Disclaimer: The rights to this film have been purchased by Warner Bros. and no longer belong to me. Wait, that's not right…

Here's the next installment of The Legend of Uzumaki Naruto!

Neera didn't like troll's blood potion, and she knew she'd suffer humiliation among her sisters for using it, but she didn't have any choice. Her wounds were too great. The poison was already eating away at her, like maggots at rotten flesh.

One week ago Golbarn had escaped, flying a borrowed wyvern across the ocean to the Eastern Kingdoms, and hopefully, to Naruto and Kira and help. One week ago they fought with the clay-modeling man and his twisted partner. One week ago they had learned the truth of Thrall's disappearance, since they had concocted the plan to escape.

Things had changed since, things that she wanted to tell Golbarn about—she hoped he was okay. Hopefully he made it across the sea. She didn't know if that was possible on a wyvern, it'd be too far, but maybe Golbarn could've done it. He seemed reliable enough, and even if he was an orc, he was honorable not to just abandon her here, to die in a gutter alone and away from her sisters and her people, thanks to a stinking monster who thought of himself as human, or perhaps was too human for her to even think of someone like that.

The alleyway was dark and was pungent with the stench of old compost not picked up in weeks from the inn behind her and excrement from the privy beside it. But there was no one else in the alley, which was more than she could say for most. Orgrimmar had become a city of beggars, without its Warchief to it. Businesses failed as merchants from all over were turned away at the gates, supplies had long ago been eaten away, the people were growing angry, mistrustful, and had begun to fight each other over food and shelter, and nobody was doing a thing to help it. Thrall would not appear, locked away in his hold.

Thrall would not save them, especially if it was from themselves.

She coughed and clutched at the burning wound in her stomach, and began to shiver as well, despite the dusty heat of the city. The poison was working too fast, and she could do nothing but keep it from killing her by using troll's blood, but even that wouldn't last too much longer. She was growing immune to its effects and her body couldn't take so much cell regeneration at once, and the poison was beginning to travel to parts that the potion would not affect; her brain, her spinal cord, her nervous system. Whatever poison it was, she doubted it was a common one. She could identify most of those. She'd gotten the poisoner, but there had been no relief in its defeat—who would relish a victory over a wooden doll?

She wouldn't, she knew. They had expected a fight, but when it had come neither had been prepared. That crazy bombing, clay-modeler jumped them just as Golbarn was about to leave. Him and his soft-speaking, masked partner all in black, chattering like a little boy. Despite that, he'd been strong and she hadn't been able to even touch him, as if he'd be made of air. Combine that with the sudden attack from a puppet who could control masses of iron sand that was seeped in poison, and they'd been overwhelmed. Golbarn had fled, at her word, but she'd stayed and fought until she'd defeated the puppet—just barely—by cutting it apart with her glaive, but she hadn't done much good against the bomber or his childish partner, so she had fled. They'd pursued her, probably, but they hadn't found her. She had her best friends the shadows to thank for that, who always hid her in a pinch.

Now, six days later, she was near dead, but still uncaught. It wouldn't last, though. Her only hope was that Golbarn had made it, and that he'd be bringing Naruto and an army to kill that monster who had taken up residence in the Warchief's hold.

She had been inside the keep for only a few moments before she'd been discovered, but it was enough. Only a glimpse of the attacker had been needed. Black cloak, red clouds, red hair and a boyish look. Thrall hadn't been there, on the throne in his proper place; only him.

They'd fled after that, organizing Golbarn's far-fetched trip across the ocean. Golbarn had no doubt that only a description of the enemy would tell them loads. Neera had heard as much from Lady Tyrande. But why they were here, and for what reason, still eluded them.

But, as she had already realized, it didn't really matter why.

Groaning, she sat up. Pain made her body disobey like a petulant child, and weak as an old woman. Sometimes she would pass out and then be awoken by a skull-splitting headache, and then she would shiver uncontrollably. Sometimes she tasted blood on her lips. Others, a coldness in her limbs and a feeling of lethargy that she knew if she gave in to, she would never get up again.

What surprised her was how she had not been found yet. She moved at night, slowly, no doubt looking like any other drunken waif wandering the streets of the Cleft. The cloak kept her covered. Unrest and starvation distracted others from taking a closer look.

