AN: I don't own Naruto

This story is set in an AU world where the Mist never reformed, although they did participate in the campaign against Madara. After the war, the world remains largely as it is now, with separate states and Hidden Villages, and in a state of tenuous peace. The Mist ninja retreated back to their world and shrouded themselves once again in shadow and intrigue.

Most of it was conceived and written in early 2008, before the introduction of Natural Energy and the attack on Konoha. Set about seven years after the current canon.

I have decided to finish it after a five year hiatus, editing a few things but keeping the story largely intact.

Because of much of it is set in the Mist, it is OC heavy.

Main canon characters are: Shikamaru, Ino, Choji, Naruto, Sakura, Kakashi, Kankuro, Temari, Gara, Shiho and Sai. Canon characters are introduced in chapter 3.

A true harem: Shikamaru X Temari, Ino, Shiho, OC

Although Rated "T," it is an adult story. It will contain violence, mature themes, and language. But the details will be spared to keep with the rating.

For Top.

Within the Mist

Part I

Chapter 1 The Strange Boy

The Bloody Mist, as the surrounding countries affectionately referred to it, was shrouded in mystery even to those who lived in the large island country of Water. The village's citizens were almost completely cutaway from the surrounding culture, living in an isolated world of constant struggle. The country was blessed with cool weather, despite the fact that it was located in the same longitude as Fire and Wind countries, both very warm all year round, due to its heightened elevation. The whole country was mountainous, allowing them a sample of all four seasons and giving the village its name, Kirigakure, or the Village Hidden in the Mist. The small city was in a valley high above in the mountains, and every morning the low lying clouds would shroud the streets in a light fog, creating the impression of mist. Two nearby rivers would also oblige, producing a foggy haze during their temperate summer mornings.

From his earliest memories, Natsu Irika could not remember receiving affection from his parents. Not a kiss, not a hug, not a gentle pat on his head, or even a small word of encouragement was directed his way. Instead, his parents were both cold, treating him almost like a stranger. Their conversations were short and without elaboration. They ate their meals together sporadically, and during those times, their dinners stretched on in silence. The small, modest wooden building he called home lacked warmth even the most blistering summer's day.

His mother, although at first the most kindly of his parents, seemed torn between showing any sort of maternal affection and teaching him the heartless ways of his people, the proud shinobi of the Mist. At times, she would do little things that would give him a glimpse of a life beyond the thick walls of Kiri. A smile here, a small gift there, a kindly adjustment of his clothes. But on the whole, she was as cold as a December morning. And as he grew older, he kindness became more remote, until it disappeared all together.

He knew very little about the short, black haired woman who stalked the home as a ghost, her vacant brown eyes forever glued on the distant horizon, other than her name, which was Yukiko. What he did know is that she didn't like him or his father, and she hated their home. When he asked her, being an inquisitive child and quite perceptive for his age at the time, five, she slapped him harshly, leaving a bright red handprint on his cheek. It was one of the few times she touched him after his infancy. She never found it necessary to apologize. He did not cry.

Of his father he knew even less, if that was possible. His features were the regular of Water country, black haired, dark eyed, and pale skinned, with the added formidability of those who are well toned and tall, the perfect image of a Mist shinobi. He wore his hair short and spiked. His features were severe and his eyes cold as they surveyed his son appraisingly. All that Irika did was measured by the length of kunai, all his actions weighed by how they would benefit him in the field. In truth, the only thing he ever knew of that enigmatic man was his name, Shimru.

Although his father communicated little and found it fit to show no affection to his son, he spent a great deal of time training him. His family honor was at stake, after all, and it would do no good if the boy he hoped would carry on his name did not survive his childhood.

Although he knew little of his father, Irika worshipped him. Shimru was his life, his world, and his pride. A man of few words, and even fewer unnecessary actions, the bond he made with the stoic man would remain with him for the rest of his life.

