Hi everyone! So happy to be back writing this story,
I missed you all!
As a note, I'm posting this story simultaneously on AO3
should any readers prefer that site.
Links to world maps, character references, story playlists, and my tumblr are on AO3.
(since I can't post links here, sadlife)
PART TWO will have elements of implied/referenced rape, torture scenes,
attempted suicide, self-harm, dubious consent, all of those good topics.
It's rated M for a reason-so please be mindful as we move into a darker portion of the story.
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Covenant
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Synopsis: Everyone is dead or hunted. The Allies lost. The war is over.
Treacherous seal marring her neck as a collar, Madara parades her like a victory trophy.
And though he gave her to his patriarch—betrayed her in the worst of ways—
Here, in The End, Sasuke Uchiha is all Sakura has left.
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Part Two: Prologue
Their eyes melted into each other's, one of his red as battlefield gore. His gaze held a promise. It traced her body with a heat that didn't match his clinical regard. She quivered under the attention, that helplessly captured feeling sinking into her soul. The seal thrummed on her neck in tune with her quickening heartbeat. He may betray her, but he was her safety. Her comfort. As his stare traveled down her hips, hers slid to—
Kusanagi pushed to its hilt through Kakashi's stomach. Kakashi held a hand up to stop anyone from advancing. The air around them and within her froze. Her muscles locked as he coughed wetly.
His oppressive presence called her eyes back to his, the crimson promise within darkening into an oath. Then his expression turned murderous and his full attention settled on their former teacher.
"I told you I'd kill you," he growled, shoving the sword deeper into the Hokage's body. Like he wished to push the whole thing clean through. "You deserve to die."
Blood trickled from the side of Kakashi's mouth. "You're right. I accept your punishment, Sasuke."
2:1. Captivity
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SPIKES SLAM into Neji's back one after another, so many it shouldn't be possible. So many that Neji's body is just a mass of spikes. He's dying slowly—as if he'll live in this purgatory forever—even as Hinata begs him to slip away and let it end. He's dying for everything, to him—for nothing, in the end—
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She can't heal Lee. Her hands are on him but the green just fizzles out and Lee stabs himself through the stomach—again and again, over and over—so many times that he's already bled enough to drain a hundred bodies. His blood pools and rises around her and Tenten until they're swimming in it—drowning in it. Tenten is screaming at her to heal him—
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Kiba's eyes harden in resolve as Tobi turns on him. Choji moves for Kiba with a competing resolve; she shouts a warning, but they're too far—her feet sink into quicksand when she tries to run to them. They fall as one. She's there—right there—stuck and useless, front stage to their deaths, all the skill and ability to heal them wasted—
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"—they hold him?"
"A week more, perhaps. I couldn't say. Madara doesn't tell me these things."
"He'll kill us if he sees this. Remember, he said—"
"I remember. Have someone wash her. As for waking—"
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Here is Tenten dying—smiling, half of herself, muscles oozing from her wounds. She's smiling and saying that she's done. She's smiling and saying goodbye. She's smiling, enchantingly 22 forever, with kind chocolate eyes and the gentle curve of her nose—full, pink lips curving up, two buns atop her head. She is leaving forever and there's blood all over her and she's smiling—
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Sai is everywhere, all the time, so happy it hurts—it's so painful it feels like nothing at all. He's beside her, sketching her wall-flowers into his notebook. He's smiling that fake smile and calling her Ugly. He's wearing Guy's green one-piece tracksuit and asking how it looks. He whispers into her ear because a stupid magazine told him to—he agrees to come here so that she can get out—
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"Swallow it. That's it—" Fingers were prying open her mouth. "No, you...have to—swallow! Fuckin' hell, kid. Work with me…"
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Just like that, he's gone—Shino isn't on base and he never shows up. She'll never know if it was quick or if he was scared—if he called for her help. The sky is smothering—she's cratering into the earth—she can't find Shino—there's no explanation except that he's gone forever but there's no body to prove it, so how can anyone know? How can she be sure that he's dead? What if he's out there waiting for her to heal him? What if—
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It was unbearably cold. She shivered, body weightless as if suspended in water.
