CHAPTER 1

Kuro no Senshi

Re-edited: 01 January 2019

Epigraph:

"Make mistakes... Walk on the cracks.
Break the rules
that were made to be broken."

—L. H. Cosway, Hearts of Fire.

ʚ—ɞ

The last tinge of blue faded as dark, wispy clouds painted the central forest with its gloom. A massive gust of wind whipped through the thick canopy, wrenching dust and dry leaves off of the ground just as a bolt of lightning cracked the sky.

Three cloaked figures hastened their pace, their bodies melding into black blurs as they vaulted from one tree to another. Their ears kept perked to the raucous of the forest critters scrambling towards shelter when the first roll of thunder, rambunctious and daunting, exploded overhead. The air was humid, thick with the sweet pungent of ozone, but the trio was undeterred even when the first drops of rain pelted the parched earth in slow, periodical succession.

The density of the trees began to dwindle, but the rain continued to grow denser, more oppressive, soaking them and obstructing their movements. They soon caught sight of the worn down path leading towards the village gates. However, the village wasn't their journey's end.

At the signal of the captain, they switched courses. Leaping onto the ground, they headed away from the path and deeper into the forest, their destination clear in mind.

The further in they travelled, the clearer they could witness the torrential rain bludgeon the surface of a long winding river. Its turbulent gurgles deafened their hearing. Reaching the glade hidden behind the overgrown bushes, they headed straight towards the large boulders beside the river bed, the squeaks of their sandals prominent against the muddy grounds.

At first glance the rocks seemed innocuous, blending into the background despite its massive size. Only a trained eye would detect the abnormality of its semi-circular alignment and the deception of the moss and cracks peppering its surfaces.

The irregular formation was man-made, and the figures stood before it with their backs to the overflowing river. Their ears strained to hear over the thundering storm, affirming their seclusion from possible threats. Three pairs of hands rose simultaneously, executing a series of seals as their voices harmonised the words for an unsealing jutsu.

For a moment, nothing occurred. Rain incessantly battered the ground, the wild waters of the river gushed, and the winds remained relentless as it whisked through the canopy, vehemently snapping and splintering bulky branches and agitating its dense foliage. Then a noise, the scroop of rough stone grinding against rough stone, ripped through Mother Nature's commotion.

The trio watched as a perfectly rectangular chunk of earth at the centre of the semi-circular mound of rocks shifted. It dipped lower before sliding to the side until it was unseen and a decently sized opening was left behind. Surprisingly enough, the rain couldn't seem to enter. Corpulent droplets splashed against an invisible ground, ricocheting away from the sinkhole as if there was a barrier keeping them out.

Without hesitation, one after another, the cloaked figures jumped into the dark abyss.

ʚ—ɞ

"Report."

The tone was clipped, implicitly stating the superiority of the daunting silhouette sitting behind the desk they stood in front of.

They were underground in a boxed room with no windows. It was enveloped in shadows with nought, but a handful of kerosene lamps hung along the brick walls emanating an eerie glow over its rigid occupants. A single door leads in and out of the graciously-sized space, but the unnerving silence and palpable tension remained a permanent resident.

One cloaked figure dared to step forward. Then bowed.

"Mission success; the children were safely handed over to Hagihara Aira-san as ordered and the perpetrators executed as planned."

A snicker—an unnerving chuckle predated a booming laugh that resonated across the darkened office, catching the trio unawares. It was a robust, infectious sound vibrating unexpected levity against the earthen walls and immediately, it cut down the suffocating pressure hanging in the air. The chilling grip of darkness abated, and the grim room seemingly brightened.

"Would I have expected anything less from you Sakura, Ino, Tenten?"

Dainty but calloused hands reached out to pull back the hoods resting over their heads, revealing the humbled faces of three young women with distinct features that belied their bloodlines. They laughed as Tonton, their master's beloved pig, squealed in agreement.

There had been rumours circulating around the black market about child trafficking picking up business in the south-west borders of the fire country. The rising numbers of black traders willing to deal with the traffickers had been as astounding as it was heinous, naturally raising concerns of those morally above them. After informants had confirmed these suspicions, their squad of three had been drafted to intercept the latest trade.

The first priority was to ensure the captured children reached the Hagihara Child Protection Centre safely, but their mission goal was to infiltrate and cripple the rotten organisation inside out. Permanently.

It wasn't an easy task to slip their way into the organisation's ranks when they had been explicitly instructed to keep a low profile; simply get in, get the job done, get out. They were to leave no evidence of the sudden downfall of a rapidly growing underground ring. But they got it done. They always do.

