Disclaimer: Naruto is the property of Kishimoto-sensei, of whom I am not in any way, shape, or form.
Here's the second chapter... I've reverted back to a more standard tense of story-telling... I'm still considering whether to leave the first chapter as-is or to go through the mucky work of revising it to match the rest of the story. (Any thoughts?) Hope you find it... interesting.
Meetings of Fate 2
Your Lord and God
R. Winters
The boy stood stoically inside a ring of trees, eyeing the towering oaks with calm black orbs. He took a deep breath and put his hands together in a seal, releasing his chakra.
The Sharingan blazed to life in his eyes, a pair of tomoe spinning into existence in both. Simultaneously, the many traps he'd set up around the clearing were triggered, and a rain of weapons sped towards him.
The boy twisted, his sharp eyes catching every movement, and managed to dodge around the first wave, catching one kunai by the ring as it whizzed past him.
Armed, the boy continued to move, jumping and rolling and spinning to avoid the worst of the blades. Occasionally he was forced to bring up his kunai in defense, knocking a shuriken he didn't have time to avoid out of the way, or altering the path of a senbon that came too close.
It was all over within thirty seconds and the boy allowed himself to rest, panting as he regained his breath.
His left hand rose and he pressed it down on his stinging arm, drawing it away again a second later to look at the blood. He still wasn't good enough.
It had been months since that incident. He'd been in the hospital for three weeks—unconscious for two of them. He'd known then that he needed this power. At his current strength he just wasn't good enough.
His mother had cried over him the day he finally woke up, telling him how scared they'd been. His father had come to see him later that very same day, and maybe that was a sign that he had been concerned, but all he had done was nod his approval and told him to work on getting well quickly, so he could get back to work.
He had been relieved that he hadn't been made to see his brother until he was released from the hospital and returned home.
But he hadn't been able to think about anything other than that man and the startling difference between their strengths. He had been levels above anyone the boy knew, and he suspected he might be even stronger than the Hokage. How had the man obtained such ridiculous strength? And how could he do the same?
"I see you survived."
His eyes widened and he dove out of the clearing, ducking behind the nearest tree and scooping up as many weapons as he could effectively use at once.
His breathing was heavy and his ears echoed the drumming of his heart as his mind raced.
What was he doing here? Inside of Konoha's guard? Had he been admitted? Was he some friend of Konoha?
He couldn't believe that, but the man was certainly strong enough to force an entry. Why?
"Uchiha Itachi."
The boy's head snapped up, eyes wide with fear as he saw the man crouching on the trunk of the tree only a short distance from him, looking down with a faint, amused smile.
"How do you know my name?" He blurted out, even though there were a hundred other things he should have been more concerned with at the moment.
"I know more than that," the man stated calmly, "I know you spent two weeks in a coma after our last meeting… Your father is the current clan head… You graduated first in your class last year… And, most interestingly, you have a younger brother."
Itachi knew he should be disturbed by the extent of this man's knowledge—had he been studying him? Instead, all he could feel was irritation at the man's last comment, "What's so interesting about him?"
The man let out a breathy chuckle and disengaged from the tree, flipping once before landing in front of the eight-year-old. Itachi tensed at the movement, clutching his weapons more tightly, muscles taut.
"It depends, I suppose," the man said calmly, ignoring the boy's excitable state, "If he can be made to rise to your level." He leaned closer, a wicked grin across his lips as he added, in a low voice, "Then you could be made to have eyes like mine."
Itachi's eyes widened in surprise at the announcement and he forgot to be on guard, mind working furiously to come up with the connection. What did his brother have to do with his eyes? And how could he obtain those eyes?
"You do want them, don't you?" The man prompted, voice still quiet, "Eyes like mine… They intrigue you."
The boy couldn't deny it, but he wasn't going to beg the man for an answer or anything. He drew away from the man, the effect ruined when he ended up pressing into the tree behind him. Itachi forced back a flush of embarrassment and decided to ignore the humiliating action, raising his voice in a demand, "Tell me how to achieve those eyes."
Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't the slap he received. The eight-year-old didn't even see the man move, he simply found himself on the ground again, his left cheek throbbing with pain.
Slowly, he pushed himself up, breathing through his nose because it hurt to move his jaw. Tears stung at his eyes and when he tried to blink them away he noticed a pair of sandaled feet come to a stop in front of him.
His arms shook slightly as he raised his head, looking up at the man towering over him.
The man scowled down at him, his face a mask of contempt and disgust. Itachi wished that he could disappear; melt into the ground or blow away as dust in the wind. Instead he was forced to endure the glare. He lowered his eyes again to make it a little more bearable.
"Ungrateful brat," the man spat harshly, "I tolerated your disrespect once before, but don't expect me to do it again. Surely you have some good manners in you; strive to show that to me when you speak, and pray that I'll overlook the audacity of a weakling like you presuming to address me at all."
The man crouched, reaching a hand down to force the boy's head up—Itachi hissed as a spike of pain shot through his nerves when the man gripped his cheeks roughly.
"Compared to a pathetic child like you, I am a god," the man intoned gravely, that strange Sharingan burning in his eyes, "You should consider yourself extremely fortunate that someone such as myself is even wasting the time to look at such an unworthy fool like yourself."
He dropped Itachi's jaw and stood, leaving the boy to hang his head again, blinking away a fresh gathering of tears.
Silence reigned for several minutes until the eight-year-old finally found the courage to stand. He stared at the man warily, understanding his place in the world a little better. He was like a toy to this man; little more than a curiosity that he might tire of at any time and toss aside. But it was obvious that without his knowledge, he would never reach his full potential. He had to do what he could to keep the man's interest.
