Kentarō
"What?"
The word slipped from his lips involuntarily, though every syllable of the med-nin's statement had carved itself into his mind.
The head medic exhaled slowly, the fabric of his mask billowing with irritation. Beneath them lay unconscious man on the table, while the med-nin's glowing emerald hand hovered with clinical detachment, bathing the man's face in iryōjutsu's radiance. Where once nose and teeth had resided, not so long ago only mangled gums remained.
Still, the man had gotten off lightly, for it could be far wrose for someone who triggered an explosive tag at point-blank range.
In their benevolence, they had granted the fool a new countenance: the dark muzzle of a ninken, grafted seamlessly into the wreckage. A powerful snout protruded from the center of what had been a human visage, lined with jaws capable of crushing bone and rows of fangs that gleamed like polished obsidian beneath the healing light. Fresh stitches, swollen and livid, bound the abomination in place.
Ninken were a breed dogs that could actively use chakra, while some of them even could talk, so thought of this man eventually waking up, realizing the was turned into a fucking Scooby-Doo flickered through Kentarō's thoughts with a fleeting amusement.
Yet the medic's next words extinguished it as swiftly as a weak candlelight put in the middle of Great Breakthrough.
"Orochimaru-sama will be visiting the facility by the end of the week with corpses of bloodline limit users. You are expected to attend the dissections with no complaint. Understood?"
His face settled into a blankness of a page, while his mind turned the revelation over, dissecting it like a corpse. Kentarō inclined his head in silent acknowledgment. "I see. Then it appears I have preparations to make. If you will excuse me."
He turned without awaiting reply, hands still stained with the crimson of his labor, and made for the door.
Behind him came an exaggerated sigh, followed by the decisive click of the door sealing shut.
He stood motionlessly, his reflection staring at him from the obsidian surface of a deactivated monitor embedded in the corridor wall, across from the entrence to the lab. A pale, narrow face with lidded, black eyes.
He looked... annoyed.
Kentarō folded his hands behind his back, and did nothing but stare for a few minutes, becoming one with the stillness that was present in the long corridor.
Only then did the boy start moving towards the dormitory at a deliberate pace, unpulsed and unhurried. The facility had only started its usual ritual of transformation into the "night time", for there was no real way to discern the part of the day outside in such place divorced from sun and sky. Here, the lamps slightly dimmed in their intensity, changing the hue from flashing white to melancholic yellow. The sounds of the facility followed its suit, as clusters of people joined together became sparser. Most had already retired to their cells, ready to indulge in self contemplation that rest ought to follow.
He, one of the very few yet at feet, used the lingering walk to sort the tangled threads of his thoughts.
The prospect of dissections stirred only faint curiosity inside his mind, the subtle variances between ordinary flesh and that of Kekkei Genkai held a certain allure. Yet another shadow loomed larger, poisoning the anticipation like venom in a well.
It was a person he wished he would be dissecting instead.
'...So the snake slithers back to its den at last.'
How many months had passed since their last encounter? The frontlines must have devoured his attention wholly. Not that Kentarō mourned the absence. The fewer hours spent beneath that unblinking yellow gaze, the deeper his rest, even after days ground to exhaustion between training fields and laboratories.
'So much for peace. For quietude. For the monotony...'
The Sannin's return meant many things, though none of them pleasant. It promised the weight of that disgusting stare tracking his every motion, the ceaseless taunts that coiled around his thoughts until the urge to drive steel through the man's throat became a real fucking temptation.
"Tell me, Kentarō-kun," he would whisper, "what do you suppose becomes of a person's consciousness at the precise instant of death? Does it linger, do you think? Or does it ascend forthwith to the Pure Land?"
'I think it would delight in strangling your ass, performing the sole virtuous act of its existence before rising as saint and martyr throughout heaven and earth you sick cunt.'
Yet the true thorn, the one that curdled like spoiled milk deep within his gut, was something far more treacherous. Beneath his ribs dwelled a hungry, undying thing, a treacherous fragment of self that still craved approval. That yearned to demonstrate growth, to unveil the sharpened mind and hardened body forged in his absence. As though the Sannin's regard were currency worth hoarding, even knowing full well that its mint was rotten to the core.
Having such thought in his mind, Kentarō's hand stilled upon the handle of his cell door, fingers tightening around the cold, indifferent metal. Why, of all the base and contemptible hungers that plagued the hearts of men, would he yearn for approval?
Though was it truly approval he sought...?
...Or a desperate hunger for worth, for validation of self that the weaklings no longer could satiate?
He exhaled softly through his nose and turned his head toward the measured footsteps echoing down the corridor
"...Why are you here, Dosu?" He asked quietly.
