In one world, with the extraction of the last Grand Yōkai, the terrorist group Akatsuki has won in the only way that matters. Understanding this, Kakashi makes a choice: to take Akatsuki's weapon into Kamui and destroy it even if it means destroying himself. But choices can have unintended consequences, no matter how noble.
With Kakashi's one choice, in another world, an explosion of unprecedented destructive power lays waste to the Kannabi Bridge and surrounding lands with seemingly no explanation. They call it the Demon Star; so named for the bright, white light of pure demonic energy that suddenly appeared above the land before obliterating it utterly, the shockwave of it seen and felt as far away as Konoha.
Now, nations scramble to find those responsible, and begin to point fingers while the Yondaime Hokage tries to prevent the rising hostilities from breaking out into war once again.
With his left eye inexplicably damaged and Kamui blown to pieces, Obito is on the hunt for answers. And together with the help of Rin, he intends to find whoever tampered with that much demonic chakra and make them pay.
A/N: This fic is cross-posted to AO3. The original version of the fic contains/will contain explicit M/F, M/M, and F/F scenes. The version posted here is the 'clean' one without the explicit scenes. If you would prefer reading the original explicit version, see "Those Sombre Dogs of War by viatorix" on ArchiveOfOurOwn.
This fic features Heavy Political Intrigue, Changes to Canon Worldbuilding, Original Worldbuilding, Original Characters, Explicit Language, Explicit Violence and Gore, References to Suicide, Found Family, Slow Burn Romance, and is Plot Heavy.
Main Pairings: Uchiha Obito/Hatake Kakashi, Namikaze Minato/Uzumaki Kushina, and Original Female Character/Original Female Character, also includes minor background pairings.
Prologue - One Final Redress
ACT ONE: DISTANT WORLDS
The statue towered above them, horrible and high.
If he had not known better, if he had been born to simpler people with all their superstition, Kakashi would have sworn he had slipped into an hellish realm of demons and stretching dark. From the void erupted gasps of pain. Howls of rage and passion. The shriek of clashing steel. People fighting above. People fighting below. A wretch of agony and a cry of desperation. Above it all sat a witness, silent and foreboding.
From their secluded alcove, Kakashi could hear the sounds — feel, more than see the tangle of battles that raged throughout the cavern beyond. Here they were shielded from it, inasmuch as they could be. He looked down at the still body of his student, grimacing at the uncharacteristic silence. Naruto's skin was ghostly, the whisker marks on his cheeks faded and pale. Not yet, he pleaded to whatever would listen. Perhaps he was a man of some prayers. As Kakashi was disinclined to believe in loving, altruistic gods watching down from the heavens, he was willing to try for the dying boy at his feet. He still has so much of a life to live, let him live it.
Nothing. No divine warm, only the cold reality of the insurmountable. They had never listened before. Why start now?
"Sakura," he called softly.
"I'm trying— I— I think it's working!" The dust and muck of the cave dug into her knees. Her face was hard set in the gentle teal glow. For a brief moment, she faltered, and Kakashi considered lending his own mediocre skill at medical ninjutsu, if only so she could rest. But then she shook herself, as if clearing her head and continued on, the brightness about her fingertips strengthening.
It was difficult, being forced to only watch. Kakashi despised the feeling. Too many times had he been forced to witness things spiral far beyond his capacity to control them. Helplessness was an ill begotten trait, and the most dangerous for a shinobi. Funny then, how despite his training, Kakashi seemed to become endlessly entrapped by it.
"He's stabilising," Sakura gasped, sweat thick on her brow. "I-I think... I don't..." Under her glowing palms, the seal on Naruto's belly was a broken mess of chakra infused lines. They would fade in time — were already doing so — whether he survived or not. Kakashi pushed down the waxy dread that gripped his spine.
