This was going to only be part of one chapter, but it is already 2k words and my friend says 'JUST UPLOAD IT' ヽ(´~`;)S-So... here is the first part. Yes, I changed my writing a bit.. (*´ェ`*)


It felt like they were running until the ends of the earth, content on going until hell itself loomed at their feet. They were at full speed, no restraint, devil at their heels, starry light popping in and out of his eyes and making him dizzy. Little Tamama was holding on with a vice grip to one of Dororo's hands, the only thing keeping him connected to the earth, while the master assassin used the other to guide Giroro's journey as well, his ninja technique making him able to dodge and leap over all the wreckage and see deep into the opaque forest, whereas he and Giroro were swallowed by the dark and dust and could see nothing at all. Keroro was behind them, a tracker gun in one hand and a radio device in the other, as he whispered merciless commands to Kululu in a desperate attempt to get a hand on the situation that had spiraled so far out of his control.

Tamama had been the one to beg to go back for Momoka, sighs of regret battling his body as he drove Keroro and the others to go along with him, too. They'd dispatched quickly with Kululu's guidance, but now it felt like they were just running to run away from everything, path blurred from sight and journey pathetically desperate. They bounded forward quickly without a single pause, each step sucking out their breath with the force of a whirlwind wracking their lungs over and over to rob them of their senses and to dull their movement's precision. It felt like Dororo's speed relentlessly moved them and Giroro's endurance refused to stop them. That, and the night aided them none, calming down it's flurry of sunset shine to transition into cool sundown to come shroud the forest in its' black silhouettes and deliver a chilling touch that caressed all their spines with shivers. He knew they wouldn't have much time before it was too late in the night to search at all. Even now their feeble attempt felt like it roared off into the abyss with the most minimal expectation of success.

Tamama was snapped out of his thoughts at high speed velocity. A violent tug at his wrist launched him forward as a low hanging tree limb whipped into view, inches from his face. He ripped apart from Dororo and shucked under it, chest touching his knees as he popped up again on the other side. Then he heard a rough shout from behind him that told him Giroro hadn't been so fast. Next, a grunt of frustration accompanied a loud SNAP that echoed with a wild pound against his head. He twisted worriedly just in time to see Giroro ram the butt of his rifle into the branch and send a splintered piece of it flying through the air in a wide arc. He turned back to them, and Dororo paused, before running up alongside Tamama, leaving Giroro a few meters behind to gather himself.

"Are you ready to fight?" Dororo suddenly asked, body rigid, but voice wary and taunt with drawn out emotion hidden in the syllables. Tamama just nodded solemnly as he continued moving.

"I will if I have to. I mean, I don't really want to... but if I don't, Momo-chii might be...m-might be...-" he faltered, paused, and with terror filling his pupils, gave up. He couldn't even bear to think of it. Dororo quietly nodded, understanding.

"Don't worry, Tama-kun. I won't let it come to that. Not ever." His words came out comforting, but harsh, and he gripped the handle of his sword with strength, danger and security both pulsing from him at once with equal intensity. He was more prepared to fight that anyone else.

"Dororo?" Tamama whispered, cracking into the open night air, half to himself, half to the fellow soldier beside him.

"Yes?"

"If I... if I get hurt, will you save Momoka?" Tamama gulped. Dororo paused only a moment, then looked away, into the heart of the forest. Tamama felt heat rise in him, all anger and embarrassment filling him up. He tried again. "Dororo, please! You're a soldier! And you're... you're..." he flushed at the caught up words, but tripped over them before he could stop, "-you're the only one who'll listen to me...!"

Dororo raised his head and looked him in the eye. Some far away light seemed to have gone out of him without a sound, and it changed his demeanor completely. He was not Tamama's friend Dororo anymore; he was the assassin Zeroro that killed for hire in the dead of night with silence on his back and a garrote twisted in his hands. He was everything Tamama had never known, never met before, and it was mortifying. He felt himself pale in the face of death. He tasted regret.

"Yes. I will follow all orders, Sir." He used a voice that was cold and emotionless and almost spiteful and it sent chills tingling through the small of his back and shocking deep through his aorta. He'd never heard Dororo use that voice before, and had never been addressed like that, it just felt like a tone reserved for addressing a coldblooded leader before a battle or kept on the tongue for a lowly Private speaking to a General. Tamama caught his breath just above his chest with a sharp movement. Had Dororo forgotten who he was talking to? After all, he was speaking to him like a commander- like a leader.

No.

He burrowed his head in his hands, ashamed of the reverence a master assassin like him had offered even in such a desperate moment, and he couldn't even accept it, he couldn't even bear to think he was better than Dororo. Dororo would've actually killed the dog, would've saved Momoka, and gotten home, Dororo could've done all that, and done it right. Tamama was nothing to that. Tamama was not even worth the breath. He shuddered the horrible stars off his back, and the sky murmured pity at him, but he only felt the whip of the wind.

