Glass Trinity, Chapter 2: Brothers
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Notes: FYI, this chapter starts off some time before the events of Chapter 1 and gradually catches up.
A six-year-old boy with dark hair and eyes full of hatred glared hard and long at the three taller boys snickering down at him. He was the only thing standing between the bullies and his defenseless five-year-old brother. From an early age, Madara had learned that the Uchiha responded only to power and force. The strong trampled the weak with little remorse. If anything, the weak deserved punishment by virtue of being an embarrassment to the clan. For an Uchiha, the options were to succeed or die trying; there was no middle ground.
"Run and cry to your mama like a little girl," one of the older boys taunted.
"Leave my brother alone," Madara said with more steel in his voice than any child should ever be allowed to possess.
"What are you gonna do about it?" said another boy.
"I'm warning you," Madara said as he felt Izuna tug on the frayed hem of his shirt.
"Brother," Izuna whispered. "I wanna go home."
The older boys heard him. "I don't think so, not until you two runts learn your place. You're no true Uchiha."
The other two boys guffawed at their friend's words. "Yeah, he's just some dead soldier's bastard with no talent and a whore for a mother—"
The boy did not finish his sentence. Madara lunged at him with lightning precision and shoved him to the ground before he could stop to think about what he was doing. One moment the boy was running his mouth, and the next he had a kunai embedded to the hilt in his chest. Madara's eyes burned red like the blood spurting from the wounded boy's lesion—he'd severed the Aorta. Somewhere behind him, Izuna whimpered at the grisly sight.
"I'm more Uchiha than you'll ever be," Madara hissed as the bully convulsed beneath him, choking on his last breaths and dying from exsanguination in a matter of seconds.
"Sh-Sharingan," one of the remaining boys gasped. "He's got the Sharingan!"
"Kaito!" the third boy shouted as he fell to his knees and stared in desperation at his fallen friend.
"I'll kill you, too, if you ever hurt Izuna again," Madara said, pushing himself off the ground. Now that he had a view of the body, he had to clench his bloody fists to keep them from shaking. He tried not to think about the smell of raw meat or the sticky feeling between his fingers, but it was hard not to.
"Let's get outta here, Hikaku!" the first boy said.
The kneeling boy—Hikaku—looked like he wanted to fight Madara to avenge his dead friend, but Madara glared at him through the red haze of the strongest doujutsu in existence. Hikaku swallowed, knowing he was no match for the younger boy; he hadn't activated his own Sharingan yet despite being a year older than Madara.
"Just leave, and I'll forget about this," Madara said with calm he didn't feel.
Hikaku got to his feet and backed away, but then stopped and hesitated. He looked between the very dead Kaito and Madara hiding a stricken Izuna behind him. "It won't happen again," he said shakily.
Madara blinked at the older boy but said nothing, not trusting his voice to remain steady. He didn't stop Hikaku and his friend when they scampered off. Izuna's soft tugging on his shirt helped fizzle his anger somewhat, and the Sharingan faded. Secretly relieved that his opponents had decided to back off, Madara looked down at his short younger brother with dark eyes, hoping he didn't appear as shaken as he felt.
"Red," Izuna said through his unshed tears. "You got the red eyes!"
Madara smiled faintly. It would not do to scold him for crying when no one was around to see it but him. It would be their little secret. "I've been practicing. You should, too, if you wanna catch up."
Izuna nodded and wiped the excess tears away. "I wanna be just like you!"
Madara looked back at Kaito's body bleeding out in the yard. He knew he wouldn't be punished for the kill—the Uchiha were mired in death and violence and blood from the day they were born. If anything, he would be commended for activating the Sharingan at an unprecedented age. But this was his first kill, and he felt a bit put off by how easy it had been. About how his hands, sticky with Kaito's blood, still shook.
A one-hit kill.
Kaito's flesh had opened up like butter under a dinner knife. It was just as the training master had told him. He went for a major artery and hit his target with little effort given the element of surprise, though somehow it felt different to do it for real than practicing against a stuffed dummy. Bile rose in Madara's throat as he stared at Kaito's body, nothing more than a sack of meat now, and he had to look away before he felt sick. But he would not let Izuna pick up on his inner thoughts. He had a responsibility as the eldest to set an example for the boy, and he would make sure to present a strong front before him.
"Let's go home. Mother'll be waiting with dinner."
Shiori was a kind woman. She was one of the few people Madara had ever known in his life who had genuinely wished to help him without asking for anything in return. She sacrificed everything for her two young sons because they were all she had.
"Take those off. I'll need to wash them," she told Madara when she saw his clothing covered in Kaito's blood.
She never asked how it got there or why. She just washed his shirt with her weathered hands and smiled at him.
"Mama, Brother got the red eyes!" Izuna cheered from his spot at the wooden kitchen table, waving at Madara.
Shiori stopped serving the boiled potatoes. At length she said, "Madara, is this true? Did you awaken the Sharingan?"
Madara set down his water glass. "Yeah."
Shiori gaped at her son for a moment before covering her mouth with her hands. She then stood, went to the cupboard, and extracted a brown paper package.
"I was saving this for your birthday, but this is a more appropriate occasion," she said, returning to the table.
