Chapter 1

Tonight, thought Captain Tsuji, was one helluva night for a full moon. It was huge; hanging in the cloudless sky like an enormous all-seeing eye, bearing witness to the events he hoped would come to pass. Its pale and unearthly glow swept over the forgotten graves, banishing all shadows in its wake. He shook off the feeling, knowing his men were nervous enough without their leader sharing their sentiments.

He had only brought four with him, hoping the youth he had been searching for wouldn't feel threatened by their presence. All five members of the group wore the stiff brown uniform of the Tsuji Artillery Company – a group of mercenaries founded by Tsuji himself – specializing in a unique type of weapon that Tsuji himself had created, which he called a 'gun'. Tsuji himself was well into his forties while still possessing the lean build of a soldier, the only concession to vanity on his leathery face being the thin mustache adorning his upper lip. That mustache had been rendered temporarily invisible by the pursing of his lips, an unconscious action as he squinted past the rows of decrepit tombstones to the enormous crypt that dominated the graveyard's center.

This was where the clues had led. After two weeks of searching they had come here, to an abandoned cemetery in the middle of Rain country. All this effort, he thought sourly, for one man. Still, he hadn't seen his protegee since he was eight years old; that was around fifteen years ago. Even then the boy was a prodigy with a gun, and had likely only gotten better over time. He wanted the man as his successor for a reason after all.

"Naruto..." he whispered, before shaking the nostalgia from his head. He had a job to do.

The five men marched towards the stone building, the sounds of their footsteps made deafening by the overwhelming silence. With a gesture from Tsuji they pushed the heavy stone doors apart, the two corporals standing guard outside whilst Tsuji and the sergeants stepped within; descending the long flight of stairs on the bottom. Crumbling steps gave way to solid granite as they reached the bottom, the narrow space opening out into a ridiculously huge room. Magnificent arches and pillars painstakingly sculpted by the finest artisans in Rain paved the hall, wasted on the cold remains of those entombed. And there, sitting and leaning against the resting place of the warlord Hanzo, was the man Tsuji had wasted the last two weeks of his life trying to find.

He had changed, but between the ages of eight and twenty three one tended to do so. He looked like a cowboy, in Tsuji's opinion, with light brown pants under a long brown duster and a broad brimmed cowboy hat atop his head. He was wearing no shirt under his coat, his bare skin looking almost blue from the layers of dust; it indicated the last time his boots had walked these halls had been a very long time ago indeed. His left leg was sprawled out in front of him and his left hand was on his thigh, while his right leg had been drawn up so he could rest his right elbow on his knee. His head was leaning against the stone of Hanzo's sarcophagus and his hat was tilted down to hide the upper part of his face. His spiky blonde hair had grown to his shoulders, though most of it went to the back rather than the sides. Most distinctively were the guns resting on each hip, though Tsuji only remembered giving the boy one.

He let out a sigh of relief. "At last," he whispered. "We've found him."

And in the instant that those words left his lips, one of the men he had left outside was slashed from ear to ear.

The second guard stared at his fallen comrade, his mouth working soundlessly in confusion and fear. The thing that had murdered his friend - an odd blur in the air that resembled the shimmer over a fire - drifted over the corpse. As a tall, dark figure stepped out under the moonlight the blur swooped towards him and partially severed his head, allowing him a single dying scream before he fell.

Alerted by the sounds of carnage, Tsuji and his remaining men turned to the door even as the figure stepped through. The long black hair, pale skin and gold-slitted eyes were enough that even they knew who he was.

"Open fire!" screamed Tsuji. His men readied their rifles and shot at the legendary traitor, to no avail. The blur in the air appeared once more, this time with tiny arms emerging from the haze with a scythe the length of a man's forearm clenched in its fists. For a moment it hovered in front of its master, deflecting the bullets with blinding speed, before darting forwards and finishing Tsuji's two remaining soldiers. He was alone.

"Captain Tsuji," Orochimaru purred sibilantly. "If you don't mind, I would like to talk to you about your weap-" He stopped talking abruptly, having spotted the sleeping man. In all his days, nothing had ever frightened Tsuji so much as the look of naked desire in the Sannin's eyes. "It's him. I can't believe it's really him."

Tsuji drew his pistol from his belt and pointed it at the depraved missing-nin. "What do you want with Naruto?"

After a few moments the other man recovered himself, and that sick smile crossed his face once more. "Captain Tsuji, if you like you may leave unharmed. I have just found something far more valuable than that trinket in your hand."

