AN: Hi folks, here for some... (drum-roll) Story Progression!
Still don't own either works.
Lots of love to everyone who is leaving a review, following, favouriting...
Literally writing for you guys... since i don't think i have any new readers
Hope you like this chapter, writing Tom being a cocky bastard is always fun. Tee-hee!
Chapter 16: Masks
"We are all wearing masks. That is what makes us interesting."
― Neil Gaiman
Tom sauntered back to his cramped apartment, tucked away on the periphery of Konoha's bustling marketplace. He left his meal barely eaten as he left Orochimaru's presence. Today, as with many before it, had proved to be enlightening, albeit in a frustrating way.
Months he'd spent in this bizarre new world, and for what? Months of meticulous planning, months of painstaking adjustments, all to survive in this chaotic environment. Yet, what did he have to show for it? A violent urge took over him as he flung the nearest glass at the opposite wall, its shatter bringing cloying satisfaction. A relentless need to destroy licked his veins.
The shinobi here, these "ninja" as they called themselves, were as tight-lipped as a clam. Their social hierarchy was a labyrinth, their knowledge jealously guarded. Tom had burrowed deep into the bowels of the dusty library, his fingers combing through brittle scrolls for any scrap of information. Either they were hidden from the likes of him or were guarded from all eyes by some safety mechanism. He grit his teeth annoyed beyond belief.
He'd even dabbled in the blackmailing business, a tactic so effective in the wizarding world.
Here? Useless. Their loyalty – even the whelps! – burned with a frightening intensity.
This "Will of Fire" they prattled on about was a potent brew indeed. Even his precious Legilimency was blunted. The reminder of the Mind Arts triggered Tom to practise Occlumency as a reflex. Abruptly, the violence shuttered behind is eyes, the red turned a dull brown. He took a deep breath as an ugly snarl twisted over his expression.
The chakra these ninja possessed offered an unexpected resistance, a veil obscuring their deeper thoughts. Gleaning anything beyond superficiality, fleeting impressions like dust motes in a sunbeam, required immense concentration and a forced confrontation.
And who, pray tell, wants to draw attention to themselves by abruptly grabbing some random shinobi and staring intently into their eyes? No, Tom wouldn't do anything so gauche. Tom was the picture of propriety, an exemplary citizen. Especially because, frankly, the whole ordeal usually ended with a pounding headache.
It occurred to him that arrogance, a vice he freely indulged in, had its limitations. Tom Riddle, ever the meticulous planner, had anticipated the complexities of entering this realm of chakra and hidden villages. He'd even considered the need for assistance, a notion that usually bordered on heresy in his mind. Yet, as he surveyed the bustling crowd in the marketplace, standing at his window, frustration gnawed at him, a viper coiling in his gut.
The problem wasn't the lack of information itself, no, his intellect could decipher its complexities with ease. It was the sheer inefficiency of it all. These… ninja. Paranoia ran thicker than chakra in their veins. He couldn't confide in them, glean information through subtle manipulation, or even trust them to guard their own shadows. It was maddening.
He craved omnipresence. An Abraxas Malfoy, cunning and discreet, could have infiltrated a rival village, gathering intel on forbidden jutsu. A Nott, skilled in Legilimency, could have pried secrets from unsuspecting minds. An Avery, ruthless and efficient, could have eliminated troublesome obstacles. And Tom knew, that this would be done, even without being told.
Even Minerva, that insufferably uptight witch, would have been an asset. Her knowledge of magical history, particularly obscure rituals, could have proven invaluable. But alas, none of them were here. He was alone, a lone wolf prowling amidst a pack of skittish jackals. The memory of Orochimaru's clones burned his mind, even if they were out of his reach.
The frustration festered. He could bend these ninja to his will, of course. But the time it took, the wasted effort – it was beneath him. He yearned for a legion of loyal followers, not these wary trainees.
A grim smile played on his lips. This wouldn't be a permanent state. Once he mastered this chakra and transcended the limitations of these primitives, then he would expand his reach. He would find his instruments, loyal and cunning, to serve as his eyes and ears in this fractured world. Until then, he'd have to rely on brute force and meticulous planning. It wouldn't be the first time he'd manipulated lesser beings to achieve his goals.
