Convergence: A Sasuke Fanfiction

LAND OF STONE

The scorching sun beat down on a rugged, rocky border town nestled amidst the towering peaks of the mountainous region. The outpost stretched out before us, lined with weather-worn wooden buildings. Its dusty road was sparsely populated with most of its traffic tumbleweeds rolling lazily across the landscape

As we approached, the heat shimmered in the air, creating a hazy mirage that danced above the ground. A gust of wind swept through, rustling the chimes hanging from a nearby storefront. The sound is quickly swallowed by the silence of the deserted town. The coarse loose sand shifted noisily beneath our feet as we walked along the uneven sidewalk, feeling the dryness in the air.

It’s been over a month since our departure from Konoha. Our mission, although straightforward, was pointlessly tedious. Regardless, travelling across three countries, just to apprehend a criminal possibly no higher than rank B, or worse, C, in the bingo books seemed like exactly the type of mission the council would lob at us to keep our hands tied for as long as they reasonably could while they planned their nefarious schemes in the background.

Our gaze flickered to regard our teammates. Neji still had his bandages around his neck. The poison we inflicted on him was just as potent as we predicted it to be; the mere sliver that came in contact with his skin robbed him of his ability to speak for over a week. Even now, his voice was hoarse and grating to the ears. The Hyuga still despised us, of course, but the emotion was now tempered by a healthy amount of dread. In light of this, he could be trusted to act professionally at the very least.

Tenten had withdrawn even further, keeping her distance whenever she could. She couldn’t seem to decide what emotion to express whenever our existence came to the forefront of her mind, be it anger or trepidation. It was a strange and interesting phenomenon the girl was experiencing. Might Guy on the other hand grew more outspoken. Had it been anyone else, we would have inferred the odd behaviour was some sort of fear response or coping mechanism. But the Jonin didn’t have a real reason to truly fear us. His Taijutsu surpassed anything our much smaller form was capable of even when we still possessed both our arms.

Of course, based on the information we have on him, it was still within our means to terminate his existence. But he did know this; then it wasn’t fear. Or perhaps, it wasn’t fear for his own life. That made more sense. After all, even the weakest in the group understood there was a very real possibility of the Jonin failing to protect them should we turn our sights on them. Neji’s current state was a perfect demonstration of this.

In short, our squadmates have been on tenterhooks for weeks now. Guy superimposing himself between ourself and the rest of the team only made it more obvious. Their state of mind did not really concern us much though. In the grand scheme of things, they were, in the end, mere pawns. It would be beneath our dignity to go out of our way to trouble them. So long as they stayed well out of our way.

The wooden floorboards creaked as we made our way into one “Asia Saloon”. The swinging doors closed noisily as we entered prompting every pair of eyes inside to swivel to regard us. It was a seedy establishment playing host to all manner of individuals. From possible bandits to missing-nins to even bounty hunters and mercenaries. A myriad of different individuals populated the room. It was a hotspot for the unsavoury; the fourth of such we had stumbled across since entering the backwaters that was this country.

“What will you be having?” the bartender asked as we approached the counter.

“A cup of sake,” we replied before Guy could dismiss the fellow. “While you are at it, I wanted to ask if you’ve seen this man.” We slid the picture of our target across the beat-up counter towards the bartender. Delicately, we dropped a stack of coins on the photograph; about ten times more than a bottle of sake was probably worth.

The grizzled bartender scarcely glanced at the bribe before stuffing it down his apron. His gaze flickered about the store for a moment before he gingerly glanced at the picture. Without saying a word he began pouring our drink.

“So?” we asked as he slid a small porcelain cup towards us.

“Ain’t seen him,” the bartender sniffed.

Expressionless, we dropped another stack of coins on the table before taking a long sip of the alcohol.

It tasted like shit.

“...I think I might remember where I saw him, but my memory’s a bit foggy,” the bartender said as he stuffed the second stack down his apron. The cheeky little shit.

