A Tale of Misfits: Part III
AN: This is the final part of this little digression. Do go through the End Notes if you're interested in the similarities between Canon Manga and Vehemence in regard to Sasuke's talent and skill in Ninjutsu, Senjutsu, and Chakra Control.
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With Kami gone, the growing boy, Jūgo, had no hope. Youth, a spring in the body, dallied with winter's urgency to end its lively traces—he resisted for he was made to resist. He lingered in caves, darkness his tormentor, birds his companions; and to a child's imitation his body returned . . . over and over again.
In skies that released shades like man's natures, seasons came and went, yet he remained the same, unchanging. Hairs did not grow on his face, and, to the onlookers, he looked no older that a small but lanky boy. His hands, big and strong, learnt to hold a chisel and granite, and, from his artistry, Kami appeared in stones and scrolls. He wept—he wept hard . . . his love, an ache that never slackened. . . he loved Kami, yet Kami haunted him. He wanted to submit, yet he did not know how . . . to call his beloved unto himself for tears, his missives of love, did little to sway Kami's heart . . .
He prostrated in rains, clasped his hands together, prayed; yet Kami did not speak, did not hum. Kami's heart, which he had eaten to his fill, fell further than its beats. What did he do wrong? He let Kami die! Fool—fool! In his dreams, Kami would come, smile upon him from a place to where he could not run. Was his love not enough? He languished, for he was unclean for Kami's Grace. He would have it—but love was not as easy as lust . . .
So he built a shrine in Kami's name, crafted his beauty from stones, filled the indentations in the brow with bits of blood; and Kami stood smiling before him now, trapped in stones, forever lovely for his eyes. Kami was silent still . . . and what he would not give to have Kami in their midst? His passion was nigh furious; his nature, curious . . . like little boys!
When his nature came to the fore, he forgot Time in whispers, I'll make you mine! He loved to pray; he did not stray, for his love was a religion most divine. Kami, O' Kami, love me the way you love all . . . and when he would look upon Kami, imprisoned in stones, he would notice . . . a little smile stay longer upon the bow of Kami's stone-lips than shimmering lights; and he knew—he just knew—that Kami loved his beloved, that Kami would come for him—someday . . . parting was uglier than his sins! Blasphemy—blasphemy! he would scream and birds would flutter in agony and Kami would smile for he knew that Kami's heart beat for him only—no one else! Nothing would occupy his heart, but Kami's beauty, his duty . . .
Now, he sat bowed in the light that was at its last flicker; yet Kami's beauty was radiant in dancing dark that he could not help but allow his eyes to feast upon him till he wept blood in passion. This Kami was growing, and he could see a curiosity in him. Kami looked about, casting his gaze upon Jūgo's little offerings: the man's raiment was that of a shinobi, and blood that had seeped from many grievous wounds flooded the stone slab. Unclean! Would Kami hate him—would Kami forgive him? But Kami smiled, and he smiled, too!
And he let his eyes feast some more for Kami had changed. His hair, from Winter's duty to Autumn's vengeance, spoke of his rebirth as though he had come from Yomi's Blood Pools, risen pure from its reds. By Kami's side, an alter stood, wreathed in mist. It was not bereft of holy adornments—no, he would never commit such an act of sacrilege!
A body, pulverised by being thrown against the stones with great ferocity, lay upon it; it had collapsed into a heap of misshapen bones inside flesh that was broken. From its mouth, a great tide of blood had come forth and flowed along the channels gouged in stones. Red as love apples, it had gone into Kami's rendition, contorted into a fountain.
Weeping, he grabbed Kami's hands in his and kissed them and took him to a little shrine he had made for him in distress. Kami did not protest. The shrine stood cradling a trestle of tiny bones, and a shade of human skin topped the edifice. Then he knelt by Kami's feet and pressed his face into the young Kami's belly, wailing. His love had been a burden for so long; and Kami looked down; and he up; and Kami spoke and he heard his words, "I'm your knife"; and like white fish gutted inside out were his eyes, a baptismal font in which he would perish in love relentless . . .
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In the gloss of winter's morn, a stream ran dimpling from Rain. The forest was quiet as the dead in this season. The little Hōzuki boy talked to the littlest Uchiha boy under the trees that had no shade to give as their foliage was gone. Twisted limbs cast their shadows on the boy's cheeks, but they were as pretty and white and rubescent as ever.
