Itachi had been resting for just about half an hour.
His posture slackened slightly—perhaps asleep, or perhaps only pretending.
Under the pale wash of moonlight, the scene was eerily serene.
Suddenly, a gust of wind tore through the still air as a shadow streaked past, silent as death. Leaves floating peacefully were sliced cleanly in half midair.
The assassin's blade, matte black and glintless, reflected no light—crafted for one purpose: silent, efficient killing.
Without hesitation, the blade slashed downward, cleaving both branch and figure in a single strike—Itachi's body split in two.
But what fell wasn't flesh and blood.
With a burst of feathers and a sharp cry—"Caw! Caw!"—the illusion dissolved into a flock of crows, scattering into the sky.
On a higher branch above, Itachi now stood, poised and motionless, his toes balanced delicately on the swaying wood—like a ghost.
His eyes glowed crimson—three tomoe of the Sharingan spinning rapidly, fueled by a surge of chakra.
In a heartbeat, the tomoe whirled together, transforming into a more complex, deadly design—a windmill-shaped Mangekyō Sharingan.
The black pupil was now bathed in blood-red, the intricate shape at its center pulsating with raw power. White sclera strained around the crimson, bloodshot veins bulging with the pressure of chakra flow.
Itachi's right eye narrowed slightly.
From the point he focused on, tiny black embers began to flicker into existence.
The air shimmered. Then came the fire.
Amaterasu.
A flame darker than night burst into life—an unnatural blaze that devoured the world slowly, silently, unstoppably.
From a hidden perch, the would-be assassin tensed.
"He saw me?"
The ANBU operative hesitated, uncertain now. Sweat began to bead under the mask.
Then—heat.
From his left side, a surge of burning air.
"When—?"
Panic surged through him.
With practiced instinct, he formed a hand seal and vanished in a blur, using the Body Flicker Technique to escape death by a breath.
Itachi didn't chase.
'Root again,' he thought calmly, observing the spot where the flame now consumed empty space.
He felt no triumph. The black fire had missed.
A flicker of disappointment crossed his expression—but only briefly.
Just as Itachi turned away, the wind stirred behind him again—stronger this time.
Not one... but multiple attackers.
Still, he didn't flinch.
Without looking, he flicked several kunai backward at impossible angles.
Clang! Clang!
Steel met steel. His blades deflected incoming attacks with precision.
He turned slightly, eyes locking onto the group of masked figures now surrounding him.
One of them stepped forward, head slightly bowed.
"Uchiha Itachi," the operative said with measured contempt, "once Konoha's brightest star... now just another stray dog."
Their gear bore the unmistakable mark of the Root division.
Though their faces were hidden behind masks, there was no mistaking the tension in their posture.
Itachi's calm, unreadable expression didn't waver. His gaze, burning with the Mangekyō's silent fury, never left them.
They had no idea what they were looking at—never once meeting his eyes.
If they had... Itachi thought coldly, Tsukuyomi would have ended them instantly.
A long, skeletal arm formed from chakra clenched into a fist and hurled itself at the figure standing before Itachi.
The ANBU operative's eyes widened in horror as he watched a red aura ignite around Itachi's body. Within seconds, the crimson energy solidified into a skeletal ribcage—an omen of something far worse. He dared not look higher.
The boy in front of him… was a monster.
Two thoughts surged through his mind. One: draw his sword and charge, using the explosive burst of chakra and the enhanced sharpness of his blade to strike Itachi head-on—creating an opening for his comrades behind.
The second: retreat.
The chakra radiating from Itachi was suffocating. If they could just keep him occupied, drain his energy, they might outlast him. He couldn't possibly maintain that level of power for long.
Just as he began to act on the second plan, the air shifted.
A surge of wind roared toward him—carried by that terrifying chakra-forged fist.
By now, the blood vessels in Itachi's eyes had spread like cracks through glass, the whites nearly overtaken by crimson veins. His Mangekyō gleamed with feral intensity as he glared silently at the insect in front of him.
The fist was now less than a meter away.
Too fast... the ANBU agent thought, panic rising.
He infused his tanto with wind chakra, making it hiss like a serpent ready to strike. His goal wasn't to clash but to deflect—test the strength of the construct and survive long enough to report what he learned.
Bang!
The punch collided with the blade.
A shockwave burst from the impact.
The ANBU nearly lost grip of his sword as searing pain tore through his hands. The sheer force passed through the blade and into his body, lifting him off the ground like a ragdoll and flinging him into the air.
"Water Style: Water Dragon Bullets!"
From the shadows, another ANBU didn't hesitate. He formed the necessary hand seals and unleashed one of the stronger B-rank jutsu he could muster.
