'Puppets, huh…'
A hoarse, low murmur, like old wood grinding, drifted from Sasori of the Red Sand's shell hidden inside hiruko.
'What I control is a cold, lifeless puppet.'
Sasori's voice carried a philosophical chill.
'But you… Uchiha Itachi, you control an entire living person's life.'
'From the first sprout of hatred, to the pursuit of power, to the final "revenge"…'
'Truly… a cruel form of art.'
The word 'cruel' wasn't condemnation of slaughter, but a deeper admiration for twisting a loved one's fate like marionette strings.
An admiration for the colder calculus that even tried to bind emotion and will itself.
Boom!
Sasori's words crashed like thunder inside Uchiha Itachi's mind.
Puppet?
Sasuke… a puppet?
The word, never before considered, stabbed like a poisoned dagger into the fortress he had built around the belief that 'everything is for Sasuke's good'.
No!
That's not it!
I'm only… only paving the way for him!
Choosing the safest, strongest future for him!
How could I treat him as a puppet?
He's the little brother I love most!
Uchiha Itachi raged inwardly; for the first time, a hair-thin crack appeared on his eternally frozen face.
The 'greater good' and 'sacrifice' he had clung to now cast a disturbing shadow under Sasori's label of 'puppet'.
Meanwhile, Orochimaru's fury threatened to ignite into visible flame.
'Hiss hiss… Uchiha Itachi! And Uchiha Sasuke! You brothers… how splendid!!'
Orochimaru's golden vertical pupils shrank to deadly pinpoints; his long tongue flicked over razor teeth, voice quivering with rage.
He felt his face being ground beneath the brothers' sandals before the entire Ninja World on this heavenly screen broadcast.
First, he was killed and drained by little brother Uchiha Sasuke.
Then big brother Uchiha Itachi yanked him out of Sasuke like trash and sealed him again.
Worse, the future revealed across the heavenly screen showed the great Sannin, seeker of eternal life, as the sole victim and stepping-stone in their feud—humiliated and sacrificed over and over.
Who else suffered besides Orochimaru?
So I'm just a prop for you brothers.
The proud Orochimaru could not endure such disgrace.
'Sharingan… Uchiha…' He glared at Uchiha Itachi; greed in his eyes turned to icy killing intent.
'You'll learn the price of mocking me…'
Inside the Ninja Academy, Sasuke stared at the fallen Uchiha Itachi on the heavenly screen, body shaking with fury and something indefinable.
He couldn't accept this outcome.
This wasn't the revenge he wanted.
In the vision, the rain still poured, washing the battered land.
Uchiha Sasuke stood drained, body swaying from spent Chakra and mental shock.
His hollow gaze fixed on the lifeless figure in the mud—Uchiha Itachi.
His enemy was dead.
The man he had hated, betrayed everything to kill, lay motionless.
But… why?
Why did he feel no joy of vengeance, no release?
Instead, a chunk seemed carved from his chest, leaving only exhaustion, bewilderment, a suffocating emptiness.
Rain dripped from his black hair, mixing with blood and unnoticed tears, blurring his sight.
Sasuke opened his mouth; no sound came.
At last, bodily limit and mental collapse swamped him.
His vision blackened; he toppled backward into the cold mud and sank into unconsciousness.
One brother dead, one spent and senseless, both lay in the desolate downpour.
The endless rain seemed a silent, mournful requiem from the heavens for the ill-fated brothers.
Yet just as everyone thought the 'brothers' battle' had ended, the scene twisted.
Space warped; a figure ghosted onto the battlefield.
Orange spiral mask, single crimson Sharingan, black cloak—mysterious and deadly.
Inside the Land of Rain tower, Nagato's Rinnegan contracted. 'That man claiming to be "Uchiha Madara"…'
The Masked Man's gaze swept Itachi's corpse, then the unconscious Sasuke, and he gave a low, ambiguous chuckle.
He bent down, lifted Itachi's body and Sasuke with casual ease; the three vanished into a spiralling distortion.
The scene shifted.
Sasuke woke groggily in a dim, unfamiliar underground space.
His wounds had been crudely treated yet still throbbed.
He jerked upright, scanning warily, and spotted the spiral-masked stranger leaning against a wall.
'Who are you?' he demanded, forcing himself into a guard stance, Sharingan snapping open to lock on the figure.
Though battered, his eyes held wolf-like vigilance and hostility.
The Masked Man only laughed at the hostility.
He stepped closer, his exposed Sharingan studying Sasuke with playful curiosity.
'Uchiha Sasuke, don't you find it… strange?' his voice carried deliberate insinuation.
Sasuke frowned. 'What's strange? Who are you? What do you want?'
The Masked Man halted a few paces away; his tone turned icy, mocking, like a serpent's hiss: 'Itachi…'
'The genius of the Uchiha Clan, wielder of the Mangekyo Sharingan, unfathomably powerful—Uchiha Itachi…'
'He died so easily, so simply… at your hands?'