I do not own Naruto.
Mara is not human. His manifestation in this world is not either.
Zetsu, as it calls itself, is not a man or a woman. It has no gender, no biological confines like a living creature. It has no single form, no need to eat or drink, no want for comfort or care. It knows not the feeling of joy, or the depths of despair. It is immune to such emotions, classifies them as trivialities that humans succumb to. In fact, it sorts many things that way, as nothing more than variables associated with humanity that it must take into account to fulfill its schemes.
There is one thing it understands though. In fact, it comprehends it so well it could be described as an aspect of its very being. Zetsu knows what desire is. Zetsu wants, longs so much that it festers inside of it like a hunger, crawling across its entire being like a fever, scrambling through its entire being. There is no empty space, no missing piece, but the sensation still remains. It needs to fulfill something, accomplish its goals, and sate its want. It's what it was created for, after all. It is its mother's will made manifest, and what is will, but the desire, the very action of implementing what one wants?
It is the one thing it acknowledges as truly sharing with the humans. Joy it can mimic, and despair it can parrot. Humor, wit, anger, frustration, elation, all these things it can copy, but the only thing it truly can empathize with, the only thing it can understand, is want. Everything desires something, from the mighty river, the ant on the ground, to the man that calls himself Daimyo, and Zetsu is no different. It's a master of this subject, and it knows how to turn individual desires and bend them around to suit its needs.
Therefore, if there is one thing Zetsu is good at, other than gathering information and remaining unseen, it is the spirit of the Shinju -the remains of the God Tree- is not human, it (or she, as the Shinju apparently prefers) must have a want. Everything does.
So Zetsu takes her far, far away from where the incarnations of Asura and Indra build a village. Those reborn brothers will remain as they are for a little longer, and Zetsu cares not for how they might react to the absence of one not-child. What it cares for is that one not-child, that seed of godhood, and how she can be used to feed Zetsu's desires.
Zetsu guides her form through the soil, jumping root tip to root tip. It can feel her lips moving around the tendril inside her mouth, trying to speak. The sensation is strange, but promising, because the Shinju wants to tell Zetsu what she wants. She may not not remember what happened after the millennia that have passed, but she has a desire inside of her. One that Zetsu can use, if it only knows what that want is first. One she is eager to tell.
And when they make it to the safety and Zetsu removes the tendrils of itself from around her, freeing her tongue, it utters one phrase.
"Tell me," the other thing breathes, despite its lack of lungs and vocal chords. "Tell me everything."
And the Shinju, tired and worn, speaks. Words spill out of her like water from a heavy cloud. She stutters at first, slurring now and again, but as time goes by her speech grows strong as her body wears down further. Her voice stabilizes, and she spins a wondrous tale of another world and another life.
Zetsu listens, like so few before it have done. It stills its fluid form, paying close attention the the words she is speaking, and wonder of all wonders, Zetsu understands.
It garners what even the God Tree itself does not, connecting pieces of information like broken shards of pottery, back into a whole. It gleans a whole story, one that starts before memory, when the Shinju left her original body, the same way she does every night when she dreams, and slid across dimensions until she found another form to be her vessel.
But the Shinju spent too long out of her form. She lingered in those inbetween places, riding the fields that flow across the heavens, and forgot. Time wore away at her memories, at her consciousness, at her very soul (as split as it already was) and her mind faltered.
What is left is a weakened seed that is convinced she is human, one that knows much, but comprehends very little.
"-So, you see Zetsu, all the things that make up the universe are temporary, and therefore without concrete identity. Everything that is valued is only valued because we give it that, the same way we give it permanence to ideas that are actually arbitrary. Morality, success, quality of life, class status, gender roles, monetary systems, governments, countries…. People made them up. They exist because people believe in them, and the more people believe in them, the more real they become.
"Extending it beyond societal and cultural constructs, the particles and fields that make up the universe are variant. The masses they have, the states they exist in, the directions they are heading; all of it is variant. They are constantly changing and often unstable. Often times, their behavior is downright random. Macroscopic and microscopic scales often conflict, existing within state of paradox. That is the truth.
"Yet, for some reason, there is some sort of existence. I cannot attests to others, I can only be sure I exist myself, but that is at least some sort of consciousness, and as I explained earlier, I choose to believe that consciousness affects reality, and not just on an individual scale based on perception. Consciousness inspires the movement of matter, and changes its state. It drives the harnessing of energy, in all the shape that energy takes. Belief shapes reality in this manner.
"So I need people to believe, Zetsu. I need them to believe we can escape the dream that catches us all, and ascend beyond it.