She unwrapped the parcel to reveal a meager assortment of sweets. Izuna lit up and tried to grab at them, but his stubby arms were too short to reach across the table. Madara was shocked that their mother had managed to procure something like this. Sweets were exceedingly hard to come by and discouraged among the soldiers' ranks for encouraging sloth and overindulgence. He could not help the involuntary watering in his mouth at the sight of them.
"I saved up enough to buy them," Shiori said, noticing her two sons' covetous expressions. "Awakening the Sharingan at such a young age..." she continued, watching Madara with open admiration. "You're a true Uchiha now."
This snapped Madara out of his daze. "An Uchiha," he repeated.
Shiori nodded. "Now that you've awakened your father's bloodline limit, you can bear the Uchiha name and become an active member of the clan. And Izuna will join you when he awakens his."
"Yeah!" Izuna clapped his hands together, pleased at the prospect. Shiori handed him a sweet, and he stuffed it in his mouth. "We're gonna be Uchiha!" he cheered through a full mouth.
"You'll be one, too, Mother," Madara said, reaching for a sugary treat. He bit into it and savored the caramel flavor. He'd always loved sweet things.
Shiori smiled sadly at her eldest son. "Only shinobi who've awakened the bloodline limit can bear the clan name. I'm no shinobi."
"Father was."
"Yes, your father was a good man and a better shinobi." But he wasn't my husband.
Madara did not have to guess at the words left unsaid. Official clan marriages were only allowed by arrangement, and only then between accomplished shinobi and clan nobles. Madara and Izuna's father was a lowborn soldier, and their mother was a civilian woman. As far as the clan's rules were concerned, Madara and Izuna were bastards with tainted blood and a birthright unworthy even of a pair of diseased rodents. In a situation where tradition reigned unopposed, there seemed to be little hope for the brothers.
But Shiori had always said differently. "You boys can be anything you want to be and more. All you have to do is work hard, and you'll rise through the ranks."
"It's not that easy," Madara countered. "There's rules."
Shiori's dreamy gaze sobered, and her lips thinned in a severe line. "Rules can be broken," she snapped. "You two wouldn't be here if your father and I had followed the rules."
Izuna munched on another sweet, his big, black eyes drifting between his quiet older brother and their mother. He sucked on his fingers, and they glistened with sticky sugar.
"You've already done the impossible, Madara," Shiori continued a little more gently. "Now that you're a true Uchiha, the nobles will have to recognize your talent. And once you make it to the top, you can make your own rules. Think of the possibilities. You can rejuvenate this tired old clan. Together, you and Izuna can do anything you set your minds to. So I won't hear another word about rules, am I understood?"
Madara watched her with a degree of awe only a child can grasp, the last vestiges of his innocence that hadn't been flayed away under the lash of the Uchiha training regimen. "Why do you believe in us so much?"
Shiori smiled in that special way when she was thinking of Madara's father, or at times like these, when her sons pleased her. "It's not a question of faith. I know you'll succeed because you're my sons. You're good enough."
Shiori died three years later of heart disease. The Uchiha had never been skilled healers; they preferred to duke it out and die a warrior's death on the battlefield than waste away in a sick bed. The infirm were better left for dead, anyway—their needs only burdened the rest of the clan by sapping precious money and resources. Why sustain a life that is worthless?
Izuna cried that day. He was hardly eight at the time and had awoken his own Sharingan some time ago, yet still he bawled like a baby. Madara did not scold him.
"This is the last time you'll ever cry, Izuna," he said instead. "From this day forward, we're men. It's time to start acting like one."
Izuna nodded, trying in vain to wipe the tears and snot from his face as thunder boomed overhead. The two of them had stayed behind with Shiori at the previous base camp in between missions. She had grown too ill to travel, and Madara knew that the time had come for her to be put out of her misery. He'd told his captain that he would be the one to end it, given Shiori's lack of a husband. She glowed with pride when he slid the kunai across her throat, thanking him for the clean and honorable death. He would never forget the sight of her smile just before her blood trickled over his fingers, so warm.
Izuna had watched and refrained from crying in front of their mother. Now, as the two of them stood next to the dying funeral pyre, the first drops of rain began to fall. The storm picked up and soon the Uchiha brothers were drenched to the bone through their hand-me-down armor and tattered gi. It had been Izuna's idea to light a pyre for her. Only trueborn Uchiha were allowed to be cremated, but Izuna had insisted that Shiori had more Uchiha spirit than the snobbish, highborn ladies of the clan, an opinion with which Madara agreed.
The rain fell, and they watched through blood red eyes as the small pyre smoked and hissed.
"This is the last time you cry too, Brother," Izuna said. "My eyes can see your tears through the rain."
Madara let out a sharp breath, observing as it fogged in the chill brought on by the early spring storm. The tears were all but invisible as they mixed with the rain, but they felt hot against his cheeks.
"Yeah," he said softly. "This is the last time."
After another moment, the brothers turned to leave. They had a long journey ahead of them if they were going to catch up to the rest of the nomadic clan and outrun the worst of the storm.
"Izuna," Madara said after they'd made it a few miles in silence. "Promise me something."