She wondered what Orgrimmar had been like before this. Perhaps it had been a prospering city, but sometimes she found it hard to imagine what a city of orcs might be like when it was not disrupted by strike and a kidnapped leader. Once she wouldn't have cared less. She'd had an image of Orgrimmar as a giant bar-brawl, a constant battle over every little aspect of life; much of that had been proved when she'd first arrived, but when you were near-death from poison and unable to move more than a few feet at a time, you thought in different ways.

She couldn't deny the beauty of the city. It had no splendor to its streets, but it felt homely and even welcoming, when she really thought about it. And people talked. They wandered the streets and spoke and laughed with perfect strangers, and there didn't seem to be any barriers between the people. No reservation, no need for privacy.

Not like Darnassus. Elves were a private people, even among each other. Stormwind, she had heard, was even worse. Humans distrusted each other as much as they distrusted other races.

But it wasn't like that here. Even in the midst of famine and economic downfall, its people were banding together. Now that their Warchief had failed them, they had to change—and they were. She heard some of them, occasionally, in the streets—screaming for reform, telling all of them to pick up arms and march to Grommash Hold. If he will not listen, they shouted, then he has no right to rule us.

If he will not listen, she thought, then it's over.

Others marched through the streets as well, singing of past times: of the times before their arrival in this place, where they had known only prejudice and strife. We must return, they called, to the old world. Draenor—The Homeworld—awaits, they called.

There were tales that far to the south, there was a portal. A tear in the world, different from the Dark Portal they had arrived through. They would find it, and lead those who chose to follow to a world of everlasting peace.

To that, Neera had no answer. She had heard of the place where the orcs had their origins. They had come through in the Eastern Kingdoms, through a place long since ruined (supposedly) by Illidan Stormrage and his vile companions. There was no other way, though.

But people believed. They heard, and heeded the words. Some left the city, families with all their belongings, marching to the world of light and peace called Draenor, to a world where they would not know prejudice or hate, the place where they were meant to be. The Homeworld, they called it. They called it exodus, they called it salvation.

You will suffer, she heard them shout, but in the end, you will find yourself stronger for it. There will be no war there, they said, no Lich King, no humans and their vast greed and hatred, only orcs and only peace. There would be a life they were meant to lead—a life that they deserved. No more suffering, they chanted. No more.

Just follow, and we will lead.

Worse, others were blaming Thrall, not for his current situation, but for his past actions. He was a fool to bring us here. We have never known peace in this world, not once—we must flee and never return from this world of humans and their so-called righteous hate. There is no place for us in this world, we must return to our birthplace, our rightful place.

Every day, more left.

But even as they left, the remainder grew more hostile. They would gather in the Valley of Wisdom and scream threats and demand answers at the empty shell of Grommash Hold. Nobody would come, the doors would never open. It was still, and silent, like a headstone overlooking the city. Thrall's last reign for all the world to see.

She wondered when they would finally break, and assault it. When their anger outweighed their fear; their hunger outweighed their reason. They were afraid to, she knew. Few of them had a desire to rule a city, and even fewer the knowhow; and Thrall was powerful—if he still lived, he might not give it over to them. He might fight, and kill, and they did not want to die. There fear was increased by the dead orcs they found at the foot of the hold one morning. Fools who had entered seeking answers and paid with their lives. Their heads were smashed by something blunt and heavy.

Perfect for Thrall's Doomhammer.

Whispers told each other the truth. Thrall was abandoning them, mad with power, playing with their futures in a deadly game. Some said he had lost his will to live, and now just sat within his little world, waiting to die. A thousand reasons Neera heard every day. He was experimenting with fel power. He had gone insane. He worshipped new gods, not the ones of the elements, but the ones long before them. The Old Gods, the whisperers in the dark.

They shamed him. They spouted hatred, they had known all along that he would lead them to darkness. The Homeseekers, as they called themselves, took these whispers, grasping them like lifelines and bellowing to the populous that it was all the more reason they should leave.

Neera wanted to tell them. But to reveal herself now was to die. She had heard more than enough to know that these people would not believe in the alliance anymore than they did Thrall.

But it was perfect. He had them all in his grasp, and there was nothing to do but wait.

There was a time when elves did not fear death. Their lives were so long that it became a mystery to them as much as age. She had grown up with that sentiment, even though she knew elves were no longer immortal.

There was always time, she thought.

But not longer. Neera was afraid. Afraid to die, because it was so very close, whispering in her ear like an unseen enemy, calling for her. But she didn't want to go.

Please, she thought, they have to come.

She passed out, huddling against the pile of rotting food, praying to see Golbarn's face again.

