Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Shinobi: Pride of Pride ❯ Chapter Sixteen ( Chapter 16 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Shinobi: The Price of Pride

By: Hanasaki Rikku

Summary: With a clan like the Hanasaki, is it any wonder why Rikku is the way she is? She lost her brother and friend at such a young age, and things with Chizuko have seemed to only gotten worse. What does Itachi want and why does a certain Snake Sannin seem so interested in her life all of the sudden?

Rating: T/M. For violence (poorly written, but still there), language, and some other stuff I can't quite recall at the moment. Just be warned. Oh, that, and my horrible writing.

Genre: Romance/Action/Adventure/Angst

“Honor isn't about making the right choices. It's about dealing with the consequences.”

((CHAPTER SIXTEEN))

The scent of moist rock filtered strongly within the room - or cell, really. The only source of light was the lantern she'd brought down with her, the dim, orange hue highlighting the room eerily, reflecting the thin threads of silken webs inhabiting every corner and shelf.

A sense of claustrophobia nipped at her senses, her breathing falling labored for a moment that she had to stop and gather her bearing before continuing forward again. Swallowing thickly, a nervous habit, she scanned the room and it's muddled composure, eyeing what remained of the jars upon the many shelves with a pointed weariness.

Shelves. So many of them, lining every wall and holding not books, but jars. Jars, most shattered into millions of unrecognizable pieces, others containing the most haphazard of things of which she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know the contents if. Despite her disgust, she couldn't help but stare in awe, captivated in a sort of nauseating, indisposed trance. It took a moment to shake herself and break away from the line of jars and things.

She didn't want to know.

Steps, her steps, echoed loudly in the room, so hollow and there that she almost faltered upon the sudden sound; this place was creepy enough without her adding to it. There wasn't much to walk into, the room long and narrow, with two long walls of the aforementioned shelves and what they contained towering on either side of her, the light fixtures about dangling and swaying to a nonexistent breeze. Somewhere, off in the distance, she heard the sound of dripping water and smirked wryly at clichéd dramatics.

Centered in the room was a long slab of finely cut stone, five leather straps bolted upon its top; she wasn't ignorant. She could probably guess correctly as to its uses. She ran her hand along the side of it, pausing at one of the straps and catching it between her fingers. Even in the dim setting, she could easily make out the darkened stains along the inner side of the strap.

Blood.

Releasing it, her gaze rose, falling upon the shelf just before her, the only one that seemed to hold something aside from those dubious jars and their not so mysterious contents. She wasn't quite sure how'd she'd missed it, as it was right in front of her. Instead of the many containers, it held a series of rustic scrolls, layered with a thick sheet of dust. She made her way around the stone slab, to the shelf, scanning the tags dangling from the ends of each scroll, relaying their secrets. It wasn't anything she really understood, just a bunch of names and numbers, among other things.

Rikku fought the distraction ebbing at the fringes of her mind, of a crimsoned-haired, ruby-eyed teammate and the harsh words spoken. She hated what she'd done. What she'd said. It was so…cold. So heartless. She wasn't heartless. But this needed to be done. It was for Chizuko's own good.

She closed her eyes, letting out a weary sigh, resting a hand on the shelf's frame as support. She didn't understand why everything had to be so complicated. Why everything had to be like this. It was tearing her apart inside, and she didn't know how much more she could take.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, bringing her other hand to rub at the bridge of her nose, willing away the growing migraine.

And then she saw it.

There, written in fine kana, like everything else, so plainly upon a slip of parchment, with simple strokes that it merely blended amongst everything else. It looked so bland, so ordinary, something that would - normally - mean nothing more, something that would stand as much of a relevance as the names and numbers she'd seen before it. But it was different. It did mean something. It was…

Niamoshi.

Her heart stopped, and a cold chill spread in her chest, expanding steadily. She was frozen, still standing, one hand gripping the wooden frame in front of her so tightly her knuckles had gone white, the other hovering uselessly above her face. She could imagine herself, wide-eyed and mouth agape, but knew she wasn't. Her lips only slightly parted and eyes prickling dangerously, she suddenly felt so overwhelmed.

All because of a simple name.

She almost didn't want to take it, open it, but it was already in her hands before she knew it, after standing there for what could have very well been hours - or maybe not. Slowly, though, she undid the string binding the thing shut, letting it drop to the floor soundlessly. Another minute passed before she managed the strength to open it, and even then it was at a painfully slow pace. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears, and her mouth had gone dry, but it did nothing to deter her.