"Thus, I did not need saving, but to return to those I have already convinced to highlight these points, and ask their council," she declares, dragging her palm across the cold stone beneath her. There's almost no light in the depths of the cavern Zetsu has taken her to, but Zetsu can still make out her disheveled form. The short spikes of her hair sticking out at the ends, the strange wrinkled fabric of her pants, and her ragged looking shirt.
Zetsu considers her for a moment, and how to address her want. She is not a ninja, and follows codes that are foreign to it, so its actions must shift to accommodate that.
The silence stretches on between them, an almost absolute quiet that only exists in the bowels of the earth. Were Zetsu alone, it is sure that it would hear nothing, not the drip of water on stone, nor the breeze running across anything in its path. This place is a place to its own, still and absolute, and the hush is only ruined by the near inaudible sounds of the Shinju's breath.
"I see," Zetsu says finally. "And I believe you."
The not-child in front of it stills, and the sound of the breathing pauses.
"Do you?" she asks in a detached voice. She may be working to keep her mind in the present, to be human, but it is just that. An act she truly believes, a role she plays.
"I do," it answers. "I only worry for you."
Zetsu draws nearer to the still form, taking human shape and mimicking things it has seen humans do. It glides to where she sits, and runs its hand across her small shoulders. She jolts in surprise to the touch, unable to see, but her body gives her away, and she leans into the touch.
"The ones you seek for council, they rejected you, and when the brothers argued, you retreated inward. Conflict discomforts you, and there is much to be found in any world," it tells her, sliding its hand to rest around her shoulders. "What if you die?"
"I've died many times in this world, Zetsu, only to wake up in another, or flit in some strange place until I do wake," she admits.
"It is because you are separated from your true body, the one the brothers sealed away," Zetsu rationalizes, resting its head on hers. She still does not shy away from the touch, seeking comfort in away way it is given. "How many times have you died? How much violence have you faced, only for it to be brushed off by those whose council you seek? How wise are they if they do not respect your experiences, and do violence to you?"
"I don't understand what your are asking, or what you are trying to tell me," she confesses.
"I am saying it must be very hard to feel so compassionately towards those who value you so little. Aversion to violence is understandable after so much trauma."
"And what are you telling me?"
"That I know many things that you may yet not know. That I can protect you from the brothers and the violence. That I can help you make people believe," it whispers.
She shivers, and Zetsu pulls her closer still, so they are pressed side to side. It curls its larger form around her, turning it's grinning face into her short, spiky hair. For a second, it imagines how they both must appear. How very poetic this all is in nature. The everlasting will, and the fading God Tree sheltered by it. It should be Mother here, Zetsu knows. It was Mother that watched over the Shinju, that chased it through the stars. It was Mother that ate the fruit it provided, and elevated herself beyond time and space as well.
"Who are the brothers?" she asks.
"Old souls, reincarnated time and time again," Zetsu answers, allowing the non sequitur. "Sons of the one who sealed your body away."
"This is my body," she says, mumbling the words into his side, but distant somehow.
"If you believed that, would you be asking me who the brothers are? Would you be here at all when you just admitted you have the power to flee?"
The Shinju does not answer, but Zetsu takes satisfaction in its victory. Maybe that is another thing it can feel, if only briefly when it succeeds.
She leans further, letting Zetsu bear her full weight. There isn't much of it in her current form, and she droops as she thinks its words over. They sit there, the two inhuman things that they are, masquerading as people, playing out an act of companionship, and after a long, long period of deep contemplation, she speaks.
"Gautama Buddha resisted the demon Mara's temptation and reached enlightenment, yet the worlds are still trapped in a dream. He did not realize that Mara was part of everything too. Mara had its own enlightenment."
"You are very fond of anecdotes."
"What I am trying to say is that I don't believe I have as firm of a conviction as he did. I am afraid, I am confused, and I am very tired of people not understanding. I am tired of not knowing."
"I understand, I know," Zetsu volunteers. It hopes to placate her, to coerce a bond from her.
"In some way, I think you do," she accepts.
"Let me help you then," it tempts. "Let me alleviate some of your weariness. Stay here and rest while I watch over you."
Her eyelashes flutter against its side, and Zetsu drags its hand up from her shoulders to run its fingers through her hair. She shifts slightly, adjusting herself a bit more to find a comfortable state.
"Rest now," Zetsu advises softly.
"Oh, Mara. This is a heretical path," she whispers, and the breath that leaves her mouth brushes against his side. Not as air, but as something entirely more solid. Zetsu jerks when the thing touches it, its inhuman eyes searching out whatever it may be, and watches in amazement as the Shinju begins to change. From her mouth a root emerges, as slim and fine as twine, and it snakes across Zetsu's body as it searches for something more grounding.
