The mist lay thick upon the land, a cold veil that turned the world into a shapeless murk. The sky above was a blank slate of grey, a pall that pressed down like the weight of some long-forgotten doom. Suffocating and oppressive. The trees around us were stripped and gnarled, their limbs stretched out in silence, skeletal fingers against the formless sky. Beneath our feet the crystalline earth was slick, and our steps made a sound like bones scraping stone as they echoed out into the stillness, fading into nothing.
A sense of dread hung in the air, heavy and constant, like the world itself was holding its breath, waiting in anticipation of some great tragedy. Now and then, the wind shifted and the dry crackle of a branch broke the silence, but it was all part of the same grim tapestry. Above, through the fractured fog, there hung a shape in the sky—an impossible, great fractal Mangekyō hung like an August moon, peering through the thick fog as it bathed the world in a reddish tinge. We moved through that dead land, small and insignificant under its gaze, the weight of it sinking into our bones, into our very soul. This place, this cursed world, was no place for the living.
The weight of it bore down on us, chakra waning, the world spinning in our vision. We knew what was happening but knowledge was no solace to the damned. The Sharingan pulsed, twisting our thoughts into half-formed shadows, and with each moment, the fear grew, crawling up from the pit of our stomach, taking root in the mind. There was no escape. No reprieve from the tightening knot in our chest. It was a vicious circle of dread, swallowing us whole—
“Kai.” The world shattered like a broken mirror, the illusion undone. Yomi, that cruel mistress, let us go, her voice lingering. This is no place for the living, she reminded us. We reached deep, feeling the toll taken on our chakra, the damage wrought from just a single use of the technique.
Our breath came in ragged gasps, chest heaving with the effort of staying on our feet, movements slow and laboured. We caressed our face, wiping away the line of blood that dripped freely from our right eye, staining the ground beneath our feet. The light in the eye felt dimmer, weaker, somewhat. Truly, she was a cruel, selfish mistress. We sought so little, yet she took so much in return.
We searched the void, feeling out for the partner of the one we had struck down. The bastard was fleeing, slipping through the streets, ANBU number five on his heels until some foul chakra blocked her path. There were more coming from the opposite direction, ANBU from the village. They had seen the flames rise in the distance. No matter. We dragged our gaze back to the body at our feet, the one who had forced our hand, forced us to unleash such destruction. Our body groaned with each step as we knelt beside him.
The mask our assailant wore came away in our hand, revealing a lifeless face. We met his empty eyes, Sharingan swirling, seizing what remained of him, dragging him back from the void, a puppet of flesh and bone, mind torn asunder.
“Why do you want me dead?” we asked.
A groan from what was left of him. Nothing more. Yomi’s greed had left little to work with. His mind was a ruin, shattered, barely more than a ghost.
“Who sent you?” We pressed harder, chakra weaving into his broken psyche.
“Dan—” His mouth moved, but the seal that bound him, dark lines stretching from his tongue, snapped shut the truth. His body slackened again, the words lost, and there was no more to be gleaned. A slow rage burned cold in our chest. The game was over. We’d wrung what we could from the dead man. The rest was beyond even us. We sealed what memories we could, erasing the battle from his mind, though Yomi’s mark lingered deep, her curse unshakable.
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We dropped down from the roof to lean against the wall, a kunai in hand, waiting for them.
“Always on time, ANBU-san,” we said as they arrived, their masked faces watching us in silence. ANBU number five stood among them, still weary from her chase.
“Always on time.”
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The council hall was a vast and empty place, save for the lone ANBU who stood guard. His eyes never left us. Word must have travelled fast. There was something new in their gaze now. Fear, maybe. A kind of wariness. We sat on a bench by the doors, lacquered wood bearing the leaf insignia, old and well-kept like everything in this room, a relic of a different time. We let our head fall back, eyes closed, listening to the silence. Past the quiet hum of the air. Past the sound of the distant trees, the squirrels scurrying among their branches. There, beneath it all, was the heartbeat of a man. Then another. Then more.
The door creaked open and another ANBU appeared. “Come,” he said, turning without waiting for an answer.
We rose and followed him inside. The chamber beyond was sealed with chakra, soundproofed, a trick we knew well from the sanctums of our own clan. But now the voices came to us, loud and brimming with anger. Our eyes swept the room, Sharingan reading every detail. It was a wide space, a long table at its centre, nine seats filled with men and women of the council. Sarutobi sat in the largest, Danzo, Koharu, and Homura to his right, the others gathered in their places, watching. The air grew thick as our gaze landed on Danzo. A stillness, a coldness passed between us.
“What?” we asked.
Koharu’s voice shrieked across the room, old and brittle. “You see! No respect, no regard for the council or the Leaf! That cursed Uchiha brat!”
We stayed quiet, feeling the weight of their stares.
Sarutobi spoke, rubbing his brow. “Do you not know, Sasuke-kun, it’s a breach of decorum to show your Kekkei Genkai before the council?”
We blinked. “No, Hokage-sama. I am only six, and I have no one left to teach me such things. But I was attacked by a member of the Yamanaka clan today. Only barely survived. I’m sure you’ll understand my caution.”
The room froze. Sarutobi’s eyes narrowed.
“Is this true, Sasuke-kun?”
“Of course, Hokage-sama.” Our gaze slid to Inoichi. “He used the hand seals for the Mind Transfer Jutsu. Only the Yamanaka clan are taught that technique. I wonder what my clan has done to offend them so for them to so openly desire to assassinate its patriarch.”
"Patriarch!?" Koharu squawked in disbelief. "The gall!"
"Am I not the oldest living male member of the Uchiha Clan? By duty, custom and tradition, I am the Uchiha Patriarch.
"Your vile brother lives, boy," the accursed hag sneered. "You are no patriarch."
We stared silently at the woman for a few moments before looking back to Inoichi. "Mind yourself, Koharu. I tolerate you only because of the seat you hold in this council. But please do not forget, my noble clan's matters are well beyond the onus of your post."
The woman snapped but we had already tuned her out, turning to stare silently at the Yamanaka patriarch.
Inoichi’s face was stone. “Fuu acted alone.”
“Then you disown him?”
A pause. “Yes.”
We smiled. “Then you won’t mind if my clan handles his remains.”
Sarutobi sighed, weary. “Fuu will remain in ANBU custody. This matter will be investigated further.”
“By your will, Hokage-sama,” we said, smiling. We took one last look at the men who ruled the Leaf, our eyes settling on Danzo. “I suggest this not happen again. The Uchiha clan will not be snuffed without dire consequences for the perpetrator and all connected to them.”
And with that, we left the council to their silence.