Categories > Anime/Manga > Naruto > Kyuubi Chronicles, First Scroll
'How dare he?'
'How dare he do this to me?!'
'That ...'
'... that ...'
'Kusogaki!'
---
Foxfire
a Naruto fanfiction in response to the Squid's Fall/Winter Challenge of '06
by Griever
disclaimer: the standard Spiel applies. I reserve the right to fold, spindle, and mutilate canon as I'm not getting a broken dime for this.
---
Uzumaki Naruto knows he is dying.
He knows it not because of the sucking chest wound, the massive amount of internal bleeding, or the burning of poison coursing through his veins.
No.
Though they contribute.
It isn't that he hasn't had worse.
Over the course of his career as a shinobi, he's been crushed, clobbered, cut, impaled, immolated, strangled, flash-frozen, had a hole the size of his head punched clear through where his heart was at the time, and was mauled by many and varied nin-beasts and minor Youkai.
Most of that during the last year and a half, actually.
His own prodigious constitution as well as the Kyuubi had carried him through most of those on their lonesome, with only occasional bits of assistance being provided from the outside.
The bastard fox shouldn't have taken more than a moment on the abovementioned. He should have been berating him and throwing him barbs all the while.
Should have been anything but silent.
He knows it because he can feel his very soul being eroded on the most base of levels.
So, Uzumaki Naruto knows he's dying.
Maybe even more than that.
He'd always thought there was something past that, not that he'd actually considered this in-depth. Not that he'd ever considered any matter like that, period. He was a simple person, with simple wants, simple needs, and simple desires. He lived by simple rules. He never pretended to be anything but.
But this, whatever it is, eats away at his very Self.
And Uzumaki Naruto, shinobi of Konohagakure, sways on his feet. His eyesight grows dim. And he collapses.
Even as he feels the body healing, even as a faint buzz that has nothing to do with the physical seems to hurl insults at him with its usual vitriol.
He's a simple person, with simple wants, and living on simple rules. So he doesn't really know why he does what he does next.
And, by the time the clearing is no longer empty, he is no longer sensate enough to perceive this.
*
Jiraiya is flying.
Or as close to it as a shinobi in his fifties can manage, when assisted by a giant toad.
He has a bad feeling about this.
He doesn't know how the Akatsuki had found them, nor does he particularly care about that in the here and now.
Time enough for that later, when an old man can think in peace and gut the faulty parts of his intelligence network. Because there are obviously faulty parts, if it didn't give him any warning about this happening. He's determined to do something about that once the night is out.
Behind him, and getting farther by the moment, the sounds of swords clashing echo in the otherwise silent forest.
Not that Gama will hold the shark face for long, but just maybe it will be long enough for old, irresponsible and irreverent Sannins to find their students and haul ass.
But he has a bad feeling about this, and Gamabunta seems to feel likewise, since the Toad Boss is picking up speed faster than old Sannins had ever seen him do so.
"The air tonight. It's ominous," rumbles the oversized amphibian summon.
Jiraiya agrees, and sweats.
*
Yakushi Kabuto succeeds in not smiling.
Smiling could be very dangerous right now.
So he resolves himself to wearing the indifferent mask of the consummate professional for just a while longer. He's done it before. Throughtout the course of his childhood and formative years, for most of his life.
The most prized of tools for one whose loyalty is always suspect.
The medic-nin is patient. He has to be.
A twitch out of place, a crack in the mask, and he knows he'll be joining his supposed target on its way to hell. There are those considered to be unforgiving among the shinobi. Then there are the Akatsuki.
_Then_ there is Uchiha Itachi.
Who is currently right behind him.
But Yakushi Kabuto could always balance himself perfectly. His aspirations, debts, loyalties ...
It's all a tightrope, and he's the best of acrobats.
So he kneels down beside the immobile body of the blond Konoha genin that's sprawled haphazardly on the ground in the middle of the clearing, and does his job.
There's no need to pretend here and now. If there was, he'd be dead.
Red Eyed Bastard, the Elder, may well have been arrogant - that seemed to be a defining trait of what was left of the Uchiha clan - but that meant relatively little when one was that good. Nobody had ever questioned whether or not Uchiha Itachi was that good. Certainly not long enough to tell the tale.
He doesn't even _think_ it, on the off chance that it'd be enough to give him away.
On a chilly night, in a no-name forest on the border of Ame and Tsuchi, Orochimaru's little puppet plays its part.
*
Uchiha Itachi doesn't frown.
His face remains emotionless even as he notices that things aren't working out in the way they're supposed to.
Back during the plans conception, he hadn't been for or against it. It simply wasn't necessary, but would be of benefit to them if it did work, so he kept his own council while the others ripped into one-another verbally.