"—cut it?"
"Leave it. Who cares."
"Suigetsu-sama said—"
"You think Suigetsu-sama cares about her hair?"
"Well, but—"
"Just leave it."
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Naruto's fingers are only centimeters away, but she can't reach him no matter what she does. No matter what she does—Naruto is dead. He's a hole for a chest, crimson-stained orange, quiet and crumpled and she breaks every bone in her body as a sacrifice to the Gods to save him but they don't even look her way—they don't even care—black markings cover Naruto's body until he's nothing but a shadow and it doesn't even matter because he was dead from the start—
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Five points of pressure were hot on her face, squeezing into her skin; someone was trying to unhinge her jaw again. Her vision narrowed against the painful light.
"Oh? Are you finally awake?" The backdrop was out of focus, but a slightly-off amethyst gaze only inches away was poignantly amiable. "I'm trying to feed you." He seemed to lean in closer. A warm hand was on her shoulder. "Can you sit up? To eat."
She closed her eyes.
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Tsunade's staring at her from across a table. If I lose another person, I think it'll be the end of me. Tsunade is hugging her in a field of foreign injured. I knew you weren't dead, but I was so worried. Tsunade's hand is warm on her head. You're the most important person I have left. Tsunade is chained and staked and she's speaking, but there's no sound—she's old and wrinkled and crying and her decapitated head is still mouthing the words—Even if it means you grow to despise me—
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"It's time to wake up, Sakura Haruno." Something was prodding her thigh. "There isn't much time left to wallow. Come, now."
How long had it been? Why wasn't she dead yet? She curled into herself.
"Hmm…of all things to pass down, Tsunade ought not to have given you her propensity to break under loss."
"Seriously, he's gonna kill us. Look at her. I've been trying, but it's fucking impossible without causing further damage. So what's the plan, snake?"
"I'll tell Madara to recall him. Hopefully, his presence will—"
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Ino is lost in a sea of rotting corpses, gaze listless on the battlefield, typically impeccable appearance rumpled and frazzled. An enemy appears behind her—a kunoichi with a sickening smile—she roars at Ino to run but Ino's eyes are rolling, her face is bruised—swords are piercing down into her from every direction. The kunoichi is laughing—the Gods are laughing—Ino's blood cleanses the world as a final sacrifice—Sakura, I'm—
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Liquid burned down her throat. She coughed it back up, gagging and choking.
A plea croaked out of her before she could process—"Stop!"
"Don't make this difficult, Sakura Haruno. You need to stay hydrated."
Water was pouring into her again, and though she sputtered, it didn't stop. A hand was on the back of her head, holding her up—tilting her back. Keeping the liquid going down.
"Just—stop!" she managed between raucous gulps, eyes burning with tears.
"You won't make it much longer without eating or drinking," said the voice that stirred genin memories. He must've seen how her mouth moved to speak against the onslaught of water because he added, "Whatever you may wish, it's not yet your time to go."
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The dead pile on top of her—she's a body on the field, dead—the armies are trampling over her and falling onto her and there's no washing this blood off, no distance far enough to escape it. She stands on that mountain and looks down—it's made of limbs and eyes, and—she's fighting every person she couldn't heal fast enough, every person she couldn't save—she screams but it's swallowed into the scream of an army being swallowed into the ground, the earth angry at how desecrated its become, and the battlefield is all around her and inside her and—
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The nightmares were unending agony; the fact they were merely perverted snippets of memory was unbearable grief.
When she finally came into herself, Sakura was sure she was dead.
The darkness was all-consuming. In her struggle with consciousness, she was rarely aware long enough for her vision to adjust, but it had to be hell. An abyss, a nothing, a chill that never abated, an unnatural silence that a human wasn't meant to live in.
She was dead. Everyone was dead. Their deaths were all futile.
She hadn't saved anyone—she'd been useless. This eternal, insufferable solitude was the Gods' punishment for her failures.
When she finally came to realize that she was well and truly alive, Sakura instantly wished that she wasn't.
