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"Ryuusuke Uchiha is at the front gates," a static voice called over the radio. Ashura was in the middle of training-- mid kick, actually --when he heard it, and immediately halted. His partner, a Chuunin, could only offer a blank expression in response.

In the blink of an eye, Ashura had covered the five meters separating him from the radio, snatching it in his palm and pressing the 'talk' button. "What did you just say?!" he almost barked, not sure whether or not someone had decided to play a cruel joke. It was no secret, their relationship; Ryuusuke was more like the child's father than a mentor, and Ashura had spent nearly every moment of his life at the older Uchiha's side.

"Ryuusuke Uchiha is at the main gates," the voice repeated. "I- I'm not sure how, but it's him. It's definitely him."

"You're sure?" Ashura was already putting on his vest, fastening it as he gripped the radio tightly.

"Hai," the voice confirmed. "I'm positive, Ashura-sama."

Dropping the radio, Ashura dashed to the rooftops and hastily made his way toward the Southern Gate. It can't be, he thought to himself as he raced across the city's skyline as nothing more than a blur, anxiety and a dire need to know the truth propelling his each and every step. It seemed like an entire lifetime had passed since he began running, yet only several seconds had passed; he could see the Gate ahead of him, and with a simple push from both legs, launched himself into the air. Like a meteor, he came crashing down at the center of the opened Gates, crouched at the knees to absorb the shock from his leap.

Looking ahead, he could see him as clear as day. "Ryu-sama?" he asked meekly; it was more a whimper. "R-ryu-sama?!" Again he was running, this time toward the man. The child couldn't hold the tears back - they spilled from his eyes and drown his face like broken dams, and he quite literally threw himself upon Ryuusuke. Wrapping his arms around the man's torso, Ashura buried his face into the folds of his cloak and attire, staining the fabrics with his tears.

"They said you were dead," he cried. "They said you were dead, Ryu-sama! I told them you wouldn't leave me," he continue to wail. "I told them you would come back for me! And you did, just like I knew you would!"

Ashura simply blinked at Miyako's act, completely oblivious to her ploy (at first). This can't be flirting, he thought to himself as he made his way closer to the opposite end of the desk where she'd stamped his book and primed it for leave. She doesn't seem to be enjoying herself, and if she was, I don't think she would have lied to that man there. . . I suppose I should help her out some. The bemused expression on the boy's face vanished, only to be replaced with bright eyes and a warm smile. "I had thought you forgot," he lied. "But, I wasn't going to keep you from a date. I'm glad we're still going."

The two shinobi had already resigned themselves to the idea of nothing going further, and with a final quip, made their way to the exit. Ashura watched them carefully, ensuring they left, before he returned his attention to Miyako more fully. Tilting his head as she all but fell into her chair, Ashura nodded. "There won't be," he said calmly, yet more assertive than most children his age seemed capable of. "I will discuss their poor behavior with the Hokage before I go home tonight. I promise you that they will be reprimanded, Miyako-sama. But, as their superior officer, I'm sorry that they were bothering you."

Having taken the book from the woman several moments earlier, he held it idly at his side. "I'm not sure why so men man try and waste your time," he added with a genuine curiosity. "Sure, you're pretty, but every time I'm here at the library it seems like some guy is throwing themselves at you - it's like they can't help themselves." Giving a light shrug, he made his way about the desk, he started toward the door. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was Genjutsu." A light joke -- a shinobi joke -- that he only expected himself to laugh at.

"Anyway, enjoy your lunch Miyako-sama." A smile split the boy's face from ear to ear as he glanced over his shoulder at the blond. "I'll see you when you get back."

History had always been a favorite subject of Ashura's. To him, it wasn't much different from time traveling. By simply flipping through a few pages, he could plant himself squarely in the center of infamous battles past (many of which his father had caused). Turning a few more, he was then at the heart of a revolution that was eventually fanned into the flames known as the First Great Shinobi War. There was no limit to how far back he could reach, and with each new book, he was submerged into ways and knowledge that -- had he never brushed the film of dust away, and peeled back the cover -- would have been lost to him. Cultures, practices, art; it was all there waiting for him.

Sundays were always the perfect day of the week for him to completely drown himself in literature. Unlike most children his age, Ashura found comfort and entertainment in the solace of silence and good literature. From open to close, he'd been present on either one of the sofas or hard-back chairs, surrounded by several books he intended to read before the sun had set. Unfortunately, the inevitable break was near, as the librarians generally took there lunch around that time.

I suppose I can just check it out, he mused while standing from his seat. Then, I'll just return it once she's back and keep reading here. Despite being an avid reader, Ashura wasn't fond of actually checking the books out. As a shinobi, the stability of his free-time was incredibly volatile. One minute he could be lounging in the park, sunbathing, and the next the village was at war and he was needed at the front lines. He'd never been subject to a late fee, but considering his occupation, he was fairly certain he would if he ever dared bring one of the books from outside the large establishment. But what harm could come from a small window of thirty minutes, maybe an hour?

