Dead on Arrival
A Xenocide production
AN: Ack! This fic seems to have stirred quite a deal of interest, if my Story Hit Counter is working correctly. I'm also quite happy with my first few reviews, as they had nothing but nice things to say. O Happy Day!
Summary: Death has not been kind to one Mamochi Zabuza. He was destined for Hell before he even set one foot on that Bridge. But, he only has to do one little thing and all is forgiven: Kill the Kyuubi no Kitsune. Simple, right?
Enjoy and review…..please?
Disclaimer: I may not own Naruto, but Kishimoto-sensei is an entirely different matter…..it's amazing what you can find on eBay nowadays.
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Chapter Two: The Undead Shuffle
When Tsuyoshi Tamai applied to be a shinigami instead of a seraphim in the Valley of Clouds, he had been enamored with the more well known public figures of the powerful shinigami who kept peace and order in the Underworld.
He fell in love with the idea that he as well could become one of the Elite 20, the top ranked fighters in all of Heaven and most of Hell.
He could certainly see himself return victoriously from the battlefield, waving his sword aloft over his head and sweeping the many, many, beautiful women off of their feet with his tales of epic battles with the Lords of Hell. Money would flow like a wellspring from his purse and everyone would kill to be seen with him. Even Lord Hades himself would invite him over for a chat and tea.
Yes, it was with high hopes that he, along with many other males and females his own age, entered Chiron Academy, filled with dreams of glory and women.
But then, that certain entity know as Reality took great pleasure on taking Tsuyoshi's dream and smattering it into tiny, wailing, pitiful little bits.
Over the course of his years at the Academy, Tsuyoshi demonstrated hardly any aptitude as a shinigami, which depressed him to no end and made him easy pickings for the older and stronger shinigami. Come to think of it, even the shinigami in his own year treated him as something to be wiped off of the bottom of their sandals.
As it was he barely, as in was only two percent above a failing grade, graduated from the Academy. He was denied a place in the ranks of the army, where one could fight their way up the ranks and eventually to the elite. There was only one place that the shinigami could find work for him.
Lo and behold! The Grand Hall of the Books of Life and Death!
The job sounded rather important. After all, it was hard to find people of quality that could be trusted to document and preserve all of the Underworld's and its inhabitants in written form.
Or at least, that's what he was told. What they didn't mention, is that other more important people would be actually be taking care of the archives themselves, while he would be stuck filling out the tedious but necessary paperwork that made the entire Underworld tick. The office he was given was nothing more than a dusty janitor's office which was cluttered with teeming piles of paperwork.
Needless to say, he found his new job to be a little less than what he wanted or expected.
But, being the fine upstanding shinigami he was, he threw himself into the whole mess with a passion. As with most cases of burning zeal and passion, it didn't last very long.
Within a few millennia, Tamai was starting to get fed up with it all.
He had no assistants, for no one in their right minds would want to work in a musty, windowless cell of an office with a shinigami reject.
Vacation consisted of a one day break two years ago that was cut short by four hours.
Janitors were constantly barging in, knocking over his meticulously sorted piles of paperwork and generally having fun at the poor bookkeeper's expense. Apparently, even janitors were above rejects.
The thing that really bothered him was the fact that nobody appreciated what he did at all.
The only reason that the Underworld had been running as smoothly as it had for the last decade was because of Tsuyoshi's incredible organizing techniques. Without them, he would have become hopelessly bogged down in the mountains of paperwork that threatened the swamp over him each day. No one offered a word of thanks nor of encouragement. As a matter of fact, Tsuyoshi was quite sure that most shinigami had no idea that he even existed.
(Which, sadly, was true. Most of the younger shinigami were under the impression that there was an entire legion of lesser spirits that acted as scribes and archivists. The older ones simply tried to ignore him. It was an affront to their image to have a shinigami, even if he was a reject, reduced to nothing more than a bookkeeper.)
Our poor little shinigami was on the verge of the breaking point. All it would take was the literal straw on the camel's back to break him.
Suddenly, the door to his "office' banged inwards, admitting the most evil bastard to grace his presence upon the Underworld. Morio Asaka.
Morio Asaka, First Rank, Second Class, was feeling mighty fine indeed.
The best part of his day had arrived: that of torturing that little bitch, Tamai. There was nothing like a good dose of bullying to cheer him up after a particularly tough mission.
The gust of wind created by the sudden opening of the door threatened to blow over a stack of papers on the Bookkeepers desk. Tamai frantically threw himself on the pile in order to keep it from toppling over.
"Hey there, Tamai-kun! Still hard at work I see!" Morio strode inside the cramped "office" unheeding of the piles of paperwork that he knocked over.
