Ascension Chapter 1: Droplet, a naruto fanfic

A/N: In accordance with my general (and somewhat unfortunate) trend of writing something angsty, tragic or horror-centric for my first fic in a fandom, I have decided to upload this story into the Naruto fandom, rather than the sweeter (and incomplete) oneshots loitering in my folders. Due to the general content of this story and the obvious differences in the canon world and this alternate world, Naruto is not going to be the bright ball of sunshine he normally is, but most of the characters will stay (relatively) in-character, or as in-character as they can given their circumstances. This is also a rampant plot-bunny, so expect irregular updates as my interest in this wanes and waxes.

Before I start, I should warn everyone that this is rated M because it contains violence, swearing, supernatural elements, generally disturbing imagery and darker characters. Be warned- this is not going to be a fic where everyone skips through flower fields and dances around rainbows (so press that 'back' button now if you want a tame Naruto story). There may be (minor) romantic scenes, but those will most likely be dark and get delegated to a site where I won't get warnings for explicit material.
I do not own the characters of Naruto (which are Masashi Kishimoto's), the general setting, taken from Tower of God (which is SIU's) or the various horror elements I'll be pulling from famous (and not so famous) horror movies, books and/or manga. The only thing I own is the idea which melds all these elements, and nothing more.
There will be eventual SasuNaru, for anyone who likes/dislikes that pairing, and other pairings may appear depending on how this story goes.
...And that's all, I think.

~ Chapter One [A Single Droplet] ~

Every time he closed his eyes, he always saw the same old things– yet, no matter how many times he'd seen it before, there was no stopping the rush of fear that spiked through his heart and drowned him in a flood of terror. Was there a name to the things which stalked people through their nightmares? Perhaps there was, in some fancy scholarly text that he would never be able to access, but to him it was nothing more than a nameless, age-old fear.

Though, at times, he wished there was something more concrete to the darkness permeating his fitful sleep.

He knew how it would go, of course; he knew it with the certainty that he'd die if he held his breath for more than five minutes on end. At first, he would turn frantically around, seeking the nameless terror stalking him in his nightmares. He would relax, then, thinking that he had escaped the nightmare for the first time in waking (or was it sleeping?) memory, but a blink of his eyes would dispel that naïve notion. Because then, instead of darkness, he would see a pair of glowing red eyes.

And instead of relief, he would feel the terror seep into his bones until he could no longer move, for fear of being devoured by the insanity glittering alluringly before him.

"Come to me, boy," the nameless terror would growl, as two rows of pearly white teeth would appear in a flash, mocking all that was good and wholesome with its false smile. "You know you want my power… don't you?"

He would shake his head –or, at least, try to, since his neck would never obey him– but the nameless terror would always, always laugh, showing a crimson tongue waggling scornfully behind those serrated teeth. No noise would escape his lips, because his larynx would be constricted so tightly that moving it was an absolute impossibility, and he would be left to watch the thing laugh, and laugh, and laugh until the only noise he knew was that awful, derisive laughter.

"Aww, are you scared?" the nameless terror would purr then, narrowing its glowing red eyes in fake concern so that only twin slivers would show. "You don't need to be afraid of me, not when we've been so very close for so very long. C'mon, little kit; don't you know who I am? I could show you wondrous things if you'll just give me one little thing in return."

Again, he would try to shake his head… but, again, his neck would refuse to obey him. He didn't know what this was and he certainly didn't want to know what he'd have to yield up in return. He was alone with a nameless terror in the dark, with nothing except pure fear coursing through his veins, so what could he possibly have that would appease this terrifying thing?

"You have what I want, you know," the nameless terror would hum, as if it could read his mind and see the secrets he tried to hide in the dark. "That fluttering thing in your chest… I don't have that, but you do. So what do you say, boy? Why don't you give me your heart and I'll give you my power in return?"

Finally, the rigor in his body would unlock and he would be able to move– but, instead of shaking his head or running away, like his instincts screamed at him to do, he would find himself… nodding. Why would he nod when he liked his heart in his chest and liked being his small and insignificant self? He would try to rectify his mistake, but then it would always be too late by then. He would try to flee, but he was simply too sluggish, too malnourished and too terrified to move more than three puny steps.

"Oh no, kit; you're mine now…" the nameless terror would cackle maniacally, and he'd feel something cold and sharp move delicately across his torso. "Now, why don't you turn around and give up like the good little boy you aren't?"

And then, in those final few moments, as those piercing red eyes grew larger and larger in his vision and the pearly white teeth opened up to reveal something that undulated hideously behind, he would open his mouth and scream. But nothing –not his screaming or his flailing or his begging or his crying– would stop the nameless terror from bringing him into his mouth. He would be submerged in darkness again, but this darkness would be far different from the one he was accustomed to.

