Yoru looked down at Nagato, who lay face-down in the mud with barely enough strength left to cling to life, then at Konan being stuffed into an iron box and carried away by Orochimaru not far off. There was not the slightest killing intent on his face. Instead, he smiled mockingly. Squatting down, he took a walnut-sized memory crystal sphere glowing with faint blue light from his coat pocket and waved it before Nagato's face, which was smeared with filthy blood and stank of sweat. These were the rawest, most authentic fragments of memory that Itachi had forcibly extracted through Sharingan genjutsu from Leaf Village Root captives and certain secret channels. He casually tossed the cold bead into the mud, where it landed with a crisp splat.
"Kill you? That'd be letting you off too easy, Nagato." Yoru stood back up, both hands in the pockets of his black trench coat, and nudged the sticky bead with the sole of his shoe. "I've got something more interesting here. You'd better open those eyes of yours that you think make you a god and take a good look." "Take a look at what kind of lowlife your so-called 'Lord Madara' really is behind your back." He stepped into the mud pit, and the splashing filth struck Nagato's shriveled earlobe.
"I won't watch... I won't!" Nagato used every ounce of strength in his body to writhe through the mud, scraping his head across the gravel and leaving a broad smear of blood. The flesh on his swollen right cheek twitched wildly and nervously from agony and humiliation. "Don't... stutter around here... trying to shake my will with genjutsu!" "My ideals and Lord Madara's... are the only truth in this world! What the hell do you know?!"
Yoru could not be bothered with