Unfortunately, the situation gave him no time to prepare a proper water source. He had to rely solely on his chakra to summon the dragon.
Had he more time, he could have conjured a lake and vastly amplified its power.
Still, the massive water serpent formed quickly and lunged at Itachi with ferocious speed.
But Itachi was already moving.
After sending the first ANBU flying, his hand emerged from his long sleeve, and the crimson aura faded from his body. In an instant, he vanished.
He had anticipated the ambush.
As the watery beast surged forward, it passed harmlessly through empty space—missing its target entirely.
The ANBU realized too late what had happened.
He cut off his jutsu and tried to regroup, but by then, Itachi had already disappeared again.
When he reappeared, it was behind the caster of the Water Dragon Jutsu.
Still, this ANBU was no rookie. His reflexes were honed by years of battle.
He pivoted instantly and lashed out with a powerful backward kick, hoping to turn defense into offense.
But his foot met only feathers.
Crows.
A flash of steel followed.
In the moonlight, a blade glittered briefly.
"When—?"
The ANBU's hands flew to his throat, trying to stop the blood pouring from the fatal gash. His voice choked on disbelief, his knees buckled.
He collapsed to the ground, eyes wide even in death.
He never saw the seals. Never knew how many Itachi had made—or when.
"No attack can escape my eyes," Itachi said softly, as if answering the man's final, unspoken question.
His voice carried no emotion—only cold certainty.
He turned his gaze toward another direction—toward the next hiding place.
Another ANBU operative, trembling in silence, had witnessed everything.
An elite of the ANBU, felled as if he were nothing more than a training dummy.
And yet... it was the truth.
In the world of Konoha, true power often didn't reside with the elites or the jonin...
"Ninjutsu is meant to break your opponent's rhythm and seize the advantage… not to expose your own weaknesses."
A massive lion formed of flames roared across the battlefield, barreling toward Itachi.
But his voice lingered only in the air—his figure had already vanished.
"You arrogant little Uchiha… what do you know?!"
The final remaining ANBU stared at the lifeless body of his comrade, a flash of grief in his eyes quickly consumed by fury. He exhaled another wave of fire, desperate to scorch the trees around them, to burn away every shadow where the boy might hide.
His composure was slipping.
Two elite comrades, cut down in moments by a single boy—and that boy had the nerve to mock them?
Itachi's indifference had struck a nerve.
"You have plenty of chakra. You've memorized a lot of jutsu," Itachi remarked calmly, his form materializing before the furious ANBU as he formed hand seals.
Itachi didn't move.
He simply watched.
Watched as the man's fingers flashed faster and faster, driven by rage.
And just as the jutsu neared completion—
Itachi opened his mouth.
A searing stream of fire burst forth like molten lava, surging straight toward his enemy.
The ANBU's eyes widened.
This brat dares get this close?
His hands moved faster, straining past his limits, aiming to incinerate the boy on the spot.
But just as he was about to release the jutsu, he saw it.
No hand signs. No preparation.
Itachi had already launched his own jutsu.
"Genjutsu…?"
His movements faltered, confusion creeping in.
His mouth hung open as disbelief clouded his vision.
"Too slow."
Itachi's voice came from behind him.
Before the ANBU could turn, his own standard-issue sword—now in Itachi's hands—pierced clean through his chest.
The world around him flickered.
There was no fire. No scorching flames. Only cold steel, and the blood blooming across his robe.
He had been trapped in a genjutsu from the very start.
Ever since Itachi had knocked him back.
Itachi slowly withdrew the blade, a warm jet of blood following.
The ANBU collapsed face-first into the dirt.
Itachi shook the blood from the weapon with a quiet flick, then knelt beside the body. With visible displeasure, he wiped the blade clean on a relatively unstained section of the man's robe.
Only then did he rise.
He paused.
And let his words drift into the air.
"So naive… To think that avoiding my eyes would keep you safe from my genjutsu."
As a genius of the Uchiha clan, Itachi had long understood: no enemy would willingly look into a Uchiha's eyes in battle.
So he had developed a workaround—a genjutsu that didn't require eye contact.
It was intricate and imperfect, reliant on subtle cues, and nearly impossible to execute without preparation.
But it worked.
Even so, the jutsu wasn't yet refined. It required too many subtle elements, and alert opponents might still resist.
After all, anyone fighting a Uchiha came braced against genjutsu.
"Itachi… enjoying yourself?"
----------------------------------------
To keep the chapters coming - Support with POWER STONES.
For Every 200 power stones - 1 BONUS chapter.