I own not a right to either Warhammer or Naruto, this story is meant for entertainment purposes, so please do not sue me.

To Trooper0007: You would have to wait and see. (Meh he he)

I would like to apologize to anyone who reads this in advance, I will be tossing in terms often seen by other writers in the Naruto-verse but I will be writing more in the english setting, so terms like sensei (teacher), [name]kage ([name]shadow), and other terms I'm familiar with or lead to believe is accurate I will not use, things like "-kun," "-chan," etc will not be seen.

Assassin

Chapter 2: A new purpose...?

Elemental Nations

It was five months by his reckoning since he arrived to... where ever here was. A planet unknown to the Imperium. A planet that would most likely be forced to endure Exterminatus. Not that he supported such a extreme action despite his affiliation, but it did have its merits, albeit limited ones to his view. A planet under the grip of Chaos he would have no regrets seeing destroyed. A planet which the crime was only being host to a species which was in a worst case scenario debatably human however left him in the grey.

He figured if he didn't have his enhancements and extensive training he would have been reduced to a twitching pile of flesh and nerve under the effects of a heart attack, provided that he survived it, let alone live through each of his encounters. He was not expecting a planet filled with humans with such a low level of technology at their command, and he was not prepared to learn of their unique gifts. His only saving grace that kept him from the grave by the hand of these... 'shinobi' as the locals called them, was years of experience to temper his hand and mind to keep from acting out. After all as the Blood Ravens say, "Knowledge is power, guard it well."

(Flashback!)

It was a good week after being sandwiched between the debris and the dirt. He was sore, a tad agitated, and confused as to where he was. Hunger was a quickly solved issue with the spare rations he kept on his person regardless of believing he would die at the hands of his counterpart, augmented by a brief sojourn into a neighboring forest. To calm his nerves as he done for years since he donned the visage of a assassin, he checked the state of his gear.

The Exidus rifle was fine and in working order, his Exitus pistol was nicked but working like a charm. He would have to replace his knife however. His suit had long fixed itself, it had cost him his entire savings at the time to get that techpriest to make a wetsuit with the capabilities of self repairing nano-fibers, but it was worth it; no one likes to repair a suit after every mission after all, and he could stay out in the field longer without worrying about a exposed side if he was given the time to let the suit fix itself. His ribs, though aching, have long since healed under the mandatory body enhancements all assassins. He wasn't sure to count himself lucky for surviving the ordeal, or cursed if it was one of many that awaited him. Either case until he found out which case was true he had no plans on dying just yet, not without a purpose at least.

Until the day where he stood up and been counted or the day he died from old age, which he sincerely doubted, he was going to sit there on a fairly comfortable rock in a secluded spot in the forest that was his current abode and fulfill one of the handful of reasons he was at one time considered a successful Vindicare assassin, he was hand making his own ammo. It always pays to have a collapsible machine kit geared to make bullets. It also paid to keep a hidden pocket full of casings and a like-wise pocket full of gunpowder for this purpose.

The ex-Vindicare was minding his own business of chambering the last few rounds into a Exidus clip when he heard it, a explosion dulled by distance. He didn't look up nor get up as he fit the last bullet into place and slammed the clip into the sniper rifle. He waited. He was rewarded by a trio of explosions, not as pronounced as their predecessor which left two guesses in his mind: either whatever was causing them was on the move or it was a weaker type of blast. A roar of a fourth blast was announced through his hidden abode, this one was easily noisier than the previous explosions, either who or whatever was causing it was either being obnoxious or there was a battle. A moment was spent with the assassin imagining about pistol-whipping whoever was doing this if it was the former.

Seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds later he was perched on a tree branch observing through the scope of his sniper rifle what was previously a lush, evergreen forest now reduced to a smoldering battlefield to what he thought were avatars of chaos with humanoid masters sitting atop their heads. Despite his shock at their sheer size, the shock of seeing inhuman feats of strength and flexibility done by their seemingly human companions, all of which was soon followed by aggravation of not remotely understanding a single word that was being said between the four combatants, more accurately the two giant ones as he could not hear a single word said between the human riders, he could not help but ponder the following. What. The. Frackin'. Hell. Was. Going. On?