Everybody had weaknesses, and while the Akatsuki was plagued by fewer of those than most, it was not immune.
Itachi had always liked to watch, and listen. To learn what made people tick, and prepare. Not even Kisame realized to him, there were no friends and no enemies. Merely people he hadn't decided on killing yet.
One day, the swordsman would understand. One day.
The thought of testing himself against the sort of power they were gathering makes the long unused corner of the eldest living Uchiha's Self tingle in anticipation.
Now, though, Itachi watches as the silver haired medic-nin does his job. It isn't an easy one, but the execution seems to be as flawless as could be expected given the nature of the task.
Some days, Itachi can almost see them. The bonds of a Soul. The essence of Self.
Those almost unbreakable elements of a person's essence seem almost fragile.
Some days, Itachi imagines he can hear it. The screeching of two Souls against one-another, mismatched and yet forced to interact.
Jinchuuriki.
To dislodge a Soul was no small feat. To dislodge a Bijuu, less so. Those were doubly Bound, once to their vessel, and once to it's Soul. And the Yondaime's Seal made all the others look like incompetent hack-jobs.
Because of that, the most difficult is the first.
A test.
Itachi understands tests.
The induced Chakra Virus slowly works on eroding the Bonds, and leaving the Bijuu only tied down to the physical vessel in the end, by which time the extraction could begin.
"Oh dear," Kabuto voices suddenly. And Itachi Looks deeper, and twice as hard.
The medic-nin looks almost haggard, hands flaring with blue chakra bleed as they struggle to intercept a potentially critical development.
The erosion hasn't spread over merely the Bonds, but is working at the very Soul it was meant to ignore. Not Kyuubi's, since it can hardly affect that directly, but the brat's.
*
Kyuubi growls.
He rages.
He throws himself against the bars that keep closing in, the walls that scrape their way against the floor.
And throughout it all, he can feel the brat slowly fading away. Not just being kept from him, like that time when the snake-ape thought to constrict his bindings further, but with the sort of inevitable decomposition that he hasn't seen in a long, long while.
Collapsing upon itself, the Soul that is his Key and Lock to the Gate of the Seal takes the prison along, piece by piece. Every bit of it.
Contents included.
It's so twistedly beautiful that, were it not directed at himself, Kyuubi would be admiring its efficiency.
The Youkai's teeth scratch at the bars, its paws trying to batter them down, its tails lashing about itself wildly ... all to no avail.
And for a moment, the pathetic nature of the struggle repulses him.
For a moment, he isn't _there_ anymore.
The light of Souls flitting by illuminates the countryside in lieu of a sun or moon, and it is Right. The breeze carries with it tantalizing flavors, and the sounds of battle. Blood pumps in his veins, pupils contract, and ground suddenly blurs. Bounding. Racing. Scaling a rocky hill at the head of the attack, then plunging down into the bloodbath. Jaws snapping, claws tearing, his two tails lashing out.
Shift.
Hands. How odd that felt. Out of place. Bedamned etiquette and its worthless spawn, he wanted to scream. Oh, surely, it was in his honor, but it was infuriating to no end. It seemed as though every conquest he so relished brought with it the necessity for even more silly posturing. Sometimes, he wondered whether the ape-rats he and his sometimes prowled the world of didn't take over without anyone noticing. The foppish nobles had to have picked it up from somewhere. Or were they stupid enough to come up with this crap by themselves?
Shift.
Pfeh. The stench was atrocious. What was even worse, he thought he was getting used to it. How sad was that? Humans. Such odd little beings. Sometimes, hardly worthy of any notice at all. At other times ... no. Still not really worthy of notice. Or so he would insist, and hope nobody found out about his fondness for this 'Tofu' stuff. Disgraceful. It wasn't even meat, for Jigoku's sake!
Shift.
Heh. The irony of the fact that this was increasingly becoming the Plane he could relax in was not lost on the Kitsune. As was the fact that with every bit of power he gained, there seemed to be more and more left to _do_. He wasn't even in his second millennium yet, and here he was, already bemoaning the fact that things seemed so much easier when it was just a matter of slaughter or be slaughtered.
Shift.
An exploding star, burning everything with its fury while five tails waved in the wake of its passing. Twisting, changing, forming itself back from the imitation ape-rat and into what he truly was with an anger that wanted to rip loose and devour. It was his third millennium, and for the first time he remembered, he felt a pang of something he couldn't identify. Much later, he'd find he'd just discovered what sorrow felt like. Fleeting, easily ignored little gnat that it was.
Shift.
