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1999.10.27.
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Sakura glanced at a dimly-lit, glass display of whatever was trending in the fashion world in the middle of fall. A middle-aged man stared back at her; he possessed one of those forgetful faces that don't stand out much. A prim, crisp, wrinkle-free suit peeked from underneath the light-colored material of his trench coat. He looked like your average, everyday, hard-working Japanese man, whose goal in life was to bring back home financial stability and the occasional raise. In other words—someone who wouldn't draw any particular attention.
Someone who was perfect to henge into, Sakura thought, retreating her gaze.
She clenched the handle of a leather suitcase just a little tighter as she walked across the sidewalk. She turned left, glanced right, and quickened her pace. The street lamps started thinning, and the occasional stray barking became more frequent. Sakura entered another neighborhood that was a tad glummer compared to the lively cityscape she had walked through earlier that evening.
The kunoichi stopped in front of a house; a seemingly run-of-the-mill, two-story house, with a cobblestone path leading to the main entrance. Sakura closed the small gate behind her, before pulling out some keys from her pocket. Once inside, the smell of burnt wood greeted her, breaking the illusion.
Sakura's nose turned up at the smell.
It was all a pretty genjutsu, this place. The house had burned down—and none of the passerby or neighbors could remember the roaring fire, caused by arsonists, only three weeks back. A hand sign there, a false image here, and Sakura managed to repel any other homeless person from invading her current accommodation by making the house appear to look like it once did—protected by security and the newest alarms, with a gleaming slate of metal that read out 'BEWARE: ANGRY DOG' attached to the front gate.
Home, sweet home, Sakura mused as she tightened the trench coat around herself more snugly before releasing the henge. Smoke momentarily filled the patch-filled, burnt-down room, and the only thing left of the middle-aged man was his suitcase. Sakura peered down at it, before crouching on the charcoal wooden plank for closer inspection. She popped the lid open, sweeping her gaze over the stolen goods she had acquired.
She gnawed at her lip for a second too long at the sight. She recalled the shopkeeper's frantic yelps as he chased down a little girl without a shadow or a print from the decently-sized bookstore, leaving it abandoned, unprotected—opened for Sakura to just waltz in and grab all she needed.
The scowling man had been unaware that he has been subjected to a weak genjutsu not once, but thrice, and Sakura didn't feel an ounce of guilt for it. She had witnessed his treatment of the local stray kids beforehand; it had reminded Sakura too much of Naruto and his many misgivings at youth. It had made her heart clench and her grasp more firm as she tucked a few tomes under her armpit before exiting the store altogether.
Book after book landed on the damaged floorboards as Sakura was quick to unload her cargo. 'WORLD HISTORY', 'BIOLOGY', 'WORLD'S VARIOUS RELIGIONS', and 'ENGLISH: a BEGINNER'S GUIDE' joined her ever-growing stack, already consisting of 'TECHNOLOGICAL ADVANCEMENT of THE XIX CENTURY', 'GEOGRAPHY', 'JAPANESE LAWS and REGULATIONS', and a far thicker book titled 'BASIS of PHYSICS and CHEMISTRY'.
Sakura was, in all honesty, downright fascinated.
This wasn't a regular dimension created by Kaguya, filled with nothing but a single-themed terrain which stretched out to a few square kilometers.
Oh, no.
This dimension – this world – was so vast, so huge, that Sakura's head had spun the first time she had cracked open an atlas. Sakura is sure, so very sure, that this world was already pre-made before their arrival that she had to wonder and ponder.
Why here?
Kaguya had come here as a last resort, as a triumph card. Why here, exactly? What was so special about here? Sakura could see the perks, could slightly comprehend the number of people on this planet, this Earth, but she doubted that Kaguya would ever try to fit into society like she herself had attempted to. No, knowing her master plan on her own world, she probably would have tried to enslave these people as a plan B of sorts.
But how?
A child's wail ripped the sheet of heavy silence, and Sakura shivered.
The kunoichi already knew that the tiny four-year-old of the Matsuki family across the street wasn't that big on crying, and neither was Yuri-chan—another small child living in the house right next to hers.
No, the wail was coming from above—in the bathroom across the hall on the second floor, to be exact.
Now that was a new development Sakura hadn't foreseen or wanted, and it was all Uchiha Madara's fault.
The thought was surreal and true. She didn't know how he'd done it – actually, she had a few guesses floating around here and there –, but the moment she had regained consciousness again after a frivolous mental wrestle, she was able to see and hear all these transparent people in the woods. She had almost fainted again from the ghastly sight, but over the span of several days, she had grown accustomed to the pile of ghosts clustering around the city like a fog.
