OBD: Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four: Beyond Saving

The dawn was grey and reluctant, a hesitant light creeping through the village as Hiruzen Sarutobi made his final preparations. The air carried the bite of uncertainty, the unease that had settled like fog across the streets of Konoha. The Hokage stood in his quarters, his armour strapped across his ageing frame. Outside, the sound of shinobi moving, readying themselves, was a murmur beneath the sharp call of birds.

A knock at the door. Soft, deferential.

“Enter,” Hiruzen said, turning slightly, his eyes meeting those of Shisui Uchiha as the young man stepped inside.

“Hokage-sama,” Shisui began, bowing slightly before straightening, his gaze sharp. "There is a matter of grave importance that I must discuss with you before your departure, Hokage-sama."

Hiruzen studied him, the lines in his face deepening. “Go on, Shisui.”

Shisui hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "The clan," he began slowly, "the situation has deteriorated significantly. They are now speaking openly—of the village, of rebellion. Whispers of coup d'état have grown louder. I fear what will happen if this course remains unchecked."

The Hokage nodded, his expression thoughtful, but there was a shadow in his eyes—a knowing look. He had feared this day, known it was coming. The mistrust between the Uchiha and the village had been festering for too long. It was a wound left untended, and now the infection was spreading, poisoning all it touched.

"I do not understand them, Hokage-sama," Shisui said, his voice betraying a hint of desperation. "They are unable or unwilling to perceive the consequences of their actions. Their anger has blinded them to the point that they are willing to jeopardise everything." He paused, his eyes meeting Hiruzen’s, searching for something—understanding, perhaps, or absolution. "I wish to intervene, Hokage-sama. Before it is too late."

Hiruzen regarded Shisui carefully, the silence between them growing heavy. There was loyalty in the young man, the kind of loyalty that was rare, precious. Shisui had chosen the village, even when it meant betraying his own kin’s trust. He was Kagami Uchiha’s grandson, and Kagami had been much the same—a man who had believed in the greater good above all else.

“And how do you intend to do that?” Hiruzen finally asked, his voice low.

Shisui drew in a slow breath. "My Mangekyo—Kotoamatsukami. I propose to use it on Fugaku. With it, I can compel him to lead the clan away from this path, then perhaps we can avert the worst of what is to come." 

Hiruzen looked at Shisui for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He could see the determination in the young man, the fear, the hope. It was a dangerous thing—to use such a technique on one’s own leader—but the alternative was unthinkable. The village could not withstand a rebellion of the scale implied, not with what was already brewing beneath the surface.

“You understand what you’re asking, Shisui?” Hiruzen said, his voice quiet, measured.

Shisui nodded, his eyes never wavering. "I understand, Hokage-sama. I am prepared to bear this burden."

Hiruzen let out a slow breath, the weight of the decision settling on him. If Shisui could succeed, if he could sway Fugaku, then perhaps the situation could still be saved.

“Do it,” Hiruzen said finally, his voice carrying the gravity of the command. “But be careful. The consequences of failure… they are too great to imagine.”

Shisui bowed deeply, his expression resolute. "I understand, Hokage-sama. I shall not fail."

***

The room was dim, a single lantern casting a pallid glow that barely reached the edges, leaving shadows to dance in the corners. Shisui sat at the small table, eyes closed, immersed in meditation. He had no illusions about his role—of what needed to be done to preserve the peace. Yet, the burden had grown heavier with each passing hour.

A sharp rap at the window shattered his focus. Shisui opened his eyes, turning to see a raven perched on the sill, its eyes gleaming in the dark. A small note was tied to its leg. He stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor as he approached. The cold night air swept in as he opened the window, untying the note with practised hands. The bird watched him, unmoving, until its duty done, it took flight, merging into the darkness.

Shisui glanced at the message—Itachi’s familiar, precise hand. A request to meet. A new technique, it read, something that needed testing. Shisui sighed, folding the note into his pocket, and closed the window with a muted clack. Itachi rarely reached out these days, even more rarely asked for help. Whatever this was, it wasn’t casual. And if Itachi had called, then Shisui knew it must be important.

The night had deepened by the time Shisui reached the clearing, the forest around the Uchiha district silent, the scent of pine thick in the air. Shadows crowded the edges of his vision, the crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound as he approached. He stepped into the clearing, barely able to make out Itachi’s silhouette against the darkened trees.

“You called for me?” Shisui’s voice cut through the stillness, carrying just enough disinterest to suggest an irritation he didn’t quite feel.

Itachi turned, a sliver of moonlight catching his face. Calm, always calm, but there was an intensity that shimmered just beneath the surface, unnerving in its familiarity. He nodded. “Thank you for coming, Shisui. I apologize for the silence. I've been occupied.”

