Apostrophe
Trinity; three; the magic number. Divine in nature, safe in practice. The number was mystic in its ways. Hidden, until one weaved their attention into the world around them. Three magic wishes; three celestial beings, the moon, sun, and stars; three middle toes; and three heroes on their quest to save the world, limited to the pages of a book on the shelf.
Three was complete, strong, stable. There were three points and edges to a triangle for a purpose. That's why bridges never fall under the stomping of your feet as you commute to your daily activities. That's why your cozy little apartment doesn't suddenly send you free falling into the crowded paths of people below. Structurally, three is the reason you're still alive.
Three was an odd number, in both meanings. Isn't it odd how the number itself is, well, odd, yet we consistently find ourselves obsessed with it? Three is not even. Three is not balanced. In a group of three, there is always one correct answer; always one individual who stood taller, gained more power and recognition. There is a right answer, a wrong, but then there's an ambiguous answer. In the case of the third-wheel, there is one who falls behind while the other two sickenly clutch hands and embrace one another. In war, there are never just two opposing nations, there are also the civilians caught in the crossfire; ignored until the nations realize their boots are soiled in blood.
Three. The holy number. Three.
The notions of this number all collected in the raving mind of a man on his deathbed. In his sweating fervor of construing the rationality of three as his eyes rolled and his tongue slithered in his mouth.
To call the man mad was an understatement. It may appear as though his lungs were laced with poison, each breath breeching heavy toxins in the air that he'd so willingly suck back in. Death tends to do that to people, creating a cycle of insanity before the mind shuts down. But to consider the man now insane was completely disregarding his years of hard work and study. He was brilliant.
And, it appeared on his deathbed, the man of threes was finally opening his third eye.
When the first flood of nausea, the contortions of his heart, and the clammy sweat came, the man was merely annoyed. Alone, in the suffocating walls of his office, he witnessed how weak the body was to burnout. He thought it disappointing, compared to the other vessels, none were as susceptible as this one was. The man had sighed, but remained fixed on his research and the promise of a vessel with power enough to take him to immortality.
Only when he could stand no longer, for the first moment in perhaps...years, the man felt panic swirl through his blood. The body was already decaying? Typically they managed to last for three years, three and a half at most. This was a strange anomaly.
He had called upon his apprentice, the only person he could trust to make preparations for a new transfusion. The boy complied to his master immediately, heaving the sickly man into bed, and left him for days, in order to groom another carrier to sail the master to his goal. The boy would check on him, but his master would only demand he get back to his work. Instead, he had a servant bring him food and medicine. The boy's master would not be set back, not now while the vessel teeming with power became suspicious, and noticed the master's absence...and vulnerability.
But now, on the third day of soaking in sweat and fear, the man's brilliant mind turned to the next hour. The time for a new thought, and the mind-clock struck three.
Three candles lit the room of dirt walls and stone floor to his left. From his position, he could count three cracks in the ceiling. Perhaps the earth would crush him before he died of illness. Three more steps, and his apprentice would be finished. Three more steps, and the person so rudely standing outside the door would knock.
Three knocks drummed into the room, but the figure came in without the man confirming his consent. They delicately put down food and water, but even with the feeling of lightheadedness, the man never missed anything. It was almost second nature that he noticed the lack of medicine in their hand. They turned to his bed and bowed, as they were nurtured to. Except, they stayed bowed for a moment longer, a comfortable fifteen degrees. He noted, divisible by three.
There was a flare behind the servant's glasses, he thought...was that triumph brimming in the gleam of her eyes?
Her red, red eyes.
She had defeated him, and he knew it, but what was her deed? What had she done to the man of science and philosophy? Once a member of three legendaries. Once a man of a terrorist organization, who he admittedly regretted joining as their leader's demands slowed his research. And now, the withered skin of a viper, with parched lips and no voice.
He frantically shifted through his cataloged knowledge. Both mentally and physically, he retained almost every small twitch of a muscle, every scribble of info in a book, every flicker of an enemy's gaze. His capacity to replicate anything rivaled that of the famed ocular bloodline. But, was so prideful in his ability that he had tempted the fates to correct his improper behavior.