As his eyes swept past the ruling tower of the area, Tom had to give the Hokage and his cronies credit, a grudging, begrudging credit. This systematic conditioning, this unwavering obedience – it was a work of art, truly. It permeated every corner of their society, a silent net ensuring conformity. Even if you knew the game, even if rebellion flickered in your heart, the system had its hooks in you, subtle and insidious. A moment of hesitation, a thought too long lingered on – alarms would go off, not literal sirens perhaps, but a prickling unease, a questioning flicker in your own mind. Is this truly worth it? you'd ask yourself, the momentum of rebellion stalling, replaced by a cautious introspection. Unless your will was forged in iron, the system would nudge you back, reel you in like a wayward fish caught on a silken line. It wasn't a coincidence that Konoha operated in teams. Betrayal was a near impossible feat, its very notion anathema to the deeply ingrained sense of loyalty. No wonder defectors were scarce, and when they did appear, they were formidable, driven by a potent mix of resentment and a yearning for the forbidden.
A smirk played across Tom's lips. This, this was truly a challenge, a thrilling obstacle course designed to test his mettle. The frustrating slow pace of his investigation could not diminish the thrill that coursed through him. This world, with its violence barely concealed beneath a veneer of civility, was everything he could have ever desired. A playground devoid of the stifling restrictions of the wizarding world. A haven where he could finally let loose, indulge in the darkness that writhed beneath the surface.
Oh, how Dumbledore would scowl if he could see him now! Tom threw back his head and let out a guttural laugh, the sound echoing eerily within the confines of his tiny apartment. The frustration was a mere hiccup, a momentary annoyance in his grand design. He would unravel the secrets of this world, bend it to his will, just as he'd done countless times before. Konoha's structure, once understood, could be manipulated, its loyalty subverted and the appearance of Orochimaru had been a stroke of serendipity, a fly landing conveniently in his web.
The ease with which the madman dared utter Tom's name – a moniker still foreign to these primitive ears – elicited a scoff. Yet, the man was a goldmine of information, a walking archive of forbidden knowledge. Tom had even caught fleeting glimpses of ambition simmering beneath the surface of some loyal minds, whispers of a power struggle brewing within the village. Perhaps, Orochimaru was even a contender for the coveted hat – the Hokage's position, if Tom understood their barbaric hierarchy correctly.
Playing the wide-eyed ingenue was tiresome, but necessary. He had mastered the art in Hogwarts, navigating the treacherous shoals of Dumbledore's suspicion. Here, it seemed, all he needed was youthful enthusiasm and a touch of feigned ignorance. Tom grimaced inwardly. He'd rather be dissecting a unicorn heart than endure these insipid tea ceremonies with Konoha's vapid wives.
He pushed the fleeting doubt aside. The snake-like man, though off-putting, had swallowed the bait whole. Tom would find Orochimaru when the time was right. Patience, that was the key.
A thought, cold and calculating, slithered into his mind. The Slytherin Chest, hidden in his pocket, and tantalizing in its sheer aura of dark magic. Just a flick of his wand and he could revise the ritual he'd been tinkering with. Salazar be praised, the chest was a godsend. It was his sole connection to the magical world besides his precious Zemerelda, at this point.
He pursed his lips in sudden annoyance. There it was again, that niggling sensation. An unsettling disquietude whenever Orochimaru was near. He'd felt it from the first meeting, a prickling on the back of his neck, an intuition honed by years of navigating the treacherous world of magic.
Was it a shared lineage? No, the absurdity of the notion made him blink. The Slytherins traced their roots back to the Peverells, a line that stretched further to ancient Indian tribes. This was Japan, a land oceans away. Any connection, at best, would be diluted by generations.
And yet, there was an undeniable pull, an uncanny familiarity. He felt it when their eyes met, a fleeting spark of… something. Frustration gnawed at him. Was it simply a twisted reflection of his own ambition he saw in Orochimaru's serpentine eyes? The question hung heavy in the air, unanswered. Unable to settle, Tom stood abruptly, the cramped confines of his apartment suddenly oppressive. He needed a distraction, a way to chase these disquieting thoughts from his mind. Konoha's bustling marketplace, teeming with life and oblivious gossip, beckoned.
