Author's Note: A short back story of Zetsu. There just isn't enough love for this character and while I never thought I would write anything about him, I guess the writing bug proved me wrong.
All characters are property of their respective owners.
Comments are appreciated and loved.
I believe that if ever I had to practice cannibalism, I might manage if there were enough tarragon around.
- James Beard
The first time Zetsu consumed human flesh was out of necessity. Fate forced him to commit the act; before then such a thought would have never crossed his mind. A week of being trapped in a caved-in mine shaft with the rations gone after the second day and water on the fifth began to radically alter Zetsu's thoughts on what food really was.
In those first days all Zetsu did was replay the events in his mind that led him to his present situation. His partner had died triggering the explosion, a hidden trap set off when both of them had been attempting to run from Iwagakure nin. Zetsu could remember falling down the mine shaft, cracking his head on a jutting rock, and then only the smell of copper mixed with earth to greet him when he woke. Fumbling in the darkness, first finding the remains of his comrade and then the space of his new prison, Zetsu kept as far back as he could from the corpse.
Zetsu wanted to live. Knowing that a team would be dispatched to find out his and his now-dead comrade's whereabouts, it was only the question of how much time it would take to find him. It might be too late when they did. Zetsu could not afford to let taboos stop him. If he did not eat, his presence might be lost for those searching for it above the ground. If he became weak, then he would not be able to muster the energy to cry out.
His friend's body became more and more appetizing the longer Zetsu thought about it. A growling stomach became the food critic. After all, a body was just meat. Protein, amino acids, fatty tissue, everything that the human body required for energy. It would go to waste if Zetsu did nothing, not to mention that with the way the body was beginning to fester, it could potentially cause a disease in the enclosed space and lead to his death.
Necessity won in the end.
It was easier once Zetsu had destroyed the face with a rock. Even in the dark where eyes were useless, the Grass shinobi found less of a connection with the body if he could not mentally recognize it. Kunai in one hand, holding an arm in the other, Zetsu began to slice.
Help came not long after. Pulled out from the collapsed mine ten days after being buried, Zetsu sat listlessly in the sun and watched the varied reactions of the rescue team as they recovered the body and came to the conclusion of what he had done. Some blanched, one stared at him in open shock, and another fainted.
Placed under a strict watch once Zetsu was back safely in Kusagakure, he endured the series of tests and treatments the medical team had prepared. It was a freak occurrence, they all agreed. Something so extreme only happened when a person was pushed to their limit. Stress, one doctor cited, could break the reality of the mind. Hadn't the mission Zetsu just survived been one of particular duress?
Tapping pens against clipboards and shaking their heads in sympathy, as if they understood what Zetsu had been through and commiserate, he was discharged. Given time to recuperate, Zetsu reported back to active duty not long after.
By then it was already too late. A human is still an animal once the laws, morals, and codes of conduct are stripped away. Once a beast has found a particular taste for something they enjoy, no matter how depraved it is, they always return for more. Zetsu had found his, and just because a law or a moral code said it was not right… sometimes turning a blind eye to it was the best method.
Zetsu's skin tone had always been an oddity, a show of extreme polarities in colour, if one disregarded the large plant-like appendages which sprouted on either side of his shoulders. Or his vibrant yellow eyes that someone once mentioned seemed to burn like lanterns. Despite his unique physical appearance, Zetsu never thought his mind would follow the extremes of white and black his body displayed.
"He was my friend. I should have held out longer and treated his body with respect." His bone-white hand rubbed an eye. "Now everyone that knows about the mission is avoiding me like I'm a monster."
"They don't understand. If they were in the same situation they'd do the same thing, even if no one will admit to it."
Guilt, first from eating his dead friend and secondly from taking a perverse pleasure in the act, had done something to Zetsu's mind. He constantly had long and involved conversations with himself when alone, away from judging eyes, tucked away in the safety of his home. Instead of seeking help Zetsu kept the problem to himself. It was easier to talk with someone who had an immediate insight on the matter, who could see him as a person and not as a freak.
"Maybe I should go back to the hospital. They might be able to help me if I explain everything to them."
