Chapter 1
Deep inside the people's shattered hope lived the shadow of a man. He was marked by that man's sin, that man's triumph, forever bound by blood and pride and shame. He saw through eyes not his alone a world both his and not. His world was gone. His home died with the passing of a shadow, the breaking of a heart, the damning of a child. Now the boy had only crimson darkness to keep him whole, but he did not despair. He had a secret, precious hope. One day, his father would come to bring him back into the light.
His father was the greatest man that ever lived.
For a long time, Kyoji rarely smiled. There was a hardness to his expression, a twitch of musculature that hinted at something that he would never let himself forget. It was talked about from time to time, mused on by co-workers far from his ears. It was odd enough that he was there to begin with, knowing who he was, but this? That girl had died, it was true, and the death of loved ones can certainly do strange things to even most stalwart of men, but... He was private, even at the best of times, and all but the most desperate gossip will give up before too long if no juicy new morsels come to light. Life went on, for most.
Today, his mood was infectious. He was grinning so widely that people who had never seen him before and would never see him again were having a better day because of it. People were beginning to wonder if he knew something they didn't; morale hadn't been particularly high since the incursions from Iwa began several weeks ago. No one wanted another war, but Kyoji, like almost everyone else he knew, was more than damn willing to fight if need be. Those Rock bastards wouldn't find the Leaf an easy target, not like they did before. Konoha had purged all their weakness in years past and, for the first time in a long time, become something to be proud of. Now, Kyoji was on his way to meet with the man responsible for it all... the Godaime Hokage.
He rapped lightly at the door, and was beckoned inside; the Godaime stood to greet him, still haunted by the echoes of old wounds. He would never understand how people could look at this man and not see a hero, but like all great men there were those who tried. Kyoji took a seat and waited patiently, trying to be unobtrusive. The office of the Hokage was a busy one even when things were going well, and he wouldn't begrudge the man the few minutes he needed to shift his focus from whatever had been at hand.
"There are still those," he began, "who say that I must make this village my family, must hold everyone within my heart. I do not. A soldier has no need of family. You are not my brother, nor are you my son. You are simply a weapon, to be used as I see fit." The older man paused, searching for any hint of hesitance or doubt on Kyoji's face, and found nothing but loyalty.
"My sword is yours, Hokage-sama," Kyoji replied, lowering his head respectfully.
"And for that you should be commended, though if I were to personally commend everyone deserving, I would have time for little else." He paused, allowing a touch of pride to cross his features before deadening them once more. "That is not why you are here. I called you here to discuss those who you hold within your heart."
For the tiniest of moments, Kyoji's face blanched, his eyes widening in the split second before he brought himself under control, adopting a slightly confused expression. "I'm not sure I understand..." he responded, trailing off as the Godaime looked at him questioningly. Wordlessly, he passed Kyoji a file containing surveillance of the area around the village. This time, his eyes really did widen, face draining of all color. "But..." he said after a few seconds of silence, his voice shaky. "I th-thought that..."
"Consider this a gift," the Hokage interrupted, smiling politely and waving off his every attempt to apologize as he hurriedly made his way out of the room. The smile lingered on the Hokage's face for some time as he stared at the open doorway, picturing a face that he didn't need to turn around to see with perfect clarity.
What would you think of me now, old friend?
There was a sharp knock from the door downstairs. The boy tensed up instantly, his hand hovering above his desk, frozen in the midst of deft movement. He held himself that way for several seconds, listening. His focus had been shattered, probably permanently, but maybe whoever the hell it was would leave him the hell alone so that he could just—
No. There it was again.
Damn.
He gave it one more thumping barrage before looking up from his diagram-covered workspace. He let out a long sigh. It was all politics, like every other damn thing he'd been thrust into over the last couple of years. He hated having to play these games. Couldn't they just let him work in peace?
He groaned, swinging his leg up off the desk and on to the floor, and got up to walk downstairs. He limped a little. They were still banging away.
He and his family had never been very popular or well-accepted, and while this new regime's show of 'refusing to make the mistakes of generations past' and 'casting off the shadows of superstition and shackles of tradition to find advantages previously neglected' were certainly welcomed, he knew that they were, as always, on thin ice. No matter what lip service they were given, no matter what public proclamations were made, they had no real power. He had no sway with anyone when the spotlights were off, and had no choice but to put up with things like this. They had to make sure he knew his place.
He rubbed his temples, staving off the anticipated headache. It was times like these that he missed having his father around... but that felt wrong as soon as he thought it. He missed them always. They felt like a hole in him, and ignoring them didn't make it go away. It just made him cold. It was childlike to blame them for this, even though this job was never supposed to fall to him, even though he hated it... It was his, now.
So when they came to his home, when those pink-eyed bastards sat on his damn doorstep and quietly denounced everything he and his family had ever worked for, he was going to give them hell. Countless voices spoke through him, or he for them, and he'd damn well do them proud.
He took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Yeah, yeah, who is i—the fuck do you want?"
In front of him, instead of the trio of arrogant jerks he was expecting, was a face he knew all too well. Shorter than him, hair darker and cleaner than his, face, for once, not smiling; a face he had hoped he'd never see again. Without even thinking, his own face twisted in anger.
"I TOLD you what I'd do the next time I—"
"Kaz."
"—fuck is WRONG with you, how many times do—"
"Kaz."
"—take to RAM it into your stupid FUCKING head that—"
"Kaz."
"WHAT?!"
They were silent, just for a moment, while the boy handed him a file.
"She's alive."
Out on the edge of the world there is an old soldier that never stopped fighting. The wars that bred him, that honed him, had long since passed, but there is always idle work for devil's hands. He was accustomed to war, to the spoils of war, to taking what was rightfully his even when the heat of battle chilled to dry ash. His eyes looked with hunger and his laughter spoke of rot; to him the world was his to take, to play with, to make suffer.
He was a collector, in a sense. He kept toys in his house at the edge of the world. In the cellar. In cages. Sometimes they screamed. But this time, when he went to play with his old toy, his favorite toy—for it had been a long day and he always saved the best for last—the cage stood open, ravaged and reclaimed by nature.
She was gone.
A/N: So this is the first bit of the Naruto story that's been kicking around in my brain for about a year. I've rewritten and scrapped parts of it god knows how many times, but there are too many concepts I like in it to ditch it completely. It's a 'for want of a nail' story, in a sense, but you have to look quite a damn ways back to find the nail, and I'm not planning on spelling it out for you any time soon. I'm logically diverging from the series, though, not ignoring it. It's, obviously, written in a much more traditional style than my Digimon story, and deals with a lot of original characters and ideas, but I have major plans for a good bit of canon, some of which can be seen here if you look closely enough. If all goes well with this particular direction, the next chapter should follow shortly. If not... Well, there's always the Digimon story.
As always, feedback's welcome, though plot-heavy questions may not be answered. We can just call this the 'cryptic bitch clause' from here on out.