Akari was her name. Akari had won a battle of minds the man never knew he was playing. He watched her walk out as the door ate her silhouette.
A revelation eclipsed the man. She may have won this battle, but the man would not let her the satisfaction of his sad death. He welcomed it. He welcomed the small chick, tip-toeing it's way through the halls of the underground lair. He watched with sheer delight as it took a left, turning right down the hallway where his door lay at the end. He only wished he could edge it on faster as it inched closer.
The chick's power was small in comparison to the man. That had been why he was training under him. The chick held so much sorrow that it had been forced to grow into a hawk, yet he was still just a chick, no matter how he saw himself. A chick forced to develop wing feathers at too young an age, perhaps. Yet, the man saw the power residing within the chick. He had the soul of a raptor, unlike his brother who nested with crows. He was to be the vessel to carry his master to immortality.
The chick did not knock, he had little manners or patience. Revenge had tainted the chick's feathers. He would kill his brother who nested with crows and betrayed his kind, but first, the chick needed to kill his master.
The master smiled as the door broke away from the wall. Chunks and splinters of wood cascaded to the floor. Powerful, but the boy was still just a chick. In a way, it was pitiful how the man was to die. Murdered by one of his own apprentices while the other obediently tried to rescue him; and the master laying on his deathbed, leaving himself exposed for an attack, and never to settle his race for divinity.
But, oh, how incorrect that thought is. The man would finish this race, just not in the way he originally intended. The chick now believed he was dominant to his master, but the curse sealed into his skin was still much stronger. The master still had a chance, after his death, to be reborn into the body he was waiting for.
Despite his excitement to feel the hands of death, he wouldn't hold it's hands without going down in a radiance of glory. He was a scientist, and miracles like these were never common; he would die conducting his final experiment.
A maniacal laughter erupted from the man's throat as he shed his skin. He was so caught up for the thrill of combat he disregarded every word spoken by his apprentice. It was probably about revenge and his refusal to give up his power, all superfluous ramblings of a teen.
He fell by the fatal blow of his apprentice's illusionary prowess. The famed ability of the chick's clan, so beautiful it was, red eyes that burned with the ancient fires of knowledge. But, the master died with a crooked gleam of triumph and gratitude for the woman, Akari, who unknowingly aided him in his journey. If one caught a glimpse of his cold, deathly countenance, a flicker of three tears would have been seen falling from his eyes. One for the woman, another for the chick, and another for the bittersweet release of death.
From upon a rocky outcropping hunched a rather large figure. A white mane of hair cascaded down his back, sprouting from a headpiece marking his impressive status.
A warm breeze coursed through the trees, dove into the water below and out into the horizon. The sun flared it's last spark as it drowned beneath the waves. The moon loomed overhead.
The breeze had stirred the man to open his eyes, revealing black irises aged with wisdom. He was a sage, after all. But, his eyes did not expect to be witness to the doomed cloudscape before him.
A woman, hair of sand and caramel eyes, sat back against her chair, defeated by the day's labor. Reaching under her seat for her hidden stash of alcohol, she drew out a bottle and glass and poured the acrid fumes.
She swirled the glass in hand, gazing at it's clear shimmer. She was a medic, the greatest doctor in all the lands, yet here she was, drinking sake. The woman mused about how she would die. Whether by alcohol poisoning, or by her apprentice Shizune, chastising her for her drinking on the job. You're the leader of a village, you're a medic, a legend! Shizune would say, wrestling the bottle from her master's hand as she tried to chug it down, You can't spend your duty drinking your responsibilities away!
She took a sip, letting the taste wash away those responsibilities. It was the end of the day, she could use a break—
The woman sucked in her breath as she opened her eyes. The room was blood red.
She swiveled slowly to the window behind her. The door to her office opened as someone stepped in, but she didn't pay them any attention.
Her eyes were locked on the scene before her.
