NARUTO

He dreamed of corpses littering the floors and blood splattered onto the walls and his flesh. That was all he ever dreamed of: blood and gore and death. It was something he had grown to love, fighting in a fruitless war, where your only choice was to love it or die, forced you to. He still had nightmares, fighting battles on and off the fields, hearing the screams and the bang of the gun even in his dreams. Nightmares that haunted him through the day, following after him like a shadow after all these years. Yes, it had been years since he physically made his a last kill, but in his mind, he had killed thousands, even himself, the faces of his victims a blend of skinless corpses and bland features that merged with the night. The blond sighed, walking down the hallway, music blasting in his ears and blocking out all sound.

He didn't feel well. No, he wasn't well. He hadn't been since childhood, when the sickness had come and his family had been ripped away from him. Actually, ripped wasn't the word. It was more along the lines of burned. He growled, the sound vicious and deep. He was angry at himself, and truthfully, he will always be. He hadn't been strong enough. If he had, they would still be alive. They wouldn't have been burned to ashes. If he had been strong enough, everything would have been different. If he had only... he punched the wall, the bricks chipping and shuddering from the impact. His hand left the wall, knuckles splashed red with blood and peeling skin, and now laid limp by his side. His head was bowed and his bangs hid his eyes. The tears began to fall.

It had been so long since he had last cried, so long that he barely remembered. Maybe it was the day his parents had turned to ashes or maybe it was when he had made his first kill. Feeling the body gasp underneath him, eyes losing their shine and lips turning blue and skin becoming a pale pasty color. He took in a deep breath. It hurt to remember. Sometimes he just wished he could pick out parts of his brain and banish what he didn't need or better yet, want. He didn't need to remember their death, he didn't need to remember how it felt to have everyone back stab you and make you feel like shit. He didn't need to remember the sound of bombs and bullets and people screaming for life. And he sure as hell didn't need to remember shared nights between the sheets with his ex, or their heated fights and all the lies she told. He didn't need to remember a lot of things.

Not her, not them, not anything. He could live without the past and the bittersweet taste it brought. He took in a shaky breath and moved forward, his unharmed hand wiping away the tears. He didn't have time for silly things such as emotions. His wounded hand met the cold steel of the doorknob, his blood dripping slowly onto the handle. He turned it and walked into the coldness of the world.

Well if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say.
I never want to let you down or have you go, it's better off this way.
For all the dirty looks, the photographs your boyfriend took,
Remember when you broke your foot from jumping out the second floor?

I'm Not Okay- My Chemical Romance

It was still dark out, the outlines of trees looking more like monsters with long awkward limbs and sharp claws. He ignored the sound of snow and twigs meeting the bottom of his boots as he walked down the paved pathway that led to the city road. It was just his luck that the mansion was located right on the edge of urban London, for he didn't know if he could handle the sound of a busy place right now. His state of mind might have led to many deaths if it had been.

The moon shun down on the pathway, filling the cracks in the dampen dirt and the showcasing the beauty of the ice. He hated snow and he hated ice covered roads. They caused accidents and falls and he fucking hated falling and bruising his body. He wouldn't mind if the bruises were caused by sex, but bruises caused by falls reminded him that he was human, and he hated those reminders. He liked feeling less than human, he didn't know why, but he loved the sensation it caused him.

But pain and sickness and silly things such as emotions and memories made that feeling dim down into nothingness. It reminded him that he was only flesh and blood and he was bound to die at one point. Humans were only children of death after all.

His eyes, freezing cold and eerily calm, scanned the area with mild interest, hating the way the silence swirled around him like leaves in the fall. The silence drove him crazy, just like the sound of bullets tearing through the sky. It irked him that his mind kept wandering to his past and so, he shoved it back, deep into a part of his soul, so that he didn't need to remember. He stopped short of entering the quiet city of London, admiring the beautiful buildings and the dimming lights of some of the rooms. Naruto sighed and allowed a small smile, for he was finally alone and his mind was quiet and so all was well. But he needed to get going, so he quicken his pace and kept his mind on the destination: The Library.

It had been so long since he had been in one, seeing as he had become so busy with his previous job and every job after that. That excuse sounded silly even to his own ears. He sighed and rushed into the building as the wind picked up, snow sticking to his shoes and onto the red mat at the entrance. Blue eyes scanned the area. There were only a few people scattered around, looking thoroughly distracted in the books they were reading. The place was large, cozy with a fireplace and toys for children to play with. He walked between shelves that were stuffed to the brim with books, music and movies, trying to find what he was looking for. As he turned a corner, he spotted.

"Found you," the smile on his face was frightening, even as he checked out his things and left for the mansion.

Naruto walked towards Sakura's door, a displeased look on his face as he knocked. He heard movement before a loud bang met his ears. But the blond didn't move, not finding the will to care. The door continued to be unopened. He frowned and turned the knob, only to find that the door was locked. His frown got deeper. Sakura never locked her door. It was one of the stupidest habits that she had taken from childhood.

