A/N: AUGH!! I can't seem to get through a single story without finding another idea as soon as I've started it! D= Oh well... I guess I'll just put up the first chapter of all the stories I have in mind as a BETA and I will put up a poll later on to vote for which one I should continue with. xD Anywho...
ALSO! THE SHUKAKU IN THIS STORY IS IN MY RENDITION WHICH MEANS HE'S NOT AS MUCH OF A FATASS DESPITE THAT FACT THAT DESTROYS HOW MOST PEOPLE LOOK AT TANUKIS BUT THAT IS OKAY!!
Oh, and for once, I'm writing a serious story thats written in third person. First person didn't really fit this story because it's not centered around one single person. It will also allow me to be more descriptive with things. I hope...
OH!! And I believe this is my first time actually titling chapters. lol
Naruto ish nut mihne!
A dull, idle wind blew a thin wave of sand across the ground of the village. If you could call it that. It was a mere, single street. There was no leader, no permanent residents that did not own a store. A rest stop. A lazy little group of buildings that lay almost unknown in the Wind Country. Just a place to get some water while you walked through the heat of the infamous and ruthless desert. The hot, dusty, dry air was stifling. The sand that surrounded these buildings had been packed into stone from all the feet that had tread over it.
This place had no rules, nothing to hold you back. You could come and go as you pleased. You could exist as you pleased. There was no judging other than by those that worked at the shops and the small motel that were always there. It was a dull and tired place where people came and stayed only for a short time. Most people rarely came back. The best part was, if you did something wrong, no one could do a thing about it. And even if they could, no one cared about this tired, old, place. No one important anyway.
If this place were to say... disappear, who would care? The only ones who would even notice it was gone would go down with it. No one would care. No one ever cares.
"Do what you want, kit. Just try and make it... Interesting. And wait for my 'signal',"
He obeyed.
A sadistic smirk melted into the face of a hooded figure that stood at the end of the 'village', his eyes hidden by a worn black cloak that draped over only one shoulder. A brown leather sash was hung on the other shoulder, holding a large gourd to his back. He also wore a small leather messenger's bag across the other shoulder, the strap partially hidden by the cloak. The heat of the dessert sun pushed itself against his back, pouring into his black clothing. But he was used to it.
Being alone was something he was just as used to. He told himself over and over again, boring this fact into his skull, that he would never have a true companion. He needed to realize this in order to accept it. He had done well. He didn't even care anymore. He had someone to talk to so that he could keep a decent grip on his sanity. Everything was fine. That's what he told himself. Everything will be okay. It was the only lie he would not admit was untrue.
He lifted one hand, pulling his fingers in a practiced motion. The sand that the wind had been slowly stirring on the scorching ground came to a sudden stop. The tiny particles were frozen in the air, suspended and in control of their master. He waited. It should be soon.
Everything was silent. It seemed even the small wind had paused to allow him to listen. He closed his eyes. He held his breath, afraid the dull sound of air moving across his teeth would affect his hearing. Listen. Just listen. Just feel. Just exist.
He felt the rush of energy and adrenaline flow through his companion. It was coming. He slid his feet across the ground away from each other until he was positioned in a fighting stance. His muscles tightened and he readied himself. He had to do something. Anything. Everything.
The muscles of his companion loosened in false relaxation. No one was aloud to see it coming. A lustful emotion building inside the other person. Immense excitement for pleasure he knew he would receive. These emotions flowed into him as well.
The smirk plastered on his face grew wider. When would it come? When would he get to let it go? He let their emotions run together. Adrenaline. Excitement. Anticipation. Bloodlust. Visions of what was about to become of this village flashing through the two's minds.
He forced his muscles to become like stone. He couldn't move now. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. He gritted his teeth. Soon. But not yet. Almost. But not now.
"Just do it already!"
The two enjoyed torturing each other, but this was just ridiculous. Neither of them could take this. Yet, they both had to wait. And wait. The tension was unbearable. It would be soon. It had to be.
But not yet. Not yet. Not yet. Not-
A loud sudden smash echoed from the bar on his right followed by multiple screams. A harsh, strong wind blew out the door. The mangled wood smashed and broke on the building parallel to it's entrance.
