In Shadows Waiting — II
Welcome back, I guess. Maybe. I hope you're all enjoying this clusterfuck of an experiment as much as I enjoy writing.
Oh, and for my very first reviewer on this - Thank you for noticing! I think. It's a cliché amidst this type of story, and half of the challenge of writing this was sticking my hand into a leather bag full of clichés and grabbing a handful. I'll try to make the most of them, of course. But the whole concept is a little out there regardless, considering their personalities.
For anyone who wants me to focus more on Naruto — that's coming next chapter.
As a side note, for the purposes of this story, I have taken to identifying the location of the scene at the start of every segment. It should theoretically make everything a little more cohesive, but it can also be irksome. As previously stated, this story is largely experimental — therefore, opinions are appreciated.
As for these 'prologues' — They're set-up for the story proper, as it were. I plan on following a more structured (though still likely varied and certainly with many actors) approach when it comes to this story, going through Naruto's life in a more standard way for a little while as one would expect from this kind of story. These are… both information I want everyone to have, a way for me to set the tone, and little teasers.
Prologue: Summertime Joy
- Konohagakure No Sato, Uchiha Residence
The click of a chess piece against the board resonated throughout a silent and candlelit room. Both Queens had been taken off the board by Uchiha Fugaku's dexterous hands, but every other piece was in their starting position.
From across the room, with his back against the wall next to the door that led outside, the man with the pitch-black mask watched with cross arms and a tilted head, almost curious in his gestures. His long robes had been discarded on the chair opposite to Fugaku's own, and thus the man's proper outfit could be seen — bandages and a makeshift Shinobi garb in black doing a good, if not great, job of hiding snow-white skin.
"The Queen, eh?" The masked man questioned softly, voice taking a rich baritone as he spoke. It seemed somewhat amused, as if watching a particularly interesting painting be created.
Fugaku Uchiha didn't care enough to answer. In silence, his fingers plucked the Black Queen that belonged to the side he sat by and placed it resoundingly on the spot where the White Queen should be. Finally, he rose from his spot to stare at the masked man's figure, wrinkles brought to light by the flickering flames of the candles spread throughout the dark room. He looked weary, worn down in ways his age would not imply.
The man behind the mask took that as an answer.
"Itachi." He said simply, and watched as Fugaku's eyes flickered with unrestrained rage. The Uchiha Patriarch's fists tightened painfully, nails digging into skin and drawing some droplets of blood.
"Yes, " Fugaku confirmed with a bitter voice. "Though prodigious, my son's loyalty to the Hokage has proven… unquestionable."
"...Oh? And here I had thought you were fond of the Yondaime, Fuga-kun." Again with a mocking tone, the masked man pressed for information in a not-so-subtle manner. Had he not known the man and what he was capable of, he would've assumed him a subpar Ninja.
He had done that once and it had cost him an eye. He would not do so again. However…
"Off with your mocking, Tobi, you disgusting rat. You know as well as I do that this is not about the Yondaime. Namikaze can rule for a hundred years if he so pleases; our feud is with another man."
Tobi chuckled to himself, taking a step back with both arms raised dramatically as if handing himself to the police.
"Resorting to name-calling already, Fugaku? How quaint! It's nice to see you have emotions after all."
Uchiha Fugaku stared at the Masked Man in silence for a moment or two, and Tobi savoured those moments. Honestly, he would be only mildly surprised if Fugaku got his Mangekyou through sheer frustration. Or maybe the man already had one? Food for thought. Nonetheless, pissing off Fugaku too much in one go wouldn't be advantageous, so the masked Shinobi took care to quickly change the subject.
"What about the boyo, Fuga-kun? I hope Shisui-kun is alright. After all, I went through all the trouble of bringing him to you…"
A missed beat of silence. Tobi stored the way Fugaku's shoulders flinched for a microsecond in his memory, burning the notion into his brain to exploit at a later date. For now, he would listen.