----------------

"So that's their goal, is it then?" Jiraiya muttered, scratching his smooth chin. He was once again lost in his thoughts, staring nowhere in particular.

"Another war?" Naruto said, heatedly. "Why?"

"Freedom of movement, I don't doubt," Jiraiya said. He turned to Golbarn. "You say red hair? How old?"

"Young," the orc grunted. "Too young."

"It's him," Sakura hissed. Her fists were clenched, her eyes furious. "It has to be."

"The one you dealt with?" Kira asked.

Sakura nodded. "Sasori. The one who killed Chiyo-baa, her own grandson. It has to be him."

"Which means that if it is him, we can't expect Thrall to be of much help to us any longer," Jiraiya said. "From what I heard in your report, Sakura, he makes puppets out of people."

Sakura nodded.

"But then," Kira whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Her heart raced, and for a few moments she could hardly breathe as the implications took root in her thoughts, strangling the life out of all her plans. "Then, he's dead?"

"Worse," Sakura growled.

The Great Hall was dimly lit that morning, as dawn slowly crept in through the windows and the cold morning mist. Everyone was there—even Asuma and Kurenai. They all crowded around the table once used by the Stormwind Council, so long ago, and then the leaders of the world, though only once and at that moment, it seemed never again. Most were still dressed in their fayre finery, though Tenten, Neji and Shino were intensely hung-over and could hardly sit straight.

"It appears, then," Benedictus said, "that we have a situation."

"Very much so," Jiraiya grunted. "You want us to help, is that it?"

Golbarn answered at once. "That is what this alliance does, is it not? Help us."

"It isn't as simple as that. You said that people are already starting to leave Orgrimmar."

"Yes," the orc looked sick at the thought. "Fools who were eager to seize on any little fault that Lord Thrall committed—they always were there, just waiting—and this is without a doubt the greatest fault he could've committed in their eyes. Abandoning his people? If they were not afraid of his power, they could have already beheaded him, and abandoned the city to follow those fools to this fictional holy land they call the Homeworld."

"As I understand it," Benedictus said, "it is not fictional."

"Draenor—Outland, to some, is no holy land," Golbarn said. "It is a barren wasteland, no doubt by now, where the remainders of our clan fight in constant battle to satiate their disgusting need for battle and bloodshed. It has been like that since the days of Ner'zhul and Gul'dan."

"Do you know that?" Jiraiya asked.

"No," Golbarn admitted.

"Nobody does," Benedictus said, "which is exactly why people believe it."

"The Dark Portal has been closed for decades, yes, but they would have us believe that there is another, to the South, somewhere in the wastes near Gadgetzan, perhaps even in Un'Goro." Golbarn cracked his neck, and settled his arms on the table, staring furiously at the hard wood. "A fool's journey, no doubt, there is no such thing. If such a portal existed demons would have infested our world already, for that is all that is left in that place—demons." A grim smile split his face. "Metaphorical or otherwise."

"Yet people are still going," Jiraiya said, brow arched.

"Because they believe they have no other choice. They were abandoned once, and no doubt that is still fresh on their memory. For others, it is the persecution that is at the forefront of their reasoning." He looked sideways, at Kira. "Persecution brought on by your kind girl, despite what they have done for us, and what we have done for them. Stormwind looks deserted these days."

Kira nodded, slowly, misery in her eyes. "The fights grow worse, daily. But the orcs and tauren and trolls are not standing for it. They're leaving as well." She thought a moment. "I have reports that they aren't going across the seas, though. Some are going to the south, and some others are making their homes along the way."

"They have heard of Orgrimmar's situation, no doubt," Benedictus said. "Doubtlessly propagated by the very same people who are the cause of it."

"Jiraiya-sama," Kira said, looking hard at the man. "Please, tell me, who leads this group? What is his reasoning behind this? What wrong have I done them and their ilk? They are human like us, yet—" She knew her words had the ring of a naïve girl to them; Jiraiya couldn't possibly answer this or anything else about the group.

But she was so angry…what kind of people would do this to their own kind? Why would they try to derail something that would bring the world so much good?

With all her empathy, Kira couldn't sometimes understand the ways of her people. They often seemed alien and frightening, like a dark tunnel that might yield a fresh monster with every step. Humans seemed to have some drive to them that was not like other creatures. They had no desire to harmonize with the world. That was not their natural instinct. They wanted to control, to dominate, to rule the world around them in every fashion.

Why?

