Tainted Souls
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Chapter 1
Sticks and leaves burst over the spillway, carried by the force of water behind. Sun was strong today: it was probably the last of snow melting on the frozen mountains up north. Once the wind turned cold, there was no going back to summer; it would come again next year—an eternal cycle.
Judging by wind's bitterness, autumn had come early and winter would be harsh this time. Konoha higher ups would have their work cut out for them. Crops died, some wilted, and upland rice produced no grain. The fields they had tilled to sustain themselves if the burden of war and famine was upon them—that was a dead-end.
Before the Daimyō, they would have to bend the knees, beg with sincerity, for gold was needed, more of it, to sharpen Shinobi teeth, to eat. Tsunade's reign was going smoothly, but it was not as though she could control weather.
He found it hard to stand still against this wind, his feet firm on the ground. Wind turned colder at night, gained speed and muscle. Leaves blew and shushed and swayed; it created a loud dissonance of sounds about him.
Dark clouds divided; wind lost its strength suddenly; a glare of half-moon bathed the lake. Choppy combers on its surface rolled in and made a dull sound that came throbbing through the trees. He could barely hear it. Standing before the meadow, he gazed, mesmerised, at the delicate stems that burrowed out from the ground. The petals opened. There were so many. He took out his Sharingan, but it was impossible to count them all:
Lilies—Purple Lilies! Beautiful. Wild. Immortal. There was nothing like them in this entire world! Food, lure, for the Devil Moths a mystical temptation—silent, sweet, sublime—deadly, very deadly . . .
They shone like chariots, trying in desperation to catch slivers of whites. Above them fluttered the Autumn Moths: they were purple, too, with circular black lines painted by nature to create an odd eye-shape upon their wings. When the eyes glowed, they turned into rosy devils—Devil Moths; but not yet; still not quite there yet . . .
In time, from thee, Devil will rise, too; for now, in Autumn you shall stay, for Winter was true . . .
He moved his head back and caught sight of one fluttering just overhead. He moved swiftly; it tried to flutter away on a current in haste, but he was too fast. With a single leap, he grabbed it out of the air. It struggled with near futile attempts to get out from between his fingers. He stared down at it with a curious disposition as though it roused something in him, something forgotten and old.
"Still chasing moths, huh?" Naruto asked as he appeared from the trees' shadows on the right. "They're waiting ahead for the mission."
Sasuke let the moth go, his face cold as wind; he did not say anything and started walking ahead.
Incense and mist-laden air . . . that was all he could see and smell. Without his Clan's gift, it was a vulgar suasion to entice the flesh. He did not enjoy coming here, not unless it became a necessity for his flesh: it was a slave to few things; he never denied that. He fed it when it starved and bore the bouts of a delightful sensation, an itch, as he trained it daily to wait for the melody to rise from within to a crescendo. Then the release was . . . almost sweet.
He felt pride in the fact that he had conquered the flesh, his worst enemy, tamed it on his own terms; and the man struck the gong, song blasting in their direction. Harlots swathed in red decadence glided over to the centre, hair inky in the white that came spilling from overhead.
The drum pounded. Louder. Louder. Then the sound vanished, absorbed by the walls that drank it with greed: they just could not wear the blush of a drunkard upon their facades. They stood silent, watching, listening, sleeping.
The harlots leant over, and their pliant backs formed an arch like a taut bow. Runnels of sweat ran between their breasts, squeezed together, spilling over from between the collars of their kimonos. They folded into a sudden dance: waists twisting, hair whipping, patient feet kicking up the bits of earth there; and then they stamped it down and sank to their ankles in the soft dirt. Doton-Jutsu users' cheap trick, they were in the near vicinity. A Genin could produce the same results, but this was not about the child soldiers: it was about moulding flesh into desire, its demanding mechanism.
Men sat idle on the mats all around, eyes watching the rippling young flesh, mouth slavering at the corners. Their wait was a test of patience, their pockets full of coins—buyers and chattel. As long as there was a buyer, every willing body was bought. It just had to yield to their demands, cringe with servility.
A sigh passed his lips, and mist parted in the exhalation. Next to him, his shy subordinate was sitting with his head bowed. He did not want to lay his eyes on the enticing temptation: he was married, had a child from the union, and vows trapped in ink mattered to his heart, though the moans coming unabated from plump lips were testing his resolve . . . and loins.
