So I wrote this because I just could NOT refuse my muse… even though I actually HATE OC stories… It just called to me and I was waiting for the new chapter of Contracted to be reviewed and started writing this instead… I hope you all like it!
Chapter Title: The Devil's Water, It Ain't So Sweet
If you know what song this is from, special mentions in whatever chapter I post next! First person to know it might get a small gift!
*Don't Own Naruto*
You know, in hindsight it probably wasn't a good idea for my sister to sacrifice my soul for her to get into college. Sure, we didn't believe in things like magic or voodoo or rituals, so where was the harm in playing around with the stuff when joking around? It was all make-believe. Jokes. Nothing we actually meant.
But here, where I am now, staring at my broken body mangled by a runaway car, I consider it necessary to rethink our actions.
The phantom aches of the very injuries littering my body still reside in my mind. It wasn't flashes of scene from my life that I saw in the last moments, nor the faces of the people I love. Loved, I guess, now that I'm dead.
No, I saw nothing but the faded out blue of the truck that hit me, peeling paint driving away and I felt nothing other than the feeling of choking on my own blood and pain everywhere. And now, all I see are the remnants of these things, broken bones and torn flesh. A concave chest. Blood spattered on the road behind me and seeping into a puddle underneath.
My lifeless green eyes still stare after the long-gone car, blood dripping into their sockets. The agonal breaths slowly gasping out of my mouth gurgle with blood, red liquidy foam pouring from the corner of my mouth.
Shuddering, I bite my lip in an attempt not to cry. Or vomit. Can spirits even vomit? Can they even cry?
I wonder… can I just step back into my body? Take back my life?
I hiccup, tears beginning to pour down my face. Kneeling, I reach my hand out to my hair, golden locks now tainted dark wine with blood. My hand phases straight through. Sucking in a choking gulp of air, my eyes burn with tears.
"Fuck," I whisper, throat hoarse. I flinch after realizing the woman performing CPR doesn't even register my voice. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She still doesn't even twitch. "Look at me, please! I'm right here!" I'm absolutely sobbing now, snot dribbling down my nose and pitiful noises escaping my mouth. Maybe, if I were alive, I'd be thankful that no one could see my pathetic face right now.
How was this fair? Why did I die? Sure, I didn't always hand it my homework assignments, and I might have borrowed my sister's dress that one time without asking, but surely that wasn't a reason to end my life!
The woman moved to my head to give me breaths, never flinching at the blood covering my face. I slam my fist to the ground next to where her mouth meets mine in a bloody kiss of life. Even with her air, my chest doesn't rise.
I shouldn't… I couldn't…!
Lunging towards her, my momentum takes be straight through the woman's body, leaving me tumbling across the ground like an idiot. I stand shakily to face her again when I notice that she turns to where I stopped behind her and am standing now. My heart flutters. Maybe she…?
"When is the ambulance coming?" she screamed at another bystander whose phone was in his hand. He fumbles nervously, sweat dripping down his face and opens his mouth to reply.
I don't hear his answer, instead I am sprinting full force back home, leaving my body behind. Not that it would do me any good anymore.
If I can see them, just one more time.
I trip on air while rounding a corner, falling flat on my face. A small, nagging throb ran through me again. Shaking it off—I'm dead already, what's a few scrapes?—I scramble to my feet, ready to take off again. Only a mile until I reach home and until I reach my family, unawares and setting the table for five. They'd only need four plates today.
Taking a harsh, shuddering breath, I swallow the sob about to erupt from my mouth and soldier forward and make another couple steps before I stop in my tracks.
I stare horrified as a… thing appears out of nowhere, blocking my path. Robed in white, its skin is a dark, sickly grey that accentuates the emancipated chest shown. Pale gold hair bursts from its skull, spiking out in a mane and trailing down to its waist. Atop the thing's head sat two obsidian horns, sharper than any knife I had ever seen. At least, sharper than any knife except for the one in the beast's mouth.
Gasping, I step back, tears still streaming down my face. It turns its wicked eyes down on me and the thing smiles, showing rows of sharp teeth holding the sword in its mouth. Drool drips down, disappearing into its robes as a cold and guttural laugh escapes from behind the blade.
I turn to run when the pure coldness grips me, freezing my body.
"No! I need to see them, please!" I scream in a frenzy, willing my body to move, thrash, run. The monster is approaching me, eyes blazing, and removes the sword from its mouth. Heavy drops of saliva trail down the blade's hilt, running onto the bony fingers and sharp nails. I stare up at it, still unable to move as tears fall down my face.
"Please, damnit! They won't understand! I need to say goodbye!" My voice scratches at my ears with desperateness, but I know the words fall short on the thing in front of me. This thing isn't human.
Floating closer, it licks the sword with a menacing, pointed tongue. It was purple.
Fear grips me and my thrashing against what froze me becomes stronger.
In its hands as it picks me up, I find my ability to move once again. Struggling to break free, all I get for my effort is a sharp pain in my arm as I'm forcibly swallowed after being dragged across the beast's teeth. I cry out in agony, a sound that nobody around could hear.
Groaning in pain, I open my eyes to see stark whiteness greet me instead of sky. I hiss as I sit up, feeling as if my muscles had gone through a blender and back, salt rubbed into the wounds for good measure. Still, there is an overwhelming sense of numbness to it all, as if it isn't really there.
I glance at my arm quickly, noting the thick flow of blood. I scoff, standing shakily. I am dead. Who cares.
Bright red dripping behind me, I walk away with a firm acceptance of the worthlessness of fighting the inevitable. I walk into the blank white surroundings, leaving only a red pool of blood from my wounds behind.
I don't know how far I strode, or for how long, but eventually I spot something other than white in the distance. Jogging towards the speck ignoring the aches in my body, I soon distinguish features: spiky yellow hair, white and red cloak, the rise and fall of a chest. It's a person, sitting down cross-legged. But most importantly, it isn't plain whiteness.
I had to have made a sound, because soon eyes snap open to reveal striking blue orbs that zoom into my face. He was a man in his early twenties. Different looking, but between the cerulean eyes, spiky yellow hair framing his face, sharp cheek bones, and lean build he must have been considered very handsome in life.
He looks me up and down meticulously, eyes slowly raving my form and I feel the blush rise to my cheeks.