Somewhat.
The small ghost inhabiting her tub was burnt alive in the house fire, and his occasional yells and shrieks for his mother and father never failed to send chills down her spine. She tried to ignore it, him, them—but it was easier said than done; especially when her burnt-up floorboards started to creak, the sound barely audible to the human ear.
Her ears perked up as the sound grew louder and louder, and her nerves got the best of her.
"You're back," Sakura acknowledged warily, not even looking up at the ghost of the Uchiha. She didn't want to see him, for he was different from the rest; he was more solid, less transparent. It scared her, in a sense.
He looked almost alive, but not quite.
Which made her more afraid than she would have been if he was alive.
Nobody can see him, no one else could hear him, and not a single person will be able to shove him away from her, for he seemed to have chosen to linger about after she had regained enough strength to push herself up to her feet.
Sakura mused that, perhaps, it was because she had stored his body away for safe keeping and later research. Maybe that was why he hadn't found peace and rest and the ability to move on yet.
But he hadn't mentioned or said anything about it. Actually, he hadn't said anything much to her at all, in all honesty. He just...observed, crept around for a bit, before performing his disappearance act once more.
Sakura allowed herself to dream over those short, private moments; she let herself imagine that her personified nightmare was gone once and for all—but he returned, always, without fail, like a nightmare each night. It unnerved Sakura beyond comprehension because she didn't know what to make of it.
What was his goal? To unease her for the rest of her days as payback?
Sakura couldn't decipher him, she couldn't read him, nor did she know what his true intentions were, but she had this sickening, sinking feeling that the phantom of the Uchiha clan wouldn't stoop so low.
Rather, Sakura believed that he was reaching some unknown high; plotting and rattling, waiting out before the time came to strike.
Strike what, she did not know, but she had a few theories up her sleeves.
She rose to her feet as he grunted in return—an acknowledgment of sorts, she figured. More than she'd thought he'd offer her.
Sakura gathered up the discarded books from the floor, before walking towards a small, less-burnt shelf on her right. She placed the stack next to the other books, making sure that the wood won't give way from the added weight.
Madara walked to her, glancing over the top of her head to read the titles of what she had brought back today. The kunoichi felt a chill creeping up her spine at the proximity. His phantom felt cool and cold and freezing, and Sakura wanted to lean forward, just to get away from the block of ice that was Madara's spirit.
The house, despite some gaping holes in the walls and ceiling, still emitted warmth from the past fire, and she was thankful, for winter was rolling in fast. But when Madara's semi-transparent hand rose above her head, a bone-chilling freeze ran through her recovering body. A sudden scrape above her head resounded through the small house, making Sakura's gears halt in panic.
He moved a book.
He moved—moved!—a book.
Before her mind could comprehend what had happened, the heat had returned to her body and the uneasy substance of his form receded. The kunoichi glanced at him, then. She watched with keen eyes as he tilted his pointed chin down to meet her questioning gaze. Dark, refined, regal, and tranquil. Sakura had to wonder if the awaiting, post-death tranquility she always promised her critical patients – the ones who still had enough conscious to be afraid, at least – was, indeed, real. Judging by Madara's ever-slimming hostility, that really might be the case.
Dark eyes narrowed at her as if reading her thoughts of scrutiny. Madara's mouth tightened, and he let slip a simple sentence before he disappeared in front of her eyes once again.
"I would suggest starting with this one."
Sakura looked back up, paused, and let out a slight breath.
'WORLD'S VARIOUS RELIGIONS' it is.
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1999.11.03.
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She saw her memories behind closed eyelids.
Frightening ones; those that will stay with her forever.
She was in a forest, where the tree trunks were as thick as towers and as durable as iron. Snakes coiled around the branches—hissing, wounding, nearing, and Sakura had the audacity to shriek and cover her eyes as golden eyes entered her sight. When no harm came and the sibilant sound faded into the background, she opened her eyes again, only to blink away starbursts from her vision. Puppets, covered in maroon robes and armed with poisonous blades dotted the clear afternoon sky. Sakura's foot shifted into a defensive stance, but before she could evade a single incoming attack, she heard the rip of cloth and a pained gasp. It was her mouth that had released that sound as a coated blade pierced the flesh of her abdomen. Sakura stared, long and hard and burning at those glassy, hazel eyes of his. It was the third sluggish blink that turned his scarlet strands into white tresses, and Sakura sucked in a shuddering breath as steel turned into metal inside of her penetrated body, shifting form and matter between the sliced flesh.