His other half gave a derisive snort. "You must be kidding. Nobody would understand. They might just lock you up and throw away the key. Better off keeping quiet, just like with everything else. If they knew what was happening, what do you think people would say or do?"
Zetsu turned to the pile of clothing tossed in the corner of the room, considered. They were not his and neither was the oversized boots, just excess from a snack Zetsu had found a few days back and brought home. He would have to wait for garbage day to properly dispose of the remains. Nobody asked what was in their neighbour's trash.
"I'm concerned where this could lead."
The right side of his mouth twisted into a grin. "It won't lead anywhere if no one finds out."
Zetsu picked at his plate, grimaced at the steamed vegetables. "This isn't appetizing."
"Proof is never left behind at the end."
He pushed the plate away. "I suppose." His stomach gurgled. There was a weighted silence in the small apartment, a fleeting look toward the kitchen and well stocked fridge, knowing that what he wanted was not in there.
"Where do you want to eat today?"
"The grocer on the west side of the village, I suppose. He does keep fit."
A harsh chuckle erupted from Zetsu. "A healthy choice."
His Mayfly jutsu was perfect for surveillance, which was why Zetsu was sent ahead of any team he was grouped with, scouting the terrain, disarming traps and reporting back with crucial information. Sometimes days passed where he had only himself to keep for company and Zetsu thought about many things, but always his mind wandered back to one dependable subject when his stomach growled.
Actions unnoticed by his team mates, Zetsu could actively hunt down any quarry of his choice. He just hadn't been lucky enough to encounter anything bipedal yet on this mission. It had been awhile since Zetsu had treated himself to a good meal, and the ration packs were not enough to stop the constant gnawing in his belly. The last mission had netted him three meals, all of a hefty size and easily taken down with nothing left to show Zetsu had been there.
Something metallic glinted on Zetsu's left. Pushing off a branch to change direction, he moved toward whatever had caught his eyes, barely rustling the leaves on the tree branches as he passed. Melting into the shadows of a great tree, travelling down the trunk and across the forest floor carpeted with leaves, Zetsu re-emerged behind a hedging plant. The metallic shine had come from the forehead protector worn by a young man, a shinobi from Sunagakure by the marking, standing in a clearing and looking up at the sunlight.
Obviously on patrol and completely ignorant to what was about to happen.
Zetsu's luck had improved. Palming a shiruken and angling it to throw where it would surely hit the carotid artery, he licked his lips in anticipation.
"I wonder what someone from Suna tastes like…"
The Suna nin dropped to the forest floor without a sound, bleeding out too quickly for him to try and stop the flow. Zetsu crept forward, his appearance eliciting a surprised look from the man in his last moments, and closing his flytrap around the rapidly cooling body, slipped back into the earth to find a secreted location to eat.
Zetsu reported back to his team later that evening, wordlessly handing the Suna headband to the captain as he melted up from the ground. Nobody asked how he had dealt with the encounter, only that they could proceed on their mission unhindered thanks to Zetsu.
They should of asked, the darker half of Zetsu secretly laughed, licking the last traces of the blood and flesh from between his canines.
People from the desert, Zetsu noted that night, tasted a little like jerky.
Zetsu began to worry. It became more complicated for him to control his hunger as time went on. At the start, the craving to devour still-warm flesh, feeling it slither down his throat, had only been very second month. It changed to Zetsu slipping out to hunt every month. His actions intensified into him eating every week until now, not a day went by without him thinking of eating someone who had walked past him.
Wondering what they tasted like, categorizing them either as full meals, appetizers or a light nibble.
"Nothing is left behind after it's all said and done. Nothing is wasted."
"Someone might notice what's happening."
"Don't slip up, then. Watch everything and everyone."
Impossible was the word to describe the situation he was in, but Zetsu cared less and less just so long as his need was satisfied. Early on he had thought if he ate just enough, kept his gluttony under control, and packed the rest away for when he was hungry again, everything would have worked out.
Yet leftovers lacked a quality that only the freshness of a new kill brought to Zetsu.
He was never careless in choosing his meals, how he targeted who would be next. Villagers' ranks were always taken into consideration. Better that a genin or academy student went missing on assignment over a high-class jounin; less questions were asked. Utilizing his skills as a spy had never been easier. Zetsu came to meticulously know the routines and habits of his food inside out before any move was made.