Naruto took out the keys from his pockets and opened the door, but he didn't move from the door frame. His azure eyes were widened in horror at the sight of the once tidy room.

The furniture was torn, chipped or flipped. The curtains were dangling by a few simple threads at this point, revealing an open window that let in the cold and the snow that had begun to pile in. But worst of all, was the blood. It was everywhere. It covered the bed she never used, the sleeping bag, the busted lamp, the scattered files on the floor, the hardwood floor and even the white walls.

He took in a deep breath, trying to ease the panic that was threatening to rip through him and prevent the scream that wanted to escape. The blond didn't stay any longer, running to the bathroom to puke up his meal from earlier. But as he made his way to the wash room, something in the kitchen caught his eye. He stopped, and with caution and a hint of fear, he walked towards the kitchen. He didn't even need to go into the kitchen to spot the nail marks on the floor. His eyes trailed over to the open cabinets, then the chairs on the floor and back to the plate shards and cups on the floor. He took a knife that was on the floor and decided he didn't have time to release acid into a bowel.

He ran to his room as quietly as he could, and grabbed the gun underneath the sleeping bag. He had carried it everywhere, after developing paranoia. His doctor had blamed this on PTSD, but he knew better. He quickly gathered his ghost equipment and bullets, double checking to see if the door was locked. Seeing as it was, he went on the computer, and looked through the videotapes of the kitchen and of Sakura's hallway and room.

He saw nothing out of the ordinary like always, until a few minutes later. Naruto frowned when he saw the kitchen shake violently, things falling everywhere and almost on his pink bitch assistant. The frown looked almost permanent now. But it left and was replaced with shock as he watched something grab milky legs and drag the body of the women he once loved under the table, while she screamed for him and clawed to the floor as if it were her lifeline. It probably was her only link to survival.

He looked at the screen showing her bedroom, but all he saw were things being thrown, before the screen went blank. He was more worried for himself than he was for Sakura, but Sakura was strong, even he had to admit that. She would fight till her heart stops beating.

Hearing a strange noise outside his door, Naruto stiffened. He gathered up his things in a bag and crawled under the unused bed. He held out the gun, pointing it towards the entrance, his fingers tight around the trigger and his knuckles white. He used the skills that he had learned during his time in the military and applied them as best as he could. A shadow could be seen from the bottom of the door frame, and Naruto had to bite his cheek in order to not fire at the figure on the other side. This was why he couldn't shoot a gun; he had been a little to trigger happy during his days as a soldier, and every bullet that flew through the air reminded him of fallen friends and enemies. He watched the handle move for a couple of seconds before the movement stopped.

But Naruto didn't dare move from his spot. His eyes trailed downwards, noting that the shadow was gone. Yet, he stayed rooted to his position. Naruto briefly wondered if he should relocate to the closet, but then the door started moving again, not just the handle, but the whole door itself. Screws seemed to unscrew themselves and the wood started chipping away. He breathed through his nostrils, struggling to not make a sound. But he could clearly hear his heartbeat and he wondered if it could be heard from the hallway.

His eyes stayed latched to the entrance and his heart kept beating, louder and louder.

Boom, boom, boom.

He took a breath through his mouth, his hands slightly shaking and lips suddenly dry. He found it hard to stay still again, even as the door stopped moving and then...

BAM!

The door fell and he jumped in his spot but managed to not pull the trigger on reflex. He saw nothing and heard nothing. He tried to steady himself, his eyes scanning the room at a frantic speed. It was too silent, he could even hear that damn annoying sound that he hated when there was no noise. And then it stopped, the beeping noise being replaced by something else. Something familiar and eerie.

Breathing... He shifted a bit, but found it hard to move. In fact, it was difficult to do anything at this point. He couldn't move, breathe or avert his eyes.

Then it clicked. But it was too late, he was always too late.

"I hope you like hell," he heard from behind him, an unfamiliar weight crushing his chest into the floor, as its breath, smelling of rotting flesh and sewage whispered into his ears. And with the slam of his head, he was gone, blood trickling into the cracks of wood, even as his body was dragged into the pits of the Underworld.

I stay silent 'cause we at war and I'm very patient

Charged Up – Drake

Naruto was five when he saw his first dead body. It came in the sight of his mother and father's charred limbs, the smell of scorched meat stuck to the inside of his nostrils. He was numb as he watched literal parts of his parents flake off into ash, as the policeman made his way over to usher him into the back of the car. His home was a burnt mass, smoke escaping out the window, wood bleeding into black, the roof caving in as he was driven away.