The skies of Jigoku reflected in polished marble floors, moving below as he felt alive yet again. Bloody, scarred, but still gloriously alive in that simple, uncomplicated, uncompromisingly savage way he loved so much. Flashing past, tear, rend asunder, and try to ignore the necessity of responsibility and intrigue.
Shift.
The power _burned_, even as his body did, when he claimed his due from the defeated foe. Flesh, fur, fang ... melting, sparking away in an inferno of brilliantly burning Youki that he'd become, nine tails fanned out behind him.
Shift.
Shift.
Shift.
Then there is only pain, and light, and the silent, nearly extinguished echo of a scream ...
How odd ... it almost sounds like ...
"My name is Uzumaki Naruto, shinobi of Konohagakure! Nobody I could have saved dies because I could have done something but didn't! Nobody! That's my way of the ninja, dattebayo!"
The contrast is so startling, so deeply unsettling, that it takes almost half a minute for it to register.
Feeling the grass against his face, the cloths on his body, and smelling the scent of Blood and Death and Fire and Hunt in the amalgam of noise that is Night.
When it does, so does the sensation of pain. And enemy.
*
Samehada whistles through the air, slapping a Katon fireball away without any noticeable effort as its wielder rides a tidal-wave taller than the surrounding treetops.
Kisame isn't particularly worried. Or winded. In fact, he's only just gotten warmed up.
The Chakra-drinking sword is brought about for another swipe, even as the giant toad evades with a surprising amount of agility for its size. The shark-teeth of its blade still rip into skin and flesh, just not as deeply as they would have otherwise.
He puts the wave - a singularly odd sight when there's no body of water larger than a pond present within, oh, ten to twenty miles at least - into a charge, surfing on top of it with practiced ease, blade at the ready. It's met with the old hermit's scroll holder, which turns out to be reinforced. Enough so that Samehada merely scratches it.
"You're pretty quick. For an old guy."
The Sannin grins.
"When you're my age, you'll be _wishing_ you looked this good, kid."
Then the hermit jerks the contents of the scroll holder free, and the air in front of him is filled with unfolding streams of paper even as Kisame feels a spike of Chakra. Then another.
The air comes alive with steel, as the sealed kunai, senbon, shuriken and assorted other weaponry are released, then multiplied again by a Shuriken Kage Bushin as they shoot towards the shark-skinned Akatsuki member.
Samehada sweeps aside the first few, before Kisame interposes the broad blade between himself and the worst of the barrage. Then the water he's standing on erupts upwards to catch whatever gets past that.
By the time it's over, Kisame has a distinctly bad feeling about things.
Jiraiya stands, on top of Gamabunta's head, inhaling and holding the Tora Seal.
Gamabunta, who lets loose a torrent of flammable oil towards the nukenin.
Oil which is then ignited via a simple Katon. The onslaught nearly burns through the water Kisame had summoned, evaporating more than three quarters of it, and giving the victim of the attack a few burns in the process.
'Alright,' Kisame thinks, 'no more playing around!'
Jiraiya grins, preparing something of his own that he's probably certain will delay this obstacle to finding his wayward student ...
Black flames shoot into the sky from a ways off, so dark that they stand out, even against the backdrop of night.
'Three guesses as to where the brat is,' Jiraiya gulps back a lump in his throat, at the realization exactly what those flames mean.
*
Itachi moves the moment he sees the Jinchuuriki twitch, having lived as long as he has by following his instincts, which are screaming at him. Because for some reason, not even Sharingan seems to be able to predict ...
A moment later, his trust in those hard won instincts is once again proved correct, as Kabuto's arm sails past, sans Kabuto, and trailing a spray blood.
Kabuto himself follows shortly, surprise etched into his features, chest caved in by a simple _palm strike_ from the kid!
Even without his Bloodline Limit, the Uchiha would have been able to see the air itself ripple around Uzumaki as he moved, as if in a heat haze. With it, the red Chakra pulsing on top of his skin is blatantly obvious.
It's obvious, even without Kabuto's input on the matter - he's too busy lying against a tree some twenty meters away, trying to put his ribs, sternum, not to mention lungs and other internal organs, in order - that things have gone awry in a disastrous way.
Normally, that would prompt a retreat, since the target really shouldn't be killed this time around.
Normally, Itachi is not easily rattled.
This isn't a normal situation.
The Kyuubi Chakra flared, exploding out of the Jinchuuriki's tenketsu ...
... and Itachi responded in kind, Mangekyo spinning, leaping back before unleashing ...
"AMATERASU!"
... the black flames that engulfed everything in their path, hungrily feasting on whatever they touched.