Upon further observation he did not detect any sign of corruption between the four beings, that and last he recalled none of the Chaos Gods, both known and unknown, ever favored their servants to have a distinct animal form. Despite the size, he did not think a giant dusty red toad with a sword screamed "threatening!" under anyone's banner... unless it had glowing red eyes and fanged teeth, he can believe it then. The other creature in question was a giant purple snake, one with fairly menacing features he might add but a snake nonetheless.

Atop the toad was a shaggy white-hair man with paint of his face in distinct lines from his eyes to his jaw, covering his person was a green shirt of some kind styled in... what was it? A kimono? No... The ex-Vindicare couldn't place it but kimono kept entering his mind for some reason... He could not place the same colored pants either, but he did spot what appeared to be mesh riding down the white-hair's legs to wooden sandals of all things. To top it off, the was wearing a red vest with yellow circles with black borders. What really confused the ex-Vindicare, aside as to why he was on a giant toad, was why he had a giant scroll on his back. Hidden weapon compartment perhaps?

Atop the snake's head was a pale skinned man with a snake-like face with long black hair. He was garbed in what the ex-Vindicare deemed was a loose over-shirt over a black undershirt with a rather obscenely large purple rope being used as a belt to hold both shirts in place plus his grayish-green pants that kept him decent to the world. The snake-man's legs and feet were tied up with what appeared to be bandages, and on his feet were black open-toed sandals.

Despite being far away the assassin could tell the this was a fight to the death, one didn't live as long as he did without picking up some things like reading one's body language as an example. Whatever started this engagement was something personal as he deduced from his spot, he may not have understood what was being said, but the scowls spoke another story to his scope. And this battle was going to end soon to the white-hair's displeasure. Under a minute of dialogue from the snake-man to his white-haired adversary, he manipulated his hands to strange gestures, the end result was a rapid descent into the ground for both him and the colossal snake. One had to be deaf to not hear the howl of fury from the white-haired man.

Deeming he had enough for one day, the ex-Vindicare hopped, climbed, and even dropped down to the ground below and trudged his way back to his current place of residence, his mind weighing what he just learned and confirmed to a degree. One, he was on another planet altogether. Two, they speak a language he could not understand. Three, there were giant animals, if not indeed chaos constructs of some kind, capable of sentient intelligence and armed with the ability to use weapons, if able, and use abilities that were other worldly if not a tad expected; everyone knows snakes shed skin... Fourth, the local set of human beings, if they were human, were also capable of these feats the animals heavily demonstrated. Breathing fire and stretching ones' neck out to impossible lengths was not something he ever witnessed a chaos warrior/creature doing...

If he planned on living he would have to move carefully indeed...

(End Flashback!)

It took awhile but he learned the language, approximately one month since the encountered between the Sannin as he learned they were called. More specifically Jiriaya and Orochimaru of the Sannin. The rest of the second month of his stay on the planet to learn of where he was, to this end he was forced to strip out of his armored suit to ask discreet questions under the guise of a hunter selling pelts. At least he had the gist of things here, those two were 'shinboi,' the local 'assassins' of this planet capable of using a biological force known as chakra that doubled as their life force/energy to enable them abilities that sat close to the fence on impossible.

'Assassins,' ha! No real assassin would cause that type of damage he bore witness to just to kill one person, granted they were powerful and stealth tactics were a bit moot... Greenskins were one thing, people passing off as a assassin were a subject onto themselves. He didn't think there was a type of assassin that would replace his general view of the Death-Cult category. Being chatty was still in his pet peeve book however. And entire wars filled with nearly only these 'shinobi?' That was waving a red flag in front of a bull to him. Had he died at the hands of his female counterpart and was sent to some kind of hell as punishment? Tell him he didn't live through that! Unfortunately those were idle thoughts for him that barely helped him cope with his new environment.