She was in a cell—a prison cell. The floor was uneven rock, damp like it never truly dried. Air stale with depth, dark save for a sliver of light hemming the frame of a door 20 yards away, up a flight of stairs.
Her head pounded as if split, body sharp with nauseating pain no matter how she moved, tongue dry as paper. Stomach so empty she threw up air when the pain really did make her sick.
Fettered to the ground, bars on all four sides in the center of an otherwise barren cave, she was imprisoned alone. Long chains allowed her movement across the ten-by-ten-foot cell. A chamber pot sat in one corner, a sheet masquerading as a sleeping mat laid opposite. The thick shackles on her wrists were heavy suppressors that left her as useless as a civilian.
A curious brush taught her that a Lightning Release laced the cell's metal bars. She'd tried once to hold on long enough to end it—to send herself to the hell she deserved. An unknown amount of time later she'd blinked awake, crumpled on the ground, immeasurably more pained and no closer to death than before.
It didn't stop her from trying it twice more.
By the time she gave up, she was still very much alive. Body buzzing, eyes desiccated and aching with tears she couldn't produce; two gashes in her face that begged to continue bleeding.
Sakura tried to focus on the cool stone under her skin—the soft cotton of the grey garb she was dressed in—the choppy length of her hair, now matted and brushing past her shoulders. On anything physical, anything except the maddening memories and vicious whispers reminding her that she was alone, and betrayed, and everyone was dead.
Ino's shriek pounded against her skull. Tsunade's chopped neck swamped the back of her eyes. Red on white seemed to flood the darkness, the blood of hundreds—thousands—of Allies soaking the snow forever.
They lost. They lost. The two words reverberated like a curse, wracking her body with convulsions. She hunched on the bedsheet, rocking until sleep reclaimed her. Sobbing every time she awoke again; every time she didn't die.
Sakura couldn't live in a world under Madara's rule. She wouldn't.
She zeroed in on that thought, sharpening her focus on a whetstone of resentment.
Her body wouldn't last much longer without water. Vague memories of someone forcing liquid into her stirred up, but from her state, their efforts hadn't been very effective. Soon, her organs would begin to fail.
Even if they managed to keep pouring water down her throat, from how famished she was, malnutrition would kill her instead. It was astounding she was even awake and coherent enough to think straight sometimes, though the energy it took to stay awake quickly frittered away.
Sakura drifted in and out of consciousness.
Every dip into dreams brought her bloody, perishing friends back to her. Minutes passed, hours passed, days passed—every breach from the swirl of blackout brought her closer to the sweet finale.
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"Look! She's moved so much!"
"So it appears."
The words resonated in the chamber. Rousing from oblivion, head lulling on the floor, she blinked, though no difference was seen in the dark of the room and the back of her eyelids. Two sets of footsteps were heavy on a staircase. Keys jingled. Then a lock clunked into place, metal creaked open, and feet shuffled to her side.
"You awake for real this time, kid?"
The voice was familiar enough that Sakura lifted her sights to it. It didn't do any good. Her vision hadn't yet readjusted to the lack of light, and whoever it was closed the door when they entered. Squinting, she peered into the darkness above.
A flame flickered to life—in a pale palm, attached to a cloaked arm, belonging to a strangely-young, tattooed face that she woefully recognized.
Orochimaru smiled down at her. "Good evening, Sakura Haruno. How good of you to rejoin us in the land of the living."
TRAITORS!
Nauseating revulsion pierced through her. She recoiled, weakly pushing away, dragging across the floor in a way that would've embarrassed her before.
Before.
Before, when she was still depended on. When she was surrounded by comrades who respected her. When she still had people who trusted her, who believed in her, people that she loved who hadn't yet died and needed her—
"I brought you some food and water." Suigetsu kneeled, placing a bag on the ground and reaching for her with a canteen in his other hand.
A sound of protest grated out of her like a dead branch falling. Turning away from the men, she ducked her chin into her chest and bent into herself, blocking any attempts to nourish her. She was so close.
"No more of this. Madara wants to see you today, so you need to be alert," said Orochimaru.
"Fuck off," she hissed, voice breaking.