Amaterasu, the Goddess of the Sun, come down to Earth to burn it with unmatched power and intensity, the pure black flames eradicating all life they as much as brushed against.
Shooting high.
Consuming the very light of the stars.
"Mhmmmm."
What?!
"Delicious."
The flames twist, momentarily ripped free of the eyes' command.
"And so ..."
Flaring a bloody, visceral crimson.
"... utterly ..."
Unfolding into rising, twisting, shimmering columns.
"... futile."
Nine of them.
In a heartbeat, they are gone, and in the middle of the black, shimmering obsidian that the ground at the epicenter of the display had been crystalized into, the Jinchuuriki stands.
"I have watched exploding suns."
No.
"I bathed in their power."
Not the Jinchuuriki.
"Ape-rat, I am the incarnation of hellfire!"
There is no mere Jinchuuriki.
So that was what the erosion had been.
"And tonight, the Ignis Fatuus shall light the path to hell."
Kyuubi. Unleashed.
"Your path."
'Oh, fuck,' thinks Uchiha Itachi. And is gone.
*
It's raining.
Coming down in the barren crater, almost a kilometer across, and half as deep.
The walls are perfect, smooth, inky blackness. Unmarred, unscarred. There are no traces. No signs. No testament other than what is present and readily visible, as to what had occurred that night.
But he knows.
How could he not?
Standing there, tattered robes and blood-stained hair, and fists clenched in helpless rage.
Head bowed.
He's always had an odd relationship with the rain.
He claims he hates it.
Hates it, because it makes things look bleak and hopeless.
But he likes it for one reason in particular.
When it's raining, he can let himself cry.
For lost lives. For buried dreams. For abandoned hopes.
He stands there for a time, until the rain starts to slow down, and then shakes himself off. Spiky hair flings droplets everywhere.
He turns around, resolute.
And walks off.
Or, hobbles off, as the case may be.
Jiraiya doesn't wipe his face though.
After all, it's just rain.
*
It's barren, so high up.
Cold.
Not that it matters.
'Hands. How odd.'
'Gaki.'
'Why the hell did he ...?'
'How dare he?!'
'How dare he do this to me?!'
'That ...'
'... that ...'
'Kusogaki!!!'
Fury wells up within, feeling as alien as everything else did. Fury should be a ball of Youki, a flare of power, an impulse. Not the burn, not the slow agitation of chemicals, not ...
Kyuubi slams a fist into a rock wall, burying it in the cliff-face in sheer, bloody minded frustration.
How dare the little bastard do this to him?!
Bind him to a body, will he?!
And one as pathetic as this, to add insult to injury!
Oh, he has his Youki, yes, but he has to channel it through this pathetically fragile shell! It should be second nature, and it actually takes effort, damnit!
It's a blow to his pride, that a mere human had dared to inflict upon him this indignity!
Jigoku! What the Kusogaki's father had done to him hadn't been this bad!
And that wasn't all of it, not by a longshot!
Oh, no! Simply leaving it at that? Too easy! Too trivial and trite!
"Makai take you, Kusogaki! You had to go and make me ..."
The blond shell quivers in barely suppressed fury, before forcing itself into choking the actual words out.
"Owe. You. Uzumaki Naruto. There! I said it! Are you happy now, you pathetic, dead piece of ego?! Are you?!"
The rage flars, momentarily manifesting and melting the snowflakes inches away from coming into contact with the Youkai in human skin.
Then it fizzles. The Kyuubi falters. Leans back against the stone, and looks down and out, into Grass Country, and Fire Country somewhere beyond.
"Kyuubi no Kitsune owes Uzumaki Naruto his life. And damn you, ape-rat, if he isn't going to pay his debts."
Kyuubi chuckle-growls bitterly.
*
'Fox in the snow, where do you go
To find something you can eat?
Cause the word out on the street is you are starving
Don't let yourself grow hungry now
Don't let yourself grow cold
Fox in the snow'
-'Fox in the Snow', Rasputina
*
*
*
*
*
EPILOGUE
*
A chamber.
A bed.
A window.
A sky.
All the glory of Jigoku dancing its violent, yet oddly serene ballet in the clouds.
Spirits floating past, casting light where there would be none otherwise.
Marble floor.
Obsidian walls.
Reflecting the sky, and the light, and throwing the room into shades of deep, rich, royal purple of the silks draped within.
A flicker, so brief it could have been the imagination.
Then, a moment later, another one.
And another, stronger.
Stronger still.
The shifting of silk on bare, flawless, ivory pale skin.
A mirror reflecting a flame that isn't there, casting the room into sudden, flickering scarlet.
"Found you."
A playfully sinister giggle.
