A test run of another version of chapter 35, that I'll probably replace the one in the fic right now with. Kinda the same, but with all the annoying OOC fluffy bullshit cut out, improved thanks to Rayle's helpful feedback n.n

Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi kishimoto

He had hated her from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her.

Filthy and barefoot as he; tiny, shivering, curled close to herself to safeguard warmth she didn't possess. The wooden bench was hard and unforgiving, but still she lay fast asleep, oblivious to the goings on around her. Unaware of the jonin discussing their fate, and unaware of the mongrel child studying her with disgust.

She slept on, trusting the charity of cold-blooded strangers to keep her safe.

This was no ninja. To be compared to this pathetic little creature was beyond any insult he'd ever before had to suffer.

That he could remember the feeling of thirteen years so vividly amazed him, but it was facilitated by the resilience of his resentment and the persistence of her annoyance. The panicked choking of her breath was all that proved she lived still– and that would end soon enough– finally.

He had always known it would come to this. From the day his eyes truly opened to the cruel world they knew, all those years ago, he had known what he would have to do.

He could remember well enough, through the haze of time and panic. The jolt of reality through his blissfully existence of denial and child's play. When being shinobi was a goal, and not a mind set. But he'd heard, and he had understood. All their training, and all their suffering would be for nothing: one was to die by the other's hand.

So all of his training and torture and misery had been for what? He was simply proving himself worthy of dying by a final, accursed ritual? He wouldn't lose, of course, he knew full well that the kunoichi was nothing against him, but the very idea of being toyed with in such a manner....

It wasn't bloodlust that had led him to the older students; he hadn't yet tasted that. But something beyond himself had driven him past their training ground, and some force deeper than conscious thought had taken the knife. He ignored the sleet and rain and cold. He was on a mission he'd yet to really understand, and it was only when he stepped into the chamber that he knew why he was there.

He wasn't one to be trifled with. He had to let them know it.

They'd been standing, close together and smiling against the wall when he entered. So they didn't know yet. A scrawny little third year, slipping in through the door unannounced and uninvited had done nothing but draw stares and raise eyebrows. He was here to prove himself.

There was only one girl in the room. She was closest, and he continued towards her without a moment's hesitation. He raised his arm, and calmly drove it through her throat, watching as though entranced at the blood that poured fourth as she fell gasping and sputtering to the ground. Zabuza's lips pulled back slowly, and he smiled.

Killing... was remarkably easy.

Her partner, pale and wide eyed, had stepped towards him still preoccupied with his her gasping, dying form. He felt no sympathy, and lunged again. It pierced the older boy's abdomen, and he collapsed on top of his friend.

He would always remember the pause. The moment of complete stillness before all hell broke loose. Then the others fell upon him.– and he'd cut them all down, one after another. He remembered only the smell of blood, the pounding of his thrilled heart, and the unequalled satisfaction he felt as each one fell.

And then he'd found himself before their infuriated Kage. He'd proved himself a force to be reckoned with, but that was no longer enough for him.

He'd known immediately the course he had to take. The country's Daimyo were his puppets; the Land of Water was Hachidaime's. It was for this man he'd sweat, and suffered, and bled. It was because of this man that his village starved, that mama had-

He knew. It was only this man who had the power to change these things. Only this man's fate wasn't chained eternally to another's will. Zabuza would take this position for himself. He would set things right; and so he wasn't afraid when their makeshift god addressed him. He knew something the older man did not. He knew how he would meet his end.

Tonight was the night, and with this final obstacle removed, he could go about realizing his ambition. Ume Kotone had been a thorn in his side for far too long.

The usual spark of wit had long since left her eyes, and they stared at him, bewildered and blameless. Even as he took hold of her weapon, there was no fear. She didn't have sense enough left to be afraid; pathetic. His face crinkled in distaste as he raised the unfamiliar weapon. It was enough like Kubukiri Hocho to be passable, but too different to be agreeable. Zabuza stepped closer, and touched the blade to the back of her neck, taking aim. Ceramic charms, missing the friend she still clutched to her chest, clicked as he raised it sufficiently. The black, demon-warding cat stared at him accusingly as it spun on its thread between him and his prey. He scoffed at the idea.

Kiyoshi was not designed for beheading, but he was strong enough, he knew, to drive it clean through her neck regardless. Well, not cleanly, but it would do, and he drove it downwards with the necessary force.

The blade stopped short, a hair's width from it's mistress's skin. He'd had a thought. "You poor stupid creature." He chided, shaking his head. She didn't respond. Zabuza grimaced at the disagreeable prospect of holding an enemy so close, but knelt to gather her in his arms.

Ume Kotone, foolish as she may be, was a member of the shichinin for a reason. If it weren't so, he could have simply dealt with her when the need arose and not in the

pre-emptive fashion he'd chosen. If she fought him, he was uncertain of the outcome. A victory would be hard-won, besides, and would no doubt leave him too weak to win another battle. If she died now, the village would be missing one of its strongest come morning...No, she would be of much greater use to him alive.

He turned, standing, as the crunching of snow and underbrush alerted him to someone approached.

"Zabuza San...?"

"What are you doing here?" The demon growled, "I thought I told you to get the others. I'll handle this."

"I have, Zabuza san. They're ready as they can be, and waiting where we agreed. You've been an awfully long time. I was afraid there'd been a problem." Haku replied placidly as he approached. Zabuza knew from his pace the second he grasped the scene before him in the darkness. He stopped, and cocked his head to one side curiously.

"Not a problem," the older man answered, "this won't take long. I can't afford to weaken the village I'm to seize; best get the kunoichi to a medic."

"I see." The boy nodded, his usual placid smile taking it's place across his features.

"Haku."

"Yes, Zabuza san?"

"Hikyuu's mask is at the house, correct?" The boy looked bewildered, but nodded and awaited an explanation. The village lights were fading as the night grew darker still. Nonetheless, Haku could see the other man nod. "Good. I want you to take it, destroy it, and join the others." Haku agreed immediately, but the puzzlement on his features justified elaboration. "Kotone isn't of the same as I," he began, taking a more secure hold of the lifeless girl sagging in his grasp. Zabuza and Kijin were synonymous– two aspects if not simply two names for the same whole. Hikyuu was different; nothing but a mask and a hollow interior created to serve the village. She hadn't changed when she'd taken up the alias– it was an alien set of values, characteristics and behaviours that the mask invoked. Kotone was possessed by a demon of her own creation. She shared her body with the Leopardess willingly, if only to please their Kage.

It disgusted him.

Kotone was also replaceable. Hikyuu existed only in the mask– it could be passed to another after her death. Aoyama Naoko would take up the role when Ume Kotone met oblivion, and no one would be the wiser; another would replace her in turn. Hikyuu was immortal as long as the mask could be inherited. If it was destroyed, Hikyuu would be given a face. Kotone was ridiculously stubborn and nothing if not strong-willed: the two could not exist simultaneously. If the infernal mask was destroyed, Kirigakure no Hikyuu died with it.

Haku scampered off to do as he'd been asked.

Zabuza pushed himself to his feet, holding her fast against his chest with one arm, the other in the crook of her knee, and took to his heels. He had things to be doing, and would not allow this idiot to set him any further behind schedule.

vvvvv

Haku ran a small hand over the polished surface, tracing the cat-like tear-track pattern of red from the eye and down the cheek curiously.

He bit down on the mutinous chill setting into the pit of his once-starved stomach. Zabuza san had taken Kotone san somewhere safe, for help. Of course she would be alright, and after tonight, she'd no longer be an enemy. Once Zabuza san's dreams were realized, they'd have nothing to fear from Kotone san. He wouldn't have to hide anymore.... That thought filled his heart near to bursting, and a smile spread across his round, young face.

Unless, of course, he failed. Zabuza san had warned him time and time again that he faced great peril; what awaited them if they were caught– torture, misery, death. He knew why they had a few days rations and supplies stashed away at strategic locations on the outskirts of the village. But Haku was happy. He'd gladly die for the man who'd given him a reason to live– his life was Zabuza san's to begin with.

Still, he found himself hesitating at the order, and hugged the supposedly demonic mask tightly, guiltily. Zabuza san always valued his ideas. Whatever you're thinking, spit it out. You have a good head on your shoulders, he'd told the boy whenever he hesitated with his opinion, you're clever– that's of use to me too. And Haku had just had an idea– a good idea–and Zabuza san was nowhere around. He would simply have to trust his own cleverness...

He didn't have to destroy the thing. Kotone san had, despite his teacher's warnings, become precious to him, and if he simply kept the mask from her it reached the same end. The mask could be of use, still. He would give it a new face.

The boy smiled at the thought of the fast approaching chance to prove his worth to Zabuza san, and the prospect of safety before flitting from their home to the place where they'd stored their supplies, and carefully– surreptitiously– tucked the mask into his pack.

vvvvvv

It wouldn't do to let her die, he assured himself. She was valuable; of use still and no threat to his aims. When morning came, their kage would be gone. Kotone was not the type for vain loyalty; she'd have no allegiance to a dead master. It was worth it of only to see the look on her face, he decided, as pines and birches whizzed past. The expression when she found the man she'd been so faithful to cut down while she'd been powerless to stop it. She couldn't die now. He hadn't had a chance to gloat yet. He made the mistake of glancing down again.

She would never forgive him for this, but that was of little consequence. He would be her kage, and she would be obligated to do as he told her. It didn't particularly matter that the ninja were at all fond of their leader, so long as they were obedient.

The sound of his feet as he flew over the icy ground changed as the forest faded into street. It was preferable that she live, but if she died, so be it. Kotone was replaceable, after all. Aoyama could fill her role with ease, and as Misao had trained him, Zabuza could always tutor whoever it was who took up Kiyoshi.

He turned to push through the hospital doors with his back, refusing to sacrifice his speed, and startled the small woman carrying boxes of supplies towards a stairwell. Shinju's eyes went wide, and the cartons of gloves and surgical masks clattered hollowly to the ground. "What happened?" She demanded, and Zabuza found himself caught off guard. His mind was playing tricks on him– it was the stress of the battle he knew to be imminent, he suspected– and he hadn't noticed her move. Shinju had seemed to simply appear beside him.

"I found her this way," he lied.

"Set her down," the medic ordered anxiously, thin black eyebrows knitting, round, grey eyes troubled with concern. He didn't like this place. He'd never liked it. Though the huge, dark, concrete space was less intimidating to his now adult height, the smell of charred flesh would always follow him here; charred flesh and antiseptic, and dirty, rainwater soaked hair. It reminded him too much of being smaller– weaker. He moved to the side of the room, and the wooden benches set there for concerned families and nervous patients, and set her down.

"There's no pulse....Not good...." She muttered distractedly, before gritting her teeth, and focusing her chakra. The green light spilled between her fingers as she set to work hurriedly.

"Zabuza senpai," He was as surprised at Shinju's accusatory tone, but said nothing, and watched the smaller ninja– if shinju could be called a ninja– warily. "This seems to be a poisoning, and there's little I can do. If I manage to get her heart started, there's no guarantee her it won't stop. In fact, there's almost no chance it won't." Zabuza nodded, and started for the door– there was no more use in being here– but she stopped him. "I've never seen you leave a murder half finished." She remarked dryly.

"Hm?"

Shinju's features twisted into an accusing frown. "Ume Kotone would never take her own life. It isn't her own. Her life belongs to Mizukage Sama, after all." Her tone was more bitter than suited her. "That leaves only you." The demon frowned at the accusation, and he growled low in his throat. "I suppose that mean now's the time, then."

"How did you....?" His brow furrowed, but he sighed as the answer struck him. Of course. "Misao."

Shinju nodded. "Someone had to lead us after Senpai died. He chose me as his sucessor." Us... the other group of traitors. Kasumi Shinju was leading the other group of rebels. It was perfect: who could suspect the village joke?

Zabuza sneered, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You?" he taunted. "The old man was clearly losing his sense. You're useless." And then, she was gone.

"I'm stronger than you think." Came her voice, from behind him. " I don't employ all my talents...that doesn't mean I have none." she finished, back at the patient's side. He'd never seen her move. Not even he was that fast– no one was, unless....

"Ah.... so that's how it is." Her round, normally gentle and now horrifically familiar eyes met his unwaveringly. She nodded. "What is it you want?"

"Don't act," she answered quickly. "At least, not now. I can't begrudge you your aims, but you're going about this all the wrong way. You can hack our kage into as many pieces as you like, nothing will change. Bloodshed begets more bloodshed. Who's to say you wouldn't be every bit the monster Hachidaime was?" Shinju explained. She meant to rally every civilian and ninja who'd listen. If everyone stopped fearing the kage, and tolerating oppression, she insisted, things could change. "Join us. Misao had always wanted to combine our initiatives. He'd meant to add your group to ours."

Zabuza's hands clenched into fists; Ogakuzu, again. So he was to be pitied, observed and used, then? Zabuza sneered. He would have none of this. The ambitions of a dead old man were not his concern– only his own, and now was the time.

He turned on his heel, and left without another word, ignoring when she called after him.

Things were clearer in the darkness. The mist that curled along his ankles by day had dissolved, and left the road sharper. The sky, however, remained hazy. It was a peaceful night– unfitting but convenient– and the villagers dreamt peacefully, unaware of the demon prowling the streets below them with murder on his mind, and a taste for blood on his lips. They had nothng to fear, though. He had only one quarry in mind. Not yet, he's told himself again, and again as he choked back his hatred. Yes, he thought finally, now.

He started for the meeting place, breathing deeply to center his resolve. The demon smirked. At long last.... Tonight his plans came to fruition.

vvvvvv

This time, thee body he carried was considerably lighter as he flew over the frozen ground.

Haku's eyelids flickered open and shut as he, and the two men trailing behind him, fled the infuriated shinobi they could no longer see, but knew would still be pursing them doggedly. The handful of others who had survived had broken off earlier in a different direction, and the two near-identical men still eyeing their leader incredulously were close to the point where they too were to break off from the group, and head for their own stash of supplies and hideaway.

The brothers, as well as the rest of the Demon's followers, had been dumbfounded to see their leader take flight, barking an order that had never before passed his lips– retreat.

He didn't understand it himself, and the frantic beating of his regretfully real heart against his chest had only begun to relent. It had gone all too well... the others fended the surprised guards and coincidental late-workers near effortlessly, and his prey had been alone and off guard in his office despite the late hour– or so he had thought.

The kage had only smiled as Zabuza drew his weapon, and his gloating died on his lips the moment the other man met his had stood, and approached the transfixed traitor leisurely, until they were face to face.

An oddity finally occurred to him, as he stared into crimson eyes, filled near to bursting with a nameless, groundless dread that locked his knees and his stomach churned rebelliously, threatening sudden, untidy illness. He had known nothing of terror until now. There was no precedent for the bizarre and unexplainable fear that had taken hold of his once unshakeably will.

His eyes.... his entire face.... Zabuza had never seen it before. It was a stranger staring him down with those terrible, inhuman eyes. It was a foreigner.

"You've never seen a real demon, have you?" The man– the younger man's brain was screaming an explanation but the panic didn't allow him to cipherit– looked only mildly irritated. "I have. They level cities and being entire nations to their knees. But you? You're nothing to that. Demon– hah!" The black haired man sighed. "I could kill you," he admitted, "but you could serve a purpose yet; a distraction..." The stranger who was Hachidaime's lips curved into a cruel smile. "Run."

And he had. Without sense or explanation he had taken to his heels on the fear's momentum.

It was the boy's talents that saved them. With a burst of chakra that had left him half-dead, Haku had frozen the main and most convenient exit to the building closed in a sheet of ice that would take days to thaw.

Gozu and Meizu shot him a final skeptical look before veering off to the left, into the forest, the sound of their chains rattling behind them fading as they disappeared between the spruces. Their own cache of supplies and equipment was a bit further along. The things he had never really intended to resort to... In a few days, when things had begun to calm down, they would rendezvous with the rest of the group, and leave the Land of Water. Temporarily, he assured himself. They were alive, and he now knew what it was he had fallen prey to.

The Sharingan; a dojutsu from across the sea, the pride of Konohagakure no sato. 'Mizukage sama' was an Uchiha, and a powerful one at that. The skill needed to cast a genjutsu capable of completely eradicating his face from the memory of all who saw him without alerting them to the trick...? Let alone instill a terror so deep in someone as cruel and unfeeling as he was. But no matter– Zabuza would find some way around the Kekkei Genkai...

Once he determined how to defeat the Sharingan, he would return, and he would succeed. This insult would not go unpunished.

"Zabuza san...?" The boy stirred in his arms, and glanced sleepily at their surroundings; the firs and birches whizzing by at an incredible speed. The older man grunted to indicate having heard, slowing and halting as they reached the stashed supplies. "Is Kotone san going to be angry with us?"

Zabuza glanced down at the child, before shaking his head and setting the boy down. They would be safe here, for the night. "No, Haku. She won't."

It wasn't a lie. There was no longer a Kotone to be angry. She was dead or dying-- there was no use pretending otherwise, but Haku was still lamentably compassionate, and there was no use upsetting him unnecessarily.

Haku smiled, as he ran to his small, well-stocked backpack. "What happened, Zabuza san?" Haku was sharp, and Zabuza wasted no time in explaining what had passed before their flight. The boy proved remarkably insightful, and could perhaps make something of the story that Zabuza himself had missed, or failed to consider.

Haku listened intently, nodding, as he dug his blankets from the pack, and giggled to himself as he re-buried his stolen treasure at the bottom of the bag. Best not to let Zabuza know about the mask until he had a chance to give it a new face.

Hopefully, Kotone san would be alright without it until they returned.

I think that felt better XD