Categories > Anime/Manga > Naruto > The Slave of Sound
Chapter 8
The 'women and children' take thier places. Konohamaru corners Naruto, Sakura confronts Sasuke, and Hinata lures Kabuto to his doom.
?Blocked
Slave of Sound
Chapter 8
When Naruto regained his senses the next morning, he groaned softly, his body aching fiercely. Long gone were the days when he could heal in a few hours or days. The bruises and torn flesh he sported now, though minor considering his condition sometimes, would hurt for several days. From the soft muted light in the room, the quiet, he surmised he was in DeKrisso’s chambers. Alone, and out of harm’s way.
For one moment, his eyes burned intensely, and a quivering sigh, almost a sob, burst from his lips. His heart ached even more furiously than his body. Would this nightmare never end? Would he never awaken from this hellish existence?
But no… he wouldn’t let himself think, wouldn’t let himself feel. That path led to even more pain and despair. A rapid blink, and the single tear quivering on his lower lashes was destroyed, and once again the blonde lay on the soft bed, his eyes cool, distant, and empty. The slave drew in a deep, calm breath, and let everything bleed away with the exhalation. Fortified, he forayed deep into the dark recesses of his mind, where his memories of a past, forgotten life long ago were contained. On the rare occasion that Naruto was forced to confront glimpses of hearty laughter, sweaty exhausted happiness, and bright sunshine glinting off scintillating leaves, he always turned away from them. Those memories of his life before slavery, had become so incomprehensible to him, so foreign to the life he now lived, that it was easy to disregard them. After all, the only time he every opened this particular door in his mind, was to shove in remembrances that threatened his serenity now; like the tear and sob from a few seconds before. Naruto slammed that door shut without a second thought.
He sat up slowly, swallowing the groan of pain that accompanied such movement. Running graceful hands over his body, he ascertained the extent of his injuries and his only friend’s methods of tending them; his chest was bandaged from navel almost to throat. He dimly remembered his Master snarling, raking his flanks with cruel nails, biting hard enough to bring blood welling to the surface. His back ached abominably, and sitting was almost excruciating. Master had been especially harsh today. He poked memories clouded with a soundtrack of high screams and wordless sobs, for he’d learned early on to never, ever hold back. When Sasuke was like that, holding it in stoically only led to longer, crueler, more prolonged torment. When the pain became too much, Naruto always gave in and screamed and cried. It seemed to satisfy some sickness in the man he only dimly remembered he’d once called friend.
To alleviate the pain in his rear, he stood up shakily, his legs trembling, muscles twitching from being forced into such unnatural positions for so long. He stood there, swaying for a moment, before he forced the pain into yet another unmarked door in his mind. For some reason, this place bothered him even more than the other. For inside this door lurked a smiling Sasuke, whispered boyish confidences, and a playful competition. Shaking, Naruto turned away, and faced reality once more. The past was a dangerous hindrance to his well being, and was as good as dead to him.
Tightening the belt of his voluminous robe resolutely, he walked slowly, so slowly, to the door, and slid back out. There were duties to attend to, and Master was not one to let such things slide simply because he was half beaten to death. His face, always untouched, because Sasuke had some sort of fixation with the way he looked, smoothed out, and he glided noiselessly down familiar halls towards the private chambers that he now called home, all the while pondering what he could do to repay the gnarled old man that was once again his succor. DeKrisso had been a slave for a long, long time, and had given up hope some time ago. Whenever possible, Naruto did what he could for his only friend.
But before he could gain the dubious sanctuary of his shared residence with his slaver, he looked up, blinking into a vaguely familiar face.
************
Sakura moved through the hallways with a shinobi’s grace. Sleekly muscled, even more beautiful than ever, she wore her military garb as if it were a second skin. Borrowing a page from Naruto’s book, when Sasuke had abducted the blonde so long ago, she’d thrown herself into her training. She had to get stronger to get him back!
A wistful smile twisted her lips now, thinking about that. Watching Naruto train relentlessly when he was in Konoha, and hearing about it when he was away with Jiraiya, she’d followed the same path a few years later. Once she realized Naruto wasn’t coming back; that Sasuke was to blame, she’d gone to everyone she knew.