Zetsu reaches with its free hand for the shoot, instinctively guiding it towards the stone beneath them. The wooden tendril feels warm to the touch, soft even, twining almost playfully around Zetsu's fingers.
The growth from her mouth breaks through the enduring stone, cracking it apart like glass. The other being feels the tiny fingers laying on its side grow denser, shifting away from flesh into something else, and watches her legs grow out of the clothes containing them.
The body of the child changes into roots and wood, crawling across the cavern in search of anchors, tentacles winding around stalagmites and cracking through dense mineral. The structure shudders as it draws strength from the soil, branching outwards and upwards, thickening into something else entirely.
The rapid expansion slows though, coming near enough to a complete stop that Zetsu believes it to be drained. The original shoot still creeps across its chest, and the roots that once were fingers spread out across its lap. Zetsu rests its head against the knot that grew where her head once was, and caresses the giant sapling covetously.
The wood pulses gently around Zetsu's body, a living thing that seems alive with intent and a deep, gnawing want. One that Zetsu can name now, one that it can use.
"I know," Zetsu whispers to the small Gedo Mazo, the great manifestation of the heretical path they have both begun to walk. "And in time, you will remember too."
Ino dreams she is the wind.
There is nothing in the world that can contain her as she sweeps across the world, growing stronger with each and every thermal rising from the dunes beneath her. Her body, if it can be called such, is an expansive thing, wide and broad, touching the tops of the sparse clouds while simultaneously brushing across the shifting sands. Her fingers drag across the ground, reshaping the landscape as she pleases, moving mountains of grains here and there, swirling it around in tantric, mesmerizing patterns, delighting in the colors that shine when one has no eyes.
There is no end to her, no true beginning. The elation in her heart soars to unknown heights, right alongside her mind, and she sings as she flies across the desert, howling out words in a language forgotten by everything save for the sea, sun, and stones.
That, alongside one disgruntled scorpion, and her sister, the oasis.
"Stop blowing so hard!" the scorpion clicks at her, mandibles moving furiously. The beady eyes lining its face all glare as much as something without eyebrows or eyelids can.
"Hah, blowing," the spring bubbles up in mirth.
"Franky," the scorpion admonishes, its tail twitching annoyance. It clicks its yellow-red pincers in frustration, scuttling along the dunes in its search for food. It had been trying to write out equations in the sand, but the mind of an arachnid is particularly unsuited for linguistics, and the winds kept erasing her attempts in fits of childish pique.
"Bruh," Frank gurgles, her voice the sound of liquid lapping against stone. "I can feel myself trickling under the earth for thousands of miles. Let me have this."
"It must be so hard," Ino goads, whirling around the scorpion hard enough to unbalance it, and whipping across the surface of the spring. "To have this amazing experience that nobody else will ever have."
"Who pissed in your cheerios?" the water murmurs as the scorpion clicks and stomps in a wordless shout.
"You shouldn't hit family," the gale replies, whirling up and up and up.
The scorpion stills for a moment, and the water does as well. For a time unmeasured they seem to contemplate those words.
"Lien?" the water asks sheepishly.
"You should be so lucky," the wind whispers back.
The scorpion unfurls its tail, as if stretching for a moment. Its vivid carapace sparkles mutely on the ground, and one by one it raises its legs in a wave.
"Skuld," Theresa guesses after a moment.
"The one and only," the wind confirms. It shoves a cloud on its ways, and lifts a lone hawk higher still so that it might have a better chance of finding prey in the emptiness of this land.
"Wait, Skuld? Or Scold, as it may be-"
"We aren't related. Don't ever speak to me again," the scorpion deadpans.
"-We haven't met yet. How can you be angry at us?" the oasis bubbles. Its body laps gently at the plants around it, making sure they are nurtured in this unforgiving place. That, at least, Ino can find no fault in.
"We haven't been introduced formally, no, but I need you to think hard. I know that will be difficult for as, as you don't do it often, but remember who was there when you all first arrived, beside the Hokage and the Anbu?"
The water goes quiet for a moment. Then, as if in surprise, it gushes out a little more, causing ripples on its surface.
"The blond kid!" it deduces, and then. "Man, I am being roasted by a fucking brat."
"The heiress?" the scorpion chimes in. "The one Lien assaulted?"
"It wasn't assault, it was an accident," the wind spits, twirling dangerously in on itself. Debris rises inside of it, and the dust devil caught in its grasp is a gargantuan thing, rising several stories in height. "You always doubt her."