The women turned on their heels fluidly, and their shadows ran about the room. Bits of earth floated up and went away. Water rose up in its place and soaked through the delicate garments; their sartorial brilliance was rendered almost obscene. Cheap. You would not need a Sharingan to see their inviting miens, the sheen of skin, and the flare of thighs and tight buttocks. That drew excited groans from a few men: they had already decided to spill between their thighs tonight.
With arms held loose along their sides, they let the Kimonos fall down to their waists, revealing pretty, corpulent breasts and flushed skins—tight crests beaded with pearls of sweat and water. What a show for the eyes and heated groins that throbbed in anticipation? Then they jerked their heads back, and the hair flew behind them, lashing their spines as merciful whips and propelling water from the red prints—red against white. And now, his Sharingan flickered to life and counted the drops in the distant lull only his eyes could grant him.
They floated there about the blushing skin, going slowly . . . slowly down through the mist, making little holes in the faint light from the lantern that had suddenly turned purple and then red round the edges. Mist fluttered there like the Autumn Moth's wings. Stone-cold chill went through him and rippled there the way the air was disturbed by their chaotic dance; it overpowered red, cooled it down, and it went to sleep again, enjoying its slumber.
Drums beat louder and louder and louder, reaching a frenzied peak. Distorted voices from men sounded as though they were chanting in a choir. His head was pounding, and he rose the cup to the lips and took a little sip to cool his temple. He sighed and the drumming sound rose in answer; and the dancers' song reached a high wail and then sank back to a low moan. Music ebbed away into a kind of comforting silence he welcomed.
The girls-in-red scampered away laughing behind the partition screens, and light overhead turned white again. A drunkard tried to grab one girl's leg but missed and fell face-first to the wooden-floor. The tremors in the floor stopped, and music rose with an exquisite and resonant chord again.
He took another sip—this spectacle was over. Mist cleared the area, and good aristocrats showed approval, with faint gestures of their oil-softened hands and well-mannered smiles. Raconteurs. Tricksters.
A woman clad in a dazzling kimono emerged from behind the richly painted partition-screen: scene of a battle's silent end upon one corner; a storm in violent strokes upon the other. He thought it looked odd for a place such as this. It was probably a gift from a wealthy customer. Shadows of girls and men slithered cross its rippling surface, end to end. It was a busy night . . .
The woman daintily crossed the room, a fan held tightly in her right hand. Bowing lowly, she settled herself down before him and pulled out a scroll from her sleeve. A smile forced itself onto her red-painted lips; they were akin to a stain of blood on her carefully powdered face.
"Uchiha-Sama," she spoke in a lilting voice, "they used the caves."
She held out the scroll and he took it from her hand. This would do. He rose to his feet, and his subordinate scrambled to stand up as though he had been knocked over by a heavy blow.
Bowing again, she placed her forehead and hands down on the floor. "You aren't staying, Uchiha-Sama?" she asked, but when no reply came from him, she spoke again, more sweetly this time, "I shall give the gold to Hanakoto-San. I wish you a safe journey."
She wore his shadow for few moments whilst it got dragged off her body. Finally, it disappeared from upon her, and she raised her head and shoulders, breathing out a loud sigh as if an impossible burden had been lifted from her body . . .
Rain, like a tangle of rowdy dogs—she could not hear herself think. It cascaded and spun a grey veil across the forest, fell off rocks and trees in sheets, a gauzy curtain. Her young muscles rippled as she ran behind her team, green eyes barely able to keep track of them in front.
Sasuke stopped suddenly and took refuge behind the tree—its texture, rough and wet—that scraped against his right hand. His Sharingan was out, glowing like danger on his face. Branches overhead had reached out a season in the past and intertwined into a tangled mess, but Sakura still felt rain's cool lash. Heavy rain and wind pushed at her from behind, as if trying to get her flat down. When she saw Sasuke flick his fingers to signal Neji to go right, she pressed herself flat against the tree and hid behind it.