Suigetsu's hand landed on her hunkered shoulder. "Cooperate for now. If I have to, I'll drag you up there, but I'd rather you walk yourself."
"I said fuck! Off!"
She heard two sighs, then she was being yanked up and pushed back onto the stone floor. She struggled against the hands holding her down, a leaf fighting the wind—a shout ripped through the cavern, tearing her underused vocal cords. If there were any hydration left in her, she'd be crying.
The stone on her back morphed, rising around her like water, and encased her as a tomb from the neck down.
A foot away, still kneeling, Suigetsu shook his head with a frown. "We're gonna do this whether you fight us or not. You're about to face Madara—why not save your energy for that instead?"
"I'd rather die than take anything from you!" she shrieked, even as her body fell limp inside the rock. It was useless to labor against it; she had no chakra or strength to escape.
Orochimaru clucked. "That can be arranged."
"No, it can't. Shove it, snake," Suigetsu hissed, leaning over her. "You're not helping."
His fingers pressed into her cheeks, forcing her teeth apart. Resigned, she let the warm liquid he offered pour down her throat and slowly chewed the pieces of bread he plopped onto her tongue afterwards.
What did it matter? Orochimaru was a medical savant—he could sustain her on sedative draughts and IVs for months if he wanted. Why he hadn't done so already meant they were confident she wouldn't die from this, or this deprivation they'd confined her in was intentional. Letting her body decline into death wasn't feasible, she belatedly realized.
She'd need to bide her time and find a weapon. Or a sympathizer in enemy ranks, who'd be willing to—
"That's it, Sakura Haruno. Very good," Orochimaru lauded as she swallowed the next bite, mockery thick on his tone.
Hatred laced her barren stomach so swift and severe it felt born of her. "One day, you'll find yourself trapped in that frozen lake reserved for treacherous snakes like you. For all eternity." Her throat was scratchy and tasted metallic, the stale water not helping in the slightest. She leered up at his looming figure, his growing smile against the palmed flame only increasing her vitriol. "That's been my sweetest dream chained down here, you know. You, nothing but a frozen cube up to your neck, no one around, no way to move—"
A piece of bread was shoved in her mouth, cutting off her words.
"Just shut up," muttered Suigetsu.
Orochimaru sneered—"Much like how you are now, hmm?"
Suigetsu waited until she swallowed the food, then lifted the canteen to her lips for more water. "Finish this so we can get to Madara. Better early than late, with him."
Sakura hesitated briefly.
Then with a sigh, she detached from her emotions and fulfilled the request. Anger and shame melted into the chilly air, leaving her an empty vessel. Barely more than a corpse.
It didn't matter. None of this mattered. Nothing mattered, anymore.
And this wasn't the fight to pick. She lacked the strength to be indiscriminate with her battles, so she'd need to be careful. They may take to watching her if she gave them reason, and that would put a damper on finding a way to end things.
Instead, she took a more thorough inventory of the present situation between bites.
Suigetsu and Orochimaru were firmly under Madara's thumb—and she seemed placed under theirs for the time being. From the color and feel of the stone encapturing her, they were somewhere on the eastern portion of the mainland continent.
Orochimaru's stare was calculating, his eyes darting across her as if performing a dissection. Suigetsu's lip turned in disdain, countenance otherwise unreadable. Where the Sannin held her glare with confidence, the swordmaster avoided her eyes in blatant discomfort, like she were a dirty thing best to ignore. Or a mere prisoner who wasn't worth it.
He wouldn't be wrong either way.
Although they'd ordered her around as if time was of the essence, Orochimaru's posture was relaxed as Suigetsu slowly tore the bread apart for her. Neither seemed pressed to leave the room anytime soon.
Both men were clean and healthy, in sharp contrast to herself. The cotton of her clothes was sticky with a new layer of sweat every time she wandered back into reality. Those times she stayed awake long enough to see in the dark, it was clear her skin was dirty and scraped from the rough rock floor. She probably looked a fright; probably smelled even worse.