Grumbling aside he continued to what would be an obstacle in his path, the current level of technology. So far only movies and the occasional radio was the most advanced thing he found on this planet. In any event, it brought up a question he never thought he would have to answer.

(Flashback!)

It was the third month of his stay in what was known as the Elemental Nations and he was confronted with a ethical dilemma. Whatever decision he made would be significant to all avenues of history. He was deciding on whether or not to introduce the use of ranged weaponry to the Nations. Pistols, shotguns, sniper rifles, automatic rifles, the works.

On one hand he could still live up to what he had done in the many decades of service, be the ender of lives and the x-factor of entire wars, he could still be an assassin. On the other hand, he could simply hide himself, bury his weapons, live a life of a hermit or even someone who had no need to hide out of fear or worry of being discovered by the Imperium.

No.

He done too many things to sleep in peace. Seen too many faces of ally, enemy, and horror alike to not be haunted by them. At one time he had that chance, he could have stayed as a grunt in the Guard and eventually been discharged either by serving his duty, or by body bag. He lived too long and done too many things that rest was more of a punishment than a reward.

If he was going to live long he was to create a shroud around himself; some means of defense. It didn't bode well for him if people took interest in his unique weaponry. Weaponry this planet had yet invented. He was going to have to be smart about this. Out of all the countries he heard of, there was only one in his immediate area that had the capabilities of making his set of weapons of choice. The Land of Iron, after all, wasn't it a blacksmith who made the first gun? At the very least it sounded sensible.

Was it morally right? No. To be fair he didn't live a morally right life since he became a assassin. The only cold consolation he had to this was that the human race had lived through far worse than the invention of the gun.

(End Flashback!)

It didn't take long for people to start clamoring for these 'new' weapon on the market. Countries, villages, the common man, the rich man, they all wanted this 'newfound' power. In this chaos he was hired to defend the very people he gave the schematics and ideas to. The 'shinobi' were tricky, but not impossible. Eldar were far more of a challenge.

When things did finally die down, both figuratively and literally as the death toll was still being counted, laws were in place and enforced by newly armed samurai and militia men, and to a lesser extent 'shinobi.' They were the kind one would find on any planet he went to with a few exceptions here and there which was usually found in more tropical or desert climates, of course there was the exclusion of when Greenskins on the prowl. "No one under this age is permitted ownership of a 'Deathspewer 10 gauge!'" "Only military branches are to have ownership and use of a '10XS 'Skull' Sniper Rifle!'" And there was his favorite law in its absurdity, "Those found guilty of shooting fish in a barrel with a missile based weapon will be fined up to three-hundred thousand yen." He had to wonder what, or rather who, was stupid enough to instigated this law...

XVX

Konoha

The 'shinobi' continued to test his patience, one would think entering a village dedicated to them would be difficult on some level. He literally walked in through the front door. Granted he was standing behind a surprisingly tall merchant but one would think... It seems that learning the more intimate workings of the 'shinobi' was going to give him more of a headache than be beneficial to him. He already broken into and out of the one known as Suna with ease.

The only ones to make him work at staying hidden in the village with his 'disguise' if it could be called that, one full body dark cloak wrapped around his shoulders with a hood to hide his already hidden face, were the ones who were wearing animal masks. The numbers were the real problem, some skill, yes, but the numbers were what gave him problems to his secrecy. Only two people worth note ever caught his attention, and like-wise their own, a pair of old men at two separate occasions.

The first one gave off a grandfatherly aura all around the village, especially to a child of five or so years with blond hair that didn't seem to be held in favor by most of the villagers. He worn white robes and an odd hat with a red diamond that held the kanji for "Fire" on it. A man the assassin later learned to be the Hokage, the chief ninja and leader of the village. But when he observed the elderly man he kept giving off mixed messages when he was with the child: regret, duty, and hesitant care, as if he wasn't sure what he was doing. Much like when one stood on the precipice of a decision of good or evil; if a soul sold for power was blissful or condemning.

