Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 95

The forest around Orochimaru’s hidden base was eerily silent. A faint mist rolled low across the damp earth, carrying with it the coppery tang of blood that seemed permanently embedded in the soil. Itachi stopped mid-stride, the three reluctant guides halting behind him.

He turned, his eyes unreadable.
“This is far enough,” Itachi said quietly. “You three go no further. Orochimaru is mine.”

The trio froze. The red-haired girl, Karin, looked at him as though he had just pronounced his own death sentence.
“You can’t be serious… Going alone? That’s suicide.”

Her two companions shifted uneasily, but Itachi’s gaze silenced them. The faint tomoe of his Sharingan glimmered in the dim light.

“I will deal with him myself,” Itachi repeated. His tone carried no arrogance, no bravado—only certainty.

Before they could protest further, he turned and walked forward, each step measured, each breath controlled.


It didn’t take long for him to be spotted. From the shadows of the trees emerged Orochimaru’s scouts—bandaged men with serpentine eyes and kunai glinting in their hands.

“An intruder!” one hissed, rushing forward.

Itachi’s Sharingan whirled to life. Scarlet light reflected in their terrified pupils. In an instant, their movements faltered. One by one, their bodies slumped to the ground, caught in a genjutsu so subtle it was almost like falling into natural sleep.

The forest floor was soon littered with unconscious bodies. Itachi didn’t slow. His sandals made barely a whisper as he advanced.


But then, from deeper within the base, another presence stirred. Heavy footsteps echoed. The air itself seemed to thicken, carrying an oppressive weight of killing intent.

A young man stepped into view, pale as bone itself, with sharp eyes that burned with restrained violence. His chakra radiated like a storm.

“You must be the one they warned us about,” the boy growled, rolling his shoulders. His bones cracked and extended unnaturally beneath his skin. “Pottaru Itachi.”

Itachi’s gaze sharpened. The patterns of chakra within this boy’s body were… different. Mutated. Enhanced.

“From Kirigakure?” Itachi asked calmly, observing his posture. “That chakra signature—Kaguya bloodline. Bone manipulation. Rare… and dangerous.”

The boy smirked, pulling a long blade of sharpened femur from his arm like unsheathing a sword.
“You know my clan? Then you know you won’t leave here alive.”


The boy lunged, bone sword whistling through the air.

Swish—!

Itachi tilted his head, letting the blade pass harmlessly by his cheek. His cloak rippled with the movement. He countered with a flicker of kunai, forcing the boy to twist and block with a bone shield sprouting from his wrist. Sparks flew.

The exchange was lightning-fast. Each strike was met with graceful evasion. Itachi’s Sharingan tracked every twitch of muscle, predicting movements before they began.

“You fight with precision,” Itachi remarked, parrying another thrust. “But your strikes lack purpose. Orochimaru has twisted your gifts.”

The boy snarled, driving a knee upward. A spike of bone shot from his shin, aiming for Itachi’s ribs.

Crack!

Itachi twisted, his cloak fluttering as the spike grazed harmlessly past him.

“You talk too much!” the boy roared.


With a guttural scream, the boy’s body convulsed. His skin rippled as jagged bones erupted from his shoulders, spine, and arms, encasing him in a monstrous carapace. His chakra surged violently, unstable yet ferocious.

Itachi’s eyes narrowed. So this is Orochimaru’s experiment… forcing the curse mark and bloodline to merge. Like Jugo’s transformations.

The boy’s face twisted, veins bulging as his voice deepened into a guttural snarl.
“I’ll tear you apart!”

He slammed a fist into the ground. BOOM! The earth cracked, jagged bones spearing upward like a deadly forest.

Itachi leapt into the air, landing gracefully on one of the bone spires. His cloak billowed, eyes gleaming crimson.

“You are strong,” Itachi admitted. “But you’re drowning in Orochimaru’s madness. I will put an end to your suffering.”


The boy charged again, faster now, his monstrous form giving him terrifying strength. A barrage of bone spikes launched from his body like a storm of arrows.

Itachi blurred, weaving through the storm with impossible grace. Each spike missed by a hair’s breadth, slicing only air. He countered with a quick set of hand seals.

“Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu.”

A great fireball roared from his lips, engulfing the battlefield in flames. The boy crossed his arms, bones thickening to shield him. The fire washed over him, leaving his carapace scorched but intact.

