Chapter 120

The moon was black, like a gaping hole ripped open in the crimson sky, a drop of ink on the red fabric of space—a pupil in the eye of chaos. Scattered clouds of red flitted across the crimson sky, like trickling blood across an endless expanse. Though there was a moon, it cast no light, and even though there was light, there were no shadows. Light was probably a poor way to describe the pale luminosity that illuminated the world around Sasuke. It was more of a dark light, like slender tendrils of smoke, laying thick in the streets of the Uchiha complex, choking out all life.

He hated this place.

He was running endlessly; running up the streets, down the alleyways, around the corners. Bodies, lying slumped up against walls or splayed out in the middle of the roads, were everywhere. Blood was stained and sticky in between the cracks in the cobbles, staining his shoes and the stonework. The stench that hung in the air was distinct and unforgettable; anyone who smelled it would have it imprinted into their memory forever: the acrid odor of blood, the rotting stench of bodies—the smell of dead things, the smell of death itself.

He was running, trying his best to ignore the horrors around him, though it did little good. But he couldn't afford to be distracted, not now; they were already dead, and no matter how much it horrified him, there was nothing he could do about it. There might be someone still alive, someone he could save; he was stronger now, he had trained with Orochimaru, maybe if he hurried, maybe if he didn't stop this time too look around in horror…he could reach them in time. Maybe he could save his parents.

The scene melted away before him, and recreated itself as something different, the stark black and white of the buildings melding and unfolding to show a different location. The blood-red sky still glowed, untouched by the changes, and still looked as menacing as it shrouded over his new location, his house. His mother and father—he had to hurry, he told himself urgently. Panic was rising inside his chest as he ran around the corner of the house and over the black boards of the veranda. The room was not far, yet the harder he ran, the longer it seemed to take to reach the door. He stretched his hand out in front of him, his fingers brushing the handle on the door. Pulling as hard as he could, he wrenched the door open and stumbled inside.

There was no blood. There were no bodies. But there was a ominous threat of death.

Itachi stood before him; his looming figure had his back turned towards Sasuke, facing away from him. Hatred rose up inside of Sasuke, heating his blood and fueling his anger; Itachi turned slightly and peered at his brother upon his entrance, his red Sharingan eyes piercing Sasuke to his very soul.

'I'm stronger now,' Sasuke thought to himself, and warily he prepared to spring at his brother. But something caused him to falter; Itachi had stepped slightly back, a glinting katana blade coming into sight. Why was his katana drawn? They were the only ones in the room, were they not?

Slowly, Itachi raised his katana blade, and took a couple of steps to the side. Behind his brother's figure there was a kneeling person, someone that Sasuke hadn't noticed had been there before. It was a woman, he realized, and his anger was slowly replaced with a fearful confusion. Who was this person? What was his brother going to do?

She was kneeling in a submissive stature, her shoulders sagging, her hands folded in her lap, like she was resigned to her fate. Her head was hung low, the bangs of her hair hanging over her face, hiding any recognizable features. Who was she? It wasn't his mother, yet there was something familiar that he couldn't place. Slowly, the woman moved, shifting her gaze from her lap, up towards where he stood frozen in time. Itachi too was moving, and Sasuke watched with horror as the blade of the katana fall in slow motion.

Eyes pierced out from underneath the woman's bangs, and he realized with sick horror whose execution he was witnessing. Even as the sword hung over her head, the blade slowly falling down on her, she smiled a saddened smile over at him, her eyes colourless and haunted.

"It's okay," she said, her voice reverberating around him, "Don't worry about me, Sasuke-kun."

Time resumed its pace and he watched helplessly as the blade of the katana cut into her back, rendering her lifeless, blood cascading out of her like a grotesque waterfall, and the expression on her face was etched into his mind more clearly than if it had been scratched into it with a hot wire.

He had been too late.

Sasuke sat up straight in bed with a start, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. The sheets stuck to him in the cold sweat that had beaded over his body, and his breath was heavy. He paid no heed to this as a more pressing thought came to his mind. Where was Sakura? Why hadn't she been there next to him, her comforting voice pulling him out of his dreams?

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