But Jiraiya seemed to understand, and nodded. "I know nothing, but I can tell you this. Whoever leads them is somebody who seems to want more than anything to control. In that respect, he's like a conqueror. What he's doing now is simply removing the oppositions. No doubt, he considers the other big contenders in this world to be similar oppositions."

"Even the Lich King, then?" That thought brought her no comfort. Akatsuki had already demonstrated they were no "enemy of her enemy".

"Most likely. Why they deem your goal more important and pressing than disposing of an immortal monster like him, I couldn't say."

"That's easy, isn't it?" Naruto's voice was edged with the anger that he called forth whenever a friend was in trouble. He was tense, but seemed calmer than he ever had in this situation. "They think we're stronger. If Kira-chan's alliance works out, not even they will be able to stand against it. They're afraid."

"Maybe," said Jiraiya. "But there's another reason, and if we're dealing with the kind of person I think we're dealing with, fear has nothing to do with it. It's all about logic. Destroying Kira's dream is about as easy as ruining a puzzle—you just remove one piece and the it'll never be complete." He stood up, and began to pace, stroking his chin and scowling at the ground.

"What they're doing is akin to throwing a penny into a crowd of beggars. Except the penny is distrust, and we're all looking for a healthy amount of distrust—anything to make sure we don't have to work with those monsters…." He looked at Golbarn. "Your people are the same. We were all looking for a reason."

"Because hope is too much, and too disappointing when it is dashed upon the rocks," Benedictus said, with a sigh.

"There's been too much of that lately," grunted Jiraiya.

Golbarn stared at Jiraiya for some time, his grim black eyes coursing with silent rage, his face fighting to calm itself enough to speak. He was not angry with the man, just furious that it was not all so simple as he had hoped it might be.

He'll help. It had been the foremost thought in Golbarn's mind since he had left Orgrimmar. He'll definitely help. It will not be long.

But they were talking.

Golbarn never liked to rush in—he hated it, in fact. And he knew that this situation needed talk, and careful consideration; it could not be handled foolishly. But every day there was a chance that Lord Thrall would emerge and lead his remaining people to war against the world. Every day, there was a chance that his former supporters would storm the hold and rend him to pieces, and then kill themselves in an attempt to gain control.

Grom Hellscream had once saved them from the bloodrage that had consumed their fel brethren in Draenor. Maybe that wasn't right. Maybe it was still in all of them. He could feel something now, growing furiously within him, shouting at everything and raging to get its way. Maybe it'd always been there.

Act, act, act! No more talking!

He stood up, quickly, making a few of the shinobi jump and stare at him warily. He stomped away from his seat, and made a slow, deliberate circuit of the room, grinding his teeth as they jabbered away, and he didn't really see anything as he walked. There was a red haze about him, fighting for control.

Stop, he thought to himself. What is wrong with you?

He did, finally, but only because something blocked his path.

The boy.

He was tiny, compared to Golbarn. Short, well-built but still looking a bit too childish to be called a real man. Golden hair flyaway about his face. Blue eyes like nothing he'd ever seen.

"I don't care…" Naruto said, very slowly as he stared at Golbarn, in a manner that made him feel almost of equal height with the boy, perhaps even lower and smaller. "I don't care what those old bastards think. We're going to help."

"Brat, don't just decide—" Jiraiya began, but Naruto cut him off. His voice was boiling but commanding, not like anything he'd heard from the boy before. No petulance, no childishness to it. Jiraiya was silenced, but only out of slight awe and a sudden feeling of nostalgia.

It's them, he thought, wildly. Speaking at once, as they often had, but with a new voice.

"Just sit down," Naruto told the raging orc, a creature so large it could've pulped his head in one blow. "Or I'll kick your ass. You were always one to tell me that I act too rashly, so don't do anything stupid, stupid."

He whirled, and before Golbarn could say anything, Naruto walked from the room. He stopped just before he left, turning to the others.

"I'm going to call Matthias. You guys get ready, okay? We gotta get planning. We don't have Shikamaru with us, so we gotta all help put this together." He nodded once, for emphasis, without his usual smile.

Then he was gone. The chirps of birds soon overcame the dwindling echo of the door's slam, as if perfectly okay with the odd occurrence, and the rest of the sounds of a normal day followed, as if nothing were amiss. But the room was still and silent as it had never been before.

"W-what the hell was that?" Sakura whispered, though everyone heard it in the silence.

Jiraiya closed his mouth, and swallowed the drool that had collected. He laughed, and shook his head. "It was like the past," he said to himself. He went to the door as well. "Well, you heard him. Get ready. Looks like you guys are heading off whenever the zeppelin guy arrives."

