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CHAPTER 4: (once, we were the same)
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Scuff, thud, the unmistakable clatter of kunai – yet, somehow, dulled. Hushed.
Closer, something rattles, rhythmically and unrelenting, alternating in pitch.
Vision dark, pitch black. Obito's eyes are unresponsive, as with the rest of his body. Only the minutest of sensations seem to register, nerves insensate. A lingering rigor of suffering, throbbing periodically, weaker in his extremities and concentrating, converging at his chest.
Everything is Wrong.
It's hardly an ideal afterlife. Though Obito doubts the assumption almost immediately. Bodily functions still seem to be ongoing, he notes, connecting the dots between the rattling and respiration. Maybe a fitting purgatory for murderers such as himself.
Though. He distinctly remembers trading blows with the kyuubi brat. At most, moments ago. And a conversation with Kakashi, the teammate-slaughtering bastard.
Whose moniker… fell to the fault of Madara.
Ah.
Painstaking effort is spent pushing his thoughts into the realm of comprehension, webbed with redshoutinggloatingscreamingand – a sharp intake of breath – pain. Cognitive shards reduced to mere phlegm; viscous and uncooperative when coupled with an exhaustion resonating in body, mind, and spirit.
Nonetheless, Obito's instincts are unmistakable, even when diminished to a blunted roar – hackles raised and reared up in warning, alarmalarmalarm get UP WAKE UP—
((Rin would be so disappointed, a small voice speaks evenly, deafening the bedlam to soft static. And. Obito recognises it to be his own. Younger. A relic from his first few days of academy. Innocence and optimism replaced by a changeling of something darker, hungrier. An unshakeable uchiha legacy, almost a latent curse.
'Those who break the rules are trash, but those who abandon their comrades are worse than trash!' His words. Team seven. A legacy instilled by candid moments of respite and intermittent civility. Ties that continue to bind, and a loyalty to Rin distorted into a poison without an antidote.
(A lie. What good is a cure without the crucial ingredient of reprisal?)
Rin. 'It's not good to hide your wounds, you know. I'm looking after you.' Always a sentinel of genuine care, unselfish where it mattered most.
If so, what was Obito, who was near-willing to give up the world?
So willing to abandon Rin's memory, all for a mere illusion.
His chest burns, breathing ragged and thoughts in disarray, flatlining into a sharp cadence of denial and blind guilt. And yet. A simple answer rings out with a different voice, a different tone – one beyond recollection:
Worse than trash.))
Obito's eyes snap open. And the world seems to realign itself, sensations raw and real, a blanket of lethargy lifting from his very extremities.
'—up, wake UP!' Shouting, screaming, rumbling; the sounds of struggle, of fighting, melding into a familiar susurrus.
.
.
.
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The team of them depart their ad hoc shelter, an understated crevice of rock, travelling at a meager pace by shinobi standards, trapped between a limbo of utmost haste and measured steps, but. It's the best they can manage with two of their count either fighting off disease or drained of energy: B and himself falling into the unfortunate category. Naruto has long since sent out his clones in an attempt at scouting the area and the shinobi alliance encampment, tipping the scales into their favour.
Nonetheless, the best case scenario would mean locating and interrogating either Madara or Obito apropos the particulars of what transpired, and the best means of reversing the effects. Ideally.
For the first few twists and dead-ends, they work towards navigating around the formations before settling on plowing through, courtesy of kyuubi's assistance, but.
The chakra-gloved punch ends up skidding along the veined surface, looking no worse for wear than before. Better even, as though invigorated. In possession of Naruto's body for the time being, Kurama scowled, eyes scrutinising the malignance, irises narrowed into prerequisite slits.
'Normal chakra's useless,' a haphazard gesture towards the wall, more of a flick of a wrist than an informative indication, 'fucking jyuubi. No pride of its own. The attack was absorbed, so I couldn't do anything major.'
If it were possible to label a demon-possessing-a-teenager with human descriptors without the risk of evisceration, Kakashi would've said Kurama looked disappointed. Almost.
The demon threw a speculative look, head tilted.
'No interruptions. Unless you fancy yourselves accident-fodder.'
And drew back, coiled into a stance before invoking its demonic chakra, molten and caustic as it shrouded the demon's form in red.
Kurama struck, lunging forward with violent abandon. And yet.
The chakra vacuumed to the biomass with nothing more than a vapourous hiss, vessels pulsating and the structure seeming to reach for the bijou, Kurama's fist hanging a distance away, as though frozen.
