A/N: I do plan on continuing this story along with the others, so you don't have to worry about me not updating, even if it might take a week or two longer. Enjoy!
Ominous dark clouds hung heavily in the dreary sky. Blinding flashes of lightning split across the blackening horizon. Deafening booms of thunder rolled in the distance that could be heard distinctly even from miles away. Huge, colossal raindrops plummeted down to the earth, flooding the empty streets and filling the gutters of every single house and shop in the Leaf Village. To put it quite plainly, it was a day to retreat under a roof and play shogi with your friends, munch on plates of sliced watermelon and homemade dango that a kind mother would make for a group of laughing teenagers as they gather around in the living room.
It was midsummer, and the rainy season had approached them with a short warning the day before. The humidity level was cranked up to the max, and air conditioners were sold out within the first few weeks. The rivers were swollen and flooded, and the pitter-patter of the rain drops could be heard throughout entire days and well into the nights.
However, one such person did not know the warmth and comfort of a dry shelter, did not know the satisfaction of stuffing himself with dango and watermelon, had no friends to play shogi with, and most certainly did not have a place that welcomed him home. Unlike all others, travellers and all, he was not safely tucked away in some cozy inn, enjoying a nice hot cup of tea. In fact, he wasn't even sure if he was welcome anywhere at all.
This lone figure was, in truth, miles away from the Village, sprinting through a thick forest that was heavily wooded with unfamiliar trees. His tattered grey shirt and pants were drenched in mud, and the rain pounded away at his bare skin mercilessly, the water streaming down dirtied and injured skin, washing away the blood, both old and fresh. The splash splash of feet slapping into puddles were just as loud as the harsh panting as the man never ceased to slow his pace. Long, dark strands of hair clung to the bruised and stitched cheeks and fell into his dual-colored eyes, only to be brushed out with a careless flick of a hand.
As if the forest was aware of that fact that it was being trespassed by a sudden foreigner, twisted roots seemed to sprout out of the ground in an effort to stop the figure. But the trespasser pressed on, his honed ninja reflexes effectively allowing him to jump and dodge out of the way even in his weakened state. He only had one goal, one destination, and he would do anything to reach it.
After weaving through the stranger woods for what seemed like an age, the man finally came to a halt in front of a large clearing, and swept his eyes over the scene ahead. The ground was still faintly scarred from the old battles that took place here, but the grass and fern had taken over most of the crevices in the soil and it looked almost normal. The man's gaze lingered a moment longer on the distinct markings of kunai knives on the bark of the nearby trees, then took a few steps forward until he was standing directly on the spot where the soil had obviously been disturbed, a very long time ago. A prickling sensation at the back of his neck told him that he was being watched; eyes that had never left this place ever since that day.
The man slowly got down to his knees, and touched the wet grass below him almost gently like he was handling a fragile piece of glass. He watched the water roll off his hand and into the soil beneath, as if it were sucking all the rain in.
Sucking in… yes. That's what the ground did. It swallowed everything up; rain, snow, blood, tears… and people.
The crouching figure could almost feel the ground pulling and beckoning him into its abysmal depths, to trap him under for all of eternity. The rain pounded even harder. That was when the man set to work.
Without warning, the forest echoed with the sounds of the heavy downpour, accompanied by the sudden 'shlunk' of metal sinking into soil. The shovel dug its way into the earth, deeper and deeper with each time. The man grunted with effort, his sweat mingling with rain water and flowing down his face like small rivers. He eventually ripped off his stupid shirt when he got frustrated with the bits of fabric hanging in his view; the thing was already half-destroyed, anyway. He continued with his shovelling, never pausing, never thinking lest he changed his mind.
He could've continued with his life. He could've gone on and built a nice cabin up in the mountains, and travel the world to hunt the usual bounties for the cash he endeared so much. And one day, he could've gotten his revenge on the cursed, vile Leaf ninja dogs that had destroyed his life, made him like this. Just him and his usual self, and no idiots of this wretched generation around him to stand in his way. Just like the old days.