It was a race against time to catch the Rock Nin before they took off with the stolen scrolls. Tired and exhausted, they had hidden in a cave ahead. It was now or never! Chakra fizzled around Sasuke's left hand and turned into Chidori: it stretched out five meters ahead of him, and a bloodcurdling scream tore through the misty morn and shot out of the cave's mouth. The sound progressed into a gruesome shriek and, gradually, died out. The man was probably dead.
Standing stiff and alert behind the tree, Sakura could see nothing—she did not have Sasuke's unmatched foresight or Neji's Byakugan to cover a vast distance in a beat. She was ordinary. Her skills were something she had made for herself. She was not born privileged. Little by little, she had honed herself into an exceptional Medic, but it was difficult to please Sasuke . . . he always nit-picked about everything she did. It was almost childlike, this side of his character to demand perfection in the tasks he gave her. He was never fair, not to her.
Steps, many of them, sloshed through water, and she shrank into the ground to avoid any attack sent her way. She was a Medic-Nin. Sasuke had asked of her to stay hidden. She was going to listen this time and avoid the lash of his scathing tongue. Rain filled her ears and eyes. She had one hand in the mud to keep herself steady as she wiped her eyes and face on the back of her hand. The noises, screams . . . drowned out by storm.
Sakura's eyes skittered across the area and then to Sasuke as he clashed with seven ninjas. Blood flew up into the air and quickly disappeared under the rain. The men screamed. A few more cuts, some slashes into the sides, tearing through muscles, and they were dead—all of them. He did not even have his Sharingan out. A bold expression was on his face. Something she was familiar with; something she intimately resented.
A loud sound distracted her, and she twisted her neck to look back at the noise Naruto was making: he had got good at making Rasengan with a single hand over the past months. It took him years to amass enough experience out of his Kage Bunshins to manage that. He shouted silly things, sounded off obscenities as he slammed it into the gut of the unsuspecting ninja in front. It drilled into his skin and sent him flying back.
Two of his Bunshins grabbed one of their injured teammates and carried him out of the fray. Sakura looked on through the sheets of rain to Sasuke clashing with another ninja in a manner as if he was playing with him. He could be so cruel sometimes. Her eyes, unable to see his face clearly: it was enshrouded by dim shadows, fall of boughs and of rain, between them.
Slowly, Sakura raised herself to her shaky feet. Biting cold was pressing in on her body; a cool wave raced through her, and her chakra fluttered in response to warm her body. Harsh sounds of metal against metal were jarring—motions of Shinobis' sword-dance, swift. Sasuke was playing around. He cut here and there and then flashed to the back and kicked the man forward, sending him crashing into the mud.
The man was livid. Embarrassed. He clenched his teeth, raised that sword high, and charged, only to be shown the same courtesy again. His face was flat in the mud this time. Sasuke placed his sandal on his back and slammed him back down when he tried to get up. He was too weak to get away whilst he helplessly wriggled there like a fish out of water. It was odd to see Sasuke draw amusement from something like this.
Her eyes roamed to the left to gaze upon Neji: he was a skilled shinobi; his swiftness and speed always amazed her. He was no Sasuke, but he was the second fastest shinobi in all Jōnin Squads. His fingers jabbed into the joints like lightning bolts and felled ninjas one after another. He sent men sprawling to the muddy ground, and few crashed helplessly into the trees around him.
Sakura was still looking when muddy hands grabbed at her throat and lifted her off the ground. Her eyes opened wide and turned to terror; her feet shook violently, unable to find purchase on the ground. The pressure was immense, building at her throat. Sakura's eyes rolled back into her head and her throat spasmed violently. The lungs burnt like red-hot kunai. She reached up and grabbed the man's wrist, and, releasing chakra into her hand, she crushed it completely. He let out a choked scream and faltered, and she slipped down from his death-hold. That was all she needed. She pushed back, slamming her back against the tree to dislodge her attacker.
His powerful grip slackened and Sakura twisted away and spun around. Her fist flew in his direction. He was still fast as he ducked and avoided her attack. The tight, trembling fist slammed into the tree and tore clean through. The broken tree crackled, swayed, toppled over to the left. She jumped back when his sword slashed through the air. He suddenly stopped. There was a glint in his eyes, and he opened his hand and the sword fell down. With inhuman swiftness, he opened his jacket and terror washed over her: so many explosive tags were stuck to his breast, and they were about to explode!