The scarlet is gone.
*
END foxfire
*
'How dare he do this to me?!'
'That ...'
'... that ...'
'Kusogaki!'
---
Foxfire
a Naruto fanfiction in response to the Squid's Fall/Winter Challenge of '06
by Griever
disclaimer: the standard Spiel applies. I reserve the right to fold, spindle, and mutilate canon as I'm not getting a broken dime for this.
---
Uzumaki Naruto knows he is dying.
He knows it not because of the sucking chest wound, the massive amount of internal bleeding, or the burning of poison coursing through his veins.
No.
Though they contribute.
It isn't that he hasn't had worse.
Over the course of his career as a shinobi, he's been crushed, clobbered, cut, impaled, immolated, strangled, flash-frozen, had a hole the size of his head punched clear through where his heart was at the time, and was mauled by many and varied nin-beasts and minor Youkai.
Most of that during the last year and a half, actually.
His own prodigious constitution as well as the Kyuubi had carried him through most of those on their lonesome, with only occasional bits of assistance being provided from the outside.
The bastard fox shouldn't have taken more than a moment on the abovementioned. He should have been berating him and throwing him barbs all the while.
Should have been anything but silent.
He knows it because he can feel his very soul being eroded on the most base of levels.
So, Uzumaki Naruto knows he's dying.
Maybe even more than that.
He'd always thought there was something past that, not that he'd actually considered this in-depth. Not that he'd ever considered any matter like that, period. He was a simple person, with simple wants, simple needs, and simple desires. He lived by simple rules. He never pretended to be anything but.
But this, whatever it is, eats away at his very Self.
And Uzumaki Naruto, shinobi of Konohagakure, sways on his feet. His eyesight grows dim. And he collapses.
Even as he feels the body healing, even as a faint buzz that has nothing to do with the physical seems to hurl insults at him with its usual vitriol.
He's a simple person, with simple wants, and living on simple rules. So he doesn't really know why he does what he does next.
And, by the time the clearing is no longer empty, he is no longer sensate enough to perceive this.
*
Jiraiya is flying.
Or as close to it as a shinobi in his fifties can manage, when assisted by a giant toad.
He has a bad feeling about this.
He doesn't know how the Akatsuki had found them, nor does he particularly care about that in the here and now.
Time enough for that later, when an old man can think in peace and gut the faulty parts of his intelligence network. Because there are obviously faulty parts, if it didn't give him any warning about this happening. He's determined to do something about that once the night is out.
Behind him, and getting farther by the moment, the sounds of swords clashing echo in the otherwise silent forest.
Not that Gama will hold the shark face for long, but just maybe it will be long enough for old, irresponsible and irreverent Sannins to find their students and haul ass.
But he has a bad feeling about this, and Gamabunta seems to feel likewise, since the Toad Boss is picking up speed faster than old Sannins had ever seen him do so.
"The air tonight. It's ominous," rumbles the oversized amphibian summon.
Jiraiya agrees, and sweats.
*
Yakushi Kabuto succeeds in not smiling.
Smiling could be very dangerous right now.
So he resolves himself to wearing the indifferent mask of the consummate professional for just a while longer. He's done it before. Throughtout the course of his childhood and formative years, for most of his life.
The most prized of tools for one whose loyalty is always suspect.
The medic-nin is patient. He has to be.
A twitch out of place, a crack in the mask, and he knows he'll be joining his supposed target on its way to hell. There are those considered to be unforgiving among the shinobi. Then there are the Akatsuki.
_Then_ there is Uchiha Itachi.
Who is currently right behind him.
But Yakushi Kabuto could always balance himself perfectly. His aspirations, debts, loyalties ...
It's all a tightrope, and he's the best of acrobats.
So he kneels down beside the immobile body of the blond Konoha genin that's sprawled haphazardly on the ground in the middle of the clearing, and does his job.
There's no need to pretend here and now. If there was, he'd be dead.
Red Eyed Bastard, the Elder, may well have been arrogant - that seemed to be a defining trait of what was left of the Uchiha clan - but that meant relatively little when one was that good. Nobody had ever questioned whether or not Uchiha Itachi was that good. Certainly not long enough to tell the tale.
He doesn't even _think_ it, on the off chance that it'd be enough to give him away.
On a chilly night, in a no-name forest on the border of Ame and Tsuchi, Orochimaru's little puppet plays its part.
*
Uchiha Itachi doesn't frown.
His face remains emotionless even as he notices that things aren't working out in the way they're supposed to.
Back during the plans conception, he hadn't been for or against it. It simply wasn't necessary, but would be of benefit to them if it did work, so he kept his own council while the others ripped into one-another verbally.