The setting sun was replaced with a bleeding moon, and Sakura found herself staring into familiar eyes.
It was him, Sakura realized.
It was him who had dug the metal rod further into her body.
It was him who had inflicted so much damage to her world.
It was him who had violated her mind and body by blending them into one soul.
It was Madara.
The same Madara who was staring at her cold and drenched body when she woke, heaving and panicking. The very same entity whose phantom touch, at that very moment, was a comfort—a solid comfort—, for he was the last piece of home she had left to cling to, and Sakura realized that for some peculiar reason, she was starting to rely on the Uchiha ghost—as if he were some strange guardian.
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1999.11.16.
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That evening, sat upon a make-shift chair, staring at her injured finger, she was unusually talkative. Madara, once more, lingered, watching with unwavering eyes as her thumb lit up like a candle's wick in mint green. When the light died down and her eyelids began to drop, she turned to him, face painted in an array of hesitation, as if contemplating whether or not to speak.
She circled her healed thumb with the other once, twice, before looking down at her feet.
"I-I talked to my summoning today," she admitted, and he stepped forward, relishing on the slight creak his spiritual weight caused. She looked back at him—eyes taking on a steelier edge as she gritted out her next words, the slouch of her shoulders squaring up, and Madara couldn't help but move a few facial muscles. "She thought I was dead, meaning everyone believes me dead."
"That would be the logical assumption," Madara said before leaning his left shoulder on the doorframe in front of her, missing the usual numbness the simple action brought to a living body. Sakura regarded him for a few seconds, before nodding her head in defeat, pink strands jumping with the motion.
"Yes, but they are hailing me as a hero—they're building memorials in my name, statues...even writing songs and poems!" she exclaimed, fumbling with her words when she noticed no change in the ghost's expression.
He looked down at her, gaze pointed, almost bored and uninterested. "It is a given. You have eliminated the main threat; they will honor you for the rest of their days." Madara tried to pick at the burnt splinters of the doorframe, becoming increasingly bemused when his see-through skin and flesh went through them at contact. "Or, until a new peril arises—then the glory cycle will come around once more."
Sakura sighed in response, tapping her fingertips over her most recent reading material in thought. She zeroed in on the other occupant of the room, tilting her head slightly. Their relationship had snowballed from almost – okay, not that almost – killing each other to talking in a civil, responsive manner every so often.
Sakura wondered what her friends back in Konoha would think of her now—confiding in Uchiha Madara of all people!
Scandalous, yet, in her eyes, necessary.
She was starting to show signs of cracking from her self-imposed isolation; today was the first time she had talked to someone other than the Uchiha ghost in more than a month without blatantly lying in response to the most basic of questions.
It was beginning to take a toll on her, and the truthfulness of her next words just cemented her desperation for somebody to talk to—even if that somebody was Madara.
"I begged her to take me to her sacred forest, to where Konoha would be reachable, b-but—" a stutter, a pause, a shudder—Sakura was finally able to continue to talk. "Kaguya apparently gave it her all when she transported us here. Our dimension is too far away; I wouldn't survive the trip, even with my seal activated—it would rip me to shreds." She wrapped a stray blanket around herself, the late November air seeping through the cracks in her walls, figuratively and literally. "Katsuyu herself came in the form of a regular-sized slug; the rest of her didn't make it."
Madara observed the dismayed expression painted across the kunoichi's face, raising a single brow when her eyes slowly met his, a calculating glint in those emerald orbs of hers.
"She did offer to plead to Sasuke-kun, however."
He knew she had seen it, if only for an instant so fleeting that she would have missed it with an ill-timed blink. The stiffening of his lips, before it vanished back to neutrality, the slight clench in his jaw—it had been a reaction, one that he hoped she didn't linger on for long.
"I declined."
The statement managed to catch him off guard, somewhat.
"You...declined," Madara repeated, tone slower than he intended for it to be. Sakura's response was a simple, frustrated nod.
"Throughout our ninja career, I always seemed to drag them down, one way or another." Sakura stared up at the dark ceiling, recalling every single word her summoning had told her. "Well, Sasuke-kun is finally home, with Naruto at his side. I don't want to be the anchor that weighs down on their happiness because they might feel obligated to search and scour every dimension created by Kaguya just to find me."
Sakura locked gazes with Madara, letting her words sink in for the both of them.
