Title:Daddy's Little Girl.
Author:Kamisado
Summary:A descriptive story about a father, from his daughter's point of view.
Characters:Orochimaru, and OC. We never actually find out the OC's name or anything at all really.
Rated: T
xXx
I love my father.
I love him very, very much, because he wanted to save me.
I haven't seen him since I was 16, with my now dead and foggy eyes.
Lots of people don't like my father.
Maybe it was all the horrors people told me about my father.
His merciless killing and constant fighting and expermentations.
From what I had heard, my father was a very powerful man.
Ruler of a small village, known as Otogakure, where people trained only for one thing...
War.
My father was at grips with the ruler of his homeland, another village, Konoha.
A more peaceful one then where I reside now, but strong nonetheless.
And he took me into battle with him at age 10 for the very first time.
At that time, I was my father's most powerful weapon.
It was a strange mutation of our blood, caused only by mixing bloodlines.
When I was born, my father, killed my mother, realizing that he had brought a curse upon his daughter through his love of a Jashinist.
And he knew that trying to kill me would begin nothing but a long painful process, for it would take my life, along with someone else, namely, him, and he didn't want to go just yet.
I was a combination of fire, ice, snakes and rage.
For when I acknowledge the mutation of my blood that was caused by my father's foolishness and experiments, rage boiled and I became a danger.
That was when my father told me to harness my rage and hatred, and use it with him against Konoha, where he was born from.
Against his village.
I agreed and showed the world I was a weapon, a tool and nothing more.
But the mark was hidden underneath skin and muscle, it was in my eyes.
Unique to myself and my father.
Slit pupils, the eyes I'd inherited.
The only difference between my eyes and his, was that my eyes were violet and not gold, the only remainder of my mother.
Other than that, my father and I looked exactly alike.
From what I remember of him, he was a tall, slender, beautiful man.
"Great beauty paired with great strength will give you the upper hand."
It could be said for both me and my father.
Both of us had never cut our hair, so the strands fell in a curtain around our waists and always acted as another way to hide our eyes.
For every time someone saw our eyes, they got scared, knowing that we were both mixes of two different bloodlines, and were therefore much stronger than anything most people had ever seen.
The strength that emulated from my father is what either drew them to him or scared them away.
People were so afraid of us, because in when the first mixed bloodline child was born, no one could control him, and it had become a law not to breed in such a manner, not to give life to mixes.
That's what we are called, "Mixes".
My father and I were intensely unique.
We were both unwanted children, and both extremely dangerous.
I realized this in the battle against Konoha, my father was surrounded, his katana drawn, and his hair free and falling over his shoulders helplessly, his golden eyes wide and cat–like pupils dilated from his adrenaline high.
My own eyes were the same way as I fought, but even as I fought an adversary much larger than myself, I kept my eyes on my father, in all his fury filled glory as he swiftly and silently made his way through several adversaries.
He never made a sound as he fought, but always grinning wickedly.
Sharpened teeth, also akin to my own, glinted red from the blood of his victims in the red glow of dusk.
And that was when he would look over me and his wicked, insane grin would melt into a half-smile of sorts, a smirk, and he would motion for me to come and fight as his right winger.
Me, standing at a mere five feet tall and weighing only eighty pounds, beside my father who stood at an easy six feet six inches tall at one hundred and seventeen pounds.
Yes, I was dwarfed by many, including my father many times, but as he asked me to fight by his side, and trusting me not to fail him, he had made me feel so much bigger than I really was.
The pride nearly swallowed me whole as I drew my katana, a twin to my father's.
Standing back-to-back with him was when things started to go in super slow motion.
My father and I were both right handed, and our katanas swiped through the air.
Mine swiped towards my right and his left as his mirrored my actions.
We end it quickly, in a flurry of blade, hair, and blood.
It's like a violent dance of sorts, an almost blizzard of sharp movements.
It always ends quickly.
The enemy can never follow our enhanced movements, even with the bells that our katanas bear.
Their battle was lost before it had even begun.
I wish I could have stood in their place and told them to run while they still had legs.
But, I stood beside my eloquent father and killed them alongside him.