“Fire won’t stop me!” he howled, charging through the smoke.

Itachi’s eyes glowed. He let the boy approach, then flickered behind him in a burst of speed. His fingers jabbed into key tenketsu along the boy’s spine.

The boy screamed as his chakra flow faltered, but then with a surge of fury, his body forced new pathways, regenerating bones and pushing Itachi back with sheer force.


“You resist suppression,” Itachi murmured, watching calmly. “Even a Hyūga’s strikes would struggle to contain you.”

The boy laughed manically, his voice twisted by the monstrous form.
“I am perfection! Orochimaru gave me this gift! I’ll kill you, and then I’ll kill him too!”

That caught Itachi’s attention. His head tilted ever so slightly.
“You despise him… yet you serve him?”

“I serve no one!” the boy snarled. “But until I’m strong enough, I’ll use his power. And when the time comes—I’ll snap his neck like a twig!”

Itachi studied him silently. A tragic figure—warped by vengeance, consumed by Orochimaru’s false promises.


The boy lunged again, bone blades spinning into a whirlwind of slashes. Itachi’s cloak tore slightly as he dodged. His hand blurred through seals.

“Wood Release: Binding Roots.”

From the soil, thick wooden tendrils erupted, wrapping around the boy’s limbs. He struggled, his bone spikes cutting through several, but more kept sprouting, constricting tighter.

“Impossible!” he roared, thrashing. “You—have Wood Release?!”

The roots tightened, cracking against his bone armor. But his monstrous chakra surged, shattering them with an explosion of spikes.

CRASH! The forest around them tore apart under the backlash.


The boy’s breathing was ragged now, his monstrous form trembling under the strain. His chakra blazed like a wildfire—immense but unstable.

Itachi’s Sharingan spun, analyzing every weakness. He had tested enough.

“You’ve endured more than most,” Itachi said softly. “But this ends now.”

The boy screamed and charged, pouring every ounce of rage into one final attack. His entire body bristled with blades, turning him into a living storm of death.

Itachi’s hands formed a final seal.
“Wood Release: Crushing Prison.”

Giant wooden pillars erupted from the ground, slamming together around the boy like the jaws of a titan. The monstrous form shrieked as bones cracked under the pressure.

“No—! I won’t be caged!”

Itachi stepped forward, placing his palm against the wooden prison. His chakra flared, siphoning into the structure. The roots pulsed, draining the boy’s chakra relentlessly.

The screams grew weaker. The bone spikes retracted. Slowly, the monstrous form crumbled away, leaving only a pale, exhausted shinobi.

The boy collapsed, unconscious, his body slumping against the wooden bindings.


Itachi gazed at him, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing, listening to the ragged breath of the defeated.

“You were strong,” he murmured at last. “But Orochimaru’s corruption hollowed you out. Rest now. You need not suffer his chains any longer.”

He released the Wood Release, letting the boy sink gently to the ground. For an instant, he considered ending it here—one swift strike to free him from pain forever.

But instead, he turned away.

“I will not kill a victim of Orochimaru’s cruelty,” he decided. “Perhaps one day, you will find your own path.”

And with that, Itachi walked deeper into the lair, the shadows swallowing his figure as the unconscious boy lay still among shattered bones and roots.


The stone corridors grew colder the deeper Itachi descended. The air stank of iron, blood, and the acrid tang of chemicals. Shadows clung to the walls like clotted ink, broken only by the flicker of dim torches.

Itachi’s footsteps were nearly silent, but his heart was heavy. He had walked through many battlefields, had seen countless corpses. Yet what greeted him here was something fouler, something more deliberate.


The first chamber he entered made his breath catch.

Rows of small cots lined the walls, though most were empty. On the floor lay twisted bodies—children, some barely older than toddlers. Their limbs were unnaturally stretched, some with half-formed scales, others with brittle bones piercing their skin. Many were long dead, their expressions frozen in agony.

But worse were those who still breathed.

A boy with half-open eyes whimpered weakly, his chest rising shallowly. His skin was grey, his veins blackened with poison chakra. A girl no older than seven had blood dripping from her mouth, her tiny hands clutching desperately at her stomach.

Itachi knelt beside them, his Sharingan glowing faintly. He placed a hand against the boy’s forehead. The chakra flow was ruptured, unstable. Even with his medical ninjutsu, he could only stabilize them for a short time.

He whispered, almost to himself.
“Orochimaru… this is unforgivable.”

