Martyrdom is an Art
A/N: Revisions galore.
"He thought he would break her, but he was the one who broke in the end."
Akasuna no Sasori wanted to achieve immortality, not godhood.
She is twenty when she begins training with him.
Months have passed and he notices her growing arsenal of blades.
"Souen: Senjin no Mai!"
Thirty-seven swords begin falling around her in a resounding clatter. The blades glimmer in the sunlight. A bead of sweat trickles down her arm. Her gaze doesn't falter. Her posture stiffens. There is silence.
"You are tired." He states bluntly. Her breathing is labored. She has used much of her chakra in that one technique already? In all the years she had been training with the Snake Sage, she would have learned how to use it properly. He frowns at the idea, if with him she would have learned much even in such a short time.
But isn't this why she was forcibly brought to him the first place?
"I have been assigned on a solo mission, Sasori-kun." He remembers the words of his partner, "Keep watch over her for me."
"But, master!" She had cried out defiantly.
"Hush now, you will learn much from him."
She turned to him then, and sent him a furious glare.
At first he had thought of how it would be the perfect opportunity to pull her away, to persuade her to come to his side, to bring to her the idea that she would be better with him. Unfortunately, her adamant mindset and unpleasant scowls have only proven to him her infatuation, or rather obsession, with the Snake Sage.
"You are wasting my time." He tells her the words he never thought he would say to her. She had called him out to assist in her training and he had hoped to see how vicious and how brutal her fighting style is in person, but she has disappointed him by stilling her movements upon summoning her collection of blades.
She grits her teeth and runs towards him at a blinding speed, the tip of the blade poised towards his neck. He expects the attack, and moves Hiruko's tail to block it.
But she jumps high and spins wildly in the air, and he cannot predict which way she will attack next, how she will attack next—
The blade breaks against Hiruko's tail, but she maneuvers and grabs the broken piece and throws it to Hiruko's face.
A shallow cut appears on the wooden cheek and it almost stings him. She lands on her feet, only to quickly throw the piece in her hand and deliver another cut to Hiruko's face parallel to the one before.
"Was that supposed to impress me?" He chuckles behind Hiruko's face and thanks that the mask betrays how he really feels. To think that she had accomplished the movement without using an ounce of what chakra she had left, she was moving on sheer physical stamina alone.
"I will break you." She mutters before quickly rolling away and picking up one, two blades from the ground and throwing them to him.
"Gedandzuki no Mai!"
Two more blades follow in quick succession, and then three, five, six, eight, until she has thrown all of her blades towards him—and he deflects them all, sending them spinning away and scattering about him. He had noticed how she handled the blades effortlessly, lifting them easily off the ground and throwing them as if they weighed nothing, and he almost has the urge to call upon the Sandaime Kazekage to see how she would approach a battle with one whose chakra nature would render her attacks useless. He watches her drop back to the ground without any hint of hesitation or breathlessness. Had she done all of those by relying on physical strength alone?
"Jiton: Itomenashi no Jutsu!"
She surprises him then, by showing him a technique so similar to his own. The swords around him begin levitating, hanging by her magnetic chakra, surrounding the immediate space above him with their blades pointed downwards—a dome-like structure of swords whose blades are pointed towards him, if you will.
"Kudake."
The blades fall simultaneously, lightly piercing Hiruko's shell and shallowly cutting the wood and steel structure that he had so meticulously made. He begins to be more impressed with her, if only a little, because the steel he used for Hiruko's tail are of higher, rarer quality than the cheap steel of her arsenal. She cannot break Hiruko. She cannot break him.
Or is she doing this on purpose?
"Do you toy with me?" He asks as he watches her place a steady hand on one of the swords from the daishō hanging from her waist.
"Kudashi Te: Gesshoku."
She delivers a quick iaido slash that creates a rupturing echo, a shrill scream that makes him clench his teeth and his fingers twitch. She takes the opportunity to move quickly, appearing suddenly behind him, blade poised to pierce through Hiruko's shell and into his head if Hiruko's tail hadn't met the attack in time.
She holds her ground and feels proud that the tip of Yamenokaya has managed to pierce through the thick wood halfway.
"We are done." He says and waits for her to sheathe her blades, waits for her summoned arsenal to disappear before completely letting his guard down. He keeps himself inside Hiruko's thick shell under the idea that she might very well decide to destroy him with her bare hands.
"When will he be back?" She says as the smoke clears.
"Later tonight, if I assume correctly."
She frowns. "And you are to keep me company?"
"As much as I dislike it." He lied.
