Chapter 3
If you two think I'm just going to let you walk away after this mess," the orange-haired man chuckled, shifting his grip on his scythe, " you must be the best comedians In all of Light City ."
Itachi turned, his grip tightening around his sword—though a slight tremor betrayed him. The vampire had begun to unleash his aura, an overwhelming presence that sent a chill racing down Itachi's spine. He had never seen anything like it—waves upon waves of glowing red light, spreading outward, crackling as though it could corrode anything it touched.
Swallowing hard, Itachi urged his horse back a few paces, instinctively seeking distance.
Around him, battle still raged—cries of pain, fury, desperation intertwining into a chaotic symphony. But above all, he could hear it—the sound of defeat .
They were losing.
The arrival of the two Nines had shifted the tide entirely. No one was leaving this battlefield alive.
Itachi struggled with that knowledge—wrestled with the bitter truth of it. Sasuke and their mother might be among those cages, waiting, hoping for his rescue.
But how could he save them?
When he could scarcely save himself.
"Make sure none of them escape!" the orange-haired man barked, hoisting his scythe high. Then—his sharp blue gaze locked onto Itachi.
Coldness slithered around his chest.
The vampire kicked his horse forward, charging—a force unstoppable, his scythe slicing through the air, prepared to cut down anything in its path.
And Itachi was in its path .
Quickly, he willed his body to react—to raise his sword, to block the incoming strike. Even if survival was impossible, he had to try .
Where had all his training gone? The lessons drilled into him at the hunters' academy? The wisdom his father had imparted?
He couldn't remember.
Fear clouded everything—so much fear, sickening and suffocating.
His hands trembled, slick with sweat, but he succeeded in raising his sword. Still, he knew—it would never withstand the impact.
Hold steady. Hold steady.
But he couldn't.
The towering figure racing toward him was all he saw—his mind drowning under the sheer pressure of it.
And then—
His eyes shut.
Instinct. A failure.
Hunters never closed their eyes—not in the face of an enemy.
His father's voice echoed in his mind. Never shut your eyes, son. Look them in the eyes when you kill them.
Too late.
And that was why he deserved to die.
For forgetting.
The scythe should have torn into him by now.
But instead—nothing.
Only the sharp clang of colliding steel.
Itachi's breath rushed out in a shaky exhale, one he hadn't realised he'd been holding. His eyes darted open, and there—his father stood, grounded, spear locked against the vampire's scythe. Fugaku's muscles strained under the weight of it, the sheer force of the impact rippling through his frame.
Relief flooded through Itachi—but it was quickly drowned by something far uglier. Self-loathing.
He wasn't a child anymore. He shouldn't need saving.
And yet, here he was.
After all his training—after everything—he still found himself relying on his father. How useless could he be? Fugaku must be furious. Disappointed. He had expected Itachi to know better—to never let his guard down like this—
"What are you doing, Itachi!" Fugaku's voice thundered.
Itachi flinched, clutching his sword and reins. He braced himself for disgust in his father's eyes—but instead, he found something far more terrifying.
Urgency.
Fear.
A tightness in Fugaku's shoulders told Itachi all he needed to know—this was taking its toll. He started to move, to help—but his father shook his head.
Then, with a roar, Fugaku's muscles tensed, flexing with sheer brute strength—he threw the vampire clean off his horse.
For a fleeting second, victory flickered in Itachi's chest.
But then he saw it.
The vampire soared through the air—his body twisting, controlled . Not flailing, not desperate, but composed, as if he had merely chosen to reposition himself.
And when he landed—his expression was unchanged.
The orange-haired vampire planted his feet firmly, his scythe held forward, stance poised.
"Huh," he mused, tone casual, amused even. "You're pretty strong for such an old man. Suppose those muscles aren't just for show."
" Need a hand, Yahiko? " A sultry voice chimed in.
It belonged to the white-haired vampire—Yoko, as she was called. Seated elegantly on her horse, she languidly waved her hand fan, as though she were watching a fine performance unfold upon the stage.
Itachi furrowed his brows. He forced himself not to let their confidence distract him.
Confidence breeds carelessness.
And carelessness could be fatal.
His father was already engaged in battle with Yahiko—and though Itachi knew that wouldn't be enough to keep the vampire contained, the worst possible scenario would be an attack from two fronts.
Which meant one thing.
Itachi had to keep her occupied.
If all he could do was prevent Yoko from interfering—then that was what he would do.
And he had to remember everything the Hunters' Academy had taught him about the Nines.
There were nine in total. Only three were known to the Hunters' Association—Deidara, Nishiki, and one more whose name remained unknown. But his portrait was in every book. A warning.
A man with white hair.
The strongest of them all.
The Nines were immortal. Hunters' weapons were useless against them. They walked under the sun without consequence.
That was why no hunter had ever gone after them.
"Itachi, listen to me—don't get distracted. You must go with the rest of our people!" Fugaku's voice cut through the battlefield, urgent, commanding.
