[May update 3/3]

AN: Hey, reader! This chapter concludes the present set-up chapters.

Orochimaru confronts his fear about his life, future, and friends to a shrine maiden. How far is he willing to go in order to give his friends a better future?

Present

For Life Is Ours

4 Months Into the Second Shinobi World War

The precipices of rock fragments sparkle silver in the moonlight.

Further up the gravel road, then bending around a particularly thick area of forest, is a car. It has to be—nothing else can have such a vermillion glow.

Orochimaru can move his head enough to place it flat on the cooler, softer grass dyed by an even darker color. Ahead looms the abyssal night of the forest, where the trees eat all light, leaving torches as the sole device to penetrate its darkness. On the ground is his single, pale arm—petite compared to even the smallest tree branch.

Taking a shuddering breath, he reaches behind him to his rear pocket. The singular act sends scorching shocks of pain, twists his organs inside-out. He feels his arm moving but whether or not his fingertips touch anything, he has no clue. It's not much longer before the pain is too great. He gives up momentarily.

It's colder now.

Having gotten his breath, he lifts his arm once more. It is as though another body holds it down. It will not rise. The feeling of the ground beneath it fades.

Despite his racing heart and searing eyes, he is compelled to go to sleep. His eyes blur and go unfocused. Nothing he does can stop the growing fatigue. In the obscuring world, a white mist appears. In it are glimmers of white orbs as big as the moon in the sky.

It's so pretty.

The mist glows a little less—mainly because his eyes are drifting shut. He knows that it reaches him—cold. It's so cold. It's so cold, but he won't shiver—

He can't go to sleep. Not yet. He needs to reach into his pocket, get his phone, call for help.

The mist grows thicker every second. He knows he has to will his arm to move. It will not. Does he even have an arm? He can hardly see the thing, let alone feel it. That's fine—he can use voice control. He can call for help, arms or no. So, he gulps down air. Not enough air. His lungs refuse to expand. He is choking on stale air, and his body won't give him the chance to breathe.

The temperature of his flesh must be that of a winter morning. He would be shivering by now. Yet, he is still. At some point, the pain no longer reaches him. If sleeping would be this peaceful, he will sleep—

No. He won't sleep. He has too many things to do, left to do, too many people he didn't speak with yet.

His mind races for a solution as his body stills. Nothing but the shimmery, thick mist fills his vision, morphing into an all-white nothingness. The slightly damp ground pressed against his face disappears. He is no longer uncomfortable.

He needs to close his eyes…

He doesn't want to. He keeps groping for a body he can no longer reach. Whatever muffled sounds he heard is now silent. A silence deeper than the shrill ring he's used to. This is the absence of noise in its entirety.

He isn't a living thing anymore. He is some intangible existence yearning for sleep.

Stop! I don't want to sleep! I don't want this dream. Wake up! He wants to shout this—to have the decency to think this. There is no place for thoughts now.

The existence struggles with its new dream until it, too, unravels and disappears.

Black.

Sound cannot reach him. He wants to blink, but there are no eyelids to move. He is not breathing. When did he become surrounded in this darkness? Why?

From the inky depths, a throne appears into view. How he could use it—to understand just what has happened to him. But he cannot move. His legs are nonexistent. He has no tangible form. And so something else sits on the throne. Orangish light bursts to life in the vicinity.

Dust clings onto the smooth surface. Cobwebs hidden in the shadows, glisten under the firelight. The color of it has honeyed, even reaching a fungus-like color. Seated upon the throne is a skeleton on fire.

It looks at him and rises. Its bones are practically fused together at the joints, making the skeleton stagger towards him. A cracking noise far louder than the flames erases the dead air. On the path leading to the throne lie skulls becoming one with the ground like a mountain. Six on each side, evenly apart. Watching the madness unfold dispassionately.

The one skull closest to the throne is stained red.

It is madness. He tries to tear his eyes away—he cannot move.

The skeleton drags its feet on the stone ground. Schill…schill. Four skulls away. The skeleton outstretches its arm. A stench akin to dead fish rotting on the beach shore all day long floods him. Two skulls away, and it's unbearable.

Its fingers reach for his head—he thinks it must be his head—fingertips twitching and turning black from the ravenous fire.

Brighter, brighter—he feels set alight. An instant of white-hot pain tears into his skin, to his flesh, his core—

At once the pain leaves. His heart is pounding so hard it could explode. He clutches it, growing aware of a throbbing pain in his head. He's alive. He is warm and breathing. He is alive.

