraising eyes. "It might interest you."
"You press your luck again, no doubt," Itachi spoke with habitual indifference and placed his sword on the set of drawers. They were tall and hefty and had many drawers. He only used the top two.
"It's about Shitchi, Itachi-Sama," she said and there was a tiny bit of desperation in her voice that he easily sniffed out. "If we can use them in the alliance against the bandits, we might gain more ground. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Your Clan's affairs are your own. They do not concern me," he spoke and sat down on the futon. A shine emanated from his eyes, and she shuddered at the wintery kind of indifference he exhibited.
Kikyo's lips curled, and she quickly changed her bitter smile into a seductive one. "Your eyes slay the winter, don't they? They're so deathly cold on their own," Kikyo said, and a playfulness permeated her voice, and she looked at him and then the door playfully. She crawled on all fours towards the wall. Then she sat close to him and placed her hand delicately upon the old wound again, like it always fascinated her.
He crossed his legs and looked away from her to the window. In his half-prying eyes, Sharingan slept whilst he tried to peer into the darkness that lay on the land beyond the open window. His silence prompted her to continue: "I know it isn't, but it's an alliance, isn't it? It would be for the best if you gained their trust."
"They are your kin," he spoke, not looking back at her. "It is for the best if you extend a hand of friendship, not I."
"So stubborn, Itachi-Sama," she whispered close to his ear, her hand drifting down to rest on his thigh. "Why won't you do this little thing for me? You'd be free of this mission's burden and the scroll can be yours—without a price!"
And this time, her proposal made him turn his face. He looked at her, Sharingan shining in his eyes, an amour who had revealed herself to her, and Kikyo stared deeply into reds as though she was looking at them for the first time, mesmerised.
"Nothing is free. Not even you. Your generosity . . . why? I feel indebted already," he spoke and she felt mocked. "Why not tell me what is in that scroll? You will save yourself the heartache and the unnecessary trips to my chamber in your future unfriended situation." A twinkling amusement vanished suddenly from his eyes, and her blush grew deeper in anger.
"Your tongue is cruel!" she said and locked her teeth to prevent any further retort. She bore the shadows he made, and her contours darkened beneath them; but his Sharingan did not let anything hide, let alone the tales on an eager girl's face.
"You should be used to all sorts of cruelties from me by now. You enjoy them with greedy relish, you silly girl," he spoke in a deep whisper and a strange smile forced itself upon his lips that refused to wear it in an act of mundane defiance that was their habit, and it surprised her. She touched her lips slowly with her fingertips to catch a gasp, heat flushing her body.
"Is my tongue less cruel now?" he asked a bit softly, a ghostly delight apparent on his face as he brushed his fingers along the collar of her kimono as though he was doing it thoughtlessly; and the crests tightened and peaked there on her bosom in answer. "That dampness is not from the dream's lust, is it? You seek out sharp pains and drops of blood. Why be so innocent and playful, little Kikyo, when you can climb on my thighs and relieve yourself of this burden? I can allow you this courtesy, and we can speak of the scroll some other time."
The smile was there no more, but his eyes were still different, steeped in a ferocious deep paint that was seductive in nature. Her hands went up, and she pulled her collars down, letting them slip down her shoulders and bosom. Then her hands went down and bunched the Kimono there, and she raised herself up a little on her knees and lifted the expensive garment to her thighs.
Itachi moved his head back and a faint, misty light from the lantern flickered on Kikyo's face. She climbed on his lap and positioned her knees on either side of his waist, opening up her thighs wide. There was a silken thread in the damp curls on her genitals, and as he touched her there, he felt that any more was unnecessary. There was wetness at the junction, and she accepted him easily into her body.
She bore down on him and pulled him in deeper; and then she thrust against him over and over again and clamped and pulsed around him in crazed pleasure. A continuous song of sighs and breaths issued forth from her lips, and in-between that discordant tune, he heard a melodious whistling. Once, twice, thrice . . . the pesky rat was scampering away to the west.
Itachi rested a hand against her back, and his other one went up to pull a pin from her hair, and, without a warning, he jabbed it into a bundle of nerves at the back of her fragile neck. At that moment, she squeezed his organ so deliciously hard, and he spilt a little inside her tight heat despite not wanting to. She sagged against him and breathed calmly. She had only wasted her breaths during the song . . .
He laid her down on the left side of the bed; then he picked up the things he needed and wore the things he needed quickly and jumped out of the window. The drop was a long one, and he showed a fast turn of speed when he found purchase on the steep and slick cliff and ran down upside down to the pebbles covered ground that was a dry, stony graveyard at this time of the year. He landed softly on his feet, feeling the staying pleasure there in his body, begging liberation. He waited for a few minutes, and finally, Karin came running from beyond the lush bushes. Her face was red under the full moon's brightest light that swam into the lake's darkest parts.
"He's still heading west," she said between loud pants—the run was a hasty one.
"I cannot create any more crows," he admitted and moved a little to the right, away from the darkness that seemed to almost grasp at him. "Is it a straight path?"
Karin nodded and said: "so far, it seems straight. He's fast. He's run past ten kilometres now." She put her hand to her breast to feel her heart pound wildly.
