Devour
Cute and Fluffy
Standard Disclaimer:
ロ I do not own Naruto or any of the characters contained therein. This story is not for profit. The plot, however, is my own.
ロ This story is rated M for graphic scenes of violence and torture.
Zabuza Momochi never wanted to be a shinobi. The youngest son of a poor blacksmith he wanted to be a baker. When he grew up he would make lots of delicious bread and have a little house where he would take care of his parents and marry the little girl across the street. Zabuza never had a single doubt that his dream would come true…
Until the day they came to take him away.
With all the innocence of a five year old, he simply couldn't comprehend that his parents would sell him to Kirigakure for the price of a year's worth of groceries. He refused to believe that they had abandoned him. So when he was stripped and shoved shivering into a room with five other naked, crying boys he stood tall, confident that his parents soon would be there to rescue him.
And when the scarred man walked into that room and told them that they had been granted the honor of serving their country, but would never see their family again, Zabuza just laughed at him.
Until the scarred man slammed his head into a stone wall.
From that point on, Zabuza had a new dream. He dreamed that his parents would one day come and bring him back home. It wasn't that life there was bad. After all, he didn't see the scarred man again after that first day. And he and the other five boys had become the best of friends. They did everything together; they ate together, went to class together, played together. They even lived together. But they just weren't his family and Zabuza knew that even though it would make him sad to leave his new friends, he belonged with his family.
The teachers there were nice too. They told Zabuza about all sorts of amazing things. Showed him how to hold and throw a kunai, how to channel chakra, and even how to jump up high in the air. They told him stories all about the ninjas of Kirigakure and how they protected the people of the Land of Water. About all the amazing things they did to keep the evil shinobi of other countries from hurting their villagers.
And slowly, his dream of going home was replaced by a new one.
Zabuza wanted to be just like those heroes in the stories.
With his new dream in mind, Zabuza eagerly threw himself into his studies, taking every word his teachers said to heart. As time passed he realized he could barely remember his family's faces anymore. But that was okay because he knew he'd see them again one day. They'd be so impressed when he showed up big and strong to save them from some wicked leaf ninjas. And in the meantime, he had his new brothers here.
Then the scarred man came back.
But Zabuza wasn't scared. He knew his teachers would protect him, just like the heroes in their stories. So when they did nothing to stop the scarred man from dragging him away, Zabuza couldn't help but wonder what he had done wrong. Was it that he hadn't worked hard enough? Wasn't strong enough or fast enough or smart enough?
Zabuza pleaded with them to let him stay. He could do better. He would do better.
They just laughed at him.
The scarred man threw him and his brothers into a dark, cold room with nothing but the clothes on their back and two kunai. He told them that they wouldn't get any food or water until they left the room.
And that nobody would leave the room until they were the only one left alive.
The six boys tried everything they could think of to get out, banging on the walls and door until their hands bled and their bones snapped. But nothing happened and the room only seemed to get darker and colder. Zabuza began to lose track of time, the fear and thirst blurring the seconds together.
Until he heard a scream and felt hot, sticky blood splatter across his face. He could only sit wide-eyed with horror as the unthinkable happened.
His brothers were trying to kill one another.
He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. This couldn't be happening. It was just a dream, a nightmare.
But as he felt hands slick with blood close around his neck, Zabuza realized it was all terribly, terribly real.
Something inside him snapped.
When he came to, the scarred man was complimenting him on what a great shinobi he was becoming. But Zabuza barely even heard him. All he knew was the sight of fresh blood running over his brothers' empty eyes.
Zabuza never dreamed again.
-
The next time Zabuza saw his old teachers they beat him until he passed out. As soon as he awoke they forced him to train until his muscles refused to move. And then they beat him again. His days quickly became a blur of agony marked only by brief periods of unconsciousness.
They shoved him together with thirty new children, both boys and girls, and he hated everyone of them. He was forced to struggle with them over everything. Their meals were tiny to force them to fight and steal from the others to fill their starving bellies. Water was even more precious. Their tiny bottles had to be rationed throughout the day and guarded constantly for fear that that it would be taken.
More than one of his classmates were killed in fights over water.