Right then, Tom couldn't care less about the extra pair of eyes following him – there were always eyes, a fact he'd long accepted. He strolled, hands buried deep in his pockets, through the bustling marketplace. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues as the night lights flickered to life. Ninja flitted across the rooftops, a dark blur he could just barely make out now, a marked improvement from his first chaotic days in this strange land. Perhaps, he mused, enhancing his night vision wouldn't be a bad idea first. Though seeing without reacting wouldn't be much use.
Lost in thought, Tom rambled on, hands in pockets and gaze fixed on the distance. Suddenly, a silver streak slammed straight into him.
"Ugh, it's you again," a disgruntled voice grumbled.
Tom looked down, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Sakumo's whelp.
Pure reflex had him catching the boy by the shoulders, who now squirmed desperately to escape his grasp. Tom watched with a hint of dark amusement as the child's expression morphed from shock to annoyance, then a brief struggle, followed by a grudging acceptance that flickered briefly into a flicker of hope. Legilimency wasn't even necessary here, the boy practically broadcasted his emotions.
Just as Tom was about to open his mouth, the silver-haired menace blurted out, "Help me!"
An eyebrow arched sardonically. "Elaborate," Tom's lips twitched with a sarcastic smile.
The unspoken request landed loud and clear in his mind: There's someone after me!
Another eyebrow joined its counterpart in amusement. On a whim, Tom hoisted the boy into his arms, a surge of magic boosting his speed as he dashed towards the nearest training ground.
He unceremoniously dumped his burden. "Explain," he commanded again, this time his voice was laced with authority.
The boy pouted, arms crossed defiantly. "There's this hideous green monstrosity that follows me around everywhere-"
But Tom's attention was already snagged by the tiny flicker of chakra signature racing towards them. Amusement evaporated, replaced by a wary curiosity. He didn't bother outrunning the threat this time. The little Hatake wasn't wrong, and Tom watched as the boy's face drained of colour in horror. He couldn't say he felt much better himself.
It was another child. Clad entirely in green spandex, with the most audacious eyebrows Tom had ever seen.
"What in Salazar's name is this…?" he muttered under his breath.
"I have found you, my rival!" the eyesore yelled, pointing an accusing finger at the brat.
And the silver-haired menace, the normally cocky little twerp, shrunk behind Tom's legs. This cowardly display elicited a surprised chuckle from Tom. This wouldn't do at all.
Just as Tom moved to shield the cowering child further, the green monstrosity finally noticed him.
"WHO ARE YOU?! AND WHY HAVE YOU KIDNAPPED DEAR HATAKE-KUN'S YOUTH?!"
Oh, Merlin's beard. Sakumo would have his head for this if anyone overheard that nonsensical accusation! Tom felt a headache bloom behind his eyes.
"Calm down, child," he attempted to pacify the green whirlwind. "I'm a friend of Hatake-san. Why don't you introduce yourself?"
"A friend, eh? I am Might Guy! The Green Beast of Konoha and HE," Guy boomed, gesturing wildly at the other child, "is my Eternal Rival!
But you, sir," he eyed Tom suspiciously, "look mighty suspicious yourself. Speeding away with Hatake-san at such a pace. I don't believe I know you. And if you are acquainted to Hatake-kun," Guy's voice dropped to an insane-sounding whisper, "prove it! What's his name?"
Panic, a foreign sensation, gnawed at the edges of Tom's mind. He stared blankly at the silver-haired brat, who now sported a prominent sweat bead rolling down his temple. Tom marveled that the green child had picked up on the fact that he hadn't mentioned little Hatake by name, even once.
"You don't know," The brat mumbled, a dull tone lacing his voice. "Or you've forgotten." He pondered for a moment, "Not sure which is worse."
The green child's booming voice rose in pitch with every passing second, mirroring Tom's rising headache.