"...He has recently awakened, and his story matches your own. We're keeping him underground for now; He'll need time to heal from his injuries, and I'm pretty confident saying that news of Shisui's survival would have consequences for the clan, none of which we are ready to deal with."
Ah, yes. Danzo, Danzo, Danzo. Tobi would respect the hell out of the man if he wasn't busy hating his wrinkled guts; That old fuck was disgusting even to a man as twisted as he was, and dangerous enough without the boon of Shisui's eye.
But damn if he didn't give Tobi some marvellous, marvellous opportunities. The eye he'd taken from Shisui's unconscious form hummed with energy behind his mask, covered by bandages and covered in some nine layers of Genjutsu.
"You didn't think our stories would match?" He asked instead, dramatically clutching at the fabric over his heart. "How cold, Fuga-kun, how cold!"
Beautiful. Messing with this kind of person was simply wonderful. But the silence grew thin quickly, so Tobi sighed to himself, approaching the chessboard in bold steps, and took the reins of the conversation.
"Well… it's a good thing I've been taking my own measures, so to speak." He spoke nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as he picked up the White Queen and brought it to his eye level, staring thoughtfully at the replacement piece. "We'll have to wait for my investments to pay off, but it's not like little Itachi-kun will bloom next month anyway, right?"
A soft growl escaped Fugaku's lips. It was clear to the masked man that the comparison, however indirect it may be, was more than irritating to the Uchiha clan head, who was tremendously proud of the calibre of his son even in youth. In his eyes, Uchiha Itachi was a prodigy of never before seen proportions, someone as unreachable to the common shinobi as Lord Fourth himself.
And he may be right.
"You speak of your dealings with Minato's brat? Smart as he may be, he's no Itachi. And with the way Kushina treats him, I doubt he ever will be."
— the Uzumaki's name admittedly drew a snort from Tobi. Unprofessional, he knew, but who could blame him? It was all just too perfect. Fugaku was hardly friends with Kushina, but his wife Mikoto was and he knew for a fact Fugaku would do all to make her happy, the little tsundere.
The man really had no clue. Poor little clan head, thinking himself on top of everything. Tobi wondered how he'd react if he knew what truly was going on… Speaking of which, it was about time he visited Kushina-chan again, wasn't it? God knows she'd break his illusions in a month if he didn't pay her visits.
"Just trust me on this one, Fuga-kun. Still, I am curious… What do you make of that situation?"
Fugaku clicked his tongue in annoyance, eyebrows scrunching up slightly. No questions were wasted when Tobi was concerned, nothing said at random. Though deliberately irksome, Fugaku had come to learn that each and every word spoken through the masked man's mouth was carefully deliberated, almost rehearsed.
Not uncommon with Shinobi. But with him, it was… different. Chillingly so. Fugaku had worked with many, many dangerous men throughout his life. He had fought with the Yondaime, witnessed the Sandaime hold back the Kyūbi itself and tussled with Ay and his Jinchūriki brother during the war. He had held back Onoki of the Twin Scales with nothing but a sword and Mikoto's aid. But all of those paled when compared to the aura of malice — no, not quite malice, manipulative amusement fit the feeling better — than the one named Tobi seemed to ooze.
"I don't care about any of that — I have enough on my lap with the rise of the Akatsuki and your group of pests running around. But if I had to guess… trauma."
Tobi whistled. The sound echoed for a moment or two.
"Must be one helluva trauma. The Uzumaki had this weird thing with clan loyalty, didn't they? Bet they're rolling like tops on their graves now." He paused to chuckle softly. "Still, all the better for me. It'll pay off, trust me. And if it doesn't, what better to use as bait for that decrepit old coot than a prime Jinchūriki for his re-education?"
Another beat of thoughtful silence followed suit. Fugaku turned to stare at the chessboard itself, his single Sharingan Eye burning it into his memory forevermore - and then rose his gaze to stare at Tobi's own face.
"I have heard… whispers. Tales of what you and your associates have been doing on the field, of what your 'pack' has done near the borders of the Land of Earth and Beidao."