Choosing his words carefully, Itachi allowed his fear of the man to leak into his voice, hoping it would convey the proper attitude, "O-jiisama…" He barely made it through the word, wincing and raising a hand to his injured jaw as pain spiked through it. He glanced up, saw that the man was watching him, and forced himself to continue, "What… what would you… have me call you?"
The man watched a moment longer, face blank. At last, he answered, "My name is Madara."
"Then… Madara-sama," the boy forced out, "Please… share with me the secret of your power…" He bowed his head, more to hide his pained expression than to show respect, although he realized it conveyed the proper spirit after he'd done it. He couldn't believe how much it hurt, just to talk, but he knew his jaw must be broken.
The man was silent for such a long time that Itachi looked up again. He was smirking as he looked down at the eight-year-old, eyes considering, and at last he gave his answer.
"I will not share my power with just anyone," he informed the boy, "Show me the extent of your strength and desire, and I will speak to you again."
Before Itachi could even blink, the man was already gone.
The boy let out another hiss of pain, his hand immediately shooting up to cradle his red cheek. His shoulders shook in suppressed sobs as the adrenaline drained out of his body, the aching in his cheek increasing with every second.
In an attempt to force the pain from his mind, the boy dropped his hand to his arm instead, his fingers digging into his shirt sleeve and pressing against the flesh underneath with enough pressure to bruise. It helped restore his state of mind a little and he slowly gathered the weapons he'd used for training, returning them to the bags he'd brought, his aching jaw making the job miserable.
Once he was done he headed back to the Uchiha Estate—he needed to return his father's equipment before he could go to the hospital.
As he walked he considered Madara's demand. He didn't like the dangerous tone the man had presented it in. It implied all sorts of unpleasant things to his young mind. But at the same time, he needed that power. He could never allow himself to be bested like that again.
That technique… Itachi shuddered at the memory of it. It was a hazy memory, but painful enough that he had an idea how horrible it must have been. The medics had been surprised that he'd woken at all.
He didn't want to be a worthless child for the rest of his life. He wanted to become powerful. To become the god that Madara presented himself as.
Still, it was a blow to his pride to know that he needed to learn this power from Madara. His fists clenched on the leather straps they held as the bloodied bodies of his teammates flashed in his mind's eye.
Madara… that monster had killed them all so easily. He respected—feared—his power, but the way that he used it…
Glancing up, Itachi saw that he'd reached the complex. He'd return the bags and go to the hospital for now. He could decide what to do about Madara later.
He made his way through the small streets quickly, keeping his head ducked down and evasively waving at the greetings called out to him by various doting family members. He wondered, with a flash of bitterness, if they greeted his brother the same way, when the pathetic boy stumbled along on their mother's skirts. Did they, too, believe he was weak—that there needed to be an alternate in case he stumbled?
Shoving the thoughts forcefully from his mind, Itachi quickly let himself into his father's shed, stowing the extra equipment exactly where he'd gotten it from, then turned to leave.
"Aniki!" A childish voice squealed happily, and Itachi's face went blank, staring down at his replacement coldly.
The tiny three-year-old didn't seem to notice his dislike, moving towards him with the uneven gait of a young child.
Madara's words echoed in his mind and a small frown tugged at Itachi's lips. Did he really need this pathetic little person to reach Madara's level? It was laughable to think the boy would ever come close to his strength.
Still, it was the only information he'd managed to obtain pertaining to that ability, and he would be a fool to dismiss it so easily.
"Sasuke!"
Itachi glanced up as his mother's voice echoed from around the corner, obviously in pursuit of the small runaway. The older boy measured his options quickly in his mind, weighing his own dislike of the boy against Madara's words.
Coming to his decision, Itachi stooped, scooping his younger brother up in his arms. The little boy laughed in delight.
Itachi shifted the boy awkwardly until he'd found a good position and leaned in, whispering into the boy's ear, "You will be the key to my strength, Sasuke-kun, so chase after me." The pain throbbing from his jaw as he spoke added an extra layer of meaning to his words—he would remember this pain, and the words Madara had said to him.
Large black eyes looked up at him in confusion, but their mother chose that moment to arrive, a relieved smile on her tired face.
"Oh, Itachi, you found him," she said gratefully, holding her arms out.
Itachi obeyed the unspoken request, passing the three-year-old to her waiting arms.
"Are you done training for the day?" The woman asked, turning to lead the way back into the house before abruptly stopping and looking back at him again. Her cheerful countenance quickly morphed into a frown of concern and she approached her eldest son swiftly, juggling Sasuke out of the way so she had one hand free.
"Itachi! What happened to your face?" She reached towards the angry red mark on his left cheek, but kept back from touching it.
The boy's cheek suddenly flared with pain, as though reminding the eight-year-old of its presence.
"An… accident during training," he murmured. It hurt less if he didn't move his mouth too much, "I was heading over to the hospital now."
"Do you want us to come with you?" The concerned mother asked anxiously.
Itachi looked from her face to Sasuke's and shook his head, "I'll be fine."
"Have a message sent if you're going to miss dinner, okay?" The woman requested as the child in her arms squirmed.
The boy gave a slight nod before passing her by, thoughts returning once again to the man who had given him his bruise so effortlessly. His blood still boiled at the memory of it. He'd been backhanded like a spoiled child—he'd been acting like one, too, which made it even worse.
He didn't even know who Madara was. Had there really been someone that strong out of the Uchiha clan? If there was, there must be some record of him. Itachi resolved to find that record and discover what he could of the man and his ability before they met again.