Flashing through his mind is a simple fact. The bijou originated from jyuubi to begin with, so it would be logically sound to say that these tumours would have a greater affinity for demonic chakra. …
'Gyuuki,' Kurama starts, flashing a mean smile as the demon approached, 'how are things progressing with that headache of yours?'
B tenses, folding his arms together. 'Worse,' he replies, pithy and. Obstinate? Was this B or gyuuki speaking? Both? Kakashi shakes his head. It's an honest reply, his honed instincts call out, and he supposes that's all that matters.
'Worse. Worse,' the demon spat, the beginnings of fury flickering through its expression like cradled embers, 'one of the last of our kind, and that's all you have to say? Do you plan on sharing the same fate, like the others—?'
—only to be extinguished a second later, replaced by a gaunt frown.
'Do what you want. At this point, the problem is yours and your host's alone.' With that, the demon turns away, skulking off.
To sulk, from the sounds of it. Or maybe not. One could never tell for sure when it came to Kurama without getting input from Naruto – on the rare occasion that his student remembered or cared to explain, for that matter. Rubbing his temples, Kakashi feels the beginnings of a migraine at the train of thought, so he leaves it at that.
Which meant a temporary roadblock. Inwardly, he shrugs. Now is a good time as any to take a break, he concedes, seating himself on a slab of granite. Kurama and B's (gyuuki's?) conversation… there's enough to fuel darker speculation – unhealthy during such presently dire straits – but nothing concrete.
Something affecting both B and the gyuuki? The symptoms from earlier. "Worse," a single word resonates. Would this mean death, assimilation? Where did Kurama's righteous outrage come into play? Too many questions, too little answers. No. That would be a lie.
(Too many answers, none of which he liked in particular.)
Gai lifts a hand, placating, 'I do not mean to pry as it would be decidedly unyouthful; however, it would be even moreso to leave a comrade in adversity…'
For a split-second, the taijutsu specialist looks to be prepping himself up for a heartwarming speech on youth and camaraderie, so Kakashi takes his chances, butting in with aplomb.
'Ergo, is this something we may be of help with?'
The reply is blunt.
'No help whatsoever.'
A beat, and B warms with a hearty grin, 'though the consideration is appreciated, even from a couple of stubborn leaf nin who act too tough for their own good.'
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Kurama returns a few minutes later, looking chastened by an infinitesimally small margin. Naruto's doing, Kakashi muses. The demon trades a nod with B as he passes. A ceasefire, of sorts. Or an apology. Though, knowing the demon's usual disposition, the latter seems unlikely.
'You may want to step back,' the bijou warns.
With no further ado, the demon flips through the seals of a fire release unrecognisable to Kakashi, sparks gathering, and the name muttered too low to be audible – almost an empty breath. The jinchuuriki's posture is the slightest bit defensive and some secrets have to be kept, he reasons.
Synchronous with the kyuubi's own movements, Gai's posture lowers, readying to relocate the three of them with the probable threat of a messy aftermath. Which was looking exceedingly likely with such close quarters and a demon's chakra supply backing it up.
In the next instant, a gaping maw is opened up to view, the observable distance charred, smoke billowing in sheets and grasping tendrils, the radiated heat warping what little visibility there was. With no discernible friendly fire; and Kakashi grimaces at the pun. Considering its usual track-record, the demon was being outright considerate. Small wonders.
As though on cue, smothering his sinuses is the pungent stench of burnt flesh, forehead faintly beading with sweat at the radiated heat – which is soon gusted away, courtesy of a vehement wind jutsu.
With demonically-enhanced senses, the fetor must have hit the blonde the hardest. Kurama attempts a rictus mutation between scowl and sneer, and, owing to Naruto's uncooperative facial structure, ends up looking mildly constipated.
Swallowing the urge to laugh and risk sudden death, he says, dumbly:
'I take it elemental chakra's still effective?'
'Stating the obvious is for lesser minds,' Kurama replies, giving a wise nod. Which is. Well.
Possibly sensing the impending meltdown, B speaks up, 'the path's likely cooled down, so we can either gossip like a flock of wrinkly samurai past their prime or,' sending a blistering look at Kurama that must have been all-Gyuuki, unimpeded by sunglasses, 'do what we shinobi do and make like a rhyme.'
Taking the reprimand for what it isn't, Kurama's all too happy to return to Naruto's subconscious in what the demon deems to be a strategic retreat, shooting a parting sneer-but-not-quite. Thank kami.