Itachi blinked, his gaze flickering away from Yoko—realizing, suddenly, how long he'd been staring at her. Then, his eyes found his father's face.
Go?
Did his father still believe that was an option ? That escape was possible?
Even if they did break away, even if they somehow made it past the slaughter, that orange-haired vampire wouldn't allow them to get far. Fugaku had to know how futile it was.
Itachi parted his lips, ready to argue—but his father shook his head.
"This battle is lost, Itachi. Retreat . Live to fight another day. I will hold them off."
Those words—
Itachi had never thought he'd hear them come from Fugaku Uchiha.
Shock rooted him to the spot.
Was this truly the same man who despised deserters? The one who ruthlessly tore into those who dared flee from a fight?
"Rather conceited," Yoko mused, her voice honeyed yet edged with amusement. "Thinking you could take the two of us on."
She gestured lightly. "Look around you. There is no one left to save."
Itachi did.
And his throat tightened instantly.
Blood-drenched vampires stood around the site—grinning, monstrous, victorious.
There wasn't a single hunter left standing.
Bodies littered the ground—ripped apart, torn limb from limb. Heads lay scattered, rolling like discarded dolls. Flesh stripped, bones exposed. Blood seeped into the dirt, soaking the earth in grotesque pools.
Itachi wretched, bile rising. His vision blurred with tears.
Those men and women—they weren't even proper hunters yet. Only an hour ago, they'd been celebrating, laughing, filled with hope.
None of them had seen this coming.
Though they had been strong, though they had fought with every ounce of their might—they had never stood a chance against an army of blue-eyed vampires.
It was over.
Nothing left to fight for.
Itachi could already see how this would end. He and his father would make their last stand—he would die here, alongside him.
"Get on with it! What are you waiting for, Itachi!" Fugaku roared.
Itachi snapped his head up.
For the first time, he saw the same despair reflected in his father's features.
But beneath it—firm resolve.
"You have to live," Fugaku said, voice tight, strained. "Even if it's just you ."
Itachi didn't want that.
Didn't want to be the only one left.
If he was meant to die, then let it be here , alongside his comrades.
He inhaled sharply, steadying himself.
If death was the only option, then at least he would go down fighting .
His gaze lifted, locking onto the female vampire.
Yoko chuckled, her amusement rich and indulgent. "Looks like he's made his decision. Such a fine specimen of a man. Yahiko, I'll be taking him," she announced, voice dripping with satisfaction.
Yahiko scoffed, swinging his scythe idly. "It's always pleasure with you, isn't it? And here I thought you tagged along to stay close to me."
"In what universe would I be interested in a boring man like you?" Yoko replied, flashing him a smile—sharp, teasing.
"Well, whatever. No great loss for me," Yahiko said, rolling his shoulders. "Let's wrap this up quickly."
With that, he swung his massive scythe, its edge gleaming under the fading light.
Despite his resolve to stay and end this, Itachi looked away —just for a fraction of a second. Yahiko moved with terrifying speed—his footwork swift, barely visible. Itachi could hardly see him.
His father, though not as fast, had something else—reflexes honed through decades of battle.
Itachi watched, heart lodged in his throat, as the two figures clashed. The exchange was too fast —blades colliding, strikes landing, but he couldn't tell who was hitting who.
Then—a flash of silver.
A dagger sliced through the air, whistling just past his nose.
Itachi took that as the female vampire's way of demanding his attention.
He turned his gaze back to her, allowing his hatred—his rage —to burn through his eyes, glaring at her with all the fury that churned within him.
The way she laughed made him sick.
"Don't look away from me, darling," she purred. "I'm your opponent."
Itachi felt bile rise in his throat.
"I won't," he snarled, shifting his stance, sword angled to the side, readying himself.
Yoko raised her fan, flicking her wrist with effortless grace.
Now Itachi understood.
That fan wasn't just for show. It was her weapon.
From its surface, daggers—at least twenty—splintered outward, streaking toward him like bolts of lightning.
Itachi didn't flinch. He swung his sword— fast , precise—deflecting each one, metal striking metal in a cacophony of impact. Two daggers spun toward him, and he snatched them mid-air, fingers curling tightly around the hilts.
In a single motion, he fastened explosive tags onto them—then flung them back .
Yoko, naturally, attempted to deflect them.
The daggers exploded right in front of her.
Itachi wasn't foolish enough to assume that would take her down—but he didn't waste time watching. He turned his eyes back to his father's battle.
His breath hitched.
Only a minute had passed—and yet—
Fugaku was panting. Bleeding .
White-blue aura leaked from his form. His hunters' weapon clutched tightly in one hand—the other pressed against the gaping wound in his stomach.
Yahiko?
Unscathed.
The orange-haired vampire stood as he had before—scythe raised, stance unwavering.
