Black Rose
A Naruto FanFiction by .
Summary:
When Konoha's deadliest assassin inherits the Ninth Key to the Gates of Heaven, he never expects it to be a boy; and he never expects to fall in love. But with Heaven and Hell at war, is love enough to keep Naruto alive? SasuNaru
A/N: My first fantasy Fic. This is purely touch-and-go, mind, so updates aren't going to follow a schedule. Hope you like. Review, anyway. For those who are anticipating Requiem, don't worry: that's coming. Black Rose will not usurp Requiem (at least not now). :grin:
B L A C K
R O S E
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"All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.
'Tis gone.
Arise, black vengeance, from the hollow hell!
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne
To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,
For 'tis of aspics' tongues!"
(Othello)
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Prologue: Key
It was time to free the Last Key.
It was a job not usually left to Hell – Heaven didn't like any meddling from down under – but this was an exception. Today, Hell was permitted to release the Ninth and final Key into the human realm by God himself, the ultimate authority. Today was a special occasion.
Today was the End of the World.
Normally, Heaven took care of its own Gates. The release of the eight prior Keys had all been regulated by the most senior Seraphims; each Key had descended without incident, and each had returned. The descent and subsequent ascent of each Key was costly, though – wings had to be provided, the Key's progress had to be tracked, Time halted and slowed and sped up as occasion required. Things had to be organised, but with mortals involved, things never went to plan anyway. Improvisation was expensive and sometimes deadly. You didn't release a Key unless you had the coffers and the spine for it.
Perhaps, thought Temari snidely as she alighted before the Gates, that was the reason Heaven had abandoned the Last Key.
Looking up at the Gates, she flapped her wings a few times to remove the soot (Hell was a very dusty place) before folding them into her back. The Gates were impressive, even to the mind of a Demon: Heaven was big on appearances. The Cloudline for the spires alone would have cost billions, not to mention the wispy Wingskein that wove gleaming silver between the fragments of cloud. God must have dug deep for that. Hell wasn't half as imposing – the Devil didn't like to raise mortals' hopes.
Still, no time to stand gaping. Better get on with it.
She scanned the spires of the Gates, counting nine in total. Eight were empty, their roles filled, their Keys scattered and retrieved already. The last spire was still full though; she could feel the Aura seeping from its heart, a Power so deep it throbbed like bass.
Find the Key, Temari...
She unfolded her wings again, feeling the black feathers stretch out from her shoulder blades. The Ninth Spire was the highest, and she laboured just to reach its doorway. Her wings weren't made for heights; you didn't need heights when you lived in Hell.
We need an opening – do you understand me? Create an opening...
The Aura intensified as she climbed, and beat down on her like physical blows. Briefly, she wondered why she hadn't worn her Wingskein coat, but that thought faded as the spire door rose into sight.
Heaven trusts us; the opening is in sight... We must exploit it...
The spire made no resistance as she entered – why should it? She was authorized to be here. The Key was hers to transfer. In the centre of the tiny spire, in an opened gilt box, lay that single golden key, wrought of the finest Cloudline and Beamlace and Skymetal; it was hers. The Last Key.
The Last Key, Temari... Are you up for the mission? Are you ready?
She smiled, her lips a slash of blood-red across her pretty face. God must be getting old. No-one with any sense would let Hell do a job that was made for Heaven...
Yes, Master. I am ready.
The door opened soundlessly, and the old man seated at the long table looked up. A young man had entered: a young man of only nineteen, twenty at most, with pale skin and jet black hair.
"You're late."
"Pardon, I was delayed."
The young man closed the door behind him, the lock sliding into place with a metallic snick. His features were almost hidden in the half-light, but the trickle of moonlight from the nearby window was enough to illuminate his dark, fathomless eyes.
The old man snorted.
"Delayed? I paid good money for you to be on time. If I pay, you turn up."
"Yes. I understand."
The storm outside sent a blue pall over the room, turning the shadows a dark shade of cobalt. The young man stepped closer to the table, setting a briefcase on the wooden surface.
"Shall we begin then?"
The old man smirked, tilting his head to one side. "Not yet. Come here. I want a good look at you."
Silently, the other obeyed. His movements were smooth, easy, a controlled grace in every tightening of muscle, every step. The old man raised a hand and lifted the pale chin, tilting it against the light.
"You're very pretty, I'll give you that (1). What's your name?"
"Haku," came the soft reply.
"Haku. I like it. I may call for you next time if you perform well."
A measured nod, a slight lift of the dark eyes.
"Age?"
"Nineteen." The lie uttered almost without a sign in the unreadable face.
"Still young, then. Fresh. Unplucked."
There was no reply to that, and the old man paused, surveying the young face with an idle interest: a cat playing with a dying mouse.
"Very well, then. You may begin."
The young man who called himself Haku gave an almost imperceptible nod, turning to the briefcase on the table. Deftly sliding his fingers under the catch, he opened it without a sound – strangely, without a sound – and laid it open carefully against the wood. Outside, lightning flashed and his dark silhouette, etched against the white of the room, was seen. The lines of his black suit were crisp and sharp against the blue light.
He turned finally, and his hands were empty.
"Close your eyes," he said quietly, his eyes almost liquid in the dim light.
The old man did so, a smile lurking on his lips. They always started this way: the temptation. The temptation, the resistance, the conquering. Such was the way of these things.
The younger man's lips ghosted across his and he waited, waited until the kiss was absolute. Then, he leaned back, feeling the other's thighs slide over his as he was straddled, reached up to slide his hands under the black suit jacket and the shirt beneath it. The skin underneath was smooth and cool to the touch, like alabaster.
"Haku," he whispered against the younger's lips. "Haku."
"No."
His mind didn't register the response until a split second later.
"No?"
"No. Not Haku."
He felt himself going cold. His eyes jerked open and met two deep, aqueous pools of black, and the blue light echoed in them like distant stars.
"Not Haku," the young man said again, and still his voice was soft. "I am Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha."
And then the knife slid home, and the world darkened.
A/N: Haha. Love that Sasuke. Sexy, dangerous Sasuke. Mmmhmm.
(1): Don't be fooled; this is SasuNaru, not NaruSasu. Just warning you. My characters usually aren't very uke-ish, so even Naruto in this fic won't be... girly. (Sorry, if that's what you're looking for!)
To avoid confusion, Sasuke and whatever he does/features in is in the human realm. Temari and that lot is in the divine realm. Just so you know.
Review. Now. Actual Chapters will be longer than this, don't worry. Expect 3000 or so words each Chappie. If you want the next Chappie, though, you'll have to review.
Love you all whom read,
.