Tsuji's eyes narrowed. "Over my dead body."

His pet once more deflecting bullets, Orochimaru's expression didn't change. "As you wish."

"Die!" shouted Tsuji, enraged by his useless weapon. "Die! Die! Die!" A series of harmless clicks signified his gun was empty, the creature darted forwards and blood spattered the sleeping man's face. And yet he did not stir.

"To think you'd be in a place like this." The pale man showed no surprise as the stone doors behind him slammed open once more. He turned, a calm smile on his face. "Ah, a new actor in our play."

It was a woman, as tall as Orochimaru himself. She was wearing a long brown trench coat bound to her hips by a black belt, with black trousers tucked into black combat boots. Beneath her coat she wore a red shirt – clinging tightly to her ample chest while showing zero cleavage – and around her neck was an odd pendant, like a quotation mark with a large red gem set into it. Her hair was long, unbound and bluish black, her eyes an intense brown.

He was interested to see her give only the smallest flinch when his pet flew over and severed her left arm, only for her to reach out and grab it by the head as it flew around to the other side. As soon as she touched it the illusion covering its body fled, revealing an ugly, gremlin-like creature with a head that was far too big for its body. Having dropped its scythe, the creature pushed ineffectually at her leg and let out a grating squeal; with a negligent squeeze its head was crushed to a pulp, blood and brains flying across the room. Orochimaru's smile wavered. "I was fond of him."

Ignoring him, the woman casually retrieved her arm and lifted it to the stump. For a second the torn flesh became fluid and her gloved hands flexed as the arm reattached itself, sleeve and all. His smile now degenerated into a full blown frown, Orochimaru eyed her before leaning over to hoist the sleeping man over his shoulder. The woman walked towards him, slowly breaking into a run. As he straightened up Orochimaru gave her a look, his eyes briefly flaring with purple light.

The woman gave a gasp as some invisible force hit her in the front. It jerked her painfully back against her own momentum, sending her flying and smashing through walls, sarcophagi and support beams for several meters before coming to a painful stop. For a moment she lay there, unmoving, before calmly standing up and brushing the dust from her coat with a dark, confident chuckle.

Taking her time, she made her way through the path of destruction she had made until she reached the spot where Orochimaru had been standing. No-one was there, but she didn't rush. Instead she just stood, perfectly cool and calm, waiting.

Her ears picked up the faint sounds of footsteps drifting down from above.

Up on the roof, Orochimaru wasn't that surprised when the woman from earlier busted through the stone tiles behind him and landed crouched with one fist planted on the slate. "Not quite human, are you?"

The woman raised her head to look at him, and he was struck by how soft and refined her features truly were. Beneath the gentle fingers of the moon she seemed to have a striking, aristocratic and yet somewhat unearthly beauty to her, a beauty belied by the steel of her gaze; a gaze gained from years on one's own, fending for one's self and trusting no-one. The look he himself wore. "You should talk." she said, her voice carrying the same conflicting tones of her beauty: melodious, yet filled with iron. He watched with a sort of professional curiosity as she placed her hands on either side of her head, stumbling about as though feeling some incredible pain ripping through her skull. Suddenly she spread her arms out to the sides, tilted her head back and let out a primal howl of agony, her body blazing with light so bright that Orochimaru was forced to shield his eyes. As the flare dimmed, a demon was revealed.

The creature was humanoid, with no visible clothing on it's body. Its skin was mottled and black, stretched tightly over its bones with no visible flesh underneath. Its hands were tipped with viciously hooked claws, its feet were hoofed and a large set of bat like wings sprouted from its back, their undersides a deep wine-red. Its head was merely a skull with a thin layer of skin strapped over it. It lacked any form of lips whatsoever, its pointed fangs permanently exposed. Its eyes were deep black pockets of nothingness, and a single grey horn protruded from the middle of its forehead.

"Fusion," breathed Orochimaru, almost unable to believe the evidence his eyes gave him. "You're a Harmonixer." Rather than answer the creature opted to rush him, its claws stretching for his eyes. He reacted instantly, bending around her bestial strikes. As the assault continued not a single strike hit him, his tactics relying on his innate flexibility to avoid his opponent's blows. Against the likes of the female Harmonixer, who relied so heavily on power rather than technique, it was really quite an effective tactic. Again and again the beast lunged for him and every time he dodged, toying with his enemy rather than going in for the kill. His overconfidence was very nearly his undoing as the creature regurgitated an odd black mist from the back of its throat, a mist that caused the Earth Clone he replaced himself with to crumble to dust within moments.