Zetsu always waited outside the village, hidden in the tall grasses, anticipating the arrival of those he had selected. Waylaying a shinobi as soon as they were out of the vicinity of Kusagakure, and out of earshot of any comrades, became second nature to Zetsu and dare he think it, an art form of sorts.
Hunters hunted by their own.
The singular aspect all of his food shared from the village, if Zetsu discounted the similarity in taste, was the profound look of betrayal on every face when they saw who was responsible for all the disappearances. Nobody had thought for a moment that it was Zetsu, not after what he had gone through.
"I'd of thought they would be suspicious of me--"
"--considering you ate your best friend in that pit? Obviously you're still the pity case for most people, but not the first one suspected of all the disappearances."
"This is a good thing, then." Zetsu wrapped the soiled clothes in a rucksack and hurled it from the suspension bridge into the waterfall below.
"They never find the evidence, anyways."
Sometimes, no matter how small, even the best of hunters made mistakes. Zetsu should have been more discreet. It had only been a matter of time until he started slipping.
In the rash of sudden and unexplained disappearances that left behind only the remains of a futile struggle, night watch patrols were increased over the whole village. Distrust and tempers flared, accusations being levelled on all sides as the pent up rage everyone had held in for so long began to spill over. Some thought the missing people had been taken by other villages, held hostage to glean information of Kusagakure and plan an attack. Others spoke of monsters from the grassy plains sneaking into the village, things that only existed in folklore.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Zetsu had gotten greedy.
Several people devoured in as many days had become a new record, and while his targets had been everyday villagers, people had noticed. Zetsu had cursed his luck. Keeping his head low in the quiet upheaval that rumbled through the village and could be heard on the streets, in the stores, by shinobi between missions, Zetsu stopped eating. A fasting, he reasoned, might help to purge the wanting for flesh.
Instead it made him desperate, which led him to become negligent of his surroundings.
By the end of the week, feeling trapped and ready to gnaw on his arm, Zetsu was able to leave the village to complete a minor assignment. After all, he was still trusted by the higher-up's. No one had a reason to suspect him. Once his mission was done, rather than return home, Zetsu decided to search for a meal. Just enough to hold him over...
Concealed in the wavy fields, sunlight warming Zetsu's body as blades of grass brushed over his skin and the hum of grasshoppers filled the air, the small tendrils of chakra he set down began to tremble. He raised his head, the movement so minuscule that it was hardly noticeable, amber eyes glowing eagerly. By feeling the tremors running through his chakra up toward him, Zetsu could mentally picture who his quarry was before seeing them. The image became more vivid the closer they came.
"There are two, both men."
"Good, I was hoping for a large meal. These last few days--"
"--has been a test of my patience." Zetsu cocked his head to the side, frowning. "One is middle-aged, the other young."
Careless over who the people were and what abilities they might have, not knowing if they were mere villagers or trained shinobi, Zetsu lunged headfirst into the fight when the men crossed his field of vision. To him, they were food. That was good enough for him at that moment. It soon turned out much the worse for him.
Both were jounin-class and well-versed in fire ninjutsu.
Zetsu struck the older man first with a speed born of hunger, his flytrap appendage crushing the other's torso effortlessly, slicing through muscle, tissue and bone. He had nearly bisected the man, the gurgling from the prey telling Zetsu that he was moments away from his life ending. Raising his face to enjoy the droplets of blood that pattered down on him, tongue licking the salty offering from his lips, Zetsu realized the jounin hadn't fully died when the man released a fire attack.
Flames surrounded Zetsu's body. Stumbling backwards, reeling from the vicious attack, he dropped the now-dead jounin to the ground and struggled to put the chakra-based fire out as it licked along his flesh, through his hair, over every bare inch. Flinging himself on the ground, ripping up grass and dirt to try smothering the flames, Zetsu was incapable of guarding himself against the remaining jounin's attacks.
