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A sudden wave of screams crashed over Yugakure. Startled flocks of birds evacuated the surrounding greenery.
“You think someone beat us to the job?” Eizō asked, kneeling over the cliff edge, as if he could actually see what was happening in the resort town from this height. A bit of half-chewed breakfast fell from his lip, joined a few other crumbs on his Akatsuki cloak, and then tumbled onto the oversized sword at his side. Repulsive slob.
“Unlikely,” Kakuzu replied. “Based on Yugakure’s report, the religion hasn’t spread to other countries. It’s Yu’s problem exclusively.”
The direction of cries shifted across the town. The terror and panic was so alluring, so palpable even from this distance that Kakuzu had to fight the urge to join his partner and peer into the valley.
“You don’t think Fire would want to stop the cult before it spreads across their border?” Eizō said through another mouthful of dried fish
“Not worth their time. Itachi would’ve caught word about it, anyway.”
“Lightning, then?”
What part of “Yu’s problem exclusively” did this moron not understand?
“What about the land between here and Lightning?” Eizō said. “What’s it called? Land of Frozen something?”
“Frost.”
“You sure? Frozen Frost sounds redundant.”
You sound a little uneducated. Kakuzu didn’t say it, just let it fester.
“So maybe this cult brings in a lot of money and Frozen Frost wants a piece of it.”
The screams swelled again and wrenched memories loose from Kakuzu’s mind. “That doesn’t even make sense. And it’s Land of Frost! Will you shut up?” he snapped. These screams didn’t sound quite like the wiping out of some annoying religious cult. They told an unfolding story of pursuit, of being hunted. Something that was killing. Kept killing. And couldn’t be stopped. These were the same sounds of Kakuzu’s transformation all those years back. Those were good memories, the best memories.
Kakuzu kept a somewhat organized list of the most beautiful things he’d ever experienced in his life. Beautiful might not be the best descriptor, perhaps striking was more fitting. Regardless, there were certain sights and events that had simply seared themselves into his cerebral cortex. They were the afterimages that lingered behind his eyelids as he drifted off to sleep. They were the unforgettable details that gave his transactional life a bit more meaning.
Taki’s vibrant green after the monsoon was not on his list. Nor was the village’s highest waterfall when it blazed like lava at sunset during the winter. The summer’s lotus ponds in full bloom might have made the list if he’d had one back then. That particular pinkish-purple hue still demanded Kakuzu’s attention whenever he encountered it and the lotus flower’s symbolism—rising above the mud and all that—wasn’t lost on him either.
None of those details compared to the first heart glistening in his fist. It was unsettling at first. The intense red, the substantial weight, the sweet metallic odor. He grasped something so powerful and yet so fragile, life-giving and now disposable, replaceable, and bendable to his will. The second most beautiful thing on Kakuzu’s unofficial list was the terror in the eyes of Taki’s elders. It was the same in each one; the facial response to fear was imprinted in the reptile brain of every human, although it looked better on some people than others. It certainly made Eizō look like a goddamned dimwit. But on Taki’s elders, it was exquisite. Third on Kakuzu’s list was the creation of his first chakra monster, Water, with its unparalleled size and power. The fourth most beautiful sight was the cash from his first bounty. Or perhaps that took third place. Yes, his first cash reward was third. Money from collection centers didn’t come in suitcases back then. It was delivered in old rice sacks. Simple, lightweight, easy to bury. But the money got dirty easily and drying the cash in the sun after a downpour was infuriating but also meditative. The distant fifth on his list was his view of Kumogakure after his first mountain summit, clouds below, complete freedom spread around him. He fantasized about moving to the mountains if there was ever an end to Akatsuki. If they stopped saddling him with partners like Eizō, he’d make it to the end without murdering half the organization.
It seemed the beauty in the world had come in those first months of freedom. And then it settled down into grinding mundanity. Hearts and money still gave Kakuzu a thrill, Kumo and chakra monsters less so.
The screams from Yugakure fell. A fragile silence loomed. The base of Kakuzu’s neck prickled, but it was time to stop reminiscing. “Finish eating.”