"Oh! You woke up. At last…"

Leaning over him is the shrine maiden girl, face paler than before. He's inside the shrine, for the bulbous paper lanterns, lit now, dangle on the ceiling behind her head. What little he can see of the night sky is visible through the open lattice-styled doors and windows.

"Um…" Her eyebrows furrow even more. That's when he notices it: her bare arms are exposed. This soft thing his head rests on must be her jacket. "A-Are you…okay now?"

Was that his death? Did he die…cold and alone?

No…no, he could never remember much more than his emotions of memories. A happiness when he tries to recall any birthday parties. A sadness when he thinks of his pets. An anger when something he worked so hard at was invalidated.

Nothing has been as clear as that moment, internally bleeding on the side of the road in a rural area…

No. No. No, he can't have died that painfully. His death isn't like that! It isn't supposed to be a regretful ending—

"Orochimaru!"

Soft, tiny hands heat up his cheeks. The shrine maiden tightens her hold. "It's okay. You're not alone, alright? It's gonna…be okay."

Orochimaru cradles his throbbing head, hoping the pain blots out the nightmares.

The shrine maiden insists he stays here so she can make sure he isn't concussed. No matter how many logical arguments he makes, she does not entertain a single one. Of all times, she develops a backbone.

He sits on the tatami mat, watching the world outside latticed windows. The maiden returns from somewhere deeper in the shrine with green tea. It tastes of the grass that night he maybe…he sets the tea down. "I have been here long enough."

"Sir…I don't think…it's smart to leave after what happened…"

"Goodbye," he states, getting to his feet.

"What—I can't let you go!"

He raises an eyebrow. Tsunade could piece together whatever it is that occurred far better than a shrine maiden who knows nothing of him.

The maiden winces under his stare. "…I've been worrying about you since you arrived! You're not acting normal. If you can't tell anyone what's wrong, at least let the gods help you."

Maybe he's mistaken. "Acting normal?"

All the fire that took to say those words leaves her body in an instant. "Oh…you don't remember me. I get it…I didn't last long anyways…." With a forced smile, she bows. "Nice to meet you. I am Maneki Nekono[1]. We attended Academy together…until I gave up. I spend my days here."

He searches his memories. Nothing. It's not her fault—her personality is lacking, and he never cared to make friends. "Gave up?"

Maneki rubs her arm. "Ah…Academy is for strong people. I'm too weak. I want to save my loved ones, but I'm not cut out to be a ninja, so…"

"Weak how?" There's no way—there have been ninja who can't use Ninja Techniques who graduated. While the Academy favored the clans and alienated the clanless, Jiraiya made it through.

Might Duy, he…he graduated.

If Maneki could not graduate, she was not weak, but cowardly. Why is she bothering him?

Maneki bites at her cuffs in thought. "…honestly? I'm weak at everything. But not you…you've always been really strong, Orochimaru. To see you so pale and out of it…is super scary."

Is he that obvious? "I am fine."

"Even so, I can't—I will not let you leave in good faith if you need help!" She points to the door. "You can pray to the gods with your pain or talk to me. Lie to me if you must. It's still practice!"

"Can you stop me?" As if he has the ability to use Ninja Techniques on villagers. He'll work around it, regardless if the world is swaying. The walk home isn't that far. He can hold it together…

"Um—ummm—I'll tell Tsunade and Jiraiya what happened so they can look after you!"

If they knew…

"I am not praying."

Maneki heaves a sigh of relief. "Okay! Let's talk!"

Why must these people never learn how to mind their own business? Huffing, he sits crosslegged once more. Not too far outside the Wisteria Shrine's main sanctuary hall[2] is the shrine of the Uzume entity. The fact Maneki finds it difficult to protect life but can protect the corpse of a "supposed" divinity. It boggles his mind. He's trapped by crazy.

"Maneki."

"Y-Yes? Is the tea okay—"

"What would Uzume do if she knew the future?"

The maiden pauses mid sentence. Wasting no time, she chews her cuffs. He wants to drink the tea she touched even less.

"You're…asking that because you already have an answer, huh?"

What—no, anyone could guess that. It's an obvious question.

"Lady Uzume would…she's so wise. She would never play with knowledge that dangerous. I mean, uncertainty is terrifying. Who knows how we'll…die? If you told me I'd die before I'm 40…I just turned 24 not long ago! I'd panic trying to do whatever I could to die without regret. I could never rest…

"Uzume, though…I really think she would try her best to forget it. Nothing good can come from that kind of knowledge except pain."

He clenches his fists. "Uzume would never consider preventing the future?"

"Um…if she changed it, there's no telling what could happen next…"

"If prevention leads to others' happiness, she should take it."

"It's not guaranteed, though. Besides, that's not important."

