Rise of the Phoenix
Disclaimer: Naruto and all its characters are Kishimoto's legal property. I'm not making any money off this story; however, all the Original Characters, Original Plot-lines, and Original Themes are my own.
Rating: Mature due to the inclusion of violence, language, and sexual content.
Genres: Moral Relativism, Family, Drama; Politics, Espionage, Realism (in regards to characterization, Espionage/Shinobi lifestyle, and Military Protocols), (Political) Mystery; Suspense, Angst, and Sex.
Characters: Sasuke and Madara (Central Characters); Itachi, Tobi, and Sarada (Second Most Prominent Characters). This fiction will use Tobi's personality rather than Obito's. The latter, unfortunately, doesn't suit this fiction.
Yaoi/Incest Fans: Don't expect any Yaoi/Incest concepts in my fictions. Look elsewhere if they give you elusive moments of gratification.
Warning: Realistic military protocols, conflicting philosophies, non-sexual male bonding; violent character deaths, morbid content, promiscuity, and ideas this fandom isn't used to. Those who are averse to such things can stop reading now and find the work that suits their highly interesting tastes.
AN: The story will contain a shift of characters into a single generation when Konoha isn't formed yet. It'll proceed onwards from that point.
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Chapter One: Times of War
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Fire rose up in spirals into the sky, a fire from pits of hell that spilt from their dry lips. A smog of unimaginable blackness blanketed the battlefield. Eddies of warm wind pushed it away, but the blackened sky did not relent. Cries of death and chants of "long live the clan" tore the air many times, leaving it without a form, without an ounce of power.
The smell of burnt corpses clogged their lungs; the bodies littered the field and suffused the air with raw stench, so many abandoned in the heated moments of battle. Someone's son, brother, and husband . . . it did not matter. Their corpses rotted away once touched by the fresh air. Rooks and ravens circled the scene, waiting eagerly for their meals. If the heat of the battle pushed them back, their comrades would have to be left behind on the field . . .
What would they tell their families? "He died a heroic death! A son of the Uchiha—A proud warrior!" The stench of their deaths, the horrifying story of their last breaths, and the tale of terrors in their eyes would never make it to their eyes, dressed in tears of a never ending chasm of loss. It would never be filled, an empty void that would eat up their despair and give the male younglings a passion for vengeance.
It was their life, their will in the turbulent times of war. Clans vied for land. Brothers lost, families destroyed . . . a line of corpses left in the wake of insurmountable conflicts that seemed to rear new horrible heads as soon as the last one met its death: an immortal serpent. They needed to strike them at their source, expunge their power, and snuff out that immortality to fell the beast. Easier said than done.
So many forays met a sticky end. It was a never ending struggle in the arteries of this land that was brimming with the blood of their kin. One, two, one hundred, two hundred . . . how many were lost in the tides of war? The trappings of fate held them under the wing of death.
Oh, so merciless this drum-roll of reality, tearing away at the stillness of an unrealistic mirage of glory. They were still at the foot of that holy mountain, looking up at the pantheon of glory perched beneath the halos of an untouchable sacred light. That eternal bliss, that cup of surety, was so far from their eager lips that the thought of its taste left them mad with reckless lust. So they fought on, not looking back, never treading back to the moments of loss left behind under the tides of time and fate.
Everything was swallowed up by the ruthless nature of Time. What good would it do to hold anything dear? With loss came the will to lick the wounds and call it a day. They took relish in that one reassurance: they shall avenge their clansmen or drink the malice of death with little remorse, but they shall not be deterred from their path.
An eternal struggle it was against the sturdy chains of death and fate—the glimmer of victory at the end, a song of remorse. That was all which carried them on to the next battle. The repeated requiems for the dead were enough to cast ill-omened shadows on their campaigns. No, their memories were really left behind under the delightful cloaks of the smog. Their tongues willingly forgot their names—a self-inflicted ritual of healing. No one could blame their steeled hearts and monstrous courage.
"So it was . . . and so it ever will be," Madara said, standing tall and stiff over the corpse of his brother. Incense burnt around him, blurring Izuna's young face. "Your death shall be avenged, brother." His face was hard. His eyes hid the anguish with perfection that an onlooker would have believed him to be cold to his own brother's demise.
The room was empty. They left the leader to offer his final words of farewell alone. They wanted to protect his pride and not see him become weak before their eyes, broken by the trickle of tears; even water had an ability to crack a stone, and he was but a man.
A treaty with the Senju lay unsigned by his side. He would extinguish their light, their warm fires with his own, and pay them blow for blow, flesh for flesh, skin for skin. They would know the depth of his anguish. He grabbed the brush from the stand and made a signature to sign the deal, sealing their fates inside the blackness of the ink—a contract to signal their destruction.