The boy glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, taking in his new attire if he had to guess. A short black coat draped over a shirt of matching void. Loose pants crafted from supple, yielding fabric that promised freedom of movement. High boots of dark leather that mercifully concealed the fucking snake-patterned socks beneath.
"Of all the things available… you chose socks?"
"I am not wearing a fucking snake patterned underwear." Kentarō retorted with immediate and absolute finality. Socks, at the very least, remained the most insignificant betrayal in the wardrobe he was forced to wear, save for underwear, and Kentarō was fine without snakes coiling around his dick, thank you very much. It did not help that mere silhouette of a serpent, in any incarnation, dragged his thoughts unerringly toward him, Orochimaru.
"…You are strange, Kentarō."
He pivoted fully to confront the mummified figure, offering a slow, deliberate nod at the boy's own look.
"You wear bandages on your whole body and carry an oversized straw hat on your back. Were the yields good this year?"
Dosu appeared to ponder the answer, though Kentarō could almost see how the words entered one ear and departed the other without leaving the slightest trace of impact.
"Yet, you are the one that deem it reasonable to ask Orochimaru-sama for a spar."
Kentarō stilled for a moment, his eyes narrowing into a glare, a cold smile tugging at his lips.
Dosu looked back, unflinching. "I won't stop you, if that's what you think. On the contrary, I approve. If anyone can hammer reason into that thick head of yours… it will be Orochimaru-sama himself.
Dosu lingered a heartbeat longer, but Kentarō offered nothing save for silence as response.
He watched the bandaged boy withdraw down the corridor toward his cell, footsteps dissolving into the dimming amber haze of artificial night. Only then did Kentarō release a low huff of irritation and step into his own cell.
He did not answer, for how could a mere fly, forever condemned to fly close to the excrement of the earth, ever truly perceive the blistering velocity with which the bird ascended into the boundless firmament? How could one who had never tasted the rarefied air of true altitude comprehend the tempests that raged within wings forged for heights beyond the comprehension of lesser creatures?
The answer was as clear as the sky for one high enough to reach it.
Kentarō
After nearly a full year entombed beneath the earth, spent in the relentless thrashing of his teammates, the accumulation of dozens upon dozens of arena victories, and the salvation of yet more lives upon the operating table, Kentarō might have grown a touch delirious.
He took a pleasure in the growth of strength of his body, though the vessel of a child still shackled its full potential. Shredded musculature remained a distant dream, yet the true root of his burgeoning arrogance lay not in flesh, but wqs actually deeply embedded in his mind. Since his victory over Dosu, no genjutsu had ever ensnared him again. When Kin Tsuchi unleashed her chakra-laced sound waves through the rods installed in her throat, the illusions shattered harmlessly against the ramparts of his will, inflicting only physical pain.
A fortress was his mind; one with a moat that keept all the illusions from breaching it's walls.
Over time, his ego had grown so dense, so buoyant, that he drifted effortlessly atop the turbulent seas of his own thoughts, no longer sinking into the abyssal self-contempt that once threatened to consume him. Like a body sustained by waters of high salinity, he remained afloat and carefree.
And so, when Orochimaru finally deigned to return, Kentarō stepped forward with the audacity of a fool who had mistaken his small pond for an ocean, and boldly challenged the Sannin to a spar.
He already knew the outcome. Defeat was inevitable of course, he was not delusional enough yet. But that didn't matter. What he wanted, was to gauge exactly how wide the gap was, how much sweat and effort was needed for his superiority to render even the legendary Snake Sannin obsolete.
To his bemusement, the man merely smiled and led him through the labyrinthine corridors and endless flights of stairs.
Upward.
Along the way, Kentarō glimpsed sections of the facility he had never known existed. He saw men, hardened, aged ninja whose very presence carried the weight of killing intent in every subtle twitch of muscle. Their gazes fell upon him like blades from on high, regarding him as little more than a worm writhing in the dirt.
They could end him in the span of heartbeat and he knew that.
When they at last reached their destination, a massive vault gate, Kentarō found his carefully constructed worldview challenged once more. When soft breeze caressed his face. When thr distant song of birds drifted on the wind. When the warm sunlight, bright and unforgiving at midday, spilled across his skin as the great doors parted.
"Is this an illusion?"
"This is the Land of Fire, Kentarō-kun."
'Kai.' He hummed at the response that answered nothing, while repeatedly stopping the flow of his chakra. The pleasant feelings did not melt away as he wished to. Though perhaps, he was even a greater fool, for thinking he could dispel the genjutsu of Orochimaru's making.
Kentarō laughed along the paved path of dirt. between long boughs and high crowns of the trees, though the sound carried not even a trace of mirth behind.
The only remedy for reality is a lie.
Such became the mountainous peaks of his tomfoolery. The price of becoming arrogant, it seemed; was a painful great reveal that rips to shreds the illusion of self confidence.