"What of them?" Tobi questioned softly, and there was an edge to his voice that wasn't there before.
Silence followed suit — and Tobi placed the White Queen beside the Black King, opposite her own King and people. Finally, Fugaku sneered and turned away, arms crossed in a surprising show of childishness on the Shinobi's part.
"You better know what you are doing, rat."
"Believe me — I do."
And no other words were spoken between them.
- Konohagakure no Sato, Old City Sewers
Konoha was a large village. Though not nearly as large as any of the civilian metropolis cities under the Fire Daimyo's rule, the Hidden Leaf was an outlier amongst Shinobi Villages for its size alone. Unlike Kumo or Iwa, where the population had to be kept in check for them to remain protected by the surrounding terrain and thus consisted mostly of Shinobi, Konoha's bountiful natural protection provided it with plenty of space to expand without sacrificing safety.
Of course, the Hidden Village system was still relatively new (historically speaking), spanning only some two hundred years if you were generous. But Shinobi Expansion was a fast thing, with buildings completed in a fraction of the time it would take a group of civilians to do the job, and thus you could see many different types of architectures throughout the Village. Some buildings had clearly been carved from large boulders created with Jutsu, while others were made from wood or even cement.
This variety of cultures and sights made Konoha a very desirable target for tourists from all across the world. It also meant, however, that some aspects of previous attempts at expansion were abandoned once better ones were found. Nothing exemplified that better than the commonly dubbed Old District, an unfinished attempt at expansion that had taken place during the start of the Sandaime's reign and promptly interrupted by an attack from Iwa and dubbed 'unsafe' for inclusion within the walls. But the sewer system, however incomplete, was still there.
It was later used as the headquarters for ROOT in secret, lasting as such until Hiruzen descended upon Danzo with all the rage of a wrathful pantheon and demonstrated why he was dubbed the "God of Shinobi". The area had been thoroughly cleaned since, of course.
Which didn't stop Naruto from finding a kunai or cracked mask in the sewers now and again. Not that he minded; it made him feel like an archaeologist, stumbling upon pieces of a distant past's history and preserving them in his little museum, which happened to be an old storage scroll he got Sensei to give him. He made do with what he had.
"Still, " Naruto muttered, sitting in an old ROOT war room next to a plethora of different objects. "Should I try and add some deathbell or will it blow up in my face? Maybe sticking with rose petals is a better idea..."
He started at the swirling blue fluid in the alembic he held close to his face, swirling it around once or twice before nodding to himself and grinning. Yeah, some deathbell would probably help. With that thought, he put the alembic back on the table and grabbed the flower he spoke off, tearing two of its petals off carefully and laying the flower aside once again. The rest of the ingredients had already been thoroughly prepared and added — chopped roots from one of Konoha's largest trees, a few drops of a Scorpion's poison, a Snake's entire fang, two drops of his own blood left to dry for two days… you know.
Alchemy was a very delicate process, one not easily described. It involved a grasp of both the chemical and spiritual properties of a given object, what made it tick and what it could represent on the larger scale of things. Not as delicate as Fūinjutsu, mind you, where a single mistake on Kanji could end with your soul stuck in a literal limbo, but still — mistaken was he who assumed it nothing more than "Shinobi Cooking".
Because of how hard — and risky, for the reckless and the bold — it was, not many dared to try and master it. It was dipped in, from time to time, by the many Medic Nin across the world that sought to create poisons or antidotes with more exotic properties than pure chemistry would allow, but to focus on the art was a rare sight, for it required you to be more of a scholar than anything else.
Interestingly enough, the Uzumaki of old had been famous for their prowess in both, though their interest in alchemy waned once Uzumaki Mito became a Jinchūriki and Uzumaki Fūinjutsu entered what many historians now call the Uzumaki Golden Age. In the more recent past, Akasuna no Sasori — and the puppeteers he inspired — was famous for his creative uses of the art in his many puppets and poisons.