"Though a small part of me – the selfish one – wanted to shriek in joy at the prospect of going back home, but Katsuyu explicitly stated that it would take years for Sasuke to reach me and take us back to Konoha. I made Katsuyu promise to not to tell a soul that I'm alive, for now at least." Sakura stood, pacing around in thought, ignoring the creaks and squeaks beneath her sandals. Suddenly, she looked back at him, and Madara could allow himself to appreciate the famed will of fire burning green in her eyes.
"I'm not going to rip them apart for me—there has got to be another way back."
And that was the moment when Madara's true colors flared through his expressionless façade; his silhouette became more prominent, and Sakura wasn't aware that his eyes could still flash in that all too familiar scarlet. His hands rose in a grand gesture as he lowered his eyes at her, a smirk curling on his strangely vivid face, making Sakura want to take a step back from him.
"Then I have come bearing great news."
A sheet of silence fell over them as time seemed to slow down. Madara flexed his semi-transparent fingers, slowly lurking towards Sakura as he did so. Her gaze flickered from his hand and then back to his eyes before he spoke again:
"There is a reason why I feel so powerful in this form," he told her, raising his solid-looking fist between them. His eyes picked up the way his skin gained brightness when he moved his hand closer to her form as if eating off of her very essence. He tentatively placed his hand on her shoulder and, like on the night a week ago, it didn't quite go through her.
He took note of that, cataloging these peculiar instances for later use while evaluating her reaction.
"It is because the Great Spirit residents in this world."
"The Great Spirit?" Sakura asked, puzzlement coloring her voice.
"It's where all souls go after death takes hold of them, regardless of origin. I have been in it once, and I can feel its presence on these soils. It is close—closer than I thought humans could be to it." His eyebrows slanted slightly as if he was confused with the notion. Sakura drank in the look, for she never thought she'd see Uchiha Madara so thoroughly disoriented, even if for an ephemeral instant. "But I assume it has something to do with our plan."
She recalled the last person that he had involved in his so-called plans, and she did not want to share a similar fate with Uchiha Obito. Sakura's mouth opened on its own accord, wanting to correct him, for she certainly did not, will not, agree to any of his plans before she knows every meticulous detail of it.
Yet before a single syllable could escape her throat, Madara cut in, tone sharp and forced and worn.
"Tell me, girl. Are you aware of what you are? Do you not know why you see the things you are able to see?"
That question caught her off-guard; she wasn't sure what the right answer was.
"I–I don't reall—"
A bitter chuckle resounded through the house, and Sakura realized that this was the first time she has heard the Uchiha laugh, even if it did sound satire. He spread out his hands, leaning back with a toothy smile lighting his face, mockery and irony etched into his mannerisms.
"I have seemed to have made you into a shaman, congratulations."
Silence—defeaning, deathly silence, once again. It lasted a lot longer this time as Sakura tried to comprehend everything that entailed with his proclaim.
"A shaman?" The medic-nin exclaimed, laughter bubbling in her chest, but the bemused expression Madara wore made her throat constrict more than a little.
Her new sight, that fateful night when she and Madara spoke as one, moved as one, became one—it all added up, it all made sense, it all made her sick.
She suddenly felt light-headed.
Madara had known, of course he had—and so had she, quite recently so. That book he had told her to read had held all the answers Sakura was looking for, but for someone to call her that, out loud with such confidence, made it all the more real.
Sakura carefully reached out to touch the phantom flesh of his hand that rested on her shoulder, feeling the limb weigh her down in more ways than one.
A breath in, a breath out, and finally—
"Okay, I'm a shaman," Sakura echoed, giving three short, disbelieving bobs of her head. "What does that mean?"
She was already well-read on the subject, but Sakura knew that the ghost standing before her could provide her with a better definition than the words written by speculators. Yet, the answer he gave her was more cryptic than useful and only served to make a shiver run up and down her spine.
He placed his other hand on her shoulder, folding slightly at the knee to level himself with her eyes.
"It means that you are my only salvation, and I—yours."
A slow, endorsed smile appeared on his solid-looking face, and he had never looked so alive to Sakura before that moment.
"I can help you get back home." His tone was soft, persuasive, and his words almost managed to seduce Sakura.
Almost.
She smiled back, lips tight and curl sardonic.
"And how are you planning to do that? Does a shaman possess the ability to travel through dimensions?" She questioned.
"Yes and no." He released her, stepping around her as he talked. "Being a shaman is only the key. The shaman tournament, however, is the gate you will need to open in order to return to Konoha."
A migraine was starting to develop behind her forehead, and Sakura felt compelled to rub her glowing fingers against her temples.