Kunai blades embedded themselves in Zetsu's torso. He screamed, the sound inhuman coming from a throat burned raw. Breathing was absolute torture, lungs blistering as Zetsu gasped for air, eyesight swimming from the intense agony his body was being dealt. Zetsu's entire body was seared, the smell of charred flesh that invaded his nostrils his own.
The jounin stood above him, expression different from what Zetsu was use to seeing on his victims faces. It was one of triumph, a twisted smile while a gloved hand held another kunai at the ready.
"It was you," the jounin spoke. "It was you the entire time."
A kick, hard and relentless, landed against Zetsu's right side. He felt his ribs break under the attack, the bones cracking. It was the only sound besides Zetsu's wheezing pants, the dirt falling when the jounin raised his foot again for another kick. Barely able to think straight, each breath laboured, the Grass nin realized how big his mistake had been. Without enough strength to kill his attacker, Zetsu was as good as dead.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, his voice chanted frantically through his mind, whirling faster and faster. Stupid, stupid, stupidstupidstupid--
"Monster!" the jounin screamed, kicking Zetsu again, screaming the same word over and over. Bones broke under the savage impact as the assault continued, the shinobi determined to bring as much pain as possible to the thing in front of him.
Realization came clear and fast to Zetsu.
His name would be placed in the bingo book. He would become a wanted criminal, hunted down without remorse. The grasslands of his country, the familiar sounds and smells of the village, the haunts Zetsu visited as a child, he would never see them again.
For once the dualistic nature that was Zetsu agreed on what to do. Accepting the reality with a quiet sense of defeat, he whispered a final goodbye to the Grass Country.
Hauled to his feet with burnt flesh cracking and peeling from the movement, Zetsu's face was levelled in front of the jounin's. "Have anything to say before I bring you back to the village, you sick bastard?"
Zetsu's response was to laugh. What was there to say anymore? Kusagakure would know him for decades to come as the village's monster that had hid in plain sight. Both halves of the man gibbered insanely, pointed teeth stained red against the contrasts of his skin, and Zetsu released his Mayfly jutsu. Sinking into the soil and letting the technique take him wherever it may, he let the earth swallow him whole.
There are always other places to go and new things to try.
That was the last conscious thought before the pain made Zetsu slip away.
"Plant-san, are you okay? You look wilted…"
The apparent concern behind the voice was the first thing Zetsu noted, hazily rising from a blessed unconsciousness into a world of pain. The second was that someone was poking him in the ribs. Persistently, and right where his ribs had been broken. It made Zetsu want to howl, yet all that passed from his burnt throat was a hoarse whimper.
Opening his eyes hurt. Everything hurt, from the broken bones to the way he breathed to the exposed nerve endings underneath the charred skin.
Sunlight blinded him as it filtered through a canopy of leaves overhead. Unable to keep his eyes on anything with the world dangerously swimming around him, Zetsu was only dimly aware of a shadowed form kneeling over him. An orange swirl-like mask stared down at him.
"What's your name, Plant-san?"
"Zetsu," he weakly replied.
The masked man tilted his head to the side. "You look like you've been out in the sun too long. I patched up your wounds, and lucky for you that I passed my first aid courses this time around!"
Wincing under the pitch of the cheerful voice and the prodding finger, Zetsu spat "Who're you?"
The stranger seemed momentarily taken aback from the strange outburst, then started laughing.
"Tobi. I'll help you get better since Tobi is a good boy. Now Zetsu-san, I need to find a way to move you, but don't worry. Tobi can find a way. Just wait right here."
"Like I have anywhere else to go."
Zetsu closed his eyes, hearing Tobi crash and stumble through the forest, obviously looking for something that would help move him. A good boy? How could he not laugh at the self-given title of this weird Samaritan?
A ghost of a smile fluttered across Zetsu's lips when his stomach began to grumble. Perhaps Tobi would taste good. After all, Zetsu realized, he would heal faster once he had a proper meal. With nobody around to disturb Zetsu, he could dine for as long as he wished. Not since Kusagakure had he gotten the chance to indulge himself.
"I'll wait until tonight when he goes to sleep."
"He doesn't look too strong. Just to make sure, cover his mouth so he doesn't scream out."
"Yes, yes. Nobody will be the wiser."
End