Sakura flashed back but it was not enough. Sage Dammit! Her mouth opened wide to let out a scream. That was when she felt someone grab her and flash away. The tags exploded; she could not see a thing, just a flash of blinding light. Quite violently, she got knocked out of the air and crashed into the mud, rolling on the ground and hugging her hand to her breast. Mud was on her face, head, and matted on her hair and her entire left side.
Slowly, she pulled her head up and saw Sasuke standing in front, his back to her, wispy Susanoo out. Its rib-cage took the explosion's impact and cracked a little, pushing him back, his sandals slipping in the mud; but he held his ground, hands raised high, as the aura swirled before him and expanded wide to stop the fire's heat.
Her breaths were loud and quick, heart out of rhythm. She was sweating despite the rain's chill. She straightened her torso and lifted herself up on her elbows and looked back. Neji stood with Naruto and two other ninjas behind her. His jacket was in tatters, and he held onto an injured Naruto.
Sakura looked back to Sasuke again, and her eyes travelled over his back and the bleeding arm: a thin, pointy rock was stuck in his lower arm, and fresh blood was streaming down his white elbow in fast droplets. At last, the shockwave passed and the spray of rain returned. The heat was gone. Rain cooled the hot air about them. He pulled his hands down, and Susanoo disappeared like a ghost.
His expression was guarded as he turned around and pulled the rock out, leaving a deep hole in his arm; then she heard a sizzle of Raiton stream through his veins and the wound closed up, stopping the blood-flow in its tracks. After a moment, he looked down and his face changed this time. "I told you to keep watch. What were you doing? You could've got everyone killed!" he said, his voice sharp as his blade.
Sakura coughed, and her fingers reached up to touch the bruised throat. "Someone grabbed me from behind. I-I didn't—"
"You better pray it doesn't happen again, or I will send you home next time," he said, infuriated, and walked away just like that.
Warm blood rose to her cheeks and she felt humiliated. Slowly, she rose to her feet and watched as he left all of them standing in the rain. She pulled her eyes away, distraught . . .
Night came and stars wheeled across the sky. The mission was over, but Sasuke's work was far from done. He sat alone in his office, skimming through the mission's details: they had to chase down Rock Shinobi disguised as Bandits and retrieve an official scroll in their possession. They stole it straight from the office by making a network of tunnels underneath the heavily guarded Security Department. How did they find their way in there, a terrifying maze of caves? The thought was bothering him . . .
They were right under their noses the whole time, and no one saw it coming? Were the Anbu men in a drunken frenzy, three women on one arm and dancing boys on the other? Fools! If Neji's Byakugan had not seen through the ground and detected a subtle crack in the lower pillar, the crafty crooks would have got away. Still, it took much effort. Sasuke did not even have time to form a proper team: he just took the men still in the office. And only the great Sage knew that he never wanted to take Sakura along, not after that last mishap.
Sasuke could see how hysterical she was in her mad chase of him—"my love!" as she had told him once many springs past. She was still the same: hopeless, a fool at heart. Years had granted her no wisdom. He had tried to get her off his team many times, but it was not easy. Naruto was in love with her, and Tsunade adored her. She threw Sakura in his team because she was probably—in her very humble opinion—the best Medic-Nin on all teams, and Naruto just wanted to put his prized Naruto-Chan in her girly place and be delighted about it all day long! No matter how cutting his words (and he utilised them often and with great creativity to make them matter just a tad more) . . . nothing he said to the two love-sick Bird-Summonings deterred them. He was at the end of his Fuma-Shuriken strings here! What would it take to get these two apart? His life was hard . . .
The things Naruto did to please her, keep her close—he was blind, with no healing jutsu for his malady. Naruto could not understand that she was only using him to stay on the team and try her hand at persuading Sasuke to bed her (there might have been another reason, perhaps two, but it was all very fussy to him these days). Her frustrations had only inflamed her obsessions. He had tried to pass subtle hints through Naruto's chakra-thickened head, but his ears remained clogged up with her night-time warbles; and despite Naruto's precious stamina and interesting talents, he was rethinking this absurd team-arrangement.
He created the final letter on the scroll, watched it dry, rolled it up. Today's task was done. He got to his feet and took a few steps, the scroll still in his hand, and looked outside the office window. Then he turned his eyes slightly to look at the clock: it was three minutes past midnight.