Tamai heaved a sigh of relief as he managed to steady the tower of paperwork on the corner of his desk. He turned towards the new arrival and had to restrain himself from weeping in frustration at the scattered files and folders all across the floor. An entire two days of work, gone in an instant.
He gritted his teeth and managed to choke out, "Good afternoon, Asaka-senpai. How can I help you?"
The evil bastard grinned merrily. "Oh, nothing in particular!" He sang out. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood!"
Tamai raised an eyebrow. "So you 'just happened' to be in the deepest, darkest hellhole in Shinigami Headquarters for no good reason?" He curled his lips. "How very……nice…..of you, senpai."
If Morio heard any of the venom in Tamai's voice, he didn't show it. Nothing could dim that empty, megawatt smile on his face.
"It is, isn't it?" He flashed another grin at his inferior. "I believe that it is an officer's duty to tend to his fellow soldiers and the less fortunate. That's why I take extra time out of my extremely busy schedule to visit you, Tamai-kun!"
The pen in Tsuyoshi's hand snapped violently. Oh, how he wished that had been that lack wit's neck! But that sort of thing was frowned upon. After all, murdering a colleague was very bad form nowadays.
"You are too kind, senpai." He growled through gritted teeth.
"I know!" Asaka exclaimed giddily.
Crack!
There went another pen. It's a good thing that a bookkeeper has a near endless supply of pens and pencils. They're dead useful and a good stress reliever!
Tamai calmly wiped a small bit of ink off of his cheek, where it left a small streak underneath his eye. Blood would have been so much easier to wash out.
Taking a deep calming breath, while imagining tortures beyond human comprehension upon the idiot in front of him, he said, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, senpai?"
Morio airily waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh, nothing important. The higher ups merely wanted me to deliver this order for new bodies in person. Haven't seen an order like this one in quite a while."
Tamai was intrigued in spite of himself.
For the most part, orders concerning the creation of new bodies for souls returning to earth for a short period of time were merely delivered to his inbox. They didn't have high priority on his list of 'to do' things so one was lucky if the order was filled out in a month or so.
Despite the Underworld's reputation for efficiency, they also had a reputation of being far too slow for comfort.
Only in extremely rare cases, where his superiors wanted him to fill out orders of dire urgency did they have someone deliver it in person. The last time he was given an order in person was about two thousand years ago, for this fella that had been dead for three days. God had wanted him alive post haste and as of yesterday.
That had helped him set a record for body making that any other bookkeeper had yet to break.
When you get an order from the supreme being of the universe, it drastically improves your work ethic.
Tsuyoshi held out his hand. "Thank you very much, Asaka-senpai. I will get to work right away."
Morio frowned slightly, a bit put out. Usually, the sniveling little whelp was more entertainment than this. He would have tried to provoke Tamai in hopes of getting a good show, but he knew better than to interfere with an order from Lord Hades himself.
"Hmmph. Very well then." He tossed the folder at the shinigami, who made a mad scramble to catch it and prevent the scattering of its contents. "I expect to see this order filled out as soon as possible."
Tamai made no effort to hide his glare from Morio this time. "Yes sir. It will be done."
Morio flashed another blinding smile and whisked himself from the office. In the doorframe, he turned and gave a waggle of the fingers towards the bookkeeper.
"I look forwards to our next chat, Tamai-kun. I'll be sure and bring you some of that dreadful beef ramen you like so well. You're looking rather thin. No wonder you can't get a date for the company socials." He swept out into the basement and shut the door behind him just as an inkwell shattered into the spot where his head had been.
Remember that straw we were talking about? Well scratch that. A freight train had been dropped onto poor Tsuyoshi's back, crushing his tentative hold on civility and his anger in an instant.
Tsuyoshi's face was frozen in a rictus of rage. He looked down at the folder in his hands.
Slowly, an evil smile worthy of the fallen angel himself spread across the bookkeeper's face.
Orders are orders. But of course, it wasn't his fault if the forms had been incorrectly filled out, now was it?
He had been a faithful servant of the Underworld for quite awhile now. He had never made a mistake and he was (somewhat) famously known for it. Orders and rules were considered sacred to shinigami and the entire Underworld in general. Breaking a rule meant permanent social exile. Disobeying an order earned you a one way ticket to hell, no questions asked.
The Underworld really was a group of uptight bastards.
But for once, that would work in his favor. The last person to handle the orders was his dear Asaka-senpai. No matter how powerful he was or respected he was, being found guilty of tampering with the orders given by the Overlord of the Underworld himself would surely put him up shit creek without a paddle. Or a boat for that matter.
Still grinning maniacally, he flipped open the folder to the first order form, one of two souls that required a temporary body. All he had to do was change the body so drastically, that soul inhabiting it would pitch a hissy fit and complain to someone.