Eizō’s mouth hung open. That’s how he let Kakuzu know he was using his handful of brain cells. There was a clump of ration pellet on his tongue. “But it sounds like those religious crazies are being slaughtered as we speak.”
“It makes little sense for Yugakure to hire us to kill off a cult and then do it themselves anyway. We won’t know until we investigate the caves. Or maybe you’d like to stay behind so you don’t get in the way.”
“I wasn’t in the way last time! Your fire attack is very imprecise.” Eizō pointed to the burn scar on his temple.
Imprecise? Oh, Kakuzu would show him imprecise.
#
“What a surprise. A religious cult in a cave,” Kakuzu said. Eizō didn’t laugh. Not that his opinions mattered when it came to humor.
A Jashinist priest with peach-colored hair trembled before Kakuzu. The remaining congregation pressed into the shadows further back in the cave. They all wore silver medallions, but only the priest wore a purple sash draped over his left shoulder, decorated with carpal bones, teeth, and old blood stains.
“I have heard of the powers of those bearing the red cloud,” the priest said. “You are hired assassins, yes?”
“And apparently you’re a pain in Yugakure’s ass,” Kakuzu replied.
The Jashinist held up his hands, face losing color. “No! Please. Hear my request first. What if I pay you more than Yugakure, but for a different mission?”
“What sum are you offering?” No reason he and Eizō couldn’t take both missions if it was worth their time. Or at least Kakuzu’s time. Eizō’s was worthless.
“Our newest disciple... He… he should not exist. All the disciples who came before him died during our experiments to communicate with Lord Jashin. Those who return after the procedure are supposed to deliver Jashin’s wishes to us as The Lord’s Chosen Immortal Prophet. But this disciple, this—this monster! He misinterprets The Lord’s directives. The immortality promised by the experiment… It is not meant to be so literal! Something is very wrong. He’s unkillable.”
Kakuzu’s mind almost began wandering during all the religious babble, but his attention snagged on the words immortality and unkillable. “There’s no such thing as true immortality. There’s always a weak spot. Your religion-addled brain is too poisoned to know where to look. How much money are you offering?”
“I have six hundred Ryō from village protection offerings.”
“Protection offerings?”
“Non-believers may donate to appease Lord Jashin in place of a blood sacrifice. Our latest collection is yours if you can stop our rogue disciple.”
Six hundred Ryō. Not worth the effort. But worth stealing, especially from a corrupt religion.
“Let me see the money and you have yourself a deal.” As Kakuzu spoke, the screams from Yu flared up again, louder now that they were closer to the village. “Is that him? Your little experiment gone wrong?”
The priest flinched, eyes darting around. “He slaughtered more than half the congregation. We cannot continue to praise Jashin, nor spread Unison in Suffering to our neighbors if everyone is dead.”
Kakuzu scanned the shadows for the remaining Jashinists. He would have to thank this crazed immortal for making his job easier. Harvesting the head of the high priest and killing as many followers as possible—per Yugakure’s official mission request—was far easier, with only seven left to fight.
A member of the congregation, less adorned and wearing mismatched armor, set a sun-faded beige sack at Kakuzu’s feet and backed away. Six hundred Ryō was such a small amount that Kakuzu could eyeball its accuracy, a shame, since counting money was so gratifying.
“The money is yours if you bring me the head of—”
With a swift kick to the trachea, Kakuzu silenced the decorated priest. The man fell without a fight and writhed on the ground. Unimpressive for a cult that allegedly embraced pain and violence.
Of course, the remaining cultists were not happy. All six of them. A variety of spears and swords materialized as the Jashinists pushed away from the stone walls wearing armor they’d probably pilfered from those they’d killed. Eizō unsheathed his blade and then liquified into the ground. This attack was the only thing the moron was useful for. He’d solidify behind his target and take them by surprise.