Pressing his forehead against the cool glass, Sasuke watched the night storm had washed clear. Rain stopped hours ago. He moved a little and pushed the scroll into the large fancy-looking cupboard—courtesy of his own family. He wrinkled his nose when a familiar smell wafted to him from just beyond the door. A moment later, the door clicked open and she entered his office.
"Why are you still here?" he asked, frowning. "Go home. We have a mission tomorrow."
When no sound came from her, he turned around and looked at her; Sakura stood in the bulb's dim-yellow light that came in from the corridor: she had washed her dirty hair; her face, framed in spring's dye, was filled with a robust hue; cheeks, a bit pink; and she breathed in deeply, as though to brace herself for something. She was holding a scroll in her hand. Her eyes were upon his face, and he felt as though she wanted to say something very unbecoming—to him.
"I—" Sakura began and coughed, her fingers brushing against the bandaged throat, "—I came here to give you my report." She took three long steps and put the scroll down on the table.
Sakura kept looking at him and the red that was vanishing, holding her gaze as if she wanted to trap him against the wall and have her way with him. There was a slight tremble in her lips (she was on the verge of speech), but she mashed them together to swallow down the words. His eyebrows went up, and then a slow smile graced his face, the look in his eyes like that of a wolf that was too full to bother with this meal.
"What do you want, Sakura? You don't want to play like last time?" he whispered in a lover's voice, face turning mischievous—mouth curling in the littlest smile.
Shock passed over her face and then it hardened in anger. "I came here to see if you were a'right. That's all," she said and turned her eyes away, her cheeks red.
Sasuke raised his arm and turned it around a little with his other hand; it was bandaged, and the wound was healed. "Looks fine to me," he said and returned his eyes to her face. "Is that all?"
Sakura gulped down the big lump in her throat, heart tripping; warmed blood galloped in her veins as budding arousal pushed her to him (still a girl around him, acting the way her cherished characters did; somethings you never grow out of). She did not know when she closed the distance between them. She grabbed his hand, placed it on her cheek, turned her face to kiss his palm, fingertips. Her eyes darkened, and she pressed her body against his, wanting for him to blossom against her. An honest thought, one she was not ashamed of.
Moving her hand, she pulled the jacket's zip down the length of his breast. She only made it halfway when he grabbed her wrist very swiftly that it startled her, his lips a tempting inch away. His tea-scented breath blew across her face, and a shiver that had sprung from fright gripped her, so strong that she almost fell. He did not look pleased . . .
"Stop it," he let out a low sound and pushed her back. He looked irritated now, Sharingan out and dangerous, warning her to back off.
Hot breath hissed in and out from between Sakura's teeth, and her face mimicked the expression on his with the same intensity. "You're hateful!" she choked out, shaking.
"Aren't you used to this treatment by now?" he asked, almost sincere in his manner, and his mouth pulled into a half-smile despite himself.
Colour flew from her face, and then, quickly, it returned, deepened in her cheeks and lips. There was a ferocious glint about her green eyes, and the muscles in her face worked in nasty fury. "Don't mock me 'cause I love you. You have no right—no right!" she said in a deep voice that wavered with the desperation that she hated.
"Why don't you love Naruto?" came the quick reply.
Her eyes flashed ire and she felt singed by his words. "Fuck you!" she hissed through clenched teeth, furious, and backed away.
He did not say anything and fixed her with an amused look and then turned his eyes away, almost playful.
"You're full of yourself." Emotions garbled her words as she stifled the sobs that came, not from hurt but from anger. "I'm not in this team for you. I want to make my parents proud. You wouldn't understand."
He smiled at her confession and it was an unfriendly smile. "Liar. Even your dodgy mouth is boring now," he said and held his stern, unflinching gaze.
"You were never like this, Sasuke. What's gotten into you?" she breathed out, took in a long breath afterwards, tired of all this.
Sakura's head was bent now, eyes misting over and threatening to stream out fresh tears. She raised her hand and wiped at her eyes and tried to even out her breathing. When she lifted her face again, her eyes' whites were mild-red. He did not seem moved; countenance, breathtaking, most beautiful, though indifferent—not kind. His eyes slightly turned and he looked at the door. A smile danced across as moonlight on his lips and he spoke: "your lover is here. Want to continue? He might enjoy this free spectacle!"