But no, he couldn't do that. He'd have unfinished business waiting for him in these woods, left here to rot away but never fading completely as it hangs over his consciousness like a haunting shadow.
Wandering solo would have to wait. One thing was for sure; they would get their revenge, together.
The shovelling soon ceased, and the man collapsed onto one knee as he felt his energy depleting rapidly. He'd only dug three feet into the ground so far, and he still had miles to go. At this state, he'd never reach the bottom of this hole. He growled at himself for being so weak.
He'd been saving a good amount of his chakra for later on, but right now, manual labor was proving to be almost impossible. He reluctantly formed the necessary hand signs for a simple Earth technique, and tried to concentrate as little chakra into the jutsu as he could possibly manage. The ground beneath him trembled, crumbled, and cracked, until it was no more than soft soil that could be easily brushed away with all the precipitation. The man scooped up as much dirt as he could with his hands, tossed it away, and repeated the procedure again and again. His hands quickly became extremely filthy that not even the rain would wash it away. Rocks and pebbles slashed at his skin, and his fingernails cracked and bled. Still, the man did not stop digging, didn't stop to nurse his wounds. With each grunt of effort and scoop of dirt that was thrown away, he got closer and closer to what he had been looking for this whole evening.
Finally, his frozen hands hit something other than stone or earth. Grasping the soft matter, he pried the object out of the ground and shook away the grime. He stared down at the dismembered arm in his hold, the skin a sickly greying white and peeling away near the wrist. Setting down the limb next to him, he continued to dig, this time more carefully. Pretty soon he discovered a foot, another arm, and a whole leg. All of the body parts had at least one rip in the flesh that was either purplish black or a foul, rotting texture. The man kept on digging, as if searching for something else that mattered more than a couple of rotting arms. And as he finally hit something else much more rounder, he knew he had found it.
Ten months.
Ten months since that cursed day.
Ten months of being trapped under a ton of dirt and rock, with worms and maggots for company, seeing nothing but darkness, and now resurfacing once more.
His throat tightening for some odd reason, he carefully scooped the object out of the ground and brushed the filth out of the once silver locks of hair, that were now reduced to a horrid murky brown. He let the rain wash away the remnants of this damned hole from the face of the very person he hated up till this very moment.
There he was, the same, loud-mouthed Jashinist that loved to chatter incessantly and praise nothing but his damned Jashin god in all his arrogant, muscular glory, effectively driving him over the edge more than once. The very same person he used to cut up and toss away himself, now strewn all over the filthy dirt. The man recalled the times when the idiot stood before him with his well-kept silver hair neatly slicked back, healthy, toned flesh that didn't seem to have a speck of blood or a cut on it. Now, a huge cut was running down the left side of the face, and the bruise over the same eye was almost disgusting. A small spot on the temple was rotting away to show bone; the right jaw was nearly shredded and had obviously tried to heal itself over time, without much success. The eyes were closed and sunken, and all in all it looked just like any other dead corpse you would find when you go digging around in a grave.
Only, the man knew that this was a different case.
He continued searching until he found the rest of the body parts that made up a whole person. He reached for the torso and placed his hand over the heart. There, he felt it; a pulse. Weak and barely throbbing, but still there. And thanks to the chakra that it had constantly produced, the flesh had suffered minimal amount of rotting and other damage, if you could call this minimal.
Focusing his chakra, he maneuvered his threads and began the painstaking process of reattaching limb back to limb. It was slow and excruciating; the lightning continued to flash and the thunder rumble up ahead, he was more than soaked to the bone, yet he did not stop. He'd come this far already. He even took the time to sew together the rotten or cut up sections of flesh that littered the entire body. When he finally finished the last stitch that connected the head back onto its place, the man stumbled backwards and fought back the oncoming dizziness.