Soon after, Naruto takes to gravitating towards B, sending the occasional innocuous comment or muttered apology. Probably for the best, since Naruto's closest to understanding what B's going through… It occurs to Kakashi that the four of them haven't spoken about their memories of before, about Madara. About Obito.
Later, the word comes out like a mantra.
Weaving their way through the charred aftermath is a comparatively simple matter, though the remnant stench is close enough to human. Kakashi's knees weaken as he slogs forward, stomach roiling in an aching reminder of disgust and his ANBU days (years, a voice corrects, wisened and weary).
Deceptively light, dragging footsteps register within earshot, barely audible over a whistling breeze. Judging by Naruto's slight tense, Kakashi knows he isn't just imagining it.
'Naruto, still no word from your clones?' he says, the syllables rolling off his tongue oddly, unmistakably terse.
Shooting him a troubled look, the genin replies: 'Nothing.'
The rustle of movement falls into the kumo nin's hearing range several moments after, and B's face twists into an uneasy grimace before interjecting, 'the million ryo question is "were we expecting company in the first place?"' Other than the obvious candidates goes unsaid.
Gai shakes his head in vague reply – attention diverted elsewhere – expression focused and scanning the landscape; still thoroughly warped and disfigured, affording only a scarce degree of unobstructed view.
Kakashi sighs, 'noise source aside, we'll need a greater range of visibility before jumping to confrontations—'
'—since getting split up isn't in our best interests,' Naruto finishes, rolling his eyes, 'we know.'
They grow up so fast, he muses, mock-wiping a single tear.
Naruto seems to sense the thought a moment later – either through Kurama's obliging input, or simple familiarity. Kakashi isn't sure which exasperates him more. The successive jab to his ribs is positively weak by shinobi standards, but he suppresses a wince all the same.
Settling on a more expedient pace, the group of them reach the foot of the central crater, occupied by the jyuubi's cadaver, hollow in some parts, and arterial vessels bulging in others where it met the tumorous structures. Bony spines extend to the sky like a vast envelope, webbed and encrusted with residual gore where it gave off the impression of an over-large labyrinth. Its many limbs seem to decompose into the landscape; a union between their world and the entity that would eventually exhaust it bare of life and chakra.
Belying the scenery is a soft blanket of light afforded by the moon, red as it is.
Leaving nothing to be heard over the low howl of gale, the wind picks up.
Hand inching towards his kunai pouch pre-emptively, the timing sends Kakashi and the rest of their number on edge. His eye tears up from the intensity of the gust, parched and smoky, stripping it of moisture and leaving it uncomfortably dry. Succumbing to a round of blinking, he briefly considers the possibility of picking up a pair of goggles when they return to basecamp. (Minato would be rolling in his grave.)
They search, cautious and unrelenting.
(Wind directions change, and he picks up on the sharp stench of rust, blood, decay—)
In an astoundingly small window of time, they find their answers. Or rather, their answers end up finding them.
For the most part, Naruto's kage bunshin are rendered redundant in the scouting department as grotesque humanoid cadavers slip, stumble and lunge at them from all directions, shrieking; forms metamorphosed beyond recognition, like walking caricatures of biomass.
'Fight to survive,' he shouts over the noise, and he hopes Naruto will take it to heart. B and Gai, he knows, have already had the necessary lesson. He sends forth a barrage of shuriken, which manage to incapacitate a number of their attackers. Nothing lethal, but just enough to halt them in their tracks.
Naruto calls up a rally of clones to even the odds, and it's almost too easy to lose sight of everyone else in the abrupt flood of movement and carnage. Gai's assault errs on the side of caution, honed to the very bare-bones of taijutsu. Appropriate. By now they're all pretty sure there won't be any opportunities to recuperate any time soon. B, seems to be handling his own, though Kakashi can't help but notice a wild, careless edge to his movements where they used embody decisiveness and balance.
Eye narrowing in scrutiny, Kakashi side-steps what would have been a bloodletting swipe of a hand (claw?) by a hair's breadth. Too close. Its second lunge is met with a well angled kunai, its neck seeming to rasp as the blade tore through, rending flesh and bone alike. The body fell still, and as he pulled his weapon away, splotches of a thick, dark liquid dotted the ground below.
Caking their bodies are bloodstains and withered viscera, limbs hanging out at awkward angles. And, if not outright tarnished beyond recognition, many bore alliance headbands, whilst a select few were peppered with kunai, shuriken, and other implements, flagrant medals celebrating, narrating a massacre.