"Anything, Brother."
Madara hesitated for a second before continuing. "Promise me that you and I are one—on the battlefield, in the council meetings, always. Promise me that we'll take this clan together. Can I count on you?"
Izuna smiled grimly, looking much older than his eight years. "I'll always fight with you, until the day I die."
Madara pressed his lips into a thin line, thinking of the impossible uphill battle that lay before them in the years to come should they survive the harsh reality of being born Uchiha.
"You'll survive, my sons, because you're strong. Together, you're invincible."
He could almost hear the echo of his mother's dying words as they clung to him with soft, shadow claws through the soaked clothing on his back. He and Izuna would survive, and together they would reinvent the Uchiha clan.
Together, they were invincible.
Hashirama Senju crouched behind a crumbling palisade surrounding the imposing castle, dark eyes narrowed in concentration as he scanned his surroundings. Next to him, his younger brother crept closer to report the findings from his sensory scan.
"They pushed us back at the bridge," Tobirama whispered through gritted teeth. "Father's throwing his best Douton at them, but any more power and the whole castle will fall."
Hashirama sighed. "Ten men. Ten men are holding off the entire Senju clan."
Tobirama peeked over the top of the stone barricade, taking in the sight of their father's second-in-command barking orders. Screaming could be heard from across the drawbridge. The smell of burning kerosene reached the brothers, followed by shrieks of pain that drove a spike of dread through Hashirama's heart.
"Shit," Tobirama swore. "They're using the murder holes."
Tobirama was on his feet and running toward the thick of battle before he finished his sentence. Hashirama wasn't quick enough to stop him, and thus was forced to give chase. Tobirama had always been somewhat rash in these situations.
"Suiton: Suishōha!"
A great wave of water rose up from the castle's moat and sped toward the entrance of the castle. A great roar resounded with the impact of water on stone and metal. It turned black as it mixed with the boiling oil, morphing into a viscous serum that quickly lost momentum as it became more and more tainted. Tobirama released a frustrated growl.
"Tobirama! Hashirama!"
The brothers turned at the sound of their father's raspy voice. Flanked by two bodyguards, he jogged toward them, his salt-and-pepper hair billowing behind him in a thick ponytail.
"I told you to stay out of this," he barked, pulling them both back by the collars.
"But those bastards are winning!" Tobirama hissed, his body tense with defiance.
Ikema Senju forced his two sons to the ground in a crouching position to better shield them. "Listen to me," he said in a low timbre that brooked no room for argument. "I agreed to let you two accompany me on the condition that you'd remain out of sight."
"But Father—" Tobirama protested.
"I will not see my remaining sons dead before me!"
Hashirama stared up at their father, whose olive complexion, dark features, and strong jaw he shared, almost a mirror image. In his fourteen years of life, he'd never seen the man so furious. Ikema Senju was a mild-tempered man who preferred to fight his battles with words rather than weapons. But today was not a day for words; they'd tried that approach already. The feudal lord who'd hired them wasn't interested in negotiating anymore. Osaka Castle was to be his at all costs.
"Am I clear? Stay out of the way, or I'll roast you myself," Ikema said, tightening his grip on their collars.
Tobirama looked about ready to protest again, but Hashirama beat him to it. "Yes, Father."
Angry, red eyes fixed Hashirama with a look that said 'traitor'. Despite their kinship, the brothers were as different as night and day. Where Hashirama was dark of complexion, Tobirama was pale, taking after their late mother. Hashirama had a mouth made for smiling, while Tobirama's tongue was as sharp as the sword at his hip. Hashirama willed his younger brother to stay silent for once. Somehow, his thoughts were heard. Ikema released his sons and commanded his bodyguards to move. They obeyed without question. With one final look back at his sons, the leader of the great Senju clan took off toward the besieged castle.
Tobirama looked torn. "We have to do something."
His spiky, white hair was drenched with water from his earlier attack. Hashirama looked between his younger brother and the entrance to the castle where their father had disappeared. As the eldest, he felt obligated to look out for his brother and set an example, but deep down he felt conflicted. He wanted to obey their father as any son should, but at the same time he feared the worst. They were up against a legendary alliance of shinobi, the best from a number of different clans.
"Hashirama!"
The boys turned to see Tōka, their cousin, running to meet them. She was fair-skinned and tall with piercing, green eyes and the trademark Senju chestnut hair, long and straight and tied back out of her face. At sixteen, she was directly involved in the fighting as part of a squadron, unlike the brothers. In contrast to most highborn women her age, she was born to wield a sword, not a sewing needle. Her skill with genjutsu, while extraordinary, was of little use at the moment while the Senju forces were stuck outside the castle.
"Tōka," Hashirama said. "How bad is it?"
"There are only ten of them, but they know this castle well. It's tough to predict their movements from the outside since they all employ unique battle tactics."
"Sanada's Ten Heroes," Hashirama said, awed. "They're really something."
Tobirama kneeled down and touched the cobblestone road leading to the castle, eyes closed. After a moment's concentration, he gasped in shock.
"What's happening?" Hashirama said.