She drew in a sharp breath. Anger flickered across her face, and she spun away and left the room. He heard Naruto call out to her, but she took swift steps to leave the building. A few seconds passed and Naruto entered the room. He was not wearing his usual grin that stretched his lips from ear to ear. There was an annoyed look on his face whilst he looked at Sasuke in an accusatory manner.
"You scolded her again?" Naruto asked, hands on his hips. "You're so mean, Sasuke."
Sasuke turned around to pull out another scroll from the cupboard's deep corner. "Why are you here? If you came here for Sakura, she left a playtime invitation for you. Go and play with her and stop bothering me."
Naruto's face flushed in embarrassment and he looked away. "That's not what I asked," he said in a huff and crossed his arms. "Why are you up so late?"
"Office work," he droned and slowly opened the scroll. "You know, I don't care how you play with her, but she's out of your control." He turned around and eyed him with annoyance in his face.
"You don't have to be grumpy all the time. Lighten up," Naruto mumbled and looked up at the still fan; it had been shined to perfection: an odd Uchiha habit to keep things disturbingly clean. Itachi was even worse. Last time he went to that cold-tomb Sasuke enthusiastically called his Nii-Sama's lovely office, he could have sworn he saw his own reflection in that fan's blade; or it could have been his mind playing tricks on him. Itachi, in his humble opinion, was quite ghoulish!
"It comes with the heritage. You wouldn't understand," Sasuke said with a smile. "How's your wife? She probably knows about your pushy little playmate. The whole team probably knows. I don't think it's a big secret. Soon, your parents will start breathing down your neck, and then you'll start weeping at my door. It's a cycle. It's tiring. Get another hobby."
Naruto's eyes grew wider: he looked a little confused. "I don't think she knows. I don't think even my parents are certain of it. They like making guesses to shame me," he said, looking a bit alarmed. It was obvious that he was not sure of his own thoughts. The look faded from his face; he blinked and moved a little to face Sasuke. "I intend to end it, anyway—I just need the rank."
"Ah, the rank," Sasuke paused to widen the smile, "aren't you working hard for it? Playing with Sakura and that mess . . . but I'm a terrible friend. You don't need my advice?"
"I love Sakura—you know that!" Naruto said, breathing heavily as he worked himself into boyish rage. His cheeks and nose had turned summer red. Typical. "Do you always have to mock me?"
"I'm not mocking you. You don't listen to me, anyway," he said and placed the scroll on the table, his red eyes meeting his. "Hinata is your wife. Her family, your family, will only make things worse for you. Go near her from time to time. That's all I'm saying. She isn't contagious."
His words silenced Naruto; he appeared to be lost as if he did not know what to say. "How long has it been since you last touched her? Sooner or later, this will escalate, two clans will get involved, and she might just look for a lover . . . something interesting to look forward to rather than cleaning gardens and painting terrible lamps all day—wouldn't you say?" His countenance was sarcastic now.
"Hinata would never do that, she—" Naruto broke off, and his expression in such moments was always a confused one. Sasuke could see a bit of anger stir in the panic-touched blues—that familiar male ego was still there.
"Oh? I didn't know she was a temple-nun living through her rigid oath of celibacy in your absence," he said. "Your idealistic view of her is amusing. She is human. She has needs. Don't be a fool. I'm not asking you to drop Sakura. I'm asking you not to make things worse for yourself."
His words were met with astonished silence. Naruto had dropped his gaze to the floor. His eyes roamed here and there aimlessly. He was caught up in his own little world, indecisive, naïve, foolish—always had been. On any other night, Sasuke may have been . . . considerate, but not on this night.
"You can leave and play with your wicked lover. I have work to do," Sasuke said and resumed his office chair to write down the final report. It would take him a good one hour to review every detail; and, by that time, Naruto was already at Sakura's place, thinking about Hinata, his parents, and their betrayals. Somehow, it was pushing him over to the dream-like edge, and he felt something familiar wriggle inside the deeps, and he did not know why . . .
This is the end of chapter 1. I hope you guys enjoyed it!