Naruto had read of it once, going through his mother's old books when no one was looking — and found himself absolutely smitten. Experimentation began soon afterwards, and meeting Sensei gave Naruto the resources to truly explore it to his heart's content. With some healthy layers of precaution, of course, and liberal use of Sensei's generous help when it was available, but still.
After dropping in the two deathbell petals into the glass alembic and watching the swirling fluid turn purple with the dissolution of the petals, the blond smiled to himself once again and grabbed one of the scrolls he'd placed delicately on the surface he was working in. Rolling open the copy he'd made of Sensei's scroll, he dipped a nearby brush into the inkwell he kept at hand and carefully underlined a paragraph in black to draw his eye on future readings.
"Musings on Alchemic Components", authored by one Uzumaki Kojiro in 265 BKH, was a true work of art. Though the theory written by Kojiro wasn't as advanced as those found in "On the nature of Alchemy & Poisons", penned by Sasori-sama more than three hundred years after it, it was considered a marvel due to how diverse its explained applications were.
If you were to gaze upon Naruto as he worked, one might be able to persuade you that the boy was a genius. Naruto himself found that bogus; he didn't need to be any genius to be good at something he liked, did he? All this talk about talent or whatever was complete horseshit, in Naruto's opinion. Plus, he was only good at the things he worked his ass off to be good at, anyway.
One might also note that many things are 'complete horseshit' according to Naruto, but that is beside the point. Plus, Naruto would rather be called an idiot than a genius, because he had yet to meet a single 'genius' who wasn't either a pain in the ass, a total creep or his Father. Sasuke was an asshat, Kakashi-nii spent his life's savings on porn and Orochimaru…
Naruto shivered, shook his head and did his best not to think about what little he had seen of the snake man before he left the Village. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the scroll at hand
"Once the fluid has taken a tone other than blue — the intensity of which depends on how many petals have been added and of what flower was chosen - you may proceed with the steps ahead. Remember to take note of what flower you have picked from the options I have given, for misremembering their aspects might result in a catastrophic accident when spiritual energy is added into the mix, which is detailed now in the next step..."
Chakra is composed of two different types of energy - physical and spiritual energies have to be mixed and weaved into the energy Shinobi use in their Ninjutsu. The proportions of those, however, may vary; Genjutsu, for example, required spiritual energy (sometimes also referred to as 'mental energy', though Kojiro's works explained it was both) in larger proportions to physical, at around 8 to 1 units. Elemental Ninjutsu was much the opposite, requiring a great deal of physical energy to produce and mould the chakra into stable and elemental energy and then a smaller amount of mental energy to weave that into the proper technique.
Naruto, as it happened, had a pretty decent reserve of spiritual energy. An exceptional one for his age, even.
Unfortunately for him, those respectable reserves were almost negligible when compared to his physical energy reserves, which stemmed from both the Uzumaki's natural physical endurance and the five-story tall giant fox stuck in his gut. Yikes for him. Why? Because that made channelling the correct amount of spiritual to physical energy a complete nightmare.
Sensei said it was the kind of thing he could train to be great at, but patience was far from Naruto's strongest points. Doing the leaf sticking exercise had drained the life from Naruto's soul a lot faster than the whole "my mother pretends I don't exist and my siblings follow suit" ordeal. If nothing else, the blond certainly had his priorities in order.
"Right, " he mumbled to himself, laying a single hand on the alembic that contained his concoctions, and got to work.
The steps of the process were simple. Add ingredient, activate it. Add ingredient, activate it. Then, when everything was properly added, mixed and turned uniform, you were to activate the fluid itself (by flooding it with mostly spiritual Chakra). The complications came with the specifics of each ingredient; much like Fūinjutsu depended on combined glyphs the universe itself seemed to interpret through Chakra, Alchemy depended on a series of formulae and understandings of an object's characteristics.
It depends on understanding, on meaning and interpretation. In a way, it was almost as much philosophical as it was theoretical, which also turned many away from the art itself. The information was carried through the mental-saturated Chakra that was fed into it and one could observe the miraculous phenomena occur.