"Of course not," Sakura replied, pointedly placing a hand on her jutted hip, "We're one of your best squads after all."

Tsunade grunted, leaning back into the comfort of her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't be so presumptuous, girl. You're replaceable."

"Ah, but that will be another four years of you torturing the replacement."

"Torturing is the fun part."

"She'll break and abandon by the first week."

"Like you did on your first day?"

Haruno Sakura sputtered, throwing an incredulous look at her mentor, "I did not!"

Tsunade raised an elegant brow, but before she could formulate a reply, Yamanaka Ino threw an arm over her childhood friend's shoulder, sniggering, "Of course you did, Forehead. You were blubbering and snivelling like a wittle bwaby."

Almost as if on cue, both Tenten and Ino dropped to their knees, their hands burrowing messily in their hair, expressions dramatically contorting in mock agony. Synchronously, they wailed, "I can't! I can't take it anymore! She—she's a demon!"

They were loud, their fake misery dripping with every word they bemoaned and every fabricated gasp that slipped in between. The girls' eyes widened. Their voices dropped to a baritone at the word 'demon,' dragging out the first syllable, sarcastically making it sound so utterly horrifying.

And they burst out laughing, taking keen delight from Sakura's mortification. The pastel-haired girl huffed, her nose scrunching as she shook her head in exasperation.

Although Sakura can admit to her break down, not unlike the way the girls acted it out, they did greatly exaggerate her momentary neurosis. She didn't blubber or wail like a new-born babe, and she most definitely did not abandon her post.

At the tender age of thirteen, the girls were recruited to join a kunoichi drill camp disguised as a medical expedition for exceptional medics-in-learning. Anyone who had attended it can mutually agree it was the first time a lady of any status had ever experienced true physical pain and excruciating mental exhaustion.

Throughout the time at the camp, Senju Tsunade lived up to her exalted name. She was every bit unforgiving and torturous as the rumours made her out to be.

She was the head trainer, hurling attack after attack, leaving no opportunity for any of them to dodge, duck or hide. It was one fierce woman against thirty-nine naïve, over-confident girls. By the end of each passing day, none of them could feel their limbs let alone contemplate walking back to their quarters. Pain numbed the bodies covered head to toe with grime and dye more colourful than the sunrise at the Valley of the End.

But that was the least humiliating part.

Tsunade never once made used her dynamic jutsu skills, medical or otherwise. All she had in her arsenal of weapons were balloons filled with sticky water, powdered dye and, cruelly enough, a questionable yellow substance which made their hair stink of rotten corpses for weeks afterwards.

It was to give them a taste of the life they wished to lead, she had said. It wasn't for the faint-hearted, she had said. Neither was it about holding power over the men who deemed them lesser. The Senju descendant had thrown an abundance of wisdom with each attack that Sakura had not been ready to accept at the time, but as years passed, she had soon come to learn that her shisou was right.

To be a kunoichi wasn't about overpowering men. It was about fulfilling their self-worth and arming herself with the ability to push past her own limitations without the nagging constrictions of propriety.

"It's not healthy, you know," Tenten spoke up, her tone serious. She and Ino now stood at ease beside Sakura, having gotten up from their position on the cold stone floor.

The skin between Sakura's brows puckered in her confusion. "What isn't?"

"To be in denial."

Ino couldn't suppress her chuckles, especially when Tonton snorted as if in agreement with Tenten. He was one smart pig.

The veins on Tsunade's forehead ticked as she watched the immaturity play out like a theatrical show in front of her. They were dishevelled. Their hair matted and their clothes sodden, sticking to their body like a second skin, but they mocked and teased one another as if they had not just returned from an assassination mission. Watching them interact as they are now, nobody would believe the three standing before her were some of the most accomplished, lethal young women to have ever lived.

"Enough!" Tsunade bellowed, startling them into silence, "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"We do?" Sakura tilted her head, turning her attention towards her irate mentor.

"Go home before people start getting suspicious."

As brisk as clicking a switch, the trio sobered up. Any previous traces of lighthearted mirth were washed away beneath facades of impassiveness. It distressed the buxom blonde how swiftly the girls could disconnect from their emotions; their mastery was almost robotic and inhuman in its magnificence.

Concerning as it was, mental control was a skillset that backboned their guise. It kept kunoichi rational during missions and helped them feint the public image of a delicate lady otherwise.