"Are you all right?" He had to have been referring to my wounded arm, but I am too preoccupied with his voice to answer. His words seem oddly garbled, flowing between the syllables and sounds in a queer way. Unnatural, almost as if the words didn't actually fit his mouth, yet at the same time each word was said with such clarity that I understood perfectly. I stare at him cautiously, watching as he stands to his full height in calm and assured movements.
"I just died and got eaten by this…thing. What do you think?" I finally ask crossly, moving my arm behind me. I concentrate on the pain from the movements. It makes me feel real. Alive.
He laughs, something that sounds very different now than what I expected. It was airy and warm, just as the polite smile that lit up his face. He begins to approach me, silent as a cat. My muscles tense and I watch him warily. "Well, that's how you get here. May I?" he inquires, offering a roll of bandages.
I blink, confused, slackening my posture in a way that the man takes it as permission. Where had the bandages come from?
As he gets closer, I snatch the bandages from his hand and back away, muttering a saying of thanks. Sniffing the cloth quickly and recognizing the sterile scent, I sit down and lay my arm across my thigh. The man's eyes glitter with politely restrained humor as he takes a step back, giving me space.
Instead of focusing on him though, I turn my attention to my limb, still pulsing out rivers of blood that are now staining my bright purple running shorts. I don't know how much it had already bled, but it doesn't look like it will be stopping any time soon.
I slipped off my zip-up hoodie and use the long sleeves to wipe away the blood around the cut brusquely, wincing when it stung.
I hear him speak again, in his oddly jumbled and accented voice, "And don't worry too much about the pain or blood, it'll all numb out soon."
Tossing the bloodied grey thing aside, I think for a moment before asking, "And where exactly is 'Here'?" I place the beginning of the bandage at my wrist, wrapping tightly and efficiently around my forearm and inching up the wound, careful to layer the wrapping correctly.
Sitting in front of me and watching my work, he replies, "The Shinigami's stomach, of course."
I falter in rolling my bandages. Shinigami? I don't recognize anyone by that name. Finishing up my bandaging and tucking the last inch of cloth in, my eyes meet his sharply. Puzzled, I query, "Shinigami?" For some reason, the word just sounded better when he said it.
He looks at me, confused as well, like I had grown a second head or breathed fire or something. Rolling my eyes to myself, I think of how stupid that sounds.
But then again, I was just eaten by some wacko ghost of all things.
"Yeah," he states, running a hand through his yellow hair, "the Death God." He sighs after saying this, as if he was resigned to the fact.
"Oh," I say with a tight smile. It all makes sense now, I think sarcastically, mentally banging my head on a table. This guy has a few screws loose. "The Devil," I finish with a knowing nod just to appease him, leaning my chin on a fist. I was eaten by the devil. Just perfect.
He leans forward as if trying to decipher me, hair swinging into his face. After a bit, he begins speaking again, "Devil?" I nod, scowling at him. Handsome he is, but smart not so much. Quite dull, actually, I think sighing to myself. I gaze off into the distance, attempting to see anything else out there, but nothing.
"Like a demon?" he continues. I nod again and he laughs. "Oh no, he isn't one of the demons, he's the Death God," the man finishes saying matter-of-factly, watching me with more cautiousness.
I whip my head back and stare at him a while, focusing on what he said, trying to jumble through it all. This man was obviously crazy, with all this "Death God" nonsense. Maybe being here for a while had fried his brain or something, because being in the stomach of the devil—oh wait, excuse me, Death God—was absolutely inconceivable and ridiculous to an extreme degree. Heaven, Hell or Limbo. Three choices.
He smiles tentatively at me and a guarded look flashes through his eyes. Maybe he thinks the same of me with my devil nonsense.
With a grunt and a simple nod, I mutter another thank you and stand up. He watches me curiously as I motion through a noncommittal wave, walking past his sitting figure and back into the whiteness. I might as well try to figure out where I really am.
However, apparently wherever I am, there is no such thing as imagination. I had to have been walking aimlessly for the past few days or so, but nothing changed. I didn't get tired and never slept, and luckily I'm not hungry. Who knows how horrible it must be to starve in an empty white realm for eternity.
My eyes start to water. I'm dead and alone with nothing to do. Biting my lip, I try to distract myself from the sadness with the pain, but the crazy guy was right. My arm had stopping throbbing a while ago.
Stopping, I stare down at the red-stained bandages on my arm. The blood marring it was less red and more of a brown now, looking a little crusty. I wince at the description and gingerly finger the cloth. Shrugging—what could be the worst thing to happen? I bleed to death?—I grip the bandage firmly and unravel it, flinching when I start peeling the scab away.
Letting the thing flutter to the ground quietly, I once again examine my arm. It is no longer bleeding, even after tearing off the scab, but neither is the wound healed. Instead it is just flesh sheared in two characterized by a numb, phantom pain. Curiously, I pull the slabs of skin apart and eye them, taking note of the layers of muscle and vessels I could see. Blanching, I curl up and puke, spitting up acidy flavors.
Within a few minutes, I'm reduced to dry heaving, choking on nothing but air and acrid stench of half-digested food for the living. Tears once again fall from my cheeks in pain and misery. I'm dead and alone.
Gulping for air to breath between my sobs, I blink my eyes free of water long enough to spot the sullied bandage on the ground. It lay uselessly still, grotesque brown against pure white. I bite my lips again, swallowing down a pitiful hiccup and launch the realm into silence again. Trembling, I make up my mind.
"Who are you?" I ask the man, standing in front of him. I had already picked up and put on my hoodie again to mask my ugly arm, but left it unzipped to display my Notre Dame pinny checkered blue and gold. It was a gift from my sister for Christmas last year. My eyes tear at the thought, then harden.
The man's eyes opened slowly and calmly to reveal assured blue eyes, as if unsurprised to see me. He is smiling brightly again. "Well, it's polite to introduce yourself first," he states warmly, uncrossing his legs to stand up. He stands a good four inches taller than me, but his smile keeps him from being intimidating. His posture is relaxed, welcoming, calming. He continues, "But I'm Namikaze Minato. Nice to meet you."
Ah, he's foreign, I realize, thinking on his name. Despite the weird, unnatural shifting of his tones, the accent suddenly made sense. I nod in recognition and answer myself, "Sheigh Blanchette. Nice to meet you too, Mr. Minato."
