Hinata: Byakurenden
Itachi vs Konan
The towering spires of Akatsukigakure loomed above them like the ribs of some forgotten titan, jagged and unyielding. The metal structures gleamed under the roaring sunlight, their reflective surfaces stained bright white as the sky deepened toward high noon. Below, the city's labyrinthine waterways pulsed faintly with light, the mirrored veins of an artificial heart. Ripples distorted the reflections of the monolithic towers, turning their edges into jagged shards that shimmered ominously across the lake's shimmering surface.
Itachi stood at the edge of a broken bridge, his emerald blade humming faintly in his grip—a weapon forged not of steel, but of chakra. It pulsed with Shisui's lingering will, its translucent green light dancing along the razor edge like flickering embers. The blade took the shape of a katana, mirroring the weapon Itachi had once wielded in darker days, its length elegant yet unyielding, as if cut from glass and bound by unbroken intent.
Above the blade, Itachi's eyes burned—a fusion of his own Mangekyō Sharingan and the legacy Shisui had entrusted to him. The pattern had shifted, becoming a seven-pronged shuriken, sharp and intricate, its spinning edges gleaming crimson against the pale light of the encroaching eclipse. The tomoe merged seamlessly into jagged arcs, each curve echoing the shape of the weapon that once defined Shisui's swift and lethal movements.
It was an eye made for precision. For sacrifice. For endings.
And as the bridge groaned beneath him, its chains trembling in the wind, those eyes focused—unwavering, unrelenting.
Behind him, the shattered remains of the structure dangled over the water, the lake stretching out far below, still and suffocating, its depths swallowing the light that touched it. It was a stagnant abyss, its surface broken only by the scattered remnants of battle—shattered weapons, splintered wood, and the rippling blood of those who had fallen earlier in the fight.
Far above, the sun reigned supreme, if not for the moon creeping ever closer. The corona flared weakly against the encroaching shadow, its dim light casting long, jagged shadows across the city's metal bones. Itachi could feel the weight of it—the slow but inevitable approach of the eclipse. The moment Amaterasu's children would be born.
Time was slipping away.
And Konan stood in his path.
She hovered above the ruins of the bridge, her wings of light arched high, reflecting off the glassy water below. The glow they cast danced across the metal walls, turning the broken platforms and girders into a mosaic of gold and white. Her halo pulsed faintly, the light growing sharper with every beat of her heart. She was a beacon of divinity in a world choked by shadow.
But the light did not comfort. It burned.
She looked less like the Konan he remembered and more like a figure torn from myth—a celestial warrior draped in the splendor of gods. Her robes, once the somber black of the Akatsuki, had become radiant white, trimmed with threads of gold that shifted as if alive.
His Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan turned, cutting through the radiance that surrounded her, but the patterns refused to settle. Her form bent and reformed within the light, shifting in fragments of brilliance that danced along the water's surface. It was like peering through broken glass, every movement scattering into pieces before aligning again.
Konan's wings flared wider, their light curling at the edges as if tasting the air. The heat from them warped the metal, and the lake below rippled faintly, mirroring the distortion.
"You can feel it, can't you?" Her words carried with it a message from the heavens itself—not a question, but an inevitability. "The weight of the eclipse, the collapse of your shadows and illusions."
Itachi's grip tightened around the hilt of his blade. The emerald glow burned against the haze, steady despite the shifting light. "Faith doesn't shatter illusions," he said, his voice low but deliberate. "It replaces them with something worse."
Konan's eyes darkened. The light around her dimmed just slightly, but the edges sharpened, turning jagged. "This isn't just faith," she said, floating forward. Her voice deepened with certainty, layered as if something else—someone else—spoke with her. "This is truth." Her wings trembled faintly, and the light around her grew harsher.
"You speak of truth," he said, voice cutting through the radiance. "But tell me—what truth did you see when you stood in the rain, cold and starving? When the world took everything from you and left nothing behind? And did that truth look like this?"
Konan's wings snapped outward. The shards of light orbiting her vibrated violently, but she did not strike.
"You think I don't remember?" Her voice trembled—not with weakness, but with the weight of memory. "I remember the cold. I remember the hunger. The mud and the bodies we couldn't bury. I remember the rain that never stopped."
Itachi's Sharingan spun faster, locking onto the faint tremor in her voice. "And now you stand above it all, preaching salvation."
"It's not preaching." Her voice sharpened, the light intensifying. "It's proof." Konan moved closer still, the shards of light orbiting her falling into perfect symmetry. "Proof that the rain has stopped." The rain that had once drowned this city—the constant reminder of pain and loss—was gone. "You see it, don't you?" Konan pressed. "For all your judgment, you can't deny what she's done. Amaterasu has given this place light. She's given the people hope."
"You mistake obedience for hope."
The words left Itachi's lips, sharp and deliberate, but the weight of them lingered in his mind long after they were spoken.
Amaterasu didn't inspire hope. She demanded adoration, a love so absolute it consumed everything else—doubt, fear, identity. It was the love of slaves to a god, a love poisoned at its roots, fed by the fear of what would happen if it was ever withheld.
And yet, Konan had clung to it like salvation.
"And you mistake slaughter for peace." The words struck like knives. Itachi's Sharingan faltered for a heartbeat, but he steadied himself, forcing the weight of her words back into the silence. "You massacred your clan for that peace. You stained your hands in blood, sacrificed your own name, and buried your past—all for what? To delay the inevitable?"
Itachi didn't flinch, but the words pressed deeper than he expected.
"You thought killing them would spare the world from another war. But it didn't. You thought leaving Sasuke alive would redeem your sins. But it didn't." The light intensified, bending the air around her until the heat became suffocating. "And now, you stand here—still pretending that your illusions will save you from the truth."
"I didn't pretend." Itachi's voice was soft, but the weight behind it was unshaken. "I knew what I was doing. I made that choice."
"A choice." Konan's voice broke—not with weakness, but with anger. "A choice to kill the ones who trusted you. To become a monster so others could sleep peacefully. That's the truth you're afraid to face, Itachi-san. That you didn't save anyone. You only delayed their suffering. And when the world finally shattered, all you could do was try to pick up the pieces."