She’d learned as much of the gentle-fist technique from Neji and Hinata as was possible for a non Hyuuga. She slapped Kakashi’s book away, then forced him to train with her as well. She’d learned speed and honed her already considerable strength with a starry eyed Lee. She’d convinced Shino to impart some of his bug knowledge, and coaxed Shikamaru and Ino to educate her about shadows and souls. Of course, she’d continued her training with Tsunade, and then cornered Jiraiya, and coerced a years worth of training from the white haired Sannin. Well she remembered more than one night at a tea house, Jiraiya half drunk on Sake, and listened to the older man spin his reminisces about his journeys with Naruto. When he’d sobered up, she lured him into the woods with sweet voiced songs, and then wore him out in battle. Though she would never master the Fourth’s technique, she was adept enough with chakra that she was able to form tiny little rasengans. Such was her will and desire to bring home the Light of Konoha.
Nothing remained of the brassy, overbearing, voluptuous maiden she’d been in those days. Now she was sleek and wiry, skilled and deadly, eschewing her fancy garb of yore for dark, utilitarian clothing. She spoke softly and used a deadly fist in place of a big stick. She kept her pink hair cropped close to her skull, disdained makeup of any kind, and had roamed the Fire country sporting the white fox mask of an ANBU. She was skilled in all types of fighting, interrogation and torture, extraordinary healing, and the soft but steely tongue of a diplomat.
As she walked the halls quietly seeking the lord of this land, she smiled again, grimly this time. She’d trained for years for this day, and at last it was at hand. Naruto was found. Now it was time to bring him home.
She rounded a corner, and saw her quarry. He was directing a couple of slaves in some sort of duty, several Sound warriors lurking nearby. Her steps never faltered as Sasuke looked up and pinned her with his ebony gaze. She continued on in a silent, catlike tread, her eyes roving the Uchiha’s form from head to toe, before a derisive curl of her lip graced her visage. She stopped before her one time love, now despised enemy, and stared up at him fearlessly, her eyes filled with loathing.
“Uchiha…” She drawled coolly.
**************
Hinata glided over the mosaic tiles of the garden path with an eerie silence, a sandy eyeball floating at her shoulder, half hidden in her long inky hair. In the night and morning since that ill fated meeting with the Otokage, she and her husband had learned enough about Naruto’s plight to break her delicate heart. She ached with the knowledge of what her true love had suffered.
She laid in her husband’s arms last night and wept hopelessly, as had he, at the ruin of something so precious. After everything that had happened, what would become of Naruto once the yoke of slavery was removed from his shoulders? Even if they were able to free him and bring him home, Naruto was ruined. He would never, ever be the same. What kind of life would he live now, being as soul deep scarred as he was? She’d seen his eyes in the dining hall, the sparkle of his eyes quenched forever; she brightness of his smile gone as if it never existed. The Naruto Uzumaki they had all known and loved was as dead as his name on the memorial stone claimed. The Light of Konoha was no more.
But the tears had passed, as they always did, and she looked into Gaara’s eyes and met the same steely resolve there that lurked in her own. Then she dried her eyes, kissed her husband, and left the room. She spent the rest of the night in Sakura’s room, the two of them talking like never before, crying, and finally, whispering deadly secrets to each other. And now, she was ready for her part.
The two others had already left for their own missions, the women and children that seemed to be Sasuke’s weak spot. As she walked soundlessly, she marveled that they were the ones to catch the Uchiha’s attention, his… respect, oddly enough. She should have known that only someone as strange and twisted as she’d always known Sasuke Uchiha to be could find respect in that which he scorned the most; women and children. The things that annoyed the Uchiha were the things he paid attention to, and responded to.
Just look at Naruto; no one had annoyed Sasuke more than the loud mouthed blonde; yet it was Naruto that Sasuke stole away and forced into his bed. Hinata had no doubt that in his own strange way, Sasuke loved Naruto. But his past, and his brooding upon the same had twisted that love into something dark and cruel.
She paused a moment in her steps, dark head cocked to one side. Did the Uchiha even know how to show love? He’d lost everything so young, and had grown up so isolated, and then subjected himself to Orochimaru’s dark perversions for three years. Was it any wonder that Sasuke didn’t know the first thing about love and tenderness?
She resumed her path with a shake of her head. It didn’t matter. Sasuke stood between them and what they would have. And if her dark haired, dark eyed fellow kinsman and distant relative died as a result of this rescue operation, so be it. She would mourn when that time came. Nothing but Naruto mattered now.
But such thoughts fled her mind as she heard Kabuto’s cruel voice viciously berating some gardeners through a screening of bamboo. She watched them in privacy for a moment, drawing a deep breath, and remembering what Sakura had said to her in the early hours of the morning. She pushed aside her normal meek and gentle demeanor and let a cold smile coat her mouth. She would hope from the bottom of her heart that Naruto could be saved, but the creature she gazed upon now was irredeemable. And to be perfectly honest, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Her hands flew through a series of quick signs, and she nodded. She was ready. She stepped out from the screening of bamboo, a meek and lost expression on her face.
