Feeding on Death
x X x
It was a ritual for him.
Something he did after every enemy he killed was laying in their own pooled blood, eyes glazed over. Doing it gave him some closure; to what, he didn't know, but he felt a bit better, so he decided to keep on doing what he was doing.
Orochimaru never said anything when he came back looking worse for the wear, and his teammates appeared to have escaped unscathed. He knew what Sasuke liked to do, and instead of saying something to him, he merely smirked in a cold way, that said I know what you do, I do it too.
Sasuke ignores the knowing looks and instead goes to his spartan room and vehemently denies the fact that he's turning into the Sannin. Because he's not. Just because they shared the same post-battle habits didn't mean he had an influence on the Uchiha or anything.
It was just their togetherness of minds shining through.
x X x
What Sasuke does is an art.
Some might say it was barbaric, but he thought it all depended on one's point of view. Like the way there is no right or wrong, because everybody's opinion differs, so who is anyone to decide the ultimate right? Like this, he knows that art takes on many different forms, and his is just a bit more primitive than what the majority of people are open to.
This is where he hates society and thinks how nice it would be to practice his art on all of the ignorant fools. He reminds himself there are too many of them, and settles for sadistic thoughts against them instead. Sometimes it helps.
Most of the time, he is left with a bitter feeling in his mouth at the injustice of it all.
x X x
He wonders if he'll be able to continue doing it. His art.
Sasuke admits to himself that he was a bit surprised when a large number of Konoha shinobi came to Sound, most of them for the same reason: to get him back. He has conflicting feelings on the matter. At first he was annoyed, then slightly pleased. They did this for him.
Of course, they also aimed to kill Orochimaru. Which they didn't. Because Sasuke wouldn't let them. He fought off their attacks against the Sannin viciously, which earned him a small sneer from Orochimaru.
That was quickly wiped off when he turned and killed the snake himself.
Sasuke had smiled to himself then, which looked more like a disfigured snarl through the levels of the curse seal bearing down on him. He'd wanted to do that for awhile now. He felt empty. Now that he'd done it, killed Orochimaru, he wondered what the hype was all about. He had died just like everybody else did: lots of blood and a faint look of shock, eyes blank and staring. He always wondered what it would be like, to look through the eyes of a corpse.
Sasuke had reprimanded the cooling body, thinking that even Kakashi would have been able to survive, because he always looked "underneath the underneath." Orochimaru hadn't known that, because he was ignorant, in some ways.
After he was dead, however, Sasuke did not have the opportunity to practice his art, as the enemy ninja approached. Inwardly he was mad at Naruto and Kakashi for being so close, and he did not react when there was a sudden strong grip around his waist and a burst of the sun in his vision. Instead he waited, and used the time to calm himself down.
But when they left, Sasuke had not yet done what he wanted to do, needed to do, his art. He said nothing as they left Sound, the former team seven travelling together, surrounded by Konoha ninja.
He felt the unrest settle deep in the pit of his stomach, and he angrily cursed the presence of the others, because he could not do what his own tradition set down for him. The entire journey back to Konoha, he spoke to no one and kept his vision red with the Sharingan, in an attempt to stave off his restlessness.
He kept the cut on his left palm open and breathing blood, and was able to relax somewhat by picturing yellow eyes.
x X x
Only when he is on a mission he is finally able to do it again.
He is with Naruto, who refused to leave his side ever since he came back four months ago, and would continue to do so for many weeks to come. Kakashi is there, as well as Shikamaru. They had to have a larger group than normal; there had been many targets.
Sasuke had followed the two males, both bearing a Sound hitai-ate, which he had found strangely comforting. Left the others to deal with the other seven. A mish-mash of enemy village nin, all slated to die. The ones he had chosen to pursue led the fight away from the others.
By this point, the feeling in Sasuke had grown so strong he wanted to tear his stomach off just to get rid of it. He had to make do with slaying both of them brutally, revelling in his actions, and welcoming the waves of nostalgia that accompanied a procedure that was so familiar to him.
He knelt next to the bodies, and practiced his art. And it was so amazing to feel this way and not that way that he nearly cried aloud with the release his art brought him. He felt the others watching him, but he did not react. Just allowed himself to be absorbed in old memories, and that special scent...just like old times, although he didn't know what 'old times' he was thinking about. Life with his parents, his brother, team seven, or with Orochimaru.
Naruto and the others stood nervously in the background, a bit put off by Sasuke's display. He paid them no attention until he was done. He stood with a soft sigh, feeling so very relieved. Finally. He rubbed his sticky palms together and relished the feel of hot liquid. This was what he lived for. He turned from the bodies and faced his team.
They all looked disturbed. He felt his defensive nature rise up to defend his art, but he bit his tongue and said nothing. So what if they were like everyone else, appalled by what he did?
Admittedly, he had to accept the fact that not many people liked to fawn over their kills, like he did. That not many people wiped the still-warm blood on themselves, arms and hands. He knew that there weren't many who were rejuvenated every time they killed and fed off the death they brought about.
Sasuke was just one of the lucky few. He truly appreciated the death, and made full use of the escaped life force. He wasn't all that sure about what it did, exactly, but he decided that as long as it calmed the feelings in his gut, it was good.
Now he is in control again, and he can breathe easier, and the feeling is gone, replaced with a soothing warmth, and he relishes the hot blood that is not his own spread around his arms and hands, and trailing up to his neck and face. This was a Sound custom; he wouldn't expect them to understand.
Or be able to accept the fact that Sasuke liked to kill people, loved the rush he got when he saw a panting chest rise and fall for the last time, watched the failing heart pump all their life blood out, in swirling lakes around their broken bodies. He could not expect them to see the beauty that lay in a fresh kill. They would not understand, because they had morals, and a soul, and a conscience that spoke to them.
Sasuke had learned early on that, to survive in Sound, and under the instruction of Orochimaru, one could not possess any of these things. The only thing that helped, and proved to be of any use, was an iron will.
He smiled now, at his team, and walked past them, stopping only when he had nearly disappeared from their line of vision. He took a breath, inhaling the air that was laced with the thick scent of blood, that followed him, gave him life. Fed his bloodlust.
"Death is a lost art."
And I am its' last artist.
x X x
Vague. Pointless. I heard my English teacher make a remark about "feeding on death", and this was the result. Review worthy? You tell me.
The formatting is so screwy here.