No—that wasn't entirely true. His clothes bore minor damage, torn beneath the arm, at the side. Once pristine white, now marred.
But why — how —was he still standing while Fugaku—
Itachi couldn't look. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, gripping his reins, ready to charge.
Then— cold metal at his throat.
A pale hand.
A fan.
Itachi froze, blood running cold.
He had nearly forgotten his own opponent.
That mistake— almost —had been enough to cost him his life.
But Yoko only chuckled.
"What did I say about looking away from me?" Yoko's voice dripped with amusement, laced with something far more dangerous. "I like a man who listens to what I tell him. Look away from me again, and I'll kill you."
Itachi remained still, unaffected by the honeyed threat disguised as flirtation.
"What do you want from me, then?" he asked, voice steady.
"I want to turn you, of course. You'd be such a waste as a human."
Revulsion surged through him.
Itachi almost flinched—almost recoiled—but the dagger at his throat blocked his path. Even so, he still considered it. Death would be a far better fate than that . He couldn't begin to imagine himself as one of them . No—he refused to.
If living meant turning into a vampire, then he'd welcome death with open arms .
"No, thank you," he growled.
In one swift, decisive motion, he twisted his sword so that its point aligned with her stomach—then drove it in , not hesitating for even a second.
The force sent her tumbling off his horse, and he wrenched his blood-stained blade free.
For a fraction of a moment, he was stunned. He had actually hit her.
But he didn't stop to confirm his strike—he couldn't . Instead, he urged his horse forward, racing toward his father.
Behind him, Yoko chuckled.
The laughter swelled—rising into something unhinged, gleeful, manic.
Yahiko scoffed. "Lost it already, Yoko?"
"Wonderful! Marvelous! " she cried. "I like a man I can chase—give me a challenge, boy! Make me burn! "
She was insane , Itachi thought.
Bleeding, laughing , she stood.
He didn't allow himself another glance—his priority lay ahead.
"Father! Grab my hand!" he called out, reaching for Fugaku.
His father's swollen eye remained shut, but with the good one, he looked up—lifting his hand, prepared to take his.
They needed to leave.
Staying here was pointless—Fugaku was wounded, severely so. They required time to recover, to regroup.
The vampires would chase them, of course, but at least they would have time .
How much time? He couldn't say.
Would it even matter?
He didn't care . He just needed to get his father out.
Then—suddenly.
Fugaku pulled his hand away and slammed his fist against the horse's flank.
The beast whinnied and surged forward at blistering speed.
"Don't you stop that horse!" Fugaku roared.
Itachi gritted his teeth, yanking at the reins, refusing— refusing —to leave.
How could he possibly live with himself if he ran, knowing he had abandoned his father to die ?
"Stop him!" Yahiko barked.
A spear came hurtling through the air, piercing the skull of the first vampire that tried to block his escape.
Itachi barely had time to react.
His horse shrieked in alarm, its hooves stumbling over uneven ground before toppling .
He was thrown.
Down the hill.
His head slammed against the earth, pain exploding through his skull. Dust rose in thick clouds, blinding him. His lungs stung as it clogged his throat. The descent seemed endless, each impact harsher than the last.
Agony flared in his arm—it was surely broken.
Then—finally.
It stopped.
He lay there, unable to move. The coppery taste of blood coated his tongue.
Painfully, he forced one eye open—the only one that could .
The first thing he saw was a vampire.
Blue-eyed, approaching slowly.
A sword glinted in his hand.
The vampire was speaking , but Itachi couldn't hear a thing. His world had gone silent.
Still—he knew .
He knew what would happen if that vampire reached him.
Frantically, he tried to reach for an exploding tag, fingers fumbling—but his left arm refused to obey.
Broken.
With a groan, he twisted his body and started crawling.
Blindly.
Weakly.
Then— nothing .
A drop.
Water shimmered far below—a sheer cliff edge.
At least a thousand feet, maybe more.
He must have fallen much further than he'd realised.
Slowly, painfully, he turned his head.
The vampire was reaching for him.
But—why?
Not to strike.
Not to kill .
His free hand extended, open-palmed.
He was trying to help him up.
Itachi's breath hitched.
This wasn't murder.
This was worse .
Yoko's words echoed in his mind.
A fear more piercing than any wound struck through his chest.
Itachi struggled almost unconsciously.
He couldn't become a vampire, he'd rather die. And if this vampire won't do it then…
Itachi waited until the vampire picked him up to his feet then he kicked him as hard as he could hoping his failing strength would be enough. It wasn't enough to push the vampire away but it was enough to get him to let Itachi go.
Itachi sighed when he started to fall backwards he felt relief, he closed his eyes, they were hurting anyway. His father was dead, he was sure of it. He had tried to save Itachi but this is what happened , it was so much better.
Darkness played at the edge of his vision and he did not fight it, he let his hand fall beside him and prayed he tore to pieces when he reached the end of the fall.
Better yet, let him become fish food.