"Blanchette is an interesting name," Minato speculates, scratching the back of his head. He once again targets in on my features, analyzing them methodically.
My eye twitches in annoyance at his unabashed comment and stares. "Yeah, well who the hell names their kid Namikaze?" I bite back, crossing my arms with a scowl. And he's chiding me on my manners…
"My parents named me Minato, not Namikaze." He looks at me with a confused expression once again. "My surname is Namikaze." I blink, relaxing my arms and letting the drop to my side.
"Oh, mine is Blanchette…" Isn't saying your surname first an Asian thing? "Are you from Asia?" I ask curiously with a smile, attempting to be polite this time. The poor guy is dead and stuck in this curious place just like me, I should at least play nice instead of being a jerk. Besides, I can go for a bit of conversation right now.
"No," Minato answered with a smile on his face, sitting down with a motion for me to do the same. I pretend I don't see it and continue to stand. I focus on his soft expression instead. "I don't know what country Asia is in, but I'm from Konoha," he says, beaming with pride. His gentle expression turns fiery with life, his smile blooming into something bigger and more vivacious. "Or as I like to call it: The Village with Stupendously Fantastic Beautiful People who live in the Emerald Trees!" Minato chuckles goofily, scratching his head again. "Though, that's a mouthful," he chuckles, leaning back to give me a good look.
Surely he doesn't register my unimpressed face, because he still smiles brightly when my scowl returns full force at his words. He's really foreign. "Asia is a continent and sorry. But I've never heard of your 'Konoha,'" I spit at him, brows furrowed in annoyance.
His eyebrows shoot to his hairline and for the first time since I've met him, his eyes didn't contain a polite kindness. Instead there is a look of complete and utter incredulity. He opens his mouth for a moment, closes it, and opens it again to respond, "The Village Hidden in the Leaves? No way! Everyone had heard of Konoha!"
Throwing my arms wide, I yell back, "Everyone has heard of Asia!" Seeing his stunned gaze still in place, I sigh, giving up. Why did he have to be the only person in this place to talk to? He is batshit crazy!
I eye Minato warily, and begin to turn around to walk away again when I hear his voice pick up, "Do you know of the Elemental Countries?" The blonde's tone is filled with a cool curiosity and I get the feeling that I'm being examined again, head-to-toe and by my answer.
I freeze for a moment, chancing a look back to see the serious look on his face. It was full of thought, like thousands of theories and ideas were running through it as we spoke. I pause minutely, debating whether or not I should answer and feed into the man's stupid game. Finally, I say, "No, should I?"
With these words, he spurs into action, blurring from his seat to suddenly be standing front of me. I take a step back as he begins to pace around me in a circle with a delighted look on his face. At first I try to swat him away with angry grunts, but I miss every time and give up.
Blue eyes narrowed with thoughtful excitement, he continues to circle me like a hawk, mumbling small comments and observations under his breath. Twitching, I clench a hand at my side to keep from hitting the poor crazy guy.
"Amazing!" he mutters in shock, finally stopping in front of me, "Apparently the Shinigami isn't limited to only the world..!" But the man isn't looking at me, but rather at something else that I cannot see myself.
My eyes narrow and I cross my arms. "Excuse me, but I'm from the world, Mr. Namikaze," I growl out, glaring. I don't much appreciate being ignored, and I appreciate it even less when some crazy man decides to take a creepy interest in me and insist on impossibly stupid things.
He chuckles nervously, eyes focusing back into mine apologetically. "Sorry, I meant my world. It appears as if we're from very different… places." He smiles at me, always the polite smile.
But I look blandly back. Yeah, he's crazy. Sighing, I turn and walk away again, tired of his nonsense.
It doesn't take me long to find my way back to Minato again after that, appearing in front of him like a dog with its tail between its legs.
This time when I approach, I don't speak and instead simply watch him, slowly breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth. His legs, clad in black baggy pants, were crossed as always and he touched his two fists together in front of his chest. Currently, his white cloak with flames lay next to him on the ground, leaving Minato in a black undershirt and a bulky sage green vest. I spot many pockets lining it, too many to count even.
With slow, deliberate movements, he breaths in again, holds, and lets out. It's almost as if he were meditating.
I wait patiently, just watching and analyzing him as he had done to me earlier. He has beautifully tanned skin, I realize with jealousy. And his hands are calloused, I think back to when I nabbed the bandage from him when we first met. Maybe he worked outside for a living? A farmer? But those clothes…
Deep in thought, I pick up the cloak next to him, letting the light cloth slip through my fingers. It feels so delicate, smoothly rippling with each of my movements, but there is no fraying on the edges or thinning of the material. I see a flash of black on stark white, piquing my interest. Flipping the article of clothing around, a line of dark black characters go down the cloak's back. It must have meant something, but it was in a language I couldn't read.
Well, he's definitely from a country in Asia, if these characters have anything to say, I ponder uselessly, tracing one of the strokes with my finger. It feels… powerful.
Sighing, I fold it up and drop it next to Minato, who still hasn't moved from his spot. I scrunch my face up with displeasure, and plop down in front of the man, leaning back on my arms with my legs sprawled out towards him. I lick my dry lips, finally turning my attention back to his concentrated face.
I blink owlishly when instead of finding him still meditating, one eye is peeked open and watching me with amusement.
"Thank you," he said not unkindly, opening his other eye as well. My own hold confusion. He waves his hand to his side for clarification, motioning to the cloak sitting next to him, before adding, "For folding it." I stare at him dumbly, not knowing what to say. He waits with a patient smile, just watching me.
Finally, I find words. "How long have you been in this… Shinigami's stomach?" I ask, turning my head upwards as if looking for the esophagus that dropped me down into this hellhole. Of course all I find is stretching pallor devoid of anything.
"The Shinigami's stomach," he amends, dragging his arm across his chest until it pops. He sighs with satisfaction before answering my question: "And it's hard to tell. Ten years maybe? Give or take?" Minato shrugs, twisting in his seat until his back cracks, too. I wince at each sound.
Ten years is a long time, I consider, watching the man watch me. Plenty of time to drive oneself into delusions.