-------------

Matthias arrived within the hour, complaining heavily as he entered the castle gates about never making any money because he never was able to complete his jobs any more, thanks to stupid blonde kids who didn't even play cards with him any more.

"I'll have time now," Naruto said, frowning. "We're heading on a pretty long trip."

"Oh?" The dark-haired smuggler grinned at the news. "Where?"

"To Orgrimmar."

The man whistled, looking dubious. "Not heard good things from there, these days, least of all for zeppelins. Heard a goblin zeppelin was taken down just outside the city—blown all over the place, nothing but bits and bobs left. Not looking to have the same done to me."

"I thought you were the best zeppelineer ever?" Naruto said, raising an eyebrow.

"Did I say that? Heat of the moment, I should think. But I'll take you. You owe me, though." He turned, and bowed to Kira, as if just noticing she was there. "Forgive me, milady, I never remember my manners."

"I'd be surprised if you did," Kira said, smiling, and giving the man a similar bow.

"What a wound," the smuggler said, grinning. He nodded to Sakura as well, who stood just behind Naruto. The girl smiled back, but seemed distracted. He glanced at the others, all standing behind Naruto, and the image seemed almost natural. He smiled and turned around, addressing Naruto again.

"Say goodbye to your princess, boy, and meet me up in my cabin for some cards. By the time we ship off, you can be sure I'll have won a hand."

"Bah," Naruto said, waving a hand dismissively. "You say that, but with your old man eyes, you'll probably mistake a jack for a jester."

"Kids these days, what wounds they give! Teach your servant some manners, milady!" Matthias' laugh went with him up the gangplank. Naruto blew a raspberry after him.

"Naruto," Kira said, when Matthias had gone and Naruto's temporary childishness had subsided. "Please be careful." They were stupidly obvious words, but she couldn't think of anything else. But he didn't notice, or even care, and just grinned in a more familiar way, puffing his chest out.

"I always am!" He thumbed his jacket, nodding to himself. "I have a new sword." He didn't even care to think that he had no idea how to use it. It was much bigger than his previous one, not suited at all to defense.

"That you barely know how to use," Sakura said, rolling her eyes, but her voice was playful, summery light. She didn't want this to be harder than it had to be. "Hope everything goes well here."

"I do as well." Kira sounded nervous. She didn't like to think that she'd have to spend more time with the Jashin priest's head to get more information on Akatsuki. Perhaps he'd be more lenient. "You be careful as well, Sakura."

The kunoichi nodded, something grim forming in her face. "Dunno if I can promise that, but I'll be back alive." If it was him though, she couldn't even count on that.

"I'll have to settle for that, I suppose," Kira said, giving the girl a brief hug before moving on to Naruto, which lasted a noticeable few seconds longer, long enough for her to whisper something and then break away. The boy stared at her, and then nodded.

They went up the gangplank, leaving Kira, Benedictus, Sai, Yamato and Jiraiya standing on the ground, watching them. The sun hit their eyes so their faces were scrunched and bright but all held a similar feeling as they watched the zeppelin begin to rise, bathing their faces in shadow and tangling their hair with wind, into the cold autumn sky and towards that crushing unknown that none of them wanted to face.

---------------

"Something's wrong."

It was the smell. It invaded her nostrils, much clearer to her than to any of them, even if they wouldn't reach the town for a few more minutes at a constant run. They stopped, perching on the tall branches of a thick conifer, waiting as she delicately sniffed the air and recoiled again, and her hound whimpered pathetically from a lower branch.

"What is it?" Izumo frowned at her, annoyed by her tone, as always. He didn't like Hana much—she was too brash and bossy for his tastes, even if she was rather attractive.

"Some smell," she muttered. "Hell, it stinks. It's like rot, only a hundred times more powerful." She sniffed the air, and the recoiled. "I can hardly bear it. It makes me wanna vomit." She looked down at Kuromaru. "You smell it too, boy?"

The wolf whimpered in response, and edged back in the direction they came, his lips peeled back in half snarl even if he made no sounds of it. He was usually so decisive, yet now he hovered half between going on and half between stumbling back to the kennels to suckle at his mother's tits again, like he'd done when she'd first started training him.

"You'll have to," Kotetsu said. "We're about there. We just need to get the info from this informant of Jiraiya-sama and head home. No point in staying much longer."

"Where's our friend?" Izumo asked, glancing around.

