Not much to be said. I'm embarking on a new story, and hopefully not a lengthy one. Have no fear, though. I fully intend to finish this project (unlike my numerous unfinished projects). Juugo hasn't gotten much fic attention at all and I feel he's a character that has so much potential for an amazing story. This is definitely a character that deserves to have his story told.

Small hints of KimimaroJuugo, but not until later chapters. Please read and review. Always love hearing back from my audience. Thank you and enjoy.

-sor

It has been with me for as long as I can remember - my curse, though I like to think there may have been some peace in the first years before the darkness came. When I was small, I began with insects. I flooded ant hills only to crush their tiny bodies as they fled the rushing waters. But this was not such unusual behavior for a boy... and besides, they were only ants. Yet afterwards, I would crawl into my room and hide beneath the sheets, releasing my regret in wracking sobs, filled with sorrow over the cruel things I had done. Ants had feelings, too, didn't they?

When I was older and stronger, my parents began to find the dead and mutilated bodies of animals scattered among the tall grass behind our home. Squirrels, chipmunks, various rodents of varying sizes and shapes, but deaths that were easily attributed to our cat, a large and somewhat battle worn tom who often delivered the corpses of mice to our doorstep. But it was only when our battle worn tom was found dead among the rodents that my parents began to wonder. And all the while I hid away, curled beneath the blankets, trying to figure out why I would do such things. Rodents had feelings, just as ants did.

To make matters worse, I could not seem to make these creatures run from me. I could hardly take two steps from the front door without being accosted by some beast or another. And most days I was perfectly content to give these creatures my company, but eventually they would all meet the same fate as all the rest... and I would end up beneath my blankets yet again, crying for the lives I had taken.

However, it was not until I was eight years old that the curse reached its physical manifestation. I awoke in the early hours just before dawn, back and neck aching from a night spent crumpled on the kitchen floor. At first I wondered how I had come to fall asleep in such a place, but it was not long before the memories returned to me. As the first sunlight began to peek through the window, it revealed to me a world of red. Blood soaked the floor, splattered violently on the walls; even my clothing and hands were soaked with it, though it had fast begun to dry and flake away.

Panic struck me in an instant, for this was worse than any of the deaths I had previously caused. Squirrels and cats hardly carried so much blood. I could not even imagine so much blood could exist in all the world. So from the corner in which I had curled into, I rose, creeping forward at a snail's pace, afraid of what I might find in the growing light.

The first thing I found was an arm. At first I thought it had to have been cut and thus the intruder must have carried a sword, but no. There was nothing so clean as a sword wound. The arm and been torn... physically ripped from the shoulder socket. I had no desire to look any closer.

It was then, not much further ahead, that I discovered the leg, severed at the knee. Not torn, but sliced. This discovery at last brought me to the doorway which led into the living area. It stood ajar, a bloody hand print smeared across the doorknob. It was there, not six feet from the kitchen door, that I found the owner of the limbs, laying dead at the end of a long trail of blood, smeared into the floor as he had dragged himself towards the front door. He lay face down, his one remaining hand still reaching forward, searching for purchase against the bare floor.

The sunlight had not yet reached his face, but as I inched forward, familiar features became apparent. And there, as the first hints of sunlight fell upon his blood stained cheek, recognition struck me.

"Father!"

The rising sun shone fully through the windows when they found me, bloody hands clutching at my father's clothing, shaking his broken corpse almost violently and pleading in vain for him to wake. The half a dozen men who had finally come to fetch me were taken aback by the ferocity of my panic and they hesitated in the doorway, casting confused glances among themselves. Finally, the bravest of the lot stepped away and approached, moving with the caution most often exhibited with a rabid dog.

"Juugo," he spoke hesitantly, yet I recognized his voice. This man was a neighbor, an old and dear friend of my father's. This recognition was all I needed and I turned quickly and launched myself towards him, but not in the way he had expected. There came cries of alarm from the others and the sound of weapons raised, but I merely latched to the man as I had been latched to my father's corpse, clinging tightly and finally releasing a flood of tears against his shoulder.

It was in this haze that he carried me from my home, and it was not long before my sobs exhausted me, allowing me to drift into the welcome blackness of sleep where I would be safe, at least for a little while.

When I woke, I was surrounded by darkness. The only light crept beneath the closed door, for there were no windows to light the room. No, not even a room but a small closet. I could easily extend both arms and find the opposite walls. But despite the darkness and the confined space, panic did not take me immediately. I could hear voices from the room beyond the door, soft and serious, though I could not recognize them.