"Tell me about your… so called world, the 'Elemental Nations,'" I whisper shyly, averting my eyes. I know he's smiling gaily, excited at my interest. I grunt in recognition of this and scowl stubbornly.
His eyes sparkle with enthusiasm when I steal a glance at him, quickly turning away again with a blush dusting my face. "Well, Little Blanchette," my eye twitches violently, "the Elemental Nations is comprised of several different countries, though the largest are Wind, Lighting, Earth, Water, and Fire Country, my home." He smiles fondly, counting off five fingers while talking. His face is so serene and happy when speaking of his home, make-believe or not. Minato continues, "Each of these countries has hidden villages, where their ninja reside-"
"There's no such thing as ninja," I interject quickly with a scoff. I can't help myself, the notion is absolutely ridiculous with people running around in all black, faces hidden by masks and killing people from the shadows. I shudder. Ridiculous.
His eyes widen. "You have no ninja?" he pronounced slowly as if I hadn't understood his earlier statement. If at all possible, the man seemed to become even more excited.
My scowl deepens and my brow furrows in apprehension. I pause to scrutinize the look of overwhelming interest on his face. "They don't exist," I insist, staring into his eyes.
He ignores my tone completely, jumping up to his feet in one motion. He states instead, "Wow, ninja are crucial to our way of living! They're our military and our means of making money, most of the time. It's a way of life, culture and politics! How do you survive?" The man's blue eyes delve into mine. His smile grows, showing straight, white teeth and the beginning of laugh lines around the corners of his mouth.
I pinch my mouth shut, giving the meanest glare I could, willing the blonde to understand that ninja simply did not exist. He frowns at first at my behavior, but shrugs it off and smiles again.
"Well, you can tell me about your home another day! Mine, on the other hand is full of ninja, like I said! We are each identified to our villages by our headbands," he states, hand moving up to reposition a headband that I somehow had missed under his golden hair. Seeing my curiosity, Minato's smile widens and he reaches behind his head. Untying it, the headband falls free from his forehead and he offers it to me, one side of the cloth clutched in his hand.
Frown marring my face, I hesitantly accept it, cradling the piece in my hands. I touch my fingers to the cool metal place in the center of it, an engraved stylistic leaf on its surface. While I study his headband, Minato continues.
"Each village is run by the strongest ninja in the village, and they name him 'Shadow,'" he says. "They are in charge of the village and giving out missions to the other resident ninja based on their rank. But I'll get back to that! The only people above the Shadow is the country's leader, the Damaiyo."
Despite his words, I am still focusing on the artifact in my hands. He had to have it created before dying to have it here, right? Did that mean his home… the Elemental Nations were real? I bite my lip and narrow my eyes. Or he is so crazy that he made it himself before he died.
The man continues to tell me about his home and how the way of life goes on, centering on politics and culture flow in his world, throwing in some history while he's at it. As he begins to talk about wars and then missions where the ninja, where he, killed so easily, I can't help but feel sick. If he imagined these things up, he is very disturbed. And the way he talks about… murdering people with such nonchalance and a happy grin on his face makes me want to puke.
"…though I knew this one guy who insisted the Sand were genius to use poison, since you could easily kill someone without suspicion. A clean and inconspicuous kill goes a long way in comparison to gutting a person, most of the time," he adds solemnly, a look of deep thought on his face.
Sitting here and listening for what had to be six hours yet, I finally have the brains to excuse myself, face no doubtedly pale as the white around me. He seems a little confused, but politely nods and waves goodbye, smiling after my form.
I hastily retreat, taking long and fast strides and cupping a hand at my mouth. When I believe myself to be far enough, I retch.
That man is sick.
I don't go anywhere for a while after that. The nausea in my stomach sits heavily, weighing me down. Every time I think I feel better, I remember the descriptions Minato gave me and then the feeling shows up again.
Maybe that is why he seems so calm in a place like this, death is a natural and very common thing in their world. Me? I was almost eighteen and I hadn't even graduated to go to college yet. My life should have been ahead of me.
Sniffling, tears spring to my eyes. I was alive and now I'm dead. It is as simple as that.
"But," I gasp out, head in my hands, "I did nothing wrong! Why did I have to die?" Screaming into the whiteness, there wasn't even an echo. My noise is swallowed up as if it wasn't even there in the first place, like it never existed. Tears pour down my face, waterfalling onto my legs.
That's right, I think to myself, clenching my hands, It's like I never existed. After a week of solitude, I walked around for what seemed like forever to try and find the bandages or the blood from my arm, but I found nothing. I can be erased and nothing will be left behind. I searched and searched, but never found what I was searching for.
I bite my lip so hard I was surprised I don't bleed, hoping the pain would prove my existence to myself and stop the tears from coming, but there is no pain and all tears. I wish now that my arm still hurt, or my chest, or head, from when I first came here, but all that remains from that was the still open wound residing on my left arm, jagged and torn. I stab my fingers into the flesh, hoping to garner some feeling, but nothing comes.
A worthless cry rips from my throat, eaten by the silence around me. My eyes are swollen from weeping and throat hoarse from sobbing, but that doesn't stop me. Ripping my lips apart, I scream until my breath dies out.
I feel tired, more tired than I had ever felt during my stay here. Hiccupping pathetically, I fall back onto the floor and roll over. I close my eyes, and pretend to sleep through the shuddering sobs wracking my body.
I blearily open my eyes, wincing at the brightness that was around me. I stretch languidly, pointing my toes and sit up only to pause. Covering me is a white cloak with embers and black characters running down the back. I rub at my eyes, but the cloth doesn't disappear. Scrambling back, I spin to stare at Minato doing several pushups next to me. As I move, his head turns in my direction, shooting me a small smile before focusing once again on his exercises.
I stare at him, horrified, and clutch the cloak to my chest. I think about running, several times, but for some reason I'm rooted to the spot. He just continues to do pushups like it's nothing. Then again, since he is a ninja, it must not be anything. I run my hand through my hair, watching him. My eyes soften.
"So you said Ninja can perform ninja techniques like breathing fire…" I begin hesitantly, looking anywhere but him when his head snaps up in my direction. "Can you show me?"
Rolling out of the planking position and into a sitting one, he smiles sadly at me. "I'm sorry to say I cannot. The physical half of Chakra doesn't exist in this realm," he explains morosely.
