Chapter 57: Itachi, the Traitor

Itachi sat atop a towering pole, bathed in the pale glow of the moon, his crimson eyes surveying the Uchiha compound below. His expression was unreadable, but his heart waged a silent war within him.

From this vantage point, he wasn't a son. He wasn't a brother. He wasn't even a shinobi.

He was death itself.

Then— it began.

A single scream tore through the silence, raw and desperate. Then another. And another.

The wails of the dying rose like a sorrowful symphony, echoing through the streets, bouncing off the walls of homes that would never again be filled with warmth. Shadows flickered as bodies fell, one after another, their lives extinguished in an instant.

Yet, high above it all, Itachi remained still. Watching. Listening. Bearing witness to the destruction he had set in motion.

His hands were steady. His blade was merciless.

And in the depths of his Mangekyō, the weight of his sins grew heavier.

But on the other side of the village, another massacre was unfolding.

Itachi knew the truth—he couldn't do this alone.

So he brought an acquaintance.

A man in a spiral mask. A shadow that lurked beyond history, calling himself Madara Uchiha.

For the past year, Itachi, the elders, even Hiruzen had searched for traces of Kagami Uchiha. But every path led to nothing.

Even Danzo, despite his paranoia, found only silence. He had tried to desecrate Kagami's grave, but the others had stopped him. They still remembered Kagami as a friend. Danzo only remembered his fear.

His obsession with Kagami's supposed return had cost him—his desperation had led to his own house arrest for months.

But now, none of that mattered.

Inside the Uchiha compound, screams were swallowed by the night. From elders to children, none were spared. They tried to reason with Itachi, begged for an answer.

They only received silence.

And death.

Until he reached her.

Izumi.

The one person he thought—he wished—he could have spent a lifetime with.

But tonight, that dream would die with her.

Madara moved first, phasing through her desperate attacks as if she were a mere illusion. She fought, she struggled—but she couldn't land a single blow.

And in the end, she was caught.

Madara made his demand clear: he would help Itachi complete the slaughter, but in return, Itachi would join the Akatsuki.

Itachi agreed. On one condition.

"I will be the one to end my family. And I will be the one to kill her."

Madara didn't argue. He simply let go of Izumi.

The moment her eyes met Itachi's, she ran to him.

"Itachi, help me!" she sobbed.

He didn't move.

Then—"I'm sorry, Izumi. I'm so sorry."

Her breath hitched.

Tsukuyomi.

A world of dreams wrapped around her. A life they were meant to have.

She saw herself waking up beside Itachi every morning. Laughing. Training. Growing older.

She saw their wedding. Their children. Their future.

A peaceful life. A happy life.

A life where he loved her, and she loved him.

Fifty years passed inside the illusion.

And when she finally collapsed—a smile was on her lips.

Itachi stood before her real body, his vision blurred with tears.

His grip on his katana tightened.

He drove the blade into her stomach, his hands trembling as he whispered—

"Live happily in your next life, Izumi."

From the shadows, the masked man watched with eerie amusement. "Such devotion... such tragedy... Itachi, you truly are interesting." His voice dripped with mockery, but Itachi didn't react. His grip on his blade tightened, his mind numb.

This was only the beginning.

The massacre was relentless. The once-vibrant Uchiha compound drowned in silence, the scent of blood thick in the air. Families fell one after another—elders, warriors, even innocent children. There was no mercy, no hesitation.

Itachi moved with mechanical precision, his heart shattering with every step, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.

And then, as he reached the final house, he sensed it—His mother and father.

The night wasn't over yet.

Soon, he reached his home.

Itachi stood frozen, his heart pounding against his ribs.

His parents… they sat there. Waiting.

As if they had already accepted their fate.

Fugaku's voice was calm, but heavy with unspoken grief. "Itachi, I know what you're trying to do. I should stop you... but I won't. Because if this is the path you've chosen, then you must promise me one thing."

Itachi's hands clenched. "Anything, Father."

"Look after Sasuke."

The weight of those words crashed down on him.

"Yes. I promise."

Mikoto smiled softly, even as tears slipped down her face. "Itachi, can you say sorry to Kushina and Naruto on my behalf?"

His breath hitched.

"Yes… Mom."

She nodded. "Thank you, Itachi. No matter what you do, you will always be my son. And I love you."

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

He couldn't hesitate. If he hesitated—he wouldn't be able to do it.