The green monstrosity, as Tom had silently dubbed him, puffed out his chest. "Well? What say you, friend of Hatake-san? Prove your knowledge!"
Tom, suppressing a smirk at the drama of it all, tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Ah, yes. Of course. My apologies for the forgetfulness. Hatake-san is a prodigy in the making, wouldn't you agree? A mind that thrives on… unconventional… methods."
Kakashi (Who's name Tom finally gleaned through superficially Legilimency- Yes, he was shouting it), still hidden behind Tom's leg, mumbled a disgruntled, "Unique is one way to put it."
Guy's bushy eyebrows shot even higher. "Unconventional? Tell me, friend, can you recount any of Hatake-san's... unorthodox training exercises?"
Tom's mind raced. Training exercises? He knew nothing about the Hatake lineage's training philosophies. "There was a fascinating assignment," he began, weaving a believable lie, "where Hatake-san, still quite young, was tasked with… retrieving a specific type of insect. Apparently, it has unique camouflage abilities that hone a student's observational skills."
Tom's face was of bland politeness and Kakashi, from his hiding spot, choked on a disguised cough. This wasn't far off the mark. His father did make him collect strange things sometimes, though thankfully, insects weren't usually on the list. Guy, however, listened with rapt attention.
"A bug? Brilliant! Learning by observing the natural world! And what kind of insect was it?"
Tom hesitated for a split second. He wasn't familiar with the local insects, so he needed something specific yet believable. He recalled seeing a woman earlier with a particularly elaborate hairpiece. "A… uh… luminescent hairstreak butterfly," he said, hoping it sounded impressive.
Kakashi, from behind the leg, gave a barely audible snort. A butterfly? His father wouldn't be caught dead making him chase butterflies. But Tom, oblivious, continued.
"A rare and elusive creature! Perfect for honing a young mind's focus. Wouldn't you agree, Hatake-san?" Tom nudged the hidden boy with his elbow.
Kakashi, caught off guard, mumbled a reluctant, "I suppose." While the lie about the butterfly was absurd, the core concept of observation was true, making it believable to Guy.
Guy's chest puffed out even further. "Indeed! I, Might Guy, will have to incorporate such a technique into my own training! Observe, analyze, adapt! A worthy addition!"
Tom, inwardly rolling his eyes, knew he had to extricate himself from this situation.
He needed a reason to leave and quickly. "Speaking of observation," he said, a touch of urgency in his voice, "perhaps Hatake-san needs to continue his… unorthodox… training?"
Kakashi, catching on, quickly peeked out from behind Tom's leg with a well-rehearsed frown. "Indeed. Father wouldn't be pleased if I wasn't honing my skills at this very moment, especially not this late at night. Apparently, luminescent hairstreak butterflies are most active after dark." He added the last part with his eyes dipping into crescents.
Guy, however, wasn't convinced. "But, My Rival! We haven't settled the score of who saw who first today!"
"Another time, then!" Tom dismissed, subtly conjuring a harmless wisp of magic that tickled the back of Guy's neck, sending him swatting at the air with a yelp. It was enough of a distraction for him to scoop Kakashi up in one arm, the silver-haired boy barely registering a protest.
"Hatake-san here needs every second to perfect his… unique… skills of nocturnal butterfly hunting!" Tom added with a forced smile, his tone laced with a hint of amusement he couldn't quite suppress. And with that, he used another burst of magic, leaving a bewildered Guy scratching his neck and muttering about strange bugs in the night.
As Tom and Kakashi disappeared into the bustling night market, Kakashi couldn't help but let out a breath of relief. "You made him believe I was… hunting butterflies?" he wheezed.
Tom landed with a soft thud on a roof, the silver blur that was Kakashi bouncing off him like a right little blighter. Here he was, another blasted complication in a world already gone barmy. He eyed the child, a right cheeky face for a three-year-old, complete with a pout about as impressive as a damp squib.
"Alright, alright," he sighed, scooping up the little sod with surprising gentleness for a bloke who usually dealt in shadows and skullduggery. "But you gotta admit, that was a rather nifty escape tactic, for such a… teeny… opponent."