She looks to the sky above them and huffs, expressing her distaste. "I hope the sunset comes quicker, then."
"As do I." He echoed.
The silence expands between them; the trees looming around the clearing rustle their leaves in the slight breeze, their trunks scarred and cut reminiscent of previous battles and sparring matches. Ever since they have been reintroduced to each other—him as a member of the Akatsuki and her mentor's partner, and she as his partner's student and ever-loyal vassal—they have sparred for fifteen times over the course of eight months, with him more often than not discontinuing their battle before she could pull her finishing move. She scowls at the thought, is he purposely holding back? Does he not find her a worthy opponent? Or is he simply hiding something more sinister? Gauge her abilities and finally end her in one strike?
"You were looking for me in Hagakure, why?" She inquires upon sudden remembrance of the thought, however long ago it was when she visited Hagakure and was approached by a samurai saying that a red-haired shinobi had been looking for her.
He hides his smirk behind Hiruko's face. "It seems I have been found out."
"What were you doing there in the first place?" She presses.
"I wished to thank you."
She knows he is lying. In the back of her head, she is sure that he wants to make a puppet out of her, kill her and make her body into the a tool he sees fit to use and him, she is nothing more than just another human being that would fulfill their potential in his hands, for what else is she but a weapon? Raised from birth to become a fighter, a master of the blades, and a weapon in the form of a human body. Easily becoming the victor of several death matches with nothing but her bare body and her chipped blades, surely becoming a puppet of his would allow her to become the perfect human weapon she would have sent her entire life training to be.
She would surely become perfect if she belonged to him.
It is his turn to ask, "Why do you remain with him?"
"Is there anywhere else I could be?" She retorts.
"You could be anywhere." He muses. "I hear Tetsu no Kuni is another one of the countries that employ samurai."
But he hasn't been to that country, hasn't seen the military strength of the samurai there, hasn't tasted the cold, cold weather, hasn't heard the prejudice against radical shinobi groups such as the Akatsuki…
She replies, "And you will be my enemy."
He asks with a cock of his head, "Am I not your enemy now?"
He is.
At least he should be.
"You are his partner. An ally." She spits out the last word. "If I regarded you an enemy, surely he will be displeased with me."
"And if does not care?" He presses.
She does not reply. Instead, she looks away from him, breathes in deep, and thinks. He takes the opportunity.
"You think I consider him an ally, but I would not hesitate to strike him down if he interferes with my art." He explains. "And I think he would do the same if I prevented him from whatever it is he wishes to do. We are not the allies you perceive in your head." He grounds out. "I will fight him if necessary, and I will win."
At least, he hopes to win. He hasn't seen the Snake Sage's complete arsenal, hasn't seen the full extent of his capabilities, hasn't seen through him enough to calculate his weak points.
"You forget that I am here." She mutters. "I will stop you."
She doesn't say kill.
"Of course." He smirks. "With an arsenal of blades so easily broken, I wonder how you would even win against me."
She clenches her teeth as she remembers the scene, the sound of steel breaking apart against steel, the sight of a crafted sword being rendered useless by a shinobi's weapon. It is only one sword, she thinks, and it was old, having gone through several battles its blade has chipped and only time could tell when it would reach its breaking point.
Time.
Did that mean that her arsenal would slowly diminish? That the swords will keep on breaking? No. No. She would gather more swords. Gather more. Until she has a hundred. A thousand!
"Those blades aren't yours, you know." He calls her out of her thoughts. "They aren't built for you."
In his mind she is a thief, taking the weapons of those who have fallen by her hand. It is out of convenience that she take their swords, and it is out of desperation that she take as many as she could just to have an arsenal that could only dream of rivalling his. He knows of her determination to become something that would earn her his partner's devotion, to become something worthy of a twisted affection she believes could only come from the Snake Sage.
"I recall your father was a swordsmith." He tells her. She looks shocked at his statement, but he recovers with a quick, "And your mother was a swordsman. He told me from before we met."
He had forgotten about her brother.
She had also forgotten one of her reasons to become stronger.
She clenches her fists tight. It has been five years since she last saw her brother and she wonders how he is doing, where he is living, who are his adoptive parents, if he is still practicing his art, if he is still alive—
"You should craft your own blades." He says. "You should hone your own art."
That much is true for him, as puppeteer and as a puppet maker. In his belief that he will not only be immortal, but be revered as a god, is materialized in his work. Every puppet in his collection is entirely his own, the bodies made wholly and utterly his, their talents brought to the highest level, their skills honed to the sharpest point. Surely, in his mind, he is a god who has allowed these members of his collection to reach perfection.