When I regard his words quizzically, the man brightens up. "Oh! You don't know what chakra is! Well, chakra is and how it is composed of the spiritual and physical embodiments of a person mixed together," he starts. I get the sinking feeling that I dug my own grave on this one as Minato's words keep pouring out of his mouth. Apparently the energy is present in all living things, but some beings have the ability to wield it and bend it to their will. He describes how Chakra is used for illusionary, physical, and medical techniques. He teaches me how the energy flows through hands seals, even going as far to teach me them and correct my hand positions when they were wrong.
Minato drones on especially when it comes to nature transformation, depicting the feeling of each different type as chakra flows through the user and goes even more in depth on seals. My mind is spinning with theories and ideas and knowledge, laughing at his petulant face when I call him out on his superfluous enthusiasm, but he starts right up again like I hadn't made fun of him in the next second.
"…And so, when you place your chakra into the seal and different characters, the ink absorbs the physical and spiritual power to then transmit it into meaning and reality. It's almost as if you drew blueprints for a building, put in power and provide stone, and the building then appears!" If Minato wasn't such a put-together person, I could imagine drool dripping out of his mouth just talking about seals.
"Wow… we don't have chakra where I'm from," I exclaim hesitantly, lightly biting my lip and averting my eyes. "We travel with machines called cars and fly with planes. The only time we can breathe fire is through a gun called a flamethrower." Seeing his wide-eyed expression full of curiosity, I smile wryly, unable to hold it back. "Yeah! Electricity is a huge resource back home! It powers everything!" I proclaim with a knowing nod.
He gawks at me, eyes burning with interest that beg me to continue. And so I do. I continue to recount "my" world, inciting smiles of wonder, scowls of disgust, and looks of confusion in the man before me. Every once in a while he would interject with a comparison from his own home or a question that I may or may not have been able to answer, but his interest remained undying and I had nothing else to do but indulge in it and his company.
I have no idea how long we talked, as time wasn't a part of my reality anymore. Without even Circadian rhythms to define the days, there was no way I could tell a second from a minute from an hour. All I knew is that we talked for longer than humanly possible about where we were from and who we had known and what we had done, and this time I took his experiences in stride as he expressed them solemnly. He tells me it was his duty and how he protected the ones he cared for like my own military back home, and I wouldn't disrespect that.
I smile warmly as Minato laughs politely at my retelling of a time when my sister burnt her hair with the straightener. Hesitating, I realize that this was the first time I had thought about my family and home in ages.
Finally, I bring back my life and things I can never have again to the forefront of my mind. A tear slips down my cheek, causing Minato to hesitate.
"I… I apologize. You haven't been here so long, yet I'm making you talk about your family and home." He stutters, obviously uncomfortable if his look of extreme consternation has anything to say.
Chuckling and wiping my nose, I shake my head. "No," I whisper, chuckling, "it feels good to talk about them. I've been ignoring them for a long time." I wipe my nose callously on my sleeve.
He nods his head, staying silent as my soft sobs come and go, politely giving me my space to mourn and let go. His intense blue eyes bear protectively into my form, reassuring me. After a while, I wipe face boorishly and blows my tongue at Minato, smirking playfully. He smiles in return.
"So I've been wondering, Little Blanchette…"he trails off, asking permission to continue wordlessly.
"Hm?" I mumble, ignoring the annoying nickname he picked for me.
"How did you get here if you have no seals or chakra in your world?"
Pausing momentarily, my face turns bright red and I bolt to my feet, his cloak being thrown to the side forgotten. "Lauren that bitch! She killed me so she could get into Medical school!" Before he could say or do anything, I round on Minato. "My sister was playing with some weird voodoo shit and accidently sold my soul to get accepted to a university! Minato, that is so cruel!" I screech, pouting and seething at the same moment. Stamping my foot, I bring my thumbnail to my mouth and nibble angrily, muttering expletives and annoyances under my breath.
Clearing his throat, Minato waves fretfully at me. After I take in his worried and confused expression, my anger calms calmed down into something more akin to resigned antipathy and acceptance. "My sister was messing around with some weird make-believe magic and accidently got it to work, I guess," I mumble noncommittally with a huff. I drop back down in front of him, crossing my legs.
He smiles nervously at my sudden change in mood and I snort. This man probably has killed innumerable people in his lifetime, yet is afraid of me of all people, I reflect with a roll of my eyes. I do my best not to flinch when thinking of him killing people. I'm dead myself, like him and the others from his world, yet they don't flinch or cry or blubber. That's just me, I think grumpily.
Suddenly, Minato's eyes widen. I look at him inquisitively as he mutters a quick "Excuse me" before crossing his legs and closing his eyes to meditate.
I tilt my head to the side and watch him curiously in silence for a while before forcing body to shut down in a faux version of sleep.
I open my eyes to white for the third time, and sigh. Shit, I was hoping that it was all a dream and this time I'd wake up to reality.
"You've been out for a while." I turn to find Minato a bit away from me, stretching.
I grunt in answer. "What are you doing," I ask inquiringly, seeing him do a couple squats.
Looking again at me, he states, "Oh, just going to go through a couple dances."
"You dance?" I parrot, incredulous. Sure he is lithe and graceful like a dancer, but really?
"I don't dance," he articulates, confused. "I go through dances. You know, stances and stuff." I stare at him for a few moments in silence before waving his answer off. Knowing our short but lively history, it will just confuse me more to think about it.
Instead I order, "Just show me. No language barrier and stuff."
Shrugging, Minato gets into a weird stance I've never seen before and the next thing I know, he disappears. Gone. Staring for a few moments, rubbing my eyes, and believing I had gone completely senile, I yell, "What the fuck?"
Appearing out of nowhere just as he disappeared, the man seems to trip on nothing to my left. Frowning with worried eyes, I step towards him before his head shoots up to give me an admonishing glare. "Girls shouldn't say those words," he chides seriously, standing an approaching me. When he finally halts his steps, Minato moves his hands down to his hips and gives me a stern look.
I gawk at him, unbelieving of what was happening. Who is he? My mom? I growl, crossing my arms, and retort, "And you shouldn't just up and fucking disappear! I though you said you couldn't use that chakra stuff here!" Seething, I glare at him right back, dancing triumphantly in my head when his cheek twitches the moment I swear.