Itachi exhaled slowly, his gaze burning as it locked onto hers. "Better to pick up the pieces than to let them burn."
He had seen the world on fire before—watched it smolder in the ruins of his clan, in the hollowed streets of a village that didn't yet know how much it had lost. The smell of ash had clung to his clothes that night, sharp and unforgiving, and no matter how much time had passed, he could still feel the embers under his skin.
He had chosen then to burn it all down, to reduce everything to ash so something better might rise from it. But standing here now, blade in hand, blood staining the light, he questioned how much of himself had been lost in that fire.
And yet—Shisui wouldn't have let it end there.
Shisui had believed in the village, in its people. He had believed so fiercely that he had given up his own life to protect it, trusting Itachi to carry that belief forward when he could no longer stand.
But it was the burden Shisui had left behind, and Itachi had taken it willingly. Because Shisui hadn't fought to burn the world down. He had fought to protect what little light remained, to keep it alive long enough for someone else to rebuild.
Shisui had entrusted him with that light.
And Itachi would protect it—even if it meant walking through the fire again.
"And that's why you'll lose." Konan said, her wings flexing as the shards of light that surrounded her trembled, humming with lethal resonance.
Itachi's Sharingan tracked each ripple, his gaze sharp as a hawk's. He could see the tension building in the air, the way her chakra flowed like a river through the light, feeding the radiance that threatened to swallow him whole.
But he had no choice.
He stepped forward, his blade humming in response. The metal beneath his feet groaned, weakened by the heat, but he kept walking.
The bridge narrowed. The distance between them closed.
And the first shards of light came screaming toward him.
His blade flickered. Emerald light flared as he cut through the first shard, dispersing it in a burst of heat and sparks, but the others kept coming. He shifted again, weaving between them as their light carved molten streaks into the steel supports around him. The air hissed as metal burned, the acrid scent of scorched iron rising like smoke from the ruins.
Konan hovered above, unmoving, her gaze sharp and unrelenting as her wings trembled faintly. The shards orbiting her pulsed in rhythm with her chakra, each point of light vibrating with barely restrained energy.
To Itachi, she looked like something torn from scripture—an angel descending with fire and judgment, her wings spread wide to shelter the faithful and smite the wicked. The golden radiance pouring from her form twisted the air, bending it in waves that rippled outward like the echoes of a divine voice. Her halo pulsed above her head, a blazing crown that cast her shadow long and sharp against the broken city.
But there was no mercy in her light.
Her wings flexed, and the shards of light flared brighter, their jagged edges shifting like a thousand blades held at the edge of release. Itachi could feel their pressure building, pressing against his senses like the weight of prophecy made manifest—inescapable, absolute.
She wasn't just a warrior. She was a messenger, a living proclamation of Amaterasu's will, burning with borrowed divinity. Each step she took carried the weight of judgment, and every flare of her wings promised retribution.
Her strikes weren't just weapons—they were commandments.
And with each clash, Itachi could feel her conviction pressing against him like a weight, heavy and unyielding, as though the heavens themselves demanded he kneel.
"You can't stop this," she said, her voice echoing above the chaos. "This isn't about power or vengeance. It's about faith—and you can't kill faith. No more than you can stop Amaterasu-sama."
Itachi didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped forward, his emerald blade carving through the storm of light as if cutting through the very air itself.
Her wings flared, and the shards responded instantly, splitting into dozens of smaller fragments that fanned out in a deadly halo. The light shimmered, distorting the air between them as they shifted into intricate formations, each shard poised like the blade of a kunai.
Itachi's Sharingan burned. He saw it—every angle, every thread of chakra binding the shards to her will. She wasn't aiming for overwhelming force. Not yet. She was testing him. Probing his defenses, pushing him to show his hand.
And that was the danger.
Konan's light was relentless, but it wasn't the final battle. She was a wall he had to scale, a gatekeeper barring the path to something far worse. Obito loomed in his mind—a specter of shadow and void, wielding the Kamui and the unshaken will of Amaterasu. The true storm waited beyond this battle, and Itachi couldn't afford to be broken before he reached it.
He couldn't afford mistakes.
Every ounce of chakra spent here was one less barrier against Kamui's pull. One less defense against Orochimaru's venomous seals. One less answer to whatever twisted divinity awaited atop the temple.
And yet, Konan's light pressed closer, pulling him into its orbit. Her radiance burned not with desperation, but certainty—a conviction so absolute it threatened to drown him in its brilliance. He could feel her faith pushing against his resolve, pressing him to match her intensity, to burn himself out proving her wrong.
But he wouldn't give her that.
The emerald blade flashed, cutting through the next wave of shards as they shot toward him. He moved like a shadow, weaving between their trajectories as the air hissed with heat and light. Sparks trailed in his wake, and molten streaks marred the ground where he landed, but he never stopped.
Konan's wings shifted. The shards realigned, converging on him from above like falling stars.
"Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu." He exhaled, and the fireball erupted outward, a sphere of roaring flame that swallowed the falling light. The collision detonated in a burst of heat and pressure, sending ripples of light and flame cascading outward. The force bent the bridge further, the chains groaning as the structure sagged under its weight.
Konan descended through the firestorm, untouched by the heat, her wings parting the flames like waves. Light bled from her form, trailing behind her like the burning tail of a falling star, and in her outstretched hand, golden brilliance took shape—a lance of pure radiance sharpened to pierce the heavens themselves.
The air rippled in her wake, bending under the weight of her chakra as the flames bowed before her light, twisting and curling like tongues of hellfire that dared not touch her. Embers danced along her wings, igniting in bursts of gold before vanishing into nothingness, unable to mar the perfection of her divine form.
She was not just descending—she was descending in judgment.
A celestial being clad in the trappings of divinity, her halo flared like a crown of fire, and her eyes burned with the weight of purpose. The lance in her hand pulsed, its light so intense it seemed to warp reality itself, vibrating with power barely restrained by her will. Each beat of her wings sent molten currents spiraling outward, scattering the flames below and leaving trails of light carved into the air.