"It's like—"
"—A flaming sunset, the color of blood," the sage gasped as he gazed at the fading daylight. The red color clinging to the clouds like water droplets on a wall.
He didn't notice his apprentice calling his name from behind, nor the smell of food wafting to his nose by the breeze.
"PERVY SA—" The teen's name-calling stopped abruptly as he followed the trail of his master's eyes. In an instant, he locked onto the red dusk laid before him. His shoulders slumped, and whatever he had been clutching landed in a soft thump by his side. In stunned silence, the two stared in horrifying admiration; they couldn't rip their eyes away.
Tears fell to wet their dry eyes; they couldn't blink, as if to miss one second would scare the sky away. Skin burned from the sun, even in the falling light. Eyes were stained red from the harsh shine.
Finally, a voice broke the silence. It was the boy, his voice crooked and cracked; he had just turned fifteen a day ago, "Those clouds, that's got to be a bad omen."
The sage narrowed his gaze. This was more than an omen, this was a curse.
He felt the pain before the realization hit. A hole, two, fangs of a viper pierced through his heart. But, before he could catch the snake, it disappeared into the fog of the past. No longer present was the creature, coiled around inside the cockles of his heart. It—he…
As the blanket of red slipped away, his attention finally latched to the toad on his left. Slowly, without looking at the toad, he uttered a command.
"State your report."
With all his wisdom, he knew exactly who the toad was. And, who the toad was for…He didn't want to hear the words.
The haze of smoke from the toad was gone. It's slimy, blue, and gold skin was dotted with warts. It's eyes were slim, and it opened it's tiny mouth.
"Orochimaru is dead."
Three little words, and the gallant sage was no longer gallant.
No, he couldn't let the boy see him like that. Who was he if not a Great Sage? Not one of the Three Legendary Sannin? The ones still living, at least.
"Pervy Sage?"
A small voice, but with a hint of apprehension.
The man turned to the boy on his right. Big, deep blue eyes speared right through his soul, seeming to analyze every aspect of his fears, his true feelings, though he knew that to be impossible for the young teen. His pure, golden locks danced over his head.
Without acknowledgement, the sage dismissed the toad.
"What should we do?" the boy muttered.
"Nothing," the tall man said, "There's nothing we can do."
"But—"
The sage raised his hand, "The only thing we can do is go back to the village and tell Tsunade."
The boy stared; the man continued.
"Kid, I'd say your training with me has nearly reached its peak. I have a few things to discuss with the Lady Hokage, and besides, don't you want to see your friends again?"
The boy trailed his gaze to his hands. He did, in fact, miss them. He missed them dearly.
"I never expected it would be over so soon," the boy said, a modest grin slowly blooming into a constellation on his face, "But it would be nice to see everyone."
The sage swooped his big arm around the teen. He looked down at the bag the boy had carried from the small town they had just passed through. Minuscule compared to their new destination.
"I've been waiting for you for forever and this is what you bring?" The man bellowed melodramatically. The bag was filled with various bags of junk food, and of course, ramen.
The sage's mood had changed drastically. It was obvious he was lying. But, the boy definitely didn't notice it.
The teen chuckled, and scratched the back of his neck, "Ah, you know me, Pervy Sage! A nice, warm cup of ramen to rev me up!"
The sage shook his head. The red streaks on his face curved around his cheeks as his face lit up, "It's time to go home, kid."
The smell of a decaying mass was palpable on the woman's tongue. Treading smoothly down the echoing halls, she followed the taut atmosphere to where it was coiled tightest.
Taking a left, she crested down the hall she had just been only minutes prior. A light flickered overhead. It was desolate, dull, except for a distant figure hovering in the last room. The door was gone, only remnants of splintered wood, carved by the long blade of the vengeful spirit in the room.
She only walked closer. A metal tray of food, water, and medicine shaking as she came. The boy only heard the tink of the medicinal syringes hitting a glass of water when she was lurking just outside the door frame. He was startled, shocked. This mere servant had somehow manifested before him without detection. Even in his worn state, he tensed his aching muscles.