Tsunade can't recall a time when this kunoichi team irrevocably failed a mission. Admittedly, during their first mission, they committed potentially fatal errors. They were arrogant, overestimating their ability to wield freshly learnt skills, letting the rush of momentary power cloud their judgments. Yet they still succeeded. Quick wit and improvision managed to salvage the mission in their favour, and the girls learnt fast to not commit the same mistake.

Team Bamboo has a long track record of fruitful missions, and Tsunade couldn't be any more proud of them.

For now, though, they needed to return home before the busybodies begin to notice their absence. They've been gone for over a week. In a village that thrived on gossip the way Konoha does, it was detrimental for them to be seen out in the open once more.

Without another word, the three girls bowed respectfully and turned on their heels to make their way out of the office. Just as Sakura reached for the doorknob, Tsunade's voice halted them.

"And clean up your mess on your way!"

Glancing at their feet, they groaned out loud, finally taking notice of the puddles forming beneath them as well as the thick trail of mud leading back out to the hallway.

This was torture they did not appreciate.

ʚ—ɞ

"My talents lay with sharp weapons, not cleaning supplies," Tenten bemoaned, stretching her arms above her head, her back arching until it popped and her tense muscles relaxed. "Anyways, I'm heading home for a long, long sleep—Tsunade-sama is a slave-driver."

"So will I," Ino commented, "I'll see you around, Forehead."

Sakura bid them farewell, waving her hand weakly until they veered a corner and were out of sight.

She stood on the outskirts of Konoha Cemetery, where a hidden entrance to the kunoichi headquarters lead them safely in and out of the village. Walking through the main gates was a death sentence. No woman is allowed to travel beyond the towering walls without a male companion or prior approval. It was for their own security.

The storm had long seized, but the wind remained bitingly cold, compelling Sakura to tuck her arms into the sleeves of her yukata for warmth. She had changed outfits at the headquarters, and as usual, the material felt heavy. Its significance constricted her in ways the formfitting qipao dress and shorts she generally wore for missions did not.

Peeking over the treetops, she took note of the traces of sunrise. Soft shades of orange trickled into the horizon as morning soon approached. Knowing she needed to avoid the early birds, she started on her short trek home.

The heels of her geta clacking against the pavement, Sakura ached to massage her stiff neck. But, she was out in public, and a proper lady does not openly show any signs of discomfort, even if there was no soul other than her own roaming the streets.

Her shishou had made them mop, sweep and scrub down every hallway trailed with mud until the floors shone and no residual dirt was left behind. Such a mundane task would have been done with effortless ease, but a gruelling mission and travelling through a wrecking storm had wiped them out. The arduous cleaning only added to the strain of exhaustion.

Sakura couldn't find it in her to blame Tsunade though. As twisted as it may be, it was her way of reminding them of their place and role in society. After all, no matter how noble the cause or intent, the existence of their organisation was illegal. Their kunoichi practices, the unsanctioned missions and idealistic beliefs were crimes punishable under the eyes of shinobi law.

In a time when the status of women was vastly inferior to the status of men, women were considered to be the property of their fathers until marriage, after which they become the property of their husbands. They were expected to be the perfect ladies; meek, compliant and masters at 'household arts'. They were to learn to be literate, to hone the skills of embroidery and tea ceremonies to prepare for eventual motherhood.

They were not allowed to learn shinobi arts.

In the eyes of men, women were the weaker sex. They served no purpose beyond a source of fine pleasure and a vessel for the next generation. To allow them to learn the arts of shinobi was to give them power—power they can misuse to turn against them and take control.

And control was an advantage no woman should ever have.

They would rebel.

Sakura scoffed at the irony.

Women did rebel. Except, it wasn't in the way men expected and definitely not for the reasons they predicted. They did not want to be dominant while the men the subservient; they wanted to be equals. They wanted freedom. Women merely sought the rights over their own person and the rights to their individual choices, but that wasn't allowed, so they rebelled.

They practised shinobi arts.

Women educated themselves in ninjutsu, genjutsu, fuuinjutsu, even senjutsu. They learnt the skills of shinobi and called themselves kunoichi, forming an organisation that operated right under the high nose of their prejudiced village.

Ideally, Sakura wished she could say she had been the first and only woman to rebel, but she wasn't. The rebellion had been occurring for generations preceding her. If she remembers correctly, Senju Tsunade was the Fifth Kaichou, the current standing leader and force behind the daily operations of the underground organisation. And even though Sakura wasn't aware of them all, she knows there were hundreds of kunoichi working under Tsunade, their numbers coming close to the number of able-bodied shinobi in Konoha alone.