Rage simmered beneath his calm exterior. He forced it down, focusing on his purpose. First, end the serpent. Then, save who can still be saved.


He pressed forward, his pace quickening. The passages opened into a vast underground hall, its ceiling lost in shadows. Strange seals glowed faintly on the stone pillars, pulsing with sinister chakra.

At the far end stood a boy.

Raven-haired, with Sharingan eyes blazing crimson. His stance was proud, but his features were hardened by pain and indoctrination.

“Akuma…” Itachi’s voice carried softly across the hall.

The boy tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “So, you came. Pottaru Itachi.”

Itachi studied him carefully. This was the boy who had been taken a year ago, stolen during a mission. A child who might have grown into an ally. Instead, Orochimaru had molded him into a weapon.

“You don’t have to do this,” Itachi said. “Come back with me. Leave Orochimaru’s shadow. Whatever he promised you—it’s nothing but lies.”

Akuma’s lips curled into a bitter smile.
“Back? To what? To a clan that abandoned me? To a village that let me be taken?”

His Sharingan spun, three tomoe blazing with hatred.
“No, Itachi. Orochimaru gave me power. Power enough to eclipse you, enough to bury every weakness of our cursed bloodline.”


Itachi took a step forward, hands still at his sides. “Power without control is destruction. You are being used, Akuma. I know what it means to be trapped by a master’s ambition. I’m offering you freedom.”

Akuma’s eyes narrowed. His chakra flared violently, red and black sparks dancing across the hall.
“Freedom? You mean submission to you? No, Itachi. The only freedom I know is strength. And I will prove mine by killing you.”

He formed seals with blinding speed.
“Katon: Gōryūka no Jutsu!”

From his mouth erupted massive dragon-shaped fireballs, roaring across the chamber.

Itachi’s Sharingan whirled. His hands moved in perfect rhythm.
“Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu.”

His own fireball countered, colliding mid-air with a thunderous explosion. The shockwave rattled the stone, scattering embers across the floor.

“You’ve grown strong,” Itachi acknowledged. “But strength alone is not enough.”


Akuma was already moving. His form blurred with speed enhanced by Orochimaru’s cursed chakra. He appeared before Itachi in a flicker, kunai coated in dark venom slashing downward.

Clang!

Itachi blocked with a kunai of his own, sparks flying. He spun, countering with a kick that Akuma parried with a bone shield erupting from his arm—proof of Orochimaru’s grafting experiments.

“Even your body is not your own anymore,” Itachi murmured, his eyes narrowing.

“Don’t pity me!” Akuma shouted, swinging with renewed fury. “This body makes me strong!”

They clashed again and again, Sharingan reading each movement, predicting, countering. But Akuma’s attacks grew wilder, fueled by the cursed seal’s monstrous chakra. His eyes glowed with near-madness.


Suddenly, Akuma’s hands blurred through an unfamiliar sequence. Space warped around him. His body flickered—not with traditional Shunshin, but something deeper, a tear in chakra itself.

Itachi’s eyes widened fractionally. A space-slip technique? Orochimaru has been experimenting even with dimensional jutsu…

Akuma vanished—then reappeared directly behind him, blade descending.

But Itachi was ready. A clone burst into crows beneath the strike, scattering feathers across the hall.

From the shadows, the real Itachi emerged, his own blade poised.

“You can teleport,” he said softly. “But your intent is too transparent.”

Akuma snarled, warping again—this time from above, striking downward with blazing chakra.

Itachi’s Sharingan tracked him effortlessly. He sidestepped, his speed matching the warped timing of the jutsu. In a blur, he was behind Akuma, his tanto sliding cleanly into the boy’s chest.


Akuma froze, eyes wide. Blood trickled from his lips. He looked down at the blade piercing his heart.

“No… I… can’t lose…” His voice broke, fury giving way to disbelief. His chakra flared violently, uncontrolled, blasting cracks into the stone floor.

Itachi held him steady, his voice low, almost sorrowful.
“You were strong. But you were never free. Orochimaru turned you into a weapon, not a man.”

Akuma coughed blood, his Sharingan fading slowly.
“Then… kill him… for me…”

His body trembled once, then went still, the cursed chakra dispersing like smoke.

Itachi withdrew the blade gently, lowering the fallen boy to the ground. He closed Akuma’s eyes with two fingers.

“You deserved better.”