By the time Ashura made his way from the heart of the library to the front desk, two shinobi had already staked their claim on her attention. He couldn't hear them at first -- not that he truly had any interest in their conversation, but as he neared, the cluster of noises quickly settled into distinct voices. Of course they weren't interested in getting a book; they were just like half of the other men that came into the library. All they wanted to do was gawk and flirt, spewing cheesy lines that, even at his age, Ashura knew wouldn't work. Having spent more than a year on the road with Kirino, traveling from village to village, he'd learned a thing or two about what women found complimentary. . . and what they just found ignorant and rude.

"Excuse me," Ashura spoke up from behind the pair. "Could you please move? I'd like to check out this book while Miyako-sama goes to lunch, and I can't with you bothering her."

"Scram, kid," the noisier of the two shinobi barked. "Can't you see--"

"Hizashi," the quieter man almost yelped. "It's Ashura!"

"Wha?" Turning around, the man gazed down at the boy - his superior. "Man, who the fuck cares? We're off duty, and I never liked taking orders from a brat, anyway. Besides," he dribbled on, turning back to face Miyako. A hand reached out for hers, seeking to grab it and forcibly pull her to him. "Me and the lil' lady are goin' on a lunch date."

Despite Ashura not seeming to pay any attention to the verbal insult, the quieter of the two remained silent after that, knowing full well it was far better to bite his tongue. He'd seem entirely uncomfortable with the situation to begin with, despite his part in undressing her with his mind's eye. She was an attractive woman, so it was hard to blame him. But, Ashura simply couldn't understand why so many men seemed to instantly obsess over her? Unlike most women, she didn't wear that much make-up; she didn't dress like them, either. Was this the flirting he'd heard so much about from the older shinobi? It didn't look fun.

"Miyako-sama," Ashura spoke over the man's babbling. "If you could please check this book out for me before your date, I would greatly appreciate it."

Hanabi has been disqualified. Aisuru is the winner!

Ashura didn't fight her. "You need to calm down," he suggested while slowly walking after her. Her body was still relatively useless; the fact that she was even breathing was a miracle. She wouldn't be well enough to move about for quite some time.

"I'm not going to hurt you." The boy's tone was genuine, his expression soft and caring. "I'm sorry for putting you through that, but I was angry. You killed all of my friends -- you have to understand."

Carefully, but assertively, he peeled her from the trunk of the tree and rolled her over onto her back. Bottle in hand, he eased its open top to her mouth so that she could drink. "It's medicine that I received from the Hokage," he informed her, sure that she would fight it. "If you don't take it, your body will remain like this for days - you shouldn't even be alive right now." The truth felt heavy. "Just get better; I promise you won't have to go through that again."

How could he be so gentle with such a monster? She'd butchered nearly ten people without so much as batting a single eyelash -- Ashura's friends, no less -- and yet here he was caring for her. Perhaps he, too, was insane? Or, could he simply see something behind the menacing smile and now, the terrorizing fear. Could he see that fragment of humanity the darkness had buried, but hadn't consumed? Could he see the good in everything?

"I'm Ashura," he whispered as he emptied the bottle into her mouth. "What is your name?"

And so time continued on, each painful second after the next, until her sentence had been thoroughly carried out. The ghouls of the young boy's imagination had eaten their fill of the murderous wench before him, leaving nothing short of grinded meat and blood in their wake. However, the entire ordeal had, truthfully, only taken an instant of their time in the real world. Had one passed by the awkward seen, the woman -- who had since reverted into her far younger state -- had just finished speaking with the illusion came to its end.

The accumulated pain would wash over her entirely, pulsing through her, setting every cell in her body on fire like a match to gasoline. Her mind would not be able to focus on the sense of abandonment, as it would be far too busy trying to process the countless pain stimuli assaulting her; it was a force so overwhelming that, had she not been who she was (a curse mark victim), he brain may have literally exploded beneath the pressure.

No longer considered a threat, the red of Ashura's eyes vanished. He watched as the girl was free to her own administration, more than likely succumbing to the unprecedented pain that had enveloped her. She would be rendered immobile, more than liking crashing into the bed of blood she'd created from her many victims. It was only then that Ashura would dare to venture further into the establishment, surveying the girl's more than likely unconscious body.

"She's just a little girl," he would say as he noticed her more distinctive features all but vanishing. Not a woman -- a girl, not much older than he was.

Unfortunately, the darkness did not last for too long. The release she sought would not be found, and in this alternative reality, the song of her All Mother ceased -- it was replaced with the deathly, pained groan of the dead. But now, the corpses of the inn were not the only fiends waiting to have their way with the girl.

"For every person you have killed, you shall remain here for a single day," Ashura whispered as hordes of undead poured in through the building's doors, breaking through the windows in waves as they sluggishly pulled themselves to her. Each of the reincarnated corpses gnawed and bit, tearing into her flesh and muscle with their unnatural strength. However, no matter how fatal the wound, it was never enough - it was never enough to kill her.

Even as they reached deep into her stomach, disemboweling her and feasting on her entrails, it was never enough to rob her of the life she'd so willingly released. In fact, it seemed as though the pain, itself, would only continue to multiple. She never ran out of entrails to remove -- never ran out of flesh for the creatures to devour with vicious, animalistic bites. She, herself, had been reduced to nothing more than a bloody stain along the floor at the heart of the infestation. Yet, she was still alive -- still breathing.

No, her All Mother had abandoned her. Now, it was just her and the Devil's son. "You will endure all of their shared pain. . . "