Slowly.
And painfully.
Those are the nightmares that will haunt me forever.
The soft smile on my father's face as his blade slipped through flesh and muscle and bone, to push out the other side.
Blood never dripped, it always sprayed, in a shower, to the point many times where my father and I would return home, drenched in blood, our clothes soaked in the clotting red fluids.
But no matter how many nightmares I will have in my lifetime, nothing could be as terrifying as the day I saw my father lose it after I'd been attacked, my optic nerves slowly being damaged from the slice I'd received in the back of my neck.
As soon as I had felt the blade sink into the back of my neck, severing the chakra trail to my eyes, I fell to my knees.
I had apparently cried out, for my father whipped around, golden eyes locking with my own, which I could tell were bleeding, because I could feel the warm trails of red sliding down my tears..
"Daddy..."
I hadn't called him that since I was very, very young.
His thin eyebrows creased and I heard something crunch, looking up, with my failing eyes, I saw my father, in his fury having crushed the wrist of one of the enemies.
Golden eyes glinting bright, not with the light, but with tears of anger and concern.
I had never seen my father do anything but smile, even in battle.
He was moving at a much faster speed than I'd ever seen him move at.
He was mad.
Really mad.
Something completely foreign for me to see in him.
He was spiralling out of control, his katana shaking with his rage, and as he sank his teeth into the throat of one of our enemies, ripping the man's trachea out with his teeth in a shower of blood, I felt a shudder of terror ripple through my system.
I'd never seen him like this.
The body was dropped and his remains spat from my father's mouth in disgust.
He was ruthless.
But he was slicing enemies to pieces only to skid to a stop on his knees, in front of me, one hand placing itself over the slice on the back of my neck, I can feel his fingers examining the wound, and then I feel him jolt.
With a glance upwards, he has a look of painful shock on his features, and looking down at him, I see a blade running through his back, through his chest and into my shoulder.
He makes a strangled of a noise, sounds like he's in pain.
"Do it." he said, watching my hands curling around the hilt of my weapon, thinking I'd push my blade right through him.
"I can't daddy." I respond, resting the blade on his shoulder, before thrusting it forwards and into his attacker. "I can't."
He smiled again and I was pulling the blade out of my shoulder, and pushing him back to sit.
"I am the weapon daddy, not you." I said, forgetting that he too WAS a weapon before he left home.
I stand, my eyes still slowly failing, and I hold my katana in my right hand, my left hand useless after the blade that had not only punished myself but my father as well.
We are surrounded, and I know that some, or all of us will not survive my attack.
I use what's left of my energy to summon my strongest attack, detonation of my katana.
When it was forged, along with my father's, we had made it specific that we wanted both weapons to be explosive.
Falling to a kneel, I plunge my katana into the ground in front of me and draw a seal into the ground between me and it.
Our attackers were coming closer and I was placing my hand over the seal, forcing fire into it.
There was a loud crack in front of my face and I felt the ground shudder as my blade was exploded into pieces, sending little snakes of fire shooting from it to slither and soar through the air to sink themselves into our enemies, setting the earth ablaze around my father and I.
I doesn't take long, maybe a moment, but it was long enough for me to look back and see my father smiling back at me with pride.
We sit in the ring of fire for a moment before I feel something else mix with the blood on my face.
Tears.
I was crying.
And then my eyesight left me, forever more.
xXx
I had woken up a week later, bandages around the back of my neck and my eyes, which we were later found out had been permanently damaged and could only be activated through intense emotion such as rage.
Three YEARS later, the back of my neck is permanently scarred and a red ribbon is always wrapped around my eyes.
I haven't seen my father since, but whenever he leaves for battle, he still takes me with him, because he knows that with the
training and recuperation I've gone through in the past three years, I am more than capable to take care of myself.
I am still his most useful weapon, but I know that sooner or later, I will fail become useless, as all other tools do, but I know that he would not abandon me on the battlefield.
As I didn't that one time, three years ago.
Yes, my father is cruel.
And merciless.
And violent.
But he also has a strong sense of loyalty and honour.
I love my father.
I love him very, very much.
xXx