Naruto was seven when he was locked in the coffin. The cold of the body next to his own urging his hands to work faster, to push harder, to claw through the wood. He was pressed up close, his growing frame squeezed tight against the corpse, his hands shaking as he bled. His voice was hoarse, the urge to scream strong even as he opened his mouth and a pathetic gasp escaped. It was hard to breathe, he was sweating, it smelled, and he just…he just… he banged against the frame, his bones aching, perspiration dripping down his brow, salty as he licked his lips. He wouldn't cry, he promised, but as his chest heaved for more air, he couldn't help the tears that fell. His case worker had found him, panting as he scratched at his throat uselessly.

His scars were faint on his neck, healed but deep enough when he gorged the flesh in a vain attempt to open up his airway. Darkness had always been his enemy. That's what he woke up to, his head throbbing as he pressed his palm against a sore spot. There was wetness on his face and he concluded it was blood after a brief inspection. The pain was strong and he staggered onto his feet, his side pressed against some kind of wall in the darkness. His hand reached out, unsteady even as he used it to guide him forward.

It was silent and cold, the wetness on his forehead still dripping and aching. Everything hurt. He ached as he walked, his vision wavering before he paused to steady himself. He felt raw, his skin itchy, his stomach empty, and his chest heaving as he fought back the fear. His first panic attack was when he was trapped with the corpse, one of the foster parents who had died of old age before he finally arrived. He couldn't recall a gender or face, just the press of flesh against his own and the smell of death in his nose. He smelt it, even here as he stumbled forward.

He was pathetic. He hadn't felt this way since the coffin, since his mother and father's barbecued body laid on their front lawn, their arms intertwined in each other's embrace. His own burns itched.

Where was he? Where was his partner? What was going on?

There was light in the distant, strong but a flicker in his own wavering vision. He needed to get there. He kept moving, even as his knee pulsed, even as his eyes blurred, even as he felt the lure of sleep tug heavy on his sleeve.

Sleep sounded pretty good right now.

The light beckoned him.

He arrived as near as he could, the sudden appearance of something wet drenching his pants filling him with dread. He still smelt his own blood, he hoped he wasn't standing in some too. He didn't know how far the liquid ran, but on the other side was the fire, his beckon of light now a beckon of death if he tried to cross to it. He retreated back onto solid ground. He collapsed onto the floor, his body exhausted and hungry. He was weak. He was always weak.

He laid on the ground, his eyes closed as he slowly breathed, the smell of death further ingrained with each inhale. He just needed to sleep for a moment.

"Dope." The silence was shattered.

His body tensed as he sprung onto his feet, his knee aching in protest. He saw blood red staring at him from the corner of the other guy's eyes. It was unmistakable, the pale features and black hair of the young man next to him had to be "Uchiha, Sasuke."

"Hn." The man lifted up his left hand, palm up, faced towards the fire so far from them. A boat materialized gradually, something Naruto had recognized its form after its materialization was almost complete. It was a small boat but big enough to support their weight. A black figure was on it, its own hand outstretched, porcelain against the darkness of its surroundings.

Naruto's mouth was slack but snapped shut as Sasuke came forward and placed something in the reaper's palm. Sasuke turned to him, his brow lifted as the boat was pushed off the edge. Naruto had no idea what was going on, but he was better off on that boat than alone in the shadows. The ride was slow and silent, a level of unease building in his stomach as he contemplated his life. Naruto wasn't stupid. He knew Greek mythology and had figured where he was upon seeing the scythe. What he didn't understand was why a serial killer, though dead, was across from him and willingly helping him out.

Sasuke only stared at the water, his reflection a ripple as the boat moved forward. "Aye…teme." Though he was referring to the other being, his eyes kept shifting to the animated skeleton whose face remained hidden beneath cloth. Naruto would rather keep it that way honestly.

The other male raised a brow, his mouth set in a thin line.

"Why are you…"

"Helping you?" Naruto nodded.

"I'm not. I just need you to complete a goal." Yeah, that sounded like a great idea. Fuck that.

But he stayed still and waited till they reached gates, the Underworld looming before them.

"If we go in, will we come out?" Sasuke turned his face to him, his expression grim.

"Very few have. I'm not sure if we would be so lucky. But your friend is in there." Then why-

"Along with my parents and Kakashi. I know their fates will not be kind." Naruto knew mythology to a point. The fate of those who entered was determined by a panel, made up of three individuals, who determined your afterlife sentence based on the crimes committed when alive.

He didn't know what kind of crimes Sasuke's parents had committed, but Kakashi had a good chance of getting screwed over. But why should he help him? He could just go in there, figure out a way to get Sakura out, and get as far away from the mansion as possible. Screw Kabuto, his down payment was nonrefundable anyway.

"The Underworld is not something you can simply enter and exit. There are deals, there are sacrifices, and neither of us can do this alone." His teeth were grinding together, irritation evident along the furrow of his brows.

It was true. He was foolish if he thought they could do this without consequence. There was no choice but to go forward. He just hoped he was still alive after all this.