So, I'm kind of really excited about this story idea! However, I have to throw out a few disclaimers. This fanfiction has plot and story elements not only from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but from MTV's Teen Wolf too.
BUT BEFORE you click exit, I'd like to clarify that no main characters from Teen Wolf will make an appearance (no teen wolves, don't worry). I just simply got inspired by the storyline with a supernatural being on the show, that just-so-happens to fit for TMNT.
That being said, if you watch the show Teen Wolf, you will most likely know what will happen in this story, but hopefully it's still entertaining! Also, you do not have to watch Teen Wolf to understand what is happening. Everything will be explained in the fanfic.
OK enough of this chit chat! Reviews are welcomed
Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT
Prologue
The woman in the painted portrait was faded from over the years, but he could still see her beauty perfectly clear. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, her skin was as pale as the moon, and her lips were the prettiest shade of red he had ever seen. But what struck out the most were her eyes—they blazed and flickered with an intense brightness that strokes of paint could never capture. That was the thing he first fell for.
Rain pitter-pattered outside, almost as if nature were contributing to the dreary mood that enveloped the empty room.
She had been the fire in his life; his motivation, his inspiration, his passion. Then later on, his obsession.
But then, oh but then, everything crashed and burned. He could've had it all. And he was so, so close too. It was practically in his hands, but everything slipped through his fingers.
The fire in his life had become literal, as the wood combusted, crackling and blackening around him. It was a memory that was seared forever in his mind, and the sounds were forever ringing in his ears. The sound of clanging metal, the sound of heavy breaths, the sound of grunts of effort and pain. But the worst sound was the tearing of flesh from his own weapon, the slicing of a human body just past his knuckles. The sick, bloodcurdling scream of the woman he loved.
She was such a fool! Oroku Saki fumed to himself, Such a pathetic, dishonorable act!
Thunder suddenly boomed and rattled, as if to agree with the thoughts in his head.
Saki did not know whether such places as heaven or hell existed. He did not know if there were angels, but what he did know, was that there were demons that crawled on the earth and through the spiritual planes. Demons, and other lowlife creatures, that just loved to rob from others.
Despite the current anger building in his chest from the memory, he still caressed the portrait gently with his thumb.
Though he had lost his beloved Tang Shen, he had also gained something that night; his daughter, Karai. And through Karai, Saki was able to see Shen's fire in her eyes. No matter how hard and cold he had become, he would always have a soft spot for his little girl. It was a way for him to connect to the good parts of his past, a way for him to connect to Shen beyond the grave.
Saki's grip on the picture in his hand tightened, the wind howling beyond the walls of the building.
When Baxter Stockman had implanted the brain-worm, it was reassurance that the flame he carried close to his heart would burn eternally. And it would've, until she was detached from the worm, and he lost the ability to control her. Now she could be anywhere; Karai was taken away from him. Everything he had was taken away from him. And they had all been taken by one man; Hamato Yoshi.
Setting the portrait down, Saki let out a ferocious roar. A roar of frustration, a roar of grief, and a roar for revenge. It shouldn't be this hard for him, it really shouldn't be. All he had to do was shove his blades through the filthy rat, and then he could be more at peace. If only those odious, overgrown reptiles weren't so loyal to him. If only Yoshi weren't such a coward.
Lightening flashed from the windows above as footsteps echoed in the hall. Saki turned sharply, glaring at the three who dared to be in his presence.
"Did you find her?" he demanded, though he knew the answer.
"N-Not yet, Master," it was Tiger Claw who was brave enough to answer, "but we won't quit until your cub is found."
"Didn't I tell you imbeciles to not return without my daughter?" Karai was the only person he had left.
"Ah, yes, but you see," Xever began, "the storm has progressed immensely—it would be impossible to find her in such weather."
Bradford added onto that with a nervous, "Uh, yeah." The werewolf-like mutant then shook the raindrops off his body. "Hate getting wet," he muttered under his breath, though Saki heard.
Xever smirked with his fish lips, "I thought you were supposed to be a dog, not a pussycat."
"Shut it, you California Roll!" Bradford raised a fist—
"Silence! Stop this nonsense and leave me!"
Xever and Bradford immediately froze in place, bowed, and then exited themselves. Tiger Claw, on the other hand, remained where he was.
"Did I not tell you to leave?" Oroku Saki sneered, "I am disappointed in all of you. You all cannot even carry out and obey one simple order for me."
"My apologies, Master Shredder," he lowered his ears slightly, "Once the storm clears up, I will not rest until I have Karai in my grasp."