"Do you really think a boy his age could be responsible for something so gruesome? To kill a grown man without taking a scratch?"

I climbed to my knees, limbs trembling like a flame in the wind, but the distance was not far. My hand met the rough wood of the door and slid upwards until groping fingers found the latch. It did not open.

Where panic might have taken another child, for me I found only relief. I was safe here in the dark. I would not charge forward into the room beyond. The men behind this door would not die. I sunk against the door frame with a contented sigh, my ear pressed lightly against the wood.

The second voice responded a moment later, sounding pained and worn. "But his mother... the story she told. I would have never called her the type to come up with something like that if it wasn't the truth..."

To my confused and exhausted mind, it made little sense, but I later discovered that it had been my own mother who had sent those men to find me. She had escaped, fleeing the moment I had attacked Father, and now was in the care of a doctor. It was the fear of much of our village that she had lost her sanity. I could not blame her for that.

Still, the village was skeptical regarding my mother's story. Eventually, they managed to convince themselves that she was so full of grief and distress that the entire episode had sprung from her traumatized imagination. So in the end, the voice of reason won over that of fear and any thoughts that I was dangerous were laughed off in an instant. "He's just a boy," they said.

I was given over to the clinic where they spent several days examining me and treating me for what they called emotional trauma. After all, any child who found his father in such condition could no doubt be somewhat disturbed. However, despite their best efforts, they never once managed to console me from my weeping, nor could they manage to make me say a word. I slept often and woke only when I was plagued yet again by the nightmarish images of my father's corpse and the even more frightening taunting of my own mind.

But in time there came a form of peace. My curse had not shown itself for some time and even I began to imagine that the worst was over. Perhaps this single, horrific act had been just the jolt my troubled body had needed, just the trigger to put an end to my blood lust permanently. In fact, I had such faith in this (faith that can only exist in the mind of a child) that I eventually began to act much more like a normal boy. I crawled out of bed every day and into the yard. Birds and beasts still flocked to me as they always had, yet I felt no urge to spill their blood.

It was not until I was released and taken home by my father's dear friend that my hopes were dashed. Dead rodents appeared in the grass beneath the windows. Slaughtered birds littered the garden, tiny crushed corpses lying side by side with the cats that would have been otherwise blamed for the massacre. My mother cried out from her sick bed, for she knew the signs, but the warnings of a woman sick with grief were ignored.

It was not until I had slaughtered another man that they fully believed her. Though I had warned him to stay away, he was all too ready to believe, as much of the village did, that I was simply a boy with a troubled heart, expressing my grief in the form of lies. "He has fallen for his mothers rantings!" they said. Any warnings on my part were laughed off as merely words and the kindly man who had taken me in paid the price for their negligence.

Having no other choice, I fled.

I sought doctors, but left behind only more torn bodies. I sought temples only to send those souls onward to their gods. I even sought the superstitious and the insane, but there was no aid for a boy like me. There were no cures for a curse that ran bone deep.

My last hope came in the form of rumor, talk of a rogue ninja of the Leaf Village who had, after many years, been spotted again. A man infamous for unspeakable acts of human experimentation and other such things that were called atrocities. Yet he was also said to be a genius of immeasurable talent, unmatched by any. His knowledge of human physiology was boundless. Yet he was impossible to find. Even the tracker ninja of his own village had been unable to locate him; it was as if he had vanished again from the face of the earth. Still, I sought him out, the only hope I had of freeing myself from my curse. The legendary sannin Orochimaru.

Finding a man that did not exist was a difficult task, but I had already convinced myself that this Orochimaru was my only hope. A hope, I found, that was fast failing me. How foolish of me to think that a man so dangerous would not take the utmost precaution to be sure his secrets were not found.

I wandered the northern reaches of the Fire Country first, but to no avail. So I crossed north into the Rice Field Country, leaving a trail of unintentional dead in my wake. It was not until some months had passed that I finally found my only clue. There was talk in a small village of an outpost further to the north that was said to house a number of very dangerous men. However, the villagers did not dare draw near enough to know much more save that on occasion a man fitting Orochimaru's description would pass through.

It was the best lead I'd had.