She read carefully, scanning each line with more precision than the next as she slid the scroll open, and it was all she could do not to shake. An ice block descended upon her with every line, and she seemed to have forgotten to breathe. Hot and cold all at once, she didn't bother to read the thing again, and it fell to the stone floor with a clatter. A hand flew to her mouth, in a sort of disbelieving shock, and she stumble back, away from the scroll and the shelf and the jars. Everything. She backed away, into the slab, and gasped as everything finally settled in.

Ayame… Orochimaru… experiments… bodies… subjects… Oh Gods. It was all too much. She bolted, away from everything, running from the room in a flurry of panic that she didn't even notice the doors fall shut behind her, a latch falling over the lock, preventing access. She didn't notice, nor did she care, she only wanted to get away.

Across the courtyard, down the halls, and past guards and servants, into her own quarters, she shut the doors behind her, falling into a heap before them. She leaned against the shoji, never mind that it could have very well collapsed behind her weight with how thin it was, gasping for air.

Ayame…what did they do to you?

She didn't understand. Any of this. The box her grandfather had given her, her father's memento, had contained the key, giving her access to the strange room. But, if it was her father's room, why had it contained research and items belonging to the notorious Snake Sannin, Orochimaru? Why had the box possessed the man's name upon it?

And Ayame… What had they done to her? Were those really reports of the ones who'd…

Bile rose in her throat, but she bit it back down, shaking the thoughts away. She could almost picture it in her head. Everything within that scroll, so elaborate in its detail, was so clear in her mind. It flashed before her eyes, images she's never truly bore witness to, there all the same, something new to torment her nights.

How was it possible? She didn't understand. What did Ayame have to do with this? Dammit! Why Ayame? Why did everything have to revolve around Ayame? If life wasn't bad enough already - this only topped things off. She wasn't sure it could get any worse. Why bother? Why did she bother anymore? And what only made things worse was…

Orochimaru.

Honestly, if she thought about it, this all came down to Orochimaru. Why? What was it about him? What connections did her clan and that man hold? There was obviously something afoot. Hokori and Meiyo had behaved far too suspiciously for it all to be just some coincidence. She was no fool. She was positive something was going on. Goddamn, if she could only figure out what!

What she hated, though, was not knowing. She despised being left in the dark almost as much as she despised Meiyo. And…

Ayame.

Orochimaru.

Everything in her life seemed to be connected with those two in one way or another. But why? There was something more to this; it was there, lurking just beyond reach, and she'd be damned twice over if she didn't find out. Because she would find out. Damn it all. She would.

Rikku sighed again, calming her breath at last, gazing far into the darkness of her room. She closed her eyes again, relaxing, sighing softly in the silence of her room. This was getting to be too much for her. The stress. Everything. She was only fifteen, dammit. And now, in her room, the clammy heat of the dungeons had dissipated, and she was left with a sudden frigidity. Arms, limp at her sides, were alerted with a chill that quickly took her person, causing her to shiver involuntarily.

The room was cold.

Colder than usual.

Absently, she glanced at her window, a high view barely overlooking the walls surrounding them, and found it open. Rubbing some warmth into her arms, her previously injured one still sore, even after Meiyo's work, she rose with a frown, fairly positive she had not left it open. In fact, she hadn't been home in days, and the servants knew better than to enter her chambers without proper warrant, so there was no possible reason her window should have been open.

Carefully, she stepped away from her doors, to the lone window, just across, narrowed eyes staring past the parted shutters wearily. Something was nagging at her senses, a familiar feeling she'd learned not to ignore, but she could not seem to find any other chakra signature within close diameter of her lands. Or, at least, any she found to be threatening. The only other person was Hokori, and he was lying in bed, most likely, all the way into the Northern District.

Grasping the windowsill, she leaned forward, peering over the edge and down the dramatically long distance to the ground. Nothing. Not that she'd expected anything. But the feeling was strong and it wouldn't go away, so she wasn't about to just ignore it. Again, she looked out over the estates, cursing inwardly at her rather poor night vision. Or vision in general. Closing her eyes before frustration took over her better sense of judgment, she spread out her chakra in steady waves, reading the vibrations in the winds.

It didn't take her long to find the disruption in both the chakra and wind, and was not at all pleased to find it directing her back into her room. Opening her eyes, she turned, to her bed, both shocked and puzzled to find a shadowed lump upon it. She blinked, wondering whether she was hallucinating, but found it still there, breathing steadily, which meant it was definitely alive.

She stepped away from the window, not bothering to shut it, and stalked silently to her bed, glaring down at the lump accusingly. Without hesitation, she yanked the covers from it, revealing their features, and was taken aback by her discovery.