And at her center, Konan's gaze locked onto Itachi—a predator's focus, unrelenting and absolute. She was a messenger of fire and fury, a spear hurled from the heavens, descending to strike down shadows and cleanse the earth in light.
But Itachi didn't flinch. He shifted his blade, meeting her strike mid-air.
Light and emerald chakra collided, and the world screamed.
The impact shattered the remaining shards around them, sending bursts of energy outward in jagged lines that carved through the surrounding metal. Itachi felt the force reverberate through his arms, but he held his ground, pushing back as Konan's wings flared again, flooding the space between them with blinding radiance.
He stepped back just as she struck again. Her movements were faster now, more focused—each swing of her arm releasing arcs of light that bent and curved unpredictably. He deflected them where he could, his blade humming as it intercepted their trajectories, but the air grew hotter, heavier. The brilliance surrounding her began to press inward, narrowing his space to maneuver.
Itachi's Sharingan flickered, analyzing the pattern of her strikes. She was relentless, but not reckless. Every motion fed into the next, closing his angles and forcing him to retreat step by step along the bridge's crumbling remains.
He felt it then—the heat radiating from her wings. It wasn't just light. It was chakra, condensed into something sharper, more lethal. Each shard carried her intent, an extension of her will made solid.
She wasn't attacking blindly. She was forcing him into position.
The realization struck just as the chains behind him snapped.
The broken section of the bridge tilted, the platform beneath his feet lurching downward. Itachi leapt, landing lightly on one of the protruding beams. The platform groaned, falling into the lake below with a thunderous crash that sent ripples racing across the water.
Konan hovered above him, her wings folding inward before snapping open again. The shards surrounding her flared, aligning into a spiral pattern that pulsed once—twice—before detonating outward.
The light descended in waves, each burst sharper than the last. The air burned as it fell, twisting into threads of heat that seared the metal around him, carving molten scars into the beams and forcing him to keep moving. The brilliance pressed down, heavy and suffocating, but Itachi didn't falter.
His blade moved faster, the emerald glow flaring brighter as it cut through the cascading bursts of light, carving paths through the storm like a guiding star. Sparks and embers trailed in his wake, the remnants of her radiance scattering like fireflies, but the blade never wavered.
It wasn't just chakra that burned at its edge—it was resolve. It was Shisui's will, sharpened and refined into emerald fire, a fragment of his undying spirit carried forward through Itachi's grip. The blade thrummed in his hand, alive with memory and purpose, resonating with the rhythm of his heartbeat.
And with each flicker of motion, Itachi felt it—not just his own strength, but Shisui's. The speed, the fluidity, the brilliance of his friend's movements flowed through him, echoing in every step. His body blurred, slipping between columns of light like water through cracks, his blade rising to meet each new attack before it could land.
The firestorm raged around him, but Itachi cut through it—not as a shadow fleeing the light, but as a streak of green fire defying it. The blade hummed, its song sharp and clear against the roar of molten energy. It danced in his grip, an extension of his will and Shisui's legacy, guiding him forward as if his friend's hand still steadied his own.
Konan's light fell harder, sharper—but the emerald glow pushed back, refusing to break. For every burst that rained down, Itachi's blade answered, carving through the storm with unyielding precision. It was no longer just a weapon. It was a promise—a vow never to stop moving, never to let the light consume him.
And as the fire raged and the beams groaned beneath the weight of their battle, Itachi pressed on. The blade in his hand burned brighter, cutting through the brilliance like a green flame carried on the wind.
Then he was there—close enough to strike.
Konan's eyes narrowed, her wings folding around her in a sudden burst of motion. The light condensed, forming a barrier that flared against his blade, pushing him back as the force shattered the metal beam beneath him.
He fell.
The wind howled past him, rushing like a thousand voices as the ruins of the bridge crumbled above. Shattered chains snapped and whipped through the air, their links glinting briefly before vanishing into the shadows below. The molten embers of Konan's light trailed after him, flickering like dying stars before hissing into steam against the water's surface.
Then the lake swallowed him.
Itachi plunged into the depths, and the world turned black. The heat of Konan's brilliance vanished instantly, replaced by a suffocating chill that closed around him like iron chains. The impact sent ripples spiraling outward, faint rings of light scattering across the surface before vanishing into the abyss.
The water pressed against him—dense, unrelenting—as if the weight of the lake itself sought to drag him down and bury him among the broken ruins below. The echo of his fall faded, leaving only the muffled thrum of his pulse and the distant groans of collapsing steel far above.
The lake's depths opened beneath him—dark and endless. Twisted beams jutted from the silt like broken ribs, their jagged edges stained with rust and half-buried in the sand. The ruins of Akatsukigakure stretched even here, sunken relics of the past resting in silent decay. Shattered chains drifted like weeds, their links swaying gently with the currents.
Itachi's Sharingan burned, tracing the shadows that pressed against him, cutting through the blackness to reveal the shapes lurking within. The beams formed a labyrinth around him, narrow corridors of broken metal and twisted reflections that threatened to close in from all sides.
The emerald glow of his blade flickered faintly, its light barely piercing the murk. Streams of bubbles coiled around him, twisting upward in fragile spirals before fading into the gloom. The water pressed heavily against him, muting sound and light alike, but it didn't smother his focus.
Instead, it gave him clarity.
Itachi's Sharingan tracked the bubbles as they rose, fragile yet untouchable, slipping through the darkness without resistance. The deeper currents bent around them, yet they remained unbroken, rising higher and higher until the surface swallowed them whole.
And in that moment, inspiration struck.
The depths dulled Konan's light. The water drank it, bent it, twisted it until it scattered and lost its strength. Her radiance could not pierce this far—not completely. No matter how fiercely it burned, the lake consumed it. Smothered it.
The realization spread like a ripple through his thoughts. Light could illuminate the world above, but it struggled to reach what lay below. Its brilliance faded when confronted by shadow, when forced to bend and fracture. The depths were beyond its reach.