The older one was quiet, his eyes upon the village that stood behind a cloud of rain and fog. He could tell that the young Uchiha man had come here with a purpose; he could see it in his eyes. A great storm was brewing, but it was of no concern to the Hōzuki boy who listened to the spirited Uchiha boy talk of a fish he wanted to catch for his Nii-San!
"It's rare ain't it, lil' Sasuke?" he asked and scratched his head and stole a glance at the Uchiha man who was still looking, uninterested in the talk.
Sasuke nodded, grabbing hold of Itachi's hand in his hands. "It's a koi—a white one with two little red spots!" he said and tapped his finger twice against his brow.
"Doya want ta eat it?" he asked and leant on his sword.
"No," Sasuke answered, his mouth twisting in a manner as though his suggestion was unthinkable. "I want it for the stream!"
"You want him to find a fish in the Land of Waves? That is a big place to search for a little fish," the older one, Itachi, finally spoke and looked down at his sibling.
"He can do it!" Sasuke looked up, a big smile upon his lips.
"I saw a black one in the stream. Catch it before it swims away. Go on," Itachi spoke and Sasuke ran away. He looked at the little one busy in play for one more heartbeat before his eyes returned to the Hōzuki boy.
"Suigetsu, was it?" he spoke, his words lighter than waves. "Did you do what I asked of you?"
"I can't find 'im 'ere. Yor askin' fer somethin' impossible. If he's gone, he won't be found. I think ya know that, too," he said and stepped back into the light and brushed off the dirt from his cloak.
"With effort, you can find God," Itachi spoke, a drunken redness winning over his eyes. "I am saddened by your lack of passion."
" 'Am sad, too," he said and pulled his eyes away from the ferocity of Itachi's accursed Sharingan.
"Your temptations should yield results," he spoke, looking upon Suigetsu in a manner as though he could see him all the way down to his bones . . . and the gold that jangled in his frayed pocket—gold that shamed him.
Suigetsu did not speak, bowed his head, hunched his shoulders. "You came to me," he spoke, eyes furious as winter's deathly simplicity. "I did not keep you to satisfy the child's wish. I hope you are not that . . . simple."
"Kisame could 'ave gone ta Waves—I don't know," Suigetsu said, his words tripping over each other like children in mud. "It ain't that easy ta find 'im. Folks come and go. Rain's always been like this. No one rats out one af their own 'ere. I don't know what ta tell ya. 'Am tryin'."
"Try a little harder. I have faith in you," he spoke and smiled and looked in the direction of the little boy standing ankle-deep in the stream that carried light in intermittent shimmers upon its waves. "Sasuke, do not go far. Stay where I can see you."
"Nii-San—Nii-San—look!" Sasuke came running, a transparent bag in his hand in which a purple Koi coiled.
"Oh, you found a better one?" Itachi spoke and brushed hair from Sasuke's brow. "Playing is good, but you have played all day long."
"I still want the white one," Sasuke said, a hue of love apples smearing his cheeks and lips, a love invading his voice like treacherous soldiers Itachi's Leaf. "Okā-San loved it!"
Itachi looked at him for a moment in silence, his eyes gaining a colour that was deeper than before; Suigetsu could tell that Itachi did not like the little one's love of the dead. "He can look for the lost fish in Waves, but he cannot make you a promise. Do you understand?"
Sasuke sighed out, his face falling in sorrow which robbed quite a bit of the lovely shade from his countenance, and pressed his brow against Itachi's belly. "I will get you something better, lovelier," he spoke and lifted Sasuke up into his arms. "Why do you doubt me? Tell me what you want, and I will bring it for you."
Then he turned away from the Hōzuki boy, and his words enticed Rain's winds; and, when Suigetsu looked down, he noticed that Itachi had thrown away the bag onto the stones . . . upon which the purple Koi jumped and tossed and whipped in great agony . . .
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It was the pinnacle of autumn, nights colder than the coldest steel in snow, upon which moon writhed like fingerlings in unrest. This land was thinly sprinkled with weathered wooden houses that remained within the enclosure of trees, marked with Fuin-Jutsu spells and robust flowers which grew tough and numerous from a soil hostile to most men.