He watched as she continued to work, a guard, a tense ear, and a sharp kunai ready for any who would dare to interrupt. Kakashi shifted in his low crouch, ignoring the sharp sting of his own injuries. Despite his efforts, his focus strayed back to Naruto. He wanted to say something to the dying boy at his side. An apology. A plea for forgiveness. Not that either would matter much to a boy with blue lips and struggling lungs. He had failed Naruto, once again. Failed him at the start of his young life, and now perhaps one more failure at what could be the end. I'm sorry, he wanted to say. For not being there. For leaving you. I should have done better. I should have been better. A shadow swept past their den. Beyond sounded the wretched scream of a dying woman. Each scratched at the threads of his focus.
He should have been there for Naruto, Kakashi knew. Earlier rather than later, before a little boy had grown up alone and confused at the fear and suspicion from those who should have known better. What would Kushina have felt if she knew what happened to her boy? Fury. And how Kakashi had shied away? Disappointment. Shame. He shouldn't have left the child of those he loved to grow up apart, lonely and hated for something beyond his control. But Kakashi had — it had been his choice to do so — and it was a knife that has never been pulled out, only twisted deeper and more viciously with time. Though he was grateful Naruto seemingly hadn't remembered — or perhaps truly knew — the memory of his last sentry duty was forever fresh and replaying in Kakashi's mind. Mister Fox-face, Naruto had called to him. Don't go, he had begged. But Kakashi had been young, and grieving, and so very angry, and had turned his cheek; had bent under the weight of his own misery.
For that small choice, to this day Naruto felt apart, distant in a way Minato and Kushina never had. Kakashi watched as Naruto's body jerked as he struggled to breathe and a numbness settled in his chest. He tightened his fingers on his kunai, gripped it until even the smooth angles of the hilt bit into his skin. He's still a child. He doesn't deserve this. I should have been better. He moved to touch Naruto's shoulder, before aborting the motion.
Sakura made a noise of pained frustration, animalistic and so raw in her throat that Kakashi had to look away. He turned his gaze to the monster that sat with them in the cave.
Like a warped caricature of a god, the wooden statue's legs folded into the lotus position, its hands raised in supplication. Other than the few shafts of sunlight splitting the dark from the world above, the statue provided the only light in the shadows of the looming cavern. Heavy, demonic chakra wrapped around it like a lover, glowing a bloody red; the last of the Demon Fox being reduced to pure energy to be devoured and stored. Kakashi had seen this chakra before, lapping at the land, making the very trees shrivel; nature itself in agony at brushing against that malevolent, otherworldly thing. From his crouch, Kakashi watched as one of the seals on the statue's form grew bright and hot. Human sacrifice indeed. Even sealed away, a being like that would eat away at a man's lifeforce, sinking its will into a human body even if it were locked behind the tightest of spiritual bars. It was no wonder then, that every Jinchūriki the Akatsuki had taken had died once their demons were extracted. Little wonder that the single, only reason Naruto still clung to life, set on a knife's edge, was the strong vitality his mother's heritage granted him.
Despite all the attempts of Konoha — ANBU, ROOT, T&I — to find otherwise, as to the true purpose Akatsuki had for their statue, Kakashi did not know. It was obvious as to what it was: a weapon. That much unearthly chakra, raw and bound in a singularity, brought to mind the power of a god. Fitting then, he supposed, that they had crafted their means of syphoning and storing the chakra into the bony, monstrous image of one. Perhaps that was why his prayer led to nothing, a god was already here and his pleas had been found wanting.
Even if they were to survive this encounter, this was far from over. Akatsuki already had their victory in the way that mattered. The battle raging now was simply one over possession. A dangerous thing still, even if the combined effort of Konoha, Suna, and Kumo meant victory. If victory was theirs, would Suna and Kumo willingly step aside and allow Konoha to destroy it? Would Konoha destroy it? Kakashi found he could not give any kind of affirmation at the prospect. One would hope. Nearly three decades of life, the vast majority of it mired within blood, death, and politics, told him he should not be so naive.
What then? Another turn of chaos waiting in the wings, left to spiral if went unchecked? Would he be forced to watch, helpless, once again and swallow the bitter acceptance that nothing could be done?