They quickly learned how to bandage their own wounds; there was no one to do it for them. The smartest among them wore bandages constantly, whether they needed them or not. The others never knew if they were wounded or not that way.
Because wounds meant weakness. And weakness made you a target.
As their bodies hardened to the physical beatings, their teachers began using hot brands instead. Failure to do what their teachers said, no matter how impossible the task, was met with punishment. So he learned every jutsu they taught perfectly. Constantly went over them in his mind so that he wouldn't forget a single one. He trained harder than anyone, pushing himself to be faster and stronger so that he could always finish their tests.
That way he'd get more food when the others failed.
His teachers drilled them until they knew every weak point on the human body and could target each one in the blink of an eye. They forced them to practice on each other with blunted kunai. They told them there was no better way to learn than to experience them yourself. After all, It was only a little sparring among friends.
But every one of them knew that if they ever dropped their guards during these friendly matches they'd find a kunai driven through their chest. Accidentally, of course.
The teachers just smiled and looked the other way.
That was the point of the exercise after all.
But their teachers didn't just want them to kill each other. There were only a few of them after all and their teachers needed to keep some alive to fill the ranks. So they brought in outsiders for the fledgling shinobi to practice their killing techniques on.
Their teachers always claimed that they were criminals who deserved to die. Told them that this was their civic duty.
Zabuza knew better.
He killed them anyways.
Finally, the scarred man came back again and Zabuza knew exactly what was about to happen. And he knew the other twelve remaining teens did as well.
They were the survivors. The ones that had been stronger, or faster, or smarter than the rest. They had each been made into a likeness of the perfect shinobi. They were powerful, intelligent, trained to adapt to any situation. They had no morals, no qualms about facing an opponent in a fair fight or slitting their throat while they slept. They were all trained killers, tireless and cruel.
Soulless.
The scarred man stripped them of everything, even their clothes, and shoved them out into the wilderness. They would have to survive for three whole days in this enclosed area, he told them. Anybody who tried to run would be killed. He gave them each a single kunai so that they could defend themselves from any enemies they ran across, be they their classmates or the wild animals that made the wilderness their home.
Zabuza couldn't help but wonder if there was even a difference anymore.
-
That first night in the wild, as Zabuza hid naked and shivering, he watched with fascination as a tiny spider feasted on a fly that it had caught in it's web. And he couldn't help the bitter laugh as he realized that that little spider had just managed to teach him the reason behind everything his teachers had done.
They had made him kill his brothers to break him.
They had made him kill strangers to rebuild him.
They had made him kill his classmates to test him.
Just like that little spider, every life he had taken had made him more powerful. Because strength was gained only by devouring those weaker than you.
And strength, Zabuza knew, was good.
–
The scarred man found Zabuza two days later surrounded by the barely recognizable bodies of his classmates. Zabuza wondered what the man thought when he realized his greatest creation was also his last mistake.
The man had spent eight years carefully cultivating a merciless killer to serve the village of Kirigakure.
But service implied helping those weaker than oneself.
The same ones they had taught him existed only to be fed upon.
He grinned when the man tried to run. Then he pinned the man's feet to the ground with kunai.
He laughed when the immobilized man tried futilely to fight back. Right before he drove knives through the man's wrists and into the soft loam below.
Zabuza took his time, showing his teacher just how well he had learned every one of his lessons. Showed him how well he could pinpoint all the most agonizing nerves on a human body. Demonstrated how perfectly he remembered all the most excruciating jutsus he had been taught. He told the man that he should be happy. After all, a good teacher should always be happy when one of their students excelled.
The man called him a demon.
Zabuza cut out his tongue.
The man spat at him.
Zabuza stabbed a kunai through his groin.
The man wailed helplessly.
Zabuza just laughed. And then he left him there.
He did owe the spider after all. And flies were easiest to catch when they were full.
Quick Notes:
1. The original idea for this story came to me while reading Firefly's "Tin God". It's a one-shot about how Hidan became a missing-nin and I highly recommend it. And any of his (her) other stories for that matter, he's an exceptional writer.
2. I've got a few other ideas for Zabuza one-shots flitting around my head, so if you enjoyed this, keep your eye out for more.
ロ Thanks for reading.
Jak
ジャック (Jyakku)