A smile broke his hard face, and he dragged the white sheets up to cover his brother's face. It was done.
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He sat in the grass, looking out over the scorched fields as smoke rose into the air like a tornado of spirits mingled with the ashes of the dead. The results satisfied him today. Amongst the fallen men, not one belonged to his clan. Their foes were wasted like rats upon the ground, their corpses adorned by blotches of dried blood as warm wind touched their rotting skins, leaving them as grotesque stamps of their fates.
Their tales were over too soon. He rode upon the sensation of victory. Delightful spasms shot up his spine, and a greedy smile broke that cold young face. He had taken up the charge of his clan at the mere age of twenty. Now, ten years later, he was closer to that elusive peace that had claimed his brother's life.
The smile vanished as he cast his heavy gaze upon Sasuke: he was the spitting image of his brother. Nature had made a few mistakes, little childish mishaps, upon his young visage, but whenever he looked at him, it wrenched at his heart. His brother was six feet under, lost to him forever. The hatred would flare, racing his heart to a burdened pace that coursed poison of vengeance through his veins.
He gathered himself up to a standing position, eyes scanning the countless bodies dotting the field and jumped down. His heart gentled, and his skin tingled under the touch of wind. He took a few steps and stood close to Sasuke. He was talking to a shinobi from the village whose men lay wasted upon the ground.
"We won the battle. It's only fair we take our share of victory," Sasuke said and turned around with haste when he saw the man's eyes widen with fear at the sight of someone behind him. "Madara-Sama, you didn't have to come. I was just done with the bargain." He gave a quick bow and braced his shoulders.
"It is all right. You are my nephew and my sister's youngest son. You did well today. My sister would have been proud," he said in a gentle voice and patted Sasuke's head with affection. He was no child—he had grown into a powerful man. A prodigy and a skilled ninja at twenty, he was often nicknamed Taka and Hebi on the battlefield: his moods vacillated between that of a quiet, venomous snake and a swift, cunning hawk that let no prey escape its talons.
Mikoto was claimed by a disease when Itachi and Sasuke were still children. She was Madara's oldest sister, and the gulf between their ages was wide. He was but a two year old babe when she had had Itachi. He hardly remembered her now, her face a fading blur in his memories. She just lost her will to live when the pitiless Kami of war claimed Fugaku's life.
Her children were left orphans before the uncertain winds of fate: two among the many that were taken in by the other families. Tajima could not have simply abandoned his daughter's sons. He took them in, bringing them up as if they were his own—four more arms to strengthen his family's might.
Itachi was the rare, twenty eight year old prodigy, wise and cool minded even when he was young. Madara found him strange as he brought up Sasuke by assuming the role of a mother and a father . . . when their grandfather was still alive. He would dote on the child when they were young, carry him around in a cloth as a toddler, protect him from everyone's prying eyes as though he was his own precious child.
He would gladly carry him around on his back under the heat of the sun, teach him tricks of the trade on the battlefield. He would be lying to himself if he did not see his own image in Itachi. They were so alike, scarred deep down and afraid of losing their brothers. He felt a knot of pain in his heart as his was scarred, bleeding, and eternally wounded with nothing to soothe its pain. Izuna was dead and Sasuke was still alive.
A slight flicker of envy scurried across his face, losing its intensity behind the mask of pride as Itachi's eyes fell upon his face; his prying eyes kept the muscles beneath his skin in check, as if he would reproach Madara for his envy. "Sasuke, go and check up on the weaponry we found here. We need to double check the medical stock, as well," Itachi ordered and wiped clean his bloody sword on his black robes.
Sasuke gave a nod and walked off to the tents, which stood about thirty feet away, next to the stinking pile of bodies. "What are your demands?" Itachi asked, his face a blank canvas that desired the soft touch of emotion.
"Just a few summoning scrolls. Without them, we would perish," the old man said in a defeated voice that wavered with the weight of age and emotions; he trembled under Madara's hard gaze that weighed his worth.
"What do you think?" Madara asked, leaning his head to one side, curiosity coming into his face. He wanted to test the man who was his peer in many battles. They had been through thick and thin on the battlefield, but, beyond the haze of smoke and the cutting cries of dying men, Itachi was a stranger to him. In all those years, he could have sworn he did not know him at all.
"They have already met their defeat at our hands. Those scrolls would do us little good. But I would like to supervise the bargain myself. Sometimes, even a small trinket can come in handy," Itachi said and met Madara's heavy gaze that did not hide the flicker of curiosity.