She wanted to tread deep into the forests quiet, go where Leaf twinkled with life anew—Lilies, more purple than the most purple habit Kami adorned, returned to the surface, especially giddy when the moon was full and beautiful; like boys they played; like perfumes they weighed upon air's tendrils, soft and sweet. They made a nice trail towards Leaf, chasing, seeking, hungering, and, about them, chakra breaths would dance in abandon.
Her heart existed in Rain, but, out here, lilies stole her spirit—someday, she would be free! Now, she stayed with her master who was the strangest man: skin white like milk gone sour, only he did not smell; words hissed, not flowed, from his lips as though wrestling against the tongue's nature; eyes yellow like lights blinking in a fog-laden village.
To her, he was a beast starved, snout buried in gristles others did not need; but he never touched her; no—never with a need warming his flesh. She did not think he craved a thing from another. He touched to study as one would a desecrated corpse; he tasted to measure her blood's worth. On her body, his teeth-marks existed as memories—shallow not deep; purple not red; slow not quick—that mapped nearly every inch of her. Over time, they healed and she was fresh and new. He told her that she was special, one of a kind—intelligent, soft-hearted, different. His words, languid and large, meant something to a little girl's heart!
Where her sight failed, her heart grew with a girl's wish, for her master—less man, more serpent—was lonely; his abode, lonelier. By night, the house, which was as large as a row of tiny houses squished into one another back in Rain, turned gloomy. Torches hung on walls, numerous and dim, their lights frail in the face of this place's dastardly adornments.
The mechanism fixed to the floor was no more elaborate than a trap-door: it needed a Fuin-Jutsu seal to open, which she had taught him. "Our little secret," he would whisper, mouth smiling and lengthening to a degree that would have horrified every other child, but not her! She was tougher than that for in the basement her master had caged men like animals fattened for slaughter; pressed together, they heaved and moaned and reeked—from them, urine and odour flowed, like rivers reckless after rains. When a man died and went still as a limp cock, he would imbue him with an unholy fire that made the limbs all twitchy and icky. He was a magician!
She did not mind; her master had a brilliant mind, and, in mortals, he sought immortality. ". . . live forever?" she had asked one night when a strange and curious quality hung in winter's air, and yellow radiated upon the round of her cheek, for she was well-fed and full of blood.
He smiled and looked up from the letter written in a scrawling longhand; his letters looped in a tighter fashion, almost inorganic like he. Light gleamed on his visible teeth and went into his eyes faster than his knives did into men, though no blood could burst forth from the invisible wounds. "Would you not want to?" he asked and his question . . . perplexed her—perplexed the little girl. Then he went about his business, and she hers.
It was winter and the house had to be kept warm as it turned into a tomb for all save her master. In the back-garden, he grew strange herbs—some even fed on blood and granted him the vitality he needed. "You're scary!" she would sometimes say; and he would see her, not merely look, and give way to a laugher that lingered longer than leaves lashing night's unmoving air.
The garden—here, a rusted pump stood by the well that was dry as dead men's bones in winter; but, now that summer had come, it was rife with sweet-smelling fresh water—excited, she would dunk a pot into the well, fill it up, carry it to the room where he worked away into the night.
By night when sky was blacker than her master's dilating pupils, contained in amber's agony, he would drag out one weary prisoner, with the intention of studying him quite thoroughly. He cleared the table of all valuables to afford space; and she stood by him, elbows on the table, face propped in hands, looking—looking at the veins gush delicious blood and splatter the floor like flowers would in spring, flowers that were not as pretty as Purple Liles; no, never like Lilies!
With long-bladed knives, which he held with womanly grace, he prodded spent corpses and poked limbs that twisted at odd angles and pried open wounds that he himself had created the night before—always looking, always searching; she did not know what he hoped to find in ruined men afflicted by death . . .
After he was done, smiling at her, eyes shiny and glazed, he would throw the mess into the furnace that always burnt like the Sage's magic trick and ask of her to pipe the steam into the generator room: it had to be kept up and running! "You do not want to freeze to death, do you?" he asked, appearing playful as though he was pretending to be a little boy; and she shook her head, thinking on the sensations one would feel without fire's warmth; they would be like when she was in Rain—from above, a cold wetness running down the limbs, soaking through, but only worse? She did not think too much on it: he was strange.