He turned to Dororo, searching vainly for a response, but the ninja was already gone, all swerving, graceful movement through the brush and flashing katana through the night as he dove deeper and deeper into the flora. Then he was truly gone and Giroro had caught up, his shot gun at eye level and violence thick on his breath. He took one look at Tamama, but didn't even see him, and sprang forward with a lion's prowl to be immersed in jungle and leaf as well. Tamama hung behind a moment, soreness creeping back up on his chest and adrenaline still a live circuit in him with no resistor that was slowly exhausting his rationality. He couldn't take much more of this, they had to end this in one fell blow or risk everything.

He was so tired.

Submersed in the depths of his worries, he didn't even notice at first when Keroro appeared at his shoulder. His leader watched him a moment, then clucked his tongue.

"Private Tamama, are you still waiting here? Aren't you going with everyone else? You're going to have to fight, too." He nodded towards him, his words heavy. Was he prepared to fight?

"I know. I will." Tamama whispered resolutely.

Keroro gave a cautious smirk. "You sound determined. Would you fight even harder than me?" Tamama raised his head, suddenly hardened and energized again. Something in Keroro's voice kicked his nerves into action and he knew he was ready for anything. If Keroro didn't think he could fight, then he would fight like all hell. If they all thought he was weak, he'd be strong as steel. He'd prove it to them. His breath came back without warning as a jolt of air and he sucked in a long gasp, thunder in his lungs and lightning in his eyes. Suddenly he was running and screaming his head off before he could even think, the journey was an adventure again and he was the prince off to fight the dragon and he was just having fun with his friends in his backyard, and he was running and laughing and yelling "I'M GOING TO FIGHT HARDER THAN AAAAALLLLL OF YOUUUUU!" at the top of his lungs like a streamer flailing all around him.

Then he was giggling ludicrously and saw Dororo's figure a league from him, and he closed in and leapt up to his speed, coming tête à tête with the proud ninja. He came close to him, but there was fierceness in his eyes he didn't want to bother, so he ran on, going even faster than that patta patta patta of Dororo's feet slapping on leaf and dirt.

And then he burst forward, emerged from a shrub's embrace, and was then in a thicket of wild rushes up to his chest with a line of trees about twenty feet away in all directions from the middle. He slapped the weak plants away, and peered upward. The moon was just beginning it's ascent into the sky, and slipped them a smiling wink from it's mantle. Tamama gazed at the reeds all around him, suffocated by the night. It was a field of golden stalks and straw-colored shoots all wanly flowing in the breeze, trees crowding all around the tiny thicket's edge.

Then something caught his attention.

Near the center of the rough ring of trees, in the very middle, the reeds were abruptly flattened. Something could've fallen there. Tamama couldn't see it from where he was, but he guessed it was something that wasn't moving at the moment, and staying low enough to the ground that he couldn't see it (though he was short and this didn't hold much merit). Worry speared his heart with the intensity of a harpoon. It could be Momoka. Happiness fluttered like a wounded bird caught in his heart. He'd found her. He could save her. He could fix everything. Everyone could be happy. He wasn't a failure.

Impatience broke him, and he surged forward in one movement, smashing the beginning of the reed patch with his weight, seconds away from barreling head-long into the mesh and running straight into Momoka's arms and letting go of all the fear from this night he was so, so sick of already.

But his reasoning came back to him, faint at first, then loud, a siren, blaring like a war signal, and it caught him by the ankle just in time, only one step forward.

Or it could be the dog.

Tamama creeped forward, on his hands and knees, crawling through the reeds as quietly as possible. They bent under his light pressure, and he edged forward, straight towards the middle. In the distance, he heard Dororo's footsteps come to a halt at the edge of the rushes. So he was waiting there for him? Good. He continued on, pushing down the shoots with his belly and slowly making a faint trail in the growth. If the dog was here, if it was not wounded, it would notice him soon.

He gritted his teeth. He continued on. I must be brave. I must show them. He chanted to himself, over and over, trying to smother the fear exploding in him. I have to be... I have to be this time...! I have to be strong!

He was a foot away from a break in the weeds. They slapped him gently around the face, and he peered forward, kicking out the reeds from under him. He moved forward, and tensed, one hand reached out tentatively to the next gnarl of plant.

He pushed, hard.

Three ruby red eyes hovered inches across from his, open wide and all-knowingly.

He stopped breathing.

Then, from behind him, a shrill voice cried out in fury, shattering the calm.

"TAMAMA YOU IDIOT! STRIKE FIRST! STRIKE FIRST, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"

...M-Momoka?