Everybody had weaknesses, and while the Akatsuki was plagued by fewer of those than most, it was not immune.
Itachi had always liked to watch, and listen. To learn what made people tick, and prepare. Not even Kisame realized to him, there were no friends and no enemies. Merely people he hadn't decided on killing yet.
One day, the swordsman would understand. One day.
The thought of testing himself against the sort of power they were gathering makes the long unused corner of the eldest living Uchiha's Self tingle in anticipation.
Now, though, Itachi watches as the silver haired medic-nin does his job. It isn't an easy one, but the execution seems to be as flawless as could be expected given the nature of the task.
Some days, Itachi can almost see them. The bonds of a Soul. The essence of Self.
Those almost unbreakable elements of a person's essence seem almost fragile.
Some days, Itachi imagines he can hear it. The screeching of two Souls against one-another, mismatched and yet forced to interact.
Jinchuuriki.
To dislodge a Soul was no small feat. To dislodge a Bijuu, less so. Those were doubly Bound, once to their vessel, and once to it's Soul. And the Yondaime's Seal made all the others look like incompetent hack-jobs.
Because of that, the most difficult is the first.
A test.
Itachi understands tests.
The induced Chakra Virus slowly works on eroding the Bonds, and leaving the Bijuu only tied down to the physical vessel in the end, by which time the extraction could begin.
"Oh dear," Kabuto voices suddenly. And Itachi Looks deeper, and twice as hard.
The medic-nin looks almost haggard, hands flaring with blue chakra bleed as they struggle to intercept a potentially critical development.
The erosion hasn't spread over merely the Bonds, but is working at the very Soul it was meant to ignore. Not Kyuubi's, since it can hardly affect that directly, but the brat's.
*
Kyuubi growls.
He rages.
He throws himself against the bars that keep closing in, the walls that scrape their way against the floor.
And throughout it all, he can feel the brat slowly fading away. Not just being kept from him, like that time when the snake-ape thought to constrict his bindings further, but with the sort of inevitable decomposition that he hasn't seen in a long, long while.
Collapsing upon itself, the Soul that is his Key and Lock to the Gate of the Seal takes the prison along, piece by piece. Every bit of it.
Contents included.
It's so twistedly beautiful that, were it not directed at himself, Kyuubi would be admiring its efficiency.
The Youkai's teeth scratch at the bars, its paws trying to batter them down, its tails lashing about itself wildly ... all to no avail.
And for a moment, the pathetic nature of the struggle repulses him.
For a moment, he isn't _there_ anymore.
The light of Souls flitting by illuminates the countryside in lieu of a sun or moon, and it is Right. The breeze carries with it tantalizing flavors, and the sounds of battle. Blood pumps in his veins, pupils contract, and ground suddenly blurs. Bounding. Racing. Scaling a rocky hill at the head of the attack, then plunging down into the bloodbath. Jaws snapping, claws tearing, his two tails lashing out.
Shift.
Hands. How odd that felt. Out of place. Bedamned etiquette and its worthless spawn, he wanted to scream. Oh, surely, it was in his honor, but it was infuriating to no end. It seemed as though every conquest he so relished brought with it the necessity for even more silly posturing. Sometimes, he wondered whether the ape-rats he and his sometimes prowled the world of didn't take over without anyone noticing. The foppish nobles had to have picked it up from somewhere. Or were they stupid enough to come up with this crap by themselves?
Shift.
Pfeh. The stench was atrocious. What was even worse, he thought he was getting used to it. How sad was that? Humans. Such odd little beings. Sometimes, hardly worthy of any notice at all. At other times ... no. Still not really worthy of notice. Or so he would insist, and hope nobody found out about his fondness for this 'Tofu' stuff. Disgraceful. It wasn't even meat, for Jigoku's sake!
Shift.
Heh. The irony of the fact that this was increasingly becoming the Plane he could relax in was not lost on the Kitsune. As was the fact that with every bit of power he gained, there seemed to be more and more left to _do_. He wasn't even in his second millennium yet, and here he was, already bemoaning the fact that things seemed so much easier when it was just a matter of slaughter or be slaughtered.
Shift.
An exploding star, burning everything with its fury while five tails waved in the wake of its passing. Twisting, changing, forming itself back from the imitation ape-rat and into what he truly was with an anger that wanted to rip loose and devour. It was his third millennium, and for the first time he remembered, he felt a pang of something he couldn't identify. Much later, he'd find he'd just discovered what sorrow felt like. Fleeting, easily ignored little gnat that it was.
Shift.
