Title : Singing lullabies

Summary : It's almost too easy to make an Uchiha fall into depravity, Mikoto noticed as she pushed many of her clanmates over the metaphorical edge. Mostly because no one is surprised when it happens. Uchiha Mikoto-is-Arba Centric, Magi x Naruto Crossover. Dark.

Disclaimer : Neither Naruto or Magi are mine.

Rated M : not really a sunshine-and-rainbow fic, just so you know

Format : multi-parts, but not really chapters, so collection of vignettes, I guess?

Note : I'm not beta'ed and Engligh isn't my first langage

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Singing lullabies (of despair)

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I. Decay and madness.

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'This world is rotten', she numbly thought as she watched her thirteen years old teammate get litteraly eviscerated by an Iwa shinobi.

Poor Masato never stood a chance. The dead-last of her promotion, put as usual with the first-rated shinobi, wonder-boy Namikaze Minato and herself, best kunoichi among a hopeless bunch of pre-teen superficial flowers. Masato, whose only skill as a shinobi was his weak presence, who would have trouble hurting a fly, should never had put a foot on a battlefield. No children should, though.

But Masato is an Hyuga, and Hyuga are shinobi of Konoha, not cooks or gardeners or accountants, as the soft-spoken child should have the possibility to become. And now his body lied in the bloody ground, and the corpse of his killer fell next to his as Minato burried his Kunai in the Iwa nin's neck with a cry of despair.

'This world is rotten', she suddently remembered as she watched her so-called genious teammate fell on his knees, red hands covered in blood clutching his dirty blond hair, his impossibly blue eyes blurry with sorrow.

Just like her King had been, many, many times before. But Solomon had always recovered, because he was like that, and so Minato would. Until he wouldn't.

Alma Toran. Solomon. And an ideal of peace. To hell with that. This world was made for despair, and dirt, and blood, and hate, just like the previous one had been. A God-less world. But she would see to that. She would bring her magnificent Father back, and drown in His glorious beauty again. And the world would been right again.

'This world is rotten', she grinned as she remembered stabbing Sheba to the gut, leaving her closest friend and her unborn child to die in the dirt, with the agonizing knowledge that she had failed to protect her child and her King and everything he stood for from her best friend. So. Tragic.

'Watch me, Father. This is for you. I'll burn this world and its cursed destiny to the ground. And then I'll dance on the ashes and you will be freed once again.'

Dark small birds no one but her in this cursed place could see adorned her body, singing that bittersweet lullaby of despair she adored.

And the newly awoken Mangekyo Sharingan spinned madly in Mikoto's eyes.

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It would take four hours for Jiraiya to find them. Four hours was a very long time to be lost on a battlefield for three thirteen-years old freshly promoted chunnin. Especially knowing they never would have been promoted so early in the first place if not for the need of canonfolk. If not for war.

One small part of her yet to be fazed by bloodlust wondered if he would recognized them, their idiotic sensei. After all, he had parted with "his cute little genin" not two days ago and what was left now ?

A dead body and two monsters.

He truly was impressive, cute little Minato. Quick, merciless, ingenious, driven by his grief yet not controlled but it, the Konoha Chuunin left a trail of bodies on his passage, bodies of shinobi that undoubtly didn't saw it coming. Quite the achievement from a thirteen-year old who had never truly fought for his life before.

Herself didn't count. She hadn't been thirteen for centuries, and had seen for than her share of battle.

Because in the end, no matter the worlds, it always came to that. Herself, right in the middle of the comotion, cutting, burning, drowing, tearing her enemies apart until there was nothing left to fight for.

A world in red, red as a bloody Mangekyo Sharingan.

What a glorious technic. What a twisted curse.

Everything felt easier under the Sharingan. All you had to do was follow your instinct, and strike accordingly. No need for Mikoto to think about the corpse she used to call her friend, of the composed teammate she could hardly recognise nor of the crushing weight of the thousand-years worth of memories suddently fallen on her shoulders. No need for Arba to brood over betrayals, her world destroyed nor her forsaken God.

The joy to be lost to the red. If only she could stay that way forever.

"Mikoto!", cried out her opponent, as he avoid the Fireball she threw his way. "Mikoto, it's me, Minato!"

Minato ? Who's Minato ? All Arba saw was a foolish boy who called himself God. Did he really thought he could fool her ? The Ruths surrending him betrayed him, the idiot. The painfully white Ruthes, dancing in joy when close to their master. Solomon.

And Solomon needed to die. By her hand.

"Stop.", Minato ordered, his voice firm yet soft and so damned familiar. May her Lord forgive her, but she did. Because a part of her was still his faithful follower, his most trusted advisor, his magi.

And so the red receded from her eyes.

The memories and the rage never left though. They would just have to wait for another day.

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He did recognise them, their sensei, in spite of her doubts. Probably because the Sannin wasn't to his first war, unlike them (well...unlike Minato, at least). Jiraiya had seen his content of broken children.

And he wept a bit on the inside. Mikoto could tell.