Empty promises! Saki mused, It's the same, recycled excuses.
If it weren't for the kabuto helmet hiding his face, Tiger Claw would've noticed the red that washed over him. He was washed over with such a blinding fury, all he could do at the moment was slam a fist into the armrest of his throne.
Tiger Claw did notice that, however. Worry filled his feline face, "Is something else troubling you, Master?"
Under his hand was the portrait of Shen. Lifting it up, he gave it another intent look. It was the anniversary of Tang Shen's accident. The day that Hamato Yoshi ruined his life. The day his fire was extinguished for good. His heavy heart sank; he missed her. But he wouldn't allow anyone to know that information, even if somewhere, a small fragment of him did.
Revenge and hate wrapped its tentacles around his heart with a vice grip, heat coursing through his veins. His worthless minions never carried out his orders, and they got him nowhere. At this rate, he would be dust on the ground before anyone succeeded a mission.
Maybe I need to call on someone—or something—that's not from the physical plane for assistance.
"That's none of your concern," Saki finally spoke.
"Shredder," Tiger Claw stepped forward, "I swear on my life, that I will obey your command, and that I will capture—"
"Quit your pathetic excuses!" He had had enough of it all. Getting up on his feet, he pointed and accusing finger at the tiger, "If none of you are able to handle one mere task, then I will have to do it myself!" Thunder clapped again, scaring the mutant and making his fur stand straight.
Stomping out of the main hall, Saki headed straight for the room he had dedicated for privacy. He ignored the embarrassing pleas from Tiger Claw, slamming the heavy metal door shut.
Although he wasn't one for meditation, it didn't mean that he never did. Hamato Yoshi's father, the man who raised Saki as well, often taught him that meditation was the bridge that connected the physical realm with the spiritual one.
Lighting incense, the scarred man illuminated the dark, cold room. As smoke began to rise, he placed the portrait in between the candles. Tang Shen may have died, but there were still times where Saki would use her for motivation.
Sitting comfortably, he tried his best to steady his hot breath. He also tried his best to ignore all the distracting noises—the thunder, the rain, the wind, the cries of Tiger Claw, his own heartbeat. He tried his best to clear his mind, filling it with only one thought and desire; power. His desperate thirst for power and revenge.
And then he began muttering Japanese under his breath. At first, his words were thought out and precise. But the mutters gradually turned into chants. Chants with the same desperate words, the same pleas. Chanting it over and over as his heart boomed as loud as thunder.
"M-Master?! What are you—What do you think you're doing?!"
A smile of satisfaction tugged at his chapped lips when he heard the fear in Tiger Claw's voice. The assassin must've picked up on some of the Japanese he was mumbling and pieced it together. But he continued to pray the same prayer. Praying, chanting, offering—anything to get him noticed and worthy of contact.
He cracked open an eye. The flame on the incense seemed to grow, the tips licking the air more vigorously. Saki furrowed his brows, thinking that perhaps saying his prayer louder would help. So with each word—each sound—he grew more boisterous and grating and vile until he couldn't hold it back anymore. He cried out, sweat rolling down his face. He shouted, he howled, he bellowed until the words tore at his throat and he could taste bitter blood. The candle flames suddenly burst, swallowing up the portrait of Shen and turning it to ash.
And then he stopped. He caught his breath, and watched as the fire slowly died. Clambering to his feet, anticipation pumped through his body. He stared at his trembling hands. Waiting.
Outside noises finally resurfaced, the rain still pitter-pattering, and Tiger Claw knocking on the metal door. But he still waited. Waited for a feeling, a sign.
The raps on the door wouldn't stop, and Saki's patience was running thin. With his armor clanking as he marched, the man opened the door to reveal a frightened mutant. His pupils were shrunken, his cat eyes as wide as saucers.
"What...What have you done?"
"What I had to," Saki spat, "I grew weary of your failures, and took matters into my own hands."
"You didn't take things into your own hands! You—"
"Are you asking for a death sentence?! Would you like your head on a spike?!"
Tiger Claw gulped, shook his head, mumbled an apology, and then finally left. Saki let out a sigh of relief from the absence.
And he continued to wait. He stared at his hands—curling fists and uncurling—waiting. But seconds turned into minutes, and minutes inched slowly by. Everything was still. And there was nothing. No feeling of strength, no rush of special emotion, no words, no signs.
Nothing.
"It didn't work..." he whispered. "It didn't work!" Clenching tight fists, he pounded the metal door, and let out another mighty roar. The ash settled on the floor.
But a few weeks later, Oroku Saki would discover that it did work. And he would regret every word that he spoke.