Because this darkness… this darkness had nobody inside.

And then he'd slowly get driven insane by the steady 'drip, drip, drip' that replaced the absent thump-thump of his heart…

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The first thing he saw, as his eyes shot open and the unforgiving darkness of his mind gave way to the relative darkness outside, was the faint play of shadows on the grime-streaked floor. The only times he saw light were when someone came to give him food or water, but those times were often few and far between– so to see the shadows grow stronger in the brown and green illuminated by the light was odd, to say the least. Did someone come to take his plate away earlier because someone else had done something with the flimsy paper they served his meals in? Or was there some other reason… something to do with the faint dripping noise emanating from a corner of his room?

"Oi, creep!" The light grew brighter as it approached his room and he cast his eyes downwards, afraid to look into the yellow-white thing that singed his eyes and left disorientating after-images in its wake, minutes after it'd disappeared from his wavering view. It was probably why, whenever someone visited with a light, he would only see the tips of well-polished boots wallowing in the muck lurking on the floor. "Hey, I'm talking to you, you little fucker! Look at me when I talk to you or you'll get it, you hear?!"

Although he didn't want to look up –not when that evil yellow-white light might burn his eyes– he had no choice but to let his gaze drift from the now-scuffed boots to pressed trousers, a slightly sweat-soaked shirt and, finally, a pair of steely eyes boring holes into his own. Thankfully, he hadn't caught the light as he'd refocused his attention, but the spittle flying from the man's lips and the whites showing clearly in his eyes made him wish that he could've continued to look at his boots instead.

At least, when he was staring down, he didn't have to see the fear he could smell rolling off these people in thick, cloying waves.

"Freak!" the man yelled again, and he blinked his dull blue eyes at the man to show that he was listening. "I hope you enjoyed your fucking meal, because you're not getting anything until tomorrow!"

"Whoa, hang on a moment!" His voice sounded scratchy and raw, even to his own ears, but what could he expect when he hadn't used it for days (or months– it was hard to tell the time when his waking moments were bathed in twilight) and he'd only just woken up? "What do you mean, I won't get fed?"

"You don't get to ask the fucking questions, brat!" the man yelled, his harsh voice ringing around in his small confines. It was all he can do to prevent himself from curling into a tight ball and block his ears from the noise and the unwelcome burst of pain it'd brought. "If we say you don't get food, you just don't get any food! So suck it up, freak, or you'll get it later, you hear?!"

He was too tired to argue with a man that had no sense, not when it was clear that arguing with him would get him no food or anything else of value, so he simply curled up into a ball and watched blearily as the man glared at him and grunted, seemingly appeased with whatever he saw. With a barely-there sigh of relief, his eyes trailed after the man as he left, taking the too-bright yellow-white of his light and the cloying scent of his fear with him, before he slumped against the filthy wall and sighed again. It was easier for him to breathe again, now that the man's confusing smells were no longer screwing with his mind… but there was nothing to permeate his living darkness and no barrier to stop the steady drip-dripping noise that emanated from somewhere in his room.

Where was it coming from, though? He tilted his head, squinting into the darkness to see if he could find a faint glint that might betray the liquid splashing on his floor, but he could see no tell-tale glimmer… because there was no light to give him any. In that moment, as it became clear that the man's previous light might've been able to help, he cursed his stupidity for letting that man go. Now, there would be no way that anyone would come with a light when the man had made it clear all contact would be severed for the day.

But that meant he'd be stuck here, then, listening to the drips as they became syncopated with his heartbeat and then, slowly but surely, synchronised with it.

And then it didn't take very long at all for the drips to supersede the faint beat fluttering in his ears.

Drip.

How long had it been since that man was here?

Drip.

Did he dare to move his legs after all this time?

Drip.

Would the ground collapse beneath him if he dared to move?

Drip.

…How long had it been since that infernal dripping started?

All his unanswerable questions bled away, though, as surely as the steady drip-dripping noise overwhelmed his conscious mind, his beating heart and anything else of fleeting significance in his being. No matter how hard he fought to hear something other than that deceptively soothing sound, he could not shake off its exorable rhythm, drilling barren nothingness into his soul. Because there was nothing other than that dripping in this room, where nothing other than the filth on the floor (probably) lived and breathed with him.

Perhaps, if he'd known that the dripping noise had only started minutes earlier, before he'd woken up, the boy known as Naruto might have been shocked by its short yet powerful impact on him.

But for now, as he curled in on himself, his eyes stared dully into the darkness as he lost himself in the repetitive, soul-draining sound.

Drip.

If you've got any thoughts/queries on the story, feel free to send a review or a PM. I won't say it's mandatory... but just know that the more feedback I get, the more motivated I'll be to write (;

[ Last edited : 17th of June, 2015 ]