"Somewhere," Hana grunted. If there was ever such a thing as too nice, it was him. She despised nice guys. They were so fake. And the smell was making her faint as well, and she had no patience to deal with people she didn't like. "Let's press on. I wanna find out what's making this stink and get rid of it."

They went on, slower and slower as the neared the village, not only because they didn't want to draw more attention than was necessary, but because Hana was becoming nearer and nearer to being sick with each branch they reached; the smell invaded her mouth now, making her taste rot and dry her throat like the inside of a tomb and each step was like having it forced down her throat.

The village unveiled itself within the confines of the forest—tiny and insignificant, home to only woodsmen, a few merchants, an inn and a somewhat famous steakhouse for travelers going towards the Wave Country. It was built among the trees, not inside a clearing, so when they arrived it took them a few minutes to realize that there was no one around, and it was as silent as a skeletal forest long stripped of life.

"Wha—?" Izumo began, but both Kotetsu and Hana stopped him with withering glares.

'No talking' Hana signed to him, hardly even taking the time to look at him as she was so blinded by the smell. 'Make no sound.'

With a few more complicated hand gestures, Hana directed Izumo and Kotetsu to skirt the perimeter, and look for signs of life. She saw their other companion in due time, moving up with casual silence for something of his size behind her, a hulking mass of muscle and glittering skin that made her so damned on edge around him, even when he had that confident and reassuring smile—the kind that superheroes in manga had when they were saving the damsel in distress. She told him to stay put, before she pressed on into the center. The smell got stronger, but it was in no place particular. It hung in the air like fog, draping everything like the moisture after a light rain. In some places it was like a liquid itself, and it made her gag, weak, careless—and somehow, even a little afraid.

It maddened her. She suppressed it as best she could, but it was hard, she wasn't used to not smelling things. Kuromaru was stumbling after her, and it made her nervous to keep him along.

"You okay?" she whispered, on her stomach on the roof of a thatched house.

Kuromaru whimpered. She bit her lip, and stroked him kindly, but her stomach almost turned with each movement so she stopped eventually and took a few deep breaths.

Some sort of jutsu, she wondered? She did a kai just to be sure, but it yielded nothing. It did not smell of chakra at all. It was just dead.

A quick sweep brought out nothing. Everyone was gone, but the smell was everywhere.

'Maybe that's the reason?' Kotetsu signed, when they met up again. 'Did you find the informant?'

'He's not there either,' she signed back. The inn she'd have met him or her was empty, smelling only faintly less then the rest of the village, for which she had spent a grateful five minutes within, scantly recovering before wading back into the invisible cloud of rot. 'Where the hell is everyone?'

'Shall we make another sweep, see if we've missed anything?' Izumo was frowning at the village, and it made his smooth, boyish face look petulant and not at all serious. He'd had that problem forever.

Hana slowly nodded. 'Sure. I'll do the border sweep with Kuromaru this time, you take," she nodded in the direction of the giant behind them, still not quite sure how to pronounce his name, "him, and head through the center.'

"I do not like this." It was the first time their guest had spoken since they had arrived at the village, and his voice carried—annoyingly—on the wind, reverberating through the trees and as blatantly obvious as a light being shined at night.

"Find me somebody who does, and I'll believe anything," Hana whispered. "Move. And don't talk again, you'll give us away."

The being nodded briskly, though he hardly understood, and then followed Izumo and Kotetsu at a deadened, heavy run that was completely silent. Hana watched them go, and then slowly began to skirt the village, using the trees as cover and as transport. Kuromaru followed, but reluctantly. She watched and sniffed (barely) and kept running. It was when she was passing the northern portion of the village that she spotted something and had to stop.

It was gone when she stopped, and she thought her eyes had played her false. It had looked like, but why then would they…?

A trap? She suddenly looked all around, her eyes narrowing, her nostrils flared. What kind of trap was this? Had Jiraiya's informant been discovered? Had they sold out to the Sound or Akatsuki or any of the other bands of missing-nin that haunted the many countries bordering the Five?

It didn't matter. She looked at Kuromaru and nodded, and the wolf—looking grateful—howled.

The sound echoed throughout the village, and she saw Izumo and Kotetsu's answer, which was flung into the air a moment later, a bright flash that briefly cast the village in black and white; in those few seconds Hana saw them move, and when it was over she still couldn't quite believe what was happening, or that she was in more danger than she had ever realized.

Kuromaru yelped and backed off, all his training failing utterly as they approached in wailing ferocity, moving almost soundlessly but with the ferocity of wolves hungrier than himself. Hana backed away, drawing out a kunai and an attached explosive note and throwing it into the thick of them.