The many men representing strength raged at the unfairness of the world. The fake image of strength and growth, power and pride they had conjured, was shattered in a matter of moments.
Another chuckle left his mouth, discordant with the unease he felt deep in his heart. Though he did not let it interrupt his admiring gaze for the skies, after what felt like a thousand years spent underground.
Laughing at the sky, I go out, we are not ordinary men!
'Am I?'
They proceeded along the path to a clearing encircled by lush, verdant forest, broadleaf deciduous trees swaying in the gentle wind. The ground was carpeted in long-burned corpses. The acrid reek of charred flesh assaulted his nostrils, seeping deep into his lungs and drowning the forest's fresh perfume until it lingered only as a distant, mocking memory.
Kentarō felt nothing.
One day I'll ride the long wind, break the waves and will be free,
Hoisting my sail to touch the clouds, I'll cross the deep blue sea!
The beauty of the blue sky covered in sparse clouds felt stained by the red that soaked the ground beneath his feet. The melody of the forest hardly reached here, safe for the swishing of the vibrant green leaves, alomost drowned by the wet squelching under his boots, while he traversed the blood drenched soil.
He knew precisely what Orochimaru intended. A lesson in humility. A demonstration that he was nothing more than an ordinary soul thrust into extraordinary circumstances, that such circumstance granted no shortcut past the path called growth.
The knowledge that he was being so transparently manipulated did nothing to ease the deep, wistful ache forming in his chest. The carefree arrogance he had so painstakingly cultivated underground was slipping away like sand through desperate fingers. He was still weak. Still small. Still agonizingly distant from the summit he had envisioned for himself.
"Why are we here?" His voice emerged tighter than he would have liked.
Orochimaru turned slowly and for once, Kentarō could look directly into the man's face and search for answers.
But the man's face was blank like a page. Nothing slipped past his mask. The serpentine eyes, though opulent like gold; their richness did not seem to transfer itself into emotion.
His voice carried neither the judgment nor approval, nevertheless they completely shattered the egocentric image of himself he had painted. "Old habits die hard in you, Kentarō-kun, no matter how hard you seem to hide it. I do not wish to entertain the path that your thoughts have led you anymore. You have wandered astray, such an imprudent child."
Behind him, the ground itself obeyed. Grass parted like theater curtains, revealing a hidden stone stairway descending into perfect darkness.
Orochimaru began walking down without another word, his steps graceful even as shadows swallowed him whole. His voice drifted back up the stairs.
"Come, Kentarō-kun. I will give you a glimpse into my plans."
Kentarō followed without a word.
The heavy door sealed behind them with a final, ominous thud. The warmth of the sun vanished instantly, while damp underground air he knew so well rushed in to claim him again. They descended in silence, each step echoing throughout the stairway. The walk felt endless, though it lasted mere minutes.
At the bottom waited massive metallic doors.
They stood before them in silence. With a single handsign from the man, the heavy door opened before them, revealing nothing but a continuation of the absolute darkness that accompanied them throughout their journey. Kentarō felt a cold hand wrap itself around his own, one that dragged him further into the dark, no matter how much he tried to pull back.
The enormous chamber illuminated as they entered. They stood upon a high metal platform overlooking a cavernous expanse that stretched into impossible distances both horizontally and vertically. The sheer scale was breathtaking.
But it was not the size that caused Kentarō's heart to stutter violently.
Below them stood tens of thousands of people.
Tens of thousands who bore the faces of himself, be it child, adult or elderly.
All of them statred shouting, weeping, and raging for freedom as soon as the enormous chamber lit up.
All of them stilled at a single hand sign from the Sannin, while strange black marks covered their bodies.
Kentarō's grip on the hand turned his knuckles bone-white. A violent surge of chakra flooded his eyes, granting him a terrible clarity. Every scream, every tear, every mark of suffering was seared into his memory with a perfect clarity.
'W-what?'
"Face the truth of your reality, Kentarō-kun. You are nothing but a single wisp in an endless field of grass."
He glanced teary-eyed towards the man before his vision swirled so much he wanted to vomit, and in that moment his awakened vision showed him his own likeness reflected in those golden, serpentine eyes so full of shock and astonishment.
His eyes, once dark as midnight pools, had become as blood in hue, within each eye a single dot slowly spinning in circle.
With but one blink of those accursed eyes, the illusion shattered.
Kentarō found himslef in the middle of the training ground that Orochimaru had led him to, cross-legged with his hands upon his knees, the fingernails pressing so hard against the skin it started to bleed.
A weak chuckle escaped him as he fell backward, exhaustion crashing over his body like a wave while his consciousness fled rapidly.
'...So it was an illusion after all.'