“Ita—” She caught herself, biting down on her cheek to prevent herself from speaking. Upon closer inspection, however, she found it was not Uchiha Itachi, rather a much younger version with uncanny similarities. She frowned, hit again with the niggling feeling that she should somehow know this person. All thoughts of Itachi, Orochimaru and Ayame were pushed away. Because, at the moment, all she really wanted to know was why the hell there was an Uchiha look-alike lying on her bed.

He was severely pale, almost deathly, and his cheeks were gaunt and body jutted with protruding bones. His eyes flickered in a restless sleep, bruised a deep purple from his apparent malnutrition. She resisted the urge of leaning forward and taking his pulse, to prove to herself that he was in fact alive. His breathing was so light and inaudible, it was hard to tell by that alone.

There was no moon tonight, so anything else of the boy was difficult to discern, only the fluorescent lights of the village kept from obscuring her in total darkness. It only heightened her alarm, and really, she was at a loss for what to do. There was no malice in his aura, for he had no aura, but she knew he wasn't as weak as he appeared to be.

His chakra must have been blocked, it wasn't hard to figure that out, but that still didn't answer why he was here, how he got here, and what she was going to do about him.

Crouching down beside the futon, more so to get a better look at the Itachi look-alike, she frowned thoughtfully. He was sweating profusely, and a slight pinch at his brow spoke of his fitful dreams. She would have to wake him up though, regardless. He wasn't her problem, and she didn't appreciate him dropping by unannounced.

Did she even know him? He looked familiar, but that could also be singled down to being because his appearance so greatly resembled the Uchiha she'd come upon twice now in recent days. She made a note to find out how the boy had managed to meander past her security in the first place, which could easily top that of Konoha's own.

Reaching forward, toward her pillow, she slipped her hand beneath the plush object, grasping the weapon hidden there. Silently, she shifted her body, raising herself slightly as she positioned herself just above the futon, the kunai in hand. She held the tip of her kunai to his throat, while using her other hand to find the correct pressure point located near the base of his head.

She found it, not that it was difficult, as she'd been trained to - Hokori had never liked the Hyuuga's advantage in battle. She paused when she felt his body give a slight jerk, his breath hitching. Eyeing him, she wondered if he'd awaken of his own will, but dismissed that thought when he resumed his composure.

“Don't wake him.”

She startled, pulling back sharply and almost nicking the boy in the process with the kunai. She spun around, in search of the voice, her eyes narrowed and the grip renewed upon her knife. She found him near the window, sitting ever so casually upon her chair, reclined in a lazy fashion. His eyes bore into hers with the normal intensity, and the darkness of her room causing him to seem even more sinister.

A scowl twisted her lips, and she stood, taking only a step closer to the man.

“Uchiha…” It was hard to keep the venom from her tone, but it could not be helped. This man was a traitor, she'd trusted him, and he'd betrayed them all.

He did not appear at all affected, looking bored if anything else. He didn't say anything either, only watched, as if in deep thought, though you could never tell with his obvious lack of facial expressions. It was difficult to remain angry with so little response. She wasn't like Chizuko; she didn't have this unnatural ability to stay angry for extended periods of time with no motive.

Relaxing some when he made no move to attack, or do anything for that matter, she spoke again, this time hiding a great deal of her dislike for the man. “What do you want?” Why are you here? Who is that boy? How did you get here? One question at a time; she wasn't sure the Uchiha took well to be questioned.

At last, he moved, raising himself off the chair with all the fluent grace of an assassin, stepping forward and stopping closer than she'd have liked. She swallowed thickly, forcing herself not to step back from the ever-intimidating man. His eyes, still possessing the deadly Sharingan, slid to the prone form behind her. After another moment, he answered. “Calling upon a favor.”

Again, she frowned, following his gaze briefly to the dark-haired boy, then returning her own onto him. “What?” A favor? What the hell was he talking about? He looked at her again, the blank look on his face beginning to annoy her. She hated not being able to read a person. She'd grown so used to being able to see what people were feeling by looking into there eyes that she found it unnerving not being able to now.

Idly, somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered why he wasn't attacking her, or she him.

“Yes. I am leaving you in the care of my otouto.”

She felt her eyes widen slightly, and again she turned to look at the boy resting upon her bed. “Otouto? He's…your brother?” That would explain the striking resemblance between the two. But… what the hell? Why bring him here? What was he even doing with his little brother? Hadn't he killed his clan? Well, no, she'd heard about the lone survivor, but still. And why was he asking this of her? What made him think he could trust her when she was an enemy? She glared at him, which, she supposed, in a way, was uncalled for, seeing as he had been somewhat… polite. He hadn't killed her yet, had he? “No.”

