Pairing(s): Hidan and Ino, Ino and Shikamaru

Summary: [HidanInoShika It wasn't like in those zombie stories, where the dead claw their way out of a grave. It was much more graceful and yet horrifying, and they all suffered because of it.

Warnings: Gore, rape, smut, language, ect…

Note: Well, you all need to know a few things before you read this fic. One, the updates may not come along quickly since I'm a college student and all. Two, the story is going to be very descriptive and perhaps horrifying at times, so it's not for little kiddies. Three, I love reviews; they're my motivation for writing. Four, critique is welcome but flames are not. Five, the POV will be of all Hidan, Ino, and Shikamaru. Six, It's going to be written in Third Person. And seven, there will be sex in this, and not all of it consensual.

To avoid being banned, I've decided to post the 'sexual' scenes over at my LJ. It will be this way for all of my fics, from now on. So if you want them, the link is in my profile. There are none yet, and I'll let you know when I post one up.

I edited this chapter, by the way. Nothing big, just the removal a few adjectives.

Hateful Ballad

By 18 Doses

Prologue - Awakening

The leaves rustled, blowing up into the wind. Red, orange, brown, and green; they trailed up, swirling around in the sky. He watched with glazed eyes, clenching the piece of silver in his hand. The last of the dirt, clumped and cold, fell from his knee. The sound of it meeting with mud echoed through his head, causing him to cringe. Just the sound of earth was enough to gag him. He'd been surrounded by it for so long. So long.

He chuckled to himself, running a hand through his greasy, stiff hair. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been trapped. Seeing the light of day was like heaven to him. He was most grateful to the children that had dug him up, and had thanked them more than once after he'd 'woken up' in their so called laboratory. Little scientists. It warmed his heart that they'd even thought enough to sew him back together. What they had planned to do with him, though, he wasn't sure.

"It's fucking cold," he said to himself, scratching at his neck. The sewing was poorly done, but it was better than being in pieces beneath ground with only the butt of a cigarette to keep him company. Though he did wish they would have gotten his wrist a bit straighter. Ah well. "Beggars can't be choosers," he mumbled, giving a heavy sigh.

He walked forward, wincing at the stiffness in his joints. He was sore all over; felt like someone had numbed his feet, though. He hoped that would wear off, because it was making it very difficult to walk back to what was once him home.

The woods were silent aside from the sound of the leaves. He hated the sound of their rustling. Even more so, he hated the very sight of leaves. Stepping on one, he crushed it, grounding his foot until the crackling stopped. He walked forward and looked back over his shoulder, smirking at the sight of his work. He could think of quite a few leaves that he wanted to crush, but he doubted they would turn to ash. No, they would bleed, and he would make sure of it.

He stepped through a cluster of bushes and his face hardened at the sight before him, the large gaping hole. It made his stomach churn to even set foot near it now, but he really had no choice, seeing as his weapon was still down there. It was either get it or create a new one, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to part with the original.

Coughing into his hand, he lowered himself down, dangling his legs into the hole. It reeked. Scrunching up his nose, he leapt into the hole. When his feet thumped on the bottom, he froze, his breath caught in his throat. It brought back such horrible memories.

Shaking himself, he knelt down and began digging through the mud. Throwing aside clump after clump, he finally reached his goal. The feeling of hard steel made him chuckle.

So, his scythe had survived after all this time, as well.

He licked his lips as he began to pull the staff like weapon from the earth, standing to his feet little by little.

"There's my baby," he chuckled, spinning the scythe in his hands as he stood in the hole, looking up at the filthy blade. How wonderful it felt to feel alive again. For a while, he had thought for sure he was dead, that maybe that was what death felt like; that he must have died in his sleep, buried, or something, unaware. But no, he was alive and well. He chuckled, and slowly his laughter began to escalade into that of a mad man.

Alive after all of this time! He couldn't wait to see the look on that punk's face. He bet that cigarette would fall out of his mouth and burn his goddamned foot.

"And he'll be fucked then," he said to himself, "Oh yeah…"