Sakura's body still ached with the wounds she'd gotten from Madara's Receivers. Shoulders swollen with improper bone alignment, pelvis splintering, the tendons in her foot wholly shattered, though she'd acclimated to the constant pain some time ago. Judging by the injuries' states, however, no one bothered to heal her more than the minuscule healing someone gave her in the forest after—
The forest.
Breath catching on the thought, the world around her instantly fell away into memory.
Orange licks through the branches in the distance, snowy bark bites into the soft underside of her feet. She's only seconds away—Naruto is here but all alone, fighting, his chakra tail bats away an enemy and he dodges up into a tree—
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"—condition, did I not?"
"We've been doing the best we can, I assure you. But Suigetsu is no doctor, and I can only—"
"Enough of these excuses."
The back of her neck pounded. She was no longer on cold rock but something plush and smooth—a chair. The air was warm and tinged with the smell of burning wood.
"We may have better luck if—"
"She's awake."
The conversation paused as Sakura opened her eyes. Though it was still a cave, they'd moved her into a larger, furnished room. A patterned red rug warmed her bare feet. A fireplace crackled on one wall, a towering shelf of scrolls adorned another. Glass-cased firelights dangled from the ceiling.
She was indeed in a softly upholstered chair, alone before what couldn't be described as anything except a throne. Placed upon a foot-high step off the rest of the floor, it was black velvet with gold trimmings, broad-backed and unnecessarily tall, with a deep seat and dramatic armrests.
And on that throne sat Madara, smiling at his prize, regarding her as if degloving her secrets in a single glance. The surprise of him stole away her fear for a brief moment.
Both his eyes were purple. His skin was porcelain, hair long and onyx, nose straight and chin sharp and he looked so much like Sasuke in that moment she nearly heaved.
Fear crept back in quickly.
She pressed herself into the cushions behind her, wrapping her handcuffed wrists around her stomach as far as they'd go. Carefully stared at the center of Madara's forehead, and not into the Rinnegan.
But she wouldn't look away. She was terrified, but she wouldn't cower from this man. He may have her chained, and he may have won, but he hadn't beaten her. Soon, she'd find a way to die—burying all his reasons for this imprisonment along with her.
In this way, she'd win.
So even though her fingers trembled and her lungs constricted with the desperate need to fight or fly, Sakura lifted her chin.
It only made Madara chuckle. "Where was that defiance when I had your army slaughtered before you, little medic?"
She clenched her jaw as her cheeks burned. Seconds passed, then Madara leaned forward and perched his elbows on his knees, head in his palms.
"I believe I asked you a question," he warned.
"Unfortunately, I don't know how useful she'll be today." Orochimaru stood beside Madara, arms folded neatly on his chest. When her gaze flicked to him, noticing the Sannin there for the first time, his eyes narrowed at her. "Her throat was heavily damaged when she was brought in last month, and all the screaming she did when we fed her earlier likely tore things worse."
"Hmm. This brings us back to our original conversation. She's of no use to me this weak. I ordered you two to keep her alive. She's nearly dead."
"Nearly dead is still alive," someone mumbled behind her.
A choking sound came next, and then Suigetsu was kneeling to her left, hands on his chest with blood in his face. It was an achingly familiar scene, though it lasted much longer than anything she'd seen him withstand before.
Madara glared at him. "You'd do well to remember your place, Suigetsu Hozuki. You understand?" In her periphery, she watched the convulsing man nod. Sneering, Madara continued, "I never cared for Kiri shinobi. You all lack the proper respect for those with power."
Suigetsu's next breath was deep and unobstructed, and he gasped it in as he pushed himself up. Madara returned to studying her while Orochimaru stood silent, at ease.
She'd deduced that one of the two men had knocked her out in the cell from the pain at the top of her spine and the Sannin's mention of her screaming, but she wasn't sure what he'd meant by implying that she couldn't speak.
Surely he'd heard her speaking just fine in the cell. Her throat hurt, sure. But it wasn't damaged beyond use.
"I think it'd be best to recall Sasuke," Orochimaru finally offered after what felt like ages. She ignored his name—ignored the warmth at her neck, begging for release. Fucking traitor, she thought, holding back a sob. "Let him take over her care and send Suigetsu out in his place instead. We sealed her to him intending to use it, after all."