Therefore, with a flash of a single-handed hand seal he had been taught, Naruto let the Chakra flow through his system, warming each Tenketsu slowly as he carefully distilled the energy. It was a testament to his experiments with meditation that he didn't give up with a frustrated yell; visualization was key, after all.
With the energy properly separated, he let himself grin — and pushed it all into the glass container. The result was obvious, for the liquid started to bubble and glow as energy was fed into them, and Naruto had to remind himself to focus, lest it all end up blowing up on his face. Each ingredient had to come to mind in order, for the Chakra could and would carry Information, and the inherent aspect of each ingredient was as important as the ingredient itself.
Have you added a Snake's fang for its durability or hardness? The deathbell for what it is or what it is named for? In a way, it was the subjective to Fūinjutsu's extreme objectivity, not nearly as easily interpreted as a Seal… but probably a lot less complicated, honestly. Fūinjutsu was… it could be likened to a few simultaneous applications of algebraic and geometric formulae, but even that didn't do it justice.
— A bubbling sound cut through his musings and answered his previous muttered prayers. When he returned his gaze to the alembic, the liquid it contained was of a light uniform red, with a wispy aspect to the way it flowed when Naruto gave the vial a tentative shake.
It worked.
It worked… oh, Kami. It worked!
"YES!"
He'd hopped from his seat to loudly celebrate, thrusting his fist in the air repeatedly as he danced his excitement into the world. Sandals clacked against the dusty stone floor repeatedly, scattering it more evenly across the room as Naruto enjoyed own exuberance.
"I knew it would work this time! Suck on that, Sensei!"
Again — Alchemy was a complicated process.
This wasn't Naruto's first success, but it was certainly his first success with such a complicated concoction, especially considering he had followed guidelines and not strict instructions this time around. The euphoria that flowed through his blood was intoxicating.
He was alone — but that was okay. Naruto was fine with being alone. He had someone who believed in him, after all. With that thought, Naruto carefully transferred the liquid into a small glass bottle, which he quickly pocketed. Everything else was re-packed into his large backpack or sealed into his sole storage Fūin.
From across the room, hidden by the veils of Genjutsu, a masked figure watched him leave. Only after the boy was gone from the sewers did it leave its hiding spot.
A woman stepped out of the shadows, clad in ANBU gear and with a Tanto on her waist. Her mask was of a feature-less porcelain white, only vaguely resembling the ANBU animal masks. The symbol for Konoha decorated her forehead.
"Danzo-sama must know of this."
Unfortunately for her — She, too, was being watched. She wouldn't make it out of the sewers.
- Konohagakure no Sato, Hokage Tower
"—Hokage-sama. Hokage-sama! Are you listening?"
"Ah? Yes, of course, I am. My apologies, I was thinking of your words. Go on."
But he wasn't, not really. Namikaze Minato, the Yondaime Hokage of Konohagakure no Sato, couldn't listen to anyone talking if his life depended on it. Not then, not like that, not after spending some two weeks running on a maximum of three hours of sleep a day. Sarutobi had hit the damn jackpot when he got to retire, Minato realized belatedly. Odds are he wouldn't be that lucky, and would instead be stuck with this until the day he died.
...They were less than happy thoughts to be sure, and thoughts he made sure to will away so he could focus for a little while longer. In truth, it wasn't always this bad. Not to say it was easy, of course, but up until 7 years ago, being Hokage hadn't been torturous, only arduous. The difference was clear: Where before he had been able to strike a balance between his life as a person and his duty as the head of the Village, now it took every waking hour of his day just to keep Konoha afloat.
Kushina deserved better. His children deserved better, too. But he couldn't give them any more than what little he had, not without risking missing something very, very important. He considered letting Shikaku handle things for a day so he could rest, but quickly dismissed that thought with a frown — asking his friend to shoulder this burden would be a little too cruel, knowing the man.
Said friend frowned in clear frustration in front of Minato, and the Kage rubbed at his eyes to look at the Nara properly. The Jounin had his arms crossed over his chest and a look on his face that spoke of irritation, mouth slightly twisted into a frown and eyebrows scrunched slightly.