Kakashi, arms crossed across his chest like a miniature Napoleon, glared up at him with eyes burning brighter than a gaslight gone rogue. "Didn't need your help," he grumbled.
Tom raised an eyebrow. This little Hatake was a firecracker in a bowler hat, alright. "Oh? Then why were you scarpering from that… emerald monstrosity?" He couldn't help but nudge the kid to provoke him, earning a glare that could curdle milk.
"Guy," Kakashi mumbled, his voice muffled by Tom's dark cloak.
A memory surfaced unexpectedly, like pulling a crumpled fiver from a forgotten pocket. The aftermath of the ritual, an adrenaline filled haze, dark magic blinding his senses, a man in a bedroom with startlingly familiar silver hair. "Ah, yes," he said smoothly, the amusement in his voice genuine. "Sakumo Hatake's spawn. Should've known you'd have the same spunk. Where is he anyway? "
Kakashi looked up at him, eyes narrowed. "You know my father well?"
Tom's smirk widened, a flicker of something akin to respect flickering in his eyes. "We've, shall we say, collaborated, Hatake-san. Let's just say your old man… impressed the living daylights out of me." There it was again, that strange warmth spreading through him at the mention of Sakumo Hatake. Intrigue, perhaps? Or maybe just a reminder of shared danger. Best not get soft, wouldn't want to lose his edge.
Kakashi, however, wasn't buying it. He squirmed in Tom's hold, his small voice laced with suspicion thicker than pea soup. "Impressed you? Tou-san never mentioned anything about being friends with the likes of you!"
Tom's amusement evaporated faster than a bobby's patience with a chimney sweep. "Friends? Hatake-san, I assure you, your father and I are far from friends." He scoffed, tightening his hold on the boy.
Kakashi's scowl deepened. "You don't know him! You don't even know my name! What are you playing at?" His voice held a tinge of… possessiveness? An odd emotion for a toddler directed at a stranger holding him hostage.
Tom hesitated. Did this child genuinely think he knew more about his father than him? How absurd. He opened his mouth to retort when a realization dawned on him – the child was right, to a point.
He knew next to nothing about Hatake Sakumo, the man who was teaching him on a daily basis, the man who had sparked a flicker of something unfamiliar within him. This wouldn't do. He needed information, and this little… hellion seemed to be his only source.
With a sigh, he adjusted his hold on the boy. "Perhaps you're right, Hatake-san. Tell me about your father. What's he like?"
Kakashi, ever suspicious, narrowed his eyes. "Why d'you want to know?"
Tom considered his answer carefully. He couldn't very well tell a three-year-old about the strange curiosity that gnawed at him regarding his father. "Let's just say," he finally said, choosing his words carefully, "a fellow comrade deserves respect. And respect requires understanding, like knowing your enemy, right?"
Kakashi looked at him for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, to Tom's surprise, he huffed a small sigh. "He's strong," he began, his voice barely a whisper. "Stronger than anyone else. He has a big white fang sword, and… and everyone admires him, even the Hokage herself."
A little coaxing, and Tom listened patiently as the little silver haired brat chattered on about his father, a small smile playing on his lips. It was almost as if he could not stop, now that he had begun talking about his precious Tou-san. How he was an amazing cook, how he gave the best cuddles, how they both thought dogs were the best. And how they were surrounded by idiots. Tom chuckled at the naivety of little children. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He slowly strolled towards the young one's home to drop him off.
Though the morning had been a whirlwind of trouble, a comfortable silence settled over Tom. Perhaps, Hatake's little brat was exactly the distraction he needed.
The afternoon sun beat down on Training Ground Seven, its warmth a stark contrast to the lack of camaraderie between the five of them. Despite their official designation, Minato couldn't help but feel the team was an awkward amalgamation. He yearned for Jiraiya-sensei's boisterous training methods, anything to break the monotony. Jiraiya, his teacher, the man who'd instilled in him a love for jutsu and a thirst for adventure. Yet, the man was also frustratingly absent, off on some self-proclaimed "research mission" that conveniently coincided with a new wave of beautiful kunoichi graduating from the academy. A pang of something akin to resentment, laced with admiration, flickered in Minato's chest.