Showtime.
Chapter 8
When Naruto regained his senses the next morning, he groaned softly, his body aching fiercely. Long gone were the days when he could heal in a few hours or days. The bruises and torn flesh he sported now, though minor considering his condition sometimes, would hurt for several days. From the soft muted light in the room, the quiet, he surmised he was in DeKrisso’s chambers. Alone, and out of harm’s way.
For one moment, his eyes burned intensely, and a quivering sigh, almost a sob, burst from his lips. His heart ached even more furiously than his body. Would this nightmare never end? Would he never awaken from this hellish existence?
But no… he wouldn’t let himself think, wouldn’t let himself feel. That path led to even more pain and despair. A rapid blink, and the single tear quivering on his lower lashes was destroyed, and once again the blonde lay on the soft bed, his eyes cool, distant, and empty. The slave drew in a deep, calm breath, and let everything bleed away with the exhalation. Fortified, he forayed deep into the dark recesses of his mind, where his memories of a past, forgotten life long ago were contained. On the rare occasion that Naruto was forced to confront glimpses of hearty laughter, sweaty exhausted happiness, and bright sunshine glinting off scintillating leaves, he always turned away from them. Those memories of his life before slavery, had become so incomprehensible to him, so foreign to the life he now lived, that it was easy to disregard them. After all, the only time he every opened this particular door in his mind, was to shove in remembrances that threatened his serenity now; like the tear and sob from a few seconds before. Naruto slammed that door shut without a second thought.
He sat up slowly, swallowing the groan of pain that accompanied such movement. Running graceful hands over his body, he ascertained the extent of his injuries and his only friend’s methods of tending them; his chest was bandaged from navel almost to throat. He dimly remembered his Master snarling, raking his flanks with cruel nails, biting hard enough to bring blood welling to the surface. His back ached abominably, and sitting was almost excruciating. Master had been especially harsh today. He poked memories clouded with a soundtrack of high screams and wordless sobs, for he’d learned early on to never, ever hold back. When Sasuke was like that, holding it in stoically only led to longer, crueler, more prolonged torment. When the pain became too much, Naruto always gave in and screamed and cried. It seemed to satisfy some sickness in the man he only dimly remembered he’d once called friend.
To alleviate the pain in his rear, he stood up shakily, his legs trembling, muscles twitching from being forced into such unnatural positions for so long. He stood there, swaying for a moment, before he forced the pain into yet another unmarked door in his mind. For some reason, this place bothered him even more than the other. For inside this door lurked a smiling Sasuke, whispered boyish confidences, and a playful competition. Shaking, Naruto turned away, and faced reality once more. The past was a dangerous hindrance to his well being, and was as good as dead to him.
Tightening the belt of his voluminous robe resolutely, he walked slowly, so slowly, to the door, and slid back out. There were duties to attend to, and Master was not one to let such things slide simply because he was half beaten to death. His face, always untouched, because Sasuke had some sort of fixation with the way he looked, smoothed out, and he glided noiselessly down familiar halls towards the private chambers that he now called home, all the while pondering what he could do to repay the gnarled old man that was once again his succor. DeKrisso had been a slave for a long, long time, and had given up hope some time ago. Whenever possible, Naruto did what he could for his only friend.
But before he could gain the dubious sanctuary of his shared residence with his slaver, he looked up, blinking into a vaguely familiar face.
************
Sakura moved through the hallways with a shinobi’s grace. Sleekly muscled, even more beautiful than ever, she wore her military garb as if it were a second skin. Borrowing a page from Naruto’s book, when Sasuke had abducted the blonde so long ago, she’d thrown herself into her training. She had to get stronger to get him back!
A wistful smile twisted her lips now, thinking about that. Watching Naruto train relentlessly when he was in Konoha, and hearing about it when he was away with Jiraiya, she’d followed the same path a few years later. Once she realized Naruto wasn’t coming back; that Sasuke was to blame, she’d gone to everyone she knew.
She’d learned as much of the gentle-fist technique from Neji and Hinata as was possible for a non Hyuuga. She slapped Kakashi’s book away, then forced him to train with her as well. She’d learned speed and honed her already considerable strength with a starry eyed Lee. She’d convinced Shino to impart some of his bug knowledge, and coaxed Shikamaru and Ino to educate her about shadows and souls. Of course, she’d continued her training with Tsunade, and then cornered Jiraiya, and coerced a years worth of training from the white haired Sannin. Well she remembered more than one night at a tea house, Jiraiya half drunk on Sake, and listened to the older man spin his reminisces about his journeys with Naruto. When he’d sobered up, she lured him into the woods with sweet voiced songs, and then wore him out in battle. Though she would never master the Fourth’s technique, she was adept enough with chakra that she was able to form tiny little rasengans. Such was her will and desire to bring home the Light of Konoha.
