Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 106

The air was cold and silent when Itachi Pottaru began his journey. The forests beyond the Land of Fire stretched endlessly before him — green fading into gray, trees bending beneath a wind that whispered secrets of distant rain.

He adjusted the black cloak that covered his body. The hood shadowed his face, and a smooth porcelain mask hid his features. His chakra was cloaked tightly, suppressed until even the insects around him could not sense his presence.

Amegakure was far — a hidden village drenched in constant rain and sorrow.

But that was where Jiraiya-sensei had gone. And that was where Orochimaru and this mysterious organization called Akatsuki now gathered.

He needed to find answers.

And if fate allowed — justice.

Days passed as Itachi moved through the wilderness. He slept little, ate less, and never stayed long enough to leave a trail.

When night fell, he traveled faster — a silent streak between trees, his steps so light they made no sound upon the branches.

He crossed into the borderlands of the Land of Rivers, where the mist grew thicker and the sky never fully cleared. The air here was heavy, saturated with the promise of storms. It was said the rain of Amegakure was unnatural — controlled by the will of its leader.

But long before the rain could reach him, Itachi stopped abruptly.

He felt them before he saw them — chakra signatures that were sharp, heavy, and cold. One was smooth like coiled steel. The other… sickly familiar.

Through the curtain of mist, two figures emerged along the forest path.

Both wore the same black cloaks patterned with red clouds, their high collars obscuring most of their faces. The Akatsuki insignia.

Itachi’s breath slowed as his gaze fixed on them.

The first figure was tall, blue-skinned, and carried a massive wrapped sword on his back. The air around him shimmered faintly, as though it feared to touch him.

The second — pale skin, golden eyes slit like a serpent’s — smiled faintly, his tongue flicking out to taste the air.

Orochimaru.

Itachi’s jaw tightened beneath the mask.

Orochimaru and another — the Monster of the Hidden Mist, Kisame Hoshigaki.

The two walked calmly, unconcerned, as if the world itself had no power to harm them. Their voices carried faintly through the trees.

Kisame’s tone was bored, lazy but deep. “So this is what the great Orochimaru has been reduced to? Following orders like a common shinobi?”

Orochimaru’s smile widened, almost playful. “Orders? No. I merely find it… educational to observe the Akatsuki’s leader in person. His ambitions interest me.”

Kisame chuckled darkly. “Ambitions, huh? You mean his power. Don’t pretend otherwise, snake.”

Orochimaru’s golden eyes narrowed. “You misunderstand me, Kisame. I don’t crave mere power — I crave knowledge. And I intend to learn everything. Including what happens when gods bleed.”

The words sent a ripple of malice through the air.

Itachi’s hands clenched beneath his cloak.

Still the same. Still obsessed with immortality, with experiments, with bending the world to his will.

The images returned unbidden — the dead children, the ruined lab, the screams that echoed long after silence had returned.

His mission was to investigate Akatsuki.

But this… this was personal.

He moved noiselessly among the trees, keeping a steady distance. They were heading northwest — toward the borders of the Rain Country.

If he could follow them long enough, perhaps they would lead him to the very heart of Akatsuki’s operations.

Hours passed. The forest grew darker, the mist thicker. Occasionally, Orochimaru would glance behind him, his eyes narrowing. He could sense something — not clearly, but faintly, like the echo of a predator too skilled to reveal itself.

“Do you feel it?” he hissed to Kisame.

Kisame shrugged. “Someone’s tailing us, maybe. Or maybe you’re just getting paranoid, snake. You’re not exactly loved.”

Orochimaru smiled, though his hand flexed near the hilt of his kunai. “If someone follows me, they won’t live long enough to regret it.”

Itachi watched them disappear down a slope, then leapt into the trees again. He was careful — patient — a shadow watching other shadows.

When they reached an open clearing by a river, the two men paused. Orochimaru turned, scanning the treeline.

For a heartbeat, their eyes met through the fog.

Golden against crimson beneath a mask.

Orochimaru’s smirk deepened. “Well, well. How nostalgic. I can almost smell Konoha’s purity from here.”

Kisame tilted his head. “You see something?”

Orochimaru’s tongue flicked out, tasting the air again. “Perhaps… an old acquaintance. Or maybe just a ghost.”

Itachi stepped back silently, suppressing his chakra completely.

After a few tense seconds, Orochimaru turned away. “No matter. Let’s not be late for our meeting. Lord Pain doesn’t tolerate delays.”

Kisame grunted and followed.

When the two vanished beyond the mist, Itachi remained still for a long while, his heartbeat slow and steady.

Now he was certain: Orochimaru had joined Akatsuki.

And if he was traveling freely with their members, then the organization’s reach extended farther than Konoha imagined.

His mission was no longer just reconnaissance.

If an opportunity arose — if he could strike and end Orochimaru without jeopardizing the larger goal — he would take it.

His father’s words echoed in his mind:

“Make sure he is dead. No more innocents should suffer for his obsession.”

Itachi looked toward the direction they’d gone — the rain clouds gathering thickly over the horizon.

Soon, he thought. This ends.

He adjusted his hood, pulled the mask tighter, and began moving silently once more, following the serpent and the shark into the storm that never ceased — the storm called Amegakure.

The rain began long before the village came into sight. It started as a whisper, barely brushing the leaves, then grew into a steady rhythm — cold, endless, and deliberate. Each droplet felt heavy, as if it carried weight rather than water.