Across the field, Voldemo-san, their enigmatic teammate, attempted to increase his speed with a series of clumsy, ninja-style sprints. The sight was so comical that Minato had to look away to stifle a laugh. Izumi, however, had no such qualms, a barely suppressed giggle escaping her lips. They were so used to Voldemo-san's elegance and charm (even while running), that any deviation caused a ripple of humour within the little group. With an air of misplaced grandeur, Voldemo- san stopped the charade, a scowl replacing his usual stoicism.
Sakumo-sensei, wont for diplomacy, offered a placating smile. "Don't worry, Voldemo-san. You'll get the hang of it soon enough."
Voldemo's scowl deepened. But before he could retort angrily, he was interrupted.
"Perhaps he's simply overexerting himself, sensei?" Fugaku offered, his voice dripping with a feigned innocence. Minato couldn't hold back any longer, a burst of laughter erupting from him. Voldemo-san, predictably, scowled even further. Minato wondered if he was the only one to catch the twitch of his fingers towards his wand. He watched as Voldemo-san resisted, if barely.
"I believe," Voldemo began hesitantly, a rare display of uncertainty that raised eyebrows all around, "it's time for my next… ritual."
The pronouncement sent a wave of crimson flushing across everyone's faces. Voldemo, however, remained blissfully oblivious.
"Perhaps," Izumi interjected tactfully, "you could enlighten us on the nature of this… ritual?"
Minato could practically feel the mischievous glint in Fugaku's eyes, no doubt formulating a way to exploit Voldemo-san's… ahem… predicament.
"Oh," Voldemo replied, genuinely perplexed. "Certainly." He gestured towards the ground, inviting them to sit. "I intended for it to be a brief demonstration, as I'm not particularly fond of sharing unnecessary information."
Minato, ever the diligent student, nodded in agreement. Discretion was a vital part of the ninja way.
"However," Voldemo continued, "given the… consequences… of the previous ritual," he shot a pointed look at Fugaku and, curiously, Sakumo-sensei, "I wouldn't want to cause any further offense." An almost imperceptible quirk played on his lips. "Besides, I do enjoy a good teaching session."
"The information itself might not be of great significance," he said dismissively, "but I shall take all necessary precautions. After all, if we are to be a cohesive military unit, a basic understanding of my abilities is paramount."
He flourished a long, thin stick – the wand– and a subtle ripple of energy spread through the air. The atmosphere grew heavy, strangely reminiscent of a silencing seal. Minato's mind buzzed with possibilities. Could Voldemo-san be open to collaboration—
"As you may, or perhaps may not, have guessed," Voldemo began, his tone surprisingly engaging, "I hail from a different world. We do not utilize chakra, but rather magic. Every individual possesses a magical core, a blessing bestowed at birth. Like chakra, it cannot be naturally acquired later in life."
Ah, so like chakra, but with a different source. Minato nodded, a sense of comprehension settling in.
"Similar to chakra affinities, magic is categorized by its nature: light, dark, and grey. This classification influences the spell's ease of use. Much like chakra, however, casting spells from the opposite end of the spectrum is incredibly difficult, though not entirely impossible. Are you all following so far?"
"Hai!" Minato chorused with the others. Voldemo-san, for all his eccentricities, was proving to be a surprisingly insightful teacher. Perhaps, just perhaps, Team Seven wasn't such a lost cause after all.
As Voldemo delved deeper into the intricacies of magic, a whirlwind of questions swirled in Minato's mind. Why couldn't these "wizards" coexist peacefully with their "civilians"? What made these civilians such a threat? Did their fear stem from ignorance, or were these civilians capable of unimaginable feats? Were those fantastical creatures he summoned, like the giant serpent, commonplace in his world? How did he teleport seemingly at will? And what of those strange objects – wands and runes etched on the floor – were they tools for channeling this magic? Could a ninja learn to utilize them? Did their world have a political system? Was it one of constant conflict, necessitating such potent magic for survival? Every word Voldemo spoke chipped away at the familiar world Minato knew, revealing a universe brimming with fantastical possibilities and chilling uncertainties.