Tobirama clenched his jaw and stared in the direction of the castle gates. "It's—"
A deafening explosion went off in that moment, robbing the three Senju of their hearing and forcing them to fall to the ground for cover. Hashirama's head spun, the ringing in his ears making him dizzy. Sound returned to him slowly, as though someone was gradually raising the volume. Shouts could be heard, as well as frantic footsteps running away from the direction of the castle. Alarmed, Hashirama looked around to see what was the matter.
Their forces were retreating.
"Oh god, it can't be," Tobirama said, voice shaking.
"What happened," Hashirama demanded, whirling on his brother.
"Lord Ikema," Tōka said, face pallid as she feared the worst.
Hashirama didn't need her to elaborate to draw his own conclusion. Time seemed to slow down as reality sank its merciless fangs in.
Father...
Hashirama prided himself on listening to others before ever speaking up and making a decision for himself. His father had always drilled into him the importance of seeking guidance and counsel from others no matter their rank.
"You can always learn something from other people, even the stupid ones. At the very least, you can learn not to be like them."
But right now Hashirama didn't want to listen to anyone. He didn't want to exercise caution or take a vote. He didn't want to run away like a coward while others fought the battle his father meant to win. He didn't want to let things end like this.
"I'm going in. Tobi, cover me."
He didn't wait for an answer. He just took off at full tilt toward the front entrance, his hands already forming an earth seal. Just as he drew close to the entrance, Hashirama released his chakra. Two gnarled bundles of tree roots shot forth from his palms and slammed into the stone archway. For the span of a breath, he felt iron resistance from the sturdy structure. Sure of his power, he pushed forward until the rough-hewn stone bricks whined and finally crumbled under the force of his jutsu. What began as two separate wooden spires transformed into an intricate maze of roots and branches, weaving through the stone as if it were freshly tilled dirt and tearing the entrance apart from the inside out. In the ensuing avalanche of dust, rock, and pitch, Tobirama and Tōka caught up to him.
"Let's go," Hashirama said, already moving forward.
They made it to the inner courtyard and were pelted with arrows. The Ten Heroes had help from the castle's civilian guards. Hashirama was quick to summon a wooden wall to protect their three-man group from the projectiles, his chakra flaring with adrenaline.
"Tōka!"
She didn't need to be told twice. Acting without hesitation, she instigated a genjutsu that knocked out their attackers. When the pounding sound of metal pelting wood petered out, Hashirama dismissed the wall. The entire courtyard was demolished from what he could see. Whatever bomb had gone off left little to the imagination. Bodies were strewn about, bloody and charred and all of them dead.
"No..."
Tobirama's voice drifted to him, the younger boy having left his side to examine one of the bodies. As if in a dream, Hashirama joined his brother. It was worse than he'd expected.
"Father!"
Ikema was lying on the ground, his body battered almost beyond recognition if not for the proud Senju crest emblazoned across his viridian breastplate. His skin, the little that was exposed, had peeled off his body under the intense heat of the conflagration. He was missing an arm at the shoulder. Perhaps it had been blown clean off in the blast. Hashirama felt like he was looking down on himself as his body hovered over his fallen father and leader, like it was some other boy's father and some other boy's pain.
"Hashi, do something!" Tobirama shouted. "Help him!"
Without even thinking about it, Hashirama began to pour healing chakra into their unresponsive father. Normally calm and collected under duress, the onslaught of information gleaned from his medical chakra only served to jumble his thoughts. He wanted to save their father, but he didn't even know where to begin with injuries as grievous as these.
"My sons..."
Shocked, the brothers and Tōka focused on the origin of the voice as fragile as the wind. Ikema was blind to the world, his eyes incinerated. His armor looked like it had fused with his blistering flesh in places. He wouldn't live much longer.
"Father," Hashirama said, his healing chakra still racing from his fingertips.
"We're not gonna let you die!" Tobirama said, tears already streaking down his cheeks.
Ikema released a rattling breath, his whole body convulsing with the effort. Never in his life had Hashirama felt so afraid.
"Hashirama?"
"I'm here."
The sound of his son's voice lent Ikema one last burst of energy. A burned, bloody hand reached for his.
"Promise," Ikema wheezed.
"Anything. Tell me," Hashirama said, his voice cracking.
"End this."
They stared at the dying leader of the Senju as they processed his last words. Tobirama was about to say something further when Ikema drew in a sharp breath, shuddered, and fell limp. Several moments passed before Hashirama realized that his healing energy was still pouring into his father. He ceased the flow of his chakra abruptly.
Father...
Tōka put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.
Crunch!
The sound of earth and rock splitting directly behind the trio forced them to flee to safer ground, giving them no more time mourn their fallen leader. A powerful earth-based technique razed what was left of the courtyard as Tōka, Hashirama, and Tobirama fastened themselves to the far wall with the aid of chakra.
"Four of them. Ten o'clock," Tōka said, dark eyes narrowed and blinking away the last of her tears.
"Damnit," Tobirama swore, his cheeks still stained with tear tracks.
Somewhere deep down, Hashirama knew that he'd just witnessed his father's last moments on this earth. He also knew that it made him the new leader of the Senju, but none of that seemed to be registering as he looked down at the demolished courtyard filling with Senju forces while the Ten Heroes attacked from unknown locations. What did register was the need for a decision to be made and a strategy to be devised.