Minato sighs, loosening the stiffness in his shoulders and rubs his hand through his unruly hair. After a moment, he replies, "I can't. I was just practicing my dances."
"Nobody dances that fast!" I yell in frustration, throwing my hands to the air.
His cheek twitches again. Forcing his lips to a strained smile, Minato repeats, "I told you. I don't dance. It's like forms for martial arts! And I do my dances that fast!"
I sit down, glaring at the obviously frustrated man. With a huff I cross my arms.
"Impossible."
"Yet I do it anyway, Little Blanchette."
Glowering at him through narrowed eyes, I growl, "Fine. Continue."
With a small bow, Minato backs away, lowers himself again, and disappears. Concentrating, I can barely follow a yellow flash that zigzags and dips and jumps. Often times, I lose complete sight of it. For a while, I stare, mesmerized by the sheer incredulity of it.
"Teach me?" she whisper to the air, once again losing the miniscule difference in my surroundings that signifies Minato.
"Why not? But I'll warn you, it'll be hard to learn the Dividing Palm of Super Speed Strikes!" Screaming, I fall back as the man materializes in front of me. "If you can't even see me, then you're in for a lot of training, Little Blanchette. Think you can handle it?" He was teasing me.
With a sneer at his politely mocking smile, I choose to ignore the ridiculous name. Instead I answer, "I'm tougher than I look. I'll live."
"If you say so, Little Blanchette!" He offers a hand to me, which I accept. With a swift pull, I'm flying up to my feet, stumbling at the landing.
Pouting with an irritated glare, I mutter, "God please stop calling me 'Little Blanchette!' My name is Sheigh. Just call me Sheigh!"
I almost guffaw when Minato's face lights up bright red, nodding shyly.
Months pass, or maybe years, but all I can say is that I'm glad to have another person in here with me. Through our talks and "training sessions," which honestly resembled hell more than anything, time didn't pass by too slowly or excruciatingly.
Minato taught me a lot about his world, even past the militaristic and political parts that seemed to consume his life while alive. It was actually fascinating, learning the legends of his world and their customs. When talking about my own home with its machinery and crude materialistic culture I felt almost… embarrassed.
That being said, he seemed as interested in my home as I was his, surprisingly. I personally find home much more boring than the Elemental Nations, after I got past the whole culture based on military and killing. I suppose it's just a different way of life, though I'm not sure I could ever live that way.
Maybe, if I were forced.
I hold back a shudder, instead concentrating on my breathing to make it even and fluid. Standing next to the tall man, I watch his movement's carefully. Flow… flow… hand down, elbow bent, breath… palm thrust. Leg lift-
I make a face as my leg barely makes it past my navel, groin straining against the movements in slight pain. Grunting, I refuse to mess up now and try forcing it as far up as Minato's. No! Minato's finally let me practice with him, I can't… Pulling a constipated face, I grab my leg and try forcing it up farther and farther, breathing heavily and breaking the calm of the dance.
Sensing my troubles, Minato looks back at me and laughs. With a cheery grin and teasing tone, he inquires, "You aren't flexible at all, are you?"
I grunt, still trying to force the leg higher under his politely amused gaze. With a defeated sigh, I just leave me leg at that angle and continue with the dance, back to calming my breaths. "I've been stretching."
Acting as if he hadn't heard me, Minato continues on innocently, "And you are so slow… I bet an academy student could beat you!" Glinting eyes gives his joke away.
My eye twitches at the insult, even if he was just teasing. Minato had already debriefed me on the shinobi rankings. To be compared to an academy student when he was a Shadow… I clench my fists and grit my teeth before beginning to clack my nails in frustration.
Noticing the warning signs—no matter how slow or unskilled I am, all females are scary when angered—Minato hastily adds, "But your reflexes are actually quite good! We just need to train your body more!"
With a sigh, I fall to my back, laying on the ground. Covering my eyes with my arm, I moan, "I'll never be as good as you, Mr. Minato."
With a chuckle, I can hear the slight wisps of wind shift as the man settles beside me.
"Maybe not now, but even I had to train for years to get here. And I either got to where I am now, or the people I loved died because I lacked the strength to save them," he states lightly, despite the solemn subject.
I recall the images he described to me before, of his battles and hardships. I gulp, not envying his past life one bit. Even now, I am learning his dances not to protect or stay alive, but because it was on a whim. It is something to do and focus on. Besides, it was super cool to see Minato disappear like that. But his training was out of necessity.
"Minato…" I whisper hesitantly. I didn't need to remove my arm to know that he is looking at me intently, already listening. "How did you die?"
It had been bugging me for ages. Was it gruesome? Painful? Did he burn up to a crisp in an enemy's ninja technique? Or maybe they just threw a knife at him and ended it quickly. God, it must have been horrible to die.
He is silent a long while, making me start to regret my question. Uncomfortably, I shift and mumble, "So-sorry… I shouldn't have-"
"It was my son's birthday," he manages to get out hoarsely, "He had just been born. But my wife you see, she was the village's Power of Human Sacrifice, holding back the nine-tailed fox demon for years."
I nod slowly, having already been told of the nine demons and how they were sealed into containers. But I never knew his wife was one… in fact I never knew Minato was married, only assumed so. He had never talked about his family just as I hadn't talked about mine since the first time. It was almost like a silent agreement.
"The Uzumaki were genius seal masters, creating the most formidable human sacrifice seal to hold back the demon within Kushina, but there was a weakness." I wait patiently, just as he had waited patiently for me all that time ago. "When giving birth, the seal becomes translucent and the host must exert a large amount of willpower to hold the beast back so it doesn't escape. Somehow, somebody got hold of this information." Minato takes a deep breath, relaxing his tensed muscles in an attempt to calm down.
"When she gave birth, a man came to forcibly pull the demon fox from her seal, which would most likely kill her."
"But you stopped him, right Mr. Minato? You said it yourself, you were the Fire Shadow, leader of your village and strongest ninja!" I say with a light smile, trying to encourage him.
