Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any franchise referenced in this fanfiction, I only own my oc. All rights go to their respective owners.

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The rooks edge the walls

Hands fly over the board, setting pieces down rapidly, never pausing for a second.

The pawns guard the pieces

Shadows line up all around checkered surface, their sick cheers rising and fading with the void.

The knights guard the towers

Empty screams are drowned by deafening silence, overpowering even the loudest of voices.

The bishops advise the rulers

All the while, each piece creates a satisfying click as it hits the smooth surface.

The queen goes on her color

Black or white, marble or obsidian, yew or ebony, light or darkness, it matters not now.

And the king is left over

Because the pieces are set.

Let the games begin.

(+)-=-(+)-=-(+)

Seijō Ishi is what she is called in this life.

She likes it well enough, she eventually decides. From her limited knowledge of Japanese, she thinks it means "Stone", which is ridiculously simple. Then again, thankfully she isn't "Hana" or, dear Jashin, "Aiko". No one should be allowed to have those names, so simplistic and so stuffy at the same time, filled with dreadful visions of cheerfulness and false joy.

'Yes,' She concludes, 'Ishi is a good name. Not great, not terrible, but good.'

(But yet it is not the same)

(+)-=-(+)-=-(+)

Ishi watches with dulled vision as adults (or, at least, those with the bodies of adults), converse in Japanese, a relatively unknown language, a foreign tongue. Each expression is flooded with happiness, emotions playing openly across each face as family and friends embrace.

'How weak,' her mind spitefully hisses, dark and dripping with malice, 'how innocent, how pure, how naïve, how fragile.'

'You could crush them.' the treacherous thoughts continue, pressing a dark force against her mind, breaking the weakening psyche slowly. With a practiced ear, Ishi tunes out the dark whispers of insanity, if only for a brief second.

Looking over at the cheerful villagers, voices and expressions filled with cheer and trusting, filled her with (useless) hope, as well as burning rage, because these souls have not suffered, have not gone through hell. None have been traumatized, killed, or do anything terrible.

It filled Ishi's heart with joy and hope, but at the same time, sorrow, rage, and emptiness (because she is alone, is always alone), as well as dread.

Because when she looks at them, all she can think is how easy it would be to slice through their flesh, wreck them until they turn to ruin, and break them so much inside that they are nothing more than an empty husk.

Because when she looks at those sickly joyful faces, she wonders when the double-sided blade of Love is turned on them thrust through their heart until nothing is left but an empty expanse of darkness and emptiness, just like her own.

It would be lovely.

(Because she is a monster, and no one helps a monster.)

(+)-=-(+)-=-(+)

The village is attacked.

It was easy to tell that they were coming, as when their feet hit they joining the thundering chorus of roars, both approaching from the sides of the small village. Those living in said village cowered, trying desperately to hide from the overpowering forces.

They run, attempting to shield those who cannot help themselves, and flee, breaking away from the ferocious demons (because surely no one is that cruel, that powerful, that evil) that ravage their land and tear up their homes.

Only two symbols define the groups they belong to, both feared, respected, and revered.

(No one notices a small child's eyes widening, filled with dread, fear, and anticipation that does not fit in an infant's eyes)

One was a beautiful fan, crimson lining the top, a blinding white creating the handle.

(Uchiha)

The other, four graceful curves, a straightforward slash cutting through them, complete with another small line down the middle, forming a sort of cross.

(Senju)

The two forces met in the middle, war cries echoing through the lands as sparks flew from metal meeting metal, never relenting. Hands seemed to flicker as trees grew quickly from the earth, sharpening and lashing out at their foes. In response, fire flew from mouths, rushing toward bark at a furious pace, burning through wood, metal, and flesh alike. The raging battle shakes and scorches the land, turning the once beautiful fields into a desolate desert.

Those around flee from their homes, powerless to stop the beings destroying the livelihoods built up over decades of hard work, come crashing down around them. So they run, not wanting to be caught up in battle, fear overriding all other emotions in a gambit to survive, pushing beyond limits to escape. There is no resistance, because everyone knows that fleeing is the best option, because this is war.

And all know that war is hell.

(No one knows why an infant, usually so exuberant, is subdued, unresponsive. Nothing penetrates the blank, unnatural face as ash and smoke fills the air, blurring vision and clogging senses. No one knows why or how, because who can explain why there is an baby, so cold, so uncaring. It is unnatural, making no sense even in this strange world.)

And there is no end in sight.

(She just wants to leave this place and go home.

However, there is no home.

There is only Hell, and there is no escape.)

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Also, sorry again about any and all grammar mistakes this chapter. If you see something wrong, please tell me so I can fix it! (Constructive criticism is needed!)

Anyways, thanks for taking the time to read this story!

Ja-ne~