AN: Right, second part/chapter. Had a good time writing this, though it feels somewhat stilted; but all my writing does so oh well! My general plan for updates is 1 per week, either a chapter or at least a snippet. If I can manage more I will, but no promises.

Oh, yes, I figured I should note something. I, and thus the SI, am bisexual with a slight preference for men. Now, I don't think this is going any time soon, what with him being rather young, terrified, and traumatized, but if he does get to the point where he is capable of romantic interest, he's got a good chance of going for a fellow. If he gets a choice about it. A lot of people feel sensitive about that subject, so I figured I'd warn you all. I should note that the chances of a "pairing" with any canon character is astronomically small; first off most of them haven't been born yet, and second the SI is going to be avoiding them as hard as he can. Emotionally, if not physically. Plus, that whole sort of thing always felt scummy to me.

And for the two folks that reviewed, thank you, it really is surprisingly encouraging. I hadn't expected it to be, but hey, nice surprise.

Chapter 2

I won. I won, and never has a victory been so harmful.

I was born anew, as I had feared, and hoped. It took me nearly two days to realize this fact.

The human mind is a funny thing. We so often view emotional and mental pain as a transitory or inconsequential thing, as if no injury beyond the physical can be crippling. My experience is that the reverse is true. Bones and bruises heal; pain is ignorable, but mental trauma can cripple you for many, many years, if not forever. Incidents that one expects to simply move on from end up crippling you, especially in one's youth.
Such was the case for my suicide.

My death was painful, slow, and very, very visceral. I died over nearly five minutes of desperately hacking and coughing to clear my throat and stomach of a piece of cloth. When I was first reborn, I was nearly catatonic. I did not respond or pay attention to my surroundings, my mind numb and slow. I believe they thought I was near dead or unconscious, until they attempted to swaddle my newly infant body in a blanket. I do not remember screaming, but I am quite sure I did. All I remember was the cloth around me, creeping in and on my throat and mouth.

Blankets and coverings still terrify me. In my previous life I found anything that covered my throat, necklace, scarf, or tie, to be very uncomfortable. Now any cloth that covers my mouth or throat sends me into a panic attack.

It was this very fear that awoke me from my fugue, two days after my third birth. It saved my life.

I was resting in what I would later realize was my crib, a small, cramped blue cushion ringed with steel bars and a protective glass shield around it that could be lifted aside to interact with me. I was still deep in my trauma induced fugue, and did not notice the glass being moved aside, slowly and with difficulty. I did not notice a small form, gigantic relative to my miniscule body, lowering itself within my crib. I did not notice my pillow being taken from the foot of my resting area where I had hurled it in a panic earlier.

I only noticed when that pillow was pressed against my head.

I became conscious immediately, barely aware of the past two days and utterly befuddled even as panic and fear caused me to scream futilely into the pillow suffocating me. Why, what, who, these thoughts rang through my head even as I weakly flailed my limbs. For all that I had killed myself but a few days ago, I was desperate to live. I pushed at my assailant, I hurled all of my strength towards them, to no avail. I could hear my soon to be killer speaking above me, but the pillow stealing my breath prevented me from hearing much.

There are few creatures more helpless than a human infant.

My last body had felt cold and powerful and wet inside, like a river had flowed through my veins. This body felt like I had muscles and nerves all along my internal structure, brimming with living strength. In my desperate flailing for any escape, or perhaps out of pure luck, I managed to catch a small part of that feeling, and I pushed it upwards. My screams redoubled as I felt something tear out of my infantile chest, and rip through the pillow and into something hard above. Unfortunately, this did not shift the pillow, nor remove its weight, though some of the pressure did ease, allowing me a slight ability to breath. I kept shifting, panic desperately driving me to attempt to wriggle out of the smothering cloth while my assailant was dead or distracted. Unfortunately, whatever had erupted from my (bleeding, agonized, wounded) chest remained in place, holding the pillow against me.

There are few creatures more helpless than a human infant. I suppose I was lucky that I was not a normal human infant. Lucky. Hah.

Someone else was screaming. The same voice that had spoken earlier. It, unlike my own muffled cries, brought a response.