The silence that meets me is the answer to my question. My smile falls and I bite my lip, never allowing my eyes to leave him even as he looks away from me. He starts up again:
"Using his Copy Wheel Eye, the man controlled the fox and made it attack the village as he himself attempted to kill Naruto and Kushina. I had to save them. I had to save the village." His voice is deathly quiet, but smooth. No tremor of hesitation. "I couldn't kill the man nor could I save Kushina, but she and I saved our son and the village. I sealed a part of the fox into him and a part into me with her help. In order to do this, I had to offer my soul to the Shinigami as payment."
He sighs and I can tell he's forcibly keeping his breaths calm. He's looking away, into a faraway place I can't get to.
With a frown and hesitation, I open my mouth again. Curse my curiosity, but I have to know. I recall all the times he was meditating, staring into space. Seemingly talking to himself. "Is… the fox still here? With you?" I ask quietly.
Looking straight into my eyes, he replies unflinchingly. "Yes."
I nods, standing up and wiping off the invisible dust that is never present in the Shinigami's stomach. Squaring my shoulders, I reach out to him with a solemn look. "Well you're a hero then. Your son should be proud to call you Father," I say without hesitation. I know my words are true and believe in them completely.
Grabbing my hand, he smiles at me gratefully and stands up with the momentum of my pull. He doesn't go flying like I did when he pulled me up, but he finds himself on his feet all the same. Smiling at him, I settle back into the first stance of the dance he was teaching me, waiting until he joined in. Then, as if someone counted down, we simultaneously began to move.
I never asked about his death or family again, after that day, deciding to let sleeping lions lay. Nothing would come out of it. Instead, I bugged the living crap out of him to continue training and teaching me, busying his mind by busying me. And by now, it must have been at least a couple years or more since I had started training with the man I had first thought crazy.
I'm not anywhere close to his level, but at least now I could mostly follow his movements when he went at full speed now and am flexible and fast enough to be praised as "genin-level proficient." I always scowl when Minato said that.
Making a high kick that smoothly went all the way up to my head, I use the momentum to flip backwards and twist. Blowing my long hair out of my eyes, I paused to calm my breathing for a moment. Despite the time passed, my hair never grew. I can only fathom a guess that none of my features have strayed from my sixteen year old features either. I asked Minato about this once, and he went on a long and confusing spiel about how our physical bodies were now gone, so we were left with only our spiritual energy which initially mimicked that physical body and… Well, basically our soul didn't change in form if it isn't linked to the physical self, which is exactly why my arm never healed either.
Rolling my eyes, I continue through the movements, which consist of a lot of dashing forwards and agile movements to dodge then strike. Putting a particular amount of speed into one sprint that ended with a series of blows, I ask out of breath, "When can I finally fight against you?"
Minato, meditating next to the area I'm using to dance, replies without missing a beat or opening his eyes, "When I finally won't destroy you."
I scowl, and he definitely knows it because he then chuckles.
Moving in for a quick jab followed by a swift heel kick, I drop low to the ground and sprung up with an angry open palm. With my invisible enemy flying, I make a mad dash several feet in front of me and angle my hand down in a slicing motion, then the other a stabbing one. I then twist and deliver a fiery and irate blow with my foot.
Minato's eyes were now open, watching my barely restrained movements with a frown. He opens his mouth, but I wave him off.
"I know, too much anger and extra motion. I need to calm and collect myself," I speak for him with a smirk.
He looks at me deadpan for a moment before mumbling, "As an old friend might have said, you are a troubling student."
"So you said," I pant good-naturedly. Taking a moment to calm my breaths down, I then swing another leg high before performing a back hand spring and kick. Without stopping, I question, "You combined this with nature transformation, right?"
"Wind." He specifies, watching my movements carefully. Compared to him, they are very sluggish, but for any beginner they are quite good, especially for someone who started with my background. "Lower your leg more with that kick. At higher speeds you'll become unbalanced."
I answer with my usual grunt. "How does that help?" I inquire, speaking of the element.
Minato understands what I am asking about, and replies, "I told you that there are five elements, yes?"
"Wind, fire, water, earth, lightning. Like the countries," I answer robotically, not missing a beat in my stances.
He smiles. "Yes, like the countries. But each elements has specific qualities. Where lightning pierces and earth deals blunt blows offensively, wind cuts," he lectures, standing and stretching.
"Ah." Another jab, a dash, and duck, kick. Sweat starts pouring into my eyes, stinging them. I whip my head to the side and cause the droplets to go flying.
"Have I explained to you the theory of chakra manipulation?" He queries, still observing intently.
"Only a million times, nerd," I call back with a guffaw, jumping sideways.
He laughs nervously, scratching his head. "Sorry about that."
I shrug, causing him to reprimand my form. With a scowl and a sideways glance, I continue, "Was wind your element?"
Shaking his head, he answers. "Lightning, though wind was a close second."
I acknowledge his answer, ending the dance with a sweeping motion of the hand, neck level.
These dances were getting comfortable, almost therapeutic. I suppose it is close to meditation of the physical sort.
"You know, with all your fanboy lectures, I think I know more about your home than you do, Minato!" I joke, wiping off the sweat from my forehead. How a person could sweat when they were only a spirit, I'd never know.
I throw Minato a shit-eating grin.
"You talk plenty yourself…" he mutters, raising a brow.
With an innocent smile, I say, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't, Little Blanchette."
Groaning, I walk up to the ninja and poke him in the chest. I rant, "Listen here, Minato. I don't care how powerful you were in the before-life or if you can kick my ass, but I've told you a million times-"
Losing my words as they sputter out of my mouth, my eyes widen as a tear in the whiteness materializes behind my companion. I watch as tiny lines spread wider and wider, forming a horizontal cut in our surroundings.
"Little Blanchette?" Minato questions, gazing at me worriedly.
But I'm too bust watching, speechless, as the dark grey face of the Shinigami shows in the hole, smirking with its yellowed fangs. Glowing red eyes pierce into me, but they're not… focusing on me? No, they are focused on Minato's back as he tries to talk to me and snap me out of my trance. Then, an arm reaches through the stitch, making way for Minato swiftly with purpose.
I act before thinking. In the span of a few seconds, my arm finds its way to Minato's side. Pushing him away, I scream, "Minato watch out!" I'm barely able to register his shocked face, blue eyes widening in distress.
"Sheigh!"