Nothing remained of the brassy, overbearing, voluptuous maiden she’d been in those days. Now she was sleek and wiry, skilled and deadly, eschewing her fancy garb of yore for dark, utilitarian clothing. She spoke softly and used a deadly fist in place of a big stick. She kept her pink hair cropped close to her skull, disdained makeup of any kind, and had roamed the Fire country sporting the white fox mask of an ANBU. She was skilled in all types of fighting, interrogation and torture, extraordinary healing, and the soft but steely tongue of a diplomat.
As she walked the halls quietly seeking the lord of this land, she smiled again, grimly this time. She’d trained for years for this day, and at last it was at hand. Naruto was found. Now it was time to bring him home.
She rounded a corner, and saw her quarry. He was directing a couple of slaves in some sort of duty, several Sound warriors lurking nearby. Her steps never faltered as Sasuke looked up and pinned her with his ebony gaze. She continued on in a silent, catlike tread, her eyes roving the Uchiha’s form from head to toe, before a derisive curl of her lip graced her visage. She stopped before her one time love, now despised enemy, and stared up at him fearlessly, her eyes filled with loathing.
“Uchiha…” She drawled coolly.
**************
Hinata glided over the mosaic tiles of the garden path with an eerie silence, a sandy eyeball floating at her shoulder, half hidden in her long inky hair. In the night and morning since that ill fated meeting with the Otokage, she and her husband had learned enough about Naruto’s plight to break her delicate heart. She ached with the knowledge of what her true love had suffered.
She laid in her husband’s arms last night and wept hopelessly, as had he, at the ruin of something so precious. After everything that had happened, what would become of Naruto once the yoke of slavery was removed from his shoulders? Even if they were able to free him and bring him home, Naruto was ruined. He would never, ever be the same. What kind of life would he live now, being as soul deep scarred as he was? She’d seen his eyes in the dining hall, the sparkle of his eyes quenched forever; she brightness of his smile gone as if it never existed. The Naruto Uzumaki they had all known and loved was as dead as his name on the memorial stone claimed. The Light of Konoha was no more.
But the tears had passed, as they always did, and she looked into Gaara’s eyes and met the same steely resolve there that lurked in her own. Then she dried her eyes, kissed her husband, and left the room. She spent the rest of the night in Sakura’s room, the two of them talking like never before, crying, and finally, whispering deadly secrets to each other. And now, she was ready for her part.
The two others had already left for their own missions, the women and children that seemed to be Sasuke’s weak spot. As she walked soundlessly, she marveled that they were the ones to catch the Uchiha’s attention, his… respect, oddly enough. She should have known that only someone as strange and twisted as she’d always known Sasuke Uchiha to be could find respect in that which he scorned the most; women and children. The things that annoyed the Uchiha were the things he paid attention to, and responded to.
Just look at Naruto; no one had annoyed Sasuke more than the loud mouthed blonde; yet it was Naruto that Sasuke stole away and forced into his bed. Hinata had no doubt that in his own strange way, Sasuke loved Naruto. But his past, and his brooding upon the same had twisted that love into something dark and cruel.
She paused a moment in her steps, dark head cocked to one side. Did the Uchiha even know how to show love? He’d lost everything so young, and had grown up so isolated, and then subjected himself to Orochimaru’s dark perversions for three years. Was it any wonder that Sasuke didn’t know the first thing about love and tenderness?
She resumed her path with a shake of her head. It didn’t matter. Sasuke stood between them and what they would have. And if her dark haired, dark eyed fellow kinsman and distant relative died as a result of this rescue operation, so be it. She would mourn when that time came. Nothing but Naruto mattered now.
But such thoughts fled her mind as she heard Kabuto’s cruel voice viciously berating some gardeners through a screening of bamboo. She watched them in privacy for a moment, drawing a deep breath, and remembering what Sakura had said to her in the early hours of the morning. She pushed aside her normal meek and gentle demeanor and let a cold smile coat her mouth. She would hope from the bottom of her heart that Naruto could be saved, but the creature she gazed upon now was irredeemable. And to be perfectly honest, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Her hands flew through a series of quick signs, and she nodded. She was ready. She stepped out from the screening of bamboo, a meek and lost expression on her face.
Showtime.
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