The explosion destroyed several of them, but the rest didn't seem to hear it. They charged on, straight at Hana and her loyal Kuromaru, and for the first time since she'd first met a snarling mad dog in an alleyway in Konoha, she felt afraid for herself.

No. Utterly terrified.

She broke and ran, Kuromaru fast at her heels, the things behind them, closing in, grasping and snarling and moaning, like humans only worse, bones and flesh and death given life. She leapt into the trees, and they tried to follow, skittering up the trunk like insects, their claws biting the flesh of the tree and tearing with each step. Destroying, ruining, violating.

Frantic, she leapt further into the forest. She heard a cry behind her—human and male—and glanced back, eyes widening when she saw Kotetsu struggling among them, his kunai flashing and cutting and spilling ichor that bled black and green across the ground, Izumo by his side with some sort of giant mace. She couldn't see the creature that had followed them, but heard it a moment later as the ground cracked open and dozens of the things fell into oblivion.

But there were too many. More came, more and more and more, so many that they couldn't have just been the villagers—for most were dressed like that, but some were just naked and some were even less than that. Kotetsu was making a run for it, Izumo behind him, but then something more than all the rest arrived—seeping from the forest like the shadows of night, and both Izumo and Kotetsu had to flail back at this new threat which Hana couldn't see, only feel, because she couldn't stay. A fear that she wouldn't ever be able to explain seized her, forced her, and she ran with her tail between her legs, tears streaming from her eyes. She ran and leapt and ran until she couldn't hear their moans any more or smell their awful, rotting stench.

Until Izumo and Kotetsu's screams were the only thing she heard, all the way back to Konoha.

----------------

High above the sprawling, dirty city that Deidara would have liked nothing more than to carve out of the face of the earth as it so richly deserved, it was so easy to see everything that he needed to. The world was like a canvas, and if he were a painter he would've delighted in chucking a bucket of red on the whole lot of it. It was maddening to see such stability, because from where he was, there was nothing so stable, so unchanging, as a city skyline.

He hated it.

Even though he knew chaos reigned within the tiny city below, even though he knew that if he went down and saw it all it'd be enough to satisfy most of his morbid fantasies for at least a few days, even though he knew the vast flux that Sasori had set in motion within the once stable and prosperous city was growing ever more violent with the minute and the hour, Deidara could not see it. He could not see the Art of the World that he so craved, that unchanging, ever-increasing chaos; that meaningless flight of emotion and fancy that took the world in periods and then dashed it all on the ground, that beauty that since he was very young he had been fascinated with.

Everything up here was still, the only sound the eternal wind rushing by his ears, the only voice his own and that of Sasori's new, and most annoying, partner: Tobi.

"Hey, Deidara-san," Tobi had said a few hours earlier, gazing down at the little city. "They're like ants, ne? We could just crush them like ants, I bet…" Sometimes, the most ridiculous fancies took Tobi, and he always felt compelled to voice them. He was like a child newly born, and Deidara hated children.

"Shut up," he'd always say, just like Sasori had always said to him. What gave him the right to do that, anyways? He'd been stronger, but more arrogant, vain, never careful like Kakuzu or Itachi, but that didn't give him the right to say shut up to him, did it? He hadn't been that annoying, either, right? At least he always was awake. Tobi just fell asleep all the time.

But then again, he couldn't sleep even if he wanted to. He didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He didn't enjoy that lusty, vibrant life that had so taken his kind since their birth as squalling babes.

What was he now?

Eternal.

Nothing.

He was like Sasori now, and he couldn't even do anything about it. He was like Hidan and Kakuzu—so desperately clinging to what life they could be said to have. He wasn't human, and if he wasn't human than what point was there in anything, really?

Life had been so much simpler when he had been human, so much more fleeting and rushed. It'd been life. How could there be life in life that didn't end? How could there? Where was the urgency, the fuel to drive? Where was it, it was nothing with out it!

He clenched his fist, slowly though because if he did it quickly Sasori might think something was up. He didn't want the puppet master knowing more than he needed to. Once he had respected Sasori for following his vision until it's perfectly logical conclusion. He still did, but it was like the respect one had for a dictator who did great and terrible things to his country, one who ruled efficiently and ruthlessly. It was not the respect of a fellow artist.

How could this be art?

