Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Eyes Like Yours ❯ The Monster Inside ( Prologue )

Author: LadyLiyan

Rating: PG-13 for language and violence

Pairings: Undecided

Disclaimer: Not mine, but oh… how I wish they were.

Author's note: This is my very first fanfiction story. Please be kind with reviews. Special thanks to my hubby for spending half the day patiently listening to me tell him the entire story. Also, many thanks to MartieDawn for all her encouragement and help into the wee hours of the morning.

Dedication: This first chapter is dedicated to Rasengan22 because she has excellent timing ;-)

 

The seasons were changing.

 

The young Chunin wrapped his arms around his torso in an effort to conceal himself from the rapidly falling temperature. Snowfall would begin any day now in the Hidden Village of the Ridge.

 

“Probably start tonight with my friggin' luck” he mumbled irritably to himself. He gave up trying to protect his upper body from the cold and instead settled for burying his hands deep into his pockets.

 

Winters here were unbearable at best; and deadly at worst. The combination of both the high altitude as well as its precarious location among the steepest cliffs in all of Earth Country produced not only the bitterest of colds, but winds that would rival any hurricane. All the villagers hated winter in the Ridge, but no one more so than this particular ninja tonight.

 

It was becoming painfully obvious that the pocket technique wasn't working. His irritation began to rise just as fast as the temperature fell. Why, oh why, did he have to forget his jacket at home? He's a shinobi for Kami's sake! What kind of shinobi isn't prepared for the weather of all things?

 

Everyone in the village knew to be extra cautious and protect themselves from the cold during this time of year. It was uncommon for a winter to pass without at least one ill-fated villager finding an unfortunate demise from the freezing temperatures. Or perhaps even a fatal push from the wind into one of the never ending valleys below.

 

Luckily he wasn't stationed anywhere near the cliffs tonight. Only the most seasoned watchmen were assigned to those posts during the snow season due to the level of danger from the winds. Having only passed the Chunin exams this last fall he was still being given the lower ranked missions; a fact that irked him to no end until he demanded something more suited for his new rank.

 

Which, of course, is how he came to be assigned to his first night of guard duty. At this thought, the corner of his mouth turned up into a self-satisfied smirk. Finally an opportunity for him to prove himself the capable, professional shinobi he knew himself to be. A way to show the whole village that Yukishita Arata is a strong, talented ninja who can accomplish any mission assigned to him.

 

Even without a jacket.

 

“Damn it all!” the newly appointed guard breathed harshly into the night. He continued to compile mental curses against his own stupidity. In his haste to be on time and make a good first impression he ran out the door with all the ninja equipment he could carry. But no jacket.

 

This fact did not go unnoticed by his fellow guardsman. As the other guard was being relieved by Arata he made a passing comment about how impressed he was at the preparedness of the new addition to the unit. He then gave Arata an obnoxious grin and sauntered off to wherever guards went after their shifts ended. At the time Arata had thought that all his effort to impress the guard had paid off. Only after night had fallen two hours later did he realize what the other guard was really smirking about.

 

Idiot didn't even offer any advice, Arata thought angrily. He may be an unprepared newbie, but that jackass hadn't even given him an update on the status of the assignment before leaving to what was most likely a well heated home. Seriously… who leaves a Chunin fresh of out exams alone with a deadly criminal without providing the slightest bit of information?

 

As the realization of his current assignment finally sank in, the guard's thoughts took an entirely different turn; one which left his blood just as cold as the weather. He hadn't really contemplated it before now.

 

Arata slowly looked over his shoulder toward the enclosure behind him. Just beyond the thick metal door, in a room without windows, was the last surviving member of the Hitomi clan. His excitement at first being assigned to this post, then his eagerness to impress his fellow guards, and then his constant disparagement of the weather had all distracted him from the fact that he was currently guarding the Hidden Village of the Ridge's one and only murderer.

 

Not that there's any reason to be afraid, Arata reassured himself. After all, after what happened that night there was no chance in hell that the ex-shinobi locked in the room behind him would ever be a threat to the village again. The elders had made sure of that even before the blood had dried. But still, a murderer is a murderer. And this was as close as Arata had ever been to a murder…

 

Not liking his train of thought, but unable to think of anything else now, Arata turned around fully to face the room behind him. What used to be a small room of the main house on the Hitomi complex had been converted into a cell specifically for the killer inside.

