Imperfect Knowledge
By Kuno-Baby
He was a genius at a young age. He was not the greatest genius, not the strongest or the fastest, nor did he know the most techniques or have the most skill, or learn the most at the youngest age. He graduated earlier and as a better ninja than most of the people his age, but that was never enough for him.
He was slightly pale-skinned, and with dark hair that seemed to shine if the light was on it right, and this conspired with his skill to make him the object of many a schoolgirl crush, a misguided affection that he tended to ignore.
He had one goal in life, one goal since his family had been decimated, one goal since he had seen his parents murdered in front of him. One goal since he had watched them fade away.
On that day, he, Orochimaru, had resolved never to die. No matter what the cost.
It was imperfect knowledge that drove him to learn every jutsu – his own striving to learn everything that could possibly be of use in his quest, to master seals and chakra to the point where he could bend the world to his will. It was also his lack of knowledge that made him approach his goal in this manner.
His teacher, a genius that made him seethe with anger and jealousy, refused to teach him everything he wanted, instead deciding that Orochimaru would be the offensive specialist on the team, with disabling attacks and Kenjutsu. He learned whatever the Sandaime would teach, but he also learned on his own.
He later cursed himself for being so foolish, but he first experimented upon the human body, enhancing it, adding abilities to it, removing them, seeing what he could add or take away before it gave up for good.
And then he tried to bring them back, but they never quite acted the same after lying on his surgery table. He tried so hard to make them into what they used to be, so hard to restore them, so he could have a clear conscience, an unblemished soul. But he was too deep into his work, too close to some secret's unveiling, and he instead made them act as similar as possible with techniques, with mind control.
Besides, he told himself, they did not give to him his secrets, and so did they deserve to be restored?
It was not this pale reanimation that he wanted, anyway. No, what use was life half-lived, in a decaying shell, a broken mind? He did not desire to fade away while his heart still pumped. No, such a fate was just as bad as death, for he knew that his identity and his knowledge were what made him, and not his form.
At that, he began to study the family jutsu of certain clans. The Nara, who should have posted guards instead of traps (Truly the failing of a genius is when he expects to outsmart everyone all the time), could bind people by shadow, a symbolic relationship with light that he wanted to study. The Akimichi, who would probably miss their heir sooner or later, could change their bodies at will, and he wanted to apply this to his health and age. And finally, the Yamanaka, who, curse them, revealed his lair to the Hokage, could move their mind around.
He left his home, banished, but not without his findings. All of them. He had to leave his experiments behind – Young Anko, a display of how psychology best suited the genius, and his bloodline creation attempts, and of course his many sleeper agents, carrying with them sealed techniques and instructions written in their very minds, waiting for whenever he would need them.
Just to get revenge on that blasted fourth Hokage, he programmed a woman to love him until the week after their first child was born, and then slaughter all of the children she could get her hands on. He was disappointed to learn that she managed to kill herself after childbirth instead of follow his instructions, but at least that blasted Yondaime was dead.
He laughed when he heard the news, and then wondered what had happened to his compassion for a minute or two.
The Yamanaka jutsu scroll he saved for the completion of his new laboratory in the small, out of the way country he had chosen after his exile. While it was under construction, he master the art of slipping through the shadows and of increasing his size and power. And then he made himself smaller, but kept the strength, and learned to be unseen and to shift through light as easily as darkness. It was child's play to him, and he wondered why he did not simply invent such simple techniques as were on the scrolls already.
The Yamanaka scroll was a little harder, but he eventually realized why.
It told of souls and of minds, and he had never thought about the soul before. And his, he suddenly knew, was black as the night sky.
And then he laughed. Because if he had a soul, his mind, his true life, would never go away. And as his soul was black… He would take over this world, and make it his for as long as he could keep his soul anchored to the world. And when he finally failed, if he ever did… His blackened soul would conquer hell.
Orochimaru laughed, and then he frowned. He had work to do, and souls to steal.