He remembers how his mouth had dried at the sight of her coming back to life the second time he has met her.
"He rarely lets me visit Hagakure for more than few days at a time." She replies, not looking at him, and he could imagine a childish pout on her face. "I would need at least half a year or so."
Had she not learned of crafting swords in her time there? He knows she has spent two years away from the Snake Sage, but why hasn't she thought of learning to craft? Had the idea come to her only now that he has told her?
He denies himself the selfish joy that comes with the fact.
"Do you…" She hesitates. "Do you craft their blades?"
"Of course." He replies swiftly and nonchalantly.
Her next words do not falter, and she returns her stoic gaze to him. "Then, would you consider teaching me?"
"I would."
She turns to him fully and bows deep from her waist out of respect. Although it pains her to even come to him of all people, the man who at first wanted nothing but to kill her, the man who had searched Hagakure for her, the man who had been unfazed by her attacks, the man whose body is of wood and steel and poison and of the unchanging face of a boy, she shrinks her pride out of desperation and wishes that she learn fast enough.
She so badly wants to prove her strength over him.
/
He is twenty-six when he likens her to him.
An unsharpened steel blade is thrown to the wall and a loud clang resounds in the otherwise empty room. On the same side, there is a pile of unfinished, unsharpened, broken blades, and on the other side is a furious young woman sweating against the heat of the forge.
"You are not teaching me fast enough." She huffs. Her hands are thoroughly roughened by the endless attempts at crafting the perfect sword that is light, yet sharp and strong enough to cut cleanly through skin and bone.
"Be patient." He hisses.
He had told her it was impossible. She would have to sacrifice strength with sharpness, weight with durability. His puppets aren't so lightweight as he makes them appear to be, they are, after all, complete arsenals with retractable blades, poisoned needles, jagged iron, teeth, study wood, porcelain eyes, and human chakra.
And for a moment he wonders how she would weigh, and what weapons he would make into her already invincible body.
"Keep up with me." She cocks her head to the side and begins pounding the hammer into a new blade, and begins again the routine: dip the steel in cold water, douse it in the fire, and repeat; fold the steel again and again and again until she could see the ocean ripples upon its surface.
"I meant the blade." She grounds. "But it could also mean you."
"Pardon?"
"I am not a child." She drops the steel into the fire without little remorse. "Do not teach me as if I am one."
He rolls his eyes at the statement. How childish she still is, he thinks.
"How long has it been?" She picks up the blade and begins pounding the hammer upon it again. "Two, three weeks?" She spits out as she douses the hot blade in cold water, hearing the furious sizzle it makes. "And you haven't given me anything worth showing to him."
"How childish your sentiment is." He tells her and she stops working, stills her hands and breathes deeply. He continues, "You think I would teach you to impress him? You think I am doing this for him? How more of a child could you be?"
Her lower lip quivers from her anger. He had said nothing but petty remarks and loose insults to her, and she think he is provoking her on purpose, riling her up to get what he wants like what a child would do to its mother, and if he is, then what does he want from her? What could he want from her?
She already knows the answer to the question, but refuses to give him the satisfaction.
"What you are making is art." He states firmly. "And art should never be rushed."
If art were her profession, surely he would be her senior. How old was he when he first created puppets? First toyed with wooden dolls and figurines? How old was he when he realized that this is what he was meant to become?
"Your swordsmanship should be treated as an art, as well." He continued. "It has much potential to become graceful and deadly, but so far all I have seen is that it is still rough and unfinished. How much time did you spend on actually sharpening your skill?"
His words hit her like salt to a wound and forces her to think. She had learned the essentials of swordsmanship from her mother at the early age of six. She wielded a sword at the age of ten. She learned to combine her chakra with her attacks at the age of fifteen. She became a bounty hunter at the age of seventeen. She had returned to Hagakure to learn a hybrid form of combining ninjutsu with kenjutsu at the age of eighteen. She had formed her own techniques of the sword at the age of nineteen. At now at age twenty, what has she become? Surely her skills are superior to any and every one she has faced. But what about those that she hadn't? Are there any who are better than her?
She wishes the thought would perish, but it lingers in her mind.
"I could only assume that you have spent your time in the world gathering as many swords and creating as many techniques as you can." He says distastefully. "But the artist values quality over quantity."
It snaps her out of her thoughts.
"You speak as if I am like you." She finally spoke. "A craftsman."
"An artist." He narrows his eyes as her term.
"Which I am not." She huffs. "I am a killer." A murderer. A weapon. A body of steel-skin and iron-bone.