The second man was what the assassin kept on alert, he reminded him of some of his superiors before he went rogue; men who only aimed more for benefits rather than duty when he made his decisions. The assassin knew that arm was working fine, but what was the purpose of bandaging it up and acting as if it was crippled? His visit to this village may be more interesting than he was expecting. Especially with those masked shinobi that followed him. The ones without details.

XVX

It was the tenth day since he entered the village and the masked shinobi on both sides were looking for him. Apparently he raised red flags in both of the elderly men. This was more informative than it was a nuisance to him. To list the reasons, it offered to him a minute look at the seriousness he often seen lacking in the more common place shinobi seen walking the streets, their training methods, their styles, and even some of the justu used by shinobi when he stepped out of the shadows to both test them and leave them in broken heaps of muscle and bone; pride was the casualty so far. This hunt also showed him that this village was more divided than it seemed, especially between the ones with blank masks, and the ones with animal masks. Their squabbling and puffery enabled him hours of undeterred observation into the aspects he didn't previously know of, such as genjustu, the sense bending abilities. He discovered that through pain or a sudden spike of energy can disrupt the ensnaring effects of this otherwise dangerous ability. Tests on himself, he concluded, left him using the former if he had to escape a genjustu. Apparently chakra was a born ability.

During these periods of peace, his interest finally perked up around the blond haired child. It was a enigma to him, what could this child be associated with that would warrant the hostile, and often cold glares from the older generation? What was so terrible that the other children were even encouraged to avoid and/or harass their blond peer? On more than one occasion he stood in the shadows and watched the child run for his life from drunken mobs, both occasions the majority of the masked shinobi stood by and watched. Only a handful of radicals from the animal side made any effort to helped him, once with a genjustu to make the mob run in the opposite direction of their original course, three times to make arrests on the grounds of 'disturbing the peace,' one instance where a masked shinobi acted as a living shield as the mob caught the boy at that point in time, and he stopped counting the times where the radicals where too late to even act as a shield and had to use force to defend the boy.

Peaked interest indeed.

There was one common factor in all this when it came to the mob, there was always at minum one shinobi near the back, someone who kept taunting and driving the drunken louts forward. Be it one or several, they never behaved as if under the influence. When the masked shinobi interfered, they always discreetly fled the scene while their masked brethren were busied by the sloshed brutes. Give or take, this was organized.

Too bad they weren't even half as good as the masked shinobi...

XVX

The Chunin snickered as he made yet another successful get away from the mob, his only regret was that once again the Anbu got in the way yet again this night. It was always either the dog or the weasel masked one for certain save for the occasional other Anbu interfering in the 'demon' hunt. "Ah well, as long as I don't get into-," the chunin was thinking before a hand grabbed his vest from behind, lifted him up, and slammed him cheek first into a brick wall. He wasn't sure what broke, but he knew the snapping of bone when he did. This was not a happy member of the Anbu... The Chunin snarled as he tasted blood before adopting a playful smile one gets when they get caught in something embarrassing to them, with a voice to match, all the while not looking at his aggressor, "Hey, I don't what the problem is but I'm sure we can-." His voice died when he heard the click of a gun, a gun pressed against his spine. Even with the gun control laws he wasn't surprised by the fact some shinobi and kunoichi were using them these days. And he seen what they can do...

"Buddy?" He asked in a muted, and nervous tone. He didn't want to be Swiss cheese...

"A question if you will," is what the Chunin heard, it was gravely, slightly reverberating, and deep. This Anbu must have been wearing a mask with a distortion seal on it, he deduced. He nodded his consent to the impending question. "Who exactly has been organizing your little... get togethers if you will?"