In under a half a second afterward, the sand began to whip around, slashing and cutting every living being in the area. Blood poured from everywhere. Screams could be heard from every direction. But no one could be seen, the whirling sand eating away anyone's eyes who dared open them. A man soon ran from the bar, somehow untouched by the rushing grains, his long, bleach-blonde hair pulled back in a tight pony-tail flowing behind him.
He jumped to the roof of the small store across the street. Wind lashed at amazing speeds, sheering the lives from everyone it touched. The hooded figure jumped to the roof of the bar.
He razed his arms and the sand contorted into two hands that grabbed and crushed in waves any victim they could find. The blonde did the same. An enormous surge of sand flowed in from every direction. It flooded the small village, burying and suffocating anyone in it's path. He closed his hands into fists.
The sand twisted and curved around itself to create a large funnel in the center. The sound of bones being crushed could be heard. He pulled his hands apart and all the sand went back to the desert, the sent of blood stained every grain. Now, all that was left was the bloody, mangled, and unrecognizable bodies of their victims. A satisfied smirk spread itself across the blonde's face. His long hair and baggy white pants still whipping around from the wind.
They had successfully murdered 20 people in under 5 seconds.
Both jumped down from the buildings and into the sea of dead carcasses. The blonde one was much taller than the young boy in the black cloak. He looked as though he was approximately 20 years old, with skin tanned dark from the desert sun with blue tattoo-like swirls covering the out-facing parts of his limbs and all down his back and a bit on the face. Two medium-sized gourds were strapped to either side of his hips, his shirt was off-white and sleeveless. His eyes were black where they should be white, and the iris was gold like the sun-baked sand of the desert.
He weaved his way around the pile of bodies, kicking over any ones that were in the way of another or just irritated him. The area soon smelt of blood and death. This pleased him, made him happy to be alive.
He focused his chakra into his eyes, nose and tongue in order to amplify his senses. He could taste every scent in the air and could tell which blood would be the worst, which was diseased, and which would taste the sweetest. The inhuman smile still plastered on his face, he began searching for what he craved the most. Not taking his eyes off the beautiful sight before him, he called out to his companion.
"Search for any survivors. I want everyone here dead,"
The boy responded with a simple "Keh..." and walked into a small tea shop to search for anyone who may still be alive. He pulled the hood down and shook any sand loose from his blood colored hair. He ran a hand through the messy red strands. Sand particles scattered the floor. He continued finger-combing his spiky mane as he walked through the small room, the soft click... click... click... of his slow stride echoing off the walls.
The room was eerily quiet. The emptiness of sound seemed to be the loudest thing he'd ever heard. Someone was here.
He crossed his arms over his chest. He made his way to the counter in the back where customers would order their tea, menu boards behind it and bar stools in front.
He stopped at the counter and stood, looking up at the menu board in an almost sarcastic fashion. He stood for a good five minutes doing nothing but waiting. Waiting for a mistake, for the fault of whatever being was in here with him. Waiting for something to fall and clatter or for them to cough or sneeze. Trying to make them seem safe, make them think they were clever for at least a short amount of time. He could sense their heart beat close by, speeding up with the sense that he was here and could kill them. No. That he would kill them.
One mistake and they would be dead. One attempt to escape and they would be dead. One moment of carelessness, too long of a time being careful and he would kill them. He took one step toward where he knew they were. Their heart pounded hard in their chest, the blood flowing through their veins faster, that was the best time to kill. That's when it's most exciting.
Another step.
He or she was on the floor and moved back slightly.
Another step.
Another movement backward.
Another step.
Backward. Into the shelf.
"Mistake," a venomous whisper dripped off his lips as the plate clattered to the floor. Within seconds, a wave of sand had snaked out of the gourd on his back and crushed the girl, ruthlessly.
He walked briskly out of the shop. Although that was fun, he couldn't do that again. It would take too long and he didn't have time to waste. It was okay when there was only one person in the building, but not he would have to go onto the motel. That would take too long to clear if he did it slow like that.
He stepped back out into the street where his companion was face down on the pile of bodies, drinking the blood of one of his victims. He walked passed without even a glance. It didn't bother him. He'd seen him do this countless times before. He had once convinced the red-head to try it himself. He had. It was an awful taste, like a cup of salt water that had had a metal pipe sitting in it for a week. Yet, it felt almost good. However, his companion was in love with the taste.