He finally realized what Sasori had always been talking about. Art, art, art! Sasori had never acknowledged Deidara's art, but Deidara had grudgingly accepted his. But now that he was Sasori's art, he saw that it was nothing but eternity and the epitome of how stupid humanity had become. Eternity was boring, and he hadn't even lived it out yet.

"Ne, Deidara-sempai," Tobi said, his voice carrying despite the annoying and ever-flowing wind.

"What?" Deidara barked. He never liked to talk anymore, either. He had once liked to talk! To joke, to laugh! What point was there now? He had all the time in the world!

"Why do you think the world is how it is?"

Deidara raised an eyebrow. "I don't particularly care." Perhaps he should. He had the time to care now.

"Come on," the childish man said, giggling behind his strange, spiraled mask. "You gotta have somethin' to say about it?"

"I don't know," D'eidara said, truthfully. "I always thought it was a sculptor who did it."

"A sculptor? 'Caus''e you're one, sempai?"

Deidara didn't answer for a while, as if hoping he'd here some change in the wind, but there was none, so he said, "Not really. I began to think about it after I became a sculptor. It fit."

"What did?"

"The way the world was made, the way life went on. Only a sculptor could have such visions, such ideas of reality and the means to construct every fine detail, every little aspect of a world while at the same time keeping everything that it represents so palpable and obvious that at first people don't even notice what it is. It's so obvious that most people go their whole lives without seeing it, or realizing that it's there."

"That what's there?"

Deidara ignored the question, and continued. "Sasori's not a sculptor. He doesn't construct things, he just makes them move—a poor imitation. A sculptor can make things move even without making them actually move. He can make things appear towering, or tiny as a rat, using the same amount of stone or clay. A sculptor makes life and treasures it because he knows that life is so fleeting and pointless that in order to truly see it, you must capture it in a form that may last just a little bit longer, so that in the future there will be others who see that emotion and feel inspired to make their own emotions with it. The world is a piece of art, made by a sculptor, meant only to generate a series of fleeting emotions—beauty, love, joy, even sadness, pain, anger—and it will soon drift by as all sculptures do."

"But sculptures last," Tobi pointed out. "There're some really old ones in Konoha, you know—"

"Sculptures last, but their emotions do not. They change, they mean different things to different people, they are never concrete and never ever the same. Sasori wants eternity. I wanted to make a piece of art that lasts but a fleeting instant—the very instant that emotion is grounded in reality, even if that emotion is fear or anger or pain. I wanted to make something true and real, I wanted to be different from other sculptors—different from the sculptor who made this world because I realize that his intention in creating it was never to capture fleeting emotions—but to make them endure and last, even when that's not the case."

Tobi was very quiet as he watched Deidara, who fell cold and silent as he watched the endless see of red and tan below him. One time he might've gotten angry, he would've been furious at everything, but there was nothing but cold inside him now. He couldn't even laugh anymore.

"I don't get it," Tobi said, with a shrug.

Deidara grunted. He hadn't expected him to.

"Man, how long are we supposed to be up here? When did Sasori-sempai say we could come down?" Tobi said, lying back so that he faced the sky again, which seemed so close now. Deidara hated above even more than below. Only when it was twilight did he ever care to look up. Night and day bored him.

"Whenever he orders us too."

"You take his orders now?" Tobi asked, cocking his head slightly to the side. "I liked the old Deidara-sempai better. He was more cheerful."

"He was, wasn't he?" Deidara said. "I liked him better too."

Tobi stared at him a while, and then sat up, and turned his head slightly to stare off into the distance. His head cocked again. He seemed to be listening.

"I think someone's coming."

Deidara glanced in that direction. His optic camera zoomed in a little, until he could indeed see something, far in the distance, slowly makings its way towards them and the city.

He frowned. Perhaps this was it, then? Sasori was right, they would send people—even if was just that Kyuubi-kid and his little friends. Perhaps letting the orc go hadn't been such a bad idea.

He felt a stirring somewhere. Maybe—maybe something was…no, it was gone. He stared dispassionately into the sky.

"Perhaps this won't be boring," he said aloud.

"Hopefully," Tobi said, and it seemed to Deidara that he was smiling.

Odd. Despite Tobi's natural cheerfulness, Deidara could not picture what it'd be like if he could smile.

It was an unnerving thought.

Can't say much about why I'm so late with this chapter—third year of University is a bitch, and well, that's my excuse.

Things are getting heated up, though now…I think I might enjoy writing the next chapter more…

Hope you all forgive me for my lateness!

See you soon (hopefully)

General Grievous