“Now, now, friend,” we tell him. “Let’s get greedy. You understand the term “quid pro quo”, right? I scratch your back and you scratch mine; everyone goes home happy. Alive.”

Our hand formed a seal. A moment later our shadow slithered out to latch on the bartender’s. Sweat beaded the man’s face as he found himself inexplicably reaching for the knife hidden beneath the counter. His eyes grew bloodshot as the same unruly hand raised the brandished weapon before pressing the bladed edge against his crotch.

“I wonder how quickly a man your size would bleed out if his balls got cut off. Care to find out?”

We met his horrified gaze, taking another long sip of our sake. It still tasted like shit.

“...I see,” the bartender said, his adam apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I think I remember him now.”

“Ha, that sounds good,” we replied letting the shadow possession dispel.

“I saw a fellow resembling him come in here two days ago before leaving for the next outpost. He should still be there; men have a habit of loitering about the town for a while before moving on.”

“And why would that be?” we asked.

“Well,” the bartender’s gaze flickered towards Might Guy standing behind us before continuing, “It’s the only outpost in the region that has a… Yūkaku.”

“...Oh,” we said in understanding. “Fair enough. Was he travelling with anyone else?”

The bartender refused to say anymore. Even the threat of a horrific castration and forced self-mutilation did not seem enough to pry any more information out of him. Exasperated, we slid another stack of coins towards the man.

“No,” he finally said, stuffing the coins down his apron. “He was travelling alone.”

Ah… Cheeky shit. We like this one.

“Very well. Thank you.” We rose from the stool to leave. Our teammates hadn’t even bothered sitting in the first place. Neither did they seem too interested in relating with the helpful bartender. It was obvious, both Neji and Tenten disdained the thought of having to relate with anyone in this backwater should they not have to. For his part, Guy appeared to want to assume a more supervisory role; probably in a poorly thought-out bid to feel us out. Not that he could make much progress in that regard. Following bog-standard operation procedure does have a pretty nifty benefit of hiding away more personal motivations from the casual observer. We had no intentions of expressing the sort of originality that gave insights into our inner thoughts. There was simply no reason to.

The Jonin was going to have to work for every scrap of intelligence he got his meaty hands on.

***

We arrived at the next outpost an hour later, and as promised the place was slightly less deserted than the previous one. It didn’t take any time at all to find the brothel; it was after all the liveliest of the establishments present in the town. Scantily dressed women loitered outside a building that was something between an inn and a pub. They giggled, cooed and called, soliciting clients from amongst the passersby.

We made for the brothel, handed out a few bribes and asked even fewer questions—with Neji and ourself dodging the advances of the working women who, much to Tenten’s consternation and embarrassment, offered us their services for free. Five minutes later we were once again on the trail, in pursuit of our quarry. An entire day passed before we made any more progress. We stumbled upon a recently dismantled campsite.

Of course, we considered the possibility of it being a dud. It wouldn’t be the first we found in our search for our quarry. Regardless, we continued, following the tell-tale signs of a less-than-skilled shinobi traversing the desolate landscape. And as luck would have it, that was exactly what they were.

The shinobi proved a bit of a nuisance to Neji’s attacks with the earth armour that coated his skin. The technique bore more than a passing resemblance to Gaara’s sand armour. His counter-offensive came as iron nails launched at transonic speeds from beneath the earth. We could sense the bits of chakra-infused metal wiggling beneath the earth like earthworms as they manoeuvred to aim at us. Nail torpedoes, the fellow named the technique. Quaint. And dangerous, yes, but easy to deal with once you know where and in what direction the nails would be fired.

In the end, Might Guy neutralised the target before we would have been forced to seriously intervene. Neji and Tenten were barely injured—as few scratches each. The mission was nearly complete; all that was left was to escort our captive to the Land of Wind's capital to be interrogated and stand trial.

We knew, in the end, the mission was nothing more than a ploy to divert our attention. A distraction.

The other shoe would soon drop.

We kept our senses primed for what would come after.

***

Somewhere Along The Eastern Border. The Land of Fire.