"Woah kid," the spring says. " Calm down. Theresa didn't mean-"
"-And you! You struck her when she came for help! You remain angry and cruel, so focused on yourself you don't see that this is normal for your cousin. That being held in relative safety without bodily harm is a good night for her," Ino howls, gathering strength. The breadth of the dust devil widens, and the things caught inside its grasp are flung around at dangerous speeds.
The springs glugs guiltily, and even the scorpion stutters nervously.
"They were just supposed to be dreams," the oasis sighs.
"You are too young to understand," the scorpion says.
Enraged, Ino shrieks across the desert sands, bellowing as she flies across the landscape, picking up things as she goes. She gets bigger, wider, until instead of the wind, she is a thousand hands grasping at things to throw. Her airy palms scoop and grab all that she can, from dust, to rock, to one weary nomad who jerks in surprise as he is yanked right off the ground.
Likewise, the scorpion herself is snatched from the ground, screaming. It whirls around inside of the dust storm. Its limbs spasm in strange, unwieldy ways in terror, tail lashing out aimlessly, claws clacking helplessly.
Then, in true temperamental Yamanaka fashion, she dumps all of them in the oasis, screaming.
"I have her memories!" Ino wails. "I understand more than you two at this point!"
A myriad of alarmed noises rise from the now muddied spring, which makes hacking, choking sounds as it tries to filter itself clean. The debris clouds its depths, and it shouts its sister's name in terror.
The scorpion itself does not answer for a long while. For a moment, Ino thinks it may have been crushed, but the wet, garbled sound of its mandibles clicking eventually sounds once more. The oasis gushes as the arachnid scuttles across the floating body of the nomad, pincers raised in defense.
"I-" Theresa chokes, clearing water and dust off herself as best she can. With no fingers, and six legs, it's a bit of a chore. "I apologize."
"Don't say sorry to her Theresa, she's fucking psycho-" the spring cries out, hurriedly shuffling the body to the safety of shore. The currents inside of her are not very strong, but she makes do.
The wind, alarmed at its own temper and subsequent actions, forcibly calms itself. It cannot count its breaths, but it can count the number of sparkling grains it shifts as it passes through the land.
"No, I am sorry. That was childish and highly emotional." the wind sighs eventually. "If anything, I proved your point to be true by my actions."
"Maybe," Theresa says. "But your own points still stand. Since the start, we have been reacting to the events around us, instead of simply just acting. We lashed out in our own ways, me by belittling Lien, and Franky by force."
"Speak for yourselves. Lien left us in the care of literal mercenaries. Legit killers and thieves for hire," Frank adds on. "Case in point, hurricane over there just tried to off you and some stranger, and she's like five."
"Eight," Ino corrects.
"Eight," the oasis repeats in a tongue that spans beyond mortal time. "And almost a killer."
"Bias," Theresa reminds her.
"Bias, yes, I know. I also know I want my chainsaw back, and to get Lien to a facility that might actually help her. I don't want to be locked away in the depths of some shadowy government," Franky grouses, nudging the nomad further onto land. The scorpion on his chest remains there, drying itself and removing grit from its body.
The wind, remembering the havoc that it just caused, carefully controls its anger.
"Franky," the scorpion says, enunciating carefully. "It isn't that simple."
The oasis remains silent. It sullenly swirls around the edges of its banks, ignoring its sister.
"I want to go home," it says after a moment.
Its sister snorts, which is a strange sound from something that has no sinuses. It comes out more of a slight, strange vibration of its carapace. "Yes, well, I would rather not be a flippin' scorpion, so…" she adds.
"What are we supposed to do? What options are there?" the water states exasperatedly.
The wind swirls gently in thought, absentmindedly brushing against the nomad to help dry him off. She can't see him, exactly, but she does feel a niggling sense of familiarity at his general shape. The contours of his face, the the texture of his hair, everything she can feel is familiar.
"I think we're done actually," the winds comments lightly. "We did just found a country, after all."
The scorpion wheezes, and the oasis groans with a sound that would better suit the wind.
"This isn't a dream dream, is it?" the scorpion asks, despite full well knowing the answer.
"No. This the first Daimyo of Wind Country, and allegedly, he was guided by supernatural forces to a water source that would later become the heart of Sunagakure," Ino says. "Pretty sure that this is the past."
The oasis lets out a violent string of profanity that somehow sound poetic in the ancient language they are speaking. The scorpion throws up its pincers, completely done with its life.
"We didn't even mean to!" it cries.
And thus the Norns (and Wind Country) were born.
An: A big thanks to Siartha on tumblr for helping out once again. Almost missed that. Also, in this instance Mara/Zetsu is playing the role of Ymir, the first giant. Supposedly, Yggdrasil sprang from them. I also want to point out the missing use of they as a pronoun for Zetsu is entirely intentional.