The door to my room burst open, and several sets of footsteps entered. I heard what sounded like a curse, though I hardly noticed. After a moment, the weight attached to the end of my... eruption was removed, and with a rip so was the pillow.
My infant eyes were far better, this life, than they were in previous ones, far more developed. I saw the broken skin of my chest with relative clarity. And the sharp, serrated spike of bone that speared out of it, covered in blood and clear fluid, only the former my own. I saw a young, perhaps seven year old girl, screaming as she cradled one of her eyes, now but a bleeding ruined socket. I saw a pale, shirtless, white haired man scowling and shouting at her to shut up as he directed a glowing green hand to her head. And I saw a disgusted young man and woman, who were likewise pale but black haired, holding kunai and glaring around the room, the woman with my ripped and bloody pillow in hand.

"Fucking worthless! Idiot, what the fuck did you think you were doing, trying and failing to kill an infant! If doing so hadn't revealed my son's talent, I would kill you now, you worthless child of mine!"

And that was my introduction to my father, and my sister, Kaguya Haito and Kaguya Akushitsuna, and the clan of my birth.

Haito, after castigating my older sister for failing so utterly as to be "crippled by a mewling bone-broken newborn", stopped her bloodloss and hurled her into the sneering arms of the young woman, who I would later learn was my aunt, Kaguya Emi with instructions to "get her ready for a transplant so she won't be totally useless.". The young man, uncle Kiaro, which didn't translate well into either English or what I knew of Japanese but meant "Blood Love" in this universe's strange faux-japanese, now more amused than anything, remained behind.

My apparent parent then turned to me, and far more gently tended to my wounds, using... some sort of connecting by extending his forearm (femur?) bone and actively fusing it with my chest spike to... I wasn't certain what he did, but the spike shrank and returned to a more normal rib cage alignment, leaving bloody holes in my skin that he passed his glowing hand over, closing them. The feeling was extremely soothing, at utter odds with what I had seen but a moment ago. I am deeply thankful for that, because I am not certain I could have maintained my composure (or my shocked numbness) otherwise, given my near death after recovering from a suicide and maiming a little girl. A murderous little girl, but still.

As he healed me, he whispered in my ears in an obvious attempt to sooth me, given that I had been panicked and screaming a moment ago. A mixture of lullabies and soft praises for... for defending myself, and for maiming his daughter, and being strong, and having such "strong blood, strong bones, strong hatred, my little hate, my little Hani."

It worked. There is something about an infant brain that just cannot help but be comforted by the praise and soothing voice of one's parents, and I drifted into a sleepy daze, though not a full sleep.

And I was thankful I did not fully fall asleep, for it allowed me to hear a short conversation between my new relatives. Something I'd contemplate for years to come.

"Soooo. Haito. Why, exactly did your first little spawn try and kill the new one? I mean, I've heard of taking out the competition, but this is a bit early, innit?"

My... father snorted and turned away from me. "She was jealous. Apparently she thinks Hani's death would give I and Naoko more time to spend with her. Idiot. I've no interest in dealing a brat like her. And I had no interest in this little brat either, until this."

My uncle was out of my range of view, but I got the distinct feeling he was smirking.

"It is unusual for a spawn to have and show the bone pulse, let alone so early. And a spike from the ribs at that, that fast... your firstborn spawn was lucky she didn't get stabbed through the brain. An inch longer and she'd be dead."

Haito scoffed. "And it would have served her right. Attacking one of my blood is one thing, but failing to kill an infant, even if he has such strong blood? It is clear he is the mightier. Her death would have been right, a wonderful start to his career."

"Mmh, well, I can see you've got plans for him. Just try not to get too attached. The clan head's brat hasn't shown even a hint of the blood. I wouldn't be surprised if the Head strangled "little Hate" himself to discourage competition. So few of us show any sign of the Pulse, so you know what kind of danger the new spawn is."

Haito snarled loudly. "He can try. I'm not afraid of him. Nor of my son."

"You should be. Of both. The Head's a scary fucker. I know I'm afraid of him. Hell, I think the whole village is afraid of him, save for maybe the Sandaime. And a Pulse user can kill even a Jonin like you."

"I am no coward. I am Kaguya Haito, and I will bow before no one, even if it means my death. If the Head seeks my heir's death, I will end him. And my son will crush his brat."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just remember that we won't die with you."

With that, I heard him pull away, and the last thing I heard before the door shut and I fell into sleep was a muttered "coward..." from my new father.