He didn't need to face her light head-on. He needed to drown it.
The emerald glow of his blade flared again, cutting through the darkness like the faintest ember refusing to die. His chakra stirred, pouring outward into the lake—not to fight the water, but to become it. The ripples stretched farther, coiling through the depths and feeding into the shadows already closing around him.
Above, light rippled faintly through the water—a distorted golden haze that bent and fractured as it sank. Konan's radiance bled through the surface, stretching downward like reaching hands, but the water dulled its brilliance, twisting it into faint ribbons that danced and scattered with every movement.
"Kirigakure no Jutsu."
The lake stirred.
Konan hovered just over the water's edge, her wings unfurled and radiant, but the light faltered as the mist began to rise. The water churned unnaturally, spiraling upward in ghostly tendrils that coiled through the air, spreading outward in a thick veil.
The light fractured. The glow of her wings bent and scattered as the mist spread, twisting into ripples that danced along the lake's surface and bled into the air above. Shadows stretched unnaturally, elongated and distorted by the vapor.
For the first time since the battle began, the brilliance surrounding her dimmed.
Itachi rose from the water, silent as a shadow. The emerald glow returned, its reflection shattering into countless fragments across the mist like scattered fireflies. His blade hummed faintly in the haze, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the thick, suffocating air.
Konan's wings flexed, their edges trembling as the light bent and scattered. The mist pressed against her like a living thing—coiling, shifting, tightening. Threads of vapor licked at her wings, twisting into spirals that distorted the edges of her radiance, bending it into faint, flickering patterns that dissolved before reaching the ground.
The fog wasn't just obscuring her vision—it was unraveling her light.
She tensed, her hand lifting slightly. The halo above her head pulsed, sending a sharp ripple outward, but the mist rippled in response, folding and twisting back in on itself like tightening knots.
The jaws of a predator.
And somewhere within that suffocating maze, Itachi moved.
The emerald glow of his blade danced faintly through the mist—flickering in and out of focus, trailing like a ghost before vanishing into the haze again. He didn't linger in one place. He cut through the mist in precise, deliberate arcs, the hum of his chakra resonating faintly, like the whisper of a blade sliding free of its sheath.
Konan's eyes narrowed.
She couldn't see him.
Not clearly.
But he could see her.
Her wings shone like a beacon, their light bleeding through the haze in faint streaks that betrayed her position. No matter how the mist twisted, no matter how the reflections bent and scattered, the center of that brilliance remained steady—unmoving.
A lighthouse in the fog.
Itachi lunged.
The emerald light streaked forward, cutting through the mist with lethal precision. Konan twisted sharply, her wings snapping outward as the blade grazed the edge of her radiance. Sparks flared, green and gold colliding in a sharp, metallic shriek before vanishing back into the haze.
Itachi's presence disappeared again.
Konan exhaled sharply, turning as her wings swept wide, carving arcs of light through the mist, but the haze closed in again, swallowing the glow before it could pierce deeper.
Then the emerald blade struck again—this time from her right.
Konan spun, her chakra flaring as she willed the shards of light around her into motion. The fragments snapped toward him like arrows, but Itachi's blade met them mid-flight, scattering them in bursts of molten gold and green before vanishing once more.
He was fast. Too fast.
Her breath steadied, though the tension in her muscles coiled tighter. He was testing her now—pressing in, forcing her to defend while remaining just outside her reach.
And it was working.
For the first time, Konan felt her composure slip, the pressure of the mist crawling against her skin like unseen hands. The fog crept closer, circling her wings and limbs, its shifting currents whispering faint threats that lingered just beyond hearing.
She felt the net closing.
And she burned through it.
Her wings flared.
Light erupted outward, sharp and blinding as it carved through the mist. The vapor screamed as it twisted into steam, folding and dissolving as her chakra flooded the air, turning it into a furnace.
The mist fell away entirely, exposing the battlefield once more.
The shattered ruins of the bridge stretched out above them, the jagged steel still glowing faintly from the heat of their clash. The lake steamed, its surface broken by scattered debris and molten streaks of metal, but the mist was gone—scattered by the force of her light.
And there, perched on the edge of one of the fallen beams, stood Itachi.
His emerald blade pulsed faintly, the glow reflecting off the rippling water below, but his cover was gone. The mist no longer hid him.
Konan ascended through the air, her wings beating in slow, deliberate strokes as she rose higher, the remnants of her brilliance spiraling around her in radiant arcs. The molten light coiled and stretched, drawn upward as if the heavens themselves bent to her will, forming a halo that pulsed with divine intensity. She climbed above the battlefield, her figure wreathed in gold and fire, a celestial force rising toward the sun's brilliant light.
"You can't hide in the shadows forever." Her voice rang out, sharper this time, layered with the echoes of divinity as the halo above her flared. "The light always burns them away."
Itachi didn't answer, raising his blade, the hum growing sharper as his Sharingan spun faster, the crimson glow reflecting against the molten gold of her radiance. The emerald light of his sword rippled outward, its edges vibrating with the lethal precision of Shisui's chakra, honed into a weapon as fluid as thought and as swift as intent.
One moment he stood on the platform—the next, he was gone.
A flicker of motion. A ripple through the air.
Konan's wings flared in response, the radiance surrounding her fracturing into ribbons of light. The shards reassembled in spirals, tightening like a thousand mirrored knives poised to strike. But by the time she turned, Itachi had already closed the gap.
The emerald blade flashed toward her, cutting through the air with a sharp hum—a strike faster than breath.
And then she dissolved.
The light surrounding her shattered, scattering into hundreds of glowing motes that danced across the ruins like embers caught in the wind. The fragments bent and arced, reforming above him in a burst of brilliance as her wings snapped open again, flooding the space with divine light.
The shards rained down like falling stars.
Itachi vanished, the shards striking the platform, carving deep furrows into the steel before detonating in bursts of golden heat. Ripples of molten light cascaded outward, but before the explosion's embers settled, he reappeared midair, his blade flashing as it deflected the remnants of her assault.