A season passed away alongside Leaf's receding heat, and she grew a little taller, her cheeks losing a bit of child-like plumpness, yet gaining a ruddiness that was coming's youth's sign. As spring began its journey in her flesh, her master's winter blossomed upon him more and more—he stood hunched, with limbs crooked, his sere flesh snared by veins weathered—beyond repair. She could not understand his state; nightly, daily, he coughed out blood and puss; but she was so accustomed to seeing seeping, leaking, reeking goo, spilt from split innards, that reds and yellows shivering in bubbles on his chin did not bother her. He was still as diligent as ever, but he did not bring more bodies into his den. Soon, the crush of men was no more, and only few moans arose as dulled echoes from darkness's throes.
The boy with glasses worked tirelessly to elevate her master's woes, and she chose to feed him her blood herself, watching with a fascination as the egg-yellow in his cheeks would become flower-pink, and he would smile in answer and tell her that she was special, indeed!
Come autumn, he was summoned back to Leaf's bosom. He told her that he had his secrets, too, smiling that smile of his that made him look like a serpent with borrowed human teeth; but he took her along this time. It was Chūnin Examinations season in Leaf, and her master, her keeper, her confider, placed a confidence in her to brave the Forest of Death, for what was this forest before his back-garden? He smiled—she smiled, cheeks turning red as her hair. In morn's grace, his skin refused to catch light, lifeless and grey like the men whose lives he took with excessive liberty.
She was elated that Leaf accepted her this time. Leaf's summer had rejected her once; yet, now, it, too, was struck raw by a viciousness that lingered long in autumn's wake—winter, a receiver of autumn's mystic love; cold, a parting kiss, a gift of forever!
The forest, true to its name, maimed children, yet men watched in glee the carnage the little ones had come to create for their delight. The brave ones would be hired in other villages, even Leaf! Was it that easy? Alas, life could never be so easy; no—never for the one that grew up in Rain's mud—some things rains could not make clean, pristine.
Sought by children hungering to be rewarded by careless blue bloods, she hid away; but a beast plucked her out from a tree-cave's sanctuary; she had hoped to reach the tower that appeared to dwarf the peaks that skewered the tender earth as easily as her master's knives—and men's fleshes.
Life was short; its mechanisms, whimsical. The beast dashed her hopes. Its snout was long; its tusks, thick. It would not leave here without stripping her of her flesh. Desperate to get away, she fell and lost her glasses and world was cast in fogs—she saw a boy leap down from the tree and strike the creature down. Quickly, she wore her glasses and looked upon the animal: a large boar, as famished as men whose appetites could not be sated, its belly was big and rotund; it had gone down on its side, its stomach sagging like ruined dough, jiggling like jelly, mouth foaming like men's pleasures, agape teeth grime-coated and yellowed. There was little difference between men and beasts, after all—they all liked the taste of little girls.
"Are you a'right?" the boy spoke at last, and she looked upon him and winter's subdued light that like moon's flight upon air touched his face, and she was . . . bewitched! What was this boy if not Kami's magic trick? Kami had breathed life into His most cherished dream; and, from his befogged divinity, drunken and sick his mind, this boy had come forth to enliven her dreams, for she had never seen anyone—no man, nor woman—as beautiful as he; and he was a boy still, far from the crapulent youth that would paralyse his body with unmatched pulchritude—even Hanakoto was not this lovely!
He spoke again, with a benignity, his little mouth smiling, and she knew she was in deep love—forever! She scrambled and grabbed hold of his hands in hers, and, overhead, sky cracked open and rain fell upon him; a Purple Lily—he was a Lily for chakra breaths came out to dance by his body; they knew; she knew; soil knew; it was a secret no more.
He walked—she followed, utterly besotted with his child-flesh's drink, her senses in abeyance. They walked under bowed limbs, lilies fragrant in the air. From a ruined child's corpse, scattered upon mud in flower-like bits, he took a scroll and gave it to her as she had lost hers. She chose to stick with him and make it through to the end. She wanted to hold his hand again, but, thinking that he might not like her over-bearing nature, she decided against it.
Behind their backs, forest sang in anguish: it missed the breaths Autumn's child had drawn unto himself—little faeries, they came at him, kissed his flesh, went away, yellowed like fireflies. She did not understand as she had never seen chakra breaths do this, glowing and shivering in greys, growing and shimmering red like the crest on his back, in his eyes—he was an Uchiha!