Her shadow cast the room into darkness. He couldn't remember if the candles had ever been burned out, but her darkness appeared to snuff the light. Glasses gleamed with mystery. The hallway light rimmed brunette hair, tangled on her scalp. A dirty, white lab-coat grew from her form.
Her head moved to the dead mass sprawled on the floor. An immense snake-like creature lay in a pond of deep red blood. Where scales should be, pale vipers—some headless—spawned from its body. Chunks of its form lay separate, followed by a decapitated head; a distorted, horrifying patchwork of the once Lord Orochimaru and the slithery fiends he grew inside him. A snake head with high cheek-bones, keen golden eyes, purple markings, and a waterfall of greasy, black hair. Long fangs forever poised to strike. This was the master's true form.
"The White Snake finally reveals himself," mused the woman. Her voice was starkly calm against the heavy severity of the scene. She took a step forward.
Swiftly drawing his sword, he pointed the blade at the woman. "Not another step, or I'll kill you."
Instead, the woman cocked her head, "No you won't," and fully walked into the room. Pausing and looking at her plate, she sighed as if in relief, adjusting her glasses as she lifted a leather-bound boot upon the creature's head.
The boy beside her spoke sternly, "What are you doing?", but she only grinned in amusement without looking at him. She noticed how her foot barely dwarfed one eye of the monster at her feet. An eye once etched in terror and the stimulating mechanisms of a mad scientist, now barren of life.
Except for an infinitesimal gleam of absolute success.
Inside the woman, a fleeting stream of unease passed through her. She frowned. Here, the Lord lay, defeated, but with an uncanny smile only she could detect. Disgusting.
"A snake that crawled on the earth dreamt of soaring through the sky, knowing full well it was impossible. Still hoping beyond hope, it kept its eye on a baby bird that it nurtured in its own nest. Never realizing that—that snake is now the prey because that bird is a hawk, ready to take to the sky." The woman ended with a simple "hmm."
She delivered it so casually, it took the boy a moment before freezing adrenaline broke his temporary paralysis. Those words…the exact same words he told before he severed the White Snake's head. How? It could've been possible she overheard him…
He raised his sword parallel to the ground, directly at her throat as she turned towards the young boy. The woman was taller than he. Her age, young, but she had the features of an adult. A few years older than his silver-haired colleague whom he had expected to confront. The one who was still preparing for the transfusions.
The boy blinked for a moment, yet when he opened his eyes, the eerie woman was already out the door. The tray in her hands was gone. Her hands, resting by her side as her shadow retreated out of the tomb.
Echoes of her voice reverberated down the hall.
"But, oh, what the hawk and the snake never noticed. The smallest sting of a brown tick burying its bite into the scales of the snake, sucking just a small bit of blood, but leaving behind a fatal mark."
He could take this ominous woman no longer. A craving desire to call for this figure's secrets became too loud. He flickered into the hallway, just under the light, "Who are you?" he breathed, tomoe spinning dangerously in his eyes.
Her body dissolved into the shadows. "Ah, nursling Uchiha, the tick, of course."
Hypnotic, red eyes stared right from the shadows into his own as the light burnt out. A red sky opened above him, and he was swallowed whole.
"I'm an apostrophe, I'm just a symbol to remind you that there's more to see."
-Imagine Dragons, Whatever It Takes
A/N:
Hi! Thank you for reading this.
So, a few warnings for this chapter:
-Major cannon divergence, but I won't change characters' personalities or backstories. *Something to keep in mind for this story tho: third shinobi war is STRICTLY between Konoha and Kiri only. But like I said, backstories for characters like Team Minato do not change.
-Mild language
-Violence
-No romance; there may be a few hints here and there, but no full out dating. Also, nothing illegal, you weirdos.
-I update when I feel like it.
I also have this story on AO3 (Same title; username: Ivyshade), but will likely update this more frequently on AO3. But, don't worry, I won't abandon this site.
Feel free to leave a review!