Act I - Loss
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He really hated him. It was a silent, but painful hate. It held no form such as raging flames or tearing grounds, but a black mist that lightly covered the glass in his chest.
Behind the glass lay flickering pictures that fading into each other and just next to the center on the right were thin spider-web cracks. Small, invisible cracks that when looked at in nearly all angles, you couldn't see it unless close enough.
That was his hate. The world in his chest was already pitch black, the glass somehow still managing to give off a glimmering shine from light that doesn't really exist. The mist ghosted over and through the glass, hardly noticed.
Yet it hurt.
Just because one couldn't see it without extreme difficulty, it didn't mean it didn't hurt. It burned in a cold stinging pain that was more vivid then electricity shooting up your spine. He didn't quite recall when or even how he was able to identify it as hate in the first place.
Not that it mattered. It hurt. He hated that hate, the hate that hurt his chest. The hate that coated the pictures behind the glass and the glass itself. It eroded the glass and made thin, near invisible cracks in it.
It moved freely as if he didn't matter. He probably didn't. To be pushed aside by his own emotions was rather odd, but not strange. He didn't particularly care either.
It hurt his chest. That was all that mattered. Each time it slipped through the thin, thin, oh so very thin cracks, it burned more and more. So much more.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
He smirked silently at nothing, eyes focusing and widening in rapid, yet slow intervals. Irises changing from glazed over jade foam to deep layered, ragged emeralds. Eternal green sharpening and blurring.
His hate hurt him more then it did anyone else. He didn't hate anyone but him though. It should have hurt him instead. He knew it never would hurt him though. No one else knew his world like he did. The mist as dark and heavy, but light as always. The glass as shiny, but dull as always. It burned and it hurt, but it didn't hurt the one it was made for.
It never did. Only him and him alone. Not the target it's actions were created from. Just him. It only burned him. This painful hate that only hurt him.
He knew even before he could comprehend the world. He knew you shouldn't play with fire. It only got you burned. It left scars. Scars that still burned in an icy sensation that made your heart stop and breath hitch in agony. While he didn't know the actual pain that came with being burned back then, he knew it hurt somehow.
His mother was the only example he needed to know that.
Just as she reached out and into the crimson orange flames before he even existed, he reached through the black electric storm that crackled and popped on that rainy night.
He played with the same fire, but of a different kind. It didn't burn at all. It was just like frozen ashes. Something already lost before it had a chance to start. It was a cold longing. A void he could only see behind reluctant, reality accepting eyes. Jaded emerald eyes that didn't want to see reality yet, but saw everything. No matter how much he didn't want to see it, he accepted that he saw it.
Maybe it did start out as "pity," maybe it did turn into "like," maybe it did turn into "comfort," maybe it almost did turned into "love," maybe it did turn into "pain," maybe it did turn into "regret," but that wasn't the cause of the cracks right next to the center of his heart. It's only a cold, cold, burning hate now.
It was the very same mist that came on that rainy night, not long before that light drizzle of cold turned into freezing showers. He remembers those blank charcoal eyes staring back at his own dying gems. He remembers how he was scared of that blank stare. It was like he found the remains of a blazing fire long after it froze over in winter, only to reach down and pick it up like one would grab sand at the beach or playground.
Only it left black marks on his hands. It didn't fall out of his hands like how grains of sand would. It didn't fall through his hands back down to the earth like how sand would. It didn't fly out of his hand in different directions with the wind like how sand would. It stayed in a poor huddled form on his hand. In his hand. That was the fire he was burned by. The fire that still burned him today.
Onyx black, obsidian black, raven black, jet, black, ebony black... Black ashes that held no warmth whatsoever. Just cold, cold, cold, and the few dead indications that it was even a flame to begin with. Today he sees those ashes in a raging fire, never ending, never fading, just burning in a fierce flame. That black flame. "Amaterasu."
Turning his head, eyes still dazed but sharp, he caught sight of that flame again attached to a fallen tree. Someone's forgotten cloak beneath the sad and dying tree. Slowly, he tried to turn his head the other way towards the left now, but it ended in gravity making him hit his head lightly on the muddy ground. Dark patches of mud, dirt, and blood clung to his normally brighter near neon pink hair, the very hair that earned him his hated, but signature name. A shaky breathe left his blood filled mouth. For a moment his throat closed before he started coughing violently, yet still remaining eerily quiet compared to all else.
Under the raging fires of regular crimson and Amaterasu, paper bombs in the distance, the bubbling of a storm above, strained cries from his falling comrades, his strangled whimpers were nothing. Slowly he turned his body to the left and curled into himself for awhile to deal with the pain. Quietly trying to heal himself as fast as he could in his defeated and beaten state.
How did it come to this? Why? Oh, that's right. It was an early war. But right now, this was just their war, or that's what it seemed like. The rookie nine's war.