"Hozuki won't be as efficient as Sasuke on the mission."
"True. But he's better with the troops, and the girl would fight less if it's Sasuke caring for her. That's how the covenant works. You can always have her accompany him in the field once the bond strengthens."
"Mm. What do you think, Hozuki? Was handling the girl too challenging for you?" Madara smirked. "Shall I send you hunting instead?"
Suigetsu shrugged off the slights surprisingly well. "Doesn't matter to me. You're the boss. I don't like being cooped up in here anyway, if you're offering to let me out."
Madara's finger drummed the armrest. "How long till she's well enough to start traveling? I can't pull Sasuke forever."
"It shouldn't take her body longer than a week or two to recover its strength. The larger problem is that she fights most attempts to feed her, which would prolong any potential timeline," replied Orochimaru.
"Is that so?"
"Yes. She'd be long dead if Suigetsu and I hadn't force-fed her over the past month. I imagine things could go even quicker if we loosen the suppressors and allow her chakra to restore her naturally."
"Her suppressors will remain."
"In that case, it might be best to hook her up to some IVs."
After a pause, Madara stood and made his way to her. "No, that won't be needed." The approach called her defiant bluff, and her eyes dropped to her lap. Footfalls echoed on the walls—much slower than the furious beat of her heart. "She's going to stop fighting. She's going to cooperate with us on her own. Isn't that right, little medic?"
That wasn't right. She'd refuse to eat unless forced until she died—and if it were impossible to die like that, she'd find another way. But she bit her tongue on those words, knowing full well he was being rhetorical.
He stopped a foot away; his sandaled feet were on the horizon of her sight. Fingers were suddenly gripping her jaw, tilting her head back forcefully.
Madara looked down upon her with an expression of mirth and frustration. "I expected more from the kunoichi Hashirama's descendant gave herself up for."
The words hit her like a hurricane, spiraling her concentration into confused chaos. Her mind tumbled away from the room, away from Madara's touch.
She's barely covered in the dead of winter—snow filling the earth and sky. The Hokage's neck guzzles onto the white of it. Tsunade, Sasuke? He shrinks away as if burned—as if she's betrayed him, and not the other way around. Honey hair drenches redder by the second. Her second mother isn't moving. Tsunade? TSUNADE?
A muffled, "Stop screaming!" invaded the scene, startling and out of place.
Then she noticed something constricting into her cheeks so hard the bruise was already forming. The cave fell back upon her; she flinched at the shrill shriek filling the air.
The pressure on her face left—half a second later, Sakura was backhanded so hard she folded over the armrest, vision black from the pain.
The room was abruptly quiet, save for her gasping.
"That's why I knocked her out," said Suigetsu. "Anytime she's awake for more than a few minutes, she starts that damn screeching."
"What's wrong with her?"
"Her mind isn't well. It's a common ailment in wartime," Orochimaru answered smoothly.
Tears dripped off her bottom lashes as she loured at the floor, brain oscillating inside her skull. Without any prompting, her medic instinct picked apart the pain. Madara might've just given her a concussion.
"Tch. Will Sasuke's presence help with this as well?"
"Hopefully so. I haven't studied the marriage seals much since they were largely out of practice in my time, but I imagine it couldn't hurt."
Her mouth was full of blood.
Spitting it onto Suigetsu's sandals, she watched him jump away before lifting her body into a sitting position again. This time, of her own accord, she raised her head to meet Madara's dojutsu, tears and all. He was scowling at her.
In the brief clarity his slap garnered, she concluded that the Uchiha patriarch was easily angered. And, she thought—perhaps she could use this. Perhaps if she couldn't starve to death—
She could rile Madara into murder.
He held the challenge in her gaze, his lips curving up into a slight grin.
"That's it—the infamous Konoha fight. The Will of Fire." Madara inspected her for a moment more before returning to his throne and sinking into it with a sigh. "I always detested that philosophy. Protect the village. The village is a family. What hypocrisy! A village is a political structure, not a family."