Inquiries would be made and voila! Framing 101 made easy. Morio Asaka would find himself on a trip to the land down under…um…the Underworld.
He hunched over the forms, the only sound in his office being his disturbingly heavy breathing and the scritch scritch of the pen on paper.
Finally finished, he closed the folder and placed in the outbox, where it popped out of existence and to the Developing Department.
Revenge was sweet and Asaka was going to damn well get a mouthful of it.
There, he thought viciously, shove that up your ass. Let's see you worm your way out of this one, senpai.
Feeling much happier than he had in ages, Tsuyoshi cleaned off his desk and shrugged his dusty robes off of him. Grabbing his yukata, he switched off all the lights and headed home to get happily drunk and swim in ramen.
It's not every day that you get to celebrate the damnation of a mortal enemy, now is it?
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Somewhere in Wave country, in a small grove of trees, there lay two graves.
They weren't very fancy. They were merely two earthen graves with crudely manufactured markers of wood. Upon one hung a simple sash, much like the ones worn by Hunter-nin to keep their overcoats closed and secure.
Behind the other, there stood an enormous sword, rusty and forlorn.
The grove was peaceful and serene, the perfect resting place for any soul.
In the evening light, the earth over the grave of Mamochi Zabuza became restless. It was shifting obscenely, bulging and moving in ways that the ground should never move in.
A hand suddenly burst from the grave, and then another followed. Soon after that, Zabuza himself emerged from the earth gasping for air and flinging vile curses from mouth that very nearly withered the grass around him.
A moments later, one very naked Zabuza rose from his grave, covered in dirt and mad as hell.
"You'd think that those assholes down there would have the sense to reanimate us above ground," he muttered crossly as he attempted to clear the dirt from his hair, "but noooo…it was easier to do it where we were buried!" He dug a particularly slimy earthworm out of his ear. "Lazy bastards."
He glanced over at Haku's grave to his right. It was undisturbed.
"Oi!" He pulled himself out of the dirt and walked over to the grave, still getting used to having flesh and bone legs again. "Rise and shine, Haku. We've got work to do!"
He kicked the grave for good measure, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground again.
A few moments later, one Miyakawa Haku dug himself out of the dirt, also gasping for air.
Zabuza really did fall back on his ass as Haku commenced to brush the dirt off of himself. He was slack jawed and red in the face.
After a few moments of tense silence, which consisted of Zabuza leering at Haku's body, the younger Mist-nin finally noticed his master's state of shock.
"Um, Zabuza-san, is there something wrong? I realize that we have no clothes but that is not a problem?" He was a little put off by Zabuza's outright staring. It wasn't lecherous or anything. As a matter of fact, it seemed that his stare was more catatonic than anything.
"Is there something on my--"
Haku was cut off by Zabuza, who merely raised his hand and pointed at his chest. Haku blushed.
"Now really, just because I'm a little thin isn't cause for concern. You never really noticed because I was always wrapped up in those baggy clothes." Haku reached up and brushed his chest off. "Once I'm dressed--"
Wait a second.
There was something soft and very squishy on Haku's chest. It was firm, yet soft. And it was in a place that no squishy, soft or firm things belonged.
Slowly, ever so excruciatingly slowly, Haku brought his eyes down to his chest. There was a large globule of flesh nestled in Haku's hand. Experimentally, he squeezed it a few times.
Yep, definitely real.
Haku brought his eyes back up and looked at Zabuza, who apparently had lost all motor function.
Haku brought his hand back down to his side.
He then proceeded to faint right back into the grave behind him.
Zabuza blinked. He shakily rose to his feet and peered down at Haku. He was still hopeful. Perhaps it was a mistake that could be easily fixed. His eyes peered intently at the junction between Haku's legs. What he found, or rather what he didn't find depressed him immensely.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "Ok, so he…….I mean she……..is now missing a few vital parts of hi--I mean, her anatomy. I can deal with this."
Famous last words.
Mamochi Zabuza, Demon of the Mist, one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, and all around bloodthirsty bastard, fainted dead away at the sight of a now female Haku.
There was going to be Hell to pay when those two woke up. Heads would roll and entrails would spill.
Somewhere deep inside Shinigami Headquarters, a small, timid looking shinigami sneezed violently.
My, oh my. This is certainly an interesting twist. Never investigate the power of a disgruntled postal--I mean shinigami. How will Zabuza deal with a now female but equally pretty Haku? The Fanfiction gods are cruel, mon ami, are they not?
Be kind and review. I enjoy hearing each and every opinion on this story, whether it be good or bad. Once again, I thank those that reviewed and I hope that they continue to review.