“Tora…”

“Hebi.”

“Inu. Tatsu!”

“Iikkō suru!” Hands came together in a sharp, audible clap. Danzo’s chakra churned and the living sacrifice in the centre of the seal array screamed in torment as dust and ash slowly swirled forward to encase their body. The grey mass twisted and moulded their form, altering it, as a skilled potter would wet clay.

Slowly the sacrifice's chakra signature was completely overwritten by another; a stale, musky aura of ages gone past rising to subvert theirs.

“Sensei,” Danzo greeted falling to his knees. The two ROOT operatives behind him copied him.

“Lord Second!” they said in chorus.

Tobirama’s ashen gaze panned across the assembled Konoha-nin. “...Danzo?” he intoned before glancing down at his decaying body. “Edo Tensei? What have you done, you this unruly disciple?”

“Forgive me, Tobirama-sensei,” the withered shinobi replied, his head dipping further in self-reproach. “My hands were forced.”

“...What happened? How is the village?”

“The village thrives, Sensei, but I worry for its future.” Danzo gestured and one of the ROOT operatives crouched by his side rose and walked forward to pass a scroll to the Second Hokage. Tobirama received it, his gaze erratic as he skimmed through its contents.

“...Uchiha Sasuke,” the undead Hokage breathed a moment later.

“The boy's hatred burns pure and true, sensei; unmatched in potency by any in his accursed clan before him… I fear the rise of another Madara. One in a future with no Hashirama to subdue him when he eventually grows unruly.”

Tobirama tossed the scroll back to the ROOT operative. “Mangekyō at age six ... Danzo, why is the boy still alive?” the second Hokage asked, pinning his former student with a reproachful glare.

“...My hands were tied,” the withered shinobi replied, his head dipping further. “His older brother is loyal, valuable, yet misguided. Overt action on my part would lead to repercussions from him that Konoha would struggle to survive. Hiruzen has grown soft and refuses to see reason; he has made it so that direct intervention on my part is near-impossible for a number of reasons.”

Tobirama stared in silence as he mulled over Danzo’s words.

“So you used a Jutsu I had explicitly forbidden… to summon me… just to kill an upstart Uchiha brat?”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to discount the boy, Sensei,” Danzo replied gravely. “Our analysis showed that even crippled as he is, the Uchiha is at least, Jonin-level. He survived an encounter with two S-rank missing-nin, leaving one at the very least incapacitated and only losing an arm in return. If the Yamanakas are to be believed, one of his Mangekyo abilities can completely obliterate a person’s soul. To this day, we have no information on what his other eye is capable of; it could be as insidious as the first, or even, worse, for all we know.

“Currently, I have no shinobi on my roster capable of assuring a guaranteed assassination on the boy; one of my best was killed when he was still six. I doubt any single one could be relied upon to complete the task now. Pulling the theoretical minimum number of ninjas required to guarantee the boy’s termination from the workforce, regardless of how briefly, would draw Hiruzen’s attention and ire. I would prefer to avoid doing that at the moment; there’s just too much at stake now to allow infighting to fester.”

“...Very well,” Tobirama replied moments later. “I will deal with this matter. Your work on this reincarnation is quite shoddy and I am not at full strength, but it should be more than enough to deal with some upstart Uchiha brat regardless of how potent his eyes are. Where is the boy now?”

A small smile graced Danzo’s lips. The Septuagenarian gestured to one of his cloaked henchmen who presented a mission scroll, a grey cloak and a featureless white porcelain mask to the Edo Tensei. “I managed to pull some strings and had the boy sent on a roundabout mission to the Land of Wind,” Danzo said, as Tobirama received and donned his effects. “He should reach the capital in about three weeks. The details are in the scroll.”

“I see. And the Mangekyo?”

“They would prove useful in securing Konoha’s future, Tobirama-sensei. Please retrieve them.”

“Very well then,” the Hokage replied. “I am off.”

And the next moment he was gone; not a trace of his presence left behind.

Simply.

Gone.