For all his genius, Uchiha Itachi had become well aware of the gaps of knowledge in his mind. He knew how to kill, how to steal and live and thrive as a shinobi, and maybe that's the beginning of the issue; he had never truly been aware of anything else.
If there was time to go back and shake himself and Shisui and every single person who ever wore the Uchiha crest, he would try to learn other things; he had always wanted to learn to garden—his mother grew beautiful flowers alongside tomatoes, because Sasuke loved the fruit more than anything else.
(He wished he had learned to be a better brother; he wished Sasuke wasn't so eager to learn to kill. He wished he could have taught his brother anything else. He wished he weren't such a hypocrite.)
He wished he was better at shogi, not for any sort of gratification, but the ability to strategize in a way that didn't end with the cries of another fading soul.
What is the difference between a shinobi and a monster? He had asked Shisui.
Shisui had given him a tired grin, but hadn't responded. (He jumped into the Naka a week later.)
Itachi stepped around Mother's bloodstained daisies.
Death wound an intricate, loving grip around shinobi culture, to the point where so many shinobi sought adrenaline rushes as relaxation. Shinobi danced ceaselessly on a knife's edge, simultaneously aware and flippant of the inevitability of the fall.
What do you do if you're made to cause pain? What do you do if you're bred for the very thing that makes your soul ache? He glanced at the clock of a nearby empty house, an aunt or uncle, maybe, and his lips thinned. What do you do when you run out of time?
He ignored the blood pools, the chill of the air, and took a last look at his brother's fragile body, before heading towards the trees.
He had monsters to follow.
Uchiha Itachi left his biggest mark on Konoha in the form of over 200 dead bodies. Men, women, children, infants. People with hopes, dreams, wishes, forever stained in the beaten paths of the Uchiha Compound. Babies who would never cry again, children who would never play and grow, teens who would never learn to stand on their own two feet.
The human spirit had only so much capacity for betrayal. Restless, angry, and distraught over their end, over half of the Uchiha clan solidified into ghosts.
There was danger in invisibility, and even more lurked in vengeance.
The ANBU tasked to clean the compound and search for Itachi didn't see the stream of black and red eyes glaring at the village. The ANBU tasked to clean the compound didn't see the black and red eyes plucked from cooling bodies by blank-faced operatives. Hatake Kakashi suppressed a shiver as he came across the very last Uchiha survivor performing the defiant act of existing, unconscious but still breathing in the mess of blood and bodies on the ground.
Some ghosts hovered by their clan's only chance of salvation, Uchiha Sasuke, in the midst of a Tsukuyomi-induced coma. Some latched themselves to Danzo's side, wailing and howling at decibels no living being could hear.
But many ghosts, most ghosts, wandered their village aimlessly, through walls and windows and doors. They flailed and screamed and flew through the air at breakneck speeds, as if to escape the cold and clinical precision of Itachi's blades.
On the other side of the village, Yamanaka Ino got ready for bed. She had brushed her teeth, bid goodnight to her mother, and tried once again to convince her father to have a sleepover with her friends, to no avail. Her father guided her through evening meditation, and the air felt just a bit colder, just a bit heavier than what she was used to. It made her long for her bed.
Ino settled into bed earlier than normal, after her father kissed her forehead and gave her the usual Yamanaka goodnight. "Sleep well, don't let your mind wander too far."
She turned over and closed her eyes. In minutes, she was asleep.
It would be the last dream she'd have for a while.
Sleep well, don't let your mind wander too far.
Something lingered in those words, heavier and more pressing than any little proverb, any silly lullaby. After all, the best fiction wrapped itself in reality.
Don't let your mind wander too far, the Yamanaka told their children.
Coming from a line of mind readers was its own burden. The mind transfer jutsu was not a kekkei genkai, but Yamanaka Ino's ancestors had lived and breathed the jutsu—at this point, Yin release had etched itself into their bones. For a few talented children of the clan, being able to project your mind caused it to...wander, before being properly trained.
That night, Ino's subconscious wandered around her room shyly, not touching anything, just familiarizing itself with the space. A seemingly innocent action within the wards of the compound. Yamanaka minds were protected from every mental probe they could predict.
Trying to wrangle a Yamanaka's consciousness back into their bodies was akin to trying to touch a dream cloud above your head. It was best to let the consciousness wander in a safe space than somewhere dangerous.
So it's a wonder, a horror, and a curse all at once when the full force of the massacred Uchiha ghosts slam into her consciousness and take the projection into the cold night.