Konoha burns.
Konoha burns, but first, it drowned, not in water, but in darkness. It would be easy to imagine such darkness as a great tide that swept all before it… but it was not. Instead it welled up in shadowed corners and crawled along darkened walls. It bubbled in the crannies of old forgotten wells, and seethed as it flowed in the edges and angles of where shade met light.
Later, it would hide in the shadows of men and shinobi, women and kunoichi. It slithered in darkened footsteps, and climbed in the small shadows cast by the folds and wrinkles of finest silk and coarsest linen. From there it stole into shadowed eyes, crept into ears…. and filtered into the darkened recesses of the mind.
Where it crept, rest vanished, and the small hours were rent with the screams of unsettled minds. Unsettled, then cracked, then splintered, and finally shattered. Unsettled by dark blasphemous whisperings that said nothing and meant nothing, cracked on hard edges of strange darkly angled laughter, splintered on promises of the joyous, mad, freedom to be had in the dark… and shattered in the face of the faceless void.
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Konoha burns.
Not from the fury of the Kyuubi no Kitsune, but from the fires unleashed upon it by its own ninja in madness, or in the defense against madness.
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Konoha burns.
And Iruka watchs, mind numbed by horror and fear as a hundred, a thousand thin dark plumes of smoke whispers into the sky and congeals. A many tentacled dark monstrosity, that is nevertheless only a weak reflection of the darkness below.
He shivers as he speeds across the rooftops towards the home he still shares with his family. Shivers, and tries to wipe away the dark blood staining his hand. Midori's blood, pretty Midori of the hair as green as her name and of the gentle smile. Midori who'd been teased in their academy days for being far too gentle to be a kunoichi. Midori whose smile had been as gentle as ever, even as her mad blank eyes had wept black tears, even with blood runnng in rivulets from the corners of her mouth and a too small to be adult severed hand still clutched in her fist. Who'd invited him, coyly, softly, into the shadows to satiate newfound lusts and urges.
Even as he tries to wipe away the blood, he can't help but remember how red her lips and how white her teeth had been.
When he reaches his home, he's greeted by his tearful parents and siblings, thankfully untouched, directly at least, by the madness outside.
He doesn't notice the blood on his hand while hugging his mother, as dark as shadow, creeping up his arms.
A moment later, Iruka's world is the sweet taste of blood. Somewhere he hears screaming.
He listens for a moment before he starts to hum in tune with it, a wide, wide, grin on his face.
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Konoha burns.
And the Yondaime watches from atop his tower, a sleeping infant in his arms, and a nine tailed fox by his side.
The Yondaime is tired, his shoulders slumped, and dark circles under his eyes so deep that it almost looks as if someone had managed to give him black eyes without the swelling. His golden hair, though still a spiky mess seems somehow lifeless, like a tangled rose vine that's been without water for a few days too many.
The results of hours long work is behind him on a floor swept clean of furniture. A massive circle is inscribed there, written in blood and more dubious materials. There are seals, true, a complicated mass of symbols and lesser circles, characters shaped by a precise hand. But here too are symbols that the eyes seem to slide away from and characters that seem to shiver and crawl when seen from the corner of the eye, and yet lie quiescent when viewed directly.
The Ninetails is no giant, no great wreaker of havoc, no source of red, raw malevolence. It is large, yes, but stands no taller than the Yondiame's shoulder, and would seem smaller still were it not for the mass of bright silver shining fur that are its tails. There's nothing brutish here, only sleek, elegant lines. Its eyes are deep metallic gold, not red, and flow with wisdom and mischievousness rather than fury.
"No more time remains." the fox's voice is liquid mercury, smooth and soothing… but inhuman for all that, as it speaks as many rather than one.
The Fourth nods tiredly, His voice all too human, made hoarse by recent events, "I know." The man dredges up a grin from somewhere; somehow, however wilted it is around the edges. "They'll never forget me for this." A pause as the grin fades to a small sad smile. "Take care of him for me."
The fox says nothing, but a single tail encircles the Fourth's wrist and squeezes gently.
Then the Yondaime starts. Chakra surges, spillng into the seal, following it's eddies and curves, cutting and shaping reality. There's no dramatic glow, no bright glaring lights, just the sound of one man's harsh breathing. And yet… it feels as if all the world is watching.
The dark outside swirls, eddies, and begins to leak out of eyes, vomit out of mouths, leaving shattered minds behind it. Soon, it is a dark implacable tide that surges towards the hokage tower.
Even as it approaches however, it is broken apart, battered into a shape not of its choosing by unknown… unknowable powers. A spiral, one that ends at the belly of squalling infant.
When it is done, there is no sign of there ever being a circle there, and the fourth looks as if he's sleeping, slumped on his knees as he is. The Kyuubi knows better.
Now it plays its part in all of this as it steps out into the air, unfettered by anything so banal as gravity. It hurries. The seal on Naruto will only last a few hours without the Kyuubi to maintain it. Nine tails fan out, and the grand illusion begins.
The story's been told before.
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Konoha burned.
The Ninetails, terror, destruction, fear and loathing.
Heroic defenders, delaying tactics, noble sacrifices.
Rent flesh, splintered bones, spilt blood.
Chakra and Youkai, a shattered sky, a sundered earth.
The Yondaime.
A bargain with death.
A seal.
Victory and Defeat.
Naruto.
That's the way the story goes, a bloody story, a heroic story, a tragic story.
A lie.
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But the Kyuubi isn't just a Kitsune, it is the kitsune. It was the first when the world was young, and it will be the last when the world grows cold and dim. It is all of them… and none of them. It is what all Kitsune aspire to be, but what none of them can be.
A lie woven by the Kyuubi is the next best thing to the truth. Better even.
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Iruka wakes up to pain and grief.
His family lays dead around him outside of Konoha, along the trail of destruction caused by the greatest of the tailed beasts, the Kyuubi no Kitsune.
There is no blood on him save for his own.
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And in the Hokage's tower, the Kyuubi flows into the seal on an infant Naruto's belly.
Nine silver bars hold back the dark.
The stage is set, the Kyuubi hunkers down and waits for the actors.
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Author's notes:
Well, thanks for reading my story thus far. As some of you may have guessed, this story has certain lovecraftian elements to it. Hopefully it'll prove interesting. What follows will probably be short insights into the small changes to various characters. Then the main story can begin.