Good Morning children! KibaIncarnate here with my long promised epic story. Dear lord this promises to be an AMAZING, so strap yourself in and stay loyal. I aim to be updating at least once a week, but we shall see. Now a quick warning. This isn't a yaoi fic, so people being a little mislead by the summary, please let me a sure you this is about a friendship between Kiba and Joax (My OC) and then in turn their realtionships with people. It's labelled Kiba and Sakura because it's written from their angles (in 3rd person, not POV), not because they get together, as I've already done 2 kibasaku fics. And NO i'm not going to give you the pairings. :) I also know that the word OC puts a lot of people off but bear with me, because he is awesome. Anymore questions feel free to ask and of course review every chapter PLEASE. The more you review the better I get. Any grammar/spelling/name mistakes please point out. Love to you all and enjoy.
Disclaimer - Do I really have to do this... thought not :)
Motiko Drago wasn't a very good bandit. He wasn't good with a sword, he couldn't punch or kick, he couldn't even swear. He did however, have his uses. While regarded as a wimp and an insult to law breakers everywhere by his cutthroat companions, Drago could do one thing better than anyone else. He could hide. And that was what he was doing now, hiding in the branches of an old elm tree, spying down upon three small figures curled round a campfire. He had found them by chance, skulking at the back of a raiding party headed for one of the smaller settlements in the area. This part of the world was lawless now, the unruly strips of land separating the territories of the great hidden villages and their receding empires. The threat of war that loomed on the horizon had drawn the attention of the powers at be for the time being, and the protection of the border colonies was slipping. The village in question was supposed to be protected by Konoha, the Hidden Village of Leaves, but they simply did not have the manpower necessary to patrol all their borders anymore. This of course, meant that the more remote villages were ripe for the picking, or in this case, raiding.
That was not to say that raiding a settlement was 100% safe, it never was. Town guards, farmland militia, even a regular local with a pitchfork could still cause some damage, too much risk for Drago's liking anyway. So there he had been, trying to look inconspicuous and yet threatening at the same time, when he glimpsed a lick of flame through the dense forest. Being at the back he had been the only one to see it. He doubled back to make sure, and there it was, a soft orange glow peeking between two great tree trunks, a short distance away in the direction of the river. His interest peaked; Drago had sprinted to the front of the mob, his small frame easily allowing him to dodge low hanging greenery and low hanging swords, till he reached 'Da Boss'. 'Da Boss' was easily the biggest individual in the group, 7 foot tall with a matted mop of black dreadlocks topping his scarred head, and with a voice that sounded like he had at some point swallowed a bucket full of broken glass. The legend was it had been two, followed up by a cocktail of vinegar, sake and bull's blood. 'Da Boss' had listened to Drago's report, then smacked him into a large bush, ordering Drago to go scout while the 'real men went raiding'. He threw a head set after him, barking that he wished to be kept informed, before jogging off into the gloom, followed by his vicious comrades.
After picking himself up and inspecting his various injuries, Drago had backtracked and found his way back to the orb of orange light, carefully sneaking round it, doing what he did best, hiding. After double-checking for traps and tripwires, Drago had scurried forward, alighting into a tree and shimming across a branch before sticking his beaky nose out of the canopy to peer down into the fire lit clearing. 3 Children, barely 13 years old by the looks of it, were sleeping around the campfire. One girl with orange hair and large pigtails was curled up like a cat under a blanket, while a boy in glasses and a large snot bubble slept with his back propped against the very tree Drago was concealed in. The bubble grew and shrank in time with the boy's breathing.
The last figure had obviously meant to be on watch, judging by the sprawled out position of his body and the kunai gripped in his hand. In between his legs, partially covered by the large blue scarf the boy was wearing, was a heavy canvas bag. Drago twisted his head to get a better look, and was rewarded by a lustful glint of gold. The bag must be what they were guarding. Drago smiled; even he could handle 3 kids. He began to lower himself out of the tree, imagining the payday he would get, when a second glint caught his eye. A harsher, more metallic light. The forehead protector on the scarfed boy's head reflected the firelight straight into Drago's face. Drago froze. Ninja? Here? What were chances? Drago could handle 3 kids, but 3 Ninja! That was suicide. Very slowly, Drago lifted himself back into the trees, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. He needed back up for this. Lifting his hand to his ear, Drago began to speak quickly into his headset, telling 'Da Boss' to hurry back. Drago had a feeling that bag was much more valuable than any raid could be.