He crossed his legs, striking the pose of a pitiless God. "Only true family is family—blood makes bloodlines, not coordinates. But tell a village that everyone's family, and soon they'll forsake their own surname and die for other clans. They'll disregard their elders in favor of following the village orders. And because it's family, shinobi willingly turn a blind eye to the hate and discrimination thrown their way by that very same village. Once in it, it feels better to swallow all insults to remain part of the family than be ostracized. Threats to the political structure are shoved to the bottom of the totem pole, but they're still family, and that's all people grow to care about. Blood no longer matters. Power no longer matters. History no longer matters."
Scoffing, he ended with a biting, "Absolute bullshit, wouldn't you say, Orochimaru?"
"Assuredly hypocritical, but an admittedly masterful indoctrination tool.
"True, I suppose. Hashirama was always so good at pedaling his beliefs. So damned good himself he probably never even realized how useful his ideology could be as leverage, the fool. Let me demonstrate—" The way his dojutsu seemed to light up sent chills down Sakura's spine—"A warning to you, kunoichi. Every meal you refuse, your comrade will be deprived of one. For every drink you won't take, she'll lose two. So the next time you purposefully allow yourself to worsen, remember that you're responsible for the Yamanaka's wellbeing."
Against her plan to appear strong and aloof, she felt her face betray her. Shock bathed her nerves at the surname. Surely he wasn't implying that—
Stop, Sakura warned herself, forcibly reigning her thoughts back in. Madara wanted to throw her off-kilter. Whatever he said was meant to confuse and weaken her. There was no way—she'd seen the wound—there were hundreds of Yamanakas. Just because he claimed to have one imprisoned didn't mean that he had—
"Pretty little thing she is. I'm sure her clan warned her of the possibilities that capture entailed with a physique like that. Reports say she's been trying to kill herself with much more vigor than you have." Madara's tomoe spun slowly, analyzing. Sakura dredged up the recipe for soldier pills to keep some form of composure. He was fibbing…! "Must be the strength of her blood. Old clans like hers wouldn't break as easily as you have. Your parents came from civilian families, no?"
Before she could think, her mouth was open, curses on the tip of her tongue. Orochimaru furiously shook his head behind Madara, eyes tightening into slits.
He's lying! Don't listen! her mind shouted, as she heeded his warning and pressed her lips shut on the words. There wasn't time or space to consider why Orochimaru would offer her a show of support, but she wasn't so dumb as to look a gift horse in the mouth.
With a slow blink and deep breath, she trained her expression back to blank parchment.
"Oh? Nothing to say, after all?" Madara cocked his head. "Pity."
Orochimaru stepped forward to stand before the throne. "We'll miss the ideal sky positioning if we stall here any longer, unless you plan to port across the continent in one go and skip your other meetings. We should head out in twenty minutes if not. What shall Suigetsu do with the girl for now?"
Sighing, Madara stood and made his way to the wall of scrolls. She felt his attention drift away from her viscerally. Eyes falling as her strength vanished, Sakura stared at her shaking fingers.
Suigetsu moved closer to her, his hand invading her study, grasping the chain that linked her wrist shackles and tugging them once. An unvoiced command to Get up.
"Get her healthy," ordered Madara. "I can pull Sasuke back in two weeks. You said that's enough time for her to recover with the suppressors on, correct?"
Orochimaru nodded. "If she's compliant, yes."
"Then I expect her ready for interrogation when Sasuke arrives, Hozuki. Understood?"
"Got it," Suigetsu intoned.
Two weeks. She had two weeks to find some way to die—she refused to ever see fucking Sasuke Uchiha again.
"And do remember my warning, medic. If you die, your friend dies." The Uchiha patriarch's voice was light as if making an offering—not a threat. "Though, I can't promise her death will be anywhere near as quick or painless as you might manage to make yours."
As we enter Part 2, updates will be moved to Mondays.
I hope to keep releasing a chapter a week,
though it may be every 2 weeks or so some months!
I posted this chapter early because I lack self-control :)
Hope everyone had wonderful holidays and I hope you continue enjoying the story!
and OF COURSE-thanks to my beta-reader Leech!