Realisation hits him like an anvil, heart plummeting.
This didn't happen overnight, nor in a matter of hours… we were asleep for so much longer than that.
Recognition rushes through him like a jolt: a kiri nin, altered and bearing only the slightest resemblance to an image summoned by recollection. Did they think themselves abandoned, when they saw the world go the hell?
A glimpse of an iwa nin, visage warped and unseeing, a cavity spanning through their side.
Or did they consider the battle lost?
Konoha.
At the very end, did they lose hope?
A brief flash of green, and something tackles him to the ground with a slide, knocking the air out of his lungs. Kakashi's body moves to take care of the threat (quickly, quickly), and stops.
'—akashi!' someone holding onto his shoulders, shaking him, 'snap out of it, my eternal rival!'
Blinking owlishly, he sees Gai, brows knotted together and expression twisted into concern. Making an abortive gesture, he waves off the contact, opting to sit up. Pathetic performance from a nin of his caliber, but he'll take what he can get, running on empty.
'I fell asleep for a moment there,' Kakashi lies, and for all he knows it might even be true. Shaking away the thought, the jounin focusses on a cadaver disposed of with a well-aimed kunai, motionless and a unerringly close to where he was standing prior. Still, something bothers him, an alarm ringing, blaring in step with the blood pounding through his ears.
The temperature drops, stealing away what little warmth he feels in his extemities, and the uproar of combat seeming to decline. Bodies grow still of their own accord, and Kakashi wonders whether he's seeing things, trapped into an endless loop fluctuating between haste and stagnation.
Further beyond is Naruto, arm still extended, as though frozen in after-throw, and posture uneasy. A hard gleam to his eyes invokes an image of Minato wearing the very same look, all those years ago. Of the hokage. Of so many others, fallen and alive alike, who have staked their life upon protecting what they deemed to be precious.
Just as well.
Rising to his feet and steeling himself, Kakashi lets Gai support him by the shoulder, dowsing the sting of indignity easily enough.
Fending off a pack of attackers, B winds his way back to the group, something about his gait distinctly off. Where the nin once bore an undercurrent of restraint and discipline,
there was void.
Naruto breaks the radio silence, settling into an adaptable kata.
'B?'
Not fending. Ramming through, as gyuuki's chakra slices, pulverises its surroundings like a flurry of blades moving in quick succession. The cadavers seem to part like water in preemption, swaying and unsteady. Something, everything about this was amiss.
Kakashi's muscles tense, and Gai shifts his stance, ready to intervene.
His student takes a step back, something in his expression shattering.
(Naruto's always known more than he's wanted to share, and Kakashi can't fault him for it. Not now, when their circumstances placed hope and unfaltering optimism at such a premium.)
Through split and slivered lenses, B's irises are bloodshot, eyes wide and animalistic. No recognition, only a cold intent in common with their attackers.
The three of them move in coordination: Naruto summons a flood of clones in a whorl of smoke and vapour, and Gai and himself incapacitate the nearest cadavers. Nerves strung too near to their breaking point, the very air seems to thicken in dread and urgency. Time dilates as though under the ward baleful keeper, and the noises of approach ring out like an irregular pendulum.
And run, leaving a din of violence in their wake.
Further into the cavern network, their path is illumed by the barest shards of luminosity through the canopy with Naruto at the helm – shielding an ember in a modified katon jutsu. The reds, blacks and blues of their surroundings blur into one, save for the occasional trick of light, granting Kakashi a snapshot of bone and viscera.
They move in silence, the loss of one of their number a raw wound, cauterised with bare resolve, but only just.
An eternity later, 'his leg,' Kakashi breathes out, 'what happened to the others happened to B. A neurotoxin, possibly.'
'That would indeed make sense, Kakashi,' Gai supplies, the cheer in his voice ringing hollowly. 'So we're to avoid to blood-to-blood contact, is that correct?'
For the first time since their confrontation with B, Naruto speaks up, voice tight, 'it'd be best if we avoid fluids altogether.'
Kakashi's next few words are measured, hoping for a compromise between the mission and empathy.
'Is this coming from Kurama, or something else?'
The blonde shakes his head, and the conversation flatlines.
They continue onwards.
.
.
.
Your own student couldn't find it in himself to trust you, laughs a familiar voice. He shakes it away like a cloak of dust.