With a swift motion, his blade flashed.

The world fell silent.

His sword dripped with their blood.

And then—he broke.

His body trembled. His vision blurred. The weight of what he had done crushed him.

But he couldn't stop.

He wouldn't stop.

Not yet.

Sasuke was running.

Something was wrong. He could feel it. The air was thick with the scent of iron.

Blood.

His clan's blood.

His stomach twisted. His legs felt like lead.

But he forced himself forward.

Step by step.

Until he reached home.

And there—his world shattered.

His father and mother lay lifeless.

Their bodies limp. Their blood pooling beneath them.

And standing before them—was Itachi.

His brother.

His protector.

His blade dripping red.

Sasuke's breath caught in his throat. His mind refused to process it.

But there was no mistaking the truth.

Itachi had done this.

His beloved older brother—had killed them all.

Sasuke's world shattered in an instant. His breath hitched, his legs trembled, and his heart pounded so loudly it drowned out every other sound.

"Nii-san…?" His voice was small, fragile, like a child pleading for this nightmare to end.

Itachi turned, his face shadowed, eyes gleaming red. The tears on his cheeks were nearly invisible under the dim moonlight.

"Foolish little brother," he began, his voice eerily calm, yet filled with unbearable sorrow.

"If you want to kill me… hate me, despise me, and live a life of darkness. Survive… and when you have the same eyes as me, come before me."

Sasuke's hands trembled. His mind screamed at him to move, to attack, to do anything—but he was frozen. Itachi stepped forward, and before Sasuke could react, he was trapped.

Tsukuyomi.

A world of crimson horror unfolded before Sasuke's eyes. Again and again, he was forced to watch his parents die—each strike, each drop of blood, each final breath. Time stretched endlessly, pain became unbearable.

And then, as the illusion faded, Sasuke collapsed. His body felt like lead, his mind shattered. He gasped for air, his vision blurry from the overwhelming agony.

Itachi walked past him, his back turned. "Live, Sasuke. Grow strong."

With that, he vanished into the night.

The Uchiha Clan was no more.

Madara's lone Sharingan glowed ominously behind his mask. "I've done my part. Now it's time for you to do yours."

Itachi barely reacted. His voice was void of emotion. "Yes. We leave before morning."

Without another word, he turned on his heel, heading toward the Hokage's office. He had one last duty to fulfill.

Hiruzen looked up as the door creaked open. His aged eyes met Itachi's bloodstained figure. The young Uchiha knelt before him, his head bowed low.

"Hokage-sama… it's done. From tomorrow onward, the Uchiha Clan will no longer exist."

A heavy silence settled in the room.

Hiruzen inhaled deeply, guilt weighing him down like a thousand chains. "Itachi… I am sorry. I never wanted this burden to fall on you."

Itachi's fingers dug into the fabric of his pants. "No, Hokage-sama. I did what had to be done."

Hiruzen closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his voice was firm. "Then you know what this means. From tomorrow… you are no longer a shinobi of Konoha. You are a rogue ninja."

Itachi nodded. "Yes, Hokage-sama."

"Then go."

Itachi stood, turning to leave—then he hesitated.

"Hokage-sama… there is a group called Akatsuki. They may become a threat to the village. I will infiltrate them, gather information. My life belongs to Konoha… even if the village will never claim me as its own."

Hiruzen's breath hitched. Even after all this—after Konoha had forced him to slaughter his family—he still chose to serve.

The weight of Itachi's sacrifice was suffocating.

"…Do as you see fit," Hiruzen finally said.

Itachi bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Then, as he reached the door, his voice softened.

"And one more thing… please, take care of Sasuke."

Hiruzen gave him the only promise he could.

"I will."

And with that, Itachi stepped out into the night.

Danzo sat in his dimly lit chamber, his fingers carefully plucking fresh Sharingan from the lifeless corpses of the fallen.

He felt the disturbance before he saw it.

A shadow loomed over him.

Itachi.

Danzo barely had time to react before a kunai embedded itself in the table—mere inches from his hand.

"Touch Sasuke…" Itachi's voice was deathly quiet, but the threat in his tone sent chills down Danzo's spine. "And I will personally sell every village secret to the highest bidder. Do not test me."

Danzo's hands stilled.

He felt a flicker of fear similar to last year.

Itachi turned, stepping into the darkness. And just like that, he was gone.

A ghost of Konoha.

A name that would soon be spoken only in whispers.