“It was not a request.” He said it so casually she was beginning to feel her anger rise. “You owe me.”

She scoffed, “Owe you? I don't owe you anything.” She had an idea where this was going, and for a moment she was reminded of the serpentine Sannin. She crossed her arms, hating that she had to tilt her head just to look at him, therefore effectively diminishing any level of threat she had. Which, in this case, probably wouldn't have worked anyway, and he had already proved quite capable of standing up against her Kurutteiru. “I never asked you to save me.”

The indignant tone in her voice was almost childlike in quality, and she could have sworn she caught a hint of a smirk twitch at the Uchiha's lips. His head cocked to the side a fraction, and his eyes almost shone in the darkness. She didn't have to see it to know the amusement - at her expense - was playing within those crimson orbs.

“But I did, and you are in debt to me.” She blinked, and he was gone, but she didn't have the chance to register this before she felt the tip of a kunai against the small of her back; she stiffened. “Or,” he continued, stepping closer until she could almost feel the heat radiating off him, a contrast from her incredibly cold room. “I could kill you now.”

The pressure of the kunai strengthened until she felt a slight prick, but she didn't dare move. “Bastard.” If she had known he'd use her honor and pride against her, manipulate her into his dues by saving her - if you could call it that - before Orochimaru had had a chance to kill her, than she would have happily taken death any day. She didn't even want to imagine the things this Uchiha was capable of concocting in that twisted mind of his.

The stress of the kunai was gone, and he stepped around her, a small, nearly invisible smirk gracing his lips. Smug bastard… “But then, that really wouldn't benefit me.” He returned the kunai to his holster, somewhere in the folds of his robes, his face reverting back to its cool mask. “And besides, you wouldn't want anything to happen to Chizuko, now would you?”

Chizuko… Her hands fisted and her jaw clenched, and it was all she could do not to hit him right now. How dare he? How dare he threaten her friend? Dammit! She hissed, “And if I don't?” Her voice shook, belaying her uncertainty, but she refused to let up.

He turned to the window, now only partially facing her, and remained contemplative for a moment. “As we speak, Kisame is waiting for me near the Himura residence. All he needs is my signal and you will never see your friend or her family again. We are very efficient in our work, Rikku-san. Choose wisely.”

Disbelief, among other things; she was overwhelmed. This couldn't be happening. She had to be dreaming. She knew she was no saint, but dammit, she had never done anything to deserve this. She blinked away the stinging sensation in her eyes, feeling her fists sore with the strain. “Liar. Kisame's dead. Hatake-san killed him. I was there.”

He looked back at her, his eyes holding a dark intensity that sent her closer to the edge of emotional instability. “We are Akatsuki, Rikku-san. We are not so easy to defeat.”

But she had seen it. She had seen him die at Kakashi's hands. How could he still be alive?

It didn't register right away, she couldn't say she had expected what proceeded next, but the long katana jutting from the man's torso, a frozen look of surprise and mingled pain on his shark-like features vaguely registered in her mind. Blood ran down his lips, dark eyes drifting slowly as if to completely register what had happened, downward to rest on the bloodied metal sword, gleaming red in the soft daylight. His grip on the large sword faltered, knees buckling underneath him. The only thing that kept him up at this point was the katana…

…And Kakashi standing behind him, a second katana in hand. He swiped it across the man's neck with one clean stroke, blood spurting like a geyser. He pulled the other sword out of the severed body, sheathing it along with the other.

She shook the memory from her head, inhaling deeply to calm her erratic emotions. Sighing, she lowered herself on the futon, sitting close to the edge so as not to disturb the boy, running a hand through her long bangs wearily.

“What do you want from me?” Her voice was so soft and dejected, she wondered if he'd heard her at all, but made no move to repeat herself.

Her life seemed to be in a downward spiral right now, and no matter what, she couldn't seem to pull out. She didn't care anymore, either. She'd had enough. What was the point in trying anymore, when everything only seemed to get worse?

Crouching down in front of her, the Uchiha examined her for a moment, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. This was all his fault. Him, and Orochimaru and Ayame. If it weren't for them, she might have had a chance at a normal life. But no. Not anymore.

She felt his thumb beneath her chin, directing her face to look at him, and she didn't even bother to fight back, not even a glare or scowl. She'd given up. “My foolish brother, he has made a grave mistake in trusting Orochimaru. Watch him for me, train him, and do not let that snake have him. I ask you to protect him, as I cannot. It's a lot to ask, I know, but…”

“…I'll…do it.”

He smirked.

What have I done?

((CHAPTER END))