Konan turned, the light around her rippling again. The air groaned as her chakra bent it, compressing it into shimmering waves. She was no longer bound by motion. She was light itself—a radiant blur that fractured and reassembled faster than the eye could track.
Itachi's Sharingan spun, the intricate seven-pronged shuriken burning in his gaze. He couldn't match her speed. No one could.
Shisui's legacy pulsed through his veins—the phantom flicker of a shadow faster than thought, yet not fast enough. The emerald blade in his hand vibrated with each step, the chakra pouring through it resonating in perfect harmony with his body's flicker. He wasn't moving; he was erasing the space between steps.
Emerald and gold streaked through the battlefield, weaving between the chaos of clashing shinobi as though the storm of war bent around them. The city was no longer a place of trade and comfort—it was a crucible of violence and fire. Explosions rattled the metal towers, shaking their foundations as kunai and jutsu collided in showers of sparks and blood. Smoke choked the air, turning sunlight into smoldering streaks that stained the sky red and gray.
Itachi blurred forward, his emerald blade cutting through the chaos like a whisper. Shisui's chakra hummed in his grip, sharp and alive, resonating with his every flicker. His Sharingan burned, tracking every shift in motion—not just Konan's, but the countless shinobi locked in desperate struggle below.
Konan split apart, her form dissolving into light. She streaked overhead, a blinding arc of gold that seared through the haze, reforming above him with her wings snapping outward. The shards of light bent into lethal arcs, raining down like falling stars.
The fragments struck the ground, detonating in bursts of molten brilliance that sent Konoha and Kumo shinobi scattering for cover. A barrage of kunai followed—steel glinting as they hurled through the smoke—but the moment stretched too long. The kunai never reached their mark.
Itachi reappeared midair, emerald streaks flaring behind him as his blade met her light, the collision shrieking like thunder. The shockwave rippled outward, scattering debris and chakra like sand in a storm.
On the ground, the shinobi felt it before they saw it—the force splitting the earth beneath them, the air thrumming with an unnatural pulse. Some staggered; others froze mid-strike, their gazes snapping skyward as golden light and emerald fire carved jagged patterns through the heavens.
"Move! Don't stop!" someone shouted, but the words barely carried over the cacophony. The battle raged on below—lightning and fire clashing against water and rock—but in the skies above, another battle unfolded. It wasn't a battle of armies. It was a hunt.
Itachi moved like a shadow cast by lightning, appearing and disappearing in bursts too fast for the human eye to follow. Each flicker sent ripples of displaced air crashing into the ground, scattering ash and blood-soaked water. The hum of his blade trailed behind him, a phantom sound that hung in the air even after he vanished again.
Konan moved faster.
She dissolved and reformed like sunlight through a broken mirror—too fluid to follow, too blinding to face. Her wings folded inward, then burst apart, scattering shards of light that rained down in precise patterns, weaving through the chaos without ever touching her forces below.
Itachi pressed closer with each strike, forcing her to recoil and reform in smaller bursts, the tension between their speeds growing tauter with every pass.
But the city felt it.
Chakra flared wildly as jutsu detonated across rooftops and courtyards. The Shadow Alliance pushed forward—sandstorms roaring under Gaara's command, lightning lancing outward as the Raikage carved paths through the Akatsuki's ranks. Explosive tags ignited in waves, shaking the steel foundations of the city and hurling smoke into the sky.
Konan's light burned through it all.
A group of Konoha shinobi recoiled, shielding their eyes as flashes of gold cut through their formations, too quick and too bright to follow. Some faltered, clutching at kunai that felt suddenly meaningless in the presence of something so divine.
But Itachi's emerald blade was relentless.
It carved through the haze, leaving afterimages like ghostfire. He flickered between platforms and broken girders, weaving through the battle below as if the chaos were nothing more than static. The air groaned beneath his motion, sending ripples through the smoke and dust, bending it into whirlwinds that chased after him.
The forces below on either side couldn't see anything but streaks of gold and green, flashes of light that tore across the skyline, moving too fast to be real. They could feel it, though—the pressure that crushed against their lungs, the heat of passing chakra that scorched their skin.
And they could hear it.
The shriek of emerald steel meeting divine light. The crack of molten beams collapsing beneath their weight. The howl of the wind chasing in their wake.
It wasn't a battle. It was a force of nature.
Itachi lunged.
The emerald blade arced upward, cutting through the golden haze like a scalpel. Konan shattered apart again, light scattering in every direction, but he was already moving, already flickering to meet her before she could reform.
She struck back in bursts—radiant spears lashing out from the walls and towers, bending toward him like sunbeams refracted through glass. Each attack missed by a fraction of a second, searing the edges of his cloak but never touching him.
The shinobi below felt it as the fragments struck, collapsing entire sections of the battlefield into molten pits. Water hissed as it boiled away. Iron groaned as it melted and bent.
But they didn't stop fighting.
They couldn't stop fighting—not while the storm above raged on, not while angels and ghosts waged war above their heads, too fast to be seen and too powerful to be ignored.
And with each clash, the heavens burned brighter, the shadows stretched longer, and the battle drew closer to its end.
Konan's movements, though blindingly fast, weren't without cost. The light faltered—only for a fraction of a second, but enough for Itachi to see it. The heat from her attacks burned hotter now, the edges sharper but less precise.
He pushed harder.
The emerald blade flared, carving through her light as he closed the distance again. Konan turned, her wings snapping outward, but this time he didn't stop.
His Sharingan burned. He saw it—the split-second gap as her wings folded inward, the point where the light bent too far to reform instantly.
He struck.
The emerald glow collided with her radiance, and for the first time, her light shattered.
Golden shards burst outward like fragments of stained glass, spiraling into the air before dissolving into embers. Konan reeled, her wings faltering mid-beat, their brilliance flickering as if her divinity had fractured. For the briefest moment, the celestial image she had woven around herself broke—revealing not an angel, but a woman. A woman forced to bend beneath the weight of her humanity.
Itachi pressed forward, his blade arcing toward her with lethal precision.
But it didn't reach.