One fog-filled morning he left with his weapons packed. His brows were furrowed with concern. Irika found this unusual, as his father very rarely displayed any emotion.

"Never forget what I've taught you," he said before walking out the door.

As he went down the path to the main road, he did not turn for a last look to his home or family.

He returned as ashes. His companions burned his body in the field and packed some of the ashes in a makeshift urn before returning to the village. Irika was nine when he watched one his father's companions return with the urn, which was made of a clay cooking pot. Yokiko did not express any emotion, but merely thanked him for his troubles and handed him a few coins. The man left without another word. That was the day he learned from his mother -who seemed particularly happy - that Shimru had almost killed him at birth.

"On the day of your birth, your father entered the bedroom after he heard your first cries. He first examined your sex and was pleased to note you were male. Although he swore to make you a kunoichi unlike any other if you were unlucky enough to be born female. But when he saw how small your hands were as they curled and how piteously you cried, he cursed and swore you would make a poor shinobi. He would have tossed you in the river had the nurses not intervened."

"Father was to toss me in the river?" the child asked stoically. "He did," she said with a gleam in her eye. "But he changed his mind." "Oh?" "He didn't think I was weak. Otherwise, why did he train me?" The little boy asked. His mother did not reply, but merely examined her son with narrow, malicious eyes before replying.

"I suppose it is because I never allowed him near me again. He had no other choice but to carry on his name with you."

Irika did not react to his mother's vicious words. There was no need to reply to them, after all. She did not love him and he did not love her, just as he did not think he loved the man whose ashes were scattered across the four winds of Kirigakure, fated to fall and mingle forever with the earth bellow.

Irika, so accustomed to this life, did not question it. Indeed, as he grew older, there were no examples that would have made him question his family life. All the children he knew exhibited the same sort of coldness to their parents they received in turn, and to each other they behaved in the most vicious manner.

Not only were they not taught love and affection by their parents, but also unlike other places, the children instilled with selfishness. They were not encouraged to share, but rather, to keep what they claimed as theirs. Fights were not officially sanctioned, but as long as the children kept their chaos away from the instructors, they turned a blind eye.

As children are want to do under such conditions, innocence lead to savagery. An outside observer would have been shocked by the brutality that was allowed beneath the surface. Children who were too weak to survive were quickly singled out and even killed. Their names were stricken from the records. Those who were strong bound together in small gangs for survival. Kids as young as five were forced under these conditions to consider their survival at the expense of all else. Honesty was dangerous. Loyalty was unknown. Friendship had no meaning.

The only thing that kept the village from spiraling into chaos was the unquestioned obedience drilled in every man, woman, and child to their superiors. Deference to rank was strictly enforced. Even civilians had their own place in the pecking order, being just above Academy students but bellow genin.

Mist ninja were only tools. They had no ego. All orders, no matter how trivial, were to be followed without hesitation. Therefore, all acts of insubordination where harshly dealt with.

Their training began at a very early age, two years before any village, at four, but ended at the regular age of twelve. They were already hardened by the time they reached academy, and their peer groups were formed. At this time, the teachers and their peers weeded out the weak with precision, leading to miserable times for those who were weak.

Those strong enough to survive, like Irika, and formed groups had an easier time. These groups formed alliances, staged wars, and betrayals that encompassed their whole lives while at the Academy. Small children soon learned they were prey for the older children so kept their distance. Elder children learned they were prey to the adults and so found safety in numbers.

However, even in those times, Irika stood out from his peers. Although he participated in cruelty directed at other children and learned the ways of selfishness as well as the next boy, but he took under his wing several children who should have been weeded out and discarded. He could not understand why but a small voice within, one that he could only hear in bits and pieces, bothered him, picked at him, giving him impression that there was something decidedly wrong with the state of affairs.

Because he knew no other life, he did not consider that there could be a different world, or a different set of values. So, he merely kept the children safe, for no reason he was aware of, almost out of instinct.