"I want you two to rejoin the others and act as though nothing's changed. My father is still alive and fighting," Hashirama said.
Tōka and Tobirama both turned incredulous eyes on the Senju heir.
"Hashirama, I don't—" Tōka began.
"If word of this gets out now, it'll demoralize everyone," Hashirama interrupted.
The sounds of metal clashing and earth rumbling reached them from the smoking courtyard below their horizontal perch, shattering the moment and bringing them back to reality. They knew Hashirama spoke the truth, and losing this battle wasn't an option. Tōka nodded and took off toward the group of Senju fighting their way deeper into the courtyard. Tobirama didn't move.
"I'm not just gonna leave you," he said, still shaken from witnessing their father's grisly death.
"You'll be safer with the group," Hashirama said.
Any latent shock and hurt melted away, replaced with unabashed fury as Tobirama glared daggers at his brother and now leader. "I'm not leaving you. You need me."
Hashirama tamped down the small flicker of anger at his brother's defiance. He was being irrational. Hashirama could take care of himself much better when he didn't have to worry about anyone else.
"Tobi, please don't make me—"
"Make you what? Hold my hand? I don't know if you were awake just now, but Father's dead. Dead, Hashi. You're not going in there without me."
Another explosion, though not as destructive as its predecessor, racked the battleground and its combatants. The young brothers remained crouched beneath a window sill on the side of the perimeter wall, eyes darting about to make sure they weren't being targeted.
"You always do this," Tobirama hissed. "You always try to fight alone, and I hate it. You and I are a team."
Tobirama's face was smudged with dirt and blood, warped by the paths of his earlier tears. Twelve was an old age in this world, no matter what their father wished. It made him sad to think that Tobirama, who hadn't even grown a beard yet, was as much a part of this as the rest of them.
But he didn't have time to argue anymore. When Tobirama set his mind to something, he pursued it with the tenacity of a charging bull. It was the reason he usually got what he wanted, many times at Hashirama's expense.
"Fine. But you defer to me, got it?"
Tobirama nodded. "Yeah."
"Okay. Let's go."
"This is insanity. Ten men can't overpower the Senju clan!"
Seikai Miyoshi bandaged a deep sword wound through his brother Isa's left flank. The blade had managed to slip through a crease in Isa's armor and slice the soft flesh beneath. Miraculously, no major organs were hit, but the rate at which Isa was losing blood was a cause for extreme worry. For all their skill and prowess, the Heroes were no medical ninja.
Sasuke Sarutobi, the leader of the Ten Heroes, was a tall man towering just over six feet and tightly packed with rippling muscle honed from a nomadic lifestyle of near-constant mercenary work. He was lean of frame, the angles of his face and shoulders so sharp he may have appeared gaunt to the untrained eye. A long, brown ponytail hung like a lash down to his waist, a clan tradition he could not shake even after all these years. He clenched a fist as he surveyed the destroyed courtyard below. Boiling oil traps had slowed down the enemy siege, but an unplanned explosion had been the first nail in the Heroes' coffins. When he found out who was responsible, Sasuke would deal with the culprit personally. There was no way he was about to lose this stronghold.
"Seikai," Sasuke addressed his teammate. "Stay here. I'm gonna join the fighting myself."
Seikai didn't argue as he concentrated on helping his fast fading brother, whose face had taken on an unhealthy, ashen pallor. Sasuke pursed his lips in a grim line at the sight, pausing. This was one of his comrades. He'd fought nearly to the death countless times with the brothers during their time serving the feudal lord Yukimura Sanada in his various irredentist campaigns. The pay was good and the brotherhood was better. As far as Sasuke was concerned, this was the life he'd always envisioned for himself, not the life of a stuffy ninja clan noble.
"Isa," he said, kneeling before the younger man.
"Captain," Isa said, his blue eyes bright with fear and fever. "It was an honor serving you."
Sasuke gritted his teeth together. "We served Sanada. You and I are comrades. Equals. Fighting with you has been my honor."
Isa managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Captain."
"Go," Seikai urged, his tone devoid of emotion. "We still have a mission to complete."
Sasuke took one last glance at Seikai. Despite his exterior calm, Sasuke knew the man well enough to sense the turbulent emotions in his eyes, the mirror image of his brother's. At the very least, Sasuke could give them their privacy in what was likely Isa's final moments on this earth.
"Right."
Breaking into a fast jog, Sasuke made his way out of the central operations room down a stone hallway that would eventually lead outside. The sight on the other side made him skid to an abrupt stop.
"Kirigakure," he said.
A lithe, almost feminine man clad from head to toe in studded leather armor stood before him. His beautiful grey eyes held an unforgiving glint, sharply contrasting with his well-kept black hair and aristocratic features. Saizō Kirigakure, Sasuke's second in command, was not easy to hit in combat.
"Sarutobi," he said, his tone hard. "We have a situation."
"I can see that," Sasuke said, his raspy, no-nonsense drawl not even fazing his partner. They'd been together long enough to read between the mannerisms.