"A killer as much as you are an artist." He adds, hiding the hope in his voice with a sardonic tone.
"Do not mock me, puppeteer." She doesn't call him by name. "My hands are capable of ripping you limb from limb."
He decides to test her. "Have you tried?"
"He will not be pleased with me."
She answers so simply, as if it were that obvious an answer to any question he could ask her and it infuriates him.
"You think it is always about him?" He growls. "Always, always about that vile man? Do you think of nothing else but him?"
"How could I?" She returns with the same simplistic tone. "He made me into what I am. It is because of him that I have become a weapon. Because of him, I am invincible."
It is an automatic answer, but a true answer however narrow and simplistic it may sound. He is further infuriated at how calm she is despite his attempts to rile her.
"Then you will be nothing to him but a weapon." He concludes. "He does, after all, have a new student who seems to have more promise than you."
The unfinished sword hits the wall beside his head. He turns his head to the wall and sees a crack.
"You are furious at mere mention of the younger one, it seems." He smirks. "How so? Does he adore him much more than you? Devote much of his time in training him? Spend much more of his travels than he does with you?"
The hammer hits the opposite side and leaves a crack as well.
He walks towards her and stops short of a few feet from her. "You are his weapon." He states. "You will always be his weapon, never a companion."
She grabs him by the neck and throws him to the ground, quickly following by digging a knee to his chest and pressing her other into the space between his torso and his arm. A hand is latched onto his neck, fingers digging into the sides of his throat, sharp nails biting into his skin. It surprises him how mere words could garner such a passionate reaction from her; he smirks. He sees her face contort into one showing disgust and fury, sees her grit her teeth and narrow her eyes.
"And what would I be to you?" She spats. "Wouldn't I be the same thing?"
It amuses him how afraid she is as she said those words, but he replies with, "You would be something better." He says, watching her eyes. "You would be like me."
He notices how she flinches at the statement, the miniscule shudder in her hands, the growing fear behind her furious gaze, and continues, "Immortal and invincible." He promises. "The perfect human weapon. The ideal companion for one such as I."
She knows his puppet body is a weapon of its own, organs replaced with machinations and poison, bones replaced with iron, skin replaced with wood, heart and mind replaced with narcissism and insanity…Would he do the same to her, then?
"But as you have said so yourself, you are already a weapon, mechanized and automated to kill and be victorious over any who dare face you." She could see the increasing derangement in his eyes, sees his pupils dilate ever so slightly. "I wouldn't need to kill you to own you." He whispers, a dark promise lurking behind his words and it terrifies her that she allowed him the opportunity to say such things.
"And what would you do, then?" Her voice doesn't betray her, but the slight loosening of her hands around his throat is evidence enough of her uneasy feeling.
"You would dare ask such a question?" His smirk widens, but her seemingly cold gaze holds firm. "It is simple enough. You would only need to be desperate enough to come to me of your own will. As you have now."
That is when she pulls away and throws him back with much force that sends him skidding across the floor.
She stands over him and hisses, "I will never be anything like you."
But the fear in her eyes betray her furious demeanor. She is scared because they both know she is quietly becoming like him, slowly becoming his own.
The next day, he hears news of her departure from his partner.
"She has gone to the island of Shizoku to train under a swordsmith who is a contemporary of her late father." The Snake Sage tells him. "I wonder where she got the idea." He cranes his neck to look at his partner, a vile smirk gracing his mouth.
"And you allowed her? Have you no idea of the possibility of a betrayal? Her roots lie with the ranks of the samurai. She would without a doubt leak information if given the opportunity to—"
"You speak of her with such familiarity, Sasori-kun." The snake grins. "But her ties lie with me now, and she would never dare to cross me."
"I wonder how long she will be gone." He mutters.
"She learns fast. She will return soon enough." It is a promise, almost. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason." He replies quickly. "I only wonder how you could allow someone such freedom to do as they please."
His partner laughs at the statement. "You should know, Sasori-kun, that her freedom is her prison cell."
The days pass, and he considers planting spies in Shizoku just to see how she is doing.
Translations:
Souen: Senjin no Mai - Manipulation Performance: Dance of a Thousand Blades
Gedandzuki no Mai - Mist Cutting Moon Dance
Jiton: Itomenashi no Jutsu - Magnet release: Weightless Thread Technique
kudake - "crush"
daishō - "big little" a term for a matched pair of swords worn by the samurai; usually a katana and a wakizashi, in Shikai's case Kunishige and Yamenokayama
Kudashi Te: Gesshoku - Finishing Move: Lunar Eclipse
