A/N: For the longest time, I didn't want to show this chapter because it sounded and felt so much different than the rest of the story. And then I realized it was because I had waited too long to continue writing the story and when I sat down and began, I'd changed as a writer. There was no helping that. So I apologize in advance that the style and feel of the story is much different than what you were expecting.


XXVIII: Self-inflicted Hell


He'd told Ino he never wanted to see her again.

He'd given Akamaru to her for protection.

You made the right choice, the single rational choice to prevent her from getting hurt, he told himself. But why's it feel like I'm dying?

He could not understand the sudden dive his senses took. Everything seemed watery, hazy. The world around him was a blur of colors and dull noise, and he definitely felt a detachment from solid ground. The mess in his chest was punctuated with a sharp, enormous pinch.

Thickness coagulated in his lungs. He couldn't quite get as deep a breath as he normally could. Nothing had a scent. Shadows of figures flitted around him between buildings and in the street, like fish weaving in and out of seaweed, and he peered around in an attempt to discover his position.

He was tired. He wanted to sleep- -to curl up under covers in his dark room and stay there, undisturbed in the quiet. A nasty throb brought his attention to his forearm. The sleeve of his grey hoodie was torn and mangled, the remaining cloth soaked with a vivid red blush that originated at the torn flesh on his arm. Deep, deep teeth marks had ripped through skin and muscle to bone. Blood seeped, became rivulets, and dripped down his wrist and fingertips. He really didn't care.

I don't care, he repeated, tasting it on his tongue. I don't care. Not caring pushed back the hanging black tide that had risen inside him. Don't think about it. Don't care. Along the path his feet took he wandered, seeing but not seeing, thinking but not thinking, Kiba but not Kiba. He grew tired of standing and dizzy, so he stopped in some shade and flopped into the grass. He'd meant to rest, gather more energy to complete his journey, wherever it led him, but his vision narrowed and went completely dark.

Aggressive stinging stirred him. He did not remember where he was, but he remembered a half-dream of blonde hair and blue eyes and soft skin. More tart stinging prodded him into waking. He at first did not recognize the young female who knelt next to him with pale lavender eyes and shining black hair. There was a male standing to the side, taller, with hands deep in his overcoat, high collar hiding his face, eyes protected with darkened goggles. When the female set aside the disinfectant and wrapped his arm with white gauze, her name came to him. Oh. Hinata. Shino.

"He's awake, Hinata," Shino said, "but he looks pale. Should I send for help?"

"I don't think it's necessary," she replied. She gazed at Kiba as she reached out to touch the side of his face, expression compassionate and anxious. "Kiba, where's Akamaru? Has he gone for help?"

He didn't want to lie to her, so he said, "No."

"Where is he?"

The question was kind, yes, but it was a needle plunging into his chest and the pain was too much to bear. Being wounded angered him; the anger swept away the pain and he peeled back his lips to show his teeth and growl at her. She withdrew her hand, sitting back on her heels, eyes wide and mouth open in a little 'o'. Two searing streaks of heat raced up his face. Red tinged the edges of his world.

"W-what's happening to him?" she asked. She scrambled backwards. "I-I've never seen him b-behave this way before."

Shino crouched. "I do not know. Ready yourself, Hinata. I fear he intends to attack us."

Kiba rolled to his stomach, putting his weight to his toes and balancing out on one hand. Anger had given him control over the pain. He liked the control. His senses clarified- -the fog had dissipated. He could smell Hinata's pungent anxiety, how that anxiety bordered on fear, the choppiness of it; Shino's scent remained even, calm, but he, too, was worried.

Rattling vibrated the air as Shino's destruction bugs swarmed into a dark cloud that blotted out the sun. Under that rattling, a thousand leaves rustled from a slight breeze- -high above them a bird's wings beat the air- -the lady in the house to the side snored, while the family next door conversed in quiet tones about their eldest daughter's pregnancy.

The information accumulated, expanded his knowledge, combined to form a plan. But did he want to fight? Yes, a hundred times yes, he itched to fight, craved a release for the anger, but his arm would not hold weight, and would be a detriment to his mobility. Finding space and solitude to allow time to heal was the prudent choice.

With a warning snarl, he jumped onto the roof of the neighboring house and dashed at a full-tilt sprint away from Shino and Hinata. A miniscule chemical scent flagged his senses, and with contempt, Kiba plucked the female destruction bug from his hoodie pocket to crush her between two fingers. Bug juice and guts squirted, but the scent no longer left a trail. He hadn't even slowed.