Konan's hand snapped out, catching the blade mid-strike. The collision ignited a corona of light, her chakra flaring as the shattered pieces of her wings reformed in an instant. The force of her grip sent ripples of energy spiraling outward, throwing Itachi back. He struck the roof of a low building, skidding across cracked tiles and molten debris before coming to a stop.
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them.
Konan hovered above, her wings trembling faintly, their edges unstable—flickering, fraying at the seams like unraveling silk. Her breath came sharper now, the effort of holding herself together clear in the uneven rise and fall of her chest. The radiant aura surrounding her dimmed, its brilliance dulled by the weight of doubt.
Itachi rose slowly, his Sharingan unrelenting as it spun, analyzing every shift in her chakra. The emerald glow of his blade flared to life again, brighter than before, its hum sharp and alive. He could feel Shisui's will flowing through it, urging him forward, steadying his resolve.
Konan's gaze faltered, just for an instant, and he saw it—the crack in her conviction, the shadow creeping at the edges of her faith.
But then her breath steadied.
The wavering light snapped back into focus, her wings flaring wide as their golden glow flooded the rooftops once more. The shards orbiting her reformed, no longer trembling but sharp and lethal, ready to strike. Her halo pulsed brighter, burning away the faint traces of shadow that had crept too close.
Molten gold poured through the cracks in the buildings, igniting fires below as her light carved paths of destruction through the battlefield. Light poured from the spires of Akatsukigakure, cascading down their metal surfaces in rivers of gold. The reflections danced wildly across the waterways, multiplying the radiance until it seemed the very veins of the city pulsed with her chakra.
"You're fast," she said, her voice rising. "As expected of the man with Uchiha Shisui's eyes." The layered resonance returned, echoing with divine authority. "Yet even you can't outrun the light."
Itachi exhaled slowly, steadying himself against the heat pressing in from all sides. The emerald glow of his blade flickered, brighter than before, as he raised it once more. His Sharingan burned as he tracked the patterns spreading across the battlefield. Every mirrored surface became a weapon—each flicker of light a blade poised to strike.
Konan hovered above it all, her wings unfurled like a seraph's, halo blazing brighter than even the sun overhead. Her eyes burned with conviction, no longer the sorrowful gaze of the girl who had once stood in the rain but the unwavering stare of an angel descending to smite the unworthy.
"You can't stop this. For this is Amaterasu-sama's will and I am her herald!" Her voice rang out, layered and resonant. It echoed from every angle, amplified by the light as it danced across the city. "This is the end, Itachi-san. Your shadows can't hide you anymore."
Itachi still didn't answer.
The emerald glow flared as his blade carved through the shards of light surging toward him. They screamed as they collided, detonating in bursts of heat and pressure that shattered the platforms around him.
But Konan didn't relent.
Her wings pulsed again, and the light swirled into columns that stretched toward the sky before collapsing inward. Beams of radiance cut through the ruins, piercing the lake below and sending boiling steam racing upward in suffocating waves.
Itachi vanished.
Konan's gaze snapped toward the flicker of motion, but he reappeared too quickly, streaking through the light like a shadow. Her wings folded and slashed outward, sending arcs of brilliance in every direction, but he was already gone—flickering between the beams before reemerging behind her.
The emerald blade cut through the space where she had been, but the light consumed her again, dissolving her form into fragments that reappeared above him.
She descended like a falling star, the light bending around her in ribbons as she closed the distance. Her wings snapped shut, focusing the radiance into a single spear of energy that extended from her fingertips.
Itachi's Sharingan flared, tracking the arc of her descent as his blade rose to meet it.
The impact detonated outward, splitting the platform beneath them and sending molten shards spiraling into the lake below. Konan's light expanded again, forcing Itachi back as her wings flared to full span.
She dissolved and reformed instantly, flickering through the ruins faster than the eye could follow. Each burst of motion left trails of brilliance behind her, weaving into patterns that converged toward him like an endless net.
Itachi pushed his speed to its limit.
His Sharingan burned, every tomoe spinning in perfect synchronization, the seven-pronged pattern gleaming crimson as he traced the fragments of her chakra. Emerald light followed in his wake, streaks of green cutting through the gold as he pressed closer, each flicker leaving ripples in the air.
But Konan was faster.
She became light itself.
Her wings folded inward, and she dissolved in a burst of brilliance, reforming above him with radiance so blinding it felt like the heavens themselves had opened, eliminating all shadows that existed. Her form shimmered—fractured and untouchable—as the columns of gold bent inward, converging with a force that rippled through the steel bones of the city.
Itachi lunged, but the light lashed out first.
Konan's wings snapped open, and the air ignited. Beams of radiance speared toward him from all directions, closing like the jaws of a trap. The heat bit at his skin, and for a fleeting moment, he felt the walls closing in.
There was nowhere to go.
Konan moved faster than even the Sharingan could follow.
Her wings flared, their golden brilliance folding inward as her form blurred, indistinguishable from the radiance itself. The spear of light extended from her fingertips—a blade of divine judgment, sharpened by faith and fire. The air screamed in protest as she descended, her attack cutting through the collapsing sky like a falling star.
Itachi's Sharingan spun wildly, crimson and black caught in the halo of her radiance, but it couldn't keep pace. Not this time.
The brilliance consumed him.
Konan struck.
For the briefest moment, it seemed the heavens themselves bowed to her will. Light erupted outward, blinding and absolute, splitting the battlefield in a cataclysmic wave that sent molten steel and shattered stone flying in all directions. The explosion tore through the air, drowning the city in thunder and fire.
And in the aftermath, she saw it—her victory.
Itachi's form collapsed beneath the light, a silhouette swallowed whole as the spear pierced through his chest. Blood sprayed outward, streaking red through the golden radiance. His body fell limp, crumpling against the shattered ruins below.
Konan hovered above, her wings trembling as she gasped for breath, the weight of divine fury pressing against her own body. Her light dimmed faintly, weakened by the cost of her attack, but she did not falter. She had struck him down.
But then—
Something was wrong.
The light began to unravel.