A thought came to him. He closed his eyes, and felt a pulsing ache in the core of Obito's gift.
Kakashi considered the open hand. There was one way to take this piece from the board. A way to give Naruto a chance at the world he strived for. Perhaps one meagre right to set against his legion of wrongs. Ah, he decided. Kakashi set his gaze on the statue's blindfold, its open jaw of gnawing, wooden teeth, and the mimicry of a soul glowing from within. So this is how it ends.
"Focus on Naruto," he spoke, rising to his feet. It felt distant, as though the words had passed from someone else. "Even if others come for you, make sure he's kept stable. That he recovers. And after... after, take care of him." Sakura whipped her head up at that, her eyes accusing and wide. "Promise me," he said, and an old chill made the request a rasp.
"Sensei?" She gasped. "What do you mean to do? You—" Her shoulders grew tense. Her eyes flickered to the statue and back. Kakashi could see the gears turning in her mind. Always so quick, he thought fondly. "No!"
He gently hushed her. "It's alright. It'll be alright."
His eyes softened. If his mother and father had both survived, had lived long enough at least to have another child, Kakashi wouldn't have minded, he thought, if it had been a younger sister who had turned out something like her. "Stay with him."
"Sensei!"
Kakashi moved, darting from their dark alcove and into the half-shade of the cavern's chamber, leaving his last student behind.
The fighting raged on. Akatsuki goons — missing-nin and free shinobi drawn in by the allure of power and glory and coin — clashed with nin of the Leaf, Sand, and Cloud. It almost reminded him of the few battlefields he had skirted around in his youth; the handful of times Suna and Konoha had banded together in the Third War. In his mind, he could almost hear Rin's gasp as the Iwa nin who had sought to make easy prey of them, seized in a sudden bloody tomb of wires, strung up within a Suna kunoichi's trap; the woman saluting them before returning to the shadows. Despite the circumstances, Kakashi was glad for their alliance now, even if it had formed out of bloody revenge for the lives of a Kazekage and a Raikage's brother.
Somewhere in between the slew of battles, the true players of Akatsuki engaged the most formidable of their own. The paper woman had swept through like a storm, only to be halted by the joined forces of Gai, Genma, and Shikamaru. They danced with her still, and Kakashi caught glimpses of long shadows and threads of torn paper falling like snow. Above, roots pierced the roof of the cavern, squirming and sinking into the rock as burying worms, signalling that Tenzō kept another occupied above. As Kakashi dodged several shuriken flung his way in the dark, something boomed and the cavern shook, sending dust blooming into the air like poisonous gas.
He leapt down onto a host of crumbled boulders, hissing as the landing jarred his leg. The deep gorge in his thigh throbbed, dampening his trousers with a new flow of blood. Silent, Kakashi slipped between the rock, edging ever closer to the platform of unnaturally flat stone and the grotesque statue that sat in its centre within a shimmering pool. The eerie, bloody glow of the Kyūbi's chakra wrapped around it still, draining into the etched seals layered over its wooden form. He had to get closer. Pulling at something of that magnitude from a distance would tire him before he could even commit himself to the finale, exhausted as he already was. No one had seen him take cover. Kakashi wrapped his chakra signature as close to his core as he could, all but smothering it. Hopefully no one would.
It was easy to slip back into that old ANBU grace, though that piece of him rankled at being without his smiling fox mask; his face vulnerable, and the green flak jacket ungainly. The motions were comforting nonetheless. Stifling the slivers of dread and of something unkinder became a motion as well. As Kakashi found with all the times before, so with purpose, came clarity.
The platform was set on a colossal pillar of stone that extended to unknowable depths. Kakashi lept the distance, hacking his kunai into the rock like a climber would his picks. Sending chakra to the soles of his feet, he grounded himself, pocketing his kunai and slipping up to hide in the shade of one of the dressed columns that ringed the statue, standing to attention like awaiting soldiers. Or priests.
