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His hurried footsteps echoed ominously in the dark, narrow corridor.
He frantically scanned the area around him every few seconds, using his sand to defend him against the no-doubt poisoned senbon traps his pursuer had laid. It was too dark for him to see properly, and he unknowingly tripped them every few steps. He knew this was the worst place to be cornered in, his domain, but mistakes had been made and it was too late to do anything about it now.
It was honestly insulting, he mused as he continued running. He was touted to have been the most powerful Kazekage in the history of the village, and yet he was now no better than a trapped rodent trying to escape fate. And all because he cared.
He knew Sasori was damaged, broken. The poor boy was so young when his parents were killed in action, and he knew Chiyo was far from a warm, nurturing caregiver. When he returned from the front lines of the war with the moniker ‘of the red sand’ due to the amount of blood he spilled at not even 10-years-old, he realized something needed to be done to keep the young prodigy from going down the wrong path.
So he arranged for Sasori to be his mentee.
He was talented, far more talented than most shinobi at his command. Not only was Sasori proficient in the art of puppetry, he was a master of poisons, both in identifying them to create antidotes, but creating them as well. He had been proud to have such a genius working for their village, and he thought the boy felt the same.
What a fool he had been.
He had noticed, of course. Sasori’s attentive gaze had begun to morph from admiration of him as a sensei, the Kazekage of their village, into something more adult. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise; the red-head was 15, and hormones are high at that age. He just hadn’t anticipated the younger male being interested in him in that way.
Perhaps he hadn’t done enough to quell his growing affection. Sasori had stated numerous times he valued their relationship, and he had made it a point to emphasize to Sasori every time that he valued him as a parent does a child, but it seemed his words fell on deaf ears.
He finally saw a door at the end of the hall, using his sand to burst through it. It was more lit in here than the corridor, revealing strung up puppet bodies and limbs strewn about the space. He kept the sand swirling, surveying the space. He found it suspicious he hadn’t run into Sasori yet; he was sure it was only a matter of time.
He had been lured here, so where was he?
Adrenaline pumping in his veins, he walked slowly, cautiously, waiting for the next assault. In his heightened state, he didn’t pay close enough attention to the floor; he felt too late the small button beneath his foot as he stepped down. The faint hissing sound was the only warning that he had made an even worse mistake than being trapped.
The gas was invisible, and he held his breath too late. He could feel it settling in his airway and lungs; Sasori was known to favor fast-acting agents, so he was unsure how long he had, but he was going to get as far away as he could with the time he had. He turned back toward the door, but his legs gave way beneath him before he could even take a step, and he fell prone onto the cold, stone floor. He willed his body to cooperate, move move MOVE, but the poison was moving at too rapid a pace. He was barely able to reach his arm forward, trying and failing to pull chakra to his hand to wield the sand to move him, when the full effect overcame him and his entire body went numb.
As if materializing out of the shadows, Sasori was suddenly in the doorway, observing. Calculating.
He felt his heart break, meeting his half-lidded gaze head on. He had wanted Sasori to succeed him as Kazekage; what would happen to Suna now?
“Why?” he rasped weakly, body heavy yet mind alert. Utterly vulnerable, tortuous for a man such as himself. “I thought our relationship was special to you.”
“It is,” he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather. His footfalls were measured, soft, barely making a sound. He truly was the epitome of a shinobi, and in that moment it disgusted him. He crouched down in front of him, studying his disabled body like he did a test subject. "I've been debating on it for a while," he began, soft honeyed voice almost too loud in this silent space. "Defecting, I mean. I hate this place; if this village was razed to the ground, I wouldn't bat an eye. In fact, I may just do it myself to save the time. But I've been...Hesitant."
He tried to scoff, but it came out haggard. "About what? You sound pretty decided."
His brow furrowed, like he was in anguish. "I don't want to leave you," he continued softly. "It's been agony for me, torn between finally getting out of here and my desire to stay with you." His perfect lips curled slightly. "Then I realized the solution."
"What a wonderful solution, poisoning the Kazekage," he spat sarcastically.
Sasori beamed. “This one is new. I made it especially for you.”
He choked on a scornful laugh. “To kill me.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed, like he had been insulted. “I’m going to transcend you,” he announced with venom. “I’m going to make you so perfect. Then we’ll leave this fucking shithole village, and embark on our new life. Together.” He reached out, placing his palm atop his mussed blue hair. “I’ll never have to be without you, Sandaime-sama.”
Why hadn’t he noticed how demented the boy was becoming? Or was he always this way and he simply chose to be blind to it?
Sasori’s face looked so angelic, illuminated by the dim lighting of the room. His smile was soft, his amber-brown eyes fond, and he was slowly stroking his hair. If someone were to look at the situation from the outside, they would think the red-head was comforting a loved one. It was all such a perfect contradiction to the reality.
The Sandaime Kazekage’s golden eyes slipped closed, Sasori’s smiling face the last image he ever saw, and his swirling iron sand fell like lead with his final breath.
Sasori was most certainly an angel; an Angel of Death.