Itachi Uchiha

The forest was dense and damp after the storm. The earth smelled of blood and ash.

Itachi crawled through the bushes, his Akatsuki cloak torn and stained red. His wounds burned like fire, but no more than his own rage. Not at his defeated enemies, but at his own body betraying him.

Finally, he collapsed at the foot of a tree, panting. The world was spinning around him.

—Damn... —he muttered, touching the deep cut on his side.

He forced himself to close his eyes for a moment. Listen. Feel. If he was being followed, he wouldn't survive another fight in that state.

Then he heard it. A presence.

Light. Soft. Quiet... but not quiet enough.

Itachi's eyes shot open. He leaped to his feet—or as close to one as his body could manage—and in a single movement appeared in front of the approaching figure. His sharingan flashed briefly.

"Don't come any closer," he warned, his voice rough with exhaustion.