Unfortunately, there was one more thing he had to do. Right now, he was sure the figure lying before him in a bed of stones and mud was in a form of comatose. He didn't know for how long, but it would require some work on his part to wake him up again. Placing both hands over the pale chest, colder than his own freezing hands, he gritted his teeth and sent a powerful surge of chakra through his palms, into the immortal heart.
All at once, he could feel the muscle returning to full life and spasming under the man's touch. Slowly, a tiny amount of color returned to the naked figure as blood began its regular circulation once more. The mouth opened and took a huge, rattling breath. Struggling not to collapse, the man firmly kept his ground and knelt next to his work partner, blinking away stars.
The figure let a strangled sound escape from his lips, not used to speaking for such a long time. The man patiently waited until the eyes slowly cracked open to show the violet irises he had grown accustomed to over all those years. Currently, they were dull and unseeing.
"Glrgh…" A few fingers twitched, and then the limbs started to move and test themselves out. The mutilated face twisted into agony as his nerves finally appeared to have reconnected with his entire system. "Nnngarrghh…!"
"Easy, Hidan." The man placed a swollen and bleeding hand on the Jashinist's forehead. "You're alive." Like always.
Hidan let out a startled gasp, and he turned his head as best as he could in the voice's general direction, his eyes clouded with something akin to panic. He started to squirm more violently, making incoherent noises at the back of his throat.
"Don't move too much, or you'll rip the stitches out," the man warned. "Just calm down."
"Mmphl..." Hidan blinked several times, his eyes glazed over and his breathing erratic. "Whooh— whooh awhre yhou!?"
"It's me, dumbass," said the man quietly, his words barely heard over the never-ceasing rainfall. "I told you to be careful, didn't I? You didn't listen to me again."
"Kha—" The violet eyes widened as they stared into the man's visage as if he'd only just noticed him there, and a spark of recognition flared in his beat up face. "Kh-Kakuzhoo!?"
"Yeah."
"I— wholly shut— why—? Phuck!" Hidan looked like he was having a seizure, his eyes bulging out of his sockets and it sounded like he was drowning in air. He was desperately trying to crawl his way closer to the kneeling man, emitting strange, painful cries the entire time, very unlike the Hidan they knew. Kakuzu watched with an enigmatic look in his eyes. "W-Why— awre yhou h-here!? I tought yhou… yhou—" He paused as a series of horrible coughs ripped from his throat, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.
"I didn't die, idiot. Did you actually think that a couple of kids could defeat me? Now, don't move so much." Kakuzu's words were hollow and straightforward, but Hidan never stopped struggling.
"Phuck yhou!" Hidan rasped. "Piece of shut—" He finally had gotten close enough, and he grasped a handful of Kakuzu's pants in his fist, baring his teeth. "I'll phuckin' khill yhou!"
Kakuzu looked at Hidan calmly. With all the noises he was making that sounded strangely like sobs, and all the water streaming down his face, he silently wondered if the Jashinist was actually crying. But then he pushed away the thought. This guy never cried. He was too damn proud.
"Come on." Kakuzu wrapped his arm slowly around Hidan's torso and carefully lifted him up into a half-standing, half-kneeling position, ignoring the Jashinist's painful groans. "Let's go."
And so the pair made their agonizing way out of the cursed forest, step by step, limp by limp, with Kakuzu practically dragging themselves along with Hidan hanging off him, slipping and stumbling in the mud. Kakuzu knew his chakra and energy level was almost down to zero, yet he urged himself forward. They had already been defeated once; he would not let himself get defeated again. As they stumbled onward, Kakuzu could still feel those haunting eyes on them, watching them as they escaped from the forest that had once condemned the Jashinist to an eternity of a hellish, underground abyss.
All too pre-occupied with their lively chatter, bottles of sake and rounds of shogi, no one saw the two men crawling out of the Nara forest, escaping the eerie eyes of the watchful deer, and disappearing into the thick downpour of the midsummer rainy season. They had nowhere to return to, nor did they have enough strength to do so, yet they continued to move on. Silently, wordlessly, like a shadow.
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