When they reached the tower, she summoned her courage to speak to him. "What's your name? I'm Uzumaki Karin!" she said, an excitement in her voice that was unmistakable, and stood by his side and gazed into his night-sky eyes that glimmered starless.
"Uchiha Sasuke," he said, a smile lovelier than the lilies even, blooming upon his lips, deeper than spring's love, redder than summer's heat—she loved him, she truly did!
Night fell in the tower, and she sat close to him and looked upon him whilst he sat by a crooked window, his flesh brushed by moon in delicate ways—gentler and harsher than a mother's touch its love; a crazed dervish, moon never could part from his child!
Upon reaching the forest's edge in the morning, she noticed that her master had been waiting for her; yet, like she, he was mesmerised by the boy. He sat down on one knee and fondled the boy's cheeks, his eyes stretching in a way as though the sleeping snake in him was wriggling awake. Autumn's nectar, not forgotten by Winter, was beclouding his mind.
"What a beautiful boy . . . " he spoke in a voice burdened by a desperation she had never seen in him before. "Are you lost?"
She could tell that the boy did not enjoy her master's interest in him, though he kept quiet in the presence of the councilmen who stood about, smiling at the new champions. As though passion passed into mind's paradise, her master released the boy and stood up, tall and dignified again, but his eyes never left the boy's physiognomy . . .
When winter reached its peak, harbouring Higanbana upon its breast like a murder most foul upon snow, her master's agitation was un-ending: he refused to take his medicine and her blood; the blood-sucking plants withered away in cold, but he cared not; she felt that grief that arose from the distance between himself and the boy, whom he loved with a wild passion of an animal starved, was a sentiment he could not bear. He languished, lashed out at the Medic-boy, lamented his state of mind.
Then one of the councilmen came through for a price, and the loveliest boy, Sasuke, was given over to his care. He was to train him, make him stronger, teach him forbearance children his age sorely lacked; but, before the boy came to his house, he cleared away the prisoners he called filth. The next day the stream ran red with blood, and fish came from the deep to feed on men that would be no more than memories in their bellies—how sad that men became so little in death . . .
He tidied up the place, excited and frenzied, said that the boy was very special. When the boy came, he was beside himself, his joy stark on his sickly face. The boy was quiet, distrustful; her master, wary. He cursed the boy's brother under his breaths. The boy had a brother? She did not see him when he had come through the gates, she only saw white arms, whiter than old snow, attached to a shadow so deep that stood by trees. The boy was very lovely that she had thought he possessed moon's beauty and night's ink—his parents from whom he came! Was this creature with arms white and vestments black his mother and father, in whom light and shadow mated to birth her little Kami-King? She smiled for that was as true as dreams to a child like her—Amen!
The boy was spirited, brilliant beyond measure that her master thought himself to be a person of lesser acuity. She did not understand, though she loved the easy manner in which the boy fashioned shapes from chakra, after he granted it a quickening nature—very much like his own. Subduing earth's chakra was like second nature to him!
When sun smiled, he trained the boy hard, sent him on errands, doted on him even—when night coiled about sun, smothered it, and swallowed it up, he would ask of her to put a sleeping drought into his meal, to make him sleep fast and easy. She would always know where the draught was, stashed away behind ghoulish organs suspended in bubbly liquids; it was a phial stoppered with a chipped cork—colourless and tasteless, the boy never knew when he lost his senses after sleep.
Her master would gather the boy to him and take him to where the corridor ended on an elaborate door. "He is to be treated with care," he would say, settling down the boy gently on the table stashed full of strange items. Then he would slip his hand under the boy's hair, feel his face, put his face down into the layers—lost; and she would tip-toe and stretch herself tall to look upon the boy who had her little heart, her cheek squishy against the knuckles.
He said that the boy had to be studied, but he was much too precious to be hurt. She agreed, poking at the boy's cheek where colours mixed faster than her master's concoctions with her finger, bending down and kissing his lips as much as she liked, brushing the plucked lily against his eyes—all the while lights danced pretty in air.
He was most careful in making a small incision in the boy's throat, and, like a bubbling heart, red came up to his delightful white, turned pink, flowed sideways. His blood told her master that he was the boy he had been waiting for all this time, that his was the flesh he was born coveting. She did not understand, though his frenzy frightened her . . .