 

Arata stared at the cell. There was really never a need for a prison before this. The Ridge was a small village whose members were far removed from the dangers common in other villages outside the mountain range. In fact, it has been generations since the Ridge's home country of the Earth has been involved in any conflicts with its neighboring countries. The only people in the village that had ever seen fighting or bloodshed were the shinobi that were assigned missions in other countries.

 

Arata approached the door slowly. He hadn't been there that morning. The morning after the person within this makeshift cell lost their mind. But he heard the whispers, saw the terrified looks of those who had witnessed the aftermath of the violence firsthand. And even though he had yet to experience any type of carnage in his career as a shinobi, he could imagine it. And just imagining it terrified just the same.

 

He continued to venture closer to the door. Despite his rising trepidation, he began to feel a strange desire, no… a need to glimpse the prisoner inside. He needed to see the one who had brought the violence of the outside world into their peaceful home.

 

Stopping just inches from the thick windowless door, Arata pressed his hands against its cold surface, reassuring himself of the security it provided. The oddest thought had just occurred to him. Just behind this stone door was someone who at one time wore the same uniform that he was wearing now. Someone who had attended the same academy, and had passed the same exams. Soon Arata himself will head outside the village to complete the same type of missions that the shinobi behind the door had at one time completed.

 

In many respects, they were exactly alike. Except that Arata would never return from a mission one day and suddenly become a deranged murderer like the one on the other side of this door.

 

Right?

 

Suddenly Arata felt his entire body grow numb. He quickly turned away from the door and slumped down onto the ground. Resting his body heavily against the support of the stone behind him as the anxiety within him grew to an alarming level.

 

The murderer behind the door used to be a shinobi just like himself. No, a better shinobi then Arata could ever hope to be. The ex-ninja trapped within this cell was once the most respected in the whole village. In fact, perhaps the best ninja that the Ridge had seen thus far.

 

And the best ninja in the Ridge returned home one night to murder their entire clan; leaving their bloody corpses strewn across the entire Hitomi compound for all to see.

 

Arata reminded himself of the need to breath as he once again began to image such a sight. How could someone commit such an atrocity? If the once highly regarded shinobi on the other side of this door could fall so easily into insanity, then what hope did Arata have of avoiding the same fate?

”What was different?” Arata allowed himself to ask the freezing darkness. There had to be something different. He wiped an arm across his forehead to remove the perspiration that had gathered there. Wait… perspiration? I'm sweating? Taking a deep breath, Arata pushed himself against the door and used the support it provided to lift himself back onto his feet.

 

He needed an answer. He desperately needed to know that he wouldn't become what was behind this door. He needed to see it. Needed to see what was trapped inside this cell, because it wasn't a shinobi. Shinobis protect their village, not kill off its inhabitants on a whim. No, it wasn't a shinobi like Arata. No, it couldn't even be human.

 

It wasn't anything like him Arata told himself determinedly. No matter how much their lives had in common. There was once difference. One crucial difference. He had a family, and friends, and people who trusted him. He cared about people, wanted to protect them. Protect them from killers like this one. Arata took a deep breath. Filling himself with much needed air and hopefully much needed determination. He lifted his hand and slowly, quietly undid the lock attached to the door.

 

He needed to see what was inside. He needed to make sure that he was right. The thing inside wasn't anything like him. Couldn't be. Because Arata was human.

 

And the thing inside was a monster.

 

Because only a monster would kill everyone that loved them.

 

Taking one last, deep breath, Arata prepared himself to open the door just enough to glimpse into the dark cell. To prove to himself that beyond this door was something completely different from himself. A murderer.

 

A monster that only pretended to be human.

 

Closing his eyes tightly, Arata quickly yanked the excruciatingly heavy door open just an inch. He slowly opened first one eye, then the other. Allowing his sight to adjust to the darkness within, he steeled himself for the evil he was about to face.

 

And gasped.

 

Not at the monster that he had prepared to face, but at the room itself.

 

The empty room.