"Hokage-sama… no, Minato. You're going to work yourself to death."
Ah.
So he noticed. Well, that was a given, but Minato had hoped the bags under his eyes or his lethargic movement and speech weren't that obvious. He was a Shinobi — dealing with tiredness and feeling like he was drugged were everyday activities for them, and his was a duty that wouldn't rest. From his spot at the Kage's seat, Namikaze Minato sighed deeply, messy blond locks falling over his tired eyes as he put on his best mask of normalcy and said:
"I'm fine, Shikaku. Continue."
The Nara wouldn't buy it — and the way his eye twitched at his words told Minato he had pissed the man off. He'd be flattered for his friend's worry if it wasn't so damn bothersome to deal with; maintaining everything in place was already hard enough without having to convince people that yes, he was fit to do his job.
"No, you're not. You need to rest, Minato."
His words were spoken harshly, straight to the point and without any room for questioning. The Jounin Commander had assumed the mask of his position, authority oozing from every inch of his posture and from each word he had spoken.
If he wanted to, he could meet and crush that authority in a second — or he would be able to, if he wasn't so tired. And that was probably why Shikaku had done it in the first place, wasn't it? Sneaky bastard. Minato almost grinned at the thought.
"You're right," he conceded to his friend. "But you know I can't rest yet."
Shikaku let out a "Tch!" in clear frustration.
"You've been saying that for the past three weeks, Namikaze. At this point, you're going to kill yourself before anyone else gets the chance."
And for whatever reason, the Kage felt frustration rise in his veins.
"And what exactly would you have me do, Shikaku?" He questioned, and took some pleasure in the way the man averted his eyes. Emboldened by this sudden argument, Minato continued. "Not only do we have two separate organisations housing S-Rank Missing Nin stirring up the rumour mill across the nations, but I also have to personally oversee four separate attempts at establishing non-aggression pacts. Suna has reportedly been experimenting with the Ichibi, and our two moles there stopped reporting two weeks ago and have been declared dead since. Iwa is a hair's width away from declaring another war on us, and while I think we could win it, I am not willing to subject my people to that kind of horror again. There have been two new Hidden Villages founded in the last year alone, and we've reason to believe Orochimaru is involved with at least one of them, if not both. Our dealings with the Land of Steam are being constantly threatened by Kumogakure's militaristic obsession. I have to personally choose which side of the Kirigakure Civil War I'll support for the upcoming exams. The Fire Sea is littered with pirates pillaging our cargo ships. The—"
"Enough. I get it."
Namikaze Minato stared at his friend in silent contemplation, considering the weight of responsibility and the burdens of time. Finally — his shoulders sagged and he fell back on his chair like a dead weight, running fingers through his messy golden locks.
"I don't know what to do, Shikaku. It's… too much. But if I stop, Konoha takes a hit."
"Take two weeks off."
Another sigh escaped from Minato's lips. Shikaku didn't get it, somehow — despite his being sure the man knew exactly why he couldn't just up and stop. He prepared to say something, but the Nara interrupted him almost instantly.
"I've already talked with Sandaime-sama, and he agreed that you need some time off. We'll keep a hand on things for a week or two — leave a Kage Bunshin with us if you'd like. You need rest, Minato. If I can see you're dead on your feet, the spies can tell as well."
...The fourth took a few moments to recompose his thoughts, mulling over every possibility his half-asleep brain could possibly go through. Then, with a weary look on his face, the Kage nodded once — and smiled softly when he noticed his friend's posture relaxing.
"Fine. But only next week, after we're done dealing with the Land of Steam and our dealings with them. We must not allow ourselves the benefit of losing any part of our deal with their producers, Shikaku."
"As you say, Hokage-sama. If we focus, we can try and solve some of our issues with the pirates on the Fire Sea as well. How familiar are you with Wave Country? I believe —"
They had a long week in front of them still — so the Kage and his advisor sat down and got to work.