A clever smile broke Madara's face. He broke his gaze from Itachi's cold face and brought it upon the man who wore the marks of age. Wisdom, though, was left outside its short reach. He was the head of Cloud Clan's foolish warriors: an army of burly thugs that challenged all who ventured into their domain.
Uchiha were hired by the Water country to put an end to their childish tyranny. This short foray of theirs ended in Cloud's brutal defeat, but Madara was remorseless as his eyes traced the paths of various folds in the man's skin sagging under the weight of age. Sweat stood in the deep furrows, and his lips quivered as he spoke. He was a pitiful sight.
He felt himself to be above him in skill and wisdom. How his mind greeted the foolishness, which stubbornly clung to this man in old age, with derision. He felt little sadness when he found him weeping by the corpse of his only son. He had buried four of his brothers. He knew how to stand strong and not let fate bend and stoop his back. No, he was stronger than that.
"Do as you see fit," he said and cast his gaze upon Itachi. He still could not read the man's face. He turned around and left the field. Stopping for a moment, his gaze roved the field to count the corpses being ravaged by the rooks. He looked down, a frown disturbing his smooth forehead; his breastplate had sustained a small chink . . .
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The night was cold; the noises of ravens and rooks had lost themselves behind the veil of night. They had found their perches in the trees, waiting for the morning to collect their prize. Shadows of men moved beyond the tent. The flames on the torches they held in their hands rose tall and climbed unhindered in the absence of wind.
Men from the Uchiha Clan aided the defeated thugs in collecting the bodies. Their sounds wafted to their ears, but it was of little concern to them. The deal signed with the Senju was lying open upon the table. Each member stole glances at it as if to make sure their leader had really taken the step. Not all agreed with his decision . . .
"You've already signed it?" Sasuke asked and turned his head away to hide the scorn etched in his face. "I don't see why our input is even of value now."
"You do not approve?" Madara asked and pressed his finger to his lips, his eyes glinting in the light of the lantern.
"What do you think?" Sasuke answered, his voice suffused with anger. He lost his father and mother to this conflict with the Senjus. He was not forgiving them so easily.
Madara pushed his hands into his long sleeves. The shadows in the room broke his face into odd patterns. A curl of delight in his smile surprised the younger Uchiha, but he did not say anything. "I knew you would oppose. It was not really a surprise, but Itachi and Shisui would have outvoted you. Am I correct?" he asked, bringing his heavy gaze upon Itachi's face that hid itself well behind the cold façade of indifference. Next to him, Shisui looked a little wary, cautious even.
"I . . . " Shisui began in an uncertain voice, trying to pin his elusive thoughts into words; he was only half-succeeding in this endeavor, "I believe this was the right step. We suffered . . . many losses. Few Uchihas defected. Tensions are mounting. Honestly, I don't know what else could've been a better course of action." He smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head, unsure whether he should have voiced these thoughts or not. Sasuke looked murderous.
"A few defecting scum left, so we should kneel? That's a fine course of action. Let's sell our allegiances whenever such snakes rear their ugly heads. Their throats should've been cut as a public spectacle for betraying their own kith and kin," Sasuke hissed, his face contorted by anger—his youth had had to temper his passions. His mouth twitched as if he desired to say something more, but he subsided into silence.
Madara was staring at Itachi's eyes moving back and forth between his and his younger brother's tense face. His passions were tempered, tamed, and glossed over by a carefully crafted layer of a frigid visage. He let out a sigh and spoke, "I am not sure signing it now was the best course of action. There is merit in Shisui's and my brother's stance. We cannot ignore that there will always be few defectors. Not all of us share the same vision." He looked at Madara, his eyes carrying a flicker of emotion, though nothing was suggested by the slant of his lips.
"What kind of conditions did they set for brokering the deal?" Serizawa asked from the corner of the room. He was Madara's distant cousin and the member of the council, along with Yuu and Tobi (whose face was hidden behind the spiral-shaped mask). Only one hole was made in Tobi's mask to allow his Sharingan to see through. It was said that he burnt half his body in the previous war, so he wore it to protect his scarred face. No one really knew what he looked like under the mask.
"The conditions have not been set yet. This was just the first step. This signature is not set in stone. I can still burn the treaty if there is no agreement here," Madara said and leant on his left thigh to take a better look at Serizawa sitting next to Tobi and Yuu. He had a peculiar face that gave him a look of a baffled fool on the street. People underestimated him and paid the price as he was one of the most skilled weapons' master in his clan, with a particular fondness for sickles. People called him the silly reaper. He could not say he was proud of the moniker . . .