The land in the northern Rice Field Country was barren and provided little shelter both from the elements and from any eyes that may have been watching. Yet somehow, not even a day into my journey north, I saw ahead of me a trio moving in my direction. Two of the figures were men, large and bulky, the types that would often be called 'thugs.' The third, however, was short and slight, a child by his height and stature alone. However, it was not until they drew nearer that I could discern that despite a figure as frail and slender as a bird, this smaller form was male.

I could not have been more pleased to finally encounter another human being in this barren wilderness, but that pleasure turned quickly to dismay. Perhaps it was the sudden human contact or the stress of having gone so long without a roof or bed, but I felt those first stirrings within me. It always began subtly, with only the faint churning of my stomach or a sudden feeling of heat in my face, symptoms that could have had a million causes. However, those warning stages lasted only a moment.

"Don't come any closer!" I realized belatedly that my words were hardly strong enough to warn them away, and thus, backing away at a frantic pace, I shouted:"I'll kill you!"

Of course, I was in no condition to realize that my words were more threat than warning.

The larger of the two men strode forward, boisterous laughter erupting from his massive form. True, I was tall for my age, but still only a boy; and had I been any other boy, this monster could have snapped me like a twig. However, it was not he who was the monster in this equation.

It swept over me like a great wave. For a moment, I stood upon the brink, my limbs heavy. I knew that if I could only manage to move them, to step forward and away from the rush of the tide, I would escape and the flood would recede. But it felt as if I were bound by heavy iron and though I willed myself to run, inch by inch the waters drew nearer and then the storm surge struck and I was swept away by the current, drowning.

Then it was as if I stood apart from myself, observing through my own eyes and yet no more than a spectator. The mottled pattern had already swept quickly over my flesh and my blood churned, burning like fire in my veins. My limbs move and I realize, to my horror, that they move at my command. Though I fight with every breath, the compulsion to draw blood is far too strong for any man to ignore. And though I knew, though I always knew, in the end I would give in to the sheer pleasure of it all and the monster would emerge.

If my changed appearance caused the man any hesitation, he did not show it. To this man, brute strength was all that mattered, but what he failed to realize was that my curse was more than a match for his bulk. Things, such as I remember them, were a blur, as speed and sharp reflexes were also a part of my curse. He made several attempts to strike me, yet no blows struck and on the third attempt, I caught his fist in my own, in a hand so small it could hardly grip the bulk of it. Yet it did, and held like iron, bones snapping beneath slender fingers. Held long enough for me to take hold of his wrist and relieve the man of the burden of a broken hand, along with the rest of his arm, torn free as if by a pack of wildcats.

The splatter of blood upon my face only served to drive me further forward. The transformation was at its most severe now and my body became a weapon even more deadly than any this man could hope to wield. The flesh of my left arm twisted and warped sharply until it grew hard as steel and twice as sharp. Brute strength was one matter, but it was just as enjoyable to slice a man to bits as it was to tear him asunder.

Laughter bubbling forth uncontrollably; I raised my hand to strike, blind to all else but the man. His remaining arm was latched tightly to the shoulder where his other limb had been and the blood drenched him from head to toe. This drove me on even more than my lust for murder. To see this man's blood poured out upon the stones held an excitement that words cannot convey. And so I struck at him, meaning to hew his body in half at the waist. And yet, once he head fallen, and I felt his blood again upon my face, the utter joy at his demise vanished and the longing for more struck me even more strongly than before.

The other two had not fled and I fixed my eyes upon them, tongue darting out to lap at the blood upon my cheek. Almost immediately I had decided upon the boy. He appeared frail, same as I, but even more so for his delicate features. He was pale, a skin tone that would have seemed sickly on any other man, but seemed to suit him well. The monster that I was saw easy prey in him and struck without hesitation.

Yet it was not flesh the blade of my arm met, but bone, torn free from his skin and coated in the blood I had so badly wished to draw myself. Never had my strikes been so easily stopped; never had I felt that sinking feeling that I could be somehow bested in combat. It ground all movement in my body to a tense halt and for the first time, I met the gaze of my would-be victim.

There was nothing in those eyes save ice. No fear, no uncertainty. Nothing but that cold that seemed to chill me to the bone. And in an instant, a fear struck me, so intense that I was frozen for an instant in panic. The madness fled; and I fled.

I scrambled away from this other monster, blinded by panic and stumbling over my own two feet, but I had only taken a few clumsy steps before I heard the pursuit from behind. Pain blossomed at the base of my skull and the world grew dark.