"If you want to know who you are, you have to look at your real self and acknowledge what you see." — Itachi Uchiha.
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Everything was quiet; a serene and somber sensation flowed all about— and all of a sudden it shattered as gross pain broke through the flimsy barrier of denial.
Itachi fell to his knees with hitched breaths as he felt the full brunt of Aizen's Kidō spell. He raised his head when he felt the cold steel of Aizen's blade resting on his shoulders.
"Take consolation that your death will further my plans a little bit more smoothly."
Itachi's thoughts weren't on Aizen's words. He found that he didn't really care that much, even if he died now, what he was currently basking in, aside from the pain, was a feeling he had only felt twice in this life and both of which was the first two times he released his individual Shikais.
'That wasn't an illusion. This pain isn't fake.' His mildly delirious thoughts assured him. He could still feel the thrumming of his blade, and knew what they were going to say.
'I can't defeat him. But this isn't about beating him, it is about proving myself right.'
He would push himself this far, pain was an old comrade, and see through Aizen's illusions. If he couldn't…
… how else would his Illusory World of Darkness shine?
'Do it, Tsukuyomi.'
Aizen swung his sword unceremoniously at Itachi's defenseless neck, seeing no need to prolong this hollow farce. It had been interesting while it was.
Aizen's sword had barely nicked Itachi's neck when a dome of darkness engulfed them, and to his surprise, to find out that Itachi was gone.
"His inner world." He guessed correctly and judging from the stability he felt from Itachi's Reiatsu moments before the darkness took them, he could ferry a 90% guess on what was happening.
…..
Shine. Illusory World of Darkness, Tsukuyomi.
That was the blade's name, at least half of it, but did itachi ever truly let it shine? He thought not.
He might have reflected the pale rays of the Illusory World through the surface of his sword but that wasn't all of it now, was it? He thought not.
The red moon above reflected his eyes – the mirror of his soul – but what of the darkness? All these were smaller parts of him – Tsukuyomi, the Sharingan, this Illusory World – so it made sense that the darkness was also an original part of him, but never reflected through his eyes – at least not fully –, why so?
Below him was the reflection of his clan on repeat, and the truth he had to accept.
The decisions to make were simple; kill them or save them – he'd done both – but what did his actions represent.
Itachi, scion of the Uchiha Clan, had long accepted the fact that he was a broken and demented soul. He had accepted the hard part of his soul and made peace with it, but that wasn't all.
… Sometimes accepting an obviously easier choice was not always easy, mostly because doing so would invalidate most of your mental and physical struggles.
He sat in front of his family – his father, his mother, Sasuke, Shisui and Izumi, his childhood flame – his mask, his sword, his headband and a robe that bore the clan's symbol on its back laid neatly before them.
"My family is dead. Their lives reaped with the same hands that once swore to protect them. At that moment, my greatest truth became a lie."
The mask gained cracks and broke. Opposite Itachi, Izumi and his mother's form fizzled away and appeared laying on the floor in separate parts of the room with blood pooled under his mother from a stab wound to the chest whereas Izumi appeared unhurt – both dead in the same position he had left them in.
He had to be truthful to himself, not by believing it, but by shattering the illusion he had believed in all this time and accepting whatever he found behind it.
"I was scared and naïve. I knew what was right and wrong. I knew what my heart wanted, I heard it, but my cowardice led me to choose what was 'safe'… for who? I'm afraid I might never know. What I do know is this; I killed you all because it was the 'safer' option… not because of my own beliefs and views."
Blood.
Crimson splatters painted the entire room space, even the air itself – like red blotted spots in physical reality – and his father's head slumped to the side. He died while sitting, and slowly slumped to the ground as he seconds ticked by.
The sword dripped sanguine red like a paintbrush dipped in paint and rolled over.
Not paying attention to what was happening every time he spoke, his eyes remained on the remaining people who sat in front of him. What emotions showed on their faces? He wondered and though he stared right at them, he never once let his focus drift to their faces. He knew they could express themselves like the real people he knew, but he chose not to see it.
…. Because the brutal and honest truth was that whatever they felt didn't matter.
He might have heard someone crying, shouting or saying something, but he ignored it.
"It didn't end there." He continued. "Somewhere down the line, not too long after, I started believing that the village was right. Regardless of what they did. I forced myself to believe that no sacrifice was too big or heavy compared to the wishes of the village."
His throat felt dry. His breaths became hollow. His voice became blurry and soon faded into the background, away from his ears, still he continued speaking.
"I hated the darkness in the village. I despised it. I understood it and the importance of its presence, but I still hated it. I CHOSE not to do anything, wanting someone else, anyone else, to do it because I didn't want to 'choose' again. What was I afraid of? I wish I knew. I had nothing to lose that I haven't lost before…"
He stopped and considered his words and slowly shook his head after. "No. Maybe I did. I could lose my chance of 'escape'? Escape to where? I would never know. The last thing I could love, or even remotely care for, I set up to be my replacement. Ultimately I failed to love, but how could I when I couldn't even 'choose' how to."
He might have stared into Sasuke's face at some point but he didn't let himself remember what look was on his face or whatever words came out from the boy's mouth.
"What loyalty? What identity? I did nothing right but I greedily took solace in the fact I had someone I could love, in my own demented way."
The headband creaked as if trying to resist but ultimately ended up crushed into a metal ball that caught on fire and slowly withered away.
His eyes finally gained clarity and he saw the last person remaining – himself. A shadow of his earlier days in the Akatsuki.
"I hated the clan. I hated their cursed name. I hated my parents, my family. I hated myself. I hated that no one could make a better decision. I hated that my parents let me choose because they didn't want to. I hated that Shisui left me so lost. I hated that Sasuke was more free and unburdened than all I could ever hope to be. The clan made my life an object of my own hatred. I regretted ever being born into the Uchiha."
The robe started gaining tears and the illusion of Itachi morphed into a more ragged and deathly appearance – how he'd looked when he died.
"At the end of it all, I died knowing that there was someone who was still willing to call me 'brother'. I died… content."
This was who he truly was. Take away his grandiose titles, his prowess, and even his genius, and all you get is a thoroughly broken and demented man. The fool who played perfectly to the piper's tune.
He died with a brother and a name – it was more than he could ask for. Truly his greatest fortune.
The space faded away into darkness and the darkness came to Itachi.
"How is this me defeating you?"
"Nuances. We are part of you, defeating us is the same as defeating yourself. And you knew this was never about making you suitable enough for Bankai, you've long been sufficient."
"Then?" Itachi questioned in a monotone.
"Your lineage, Itachi. The emotions tied to your eyes. The Curse of the Uchiha."
The darkness formed a mirror in front of Itachi and when he saw his reflection, a flicker of emotion flashed in his eyes.
"How?"
"You've always possessed the Mangekyō Sharingan. Evolving your soul and growing the Sharingan up from the three tomoe, along with the new experiences and meanings tied to them, set the base for it to grow into something new." The darkness hovered around Itachi as he looked at himself in the mirror. "Each pattern of the Sharingan represents the life and experiences of the user. No Sharingan is the same, close maybe, but not the same. Those lines and patterns are the proof that you have severed your ties with your past."
"— The mark of who you are now. Unbounded and unfettered."
The darkness, Tsukuyomi, didn't explicitly say it but Itachi knew. A man is the sum total of his experiences.
Who he used to be shaped who he was today.
His old Sharingan and the pattern of this new one. Two different related Sharingan blended together in an unprecedented fashion.
"Congratulations."
"Congratulations."
It felt surreal.
"The Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan."