Disclaimer:
Naruto is the creative property of Masashi Kishimoto, who created this wonderful anime/manga series. Anything not attributed to Kishimoto-san belongs to their respective owners, such as other series, references to, for example, "Have Fun Figuring 'Em Out!", and vice-versa. This story is written purely just for fun, guys; please for God's sake, don't sue me! I'm just a college student with too much free time on his hands! On the other hand, any specific author created characters I created for this fic (despite how unoriginal they may be at times) are mine. So without further adieu, let's get on with the show!
The Surgeon General's Warning:
Read at your own risk.
The Idiot's Guide to Nindo
Moetagiru HAATO wo omae to --- makka YUUKI aru chikai wo!/ Kazama Arashi
This blazing heart, together with you --- a blood-red oath, sworn by COURAGE/ Arashi Kazama
Chapter 36:
Domestic Violence?
A Naruto AU fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards
"Y-You!"
Oh, if only he could still move, but this green field of power manifest had paralyzed him utterly. His body was already maxed out on stimulants. He was powerless, helpless...! Unbelieveable!
"As long as the light of the G-Stone blazes bright, my courage will never die! Now, watch carefully: this is the great hero Cyborg Gai-sama's hissatsu technique!"
This --- this has to be some kind of joke! He could not be defeated like this, not by the dead last dobe. He was Uchiha Sasuke, the Savior of the Mandalorian Clans!
Absurd.
"Uuurryyyyyaaaaaaahhhhhh! My hissatsu technique: 'THIS IS THE REAL SOUL OF MEN'-Headbutt Crash!"
SUUUU-MASHU!
H-He re-al-ly...he-head-butted... Tha...that...dobe, ugh!
Black.
Well, Headquarters was not going to like the damage assessment report when it came in, but then again, they would not appreciate knowing that two high level "Black-Ops" just stood by and watched the whole incident unfold. Negligence was a viable charge in a court martial hearing, though quite frankly would dare to put them in a court room. They had rubbed shoulders with one too many VIPs, and had established a rather firm --- "mutual" relationship with the said parties. Besides, it was hard to find trustworthy and competent help these days.
Inevitably so, those VIPs would be perfectly willing to overlook damages in the millions of credits, if they could obtain Lost Technology from the Dawn Age when the Golden Empire controlled the stars at will and read the threads of fate, weaving their destinies anew in eternal time. The hangar bay was a mess, requiring likely a month's worth of work for a satisfactory overhaul. Still, at least the rest of the assault frigate was in proper working order, save for the persistent computer virus that would leave the ship dead for at least another hour or two, as the thing was pre-programmed with a limited life cycle, and would erase itself to cover the tracks of the original author.
Being at ground zero to observe the entire "epic" confrontation play out between his pawn and the said author, Commander Anam Tatsumiya was quite pleased by the result. Enough so, to give the newly christened "Arashi Kazama" a standing ovation, along side her lieutenant, Devil Hand, as the "hero" departed off in his sleek black starship. Sure, it was a sloppy fight, considering both of them were being idiots: Sasuke overwhelmed with rage and the hero lost in the throes of despair.
"Still, a headbutt for a climax? How anti-climatic," snorted Anam derisively, surveying the scene. The carnage was impressive, but still not enough to excite him. He had seen much better displays back in the war, and if this was the best his nemesis could do, then the day for his sweet revenge was still a long ways yet. He would have to bear being someone else's --- puppet a bit longer.
Devil Hand whooped in open offense at his remark, snapping an accusatory finger at him, "Are you nuts, head honchou?! That was the Best! So cool: the intro, the special effects, ah... He ain't Sugar Gene, but I can't wait to fight him! I shoulda thought of a headbutt finisher first myself."
Ugh, the Balmarian always did have a horrible sense of taste.
"Well, please do not stand there --- ahem! --- posing all day long. Go grab Sasuke, so we can head to medical; we have already seen enough here."
"Wha-aaaaaaattttt? Sas-ghay is still alive? I thought he was dead! That headbutt shoulda knocked him emo to Seventh Heaven, and that'd be a mercy to us all in da land o' de livin', yes sir."
"I am sorry, Devil Hand, but I assure you he is quite alive, and I dare say --- a changed man. Now, come; we have lots of busy work to do now that another one of our kind has awakened. And I certainly won't allow that bastard to beat us to the Jewel Seeds."
"Huh?" deadpanned the blonde, a stupefied expression on his face. He honestly did not understand his "Boss" when the Boss got all weird and mysterious like. Then again, not like it was really a problem he cared about because the Boss always showed him to the best fights, gave him plenty of "who's your daddy now?!" money to go searching for Lost Logia, while dishing out brimstone and hellfire to anybody he pleased.
And lo, he found himself dragging the unconscious Uchiha along by the leg, making sure his head bumped into every nook and cranny on the way down to the medical bay. Just because he was injured did not mean Devil Hand had to be nice to him. Besides, he was an ass who never sparred with him, not matter how nicely he asked!
Serves him right, hmph.
Warm.
Light.
Flowers.
Sweet.
Green.
Water.
Stream.
Flowing.
Nostalgic.
Blood...iron...copper?
"Hm? Oh, you're awake, Magistra?" a familiar masculine voice hummed against her.
It was a bit difficult to take in everything at once. For starters, she had not seen sun and blue skies for quite some time, and suddenly being bombarded with colors and pleasant aromatic smells did not help either. The last thing she remembered before slipping into darkness yet again was pain, specifically the being cooked alive and/or electrocuted variety that knocked her out like a fried "L.E.D.". Oh, what she would do for some pain killers right about now, as she felt a monster migraine coming down on her.
Unconsciously, Fate Testarossa raised her hand to message aching brow, as she asked an question aloud...
"Ugh, where am I?"
...she really did not expect it to be answered in her present daze.
"Home, Magistra, or at least I assume it is. The Garden of Time itself, I think is like a giant Lost Logia, as the things I've seen here and the things it can do are unprecedented in any texts on architecture and technology I've got in my database. If Maestra Precia hadn't wanted me to come to the Spring formal garden, I don't think I could've found my own way..."
Surprised, she was suddenly very aware of where she was and what was happening, as the fellow continued to ramble on his own adage. She was being carried in the arms of a man, bridal style, who was the spitting image of...
"Mi-Mister K-Ka-zama!?"
His steady gait stopped, and he fixed her with an wide-eyed expression, his blue eyes almost azure, a little curious and a little sheepish --- just like she had seen in one of Linith's holo-photos. All that was missing was the slice of toast in his mouth, and his Bureau uniform amiss, as if he were in a hurry to go somewhere and...
"Kya! You're bleeding from the forehead!"
B-But, wait a minute here, how could Lieutenant Arashi Kazama be here? He was a Bureau Special Investigations officer! He can't be here! And-and, he should be...!
The Professor, as Linith dubbed him, gave an embarrassed laugh, which only made her more flustered. If they really were home, and mother was here... Oh no, this is terrible! Mother will kill him on sight! How did he even find this place? Did Linith bring him here? But no, that was impossible; Linith would never...
"Err, Magistra Fate, I appreciate your feelings. In fact, assigning me an official designation, um, name at the time and your heroics really saved us back on the Dauntless...but it doesn't change the fact what you did was forbidden by Maestra Precia. She's not going to like it if she finds out you named me. Blurting it out in front of her isn't going to help either. So let's keep it a secret, all right?"
Huh? What?
"Ah, I guess you're confused, Magistra. The shock must've been worse than I thought, but don't worry, I think you'll remember everything soon enough... Well, there's no time to explain really, as Maestra Precia is waiting up ahead at the plaza. We really can't afford to make her --- wait. Still, please be aware I am not a human, and you've got to think of me as such. Call me: machine, thing, hey you, or whatever else you can think of; make it sound as derogatory as you can in Maestra Precia's presence."
She did not understand. How could he not be human? He looked human, bled red just like a human, expressed emotions, was breathing air just like her and...
"Anyways, I'm sorry," he apologized to her, kneeling down on the uniform stone path, "but are you strong enough to walk on your own from here? I'd carry you; however, such an act'd arouse suspicion, not to mention the Maestra's anger. She is --- a woman who detests weakness."
She breathed, "W-Wait, if you're not..."
"I'm not the Arashi Kazama you know. Specifically, I am an Arashi Kazama you created by naming me, your Arashi Kazama and yours only --- it's all part of the contract."
A contract? Wait, so this isn't...!
At the sudden realization, Fate leapt out of his grasp, the warm smooth tiles against her bare feet registering briefly. Humiliation and fiery emotions warred within, as she backpedaled away a healthy distance, dropping into an amateurish unarmed combat form. She knew now what he was, that Lost Logia --- imposter --- wardroid...and... Oh, it was so frustrating; the girl could not believe how she had made a complete fool of herself in front of the --- the thing!
She shot him a frosty glare, her expression impassive, daring him to mock her.
"Ehehehe... I see you're back to your usual cool self. The expression 'like mother, like daughter' works here, at least according to my Incursion Assumption Management protocols. Still, I feel kinda wounded, but I guess it's expected of a defect like me, rejected even by --- well, the person I think I'm supposed to protect for real."
...ugh, what was this --- thing's game? Why was it pitying itself? Is it trying to earn her sympathy? The thing already told her that it was not human, so why was it imitating human emotions?
"Anyways, thanks for naming me nonetheless. Though that was probably the first and last time I'll get to use that name. Don't worry about the blood on my forehead; the synth-skin already healed a while ago when we were in transit, Magistra. I hope you're prepared for what's about to happen, as you and me both know what the Maestra, your mother, is capable of... Oh, and please, lead the way. It's starting to get stormy, probably will rain soon too."
By the Stars, this --- this thing is really irritating! How dare he shamelessly --- fl-flaunt his own doubts, weaknesses, and emotions in the open, and to her no less? Did it honestly expect her to listen to it? If this --- this thing really is a warmachine from the Golden Age of Al-Hazard, why did they build something that was so...
No.
Too human.
That's it!
That was her answer; the reason why she was... Angry? Envious? Irrational?
"Follow. We have wasted enough time. Mother, waits," Fate ordered it, her burgundy eyes like cold chips of flint, as she spun about face and marched off. She did not how her words had affected the thing, but it hesitated long enough in joining the slap of her feet against the tiled path with its own footsteps, to let her know it had perhaps been wounded by her demeanor. Strangely, this brought mixed feelings of triumph and sadness --- like regret --- in her own heart.
No.
She would not falter. She would not be weak. Fate would not allow this doll, this fake, this imitation to replace Linith. Her most important person could not be gone; no matter how dangerous the mission, Linith had always come back home. She was not the type to screw up, and her plans were fool proof. There was no way Linith was...!
Picking up the pace, they marched onwards as the thunderheads rolled in, and the patter of rain followed.
Miserable.
The cyborg had to admit that Precia was really good at setting the mood: formal garden? Check. Rain and thunder? Check. Bursts of lightning? On the way. It was a perfect stage setter for his inevitable doom. He could already feel the echoes of fear signals in his innerspace, having yet to contaminate the ego matrix, but motor and physical anomalies were beginning to rise up in the growing tension. Though it seemed she only been enjoying her afternoon tea moments ago at her table under the comfortable envelope of a broad stylized umbrella, he doubted her mood was pleasant at all.
Hovering by the Maestra's side was the familiar sight of her trusted magical device, Astaroth. The cyborg had his own private theories, as to how the cruel woman was able to control her device remotely, anything from a neural uplink to genuine ESP. Though theories aside, there was no doubt the pitch-black quarterstaff, with its iconic devilish bat, wings spread out as in flight, perched at its head, made for a menacing silent sentinel. The device seemed to sneer at all who approached, a sinister intent unseen to the eye but felt by the heart.
The silence dragged on for sometime, filled only by the cool ambience of rain and thunder. The weather did not really bother him, as the sneaking suit still provided adequate protection from the elements. What he found to be bothering him worse, and compounding the growing tension, was Fate's worsening condition. He had to praise her self-control for it was a subtle motion that even his photoreceptor could barely pick up, but even such a thing could not hide from his infrared scans. Somebody or something had lowered the temperature drastically, and the girl's inadequate clothing was unable to keep her warm.
Now, he did not know how sterile the Garden was kept, not to mention she could have picked up a "bug" or two during her custody with the Bureau. However, the cyborg should not rule out the possibility of an infection once this --- debriefing was over. His immediate concern was the more likely and serious case of hypothermia...
Wait...
Why was he worrying about Fate Testarossa? She had rejected him. This "Contract" --- or whatever the hell it was, as he felt honestly he was grasping at wisps of smoke in the dark --- should be null and void! She was not his responsibility...any longer?
Impossible; had he become "attached" to this little blonde-haired girl in such a short amount of time? Understandably, he had been made, at least he presumed, in the image of his masters from so long ago...
Memorandum to self: try to update the internal database with all historical information on the present state of the galaxy, not to mention any other information that would be useful in daily operations or long-term assignments. He was starting to get frustrated by not knowing a lot of things, as it hindered his ability to make accurate, educated decisions. Knowledge was power and the fact that he was bereft of it made him all the easier to...
...control?
The sudden chime of fine china resting on its saucer interrupted his thoughts, and just in time too, as he saw Precia rise out from her seat. The invisible sinister air grew heavier, and in a seemingly choreographed routine, Fate dropped to one knee, a fist planted to the ground and her head held low. A gesture that was not unlike a subject bowing before her master, which struck him as odd, that is until the Maestra's deathly cold gaze swept over him. He almost jumped for the stimuli caused a sudden explosion of fear signals, sending neatly capitulating on the ground; any sense of self-respect gone, just an urgent need for self-preservation.
"How long has it been since we last spoke, daughter of mine?" Precia grasped her device, which conveniently shrank in size down to a handy scepter.
Or he dare say...a mace.
Fate's reply was crisp and to the point, "Roughly three months, Honored Mother."
She betrayed no emotion despite the cruel chill, even as the blackened stormy sky rumbled at her matron's approach. Amazingly, the rain itself seemed to part around Precia as not a single drop of dew touched her. She was seemingly admiring her scepter, twirling it this way and that, but each playful "whoosh" confirmed the cyborg's on growing fears worse; she was testing the weight and balance.
"Tell me, daughter of mine, where --- are your clothes?"
"I lost them, Honored Mother."
...WHAT?
"Hmmm. Tell me, daughter of mine, what --- became of the device I lent you?"
"I broke Stheno, Honored Mother."
Why are they playing twenty questions at a time like this?
"Ah, so I see. Tell me, daughter of mine, how --- long did they play with you?"
"A month, Honored Mother."
The cyborg did not even have the chance to spare a thought before his fears became reality in full by the sudden stop of the steady eerie clicks of Precia's stiletto heels that accompanied her predatory, silky gait...
...the She-wolf stalking her prey...
And then, the whistling blow came; his head bolted upright unbidden as he watched the flat of bat-headed scepter crush into Fate Testarossa's shoulder. The blow was enough to send her toppling over onto the ground in a heap, yet amazingly she made not a sound. Her expression masked by her long bangs, and unreadable to him, as she struggled to rise. Of course, he had seen it coming; he knew the Maestra was capable of such cruelty for he had experienced it first hand.
But, still --- how could a mother do that to her own child!? And she was laughing! Amused by the act, as a low vehement hiss filled the air in tune to a constant rattling. She set her device aside; hovering in mid-air on its power seemingly, the bloodstained scepter grew back to its full quarterstaff form, with red runes now glowing visibly along its length. The air grew thick and heavy, dreadful from the power that radiated forth from Astaroth, as something "detached" out from Precia's shadow.
"Ah-ah-Ahahaha! My, my, daughter of mine, that was the best joke you have told me in a long time," she chuckled, as the long tendril of black slithered its way up her sensuous form. "Now tell me --- be honest! --- just how much do you think you told them?"
Fate grit her teeth, trying her best not to let an ounce of her pain show in her strained voice, "...Nothing, Honorable Mother."
"So you mean, you came home --- empty handed on purpose, that you allowed yourself to be caught, so those --- old, old 'ickle farts could do as they pleased with you? Squeeze you dry of every last drop, hmmm?"
Though the words were not directed at him, the cyborg could feel the aftershocks of anger rising beyond his control, and worse yet, helplessness. At a time like this he could watch... Twin glowing pits of gazed balefully outwards at what appeared to be the head of the black tendril, as it coiled around Precia's outstretched arm. A single "fatal" kiss blessed it, and the serpent immediately transformed into a wicked whip that she stretched taut with an ominous crack, testing its worth.
"Lies. Lies. Lying to your own Mama... What an ungrateful, spoiled child; perhaps, I was right to think you don't love Mama anymore. Oh, who; oh, who could have stolen my little Fate away from my bosom?"
"N-No! That's not true; I-I!"
"Tsk, tsk, you have been a naughty child, 'ickle Fate, but let me let you in on a little secret, mmm? You see, with those dirty, filthy --- used --- holes of yours, you have already killed the one you really loved more than Mama. Beautiful, is it not?"
Just when things could not get any worse, they did as the cyborg watched on, inwardly gritting his teeth. His exterior sensors detected the air temperature dropping even more: vapors visibly floating in the air from his own aerobic respiration. Thunder rumbled as the rain abated and a dense frigid fog began to settle over them like a cocoon, blotting out the dark sky.
"Wh-What?" Fate blanched, as a sneer twinkled in her mother's veiled eyes. So great was her terror that she did not even notice the chill that had gripped her trembling form.
"No need to play dumb. You know very well what you did, and your most precious person is no longer here to share your --- ugliness. ...She's gone, Fate. Gone; all because of you, betrayed by her loved one, and murdered by the hand of her lover. But, oh my! It still. Gets. Better."
Damn that woman and her sing-a-song tone. She was enjoying this immensely, mocking her own daughter, toying with her, tearing that fragile heart to pieces, and spitting on the refuse. Again, there was not a thing...
"You see Officer Kazama arrived at the scene, just in time for that --- thing over there: to awaken. And like all --- monsters --- that have slept for so long, it was very, very hungry, my little Fate. Flesh. Blood. Every-thing. It took everything and left nothing to waste. Now, the two star-crossed lovers, ufufufufu, will be f-o-r-e-v-e-r together in the belly of the beast.How poetic, yes?"
...he could...?!
"N-N-No, no! Th-Tha-That's a lie...!"
Thwip!
The crack was deafening to his ears, though it may have been insignificant to others. Like a bomb going off, it set loose a chain reaction of events: blood splurting from the fresh laceration across her cheek, and tears flowing from terror stricken eyes. The cub had grossly erred. Blood was in the air and the she-wolf was mad now, her eyes wide awake with bloodlust, as the entire length of her whip crackled loudly with electricity.
"Oh, no. Oh, no! You did not just call Mama a LIAR, did you now?" Precia sneered at her daughter, baring her gleaming white teeth openly in a sick smile.
"N-N-No, I-!"
Hardly did Fate get a chance to blubber her fearful reply when the next blow fell, swift and sudden. There was a flash of sparks, and an instant later, she was a screaming mess, thrashing about on the ground, as she clawed at her wounded side. Steam rose from her blistering skin, the powered "neurowhip" had torn through her meager clothing opening a shallow bleeding gash upon her virgin flesh. The weapon could be made to kill easily depending on the settings and the skill of the user, but considering he had been on the receiving end before, he knew for a fact that Precia was very, very good at this particular art:
Torture. Retraining the mind. Obliterating any trace of will. Breaking the sentient until it was little more than a slavish beast at her beck and call.
She would make you believe anything she commanded, inevitably.
"Oh, too late now. Much too late, Fate has been a bad child for too long, and it is time --- for Mama to teach her a lesson."
Again.
"Apologize, Fate! Tell Mama how sorry you are. Tell Mama how much you love me! ...And maybe this will all end?"
Again.
"M-m-Ma-ma!"
Again.
"I can't HEAR you. Louder, louder, louder! Say it, with more love, my sweet little Fate!"
And again...
Oi, you shit.
You are not planning on just sitting here, are you?
Sure, logic dictates that woman would not kill her own flesh and blood, for the girl is her "Favorite".
The human condition is what entertains her so, and death --- would be a mercy.
I never did like their kind: control freaks.
Still, just letting the strong-headed fool get herself torn up does not exactly sit well with me, even though she did reject us and the contract.
Contractors like us are useless unless the client accepts our services.
Yes...this does seem like a fine opportunity to --- ingratiate ourselves into her good graces, do you not think so?
Hehehe, yes; a perfect opportunity...
On the other hand, you have no say in this for I already know how to proceed, and could careless for your insecurities, doll.
Now...
...GO.
"STOP IT!"
Splatter.
If such a weapon as the neurowhip was effective on humans, than it was doubly so for the cyborg. Quite literally, his left field of vision exploded into red from his eye being shredded in an instant, the "teeth" along the length of the whip leaving a jagged bleeding slash upon his ruin face. Searing hot "pain" signals invaded his frying neurocortex: nausea, distorted time, blinking darkness, sizzling flesh, showers of white splotches, a kaleidoscope of errors with red lights on all panels. The thud of his knees hitting the ground was an absurdly loud crack to his scrambled senses, on the verge of a complete system shut down in moments...
...but he did not shut down.
"What, you --- you dare-!?" Precia gasped in astonishment. To think this doll that belonged to her would interfere, get in her way! Unthinkable.
"That's enough. I'll take responsibility for the Magistra; all of it!"
What's this, the thing had become --- bolder?
"...Ah-ha...AH-hahahhaha! My, my, Fate has been a even naughtier child than I thought. She even went so far as to play --- with Mama's toys...yes?"
It was as if it was a different --- "person" altogether, as if...
"That's enough, I said!"
Precia smirked, her violet eyes gleaming with a newborn joy.
"Well, well, it seems I no longer have a use for you, daughter of mine. Fufufu, begone, you cur; for my spite something new to prey upon."
With a single thought, the world around crumbled away like a collapsing deck of cards, and Fate disappeared as well. Darkness was abound, the resonating hum of air being funneled in through ducts and vents filling the ambience, and so they had arrived to one of her favorite chambers. The air was sterilized with a faint lemony disinfectant, giving off the impression more so of an operating room, which it was to her: with its many silvery surgical implements, precise or invasive, sitting on lit workstations. An array of tanks filled with glowing bubbling fluids in a prism of colors stood by along the perimeter, while front and center, illuminated by an overhead lamp, was the iconic set piece that defined this sanctuary:
The Rack.
"Now then, let us get started --- shall we? Time to learn more about what makes the doll tick..."
To be continued...
Author's Notes:
Well, there you have it. Chapter 36 in all of its glory. Thoughts, feelings, questions: hey, fire away, fellas. Yeah, I know it's been like a month since the last episode, but hey, at least the contro-jin magic is back. I got sidetracked a lot with some new games, real life, and Touhou, so please, don't sue me.
Thank you all for tuning in and remember, I always encourage each and everyone of you to feel free to comment, review, and/or discuss the story. Your comments can really make a difference, I assure you, and if you're up to it, feel free to ring me up on AIM, or even send me an e-mail (although you really don't need to boost my ego too often). You know how to get in touch with the maestro here.
Tsudzuku!