He stepped into the motel, the small lobby empty of people. He stood and listened. Someone's heart was still beating, for the moment anyway. Sadly for this man, his life ended the moment sand gushed from the boy's gourd and crushed his skull. The boy kept walking, not even looking as the sand swept over his victim, stealing his life.
The motel had only two floors, one of which was the lobby. The red head walked up the short flight of stairs lazily. He reached the top and stepped out into an empty hallway. He could feel terrified hearts beating behind every door. These people knew about the slaughter that occurred just outside this building and none of them knew what to do. Tch... Morons...
He simply rose his hands and let sand flow out of his gourd and under the door of each room. Within moments, screams could be heard throughout the tiny building, the sounds of bones breaking among them. He smirked.
These noises were comforting to him. They told him that he was alive. They told him he existed. For, if you can kill another, you are alive. They also told him that his companion would be happy with him and would not attempt to hurt him tonight. He would be happy with all of the blood that now stained this village. Everyone was dead now. Everyone accept for one person.
He ambled down the hallway to the very last room on the left, the wood of the old floor creaking under his feet. He had killed two people in that room, on was still alive. This last one he wanted to murder in person. This last one he planned to kill painfully. This last one would be fun.
He stood in front of the dark green door. A tiny wave of sand floated through the air at his command and snaked into the card-key slot. He concentrated for a moment, until the lock clicked and the red light turned green. He wrapped his fingers around the silver hand and pushed the door open.
Inside, it appeared that he had destroyed the room with his sand. Oops... Oh well... Not my problem...
Two dead bodies lay on the floor, one man and one woman. In the corner sat a girl who looked like she was thirteen or fourteen, crying for the loss of what seemed to be her parents and the terror of knowing she was about to die. His smirk grew wider.
He walked over to her and stood, watching her tremble and shake. Her blood-shot amber eyes stared up at him with terror and confusion, unsure of weather he was going to help her or kill her. He stared down at her with apathy in his pale green eyes.
"You know your going to die, don't you?" He whispered, slipping a kunai knife out of his pocket.
She looked too terrified to scream. He crouched down in front of her and pointed the knife at her throat. "I haven't used a knife in a while," he whispered to her, "So hold still and you'll be with those idiots you seemed to be so attached to in a few minutes,"
She mumbled something under he breath. "Hm? I don't believe a caught that" he looked into her eyes harshly.
"...Monster" she whispered, her words soft and shaky with her tears.
"Repeat that first part again please," He said, calmly.
She didn't say anything. She was silent accept for her whimpers.
"C'mon, just say it," he whispered in a falsely kind way. There was more silence before she said anything.
"G-go to hell... Monster..." She sobbed. Her breathing was short gasps now.
"Keh..." He paused. "If I could leave..." He pulled the kunai knife backwards, ready. He glared at her again, as harshly and intensely as he could manage. "...I would never come back,"
The girl screamed as he shoved the kunai into her abdomen just below her ribs. Her mouth was wide open in a silent scream while she stared at the knife. She couldn't breath. She choked. She felt like she was going to pass out. She felt blood come up her throat and tasted the horrible liquid on her tongue. Crimson poured from her lips.
"Who are you," she choked out feebly.
He raised his hand slightly and the same grains that had killed so many people flowed to him on command. They began to shift over to the girl. They crawled up her arms. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't speak. She wanted to kill him, but she couldn't move. They crawled up her face and into her open mouth, mixing with the blood. She coughed and pain seared through her body. They flowed down her throat and suddenly, her breath was gone. She coughed. More pain. She couldn't breath.
"Gaara of the Sand," he whispered, sadistic venom dripping from his voice.
She was crying but didn't even realize it. The whole time, her lungs burning for air. Could she feel, she would have been grateful when her life was finally taken.
The blonde man swept his lips over the wound on the lifeless victim's wrist, letting them bleed into him. The crimson liquid was like a drug that he could not live without, that brought pleasure to his very existence. It brought him a high that, to him, was like sitting on cloud nine. He knew he would never get there even if he were a mortal. This, however, made up for it. This was his reason to live. The pleasure he felt from the moment the sweet blood was brought to his lips.