The skies of Jigoku reflected in polished marble floors, moving below as he felt alive yet again. Bloody, scarred, but still gloriously alive in that simple, uncomplicated, uncompromisingly savage way he loved so much. Flashing past, tear, rend asunder, and try to ignore the necessity of responsibility and intrigue.
Shift.
The power _burned_, even as his body did, when he claimed his due from the defeated foe. Flesh, fur, fang ... melting, sparking away in an inferno of brilliantly burning Youki that he'd become, nine tails fanned out behind him.
Shift.
Shift.
Shift.
Then there is only pain, and light, and the silent, nearly extinguished echo of a scream ...
How odd ... it almost sounds like ...
"My name is Uzumaki Naruto, shinobi of Konohagakure! Nobody I could have saved dies because I could have done something but didn't! Nobody! That's my way of the ninja, dattebayo!"
The contrast is so startling, so deeply unsettling, that it takes almost half a minute for it to register.
Feeling the grass against his face, the cloths on his body, and smelling the scent of Blood and Death and Fire and Hunt in the amalgam of noise that is Night.
When it does, so does the sensation of pain. And enemy.
*
Samehada whistles through the air, slapping a Katon fireball away without any noticeable effort as its wielder rides a tidal-wave taller than the surrounding treetops.
Kisame isn't particularly worried. Or winded. In fact, he's only just gotten warmed up.
The Chakra-drinking sword is brought about for another swipe, even as the giant toad evades with a surprising amount of agility for its size. The shark-teeth of its blade still rip into skin and flesh, just not as deeply as they would have otherwise.
He puts the wave - a singularly odd sight when there's no body of water larger than a pond present within, oh, ten to twenty miles at least - into a charge, surfing on top of it with practiced ease, blade at the ready. It's met with the old hermit's scroll holder, which turns out to be reinforced. Enough so that Samehada merely scratches it.
"You're pretty quick. For an old guy."
The Sannin grins.
"When you're my age, you'll be _wishing_ you looked this good, kid."
Then the hermit jerks the contents of the scroll holder free, and the air in front of him is filled with unfolding streams of paper even as Kisame feels a spike of Chakra. Then another.
The air comes alive with steel, as the sealed kunai, senbon, shuriken and assorted other weaponry are released, then multiplied again by a Shuriken Kage Bushin as they shoot towards the shark-skinned Akatsuki member.
Samehada sweeps aside the first few, before Kisame interposes the broad blade between himself and the worst of the barrage. Then the water he's standing on erupts upwards to catch whatever gets past that.
By the time it's over, Kisame has a distinctly bad feeling about things.
Jiraiya stands, on top of Gamabunta's head, inhaling and holding the Tora Seal.
Gamabunta, who lets loose a torrent of flammable oil towards the nukenin.
Oil which is then ignited via a simple Katon. The onslaught nearly burns through the water Kisame had summoned, evaporating more than three quarters of it, and giving the victim of the attack a few burns in the process.
'Alright,' Kisame thinks, 'no more playing around!'
Jiraiya grins, preparing something of his own that he's probably certain will delay this obstacle to finding his wayward student ...
Black flames shoot into the sky from a ways off, so dark that they stand out, even against the backdrop of night.
'Three guesses as to where the brat is,' Jiraiya gulps back a lump in his throat, at the realization exactly what those flames mean.
*
Itachi moves the moment he sees the Jinchuuriki twitch, having lived as long as he has by following his instincts, which are screaming at him. Because for some reason, not even Sharingan seems to be able to predict ...
A moment later, his trust in those hard won instincts is once again proved correct, as Kabuto's arm sails past, sans Kabuto, and trailing a spray blood.
Kabuto himself follows shortly, surprise etched into his features, chest caved in by a simple _palm strike_ from the kid!
Even without his Bloodline Limit, the Uchiha would have been able to see the air itself ripple around Uzumaki as he moved, as if in a heat haze. With it, the red Chakra pulsing on top of his skin is blatantly obvious.
It's obvious, even without Kabuto's input on the matter - he's too busy lying against a tree some twenty meters away, trying to put his ribs, sternum, not to mention lungs and other internal organs, in order - that things have gone awry in a disastrous way.
Normally, that would prompt a retreat, since the target really shouldn't be killed this time around.
Normally, Itachi is not easily rattled.
This isn't a normal situation.
The Kyuubi Chakra flared, exploding out of the Jinchuuriki's tenketsu ...
... and Itachi responded in kind, Mangekyo spinning, leaping back before unleashing ...
"AMATERASU!"
... the black flames that engulfed everything in their path, hungrily feasting on whatever they touched.
Amaterasu, the Goddess of the Sun, come down to Earth to burn it with unmatched power and intensity, the pure black flames eradicating all life they as much as brushed against.