Saizō approached him, his footsteps silent as he gave the appearance of floating instead of walking. A master of illusions and deception, Saizō was the polar opposite of Sasuke in nearly every way. The latter preferred a more hands-on approach, favoring fierce hand-to-hand combat or violent, elemental ninjutsu, sometimes with the aid of his favorite summon, Mashira the demon fire monkey. His agility and unique fighting style had earned him the nickname 'Flying Monkey' throughout the continent, although his enemies never failed to link him to the animal in a less flattering sense. Even Sasuke's physical appearance was antithetical to his partner's. Unkempt, scar-faced, and muscular where Saizō was like an ornate calligraphy scroll, looping and serpentine down to his curling, cruel smile.
"Osaka Castle is doomed to fall," Saizō said, stopping several feet away, an unreadable expression on his face. "We should withdraw while we still can."
Sasuke bared his teeth in a scowl. "The Ten Heroes never back down."
"The Ten Heroes have never faced the full might of the Senju clan."
The sounds of fierce battle drifted to them as a stray throwing dagger broke a nearby window. The smell of burning flesh and petrichor assaulted Sasuke's sensitive nose. The Senju were known as a clan of Suiton and Douton users. The fire must have been caused by the earlier unplanned explosion.
"That reminds me," Sasuke said. "Who set off that explosion?"
Saizō smiled enigmatically. It was the one he reserved for interrogations. "Accidents happen, I suppose."
Sasuke resisted the urge to shiver. He and Saizō had been through rain and shine together, and he trusted the other ninja with his life. But there were some things he'd never get used to. Shrugging it off in favor of joining the battle like he'd previously intended, Sasuke made to pass his partner. A hand shot out suddenly and latched onto his wrist.
"What are you doing?" Sasuke demanded.
"Are you sure you want to go out there?" Saizō crooned.
"Obviously. This is our mission. Come on, let's go."
Saizō didn't budge.
"Kirigakure?"
At length, Saizō blinked and found his voice. "...I'm sorry."
Sasuke frowned, about to question his friend's odd behavior when blinding pain erupted in his back. He sucked in a breath of air as his knees rattled and gave out from under him. The image of Saizō standing before him blurred and disintegrated, replaced with the faces of some of his other comrades.
Someone leaned close to his ear from behind and whispered, "Don't say I never did anything for you."
Sasuke's eyes widened at the sound of that voice. He couldn't see Saizō, but all of a sudden, he understood what had happened.
"Damn genjutsu," he said, holding in the urge to cough.
Saizō released a sharp breath in Sasuke's ear, warm and clammy. The knife in his back twisted, and Sasuke saw stars. He bit down on his cheek to stifle a cry of pain.
"Anayama," Saizō said. "Make sure the Miyoshi brothers don't follow us out."
Sasuke could make out a shadow bowing quickly before disappearing around the corner, most likely to assassinate Seikai and Isa.
"No!" he said. "You traitors."
Saizō laughed. "Traitors? Sarutobi, you're the one who told me there's no treachery in this world, only self-interest. Or did you abandon your family for another reason?"
Sasuke felt his blood freeze at those words. He'd confided in Saizō his doubts about leaving the Sarutobi clan to pursue his own path. He'd left a widowed mother and infant sister behind, never once looking back. Escaping the oppressive influence of the greater clan meant severing all ties, even those he would have rather kept. But at the time, he'd told himself it was worth it; the clan would look after them in his absence despite their low birth. He sent them money from his mercenary work with the Ten Heroes, but was that really enough? He'd asked Saizō that question more times than he could count.
"Bastard," he breathed, trying to ignore the personal attack. "As you stab me in the back."
"Semantics," Saizō said, releasing the dagger and taking a step back. "Kakei, retrieve the others. Lord Sanada is waiting."
Juzo Kakei, another member of the Ten Heroes, left to do Saizō's bidding with a curt nod. Sasuke choked, unable to suck in enough breath to calm his racing heart. He could feel warm blood staining the back of his gi, dribbling down his back. Saizō would not get away with this.
"Why?" he demanded.
"Sanada knew this battle was a lost cause once the Senju were hired." He chuckled. "I told him to enlist the Uchiha, but he wanted to preserve as much of the castle as possible, not raze it to the ground. Well, not that it matters now."
Uchiha? Senju?
Those two had a blood feud extending to the beginning of time, to believe the old storytellers. Where they were involved, death and destruction were sure to befall everyone within range. Sasuke didn't blame Sanada for declining the suggestion.
"Sanada will have you killed for this betrayal," Sasuke said.
"Unlikely, seeing as he's the one who wanted you gone in the first place."
Sasuke nearly collapsed. "He... He ordered you to kill me?"
"My my, look at you, figuring things out all on your own for once."
Sasuke could not believe what he was hearing. "I thought you and I were—"
"Friends? Comrades?" Saizō laughed. "You ignorant fool! All this time you only saw what you wanted to see, and that tunnel vision was easy to deceive for someone like me."
Sasuke wanted to hurt him. Badly. But he also wanted to shake Saizō until his trusted friend returned. Where was the man he knew? The man he'd bled and broken bread with? Sorrow and guilt and unrepentant fury bubbled up within him, a tangle of emotions his battered body could not manifest.