"I suppose, I will have to run faster," he spoke and suddenly flickered to the right and vanished at a high speed. The darkness had let go of its hold on him with an unwilling whisper.
There was no use tarrying around. She inhaled a deep and long breath and ran as fast as she could after him. It was like following something very small. He was moving so fast that her sensing could barely keep track of his movements. She could feel him drawing closer to Kyo with each breath, and then, he had gone ahead and surprised him.
Kyo skidded to a halt and stumbled forward to catch his balance. He was a clumsy Sensor, but one did not need to be an expert to feel a robust Uchiha man's powerful Chakra. He fumbled with the sheath behind his back and pulled the sword out with awkward haste. Raiton ran over its edges. It was rough, but it made his blade sharp enough to cut into rock.
Itachi appeared from midst the mass of shadows hanging between trees. A smile touched his eyes and slowly filled their depths, and they changed colour, turning and transforming into his favourite toy: Sharingan.
Cold sweat kicked in, and Kyo moved slightly to the right and then to the left. He was impatient, and Itachi could not help but smile at his behaviour. "Why are you impatient, Kyo? I only want to speak with you," Itachi spoke, and his voice was smooth like silk in a maker's hands.
"I'm in a hurry, Itachi-Sama," he said in a rough and raspy voice as though he had swallowed a large soldier pill and it impeded his breathing, sweat trickling down his brow. "You'll have to forgive my impudence."
"Unfortunate," he spoke, red dancing inside omens in his face. "I thought you could have taken me to the Cloud emissary you were about to poison. That man is a fool. You can spare his family some heartache."
Colour bled out from Kyo's face, and he looked down to his feet as if it had spread out over the ground. "What're you talking about? I'm—"
"You smell of berries," Itachi cut across him and shrank his eyes shrewdly, a smile appearing on his lips. "It is a strong smell. The deep red ones, are they not? They look lovely on a woman's lips sometimes. I do not see any colour smeared upon your lips. Is it a lovely surprise? I never took you for a catamite for the old aristocrats."
Kyo's eyes widened and green veins prominently swelled in his neck with anger. His face turned deep red and murderous. "You bastard!" he shouted, spit flying from his mouth. He readied his weapon and pointed it at Itachi.
"All honorifics thrown away so soon? I was merely giving a facetious remark to lighten the mood. You are a very sensitive Shinobi," he spoke and took a few steps towards him and watched as he stumbled back to find refuge between the trees.
At that moment, Karin came into view from the right and Kyo's eyes brightened. He jumped back and stuck his feet to the bark with chakra and launched a measly Katon attack at her that she was too slow to dodge. Itachi disappeared from his vision and Karin vanished the next moment. Kyo jumped off the tree and made a frantic dash to the cave's darkest mouth. He ran into the gullet of the cave and darkness swallowed him up. Fear pulsed in harmony with beating blood in his veins as he navigated the tunnels to reach his hideout.
He had to make it to the flare and ignite it to alert Kikyo. Damn the Sage! He should have taken his supplies with him last night! He tumbled into the room he had made, knocking the chair to the ground. Soft grass grew here and it was cushiony. Sensing a prickly unease, he twisted his neck to look back when a blur hit him, and he was thrown back against the wall. He flew across the ground and crashed into the stones poking out of the wall—hard. His breath whooshed out of him, and he fell down to the ground, clenching his jaws together tightly. Few of his ribs were broken: he could feel it, and it hurt like a bitch!
Kyo tried to scramble to his feet, but Itachi grabbed him by the jaws and lifted him up to his feet. His hand trembled whilst he struggled to reach for the stash of kunais in the bag on his back. "Go for that kunai again, and you will miss your hand dearly," he spoke, and his breath was like poison.
Fear entered his veins so quickly that his mind went numb. Itachi threw him back again with such force that he fell back and bounced off the wall like a ragdoll, and this time, he felt that Itachi's grasp on his jaws was tighter, crueller. "Loosen your grasp and drop that sword. I am warning you. Do not test my patience," Itachi warned, red filling Kyo's vision, and he could see nothing other than an endless shade and a blurry image of a young woman standing behind the red-eyed monster, and he screamed and blood oozed from his vision like a silent apology.
"Sit down," Itachi ordered and his grip slackened. He felt that Itachi had mocked him as he slumped down to ground without commanding his battered body, spit leaking from the corner of his mouth.
Karin looked at Itachi and noticed that he was smiling. From this angle, he looked very much like Sasuke, without the extra show of passions. His shadow fell heavy and hard on the man slumped before them, and it bore him down with its monstrous weight. Flames guttered on the candles' wicks and few of them had melted into generous pools of wax in the holes. Wax had dribbled down and dried up along the walls; this man never intended to return here again . . .
"Go and stand by the cave's mouth. I do not want any interferences here," Itachi spoke, and his voice was deeper in the cave. Karin nodded and scampered away.
A moment later, Serizawa came running into the cave, his Sharingan glowing. "The army has been led to the borders with my clone on your orders, Itachi-Sama," he said, flicking Kyo a curious glance. "I killed and burnt all the men who went with me."