Fucking hell this was not my week.

I still haven't gotten over my new cloth phobia. It took twenty years to get over my fear of heights and fear of spiders in my past life, I shudder to think of how long a cloth near my head will send me into spasms and tactile hallucinations. It is worse than the other phobias ever were.

It has been four years, and I've learned quite a bit about my new clan, my new family, and my new village.

First, the Kaguya are insane. I shouldn't be surprised, since the only reason my father gives a fuck about me is that I goddamn maimed my sister when she tried to suffocate me.

The Kaguya are a clan of berserkers, swordsmen and close combat taijutsu specialists that focus on sheer ferocity and viciousness over any real style or finesse. Despite what my father and uncle had implied, every member of the clan had some of the "Bone Pulse" bloodline, but in most, as in nearly the entire clan it manifested as merely more durable bones and a significantly greater resistance to trauma, save for me, the current Head (who nobody mentions the name of, simply calling him the "Head" behind his back and Kaguya-sama to his face), and a sickly girl I was introduced to once who died soon after. Apparently the bloodline sometimes comes with an illness of the lungs; probably what Kiminmario- Orochimaru's lackey, had. Well, some clan members also could project one or two individual and specific bones, which were popular as swords. My father was one of those elite, and could pop out his thighbone and left-forearm bone, which he used in a sort of sword and main gauche style. The clan resistance to trauma, even greater in me for actually possessing the bloodline proper, is probably why I didn't pass out as soon as I weaponized my goddamn ribcage to take out the eye of my sibling. I still don't know a lot about our role in the village- the Kaguya are blunt and not terribly adept or interested in hiding information so I know more than I would in most clans, but even so an infant and even a toddler in training misses a lot. We seemed to be the Sandaime's enforcers, as he is the only outsider the clan speaks of with respect; which meant that we did a lot of in house "policing" which in Kirigakure meant maiming and murdering.

The Kaguya did a lot of that. Interestingly, the clan's second specialization was as medics; probably because the bloodline made studying the human (or not so human, even non-actively blooded clan members were apparently significantly different physiologically from a normal human) body second nature, and because of the violence endemic to the clan. I saw no less than one maiming a week, and that was as an infant largely kept either in my room or my father's arms. So if we didn't have so many medics, or were a bit less durable, half the clan would probably be dead in a month.

Whenever my father took me out to the village we would be viewed with extreme fear and terrified respect; as if he was just one irritant away from murder... which honestly wasn't too far from the truth. My father was a vicious and brutal man; any sign of disrespect was punished with death, or at least bloodloss. Other clans (including, from what I saw, a fellow that rode on an icy floating platform, a large shark-guy, one child who turned to water accidentally mid stride, and two women who looked like glowing lantern fish with human bodies) seemed to get similiar treatment, as did the one elite, anbu-ish figure I saw.

The clan was not much kinder to its own members; Might Was Right, and if you could take something it was yours. Cowardice was the lowest sin, and any who showed it were abused mercilessly. Death was nothing special and a fear of death was pathetic. Love was scoffed at, and family was only a connection. There was some displays of affection, but on the whole it seemed like the prevailing attitude was that strength came from self-reliance and personal power alone- a far cry from the protagonist Leaf village. As such, family was... more a suggestion than a reality. The only moderate exception was children, as even the Kaguya cared at least a little for those that followed them. Loving a child was considered being soft, but more accepted than caring for anyone who wasn't a lesser by nature. The clan head supposedly feared me for my bloodline, though I never saw it, and only saw him in person twice, both times at yearly gatherings. He was big and shirtless and looked kinda like a wickerman made of bones. Apparently he liked flaunting his bloodline. He certainly didn't seem very afraid of me, but I was wary.

Speaking of, anyone with the proper bloodline was feared greatly by the rest of the clan, for in a clan of the mighty none were as potentially strong or disturbing as the wielders of the Dead Bone Pulse. The clan head was almost always one such wielder, and given that the position was taken and held through force alone, such fear was understandable. Hard not to fear someone who killed the most powerful member of the clan with his own body parts.
As for my family...