Kakuzu hauled the dying leader up with his left hand, clutched the sack of money in his right, and darted backward in two rapid bounds. He ducked behind a boulder and, with a hardened hand as his blade, separated the priest’s head from the body. He removed his Akatsuki cloak and sent Wind to supervise from above while he stashed the six hundred Ryō in the hidden pockets he’d added to the lining. The stitching was shoddy, but the pockets functioned well enough.
The cash didn’t amount to much more than his first bounty. He’d started out so small. But that had given him all the room in this pathetic world to grow as he survived and outlived the weak.
The severed head barely fit in the rice sack and an ear might’ve been mangled in the process, but better to walk around with a bloody sack than a bloody head around a tourist town already under siege by one immortal. As further proof of his completed mission, he added the priest’s purple sash and the silver medallion, a weird symbol consisting of a triangle inside a circle. So creative. He’d gather the rest of the congregation’s medals when he was done. If Yugakure didn’t want them, the metal would be worth selling.
He released his fire mask, but held Lightning within. He didn’t need all three masks to finish this little fight. He stepped away from the boulder and found two Jashinists already felled. Eizō had locked swords with a third. Kakuzu’s chakra surged. Heat built inside of him, flared, and then expanded beyond him. With a single blast, he could finish this mission and walk off partner-free, with extra cash in his pockets and a water heart to replace the one he lost during the last mission. This was turning out to be an exceptional day. And third time’s always the charm, right? Surely killing three partners would show the Akatsuki he was better off alone.
“Fire style: Searing Migraine!”
#
The priest’s blood and cerebrospinal fluid seeped through the bag and splatted in heavy drops onto the ground as Kakuzu crept down an alley behind a strip of tourist shops. The restaurants were silent even though the scent of roasted kabocha and trout gave away their recent activity. No rickshaws rattled along the stone streets. Not a soul dared step out from hiding. The entire town held its breath for fear of being next.
Massive, fast-moving clouds cast shadows over the village, messing with Kakuzu’s peripheral vision. He found himself checking over his shoulder and finding nothing to kill.
The alley dumped Kakuzu into the village’s main square. He was not one to startle, nor was his stomach easily turned. But the sheer number of slaughtered bodies strewn about the deserted street gave him pause. Later he’d blame it on the new heart.
Massacres like this tended to happen in the dark. But in the daylight, the innards, the silent screams, the flies were all on display. On the ground near the center of the square was a large circle with a triangle painted in oxidized blood. Compared to the Jashinist necklaces, the symbol looked more formidable that way. And more creative.
He stepped over the city’s canal, over red-tinged water and belly-up fish. It was quiet and yet the air was so thick with carnage. Back in Takigakure, he’d never gotten the opportunity to bask in the aftermath of his attack. Had it been like this? An entire village cowering in silence? Kakuzu quite liked the peace, enhanced by Eizō’s absence of course.
A crashing and splintering of wood broke the stillness. It came from an onsen across the street. There were startled cries. Shrieks of pain. Kakuzu’s hearts pounded harder, just a little, except for the new water heart which was still exerting its fleeting disobedience, its dying individuality. New hearts were like that.
A crowd exploded out of the onsen. People stumbled and scattered in different directions and various states of undress. An exuberant laugh ricocheted off the buildings. The rogue Jashinist.
As entertaining as it would be to watch, Kakuzu wasn’t about to get caught up in someone else’s murder spree; he was so close to getting paid. Besides, Yugakure wasn’t paying well enough for him to deal with some bloodthirsty immortal. Rumored immortal. He ducked back into the alley, determined to find another way to the governmental building on the other side of the village.
The cries from the onsen spread like a house fire, mobilizing others who feared for their lives. The same maniacal laugh echoed.
Kakuzu reached an intersection and was blocked by patrons spilling from the back of a restaurant. They ran past him, away from him, and tricked his brain for an instant into believing they were running from him. It was idiotic to lose himself in a memory right now. But sometimes memories acted of their own accord. The night of his attack on Taki descended upon him in the sharpest of clarity, the air dripping with sweat, terror, flesh. Back when he was the experiment gone wrong. At least, according to the ones with jaws agape, whites of their eyes flashing. To him, it had never been an experiment. Stealing his Jiongu was a necessity, a non-negotiable retaliation, an act that lifted him beyond multiple prisons: his holding cell, his village, his mortal body. For a moment in that alley, he savored every beautiful detail of the memory. The cries of fear were his to relish in.