"A tournament," she repeated, tone deadpanned, expression blank as he entwined his fingers behind his back.
"I know you were wondering why Kaguya came here. Here is your answer." Madara enjoyed seeing the realization cover her face. "I had heard every single thought that ran through her despicable mind, I know what she had been planning. Ingenious, I'll admit." He reclined upon her previous seat, dissatisfied that his weight didn't make much noise.
"The winner of this tournament becomes the shaman king—" a beat. "—or queen. He or she will be able to merge with the Great Spirit. Are you even able to comprehend what that means?"
An honest shake of a head.
Madara sighed slowly.
"Godhood," he told her, deep voice rumbling. "She would have become a true, living Goddess."
Sakura's mouth dropped into an 'o'; her mind was racing, heart pounding, and everything made sense.
Until it didn't.
"Wait," she interjected. "She was a shaman, too?" Madara's face morphed.
"No," he admitted. "But I assume that would not have stopped her."
Sakura knew that the subject of Kaguya left a sour taste in his mouth, but she couldn't stop the words tumbling from her lips.
"So, if Kaguya would have been able to enter this tournament, could you do that as well?" Madara shook his head; dark strands brushing, eyes narrowing, lips pursing.
"No." That single word made Sakura realize that, finally, this was it. She will find out the reason for his lingering presence still here, near her, with her. She took an audible gulp, the buildup of her saliva forcing down her esophagus. Madara observed her as if contemplating how to go around this. He figured he couldn't just continue dancing around the subject, so, with a heavy sigh, he relaxed the pinch between his brows.
"I am of the dead. Kaguya had a moving, breathing, solid body—only those of the living can participate in the tournament."
Sakura wrapped the blanket around her body just a little tighter.
"So...this is where I come in, I guess," Sakura mused before pinning her eyes on him. "But what about you? If you can't enter the tournament, what do you gain?"
"My dear Sakura," he tsk'ed, clicking his tongue against his teeth; he sounded like a disappointed parent, ready to scold their child, and Sakura suddenly felt small and scrawny.
"It is called the shaman tournament for a reason." He leaned forward, placing his elbow on his thigh and his hand underneath his jaw. "In order for you to enter, you will need a partner—a partner with an unmoving, non-breathing, ethereal body. In other words—"
"—you."
Madara's cheeks lifted with a pensive smile, and Sakura placed the last piece of the puzzle in her mind and realized that the final picture still didn't add up.
"You didn't answer my question." Sakura gulped, stepping towards the plotting ghost. "What do you gain?"
Madara looked at the girl with thinly-veiled scrutiny. She was slight and short, soft-looking and hesitant, and even though he was well-aware of her prowess in battle, it still did not satisfy him. He thought back, recalling his and Hasirama's reincarnates with a sense of longing. They were strong, far stronger than he and his friend had been in their own golden age. Either one of them would have made the perfect vessel but, alas, he got the girl.
The girl, who, undoubtedly, still had some potential there somewhere, and Madara doubted that he'll find anything better than her.
So, with a heaving sigh, he spoke once more:
"Life." He finally admitted. "You will have your home back, and I will have a second chance at life."
That declaration did not bode well with Sakura.
Not one bit.
Her memories rushed back to her; the crimson moon, the floating figure, her friends and allies wrapped around an eternal dream. Goosebumps traveled across her skin like rushing water and, for a second, Sakura considered. She considered letting loose the Kraken, granting him life, letting him wreck havoc on the dimension she held no love for.
Well, that wasn't necessarily true—she wasn't willing to be the cause of death to so many people.
She bit her lip, chewing on the reddened flesh, reevaluating her choices and options.
"I fought a war against your very cause," Sakura paused as if that very fact hasn't registered to her until that moment. "Many people—which I knew—have died just to stop you. Why should I believe that this time will be any different?"
A pause.
A purse of lips.
Will.
She said will, not would.
Sakura's teeth scraped her lower lip until she drew blood, mentally kicking herself for even thinking of accepting his proposition, but the craving for her home—her real home—was gnawing at her resolve.
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"Hn."
Sakura frowned; the urge to demand some sort of reassurance from the deceased Uchiha was overwhelming. She wanted him to realize the severity of the discussion, the importance of her comfort, and the finalization of his answer. Finally, Madara started:
"You have no reason to trust or believe me—"
"—that's putting it lightly—"
"But," Madara forced out, and Sakura reeled back at his tone. "What other choice do you have, Haruno Sakura?"
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