It turned into a real battlefield when Team Hebi/Taka, or whatever they called themselves now, was spotted going along the other side of the border... His blonde idiot of a teammate did the only stupid thing you'd expect of him when it concerned him. He didn't let you down in that regard either, maybe even surpassed those expectations.
He couldn't quite recall many specific things in his blurry-minded state, but he knew those familiar onyx black eyes that were quickly dyed a vibrant Hell red when he stepped on that battlefield. That stabbing pain surrounding the area just below his left collarbone. That blue, crackling light from the onyx-crimson eyed man's hand.
The blood exploding in an instant, dripping from the tips of those pale fingers when it come out of his back.
He reclaims quite clearly that he didn't hear anything in that moment. Not a thing. Nor did he feel anything right away. It was like everything was just coated in white and the world whizzed by in slow motion.
He remembers pushing aside an angry, but stunned Naruto out of the way by punching him across the face after making a mad dash to take his place moments before. That second of disbelief followed by horror on the young blondes face.
Blood dotted on the lower left side of his face and jawline as much as the crimson eyed man, little sprinkles managing to find Naruto behind them. They all just stood like that for seemingly forever before it was interrupted by his own kunai wielding hand heading towards the object of his pain.
The object of his hate. The object of his former affections. Uchiha Sasuke pulled back at the last possible second, but not without a thin, yet shallow gash from his left shoulder almost across his whole chest. He ripped his arm out of his now next to useless shoulder in the process, sending blood splattering everywhere. Sasuke-kun jumped a safe distance away while he simply staggered back a few steps in self-assured shock.
In a yellow daze, Naruto jumped up, a small bead of blood coming out of the corner of his mouth and nose. He hadn't really thought much of the force he put behind his punch when he delivered it, just as long as it got Naruto out of the way in time. He looked extremely confused and pained, looking back and forth between them. His brothers. Honestly he never wanted to hurt Sasuke-kun in any way. Now that was clearly, brilliantly, and painfully impossible.
An explosion, closer this time brought him back to reality. Breath hitched, chest constricted, he moved his legs and found himself on his stomach. In a quick motion he brought his legs under him and pushing himself with his right hand, he stood in a wounded animal stance, left arm dangling. Sure it wasn't completely immobile, but the pain wasn't worth it yet.
Short, even, quick breaths, another shout not that far either, he kicked off and started running towards the biggest explosion. A mirage of lights flanked him on both sides in a dizzying, unstable rush of action. It didn't take long to get to the site.
He almost fell over again from the sheer pain in his torso and arm, he hadn't completely closed those wounds yet. The shallow, but deep enough gash had hit a rib or two from the white haired man's sword, the sword he barely dodged in time once it was sure a battle would begun; A member of each party having already wounded the other as it was.
Zabuza's sword.
Everything spun and spun around, whipping back and forth in a confusing state, but that didn't matter. What mattered was his hate and the others lives.
He was surprised at that. Normally they'd be first. Maybe he was just becoming self-centered again then.
Shaking his head, the action proved to make things even worse. Everything became more confusing and spun around faster. It felt like he was stuck in some sick vortex. That didn't matter. Taking a few more heavy steps, he only jumped to the side in time to escape a stray kunai, paper bomb wrapped around it with care.
The distinctive shout of Hinata and Choji brought him out of his shell-shock long enough for him to catch and throw back one of the bombs. He jumped back, arms raised since it ran into the one behind it and exploded only a few feet away, effectively triggering the rest that were behind it in a fireworks display.
He landed in a rolling heap, his back digging into the jagged and upturned ground, before he stuck out his hand and flew a bit into the air doing a sort of handstand. It'd have been hilarious because of the way he was angled if it weren't for the circumstances. Kicking his legs out again he was able to stand up, albeit still dizzy, and starting another run to help Tenten. He needed to pay the guy with Zabuza's sword back anyways.
His left whole shoulder, parts of his back and side, snaking up his neck to the side of his face, the majority of his torso, stomach, gut, all throbbing in a red pain. His vision was just as red and dark, but he kept running and throwing punches, kicks, and hits.
He wanted to find Sasuke-kun and Naruto now! But he knew he couldn't be of any help right now. It'd be better to stay with the mass and make sure no one else got hurt. If they were lucky enough, maybe they'd be able to get them to make a tactical retreat.
At the best, despite their wounds and different styles, they were still holding their own fairly well. The problem was that they were too spread out and confused.
Throughout it all, under the steel liquid he poured around his glass world, the black mist flickered in and out of life; from covering and devouring everything and then turning into absolutely nothing.
Male!Sakura for some reason in case it didn't make sense at first. Not a lot going on, probably just a one-shot at best, but it seems alright to me so I decided to put it up for fun. I'd also like to apologize any grammar or spelling errors as well, since I know there should be some.
Edit; It's just that coming back and looking at it, I wanted to change a few things.
Constructive criticism or flames aren't minded - maybe even encouraged, but the review is still appreciated!