My mother was mocked for being sentimental, despite being personally very strong. Perhaps I could have gained succor and comfort from her, but after my maiming of her "precious little girl" with the Pulse, she seemed to view me as nothing less than a monster in human form. Hah. I remember when she first called me that. Monster. It was when I was around two, and Akushitsuna tried to shove me over and take my toy kunai, one of the only toys I had. I shoved her back, and used my Pulse to reinforce my bones to do it, so she was near tossed off her feet. "Mother" rushed over and cradled her as Akushitsuna started shouting at me and crying. I tried to protest, and got a look of utter venom and fear in return.

"Shut up, you little monster."

She had always been rather cold to me, and had always favored Akushitsuna, but that... that was a first, though not the last time. I was raised by two mothers in my first life, and to be hissed at, like a monster, like a threat, was...
My sister was another issue. I loathed her. She was a child, and I was willing to forgive much of children, but she was a wretched, manipulative little shit. So much so that I was often tempted to end her life myself, despite my morals and despite the guilt I had initially felt every time I looked at her mismatched green and brown eyes. The latter being her new one. I... given what I knew of the Kaguya, I doubted it was given voluntarily.

She seemed to think that my existence negated hers, that my death would lead to her ascendency to not only Naoka's favorite but also father's. Possible an accurate thought, though at this point I think Father would kill her for frustrating his plans. Either way, she coveted Father's care despite having Mo-Naoka's already. Want what you don't have, I suppose. She was my rival, and not a friendly one. Apparently she was bigger than most; despite having thought she was seven when I first came, she was actually five. Now, she was nine, and a member of the Mist Academy. I could only hope that the graduation exam, assuming the famous one Zabuza spoke of wasn't instituted by Yondaime Yagura, would kill her off for me. Because as much as I did not want to end her life... she was eager to end mine. I'm not the sort to let that go.

Fuck. I speak of hating a goddamn five-to nine year old. Let me give an example of behavior to explain that. One of her favorite little tricks, for she fancied herself a prankster, was to take a blanket, preferably a very nonthreatening one in pink or blue, and drape it around me when I was either too young to do anything but scream, or distracted once I got older. She'd then pull over as many clan children as she could, and make mocking me a clan sport.

That stopped once I learned how to fire my fingerbones like projectiles. Thank you, father.

Father was the only one I cared for in my new family, and the only one that seemed to care for me. He was a brutal, vicious asshole who dominated the family less through brute strength, being, in truth, the shortest and physically weakest of the adults (something I inherited, much to my dismay), but instead through sheer bloody minded will. Nobody in the family, or in the clan as a whole save the Head dared speak against him, because they knew once his temper was aroused it could be soothed only with blood and death. He was constantly angry, constantly at the edge of his temper and ready to kill. Interestingly, he was also quite cunning and intelligent; his revenge was always blunt, but came only when he would be untouchable afterwards.

He was a ruthless murderer of innocents, an abusive husband, an abusive father, and generally a mad dog of a man, who cared nothing for his family, and cared for me only because my bloodline made me strong. At first, anyway.

Despite that, I loved him.

When my mother more or less abandoned me, and with my sister seeking my death from the age of goddamn five, he was the only to care for me. He fed me. He burped me (oh god). He cleaned my... messes. And when my phobia or nightmares kept me awake, he was the one to whisper me to sleep... even if he whispered dreams of conquest and death, his plots to put himself or me as Head or even Mizukage, and the deaths of his rivals, to help me sleep. His lullabies may have been of blood and brutality, but they comforted all the same.
He was the one to "teach me" (and boy was faking all that fun) how to learn to walk, to read, to talk, to run and jump (this body is far stronger than my first's, more so than can be explained by my bloodline. It made me far tougher and gave me my bone manipulation, but to be able to run, jump, and fairly easily do backflips at four years of age? I couldn't do a backflip at 22 in my first life! It must have been chakra, that ludicrous, bullshit godjuice). He taught me the basics of using my bones as actual weapons, something that saved me from my sister on several occasions. And it was he that began, using pilfered scrolls, teaching me how to use my bloodline. He carried me around, and practically pampered me, even though he offered little protection against lesser threats (like dear sister and the other children) and always, always wanted me to stand and struggle on my own.

He offered me support. He offered me a sort of love, something I had been deprived of in my previous life. He offered me everything I could have in this life; and all he asked was loyalty.

Filial piety has always been something I valued. Loyalty had to be earned.