Kakashi looked upon the statue and willed Obito's eye into the spinning pinwheel of the Mangekyō. So many things left unsaid, he told no one; told everyone. He sucked in a smooth draw of air. Forgive me.
Then, with Kamui, he pulled. And the monstrous statue creaked.
Kakashi felt eyes turning to him. Shouts and calls, though he could not split his focus enough to translate the words. A drop of wetness slipped down his cheek to blot in the fabric of his mask. He pulled. Like the image of a warped mirror, the statue became deformed, light bending at odd angles. At its centre, the swirl of a vortex gathered. Mass churned and distorted, reaching a whining peak, until suddenly, in a twist of space and light, the statue disappeared, and in an instant, the dark, damp cave was gone.
In a side-step away from the world, Kamui was silent.
Suddenly born into the otherness of the space, the glowing demonic statue rocked upon the uneven blocks, felling bone white pillars as it settled in place.
Crashing to his knees, Kakashi heaved, tugging at the chin of his mask to spit out blood and bile. He allowed himself only a moment before jerking it back into place and struggling to his feet. Already his chakra reserves sent warning shivers that they were dangerously wane.
He caught his breath as he looked upon the statue, listening to the empty space. Below the low murmur of nothing, he almost thought he could hear the echo of a whisper. A wisp of light slipped from the beast's maw to float and die in the empty void. The statue stood, poised, almost waiting for judgement.
A strange sort of calm overcame him. Resolution, edged with a feeling of loss that he could not place but which supported the surrendering calm like pillars of a bridge. Perhaps this is what Minato had felt before he sacrificed himself to create Naruto's seal. The burden of leadership and sacrifice. And with it, an understanding that perhaps, that maybe, it was worth it. An iota of joy that such a sacrifice might make some difference. But there was no time to ponder that now. Akatsuki would not be pleased with his theft, and he could not be sure they had not built some means into the statue in which to return it to reality.
Kamui was cold and dark. And Kakashi was ready.
Calling upon Obito's eye, upon all of his reserves, feeding his very soul into it if necessary, Kakashi sent the order to the built reality around him: crush. And though it was silent, he heard the void answer: yes.
The dimension began to sink inward. Suddenly, the built reality gripped at the mimicry of divinity and pressed. Kakashi, bound and as a part of this place as he was, felt the monstrous pressure of it, the weight in his chest, the sinking in his head. Obito's eye weighed a ton in his eye socket, and blood poured down his cheek. He felt it drip onto the bone white floor, splattering his toes. Still, he did not relent. One of the glowing seals flared, sending out sparks of gasping white. The moulded bark exterior rippled and cracked. Light, bright and full, leaked from the crevices like celestial blood. Still, Kakashi pressed.
The statue groaned and growled, spluttered and hacked. Its left shoulder punched inward with a monstrous crack. A whistle — almost a scream — shrieked from the timber, the seal on the moulded muscle peeling open all the way down the beast's forearm. Its head jerked, face forced towards its sharp collarbones. Its hands shattered. Kakashi felt the weight of it pressing on his lungs. One of its legs exploded outward, shards rippling across the space to piece the blocks of stone. Within, Kakashi could sense it — the white, seizing core within the statue mounting, pulsing like a miniature sun, growing as its cage ruptured. He felt a searing on his bared skin and didn't need to look to know it pinked with burn.
Focus became difficult as black spots pecked at his eyes. Sweat dripped and dried in an instant. Still, Kakashi pressed. And then, the core burst free.
Before the blinding light consumed Kamui, for an instant, no more than a half second, Kakashi thought he spied the black shade of a distant figure. It flickered like a ghost, and the last hint of sorrow he felt washed away. A strange sensation overcame him — of being wrapped; cocooned, before suddenly the light was too bright and the world too hot. As it passed over him, Kakashi felt an old, familiar touch. A ghost offering a hand. Obito? And there would be Rin right behind him, waiting. Minato. Kushina. Father.
Mother.
As all fell to ruin, the last beat in his chest thumped with something Kakashi had not truly felt in a very long time.
Peace, of a sort.