That wasn't to say it was easy keeping their dissentious institution under wraps because it wasn't. It was difficult, especially when their missions clashed with those of the shinobi. They had to be on constant alert, careful to not reveal their identities, let alone their gender, during battles. They needed to be wise with who they recruited, because similarly to how men accepted their superiority, some women consented to their domesticated roles. These women would not second guess selling them out.

And that was a risk they could not afford.

However, unbeknownst to the shinobi, they, the men themselves, helped a great deal in concealing their felonious activities. Every mission of theirs that the kunoichi had covertly adopted, every outlawed dealing they thwarted, the shinobi believed it to be the work of a single nukenin.

A single, male nukenin.

They called 'him' Kuro no Senshi— the black warrior.

Sakura bit her bottom lip to stop herself from grinning. For being boundlessly educated, men could be pretty unintelligent. It didn't even occur to them that a woman—a group of women— could be behind the interferences.

Ignorance was indeed bliss.

Instead of correcting the false assumptions, Kuro no Senshi encouraged them. They duped the shinobi into hunting down an inexistent individual. Why wouldn't they? It worked well in their favour.

Shaking away her wayward thoughts, Sakura carefully stepped onto the front stoop of her house. Infusing her senses with a wave chakra, she probed the immediate area for the unordinary. No signatures roamed the streets, but steady flows emanated from the houses around her; a tell-tale sign of deep slumber. As a precautionary measure, Sakura glanced over her shoulders, thoroughly scrutinising the roofs, the nooks and the crannies within sight before striding closer to the grey door.

It was safe.

Under the shadows of the walls, her hand whipped out of the sleeve of her yukata. She slid a sleek piece of metal into the keyhole and, with a subtle flare of chakra, fiddled with it until she heard the final click of the lock. Her fingers wrapped around the knob, turning it with slow, silent precision. Glancing at the slumbering village behind her once more, she affirmed the absence of witnesses to her little pre-dawn excursion.

She held her breath.

She was gone.

The door slid open then shut, a dark blur slipping in faster than lightning could flash, undetected by an untrained eye. Sakura leaned her back and head against the door, heaving a sigh of relief once the lock was bolted again. Pausing for a moment, she checked if her parents' chakra flow remained undisturbed; she couldn't afford to have them waking up now.

Sakura toed off her sandals before making her way up the flight of stairs, turning left towards her room. Her feet padded against the wooden floorboards, the susurrus of her socks resounding throughout the stillness of her house.

Despite the unspoken rule for clans to live together in a shared compound, Sakura's parents had opted to live away from the rest of the Haruno. Their family of three lived instead in central Konoha in a house far smaller, for more modern and far less constricting than traditional compounds enshrouded with the suffocating air of banal formality.

Suddenly, Sakura felt her father's chakra spike.

She halted.

She stilled.

She waited.

Like the rain she barrelled through earlier, her father's chakra flow trickled slowly at first, stirring—humming. Then in a split second, it gained volume, flowing as thickly and as violently as any river during a ferocious storm; he was rousing.

Sakura rubbed the rips of her fingers against her moist palms, unable to brave a step—to make the floorboards squeak. Frantic eyes surveyed her environment for any means of escape. She was in the hallway, standing directly in front of the master bedroom. Just a few more steps and she would be in front of her own, but her legs were heavier than lead, refusing to adhere to her command to move.

A creak of the bed.

A rustling of the blankets.

The air around her stilled. Sakura clenched her jaw. She could hear her breaths getting thicker, heavier, as she prayed to Kami for luck. If her father arose only to catch her wandering at such an early hour, he would be suspicious. He may not be as well-known as Hatake Kakashi or as well-praised as Uchiha Itachi, but Haruno Kizashi was an excellent shinobi in his own right. Sakura knows her father has had his suspicions about her for a very long time, but he had never addressed the issue. He remained at a distant, observing but never questioning.

A sharp cough.

A muffled groan.

Paranoia seeped deep into her bones. Paranoia taunted her, whispering her failure in her ears. Her father is aware. She could not have possibly kept her rebellion under wraps as well as she had prided herself. The voice in her head was eerie and cruel and hopefully also very, very wrong. She hoped he lacked the evidence to solidify his doubts. Her father adored her, yes. He treated both her and her mother with fairness, but it did not represent his position on the battle for women's rights. She doesn't know what he would think of her once he finds out.