"Then a meeting would take place? I can't say I'm surprised. They would want this on their own terms. Typical Senju," Yuu said with mild irritation. He was the head of the Medic-Nins in the clan; a skilled man in the art of chakra blades and lethal poisons, he moulded healing to create death. Sasuke often jokingly referred to him as the death-cure.
"So swift to agree with the Senju dogs, Madara-Sama," Tobi spoke, his voice rumbling behind the mask, "I didn't think the Uzumaki whore would melt you so soon." He chuckled, his shoulders heaving.
Madara closed his eyes, smiling. "She is not skilled enough to sway my decisions. If she interests you, you can have her next time," he said and flashed his gleeful eyes to the man he loved to call a masked imp.
Tobi shook his hand. "Come now, Madara-Sama, throwing your leftovers at me is hardly nice. When will you ever take me seriously? I'm the love of your life, and that's the end of that," he said, drawing out laughter from the men. Even Itachi smiled and shook his head in a disapproving manner.
"Then what do you propose?" Madara asked, his voice deep as he moved his eyes around the table, from one shadow-face to the next.
"Since you ask so sweetly, I will tell you this—I'm with Sasuke on this matter. The dogs will remain dogs. Their curved tails can't be bent. No matter how many times you stomp on it, it curves itself again. It's a habit. I would suggest you stop playing with that whore as she has her legs in two beds. With Senjus frequenting the village, it's only a matter of time she slips to form an alliance with Hashirama. I wouldn't be surprised if she has set her eyes upon marriage. She's quite the whiner . . . in and out of bed," he said in a raspy voice, his visible eye shrinking as if burdened by the spirals around it.
"She is still of use to me," Madara paused and picked up the signed treaty from the small table, "if she does marry Hashirama, then I doubt they would take kindly to her forays as a prostitute. I presume the matter would be concealed by her and her kin. I doubt even Hashirama would want a tainted woman."
"I think he would welcome the experience she gained with you," he said to chuckles from Yuu and Serizawa. "But that Fuin-Jutsu! Story goes that it makes everything brand new between the legs—a ruined paradise turns into an untouched veil that's closed upon all mortal men. I've heard that one look upon that greatness blinds the unwary men forever! Gave you quite the daze the first time, didn't it? I'm telling you that that whore's fickle and money minded. You made quite an investment over there. And now that she has had the taste of your cock and money, sky is the limit."
"I suppose we can offer money and buy their alliance. They do appear to have no qualms with prostitution and thievery. They have sold a few poor Fuin-Jutsu seals to some villages in the past. Some members got killed as they did not quite do what was promised by them. The powerful seals are well guarded. We simply need more money for this venture," he said and looked at Tobi. "Well?"
"This foray has sucked me dry—not much for my poor investment. Everything remains wilted—heart, mind, and precious pieces of my body. But, since it's you who's asking, I'm willing to cut off my balls here. The things I do for you, Madara-Sama," he said in a dramatic voice and hung his head as if saddened by the prospect.
"Can they even be swayed?" Sasuke asked, putting his hands upon his thighs. The mat underneath them was new, but his body ached with the tough battles fought today. "There's no guarantee that money would win us their favour. If anything, the taint on her reputation might. I'm in favour of approaching the Uzumaki first. Set a few rules for the bargain—see what we can get and then make the deal final with the Senju. Better to have the Uzumaki tainted by us so completely that making a full deal with the Senju would become a day dream for them."
Itachi took in a long intake of breath and nodded in agreement. "If they do guard the powerful seals and are poverty-stricken, then we can pressure them into relinquishing some Jutsus to us. That would give us an upper hand in the bargain. They are the distant relatives of the Senju, after all. They would sway in their favour. I agree with Sasuke. This seems like the best course of action," he said and leant his head down to look at his bruised palms. He took so many lives today, and his hands carried the marks of their blood.
"Then it is settled," Madara said and traced the dried seal on the scroll with his finger. He put it back on the table and puffed out enough chakra to kindle an unlit candle sitting on the table. Its wick fizzled to life and cast a long shadow behind it where a pile of small scrolls lay. "I want all of you to write down your terms on the scrolls. Keep them short and make them count. Do not take this matter lightly. This is once in a lifetime chance. If we can get the leverage here, it would aid us in brokering a deal with the Senju."
All men stretched out their hands and grabbed the scrolls. Madara moved his eyes over the group, settling them upon Sasuke for a fleeting second. Memories of his brother flooded his mind and envy flared in his heart: Sasuke was alive and his brother was dead. Madara looked away and hid his face behind the large shadow inside the tent . . .
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