Within five minutes the entire group had arrived and spread out, circling the clearing with a mixture of muscle and steel. Swords fought for territory with maces, axes and all manner of crude instruments. One eccentric bandit had commandeered a huge great hammer, and was causing a fair amount of bickering as he squeezed into the circle. Drago was back in his tree, crouched next to the hulking form of 'Da Boss'. Needless to say it was a tight fit.
"As I was saying your hugeness, the little boy just there is carrying a package of enormous wealth. It would be an easy take if they were not ninja."
"Pah… Ninja eh? They look like brats to me" spat 'Da Boss'
"Indeed they are brats, your enormatity, but well trained brats. They could surprise us if we are not careful"
"Stop boot licking you whelp and grow some balls, they're children for the love of God! Now which one has the bag?"
Drago sighed, all to use to his employers rudeness and stupidity. "We must be careful not to lose this window of opportunity. The child with the bag is that one O' muscled one… No that one" he repeated as 'Da Boss' made to jump for the pig tailed girl.
"Be clearer next time boot spittle, you almost ruined the entire window of opportunity"
Drago said nothing, knowing full well he would just get a smack for his troubles, not bothering to point out that 'Da Boss' had used the phrase improperly. He doubted 'Da Boss' even knew what opportunity meant.
"Anyways, we should get this going, the boys are getting restless" grunted 'Da Boss', pointing over to a rustling bush behind which two bandits were hiding. Obviously the idiots had got tired of waiting for the planned fight and had decided to pick a new one, with each other. 'Da Boss' pressed his hand to his ear and spat into his mike. "What the fuck are you playing at Ringo? Stop pissing about and get ready!" The rustling stopped, but no rely came back over the channel, just the hiss of static. 'Da Boss' heaved a sigh, switching channels to his second command. "Oi Dimond, go slap Ringo for me, the little bugger jut ignored me." Again static filled the airwaves, this time sounding a little more ominous. "Stupid thing" muttered 'Da Boss', plucking the earpiece from inside the forest of his hair and shaking it vigorously. Drago was on edge now, his shaking hands creeping towards his sword hilt. He had checked the headsets himself before leaving, being the closest thing the group had to a tech boy. They had been fine an hour a go, meaning that they should be fine now, and that meant…
A loud snap made both men jump. Drago leapt to a higher branch, trying to hide, while 'Da Boss' recovered and drew his sword, padding towards the edge of the branch. A small groan came from below, this time from the tree opposite them. Drago could just make out the handle of the great hammer jutting out from the shadows. It was stained the deep red of arterial blood, shining wet even by the embers of the dying fire. Drago gulped loudly, leaning down to whisper in his leaders ear.
"Sir, loo…"
An almighty crash shook the air as a large black shape flew across the camp, smashing into the trunk of Drago's tree. 'Da Boss' lost his footing and fell, screaming in a high reedy voice. Drago, holding on for dear life, watched in horror as 'Da Boss' didn't even hit the ground, but was caught mid fall by a flurry of arrows, crucifying him to the tree, his scream dying in his throat. The bandit leader's feet dangled above the mangled body of one of his lieutenants, who had been thrown with such a force that Drago's tree was now bent over as if winded. The sound of fighting was evident now, the cries of the dying and the clash of metal on metal. The sleeping ninja were awake as well, fending off bandits in a tight defensive circle. Shuriken flew through the air as more bandits fell, the yells coming from outside the clearing as well as in. From his vantage point Drago could only watch as bandits fled into the clearing, pushing each other out of the way to get further in. There they were cut down by the young ninja, neat precision wounds, crippling them quickly. Drago had been right, they were well trained, but he felt no pleasure from his discovery.
Because there was probably going to be no one left alive to tell it to.
Semi delirious with panic, Drago wondered what could possibly cause such battle-hardened warriors to flee. Maybe it was an armoured host, or a gallant group of knights. Maybe it was some terrible monster, or even pack of wild beasts. Drago's teeth began to chatter, chewing his tongue to a bloody pulp as he lost control of his bladder. The battle below was ending, the remaining bandits caught between the unknown assailants and the Genin. "Perhaps I can survive," thought Drago, "No one knows I'm here, I'll just stay here nice and quite and hide. Hide till they go away, just till they move on…" A second almighty crash broke Drago from his rambling thoughts. The tree, that had already taken it fair share of the beating, finally gave in and fell forward, plummeting towards the fire and landing with a thunder that could be heard for miles around. Half dead and stunned, Drago pulled himself from the splintered tree, crawling towards the darkness that surrounded the clearing.