Days came running and nights went slithering and the boy turned twelve. In him, summer simmered beneath autumn's vengeful hand; and though his face was sweeter than honey, he developed a temper, too; but she did not care. Ever steadfast in her pursuit, fixing her mind upon him was easy. When her master was away, she would sneak into his room, sit with him on the bed that faced the sunken fire-place. Deep into the nights, she taught him of the Bijū seals, of tails they had, of matters that governed flesh . . . in return for his kisses!
In the glow of the yellows and oranges and reds, which would come like theatre's shadows from fire, she played with the reluctant boy till the child's play sent him into a sticky froth. Then she would kiss him with tender carelessness and ask of him to taste her at the place where her thighs connected; he said that she tasted a little bitter, a little sour, nothing unpleasant; and just like that, she thought her love grew deeper with the way it allowed her to connect her flesh to the boy's flesh. She did not want to part from him, not ever!
So when her master took him from her during nights, she resented him. Often, he would sit with the boy fast asleep in his arms and weep till pink fluids would come from his eyes like loose candy. "He is not yet ripe!" he lamented one night, coughing out blood that splattered into shiny ruby-like bubbles on the boy's cheek and lips. It sickened her—her master sickened her—and she sent a missive inside a leather-bound tube to the boy's brother who was an Anbu Commander now.
When men from Leaf came, she gathered the boy who slept deeply into her arms and hid away in the basement. She could hear her master's and the Medic-boy's cries come down alongside blood that dripped down through the gaps in the wooden floor above in thick, syrupy trickles; but she sat humming, with the boy sleeping across her lap, kissing his lips, twisting her red and his black together in fine braids, for red and black looked pretty together—like his eyes!
When it went too quiet, she saw a white hand, attached to the equally white arm, reach down into the dark. The shadow was here, and it frightened her. Was it here to take her life, take the boy from her? She pressed the boy harder to herself and made a barrier with the Fuin-Jutsu of her family to stave off the beast who had come to take the boy from her. She would not let him—he would have to kill her; and she was ready to die at the sight of the shadow that penetrated a lesser dark without sound.
But then she saw the candle's light illuminate the shadow's blacks, fill them full with white: it was a man who looked much like the boy, but not quite—his beauty was coarse; his red, ugly and harsh, adorned by lashes that fell upon the pin-wheel-like Shurikens as though they were veils.
He said that he was the boy's brother and asked of her to remove the barrier; and after much hesitation, she did, and he lifted the boy into the cradle of his arms as though the little one belonged there, nowhere else; and his eyes grew tender at the sight of the boy, a longing in them satisfied. Then he turned and walked away, without looking upon her once . . .
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EN: Jūgo has the capacity to revert back to a child's form if he over-uses his Senjutsu. This was shown fairly plainly when he healed Sasuke's grievous wounds by using his own flesh. He, quite literally, turned into a child.
"The boy was spirited, brilliant beyond measure that her master thought himself to be a person of lesser acuity." The aforementioned statement has been slightly modified from Canon Manga in which Orochimaru stated (after observing Sasuke's accelerated progress in Ninjutsu, Senjutsu, and Chakra Control and his defeat of countless Jōnin- and Chūnin-Class Shinobi): " . . . not a drop of blood on him . . . they called me a genius, but compared to him . . . "
It should be noted that this is what Hiruzen had to say about his former pupil, Orochimaru: " . . . because it was an era of conflict, and you were a powerfully talented genius, the likes of which is seen only once every few decades . . . "
The animal that attacked Karin in the Forest of Death was a large bear, not a boar. I changed it for thematic reasons.
Canon-Manga Info (Viz): It comes as no surprise that a lot of people either desperately deny or parodically contort Canon Manga to peddle a very petty agenda: a deep-seated hatred aimed at a fictional character; so when I state that Sasuke's Chakra Control and Ninjutsu and Senjutsu skill and talent are unmatched in the fiction, it's drawn directly from Canon Manga. I didn't make that up. It's just the way it is. (Either you accept this or move on; I don't understand the elaborate and infantile temper tantrums in this regard.)
First, Sasuke mastered Senjutsu in under an hour (if the total release period of the Curse Mark is considered). The Curse Mark is nothing more than Jūgo's Sage Mode.
Orochimaru: "Senjutsu power is the source of Jūgo's Curse Mark. And with Sasuke, when I experimentally injected (he's talking about the bite he gave him) Jūgo's chakra into him, he immediately unleashed the curse mark."