The figure she had pierced dissolved into wisps of emerald flame—Shisui's chakra scattered like dying embers caught in the wind. It vanished completely, leaving only smoke and silence in its wake.
Before she could react, cold steel pierced her spine.
Konan's body jerked violently as the emerald blade erupted through her chest, tearing through skin and bone, the glow reflecting off the white and gold of her robes. Blood followed—hot and crimson—soaking the fabric, staining her divinity.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Pain—sharp, raw, and unforgiving—flared through her body, radiating outward in waves that stole her balance and turned her vision white at the edges. Her wings faltered, their light fracturing as her chakra wavered, struggling to keep her aloft.
Her voice broke—half a cry, half a gasp—as her knees buckled, the spear of light in her hand shattering into fragments that fell weightlessly around her. The golden strands unraveled, dissolving into motes of fading brilliance.
She couldn't breathe.
The blade was still there, humming faintly as it pressed deeper, its emerald glow pulsing like a heartbeat. She could feel it—sharp and unyielding, pinning her in place as her blood flowed freely, warm against the cold metal.
And behind her, she felt him.
Itachi.
His presence was unshaken, his breath steady despite the weight pressing against them both. The hum of the blade resonated with purpose, its edge honed not just by chakra, but by resolve.
It wasn't possible.
She had seen him—felt him—every step of the way. Her light left no shadows. No illusions. There was no place for him to hide.
"How?" Her voice trembled, and for the first time, there was no authority behind it—only disbelief.
Itachi's Sharingan spun, the red of his eyes reflecting in the fading gold. Despite the heaviness of his breath, his gaze never wavered.
"You were looking in the shadows," he said quietly. "When you should have been looking into the light."
Konan's breath caught.
"You were faster," he admitted, his blade lowering slightly but never releasing its tension. "But you trusted too much in your vision—trusted the light to reveal everything."
Her wings shuddered.
"But there weren't any shadows?" Her voice was sharper now, raw with defiance. "No one should have been able to hide from Amaterasu-sama's light. It burns through all lies."
Itachi shook his head.
"There were no lies," he said. "Only belief."
Her pupils contracted, her chakra flaring faintly as if to push back against his words—but the light surrounding her flickered and dimmed further.
"I never left your sight," Itachi continued. "You saw me in every moment. But it was what I let you see."
Her eyes widened.
"Genjutsu."
Itachi didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The truth was already sinking in—the realization that her divine radiance, the light she had believed infallible, had been turned against her. It hadn't burned through illusion. It had carried it, magnified it, until she saw only what he allowed her to see.
The light had become her prison.
Konan stumbled, her wings crumbling into fragments of golden light that drifted upward, fading into the shadow of the approaching eclipse. The city of Akatsukigakure no longer shone. Its towers, once gilded with brilliance, now stood in sharp silhouette against the dimming sky.
"You…" Her voice cracked, but she forced the words through. "You manipulated the light itself."
Itachi's eyes softened slightly, but the edge in his voice remained.
"No." He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly. "You manipulated it. I only gave you what you already wanted to believe."
The words lingered, heavy with finality, but beneath them ran something sharper—a current of memory and guilt that Itachi couldn't silence.
This wasn't just his illusion.
It was Shisui's legacy.
Even without Kotoamatsukami, Shisui's mastery of genjutsu had been unparalleled. It wasn't brute force. It wasn't domination. It was subtle—like the flow of a river, shaping the land without ever announcing its presence. His illusions didn't overpower the mind; they guided it. Gently, invisibly, letting his enemies believe they were moving of their own will—never realizing the strings had been pulled all along.
And now Itachi wielded that same art.
He had hidden not in shadows, but in light—woven himself into her brilliance, not by overpowering it, but by turning it inward. He had let her faith blind her, let her own light become the walls of her cage. And like Shisui, he had given her the illusion of control, only to quietly rewrite reality beneath it.
The thought twisted in his chest.
This wasn't the kind of victory that brought triumph. It was the kind that left scars.
Konan's knees buckled on the shattered rooftop. Her breath came shallow, the toll of her chakra loss finally catching up to her.
"You lost," he said softly, "because you believed you were untouchable."
The silence that followed pressed against them both, broken only by the distant clashes of battle—the sound of explosions and cries echoing through the city below.
Konan shuddered, her knees giving out entirely. The emerald blade withdrew, sliding free with a sharp, wet sound that sent another spray of crimson across the ruined stone below. Her body slumped forward as the last remnants of her strength faltered.
The light around her fractured.
And she fell.
"This doesn't change anything," she said softly. Her voice no longer echoed with the layered resonance of before, but it didn't waver. "You might have struck me down, Itachi-san, but the light endures. You can't stop it."
Itachi knelt beside her, his gaze sharp even as the weariness pulled at the corners of his expression. The emerald glow of his blade dimmed, leaving only the faint crimson light of his Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan.
He stared into her eyes.
"I don't need to stop the light," he said quietly. "I only need to find where it burns brightest."
Konan didn't speak.
She couldn't.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the weight of exhaustion pressing against her. Yet her orange eyes, no longer divine but still defiant, met his unflinching gaze.
The Sharingan spun.
Not with force. Not with dominance. But slowly—like ripples spreading outward across still water. The world shifted.
Konan stiffened.
The light surrounding her faltered, and in the spaces where it broke, shadows bloomed. The towers of Akatsukigakure stretched upward, twisting unnaturally as the reflection of the eclipse burned brighter, swallowing the landscape into a mirrored void.
She was falling.
Not physically, but inward. Deeper. Into herself.
The light splintered into fragments—shards of memory too sharp to hold. Itachi's Sharingan drifted through them, catching glimpses as they reflected across the shattered planes of her mind.
A girl drenched in rain.
Mud and hunger.
Yahiko's body sprawled across the dirt, his fingers limp and pale.
Nagato's trembling voice, breaking as he screamed against the storm.
The cold.
Itachi's breath slowed, but the images didn't stop. They poured outward like floodwaters breaking through a dam, carrying him deeper into the currents of her mind.
Fingers clutching broken bread.
A fire burning too low to warm.