He had once been told by his 'apprentice', Gaara, that it was sick and disturbing, but he found nothing but a feeling stronger than lust. He felt no pity for the souls that were lost, for to him, they did not matter. They were nothing to him. They were worthless to him while they were alive, and only felt sorrow when they were empty of blood. This sorrow was closer to disappointment than anything else and was the furthest thing from pity on this earth.
He was not human, so he was not cannibalistic. It didn't matter to him. There would always be more people. Killing just a few did not matter. More are born everyday. There are too many in this over crowded world, and missing a few would not change a thing. And besides. He was practically a god. Should it not be his right to choose who stays and who leaves? No one could do anything about it anyway.
The last victim was almost completely bled out now. There were probably more dead bodies still in this village-type-thing. Or, at least, there should be if his little brat of an apprentice was doing his job right. It was hard to call him an 'apprentice' for he was not really learning to do anything besides kill properly. He also had come with him unwillingly. His village didn't want him because he had been forced upon the blood-thirsty immortal. The immortal didn't want him either, but it was either that or they killed him.
Often, Gaara would tell him that he wished he had chosen the second option. He would always answer with same "Tch. You and me both, Kit."
Though, he was good for one thing; destroying. Being shunned had stolen his emotions, and he didn't feel bad for anyone he killed. Unfortunately, he had to teach him to kill properly. Once he was done with that, he got creative. He barley even knew what he did anymore. But, it didn't matter so long as they died somehow.
He drank in the last of the blood and stood up, looking around. He was done here. He had little patience and didn't want to wait for that brat of his. He wiped the ruby liquid from his mouth with his hand. He saw the red-haired boy walk out of the hotel entrance. From where he stood, he could tell whatever method he had used had been messy. Cherry-red blood stained his face. He walks too slow...
"Oi! Ass-tard! You wanna move faster? I'd like to get out of here before the world ends!" He shouted at him.
"Shut the fuck up, Shukaku!" He yelled back, wiping blood off his face with his arm.
In response, Shukaku simply gave him the finger. Gaara made his way over to him and stood in front of him with his arms crossed.
"Kay, let's go," Shukaku looked away from him as he spoke.
"What, I don't get food this time?" Gaara asked him, quite irritated at his selfishness.
"That depends. How long will it take you?" He rose one eyebrow and looked down at him. Damn, I will never get over how short this kit is.
Gaara stalked off toward the empty teashop, intending to raid it. "Hey!" Shukaku yelled after him, but he didn't answer. He glared at him and mumbled under his breath, "Stupid kit..."
He looked up at the sky for a moment, then back at his feet. The gourds at his hips turned to sand. More sand came to him, the grains swirled around him until the eye could no longer penetrate it. He could not be seen. It created a sphere around him that grew and grew until it was as large as the little rest stop. It seemed to just barely fit in the small street. However it continued to grow. The sand ate away at the buildings, destroying them. Gaara knew how to protect himself, so it didn't matter much for him. All of the bodies within them were turned to dust.
The enormous sphere of swirling wind and sand eventually came to a stop. The tiny grains cleared, revealing that Shukaku had transformed into his true self.
Where there was once a small resting place, there was now just sand to add to the rest of the desert. Gaara was still standing there, unharmed. He had been fast and grabbed as much food and bottled water as he could and shoved it into his bag before the building had been destroyed. Where the human-looking Shukaku had been standing, there was now a large beast that looked like a sand-colored tanuki with blue markings swirling through his fur. He stood on all four legs and was somewhat heavy set. Enormous leather straps were wrapped around his chest and underside holding two monstrous gourds, one on either side. His eyes, however, were still the same. Only now, they were surrounded with black.
Gaara looked up at the familiar beast and groaned under his breath.
He took a few steps backward, and then started running toward him. He sent a fraction of his chakra into his legs and feet and then leaped up onto one of the gourds. Then onto the beasts back, and finally onto his head. He sat down, cross-legged, and sighed. It wasn't even afternoon yet and he could already tell the death toll would be well into the thousands. Just try to let me do at least some of it.
A/N:
OMG! ROFL! When Gaara said his name, in my head it was like "Gaara of the sand, bitch" OMG! I am sooo bad at taking this stuff seriously. xD Oh well. Reviews make me happy. :P