The Chunin smiled and tried to avoid the question, "Well you see I can't-." Before he knew it, the hand that held him in place grabbed the side of his head, brought him back, and reacquainted him with the wall. The Chunin in a fit of panic tried to look at the guy, but a finger covered the only eye he had available for the job. He was in the dark as to who was doing this. The hand pinning his head to the wall was starting to crush his noggin. And the chunin was starting to get angry, "Hey what his your-!" A gash formed on his cheek after his second reunion with the wall. He could swear the hand was making a indent in his skull now.

"A warehouse! We meet at a warehouse at the south side near the wall! It's building nine!" He exclaimed, he didn't wish to see how far this guy would go if his patience was at the limit. "Typical," was the last thing he heard before his world went dark.

When they found him in the morning, he was slumped against a wall with a broken bottle in his hand and several sets of shoe and foot prints. No one would believe him when he said a Anbu jumped him.

XVX

Warehouse Nine,southern district, two hours and thirty-four minutes later

"This isn't happening!" A kunoichi whimpered to herself, her back against a wall of flame and screams of her comrades who had not the blessing of death before the flames reached them. Sitting right in front of her was a strange device, if her former comrades hadn't had the misfortune of grabbing one of them earlier, she too would have shared their fate before now. This thing was a bomb. Cold sweat drenched her down to the bone from both the fire and the terror sewn by the psycho that panted these things. Who knew a few, seven or eight total, cans of hair spray, duct tape, and a motion sensor can make such a lethal device. Why was this happening?

What had she and her friends done to deserve a fate of either burning alive, being blown to bits, or as the pressure had induced in so many of her allies, mass suicide to avoid either fate? The flames were getting closer. The bombs kept everyone from escaping the torrent of flames. All she ever did was... could it be? Could the demon child do this? No... He was just a kid after all, besides, does he even know how to make a bomb? Someone else was doing this. The door was being eaten by the hungering flames...

XVX

Konoha, fifteen minutes later

He had to restrain himself from guffawing at this irony. Until there was some form of attack, these shinobi were as aware of their surroundings as Imperial Guardsmen were when they weren't expecting an attack. Now their senses were at a razor edge setting, each shadow was an adversary to be watched. No speck was unaccounted for as the surrounding area of the warehouse was investigated in force. Every head snapped into a different direction when a odd sound went off. Shame he was nowhere near the area now.

He turned the scope to observe his handiwork being embattled by with these water justus en masse. He felt no pity for the destroyed lives trapped in that metal and wood shell that was the warehouse. There was a limit to how much bull he can handle in a set period of time. But he couldn't help but be impressed, a supposed demon sealed within a child born on the same day it attacked. Either this 'seal' kept the 'demon' ay bay, or it was a strength of will matter reinforced with ignorance. He got up and walked but a short distance across the roof of his hiding spot to look down at the boy in question, Naruto Uzumaki himself, in an alley, searching a garbage can without heed to his surroundings; there were yet another band of drunk thugs gathering at the mouth of it.

He looked down at the boy with a calculating eye behind the visor. He could leave the child alone, leave him to whatever the winds of fate and destiny had in store for him. Yet the seal, according the notes stolen from Warehouse Nine, mentioned the kid could tap into the Bijuu's power, however it would require either a conscious effort on his part or he had to be in a powerful, if not extreme, state of emotional distress. The notes themselves also begged the question, "Who's deliberately attacking Naruto Uzumaki?"

He may not know much, but he knew that someone was interested in the boy, and most likely been trying to force Naruto to unleash the Bijuu's power on the village through moronic puppets that didn't know they had strings. Then this person can step in and stop the menace and take the fox's power for themselves under the guise of protecting this village. A good plan...

The assassin sighed as he decided the boy's fate himself, and scratched off another thing in his dwindling list of things he never thought he'd do. He leapt off the roof, down to the unsuspecting child below. It was time a real assassin was trained.

A/N: Granted this seems a lot sooner than most posts... But I don't have anything better to do...

If you think I need to rework this, let me know! But please be civil.

Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention! No refunds.