Reappearing behind it he brought his elbow with a crunch to the back of its head. Demon or no, he was still strong enough to send it crashing back onto the crypt roof, its powerful wings useless at such a velocity. As the dust settled from the impact the monster's body started to glow – less brightly this time – and transformed visibly back into the form of the beautiful young woman, clothes and all.

"You are more powerful than I expected," he sneered derisively. He raised his right hand, a flashing bolt of purple lightening gathering on the tips of his fingers. "Begone, monster!"

And with a deafening BLAM Orochimaru found his leg had been blown off beneath the knee.

He turned, and between screams saw the now wide awake man from the crypt; he stood with the moon in the background, duster flapping slowly and one of his twin pistols hanging smoking from his fingers. Once soulful cerulean eyes glared at the snake ninja in contempt, before flickering to glance over his shoulder. In a voice of such rich timbre that it sent shivers down his spine, he murmured, "You gunna hit him 'r not?"

Orochimaru turned just in time to catch a fist to the eye, the knuckle crushing the fragile orb into his skull and digging a palm-sized wound into his face. As he fell to his knees with a shriek, the Harmonixer – who was under no illusions that she could win even with this momentary advantage – shared a look with the timely gunman, the two sharing a moment of complete and perfect understanding. As one, they leapt from the roof.

The would-be gunman-napper stumbled to his feet, hissing with pain and holding one hand to his wound. "How dare-" He cut himself off, seeing that both other occupants of the crypt roof were long gone. With a last regretful sigh he opened his mouth, stretching it to ridiculous proportions before a new body pulled its way out, this one whole and uninjured.

Having shed his useless former body like a snake sheds its skin, Orochimaru's smile returned in full force.

There would more chances. The Key had emerged into the world once more, and his spies would easily pick up it's presence once more.

In time.

Miles to the south the Harmonixer and her rescuer/rescuee had finally stopped running. Barely out of breath the woman eyed her companion warily, wondering why his hat hadn't come off in the chase. He was currently gazing upwards at the moon, his expression one of such pure, childlike wonder she fancied it was the first time he'd seen it in his life. After several seconds of silence he turned his head to look at her. "What year is it?"

The woman blinked slowly, having not expected the question. "1913, but why do you..."

"Ah," the man chuckled, as if at some private joke. He looked up at the moon once more. "That would mean I've been asleep for... fifteen years."

She would have asked about that, but her own past had given her a healthy respect for other people's privacy. "So why did the freak want you?"

He didn't bother to look at her. "Who knows," He began to walk away. "Who cares."

"Hey wait! It's not safe that way!" No response. "Give me a break... hey blondie, don't run off like that!" Even as the words left her lips, a ripping pain wrought its way through her skull of a magnitude far worse than when she used her powers of Fusion. As she fell to the ground a familiar, loathed voice echoed through her mind...

Dark...and Ligh...reun...ed...

Prote...a...find yo...reas...fo...living...

As the voice faded from her mind the pain went with it – as it always did – and she looked up to see the blonde gunman eyeing her curiously, displaying a spectacular lack of concern for her well-being. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she spat angrily, livid at the thought of someone seeing her in such a vulnerable state. "Just that damn voice in my head again."

"Voice?"

She hated the way his eyebrow arched as he said that. "Yeah, the damn thing's always bossing me around. 'Go to that town'. 'Follow that person'. And now it wants me to protect you, you ungrateful-"

"Girl," he interrupted her, bearing her glower without fear. "What's your name?"

She suddenly felt very glad she'd bothered to put in her colored contacts that morning, to hide her distinctive pale, lavender, pupil-less eyes. "Hinata. Hinata Hyuuga."

The eyebrow was elevated back to it's original position. "Hyuuga? As in the Byakugan?"

"No." she lied. "Not that Hyuuga." An awkward pause. Then...

"Well then Hinata, you're not crazy. I heard that voice too." She did her best impression of a fish as he began to walk away. "You should probably hurry," he tossed over his shoulder casually. "We'll need to find a place to spend the night."

Hinata blinked owlishly. We? "Wait a minute!" she blurted out. He stopped and looked at her quizzically. She fought to regain her composure. "So... what do they call you."

He gave an odd, fox-like grin - one she would become intimately familiar with over the following years - and began walking once more. "They call me...

"The Saint of Killers."