Instinct drove him to find solitude- -dark, quiet, and cool. The caves behind the faces of the Hokages, mentioned a voice, and adhering to that advice, Kiba turned toward the landmark and traveled speedily over rooftops. Knowing that others may attempt to find him, he crisscrossed a few fake trails before taking a round-about path into the cliff's caves.

Light was unnecessary for him as the sun's lowering gaze shed enough for him to see. He wound through the caves deep enough that everywhere was pitch black. His ears and nose guided him, and he slunk into a small cave that had a lower ceiling and closer walls than the others. Exhausted, he curled into himself and before falling headlong into hibernation, he palmed the miniature keepsake box and held it to his heart.

Movement- -rustling cloth and faint footsteps- -stirred him. He buoyed up from the oblivion he'd sunk to. Ringing sang in his ears before he tuned them and distinguished a familiar voice, calling out his name. No. No. All he wanted was to be left alone. Why couldn't they understand that? And what would they do to him if they caught him? Put him in a cage like he deserved. No. It was better he stayed out of their hands. Free.

He stretched his limbs, the rapid pops of his stiff joints and bones working out kinks, and tested his wounded limb. It stung and burned and would be useless in a fight. Dammit. He crept forward to the opening of his den. Six humans approached- -three females (Hinata, Mom, and Hana) and three males (Shino, Inoichi, and Shikmaru)- -plus the scents of four dogs- -Kuromaru and the Triplets.

Somehow his brain had mapped out the twists and turns he'd taken in the previous hours. He used his ears, his hand along the rough-hewn walls, and his nose to lead him. He was going at everything without planning, his reliance on his instinct no longer tenuous but necessary. Their primary tool at this point was a scent trail, so he had to mess up everyone's sense of smell. At key intersections, he planted exploding tags and a smoke bomb, and ensured the exploding tags were set for a couple minutes apart for a series of explosions.

Though he made sure that the areas were open enough to accommodate an explosion, he understood the riskiness of his move. Rock could collapse on top of someone. But more than that risk, he wanted them away, and hopefully, this would signal them that he was not to be trifled with.

Kiba took a position in a cavern that would suffice for gathering momentum for Piercing Fang. His Piercing Fang technique would create a new exit. The explosions would mask any rumbling caused by his technique. Then the chaos would allow him to double-back without being seen. This cavern also let out into an area of the caves where his searchers had already been. It was less likely they would research an area already previously searched.

He waited. Waiting gave him time to think about what the fuck he was doing. Was he out of his damn mind? Weren't they trying to help him? He should stop this before it went too far and someone got hurt or worse, killed.

It's already gone too far. You can't go back. You must be free. The voice that spoke inside him knew. He could never go back. Not ever.

Minutes passed, and he heard the voices and movement near, and then boom! The caverns shook, dust flaked down, and he charged forward, whipping his body into Piercing Fang. After that, the thunderous cracking as he drilled through solid rock, smelt the deep, moist earth, and after what seemed an eternity of spinning, he broke clear into open air and sunlight that half-blinded him.

In midair, he ceased his rotation, landed with all fours dragging along the ground- -claws out to slow his momentum- -and scrambled back to his hole. The hole was the breadth of his outstretched arms with smooth walls and at a sharp enough decline that he could slide down it feet-first. That was what he did, using chakra to brake when the slide emptied him out in the cavern.

Smoke curled in the air and carried an acrid scent, but didn't bother him too much as he suppressed his chakra. Barking and shouting and running echoed around, but in a state of cool-headedness, he exited the cavern to retrace last night's trail. He found another suitable side-cave. Then he waited, patiently, endlessly, for time to slip by him but nothing else.

Confusion died away to utter silence. Either they had given up for the time being, or were regrouping at the caves' entrances, readying for another go. Hunger and curiosity gnawed at him. Tempting fate, Kiba crept along the pathway to a larger, main entrance, one used by tour guides and for evacuating civilians out of the heart of the village. He came within eyesight of the cave's mouth, and wiggling into a shadowed crevasse, monitored the outside world.

Night hit him full in the face. Fireflies blinked on-off; a gentle breeze wafted the smell of dew. Chirrups of crickets sprinkled the otherwise quiet air. His hearing detected nothing human, so he eased out of the cave mouth into the blanket of nighttime. Stars twinkled bright in the velvet blue overhead. The darkened landscape seemed devoid of other presences.

His sinuses had clogged from the smoke floating in the caves, and he couldn't help a series of cleansing sneezes. Cautiously, he slipped into the night-shadowed cover of trees and shrubs to hunt up some food. Human scent-tracks muddied up the entire area, but he did not detect any hotspots of scent…except one that he knew so, so well.