"Really?" Her cold response irritates him.

She maintains her innocent expression. "Why is it Uzume's job to prevent the future? What about her happiness? Why should she…how can Uzume carry the burden of an entire future on her shoulders while everyone else lives on knowing nothing?"

Her response was never cold.

Why is carrying the burden of the future all alone? Naruto really could do it all.

He does not have to do anything.

He is not the main character, nor the hero of the story, but a side character.

He can rest in this life…

If he were stupid.

"If the future means her loved ones, the reason why she continues to live and try and be happy, are hurt…should Uzume not bear the weight of the world?"

"Oh! If it's like that…" Maneki rubs her hands on her folded legs, brows furrowed in thought. "It's tricky. While I don't think her loved ones are all that kind for letting her suffer…I can't say I wouldn't do the same. I've…been too weak to save my loved ones, too. If I knew the future, I couldn't sit by and let them be hurt. Even if it means hurting myself…I don't really like who I am, so I will take on the pain."

As would he.

As he does.

Does he like who he is? He's never thought about it. The answers wouldn't help him. It wouldn't help his friends.

"Why are we talking about the future? Do you have something you wish you could go back and do over?"

Countless things. He nods.

"As do I! But, ah"—Maneki rises and smooths her uniform to claim his cup of tea—"we don't know the future, Orochimaru. Things may get better! You'll forget all about your pain and find happiness. I'm sure of it."

He gets to his feet as well. "I'm leaving."

"Okay." Her smile crumbles. "Thanks for talking. I hope you feel better…" Her voice isn't dissimilar to a kid being punished.

"What?"

"Orochimaru…I haven't…spoken about something I really cared about in so long. And we're so similar, so I was hoping…I don't want to bother you, though…" She tightens and releases her grip on the tea, fighting out words. He waits. "…is it too much to be friends?" Maneki speaks in a hurry, "It's okay if you say no! This is all so sudden. But, I'm not a bad friend to have—I hope. I'll give you space, and you don't need to talk to me all that much. If…if you're okay with this, Orochimaru."

She wants to be friends with him?

He can hardly believe her words. How…can talking make someone friends?

Until the month concludes and the Anbu team returns with findings on the validity of Motochika's information, he will plan.

Madara is hiding in the Mist, the Three Tails perhaps at his beck and call. To get to him, he needs to enter a country upholding isolationism, enacted by their Third Mizukage and Water Daimyou working in tandem. That doesn't account for the fact that Mist is surrounded by water that takes away every advantage he has. Once within Water, Mist itself is protected by a maximum of five Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist—swordsmen far more dangerous now that three are dead.

He must take down their defenses one by one in order to peel Madara away from his throne and kill him.

Then, Zetsu…

The Sage of Six Paths would never bless him with power. He will need to incapacitate and/or seal him away. Jiraiya may know something in the future. As of now, his seal expertise is nowhere near that is was when Naruto graduated.

He'd need to journey to the Land of Whirlpools, where Uzumaki Clan is still alive…for now. By the end of this war, they will be dead. Unless he can stop it. How does one plan for a genocide without any information?

The sooner he kills Madara, the sooner he kills Zetsu, and the alien goddess will never step foot in this world. All will be at peace.

For now, he will plan and train, until the moment comes when—

"Orochimaru, the month is up, and I do have news," Hiruzen tells him, breathing deeply through his nose. Bad sign. "The team never returned."

The Anbu mask floats under the water's surface like the moon.

Ryuukotsu swipes at the remaining blood splatters until its face is as flawless as a pearl. The mask suffered a few cracks, particularly on its cheeks, but it fits the whisker markings perfectly. Affixing a navy ribbon to it, he puts on the mask.

On the water, a stranger stares back. It reminds him of the festivals where children don Nine Tail masks and played in rituals, expelling the chakra monster off their land. "Hunter of the heart, steal the lives of our brave men, blood red fur and hate," he would shout into the night.

How the tales of the fox haunted him at night. Never again. He is a boy no longer. He will be more haunting than the fox.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] ネコノまねき (nekono maneki) - maneki neko, a good luck totem (lit. begging cat)

[2] haiden - main hall where most complex purification rituals and/or plays are held inside

AN: There's more I wanted to touch base in ch10, but my dear friend (made the story cover for me! i love cheesy things!) was worried it'd bore you. maybe i'll add it in later—i'll let you know then!

Decided to post 3 chapters at once since they are fairly low key and would be boring otherwise week to week.

I'll update in June. Also, should I keep answering reviews in chapters (so everyone can have a potential question answered) or pms (that i forget to check haha)?