They were two, a skinny girl, Ayume, and a boy of sickly health, Sekichi. Besides the two, his group was also comprised of another boy who was very tall and brawny for his age. His hair and eyes made him a target, both being blue, which in turn fostered in him a great deal of strength, being such an easy target made him the natural draw of every bully in the yard. Despite this, or perhaps because of this, he was an exceedingly social child, naturally desiring friendship but not allowed the outlet of his desires. Instead, he routed his need for companionship by gathering lesser children as an audience for his endless bragging. And so Mizuro became the unofficial leader and defender of the ragtag gang. The three lesser children were a perfect audience.

While in school, their training was harsh and disciplinary. It was not uncommon for children to die during their years as academy students due to exhaustion, and those who did not survive due to the training were as memorable as those who did not survive due to the hands of fellow schoolmates. They were not remembered.

They had no concept of play except for the most sadistic tortures inflicted upon small animals and general bullying. Perhaps this was one of the reasons there were no cats in Kiri and the only dogs were large and fearsome. When they were not in school, they trained. When they were not training, they slept.

But the small band of friends found enjoyment in things other than sadism, cruelty, selfishness, and malice, and would occasionally take a break from such mundane trifles to look up at the sky.

One conversation while they spent their time watching the passing clouds would mark a turning point in Irika's life. It was on the eave of his eighth birthday, the weakest of the group, Sekichi, who was suffering from yet another bout of illness was the first one to speak.

"I hate my parents." "Oh? Who doesn't hate them? They're a bunch of bastards, I say," Mizuro said. "No, I mean, I lay awake at night and think of ways to kill them." "I do that too," Mizuro said. "Do you?" He asked. "Well," the blue haired boy said after a moment's consideration. "I suppose not. Who would cook for me if they were dead after all?" "I don't care. I rather starve. They feel the same way as well." "How do you know that?" the girl asked.

Perhaps due to the harshness of her surroundings; she was the perfect tomboy, mimicking boys in every way, with her chestnut brown hair cropped in a bowl and dressed in decidedly masculine attire. She was of usual Kiri appearance, pale with brown eyes and very slim. But those rare times she smiled (usually while torturing an innocent rabbit) a dimple appeared on her left cheek. It was a feature that Irika did not concern himself with then, but would consider very interesting in four years.

"They told me," he replied solemnly. "They said I was useless and stupid and good only for civilian life." "That's not true," he blue haired boy said. "You win all the spars in class with other kids anyway." "That's only because you help me!" he declared angrily. "So what? If it weren't for any of us, we'd all be dead," Irika said.

This truth ended the conversation. No one could deny it.

So the sick one did not reply, but to Irika, who noticed everything, his clenched fists and furrowed eyebrows spoke volumes.

It did not surprise him to hear that his parents were both found murdered two days later, nor to see him at the window one night later that week, asking if he could stay.

Murder was almost mundane, and only the most extreme and egregious cases were every convicted. So he would not face official repercussions for his behavior. However, if he could not find a new residence, then the officials would do nothing if a man of baser preferences or murderous intent were to hunt him. Only the strong survived in Kiri, by slaying his parents, and the only protection he had against predators, he was informing the world his belief that he was strong enough to care for himself. Besides, there was no proof.

But that was not the case. So after hiding in the sewers for two days, he ventured to the surface and sought out Irika, the only person he truly trusted.

"Let me stay here," he said.

"Why should I?" Irika said. "What about your brothers? Why don't you stay with them?" "They abandoned me. Please, you know what will happen to me if I don't stay." "If you're strong then it won't happen." "But I am not strong," Sekichi admitted. "You know I am not. If I don't stay here, I will die."

The admission would have cost him his life had it been directed at anyone else. The fear in his large gray eyes would have been his death sentence.

"Come in," Irika said after a moment's consideration, surprising even him. "Thank you."

That night, the two eight year-olds slept peacefully, with Irika's arm protectively over his friend's shoulder.