From a cliffside overlooking the endless mist, Itachi Pottaru watched. The valley below was dominated by towering spires of black steel and stone — Amegakure, the hidden village of rain. Metal bridges crisscrossed between skyscraper-like towers, their surfaces reflecting streaks of lightning. The city seemed alive, every drop of rain a watchful eye.

And somewhere in that metallic labyrinth, the Akatsuki gathered.

Itachi crouched under the cover of a jagged rock, a thin veil of chakra cloaking him from sensory detection. Below, he saw Orochimaru and Kisame Hoshigaki crossing one of the lower bridges. They moved with purpose, unhurried yet confident — predators that feared nothing.

Following from this distance was risky.

Even more so, when it was said that the leader of Amegakure could see through the rain itself.

Then let him see, Itachi thought calmly. If they sense me, I will vanish before they act.

He adjusted the chakra in his lungs and slowed his breathing to almost nothing.

Orochimaru and Kisame entered a vast tower whose walls pulsed faintly with blue light. Its design was unlike anything Itachi had ever seen — almost like a living temple forged from steel.

From his vantage point, he found a narrow ledge that overlooked a side window near the tower’s peak. He leapt silently, adhering to the slick metal wall with chakra.

Peering through the slit in the steel panels, he finally saw them.

Inside, the chamber was immense — circular, with a high domed ceiling. At its center stood a raised platform carved from obsidian. Upon it, nine figures appeared — but most were not physically there. Their bodies were projections, flickering like ghosts.

Only three were tangible: Orochimaru, Kisame, and a tall man standing before the others, his back straight and posture commanding. His eyes glowed a deep violet — the concentric rings of the Rinnegan.

That must be him, Itachi thought. The leader Jiraiya-sensei spoke of.

The man’s presence was oppressive. It wasn’t rage or cruelty — it was something colder, heavier, like inevitability given form.

Beside him stood a woman with long blue hair, her expression serene and distant. She wore paper-like wings folded behind her back, droplets sliding off them without wetting her.

Konan.

Orochimaru bowed slightly, his voice slithering like smoke.

“Lord Pain,” he said smoothly. “I’ve come as instructed.”

The man — Pain — did not respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep, resonant, and carried through the room like thunder wrapped in restraint.

“Orochimaru,” he said. “You failed to arrive for your last two summons.”

Orochimaru’s smile sharpened. “I was… delayed. I needed to collect some materials for my research.”

“Your ‘research,’” Pain repeated, his tone neutral but edged. “You joined Akatsuki to serve its purpose, not to indulge in your obsessions.”

Kisame chuckled quietly beside him. “You’ll have to forgive him, Leader. The snake doesn’t crawl straight even when you put him on a leash.”

Orochimaru’s golden eyes flicked toward Kisame, cold and venomous. “Careful, fish. I bite harder than I look.”

Pain raised a hand, and silence fell instantly. Even Orochimaru obeyed the gesture, though irritation flickered in his eyes.

“You were summoned,” Pain continued, “to reaffirm your commitment to Akatsuki’s goal.”

Orochimaru tilted his head. “And that goal is…?”

Pain’s gaze turned toward him, and for a heartbeat, even Orochimaru flinched.

“To end the chaos of this world,” Pain said, his voice almost calm. “To unify it through shared suffering. The nations cling to illusions of peace. We will show them the truth — that peace cannot exist without pain.”

Orochimaru’s smile returned, though thinner now. “A noble sentiment. But idealism rarely survives contact with mortality.”

Pain’s eyes flashed. “And yet, you chase immortality as though it will save you from insignificance. You and I are not so different, Orochimaru — except that my pain serves a purpose.”

For a moment, the two stared at one another. Even through the steel and rain, Itachi could feel the weight of it — two wills colliding like tectonic plates.

The woman, Konan, broke the silence.

“The other members will soon assemble. Your experiments are not to interfere with our operations. Fail to comply, and you will be replaced.”

Orochimaru gave a small, mocking bow. “I’ll do my best to behave.”

Pain turned away. “See that you do. Dismissed.”

As the projections flickered and vanished, Orochimaru lingered, his smile now sharper, his tone low and amused.

“So, this is the grand Akatsuki. A collection of egos wearing matching cloaks. How delightful.”

Kisame snorted. “Careful, Snake. The last one who laughed at the Leader didn’t laugh long.”

“I don’t fear him,” Orochimaru replied softly. “Or anyone.”

They began walking toward the exit again, their voices fading.

Itachi, still perched outside, felt the urge surge within him.

This was the moment — Orochimaru alone, unaware.

A single strike could end him now.

His hand moved toward his kunai pouch. His Sharingan pulsed faintly beneath the mask, ready.

But then he stopped.

Pain’s earlier words echoed through his mind — To unify the world through pain.

Itachi realized this organization was more dangerous than Orochimaru alone. Killing him here might only alert the others — and lose any chance to learn more.

Slowly, deliberately, he released his breath and withdrew his hand.

Not yet, he thought. Not until I know the true nature of this storm.

When Orochimaru and Kisame left the tower, Itachi followed at a safe distance.

The rain fell harder now, drumming against his hood. Every droplet that touched his cloak shimmered briefly with faint chakra — a surveillance jutsu, no doubt. The entire country was the Leader’s eye.

He had to leave before they noticed the foreign chakra flow.

With one last look at the towering city of steel and sorrow, Itachi whispered under his breath:

“Jiraiya-sensei… if you’re alive, you must see what I’ve seen. This is not a group. It’s an army waiting for the right pain to begin.”

Then he vanished into the rain, moving silently as a shadow swallowed by stormlight.