The air grew thick and oppressive as Voldemo-san continued his explanation. The casual discussion of magic cores felt like a distant memory as he delved deeper. He spoke of the fundamentals of dark magic. How he could wield it like his own right hand. Effortlessly.
Voldemo-san was a bit of a braggart, Minato noted, as the man slowly started leaking his magic in the air. He spoke of rituals and runes, of blood, and dead, of necromancy, of power, power, power… yet with each word, the atmosphere in the training ground solidified. It was a sensation unlike any genjutsu; a suffocating pressure that constricted throats and made breathing labored. A choked whimper escaped Izumi, and even Fugaku, usually an impassive rock, gnashed his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. Minato, too, felt his body slick with nervous perspiration.
But the most unsettling part wasn't the fear. It was… something else. A primal pull, a morbid fascination with the raw power Tom exuded. Sinful, and protected by charismatic veneer of Voldemo-san's handsome face and lithe vitality. It was like staring into the heart of a hungry spider, its web shimmering with an allure that promised both pleasure and destruction. Minato's mind reeled. Was this the power he hinted at before? Was Tom a god amongst men, a being from another world wielding forces beyond comprehension? Fear, a cold, unfamiliar serpent, coiled around his heart. Were there others like him? A planet of these… entities holding the fate of their world in their hands?
Panic threatened to consume him, but a flicker of defiance sparked in his chest. He clamped down on the primal urges, forcing himself to breathe, to focus. Tom, with a smirk that sent shivers down spines, reined in the oppressive aura. The weight lifted, leaving them gasping for air, like fish dragged from the suffocating depths.
"You've had your taste", he said simply, before launching into a chilling explanation of a ritual. Runes etched on the cold floor, a sacrifice… an eye. The sheer audacity of it stunned them all. The audacity, and the… excitement? A dark flicker passed through Fugaku's eyes, a flicker that could have been interpreted as… fascination. He wouldn't show it, the arrogant peacock, but the seed of interest was clearly sown.
Did Voldemo-san know what he was doing? Minato wondered. He had to know. He was a maestro plucking on their strings and herding them to the direction he wanted them. This Minato knew with clarity. But though he knew it, there was little to be done about it. An older, wiser Minato would have, perhaps, known what to do at this point.
Minato felt a sudden determination wash over him. If this was what they were up against from the outside world, it was time to level the odds. Never had the urge to grow quickly been so strong.
By Kami, has he been sheltered!, He thought, the veil lifted from his eyes. When these- wizards – decided to turn on them, I will be ready, he thought as he clenched his hands into fists.
When Voldemo-san finally finished his impromptu lecture, Sakumo-sensei, surprisingly, was the one to speak. He asked, his voice oddly devoid of its usual calm, if a few others could witness the ritual. "Who?" Voldemo-san drawled, a hint of amusement in his voice. Minato's heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Sakumo-sensei's lethargic question made him understand a lot of things… but most importantly that Sakumo-sensei was not completely taken by surprise. He had already been given this knowledge, had acquired it, or riddled it out by himself. His respect for his temporary sensei went up a notch. Even though, the White Fang was renowned, most people assumed he was just muscle, as did Minato. It was nice to be proven wrong once in a while, Minato smiled begrudgingly.
"Sannin. The Hokage…", Sakumo-sensei trailed off, giving the man a pointed look. Voldemo-san on his part agreed, a surprising concession. He did warn them, however, of the "rebound symptoms."
Minato grimaced.
"Though it will not be as severe as the previous incident…", Voldemo-san hurried to add almost apologetically, seeming pained in equal measures.
Minato was far past amusement at this point. However, a flicker of disappointment, or perhaps something else entirely, crossed Fugaku's face.
This ritual, this glimpse into forbidden power, seemed to hold an irresistible allure for him, Minato presumed.
The revelation left Minato with a chilling certainty. This power Voldemo-san wielded was dangerous, addictive, and potentially world-ending.
Yet, a part of him, a traitorous part, craved to witness it, to understand it.
The line between curiosity and reckless abandon had never felt so thin.
AN: Reviews are love 3