As the white surrounding me disappears, the sight of a yellow flash approaches me and I think, Now, he calls me Sheigh. I allow an icy numbness to overcome my body. It's not like I can die twice, right? With a small, gentle smile, my eyes fall shut to accept whatever kind of shit I just got myself into.
It doesn't take me long to almost regret that decision.
Screaming in agony, it feels as if my soul is being torn apart, peeled away in layers before flying and reattaching themselves in another place. When I think the horrifying grinding is done, the process repeats as strip by strip my body is being torn apart and stitches back together. Stabilizing, the frozen numbness bursts when heat blossoms in my chest and lungs, tormenting pain wreaking havoc. Pain, something I haven't felt for years.
My cry gurgles as blood rises through my throat and remains stagnant at the bottom of my throat. A burning agony splits my head, running down into my arm and splitting into several tendrils that wrap around my forearm. With a crack, the pain in my arm and my chest bursts and my eyes shoot open wide. Mouth in an 'o' and a silent gurgling scream, I claw my good arm to my left thigh, where another crack can be heard and bone pierces through my skin.
My sight is swimming with black and sparkling spots as color flies by in blurs. It halts, spots still dancing but the background solidifying into brown. My world is no longer a stark white abyss.
Through the pain and writhing and helpless screaming, I do my best to push through the pain long enough to focus and see where I am, but I'm choking on my own blood and my vision is hazy. With a sharp twist to try and look around, a scream tears through my trachea and past the blood, which is spit down onto my shirt and the wooden floor I now stare at. Tears of anguish rush down and mingle with my blood on the ground.
Pain. Like nothing I had ever felt before… Well, actually it was comparable to the second I had been hit by the car before I died. With a lightning bolt of pain jolting up my spine and to my head and limbs, I puke my stomach's contents and the blood clogging my airway, trachea and esophagus spasming. Gasping pitifully, I realize that despite my previous thoughts, this pain is much, much worse.
Wait, is that a voice?
Gritting my bloodied teeth, I fight through the pain to look up and towards the sound. Blurry, I notice a figure towering over me. A long tan… dress? With a thick purple belt that tied into a bow in the back and long black hair that pooled to the person's back.
A woman? Did she hear me scream? I writhe in pain. I'm dead, of course she didn't hear my screams.
I blink rapidly and fight off the advancing black with a yelp of torment. But this pain… it is all so real and nothing like the phantom aches I got in the Shinigami's stomach.
A quick quirking of the head towards me and my eyes widen. She had to have looked right at me!
Attempting to garble my cries into words, I mouth, "Help," wincing at the stabbing pain in my head and ribs.
I can't see much more to the person's face than its deathly pallor, but I can hear a warbled voice I can't understand. Smooth, calm, almost…
I feel suddenly light-headed and my vision swings again, ribs killing with the extra movement. Her face clears enough to see pale lips set in a scowl and eyes narrow—definitely in my direction—before she turns her gaze towards something else.
I blearily follow with my own eyes.
I gurgling, blood-curdling scream rips through my throat and I manage enough energy to push myself back with my good leg and arm. I choke, tears falling heavier down my face and I forget about the pain for a moment. I would much rather feel as if I were choking on my own blood right now.
There lying next to me as the woman bends down at the knees, was a body. I don't have a good vantage point, but even through the blurriness and my position on the floor, I can see the clean slice, digging deep into the lifeless man's stomach. It was deep, cutting into the entrails that now popped from his abdomen and spewed blood onto the floor to entangle with hers. His dead and cold eyes stare at me unblinkingly, lifeless. They stare right through me.
Sobbing noisily, the woman's head turns toward me.
"Help," I whisper hoarsely, refusing to look away from the man's eyes. His brown hair is matted red.
The woman's hair shakes back and forth in a motion as if shaking her head and I hear a low chuckle. My body moves away from her involuntarily at the sound, and more pain blooms all over my body. I touch something warm and fleshy with the heel of my hand. Forcing my hurting self to look behind me, there's another body.
I scream, helpless, my body shaking in uncontrollable sobs. I don't notice the rise and fall of this man's chest, but I do notice the woman lackadaisically patting the corpse on the cheek and stand, turning to look at me. Or more probably to look through me and at the other body.
More words I can't quite pick up fall from her mouth. Closing my eyes as nausea hits and blood begins to fill my mouth again, I struggle through the pain again with the help of adrenaline. Of course she couldn't see me, I am dead and might even be dying again.
I let the darkness behind my eyes cover me and the woman's awkwardly deep voice comes again. Whimpering in agony, I try to calm my damn breathing so that my damn ribs won't hurt so much, but I know it is useless. Just like it was useless when I had gotten hit by that car.
Crying hopelessly in pain, I resign myself to an early second death, ignoring the voice of a second person addressing the woman and the loud thump next to me. The two voices speak for a few moments as I begin to feel tingling up my legs and in my arms and eventually disappear. By the time half my body is cold and the rest of it numb, I groggily pry apart my eyelids to the light of wherever my wandering and tormented soul found itself.
I don't even hesitate as I discover myself peering into the many, hollow eyes of demons in a wall in front of me, their fangs protruding from their black lips and sickly palate of skin colors surrounding me. I can't even find the strength to wonder or care. I am dead and dying again, there's not much more that can be done to me.
Sweeping a weak gaze across the demonic faces fading into the darkness behind them, I latch onto one specific demon, glaring down at me. However, unlike the rest, this one is pure white like the Shinigami's stomach I used to live in with Minato. Never thought I could, but now I'm missing the disturbingly bland place.
With the darkness consuming me and the faces of demons advancing, I lift one anaesthetized arm towards the white demon. My fingers brush against the beast's cool skin when the black overwhelms my vision and senses.
Hope you all like! It's unbeta'ed and a little rough around the edges, but I like it :) The time in the Shinigami's stomach is supposed to seem a little distorted and I hope that came off well… but yeah! It's been a while since I wrote in first person so forgive me if it is yuck. There's two or three things in here I like to think I'm sneaky about buttttt xD
So! What do you guys think is happening to our little Sheigh? :D I'd honestly like to hear whether you guys would like to prefer her to end up in Konoha or perhaps saved by a group of travelers or even another village. It's my biggest debate for the story and next chapter so please help a girl out and say what you'd prefer?
THANK YOU FOR READING and if you would be so kind, please review and tell me what you all think!
Koby out :)