He never made it.
A pair of bare feet landed heavily in front of him, shattering the bare ground and sending shards of dirt into his face. Drago looked up fearfully, expecting a cohort of his worst nightmares to be staring down at him. But all he saw was a young man, almost a boy, standing over him. His hood was ripped back, revealing his wild brown hair and deep-set eyes that sat in the shadows of his head. He was not tall, perhaps 5'11" at most, and broader than most with a powerful build, but nothing compared the hulks that had dominated Drago's life. He carried no sword and bore no armour, though his fists were covered in a sticky mixture of blood and dirt, and his left arm was stained red from a long slash down its length. A bow was strung over his chest, the quiver resting at his hip, still half full of arrows. The thing that Drago noticed though was that the boy was alone. There was no host, no group of knights, and no pack of savage beasts.
Just one person.
"Impossible" muttered Drago thickly, drunk with fear. The boy cocked his head at the stricken bandit, allowing him to see his eyes in the light. To Drago they were the colour of the darkest storm cloud, a dangerous grey and blue with a heavy hint of dark purple. And they were terrifying. Without another sound, Drago's mind retreated to the back of his skull, leaving him out cold and dreaming of boy-daemons.
Daemons that apparently existed.
Team Ebisu watched warily as the stranger pounced in front of the last bandit. After a mumbled remark the bandit fainted, and the stranger reached up to pull the remains of his tattered hood over his head. He then proceeded to stare at the small group of Genin, as if waiting. Impatience burning in his chest, Konohamaru stepped forward. "Hey you, you might have helped us but we would have been fine, so we don't owe you anything, so what do you want?"
Silence greeted Konohamaru's demand, its last syllable echoing into the night.
Konohamaru, bristling with defiance, started again. "HEY YOU!"
However Moegi, using her feminine intuition, cut across him.
"Excuse me." She said politely, "Thank you very much for helping us. I'm Moegi, and this is Konohamaru and Udon. We're ninja from Konoha, what's your name?"
The hooded figure lifted his head, a little of his face light up by the remains of the fire. His mouth was set in a grimace, and they could all hear the laboured breathing of his lungs.
"J… Jaox. My name is Joax" he whispered, his voice rasping. The words sounded strange in his mouth, like they didn't fit there. Japanese was obviously his second language. "You fr… from Konoha?"
"Yes, yes we are!" Piped up Moegi, "Are you a friend of the leaf? We can tak…"
Moegi was cut off as Udon threw her to the floor as the stranger who called himself Jaox hurled himself at her, skimming the top of her head as he flew overhead. Konohamaru slid backwards, hands flying into seals, ready for action. Udon flipped up, drawing a kunai while Moegi rolled to the side, ready to support her companions. Then they all froze, their battle formation stopping as soon as it had started. Jaox hadn't been attacking them at all. A final bandit, one that had either woke up or that played dead during the battle, had attempted to sneak up on them. He had failed, as Jaox had thrown himself at him in a clumsy, yet powerful tackle. The man was out cold again, blood running down his cheek from where his head had split on the floor. Jaox was sprawled slightly to the side, his back to Team Ebisu. He raised his hooded head. "Konoha…please" He spluttered, before collapsing, his body finally succumbing to unconsciousness.
Konohamaru ran to the fire, snatching up a still burning brand. He approached Jaox slowly, cautious after the sneak attack. As he neared the fallen figure, his eyes grew wide and he retched to the side. What he saw there was obviously no better as he reared back to fall hard on his backside, his friends running to his aid. By the light of flame they could clearly see the deep cuts in their saviours back, jostling for space with the hilts of daggers and the edges of shuriken. And then piled around the clearing in untidy heaps lay the bodies of bandits; at least three times as many as there were in the clearing. Konohamaru steadied himself. By himself, this man had killed more men than all of Team Ebisu put together; sustained horrendous wounds, and saved their lives multiple times while in such a critical state. Konohamaru took a breath. "Udon, patch us up and retrieve what you can from the campsite. Moegi, go and check on the package. Then both of you come back and help me with this guy, he's coming with us."