If there were one person in the world Sakura did not want to disappoint, it would be her father.

A soft thump.

An unrecognisable crackle.

She felt fear grip her with its sharp claws. Cold dread sunk under her skin, but she repressed the reflex to shiver. Someone was watching her—watching and waiting and lusting for her to commit a fatal error, for her to lose composure. One drop of leaked chakra, one tiny creak, one measly shuffle; that was all it would take for her father to catch her red-handed.

There was no window to escape from, no dark corner to hide in. What was she going to do?

ʚ—ɞ

Uchiha Itachi stood a handful of steps away from the ruins, his critical eyes examined the extent of the wreckage. Upturned trees and asphalt lead towards scorched debris. Wisps of bitter smoke curled over the heap of crumbled brick walls. The scene screamed an intense, unforgiving battle that could have, more than likely, left no survivor.

He had known something was amiss the moment the diminutive town entered his line of vision. Nightfall had long descended, and it was way past bedtime for its farming populace, yet the silence that encompassed the town was eerily unnatural.

As his team ran from street to street, zipping past numerous homes and shops, Itachi had noticed the lack of light illuminating from windows. The doors to the houses seemed to serve a purpose of keeping its inhabitants in rather than keeping people out. Community buildings like the medical clinic and the bathhouse with an 'open 24/7' sign appeared strangely empty. Abandoned.

Itachi had sensed several chakras of civilians within each construct, but their chakra flow was erratic even in slumber.

Apprehension engulfed him then. He led his team towards their intended destination with caution hanging at the forefront of his mind, calculating the probability of an ambush or a pre-set trap. Although highly unlikely, it was possible their target could have been tipped off regarding their arrival.

However, when his Sharingan detected no suspicious movements and when he did not feel the familiar disorienting layers of genjutsu, he set his assumptions aside. He set it aside, but he did not disregard it.

Now, standing in front of what remained of their target's hideout, disbelief overwhelmed him. Several trees were uprooted from the forest floor, its thick trunks snapped in half and scorched black with sooth. The ground was fissured, cracked with relatively deep crevices left behind by chunks of solid earth that appeared to have been forced out of place. Singed branches, split rocks, and charred leaves scattered throughout the vicinity, yet the place was oddly spotless.

It reeked of foul play.

An ordinary battlefield would be littered with weaponry, or faint traces of the jutsu exchanged during the attacks. There would be noticeable dents made by shuriken and kunai, rugged skid marks, frantic footprints, as well as spots of drying blood with scraps of shredded clothing strewn around. But mostly, there would be carnage. At least one corpse would be found cold, lying haphazardly as it decays.

On this battleground, there were none. A shinobi combat that left substantial environmental destruction equivalent to a war zone could not have no casualties.

Itachi's analytical mind backtracked the situation, searching for a reasonable explanation for the sudden demolition of their target's lair, but he could not come to a definitive conclusion. The child trafficking ring had been the ants crawling on the nerves of several other hidden villages for quite a while now, and Kurosawa hadn't been the most honourable dealer in the black market.

The quick rise of this filthy trade had been as astounding as it was horrifying. Kurosawa remorselessly built his success through nefarious deeds, stepping on numerous people along the way. Itachi wouldn't be surprised if someone needed to be rid of him.

Konoha had as well.

"Taichou?"

Itachi turned towards his squad. They stood next to him, their faces hidden beneath their ANBU masks, but the rigidness of their posture tells him they are alert and aware their mission had been compromised. "Kuma, search for bodies under that rubble. Check if there are any chance survivors. Nezumi, Usagi, scout the perimeter. Rendezvous back here in an hour."

"Hai!"

He watched his team disperse before he addressed the only member remaining. As a recently promoted Special Jounin, Nara Shikamaru was not an official member of his ANBU team. However, since one of his members was lying critically injured in a hospital bed, Itachi requested Shikamaru as a temporary substitute. He had a niggling hunch the Nara kid's intelligence would be valuable.

He had been right.

"Tanuki," Itachi's lips twitched at code name. Shikamaru's personality couldn't have been anymore vastly different from the mischievous, cheerful and sometimes a little bit forgetful nature of a Tanuki, yet there he was hiding behind a mask decorated to illustrate the animal. "I need you to help me piece the situation together. It seems someone had dug Kurosawa a hole he'll never rise from."

Kuma—Bear
Usagi—Rabbit
Nezumi—Mouse
Tanuki—Japanese racoon