Disclamer: Naruto is the work Masashi Kishimoto. It is not mine. This is merely a fanfiction and as such it is not to be used for profit or gain of any kind. Let me repeat: It is not
mine. Do not sue.
Authors Note: Sorry for the changes. They had to be made for the story line to make sense. If you have no idea what I'm talking about then ignore it. It doesn't matter anyway.
"Who's the kid?"
Everything hurt. It was as if his arms, his legs, his chest, as if they were all on fire. Burning everything burning.
"Who cares? Just get him out of the way. God be damned if I am going to be under this dump when it comes crashing down. You saw those bombs; they took out half the support structure. I'm out of here."
His hair was covered in something sticky. It was spreading down onto his face too, covering him in that stickiness that tasted of iron and grime.
"But what about the kid? He's covered in the rubble and you know what the poison they released here is like; it's a miracle even with our training that we managed to survive, but he's as good as dead without help. All the rest of the villagers are already dead and this far away from the hidden village...he won't stand a chance of anyone else finding him."
His eyes were on fire now. He couldn't see, couldn't even open his leaden lids, but the fire was everywhere. Dancing in the darkness behind his covered eyes it burned.
"Fuck the kid; it's his own fault for being born in some little backwater village. For the last time get it through your head you fool: we're at war. Those damn Rock shinobi set off those poison bombs in this village hoping to kill any enemy ninja stationed here and I for one am not about to give them my head on a silver platter. Come on let's get out of here."
The feeling was gone now. Even the flames were gone, leaving only darkness in their wake. It seemed to be pressing in on him, smothering him in its dark embrace.
"Yes captain."
It was getting tighter, closer. He couldn't move anymore, couldn't twitch, couldn't even breath. He was going to die. Alone…alone in the darkness he was going to die.
"Sorry kid."
Tighter, tighter, tighter. Surely the burning was better than this…this darkness. Anything was better than this.
"Sorry nothing. If he deserves to live then he'll live."
The darkness was giving way now; the fire had returned and seemed to be driving it off. The fire and the burning. All over, everywhere the burning.
"Only the worthless die."
Both of them were, both of them burning. Him and the eye. That huge slitted eye staring him from the center of the flames.
Only the worthless die…
Burning, burning.
"Orochimaru-sama!!!"
Couldn't the girl be quite? Even the failure talked less then her. The final arc of the jonin exams was only two days away and he wanted his summoning jutsu to be ready in time. The snakes would secure his victory and victory he would have. That was why he had woken up an hour early and arrived at the training post by the edge of the Forest of Death before even the rising of the sun. What in the world was Tsunade doing here at 4:00am?
"Good morning Orochimaru-sama. Do you need any help with your training? Sarutobi-sensei taught me this really cool taijutsu technique yesterday and I wanted to know if you…"
"No. You can leave now."
"Ohh…" He could see the disappointment etched into her face. Good maybe it would drive some sense into that feeble brain of hers. "Sorry Orochimaru-sama I didn't mean to bother you. I just wanted to help you with…"
"I need no help. Leave." Thankfully that was all it took. Now with the field once again his he could get back to work.
Walking to the center he took the small metal rod out of the fire he had built upon his arrival and with a smile pressed the glowing end onto the skin of his arm. Soon he was done; the summoning seal newly burnt into his skin and his smile, surrounded by the smell of searing flesh, glowing.
Orochimaru had never been one to be affected by dreams. They were merely that: dreams.
And so as he awoke in the confines of the dungeon he had claimed as his own surrounded by his research subjects, he did not do anything to suggest he had undergone anything other than the rest which his body required. Sleeping was like breathing, an essential function of the human body, so why should it bother him?
Standing from the bed built into the wall of the room, he surveyed the scene with mild annoyance. His latest test subject had died on him again, the worthless fool. How could he be expected to accomplish anything with such pathetic material? Walking over he threw another log onto the dying fire, watching as it sprang back to life and bellowed smoke into the air. It had taken considerable time to track down a rift jutsu capable of displacing the smoke from deep underground in his dungeon to somewhere in the forest out of sight. All the same it had been worth it; he had always loved a nice fire.
The next few hours he lost himself in the pages of books never meant to be read and thoughts never meant to be thought. He was only drawn back to reality by a loud crash coming from the direction of the fire. Despite himself Orochimaru felt himself frown in annoyance. The support pieces beneath the mantle that had been built above the fire had, for reasons beyond him, given way, allowing the heavy marble slab to drop down to the floor below.
Rising Orochimaru crossed the room until he was standing before the wreck. His frown deepened as he saw what had happened. The skin of the white snake that he had found so many years ago at his parent's grave, that same skin which a few years back he had placed on the center of the mantle, had in the fall drifted backwards and fallen into the savage arms of the flames. He could only watch as the fires quickly overwhelmed the simple jutsu he had placed on the skin to preserve it. Only watch as the fires quickly consumed it, transforming it into something beyond even his own power to save. Transforming it into something beyond even his own power…
A smile quickly spreading across his face, Orochimaru merely looked on at the scene below him. Merely watched as the skin continued to burn.
No he had never been bothered by dreams and anyway he always had the same one. Why would it bother him? What was so scary about an eye anyway?
At last it was his. Everything was his. Jiraiya was finished, probably lying in the mud somewhere beneath the pouring rain, dying from the wounds so recently inflicted. Sarutobi was of no concern; he did not have what it took to be a threat. The old man was too concerned about his precious disciples to be one worth considering…at least for the moment. The village…well he would deal with them in good time. That was all behind him now, the jagged cut though the leaf symbol on his head protector was proof enough of that.
Throwing another log onto the bonfire before him Orochimaru watched as the fires crept higher and higher. They were the size of a small house now and if he did not want to be tracked by those meddlesome hunter ninja he had to hurry. It would be such a waste if they interrupted him in the very moment of his greatest glory.
His hands coming together in the necessary seals Orochimaru blew a small green flame from the confines of his mouth into the heart of the blaze. The moment the two flames touched, the green flame went to work, spreading quickly through the larger fire until it had conquered all.
Looking to the side to make sure the body was secure, his smile grew. That rain ninja had been such a hassle to secure, but a fighter of his caliber was just what he needed. Seeing that all was in order he turned back to the roaring green blaze.
And then without even a look back he walked into it, walked straight into the fire and stood basking in its heart. There he stood, letting the fires eat away at his flesh, his bones, his blood. Letting the flames burn every inch of his body, seeping into it until everything was burning, he stood there his eyes alight. All day he stood there, immersed in the flame, breathing in the delicious smell of searing flesh, as the fires molded him to greatness. They drew in, consuming his flesh as they in turn were consumed until they were gone and so was man called Orochimaru. There in his place was a great pile of ash and burnt flesh composed into a mound somehow larger than the fire which had given it birth.
For a moment the place was still and then from beneath the ashes of the former man a pair of great green eyes opened, glowing in the silence of the night. The snake, its white scales casting a surreal glow around the arena, shook off the ashes of its former life and turned its head to the now conscious captive who stared at the eyes of the beast in horror. At those great green eyes which seemed to look back at his from the heart of a roaring fire.
And then the snake struck.
Only the worthless die; the great: they live and burn.