Saizō mistook his turbulent emotions for exhaustion. "Hm? Lost all your fight, Sarutobi?"
Growling, Sasuke blocked out the pain in his back and launched himself at his partner-turned-enemy, twisting through the air with lethal grace. He punched Saizō's face, but the man was ready for this with another illusory technique—always one step ahead. Sasuke's fist passed through Saizō's face as though it were made of smoke. Another blinding pain bloomed in his side as he stumbled. Saizō had gutted him with another dagger. Sasuke fell to his knees once more, dry heaving.
"Pathetic. You'll never beat me unless you can view me as a threat," Saizō said, stabbing Sasuke again in the shoulder this time.
Sasuke grunted under the assault, collapsing to the floor in a heap of blood and metal. "Kirigakure..."
"I'll be going now. Let's see if the great Flying Monkey can dance his way out of this one, shall we?"
Saizō smirked at his fallen opponent and walked down the hallway, his footsteps fading with every passing second.
I'll kill him. I swear I will.
Sasuke tried to push himself up to give chase, but only succeeded in merging with the wall in a half slump. He further irritated his wounds, drawing more blood and sending fresh waves of pain through his body. Removing the blades would only expedite death by exsanguination. He didn't even have the energy to summon Mashira at this rate. Sighing, he let his head lean against the stone wall behind him, trying to will away the pain.
I can't die here like this, he thought. Not like this.
Unfortunately, the only people he trusted to help him were no longer on his side.
Hashirama and Tobirama raced through the halls of Osaka Castle at full tilt. They'd encountered a number of castle guards on a mission to stab them to death with spears, but Hashirama barreled through them with his Mokuton. For a technique that embodied the very essence of life, it was extremely effective at dealing death.
They rounded a corner and encountered a pair of enemies, but these two were different. They bore Yukimura Sanada's sigil carved into their armor: two rows of three white coins with square hollows in their centers.
The Ten Heroes.
Tobirama was quick to draw his short sword, skidding to a halt and falling into an attack stance. The enemy shinobi recognized fellow ninja in the Senju brothers and put their guard up. Even children could be deadly in a world where death didn't discriminate.
"Where is your leader?" Hashirama said.
Tobirama stole a glance at his brother out of the corner of his eye. He had that dead look their father used to get in battle, a sign that he'd removed himself from the situation until all that was left was the execution of the right moves to win the battle.
"Step aside, kids, and I promise your deaths will be quick," said the more heavyset of the two Heroes.
Sanada's Ten Heroes were infamous all over the continent for their skill and teamwork. No one really knew the truth about why they had formed. It was rumored that Sanada forced great shinobi clans to hand over their very best on pain of extermination. Others claimed that the members were formerly wanted men guilty of murder or rape, among other heinous crimes. Whatever the case, the stories all agreed on one fact: Sanada's Ten Heroes were elites who'd never lost a battle.
Until today.
Hashirama scowled, perhaps debating what course of action to take. Tobirama took the opportunity to lunge at one of the enemy ninja, striking fast and true with this short sword. The ninja he hadn't aimed for noticed the attack coming from a mile away and retaliated with a well-aimed kick, catching Tobirama in the ribs and sending him careening into the far wall.
Hashirama struck with a thick wooden spire. One of the enemies managed to leap out of the way just in time, but the other took the attack through his chest. Hashirama didn't let up. He pushed the root onward until the enemy was impaled against the wall opposite Tobirama.
"Shit, Mochizuki!" the remaining Hero said.
At this point, Tobirama had recovered from his previous beating and focused on the remaining enemy. To his horror, the man had just finished a round of hand seals ending with the Tiger symbol. It could mean only one thing, and Hashirama was in trouble for it.
Fumbling to make haste, Tobirama summoned his chakra and tried to complete the staggering forty-four hand seals required for the Suiryūdan technique. He'd been practicing the pace for years since he first discovered his remarkable nature affinity, but forty-four hand seals were no easy feat.
He didn't make it in time.
"Hashi!" he yelled, little more than halfway through the required seals.
Orange fire licked at Hashirama's summoned tree roots, smoking and snapping as it crept ever closer to Hashirama himself. Just when Tobirama thought he might lose another family member, Hashirama detached himself from his roots and rolled out of the way. He didn't escape unscathed.
"Tobi, now!"
Seeing a chance, Tobirama threw himself at their opponent just as he was winding down his fire technique. The man didn't know what hit him when Tobirama drove his short sword through the juncture between his neck and shoulder.
Wide, green eyes stared in shock at his pint-sized attacker as Tobirama sank his blade in to the hilt and tore. The enemy shinobi collapsed with a sputter and Tobirama fell with him, a pool of warm blood forming beneath them and soaking their armor.
A few tense seconds passed as the brothers collected themselves. Out of sheer luck aided by the element of surprise, they'd managed to take down two of Sanada's Ten Heroes and live to tell the tale. For now.
"Tobi, you okay?"