“It’s alright. What do you need?”

Itachi’s lips curved into a brief, almost sad smile. “I have hit something of a roadblock and might need a fresh set of eyes. I was hoping you could lend me yours.”

Shisui raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Now I’m intrigued. What is it?”

Itachi extended his hand, revealing several small metallic bearings. They gleamed dully in the moonlight, cold, lifeless. “An application of Lightning Release combined with Lord Fourth’s Rasengan,” Itachi explained, his voice clinical. “I've been experimenting with extending Minato’s technique, compressing it to increase its energy density while integrating my chakra nature. I am still unsure of its efficacy .”

Shisui frowned, his curiosity stirred despite himself. “The Rasengan? When did you learn that? Who taught you?”

“No one taught me,” Itachi replied. “I deduced its workings, recreated it, then sought to expand on it.”

Itachi's eyes held a flicker of something—an emotion Shisui couldn’t parse. A clone appeared by his side in a puff of white smoke as his main body focused his chakra. From the clone’s open palm, faint sparks emanated, growing in intensity as they jumped between fingertips before snaking into the vibrating metal balls sitting on the original’s palm. Its purpose achieved, the clone disappeared in another puff of white smoke.

The next moment, the electrically charged ball bearings in Itachi’s palm floated upwards, trembling, emitting a dangerous hum that filled the clearing.

“Lightning Release: Converging Sky Spears,” he said, his voice almost clinical. The bearings began to move, circling each other, faster and faster, until they formed a spiralling blur that bore an uncanny resemblance to the fourth Hokage’s infamous Rasengan. Shisui watched in silence, as the blur gained momentum, then without warning, shot up into the air, gaining altitude at a speed too fast for even his Sharingan to follow. The deadly orb followed an arcing path towards an impact point above some trees some seven hundred meters away.

There was a flash—a burst of lightning chakra that lit up the night, followed by the sharp staccato of explosions tearing the night apart. The forest echoed with the sound, trees creaking towards the earth as metal shards scythed through wood several meters thick. Shisui blinked.

“Impressive,” he murmured, though a certain unease had begun to coil in his gut.

Itachi’s eyes met his, a smile that held no warmth playing at his lips. “An explosive delivery,” he said. “The projectiles are designed to structurally fail, hence detonate, once they’re spun past a certain RPM—an air burst that fills a target location with shrapnel. Quick, efficient, and deadly. The only downside is the time it takes to set up the jutsu for execution. Hopefully, that can be resolved with a bit of practice."

Shisui glanced back at the shattered forest. There was something wrong—a discordance that he couldn’t place. “What did you need my help for, then?”

Itachi lowered his hand, the glow fading. He looked at Shisui, his expression suddenly unreadable. “I have been watching you, Shisui.”

Shisui frowned. “What do you mean?" A pause. Realisation. "You’ve been spying on me?” There was no anger, just an unease deepening to something almost tangible.

Itachi nodded, slowly. “I had to. I needed to understand why you would side with outsiders over the clan.”

“Side with the outsiders?” Shisui’s voice held a note of incredulity. “Konoha is as much ours as it is anyone else’s. This mistrust, this animosity—it will ruin us. Why don’t you see this? Why don't you seem to believe there can be peace?”

Itachi’s gaze did not waver, but there was something in his eyes, something questioning, something searching. “And you think you can stop it, Shisui? You think you can bring peace, when everything is already so broken?”

Shisui held his gaze, his voice steady. “I can try. But I need you to trust me.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between them. Then, Itachi spoke, his voice hollow. “I trust you to do what you think is right, Shisui. But what you think is right may not be what is best for our people.”

The words barely had time to settle before Shisui felt it—a shift in the air, a subtle tension. He moved to step aside, but it was too late. The explosion ripped behind him, pain lancing up from his leg, a blinding agony that sent him to the ground. He turned, breath caught, seeing Itachi, chakra still churning from the strike, eyes devoid of warmth.

“Itachi…” Shisui gasped, the pain radiating, clouding his vision. Instinct pushed him up, Sharingan blazing as he faced the younger Uchiha.

“You’re making a mistake,” Shisui said, his voice strained. Itachi said nothing, his expression unreadable, walking towards him. There was no hesitation in the prodigy’s gait, no doubt. Then he moved, fast, his form a blur as he came at Shisui again.

“Kotoamatsu—”

Shisui barely registered the punch before his genjutsu was silenced, a powerful blow landing across his face. He staggered, turning to face his attacker, only to find Fugaku glaring down disapprovingly at him. Clones flanked him, four in total—a pair each from the father-son duo—surrounding him. Shisui turned back to Itachi, disbelief seeping into his voice. “How?”