The smell of blood and rusted steel lingering in a village drowned by endless rain.
And then—
Light.
Not blinding, but soft. Gold pouring from the cracks in the clouds. Fingers reaching upward, trembling against its warmth.
Amaterasu's voice, like honey and fire, calling them from the darkness.
Konan's heart stilled.
Itachi saw it—not just the light, but the faith it carried. It wasn't power. It wasn't divinity. It was relief—the desperate hope of a girl who had lost everything, finding something too bright to question.
He saw what the light meant to her. Salvation. A promise that the rain wouldn't return. That no one else would be left to die cold and forgotten.
And through it all, the memories twisted again, shifting toward the present.
A temple rising from the highest point in the village, its spires catching the first rays of light as the eclipse approached completion. The Black Sun crest carved into its gates. The priests kneeling, their shadows long and sharp as they chanted beneath the growing darkness.
Obito stood at the altar, eyes burning red and black.
Orochimaru lingered just beyond the light, serpents coiling at his feet. His pale fingers traced patterns in the air, weaving seals too intricate to follow.
And at the center—
Amaterasu.
Her form blurred with divine brilliance, but Itachi saw her hands, pale and steady as they rested over the swell of her unborn children. The eclipse's corona flared above her, and in its reflection, the world bent and trembled.
It wasn't just a birth.
It was an arrival.
The plan unfolded before him in fractured images—Orochimaru's seals merging with Obito's Kamui, the temple acting as a conduit between realms. When the eclipse reached its peak, the gate would open, and Amaterasu's brothers would descend fully into the mortal world.
No shadows.
No escape.
Only light.
The illusion shattered.
Konan gasped, her body trembling as the jagged fragments of her memories fell away, leaving her trembling in the scorched remains of the battlefield.
Itachi rose, the weight of what he'd seen lingered, pressing against his chest.
Konan didn't look at him. Her gaze remained locked on the broken stone beneath her, the faintest tremor running through her shoulders.
"It's already too late," she whispered.
Her voice cracked—not with anger, but something closer to resignation.
"You can't stop it. She'll rise, and the light will burn everything away."
Itachi didn't reply.
"The White Lotus is too far. She'll never reach them in time." She lifted her head, and despite the pain, her gaze held him. "You can't do this alone."
Konan's breath was shallow now. Slow. Fading.
And yet, she didn't tremble.
Her shoulders had stilled. Her gaze, no longer sharp with defiance, softened as it rose—not toward him, but to the sky above.
The sun still burned there.
Pale gold, its light strained but defiant, the corona flaring faintly even as the black edge of the moon crept closer.
The eclipse was about to begin.
The moon's shadow touched the sun's rim, and the first sliver of darkness took hold, devouring the light in slow, deliberate steps. Yet for now, the world still gleamed.
Konan's lips parted slightly, her breath catching—not in pain, but in something closer to awe.
"There's still light…" she whispered.
Her voice barely carried, but Itachi heard it.
She closed her eyes, and for the first time since the battle began, her expression softened. Her lashes trembled faintly against her pale cheeks, and the tension in her body—so rigid and unrelenting before—faded.
Her hands, stained with blood and light, fell limp at her sides.
"For so long, there was only rain," she murmured. "Only cold. Gray skies. Mud and ash and blood washing away in the streets."
Her lips curved faintly, though it wasn't a smile. It was something quieter. Something softer.
"But now there's light…" Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, her shoulders fell. The strength that had carried her, the fire that had burned so fiercely, flickered one last time. "I won't die in the rain."
Her words pressed against him, heavier than the weight of the battle, heavier than the blood on his hands.
It was peace—not victory, not submission—but the quiet surrender of someone who had found what they were searching for.
And he had taken it from her.
Itachi closed his eyes, the flicker of his Sharingan fading, if only for a moment. The guilt pressed hard against his chest, sharper than any blade, but he didn't let it take root.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
He opened his eyes again, the Mangekyō returning. Crimson light flared, cutting through the fading embers of Konan's radiance.
The world hadn't stopped moving.
The edge of the moon continued its march into the sun, and the shadows began to stretch across the broken city.
Itachi turned away, though the weight of Konan's stillness lingered at his back.
His gaze lifted to the horizon, scanning the jagged towers and crumbling walkways of Akatsukigakure. Even from this distance, he could feel the pulsing hum of chakra—the currents of the battle still raging between the Shadow Alliance and the Akatsuki Teikoku.
But in the center of the city, above the spires that reached toward the sun, he saw it.
The central temple.
Its obsidian walls stood unbroken, crowned by the Black Sun crest. Its spires stretched upward like fingers clawing toward the dying light, their tips glinting faintly as the corona's glow danced along their edges.
That was where they would emerge from within Kamui.
Amaterasu and her brothers.
His gaze shifted toward the sky, and for the first time doubt threatened to press against him. He remembered the flicker of that alien land inside the portal that he and Kakashi had created before the Copy Ninja's vision had failed and it snapped shut.
Hinata. Naruto. Sasuke.
Where were they now?
He had seen the strength in them—their conviction, their will to stand against impossible odds. But even they could not outrun time.
And time was running out.
Chapter End
AN: So this was a difficult chapter for me to write, as the only real plan I had was turning it into one of speed, Itachi utilizing Shisui's body-flicker and Konan her new ability to turn into light. Which is mostly how it turned out, but I also wanted to make it feel big and bombastic as Konan deserves to go out in a clash as epic as some of her peers. At the same time, couldn't have Itachi taking too much damage or using too much chakra as there's still some trials for him ahead. So this was the result of me trying to hit that balancing act.
Along with this chapter and the last one, I did some updates on the rest of the story as part of a kind of new year's punch-up. These updates were something I've been writing over the past year which is a big reason why new updates for this story have been so slow up until later into the year. Nothing major was changed in the story, so don't feel you have to go back through and re-read anything, I just made the fights longer, flow better, and hopefully more enjoyable to read, as well as general spell-checking and grammar fixes.
Next time, we're going to touch back in with Hinata's group and find on what's going on with them. So please look forward to that!