A red brighter than hearts snagged Kakuzu’s vision back to the present. A weapon, a scythe, crashed through the side of the wooden building. Two bodies tumbled into the alley among the rubble, one pale and lifeless with a spear in their eye socket, and the other, just as deathly pale but… Radiant. Alive.
Scythe in hand, the second person remained crouched over the dead body and cackled something giddy and unhinged. This had to be the immortal. He yanked the spear free from the dead person’s skull and stood. Rivulets of blood trailed down his bare chest and over the symbol of Jashin swinging between his pectorals.
Kakuzu froze. Whether it was to avoid being noticed or for other reasons, he couldn’t sort out in that moment of held breath. He should’ve ducked around the corner or launched himself up onto the rooftops, but he opted to observe from the shadows instead.
“Got carried away. Can’t perform the ritual if the neighbor’s dead,” the immortal murmured to himself. He cursed and pulled a shard of glass out of his neck, opening up his carotid artery, judging by the amount of blood that gushed from his neck. He sighed and his eyes fluttered closed. What an interesting combination; not only was the guy immortal, he enjoyed pain. Kakuzu certainly didn’t enjoy pain, but it lost its edge since he knew it wasn’t a threat to his existence. After the odd performance, the immortal settled his scythe onto his shoulder and looked down the length of the narrow alley, probably hunting for his next kill, neck wound still hemorrhaging. Any normal person would’ve fainted. The sun pierced out from behind the clouds, threatening to illuminate Kakuzu’s presence, not that he’d been hiding to begin with. Kakuzu never needed to hide. The rays caught shimmers of lustrous silver in the immortal’s hair. The guy didn’t have pink hair. That was just blood.
The midday sun poured into the alley. The blood on the immortal’s body glistened, trailing over undulating rib bones and intercostal muscle. Kakuzu squinted in the light. His cloak grew oppressively hot. It was time to move, but then the immortal pinned Kakuzu with his gaze. An unnatural purple glint shattered Kakuzu’s better judgment to get the hell away. Instead, there was a reordering of memorable experiences. Kumo’s mountain peaks were unceremoniously shoved off the unofficial list, making room for this new addition, this vision of a man, bloodied and dangerous and… breathtaking.
The purple gaze swung down to the bloody sack in Kakuzu’s fist. The immortal licked his lips, eyeing the gore, and Kakuzu wouldn’t be surprised if the memory of that tongue haunted him while he fell asleep that night. A devilish grin crept across the man’s face, but he didn’t launch an attack. Kakuzu might not have been ready which was pretty fucking embarrassing to admit.
Their eyes met one more time. The immortal winked—yes, winked. At Kakuzu. Then he leaped up to the rooftops with impressive grace. A moment later, the clouds covered the sun.
Whatever that weird occurrence was, it was over. Kakuzu was left in the cooling shadows, waiting for an indication of the immortal’s direction. A battle cry rang out back in the main square. Good. Sort of. This bloodthirsty maniac wouldn’t be interfering with Kakuzu’s mission.
Something pathetic tremmored deep in a heart or two, a little like disappointment, more like an unsatisfied curiosity, a lot like an intense craving for more. Like he should’ve grabbed the guy and… what? Let him take a heart? Savor the feeling of another immortal playing with his blood? Kiss him? Stupid.
Kakuzu’s mission was complete, anyway. Yugakure’s contract specified “The Jashinist congregation in the Northeast Caves.” This man was no longer part of the congregation and sure as hell hadn’t been in the caves. Tracking down one rogue member outside of the specified locale wasn’t part of the job. And if it was, Yugakure’s governor should’ve paid more attention to the specifics of the contract. It was more lucrative to wait for Yugakure to rehire the Akatsuki to deal with the immortal.
And for the first time in Kakuzu’s career with Akatuski, he might volunteer for a mission.
He would see this man again.