Tobirama blinked, trying to ignore the sticky feeling of the enemy's blood seeping through his armor and staining his hands where he gripped his short sword. Clenching his jaw and closing his eyes, Tobirama pulled free the short blade in one smooth tug. The squelching sound of shattered bone and muscle slipping past cold steel made him wince, and he was thankful that Hashirama couldn't see his face while his back was turned. Chunks of the fallen Hero slopped onto the floor, and Tobirama averted his gaze. Once the blade was free, he forced himself to his unsteady feet.
"Yeah, fine." When he caught sight of his brother, however, fear flooded his features. "Your arm—"
"—is fine," Hashirama cut him off, examining the appendage. "Nothing I can't bear with now and heal later."
Tobirama wasn't fooled. Smoke rose from the damaged arm, and boiling blood dripped onto the stone floor from Hashirama's fingertips. His arm guard was warped beyond recognition, and Tobirama suspected that the fire had roasted his brother's skin beneath it. It had to hurt like hell.
"You have to heal it," he said. "You can't fight like that."
Hashirama looked like he wanted to protest, but the sheen of sweat covering his forehead betrayed his suffering. After a moment's hesitation, he lifted a hand to soothe the injury. Green light illuminated the now silent corridor as Hashirama tried to mend his battered arm.
"Let's get going," he said after a few moments. "We have to find their leader."
Tobirama took one last glance at his brother's arm. It still looked like it had been roasted on an open-fire grill, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. Resigned, he nodded and followed Hashirama down the now cleared hall. It didn't take them long to stumble upon another body.
"Another Hero," Tobirama said. "Looks like this one's already dead."
"No," Hashirama said, approaching the slumped man with caution. "He's breathing. Look at his chest."
Sure enough, Tobirama noticed the shallow rise and fall once he stopped to look carefully. Hashirama had always been more observant about the subtleties of life than he. "We should kill him, then."
Hashirama was about to respond to this when the unidentified Hero groaned. Feverish, dark eyes half mad with pain and encroaching death shifted about in search for a target. "Who's there?" he slurred.
Hashirama crouched down before the older man, studying his injuries. Tobirama didn't know much about medical ninjutsu—he didn't have his brother's natural talent for or interest in the art—but even he could tell a soon-to-be hopeless situation when he saw it. The ninja boasted three glaring knife wounds, one of which was bleeding steadily from his left side.
"You're one of Sanada's Ten Heroes," Hashirama said. "Tell me where your leader is."
The unnamed shinobi blinked one eye after the other, as though trying with all his might to focus on Hashirama kneeling before him. Tobirama watched from over his brother's shoulder. At length the man offered what could have been construed as a smirk.
"Lookin' at him."
Tobirama gaped at the fallen shinobi.
"You're the legendary Sasuke Sarutobi?" Hashirama said, just as shocked as his brother.
Sasuke coughed, perhaps an attempt to laugh at them. "Not whatcha s'pected, eh?" His words blended together, as though his tongue had swollen too fat for his mouth.
"Understatement of the century," Tobirama grumbled, his hand clenching around his bloody sword.
"Who did this to you?" Hashirama asked.
Sasuke struggled to breathe and didn't bother answering for the longest time. Tobirama thought he might die before he got the chance at this rate. But it was a disturbing turn of events. He was certain that no one else had penetrated the castle before his brother and him, yet someone had attacked Sasuke regardless.
"My... My partner," Sasuke said. "Stabbed me in the back. Literally."
If what Sasuke said was true—if he even was Sasuke Sarutobi—then that meant that Sanada's Ten Heroes, long fabled to be as mysterious as they were invincible, were finished. All in the course of a bloody afternoon. There was something so wrong, so cheap about the whole thing.
"Hashi," Tobirama said, shooting his brother a significant look.
Hashirama nodded. "I know." To Sasuke he said, "Listen, you'll die without medical treatment. I may be able to save you, but I want something from you in return."
Sasuke looked like he hadn't heard right, and Tobirama didn't blame him. "What?That's not really what I meant—"
"I want you to fight for me," Hashirama went on. "I want your loyalty. In return, I'll save your life. What do you say?"
For a tense moment, the only sound that could be heard was Sasuke's rattling breath and the din of steel from the courtyard below. Tobirama could not believe his ears. His brother never made such rash decisions like this on his own!
"Hashi, I don't—"
Hashirama shot his brother a glare that brooked no argument. Tobirama cut himself off, speechless by the fierce look in his brother's eyes. It was the same look their father got when he'd made up his mind about something. For some inexplicable reason, Tobirama felt ashamed thinking it.
"What do you say?" Hashirama asked Sasuke.
Sasuke blinked, only half seeing the two young boys offering him an ultimatum—more like blackmail—and thinking back on his encounter with Saizō. The friend he'd trusted. His brother in arms. His greatest betrayer.
"Deal," Sasuke said. "But I want revenge for...for this."
Hashirama nodded. "Fine."
Tobirama could not believe this was actually happening. Their mission was to kill this man, and yet here Hashirama was making an ally out of him! The green glow of Hashirama's medical chakra illuminated the corridor, lending it an air of the supernatural as he worked to remove the knives and staunch the ensuing blood flow.
"Who are you?" Sasuke said after a moment.
Hashirama looked up from his work, and the two men locked gazes.
"I'm Hashirama, leader of the Senju clan."