"Wonderful," he spoke in a flat tone, without looking at Serizawa, and Kyo could hear the foul taste of triumph in his voice. "Your hospitality is lacking." He looked down at the chair that lay toppled over close to him.
Serizawa immediately put the chair back up on its legs. "How kind of you, Serizawa," he spoke, sat down, and slipped one leg over the other. "Look at me and speak, Kyo—the foolhardy Shinobi from Cloud."
He did not want to, he truly did not, but Itachi had caressed the words with his voice and tongue. They were cruel, yet sweet and seductive. Now, Kyo was an obedient hound with a rope around his neck, and all he could do was obey; so he craned his flushed, defeated face at his tormenter and smiled in obedience.
Kyo's eyes were unfocused and bleary. He only saw red in Itachi's eyes, nothing else. They beckoned him, and he wanted to reveal all of his secrets before him without a care in the world.
"Did you steal my Anbu marking from the second drawer? Though I am curious, how did you open it without making any noise? That thing sticks," he spoke with a sudden flare of innocent curiosity in his face, and Kyo nodded and slurred out few words about 'oil' and being a 'good mechanic'—mundane stuff.
"Well, go on. We are patiently waiting for your words," he spoke, with an expression of encouragement, urging him to continue.
"I—I'm a Cloud Shinobi," he said in a coarse, uncertain voice, his face looking confused and clammy. He was pouring out so much sweat. Itachi's Genjutsu had given him a high fever in moments. "Kikyo—she—she's bought men in Cloud. S-She gets money from her lands and some men in Konoha. I don't know who. I don't know who. I don't know—" He lost his train of thought and mumbled and bled from his eyes again that the shadows and the red lines upon his face made him look like a court jester.
"Itachi-Sama, your Genjutsu—he might not—"
"Do not interrupt, Serizawa," Itachi commanded and Serizawa fell silent. He looked into Kyo's eyes, and he winced in pain that was spreading fast at the back of his head. "Speak. I did not ask you to entertain me with your silence."
Letting out a loud whine, he sniffled and coughed pitifully; and then he began again, a little faster than before, as though he was quite eager to please Itachi: "she plans on killing Shinobis from C-Cloud through her Uncle's Shitchi forces—and you, too, to sabotage the treaty. Raikage had asked her to investigate the assignation attempt on Kuma. He—he thinks Danzō was behind it, but he's grown suspicious of her activities."
Thunder echoed through the cave and wind rushed inside. It smelt of damp earth and flowers outside. Kyo had fallen silent to breathe in the soothing wind. He took in short, broken breaths and screwed his eyes up tight and opened them; they were bloody. Itachi smiled in the momentary refuge of darkness. He was only a father—a father at war with his wayward, wild son, but his son amused him often: Sasuke had covered his tracks well. His brother's games were so innocent, so sweet, and, sometimes, they delighted him. The blame was on Danzō, and his name was clean.
"She wants to take over Shitchi," he choked out and coughed. "She wants to rule all of the Okami Clan. She thinks it was her father's right."
"And you are her informant," he spoke and Kyo flinched as if his words hurt him. "Who is the snake in the bandits? After all, it is not possible for her to ambush them without control. They dance on her fingertips. She is a fool."
"Meru . . . " he breathed out and fell back, exhausted. The Genjutsu throttled his senses. He had no capacity to even weave a pleasant thought. Now, his mind was a container for the red oozing inwards through the cracks Itachi had made, with his Sharingan's sharp chisel.
Itachi stood up, took a few steps, and looked down into his eyes. "You are the one who will end this game . . . " and then his words trailed off, and he fell silent, his Sharingan blazing—a flame in his eye. And Itachi poured a tale of murder into Kyo's fragile mind, and he took it as a word from the lips of the Sage. Nothing was more divine than the sweetest honey that dripped from Itachi's tongue. In Kyo's mind, it was him and him alone . . . and everything else had vanished!
The night bird's song buzzed and poured into her ears, and she woke up. The room swam into view, and she slowly sat up, and her eyes took stock of her surroundings. They fell upon the red there in the shadows. She sat up straight and adjusted her kimono, as if the nakedness shamed her, and peered into the dim yellow that limned his face. He was sitting in the chair, with the sword lying on his thighs. He was looking at her a bit keenly.
"The high of the pleasure hits you hard," Itachi remarked, and the cold expression on his face relaxed into a sly look that merely touched it like the softest touch from a ghost.
"You can be crass and vulgar yourself sometimes," Kikyo replied, smoothing down the wrinkles in the fabric with an irritated expression. He had done something to her, though she did not know what. Her eyes wandered to the tea, but it had gone cold in the cup hours ago—he had not touched it.
"Do you pretend outrage whilst you stare longingly into the mirror every morning? I am surprised that you find your own antics quite abrasive and shocking," he spoke without a care and turned the sword in his hands so delicately as though it was carved out of glass. When she said nothing, he spoke again: "do you want to continue this free spectacle for me, or can I retire for the night? It is your choice."
"Oh, so rude!" she spat at him in anger and gathered her kimono with clumsy care and stormed out of the room, leaving the same strong scent of berries in her wake . . .
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