Shooting high.
Consuming the very light of the stars.
"Mhmmmm."
What?!
"Delicious."
The flames twist, momentarily ripped free of the eyes' command.
"And so ..."
Flaring a bloody, visceral crimson.
"... utterly ..."
Unfolding into rising, twisting, shimmering columns.
"... futile."
Nine of them.
In a heartbeat, they are gone, and in the middle of the black, shimmering obsidian that the ground at the epicenter of the display had been crystalized into, the Jinchuuriki stands.
"I have watched exploding suns."
No.
"I bathed in their power."
Not the Jinchuuriki.
"Ape-rat, I am the incarnation of hellfire!"
There is no mere Jinchuuriki.
So that was what the erosion had been.
"And tonight, the Ignis Fatuus shall light the path to hell."
Kyuubi. Unleashed.
"Your path."
'Oh, fuck,' thinks Uchiha Itachi. And is gone.
*
It's raining.
Coming down in the barren crater, almost a kilometer across, and half as deep.
The walls are perfect, smooth, inky blackness. Unmarred, unscarred. There are no traces. No signs. No testament other than what is present and readily visible, as to what had occurred that night.
But he knows.
How could he not?
Standing there, tattered robes and blood-stained hair, and fists clenched in helpless rage.
Head bowed.
He's always had an odd relationship with the rain.
He claims he hates it.
Hates it, because it makes things look bleak and hopeless.
But he likes it for one reason in particular.
When it's raining, he can let himself cry.
For lost lives. For buried dreams. For abandoned hopes.
He stands there for a time, until the rain starts to slow down, and then shakes himself off. Spiky hair flings droplets everywhere.
He turns around, resolute.
And walks off.
Or, hobbles off, as the case may be.
Jiraiya doesn't wipe his face though.
After all, it's just rain.
*
It's barren, so high up.
Cold.
Not that it matters.
'Hands. How odd.'
'Gaki.'
'Why the hell did he ...?'
'How dare he?!'
'How dare he do this to me?!'
'That ...'
'... that ...'
'Kusogaki!!!'
Fury wells up within, feeling as alien as everything else did. Fury should be a ball of Youki, a flare of power, an impulse. Not the burn, not the slow agitation of chemicals, not ...
Kyuubi slams a fist into a rock wall, burying it in the cliff-face in sheer, bloody minded frustration.
How dare the little bastard do this to him?!
Bind him to a body, will he?!
And one as pathetic as this, to add insult to injury!
Oh, he has his Youki, yes, but he has to channel it through this pathetically fragile shell! It should be second nature, and it actually takes effort, damnit!
It's a blow to his pride, that a mere human had dared to inflict upon him this indignity!
Jigoku! What the Kusogaki's father had done to him hadn't been this bad!
And that wasn't all of it, not by a longshot!
Oh, no! Simply leaving it at that? Too easy! Too trivial and trite!
"Makai take you, Kusogaki! You had to go and make me ..."
The blond shell quivers in barely suppressed fury, before forcing itself into choking the actual words out.
"Owe. You. Uzumaki Naruto. There! I said it! Are you happy now, you pathetic, dead piece of ego?! Are you?!"
The rage flars, momentarily manifesting and melting the snowflakes inches away from coming into contact with the Youkai in human skin.
Then it fizzles. The Kyuubi falters. Leans back against the stone, and looks down and out, into Grass Country, and Fire Country somewhere beyond.
"Kyuubi no Kitsune owes Uzumaki Naruto his life. And damn you, ape-rat, if he isn't going to pay his debts."
Kyuubi chuckle-growls bitterly.
*
'Fox in the snow, where do you go
To find something you can eat?
Cause the word out on the street is you are starving
Don't let yourself grow hungry now
Don't let yourself grow cold
Fox in the snow'
-'Fox in the Snow', Rasputina
*
*
*
*
*
EPILOGUE
*
A chamber.
A bed.
A window.
A sky.
All the glory of Jigoku dancing its violent, yet oddly serene ballet in the clouds.
Spirits floating past, casting light where there would be none otherwise.
Marble floor.
Obsidian walls.
Reflecting the sky, and the light, and throwing the room into shades of deep, rich, royal purple of the silks draped within.
A flicker, so brief it could have been the imagination.
Then, a moment later, another one.
And another, stronger.
Stronger still.
The shifting of silk on bare, flawless, ivory pale skin.
A mirror reflecting a flame that isn't there, casting the room into sudden, flickering scarlet.
"Found you."
A playfully sinister giggle.
The scarlet is gone.
*
END foxfire
*
Sign up to rate and review this story