Author: New month, new story!
Narrator: We had a Green Day one...
Author: But she INSISTED we make an MCR one.
Narrator: Of course. Besides, Kiba was only in two chapters of Rage and Love.
Author: Well... This chapter WAS pretty fuckin' fun to write...
Kankuro's death, of course, spurred Egypt to join the war.
It was amazing, really, that they'd stayed out of it this long. It was, after all, the Second Great War, and Egypt was, after all, one of the largest empires on earth. Stretching over most of the northern half of Africa, the Pharaoh was easily one of the most influential and important rulers of the world.
And he was only fifteen years old. Gaara of the Desert was one of Egypt's youngest kings, even younger than the boy king Tutankhamen. When Gaara was crowned, the announcement of his decision to promote his siblings to two of the highest posts in all of Egypt was frowned upon. Three mere children, running the empire? Preposterous. But Gaara, Kankuro, and Temari did their jobs well. Gaara, as Pharaoh, ran the domestic and political aspects. Temari, the High Priestess, ran the temples and prayers. And Kankuro was General of the Royal Army, and controlled the entire military.
Apparently, someone wanted to stop that.
"Kankuro?" Temari entered the room. As soon as she stepped over the threshold, she felt a sudden chill. She shivered and repeated her little brother's name, but more softly this time. "Kankuro?"
She scanned the room. Her gaze hit the window, revealing why she felt cold: it was broken.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Then, she saw the blood. The dark red substance ran down the wall and was pooled on the floor. There was a trail leading to his bed. She gripped the lamp tighter and cautiously made her way towards it. As she approached, she saw her brother's silhouette through the canopy veil. There was something unnatural about it. She tried to call his name again, but could not bring herself to do it.
She slowly pulled back the canopy...
Kankuro's expression was one of surprise, meaning that the dagger sticking out of his chest wasn't his idea. His eyes, once full of a fire and belligerence that so suited his wild mop of dark brown hair, now stared up at his elder sister, dull and lifeless.
"Gods," She whispered, stunned. Tears began streaming down her face. She wheeled around and ran out into the hall and shrieked, "Guards! Come quickly! Guards! Guards!"
She turned back toward her brother's room. Now that she had seen his body, she realized there were many signs of a struggle: The broken window, of course, the most obvious; there were also many pieces of furniture strewn about the room, and the blood. It appeared as if he had fought his attacker, but in the end was caught by surprise, and after he was stabbed, (Temari tried not to picture the knife plunging into his heart), he'd stumbled back to his bed, hence the trail of blood. Then (she shuddered), he might have even seen the murderer escape through the window.
But who was the murderer? They must have been extremely driven to manage to kill Kankuro, the General of Egypt's Royal Army, and a member of the royal family. Who on earth was powerful enough to defeat the Pharaoh's own brother? Indeed, who would have the motive? He may have created a few rivals for himself within the counsel, some members of which considered him unpredictable and disrespectful, but they wouldn't dare an attempt on his life, out of respect for the royal family or, more likely, fear of Gaara's reaction. No, this was done by an outside force.
Gaara stepped into the dark room. His sister sat by the bed, weeping. He made his way towards her and what he knew to be his brother's corpse (the guards had come to him shortly after Temari told them what she had found). He knelt by Kankuro's body, examining it. A small amount of blood had dripped out of his mouth, as though he'd coughed it up in his final moments. That was nothing when compared to the wound in his chest, which appeared to have been gushing blood. Gaara gripped the handle of the dagger that was lodged in his brother's heart, and, with grim determination, pulled it out. He wiped the blood from it off on his own arm. "I swear revenge," he spoke quietly, "on whoever sent Kankuro to the Afterlife. I will kill them."
The trenches were dirty and disgusting. Neji peered over the edge and took a few shots. He looked over at his friend Kiba, who had one hand on the machine gun and was lazily firing clip after clip without even looking where he was shooting. Neji frowned. It was that kind of attitude that got allies shot. He inched over to Kiba. "Maybe," he hissed, "you should look where you're shooting." The dog-like man grinned.
"Maybe. But then again, who wants to risk getting shot?" He continued just firing away.
"Just look up while you're firing. It isn't that hard. Everyone else has to do it, why not you?" Neji asked, exasperated. Kiba looked into Neji's pearl-colored eyes and sighed.
"Watch this," he said. He then removed his green steel helmet, threw it up in the air, and watched it fall back down. He caught it, and showed it to Neji. When he threw it up, there wasn't a scratch on it. Now, it was riddled with smoking bullet holes.
"Now you don't have anything protecting your head, fool."
"Hallo, Neji, if my head was in there, I'd be dead."
"It's better than nothing."
"Have it your own way," he leaned back and began absentmindedly shooting again.
The Beast was even more frightening than the stories said. But, then again, the scribes and priests had never died, had they? Then again, maybe they had. Religion wasn't Kankuro's strong point. That was Temari's thing. Kankuro was the fearsome General. Military was his thing.
Kankuro stood there, quaking. 'This is ridiculous,' he thought, 'I don't quake… I don't even shiver.' Yet, there he was. Quaking in his brown leather boots. He watched fearfully, yes, fearfully, as Anubis, the Jackal-headed placed his heart on the scale. It was rather unsettling, to see one's own heart. The beast Ammit's sharp, crocodilian fangs dripped saliva onto the floor, right between her huge, clawed lion's paws. Her back half resembled a hippopotamus', making her the perfect combination of the three most dangerous creatures in Egypt. How could anyone not be afraid of her?
He was sweating a very, very cold sweat as the scale tipped one way, then the other. If it tipped too far either way, if it wasn't the exact weight as the Feather of Truth, his heart would be thrown to Ammit, and she would devour it and damn his soul to dying a second time, with no hope of reaching the Afterlife. He closed his eyes, trying not to imagine…
He opened them as he heard the creaking of the scale cease. It was perfectly even. He breathed a sigh of relief as Anubis nodded and allowed him to begin his journey. He smiled slightly. He may not have been able to find a suitable wife while alive the first time, but this time there would certainly be one waiting for him. He had only one regret: That he hadn't managed to kill that damn soldier from the Allies who stabbed him. The one with brown hair and the red triangles on his cheeks.
Who murders someone over a stupid dog, anyway?
Readers: O RLY?
A&N: YA RLY!
Readers: O RLY?
A&N: YA RLY!
Readers: O RLY?
A&N: YA RLY!
Readers: NO WAI!
A&N: SRSLY!