Jūgo: "This is called Sage Transformation in my village. My Transformation is also originally of this type . . . but in all of my clones, it's called Curse Mark Transformation."
Before anyone states that many Curse Mark wielders did, then it's prudent to note here that only Sasuke and Kimimaro had the best and the most powerful marks, Heaven and Earth respectively, that Kabuto explicitly mentions; furthermore, Jūgo himself not only complimented Sasuke's skill in "Segmental Transformation" but also directly compared him to Kimimaro.
Jūgo: "Quite impressive though, that you can do segmental transformation. You're pretty good at using the curse mark!
He's strong! Haven't seen a copy-cat this good since Kimimaro."
His mastery over Senjutsu is further highlighted by the fact that Tobirama, a bigot who loathed the Uchiha with an unsettling passion, complimented and praised Sasuke's control over and skill in Senjutsu and Ninjutsu.
Tobirama: "Uchiha Sasuke . . . an Uchiha who shows the same potential as Madara (who was called a prodigy by his father, Butsuma Senju) once did.
. . . I've never seen such flame control before."
The second comment is especially interesting because Tobirama had fought Uchiha his entire life and it's only Sasuke that he praised in regard to his skill in Ninjutsu, Senjutsu, and Chakra Control—not Sakura, though she was show-casing her skill before him; not Naruto, though he directly aided him in landing a Senjutsu-infused Rasengan strike on Jūbi-Obito.
In fact, he's so good with Enton's shape transformation that he can use it in a defensive and offensive manner. Case in point, his tendency to wrap his Susanoo in flames and create many weapons out of Enton.
Shī: "He manipulated the black flames?! Changed their chakra form, too! He's even better than Itachi?"
The change in form (shape in simpler terms) is a very difficult endeavour as Kakashi stated.
Kakashi: "Mastering any change in form is already an A-Ranked (Forbidden Jutsu: Extremely high level Ninjutsu—as Viz Translation of the Databook states) level of difficulty.
Combining a change in nature with a change in form takes incredible skill . . . or rather, natural talent and intuition . . . even my teacher who invented this Jutsu (Rasengan) failed as well."
The Databook states: " . . . the change in form depends on the user's skill and how he manifests it . . . it individualizes one's Jutsu even more than change in chakra nature. However, much of its use depends on the Jutsu, the method of training, and the individual's own innovation and conception of the Jutsu."
Basically, change in chakra form is an above Jōnin-level skill and it depends upon the user's talent, skill, and creativity. It took Naruto Lord knows how long in Kage-Bunshin time to complete Futon-Rasen-Shuriken (FRS): Kakashi asked him to pluck one leaf per clone. That tree had thousands of leaves, so the hyperbole Kishimoto used comes in handy and we can guess that the total time it took for Naruto to learn, not master, FRS is over a decade by utilising clones every single time; and Naruto (at 13 years of age) took over 34 days to learn Rasengan, an incomplete technique that's pure shape manipulation. And even then, he couldn't use it with a single hand; no, he used three (with the help of clones), which, as Jiraiya stated, is a show of poor skill; so, in reality, he learnt Rasengan—he didn't master it, not till after abusing thousands of clones to gather together their experience and use it with a single hand in the war.
Meanwhile, Sasuke learnt and mastered the Uchiha Fire Ball technique at the tender age of 5 or 6 on his own—no one taught him a thing (a Jutsu, according to Kakashi, that's well-beyond the skill of a Genin; and Kakashi said that to Sasuke when he was 12). He mastered all Katon- and Shuriken-Jutsus on his own before he entered into a Team Cell; he learnt Chidori and mastered Lee's Gated Speed (which he hadn't seen) in less than a week (he was in a coma for most of the month); he created his own Taijutsu maneuver out of Lee's in a single day that Gai stated that it was utterly impossible even with a Sharingan as it takes years to master the technique; and he invented and mastered over nine other ways to use Raiton . . . in a span of mere two years! (Sakura and Naruto and Itachi haven't invented a thing, especially Sakura whose skill-set outrageously mirrors her mentor's—right down to the last meagre Jutsu; in fact, Sakura took 3 months to make a single fish wriggle at the age of 13, so I've never understood the made-up "claims" that how she stands anywhere near Sasuke when it comes to Ninjutsu talent; he's so outrageously out of her league that any of these highly non-canon claims are comical.)