The rest of my family kept themselves at a distance; my aunt and uncle, the younger siblings of the family, kept themselves at a supporting distance; ready to obey their dominating older brother in whatever he ordered, far enough away to make clear they obeyed only because he forced it. My aunt feared me and seemed to avoid me a bit, but was utterly contemptuous of my sister so it wasn't to an unusual degree. My uncle seemed to find everything amusing to some degree or another, and often enjoyed teasing my father... as far as he dared. Both were Chunin, from what I understood, and not terribly likely to live long enough to advance beyond it, given the war. The Kaguya were at the front, and while our resilience and many medics kept our casualties lower than they could be, not a month went by without someone failing to come back.

Indeed, my grandparents, as far as I knew, were very much dead. I knew nothing of them, save that both couples had at least one person from the Kaguya clan; Naoka and Father were first cousins; a common attempt to keep the bloodline from thinning. Rather gross, and genetically dangerous, but what is is. And it was an arranged marriage; the Kaguya feared one thing most of all, and that was the thinning of blood, the one thing that tied them together. No Kaguya married of their own will, and most married young to ensure plenty of children. Probably yet another way the clan managed to survive despite being a bunch of blood mad nutjobs who thought strategy was a synonym for cowardice.

Finally; Kirigakure.

Kirigakure was...

A city of bloodlines, with more bloodline clans within it than any other Hidden Village.

A city of violence, where savagery and viciousness ruled above all other virtues.

A city of apathy, where the strong excelled on their own or died in the gutters, where none cared for you save yourself.

The Kaguya fitted in what I had seen of Kirigakure very well; the only difference was that the rest of the village seemed to understand subtlety a bit better than us.

It was a city torn between the terrifyingly powerful bloodlines that protected it, and the common shinobi and villagers that made up the bulk of it. It really, really didn't surprise me that a Bloodline purge occurred under Yagura, and I had only seen a small glimpse or three of the city. It was, despite that, a far, far better place than Konoha in my opinion. Here, I have to worry about being murdered. There... Danzo.

I far prefer the Kaguya. And I far prefer to be Hani; Hatred.

The most important thing about my fourth birthday (not something actually celebrated in Kiri) was this; I was to be entered into the Academy early.

This was, apparently, pretty common; any child that showed uncommon talent (or, here in Kiri, any child willing, because who cares if an orphan or street rat wants to throw himself in the grinder before he's ready? Not our problem if he dies) was welcome in the academy.
My father had actually held me be back some; he wanted time to ensure his heir wasn't going to be knifed by some random bully, or more likely my sister, before I was capable of truly defending myself. Still, he was an ambitious man, and was only willing to wait so long.
Until now, apparently. I was given a clan outfit (mandatory in Kiri; by custom if not law, nobody wanted to offend the wrong bloodline by accident, and the clans, or at least mine, used it as a sort of unifying force), a beige-grey robe and purple belt (which gave me a chuckle thinking of that ludicrous Oto back-bow) and of course, the ritual clan tattoo- two red dots on my forehead.

In my first life (still weird to say that) I had gotten a large tattoo on my right shoulder; a symbol of the fictional god Slaanesh, as a joke, a tribute to my nerd-hood, and a tribute to my love of gluttony and sensation. It had taken about an hour, and there had been no small amount of blood and a bit of pain. A rather interesting experience in truth. It was done with a series of closely placed small needles vibrated at incredible speeds, which went through my skin as if it was not even there.

In comparison, despite my new resistance to harm and trauma, getting two small red dot tattoos on my forehead, done with hollow bone needles, took nearly three hours and hurt like a motherfucker.

Still, I did not cry, and got a smile from Father for it, so worth it. I've always like signs of being apart of something greater...

Ahem, I was not given any other supplies; school supplies were provided in the academy, and my bloodline, even inexperienced with it as I was, rendered the need for kunai or other blades irrelevant.

Father... he walked me to the academy gates, gave me a hug, warned me to not show any weakness or else, and then sent me on my way, ignoring the incredulous stares of bystanders at a Kaguya hugging someone and not killing them during it.

I looked to the large, blocky grey building, and prepared myself for the start of my career as a murderous mercenary monster. An awful alliterative career.

Filial piety demanded I obey. Damn my attachment.

I marched forth. And promptly ran directly into a nightmare of the future.