The next morning, when his Shimru saw the new boy at the table shoveling down the modest breakfast as though it were a feast, he said only five words.

"You did a foolish thing."

Yukiko sighed with exasperation as she served Shimru another bowl of miso soup. "I suppose we're going to have to pay for him as well," she spat.

She obviously didn't approve of the arrangement, but there was little she could do if her husband allowed him to stay. From that time forward, Irika and Sekichi were as closer than brothers. They did everything together: training, studying, sleeping, and eating. Nothing Irika owned was completely his neither did Sekichi posses anything that Irika could not have.

They argued little because they found very little reason to argue. Both boys were quiet, Irika given to observation and study while Sekichi was more inclined to keep his thoughts inward, focusing on his own motives and feelings.

Several months after his father's death, when Irika was nine and Sekichi had been with them for two season, he was about to have another conversation that would change him. This time, it was only the two children. It was an unusually hot summer and they were on summer holiday. They were both throwing pebbles into a nearby stream. They were using that opportunity to train, as all children did. The pebbles were aimed at passing fish. They were hunting for their dinner. Yukiko had not cooked for a long time.

"Do you think the whole world lives like this?" Sekichi asked. "What do you mean?" Irika asked. "We have never been outside the village," Sekichi observed. "So? We'll be there soon enough after we graduate." "Yeah. But, how do you think they live?" "I dunno. Like us, I guess. What's the big deal anyway?"Irika asked.

"I wonder if there are places where people get along or if everyone is like we are." "What do you mean like we are?" Irika asked darkly. "I trust you. We're friends. Even though you can kill me because I'm weak, you let me stay."

"I only did that because I felt like it. The day I get tired of having you following me around I'll kick you out. Besides," he murmured. "You aren't weak." "Sure you will," Sekichi said as he picked up a pebble.

Irika noted with annoyance that Sekichi had a small smile on his face as he said so. He replied with a punch to the face. "Don't assume you know me you mooching bastard!" Irika yelled. "Then let me go," Sekichi said.

"What?" "Let the perverts have me!" "Shut up." "Do as your mother wishes and kick me out!"

To Irika's irritation, tears began to dampen his friend's eyes. "Stop being such a cry baby!" Irika yelled. "You aren't like the others. I don't know why, but I know that you would never throw anyone of us away. You wouldn't betray us because we're weak." "Shut up!" Irika yelled once gain as he grabbed him by the collar with his right hand and shook him violently.

"You're different from everyone else." "The only weird guy is you, with your tears and your feelings," Irika answered snidely. "I won't be a burden to you anymore. I will become stronger, I promise."

Irika let him go and then shrugged his shoulders, choosing to completely ignore his friend's implications and forget the troublesome conversation.

"Whatever. Let's just get some fish. I'm hungry."

Sekichi kept his word and began to practice every day for hours after classes, almost dying of sickness twice due to his weak constitution. Irika secretly followed him at first and then, driven by envy, joined him later. By the time they both graduated, Sekichi had transformed from the weakest member of his class, into one of the strongest Mist genin.

Something changed that moment, as Sekichi became stronger, Irika could not keep up. And no amount of training could shorten the gap. Sekichi, once the protected, became his defender. He left Irika behind.

The most vivid memory Irika had of his years before graduation was the nights he would spend sitting on the hospital rooftop after dark, observing the sprawling village before him with detached interest. It wasn't the village that kept him going back there, but his thoughts on the future. The silence cleared his thoughts and the cool breeze made him alert.

One day he would graduate and leave the walls of his brutal home. He would be forced to prove himself as a Mist shinobi.

There he would remember his mother's words: on the day of his birth, his father decided he was too weak to be a Mist shinobi. It was uncharacteristic compassion from a few nameless women that kept him alive.

Despite his denial, he knew the truth. The truth was that Mizuro inexplicably lost to him when they sparred in class. He knew he was now weaker than Sekichi and becoming weaker by the day.

His father was right. He should have drowned in the river. And he would prove him wrong.