“Converging Sky Spears,” Itachi replied, the words clipped. “I designed the technique specifically to neutralize fast-moving threats. Threats like Lord Fourth, The Raikage... you. During the demonstration I kept one projectile in reserve, loitering should you indeed prove to be a threat to the clan’s continued survival. I was almost worried it would not be sufficient.”

“Itachi,” Shisui's voice broke, his eyes searching for some sign of his friend, the boy he had mentored, the boy he had trusted. “Please… stop. This is not the way.”

But Itachi’s eyes held nothing now—no warmth, no regret—only the cold determination of a decision made long before this night. And in that instant, Shisui knew, with a clarity that came too late—whatever hope he had held for peace, for unity, had already slipped away, lost to a darkness that knew no end to its appetite.

He had wanted to save them all, to make things right. But now, as the forest closed in around them, as the fight drained what little strength he had left, Shisui realized that perhaps some things were beyond saving.

***

Hiruzen Sarutobi could feel the chill of the early morning air settling into his bones. The safehouse, tucked deep in the hills outside the capital, was silent but for the faint rustling of leaves stirred by a languid wind. He glanced at the Fire Daimyō, who gathered his family by the doorway, face pale but composed. Fear was there, of course, a trembling beneath the surface, but the man carried it well. Hiruzen turned his gaze away, signalling to the Daimyō's guard platoon.

“We move soon,” he said, his voice low enough that only those closest could hear. The words dissipated into the cool air, and Hiruzen tightened his grip on the staff he held, the weapon comforting in its familiarity. The coming hours would test them. He could feel it, the tension that hung in the air like a storm about to break.

The lead guard nodded, a wordless understanding passing between them. There was no fanfare here, no dramatics—only the stark reality of the situation. The Lightning Daimyō had been murdered, his family slaughtered in their sleep, and every whisper in the shadows carried the same accusation: Konoha. The Village Hidden in the Leaves. Hiruzen had tried to push back against the accusations, had tried to reach out, but trust was brittle, and once broken, it did not mend easily.

A sharp whistle from Genma who was on lookout duty snapped Hiruzen’s attention back to the present. The young shinobi flickered into view, senbon glinting between his teeth, eyes narrowed as he peered into the distance. “Movement,” Genma said, voice taut. “East perimeter.”

Hiruzen’s gaze shifted, following the line of Genma’s sight, his senses flaring. There, shadows moved—a presence, multiple presences. His heartbeat slowed, and he motioned for Raidō and Iwashi to keep an eye on the rear of their formation.

And then, they appeared—figures stepping from the treeline, deliberate, unhurried. Hiruzen knew them even before they came into view, the chakra signatures unmistakable. A, the Raikage, his towering figure unmistakable against the rising dawn. Beside him, Killer B, Darui, and C, each one radiating a lethality that was palpable. They advanced without hesitation, their expressions hard, eyes locked onto the safe house.

Hiruzen stepped forward, positioning himself between the Raikage and his charges. The Daimyō's guard platoon tightened their flanks, ready, every muscle coiled. Ahead, the Raikage halted a short distance away, his eyes narrowing as they met Hiruzen’s.

“Raikage,” Hiruzen said, his voice even, carrying across the clearing. “This is not the way. You are making a mistake. Please, let us speak.”

A’s expression was carved from stone, his eyes cold. “Speak?” His voice was a growl, deep, resonant, echoing in the stillness. “There is nothing left to say, Hiruzen. The Lightning Daimyō is dead. His family dead. Slaughtered in their sleep. My village humiliated. And somehow you expect me to come all this way to speak? You must take me for a fool.”

Hiruzen took a slow breath. “We had no involvement in that atrocity,” he said, his eyes meeting A’s, unflinching. “Whoever did this wants to further the growing discord between our villages. They want us to destroy each other.”

The Raikage let out a harsh, humourless laugh. “And you think I’ll fall for your lies, old man?” He took a step forward, Killer B and the others mirroring his movement. “The time for diplomacy is over. The Fire Daimyō will answer for what’s been done. Konoha will answer.”

The threat hung in the air, a tangible thing, and Hiruzen knew then that there would be no easy path out of this. He shifted his stance, fist tightening around his weapon. between his lips, Genma’s senbon gleamed, Raidō’s hand hovering near the hilt of his blade, and Iwashi stood poised to move. Around them, the Daimyō's guards readied themselves to protect their liege even if it meant dying in the process.

Ahead the Raikage’s chakra flared, a violent, roiling energy that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them.

“A,” Hiruzen tried again, his voice sharp, commanding. “If you do this, there will be no turning back. Stand down.”

But the Raikage’s eyes held only fury, only the promise of retribution. “You should’ve thought of that before making a fool of me. Now...

"DIE!”