Keep that in mind that Orochimaru didn't teach him Raiton as he couldn't recognise Sasuke's Jutsu's shape, at all!
Orochimaru: "This chakra . . . I've never seen it change its form like this."
Sasuke can create entire Raiton and Enton arsenal with bare-hands. He can place shapes upon shapes as evidenced by his Chidori Spear's tendency to turn into a star at the end. He can create . . . pretty much any weapon's shape out of Raiton, without holding the said weapon. Case in point: Indra's Arrow and Spear, Senbons, sword, Kirin, etc.!
Susanoo, too, is nothing more than constant chakra stabilisation of a very intricate shape, which is why it goes up and down when the user has little control over his chakra; and, if the total release-time for Susanoo is considered, Sasuke mastered Susanoo in under an hour, too. This is record time to master a complicated shape in canon—a feat no one has replicated! (Kindly, don't bring Kakashi's Perfect Susanoo into this as he himself stated that he was possessed by Obito.)
Madara: "Settle!"
Onoki: "The chakra has stabilised . . . "
Also, there's no Susanoo above the Final Susanoo. Perfect Susanoo is Final Susanoo with its chakra stabilised. Last but not least, we have Kurama that praised only Sasuke to be on the same level as the Sage.
Kurama: "This is bad . . . he's merging all of the disseminated chakra into one. And unbelievably well too, almost unrivalled . . . it's like Six Paths Geezer's level. Well, except that he's doing the reverse thing.
Since there's no Gedo Statue here . . . he's using Susanoo as the receiving vessel. Something incredible is going to emerge! Don't let your guard drop, Naruto!"
Remember, Sasuke reversed The Creation of All Things: it's Sage of the Six Paths' only Ninjutsu outside Rinnegan Techniques that Sasuke re-invented in mere seconds—it's a Ninjutsu Sasuke had never seen; he'd only heard of it! His Chibaku Tensei is also far more advanced than Madara's and Nagato's (who launch gravitational cores into the sky to start the process this Ninjutsu requires) as, like the Sage's, it uses the target as its core. So I'm not sure who's under the impression that Sakura has better chakra control (her chakra control is delicate, and it means little to nothing in regard to shape-transformation, for which she possesses no skill, nor talent; in fact, she's rather abysmal in front of any Shinobi whose Ninjutsu utilises intricate shapes); Naruto who took over a decade of experience from thousands of Kage-Bunshins and even then it took him so long to use it with a single hand (using a Jutsu with two hands rather than one is a show of poor skill as Jiraiya stated in part I); or Kakashi whose best shaped-Jutsu is Lightning Beast Running Technique, yet it's C-Ranked (Chūnin-Ranked) when even Sasuke's simplest Ninjutsu, Kusanagi no Tsurugi: Chidorigatana (which is nothing more than Raiton moving over his Kusanagi Blade), is B-Ranked (Jōnin-Ranked).
And that's not all: how many characters have literally invented Sage-rivalling Ninjutsus and used them masterfully on-the-spot, on the battlefield, and in the heat of battle (Indra's Arrow, Raiton Spear and Senbon; the complete reversal of The Creation of All Things without any knowledge on it)? None. How many characters have improved upon Jutsus that only the Sage has utilised to the full on the battlefield (Outer Path Chakra-pull to the Perfect Susanoo, a Jutsu that requires The Gedo Mazō as it's working as "Chakra Chains"; however, it's originating from the Bijū, not the Susanoo; that's an impossibly advanced version of the Sage's Jutsu; the use of a core-less Chibaku Tensei by turning the target into the core; not even the Sage could accomplish this in his youth without his sibling's aid)? None. And Sasuke did all of that at the mere age of 17; and he accomplished much more before he ever turned 17. What about the fact that he's the only character to utilise two different techniques in a single hand, without merging them (Enton and Chidori)? When I see posts that belittle Sasuke's achievements whilst exalting characters like Itachi, Kakashi, Sakura, etc., whose showcase of talent is downright abysmal by comparison, it baffles me as it's so incredibly petty given that Canon intricately illustrates the exact opposite. It's as if I've read a completely different source material than these people. It's very . . . infantile, cheap, desperate. It's only a damn manga character!
Hopefully, this long-winded section cleared up misconceptions on this front as this is the last time I'm touching upon this topic in this much detail.