Mom.

A fresh burst of agony and nerves had him hugging the ground to catch his breath. So vividly he envisioned her red tribal marks, her wild hair, smelt the tinge of cigarettes on her. She was his home; his heart did not have the strength yet. He couldn't…he couldn't face her. Slinking back into his cave, he curled back up and clenched his teeth when the hunger pangs added to his misery.

This is good, whispered a powerful voice. You don't need happiness or home with what you are anyway. Be free of it. Escape their cage. You can be free outside these walls and human limitations. Be the wolf's fang.

Yes. Yes, he thought. I don't want to feel anymore. Promise me no more guilt, no more pain.

I promise you. Let me take you.

Kiba faded back, into numbness, relaxed his hold. He'd fallen asleep, but woke when his internal warning system blared. Smoke, thick and curling over him. His limbs felt…different. There was fur and…

You are the wolf now. Escape the cage.

He obeyed. He scrabbled along low to the ground to avoid inhaling the toxic smoke. He should've realized they'd try to use smoke against him like he did them, thereby forcing him from the caverns. The ancient presence guided him, whispered to him.

Fight. Fight them. Keep your freedom. Escape their cage.

Smoke had thickened in the rock-hewn corridors, the urgency of the situation pushing him. He came to the cavern with his escape hole and used chakra to stick his footpaws on the smooth walls. Running upwards to free air and into too-bright light strengthened him.

When he popped into open air, instinct crackled inside his brain. Responding without thought, he strafed as shadowed tendrils snapped out to capture his shadow cast on the ground. His eyes and ears aided his proficient dodging, and he evaded Kage Mange enough until he could break away and put distance between himself and the shadows.

His wolf's eyes picked out the man named Shikaku. Shikaku scowled, shrouded in the trees, eyebrows crunched together.

Then the wolf breathed deeply to taste the fight in the air, the numbers against him, reveling in the challenge, the freedom. Cold bloodlust had taken hold, clenched him between claws and teeth. He wasn't Kiba, he wasn't salvageable, he was the wolf.

The wolf sprinted. His hearing, smell, and taste formed the world into a perfect dimension, where scent and sound could be pinpointed with lethal accuracy. A few of his kin burst from the foliage to box him in. He wove through their attacks, punches and kicks whiffing around him. His strength had been bred into him for centuries and he didn't slow or stop. Pitiful shiruken and kunai and needles bounced off his pelt. He felt the humans mold their chakra and before they could release it, he attacked and disrupted them. They scattered, fell, bowled over from his destructive offensive.

Escape the cage. They will outflank you, wear you down. Escape it now!

Abruptly he turned tail and retreated from the humans. Soon, he outpaced even his cousins. They were nameless obstacles and no match. The wolf wanted freedom, even from familial ties, and propelled him outside the walls of Konoha into sacred forest land. Deer lived here- -his hunger was loud and salvia dribbled from his mouth at the smell of fresh meat.

But from a distance, he smelt his mother and her companion. No one else. He knew it was a ritual challenge. If he won against her, he would be free. He would have to cast her away, be as hard and sharp as fangs and claws. It was matter of fact for the wolf, who was not weakened by trivial human emotion. So he settled in and waited.

She arrived with Kuromaru. He met her, standing across a clearing from her, hunched and crouched with threat and warning. The wolf's shoulders were taller than her puny height by several feet.

"Son," she said. She was not intimidated. "This isn't you."

"Your son doesn't exist. There is only me, the wolf's fang." He lowered his head, bared his teeth. "Beware the depth of my bite, the fierceness of my claws. I will end you."

Her scent was sad, but her shoulders, her stance, were determined. "My son is the wolf's fang. He is named Kiba and he is made by me. Let him go. You have no right to him."

"A weak human name for a weak human. He gave himself to me. I accepted." His muscles were tense. "It is you who have no right to him."

Anger exploded outwards. The human's body shook and a welling of chakra enveloped her, shimmering and snapping in the air. Her red clan marks ran into stripes over her eyes, over her jaw, her eyes glowed white. She grew, expanded, with fur and teeth and claws until she was in her wolf's form and staring him down as big and as dangerous as he was.

"Then let us be wolves," she said, with a dangerous growl, "and fight for him."


A/N: Wow. Like three or four years in the making. I know, I know. What the hell? I can't explain. Guess I got involved in other stories, but it is time to finish this baby. Sorry, sorry, sorry. =)