Disclaimer: Characters and world belong to Masahi Kishimoto
Warnings: Dark. M-rated. Expect any and everything.

" . . . She bows her head and composes her face,
Her teeth are pressed on her red lips:
She bows and kneels countless times.
She must humble herself even to the servants.
His love is distant as the stars in Heaven,
Yet the sunflower bends towards the sun.
Their hearts are more sundered than water and fire
A hundred evils are heaped upon her . . ."

- Fu Xuan, "Woman"

A Hundred Evils
Chapter One

Hinata struggled to kill herself.

Her hands trembled as she searched for the courage to reach up and pull the noose around her head. It swung seductively before her, its white fibers glinting in the dim sunshine that filtered through her bedroom window. Go on, it seemed to whisper. Free yourself.

Six years. Six years since they lost the Fourth Great War. Six years since everything went to hell.

Uzumaki Naruto fell, blinked out like a light, and took the hopes of millions with him on his way down.

Everything that happened afterwards forced her to run and hide away from everyone – friends and enemies alike. And she was good at it, too. Hiding. For months she blended in with the poor and the wretched. Until she was found and taken in not long after.

No, no, taken was perhaps too soft of a word.

Snatched, maybe. No. Stolen. That was better. She had been stolen like a babe from its mother, kicking and screaming as they dragged her the entire way. Branded in every single way possible, Hinata often wondered how she still managed to breathe. Strength had never come easily to her, but she tried, heavens she tried. But now . . .

Now she was pathetic. Nothing. Worthless.

The world had crushed her bones and soul into dust until all that was left was her decorated corpse.

Faces of everyone she loved flashed through her mind . . . one in particular of a boy with shining black eyes and a gentle smile.

The noose beckoned again.

Do it. He's waiting for you on the other side.

But Hinata knew better. He would be somewhere beautiful and peaceful and she could never join him. Because people like her went to hell. People like her deserved to suffer. Still, she'd rather face eternal damnation than stay in this place any second longer. At least then she could start to atone for things she had done.

Her hands reached for the noose with renewed determination.

She was so deep in thought she barely registered the shoji door sliding open behind her.

"Hinata-sama, we've discussed this. Please don't kill yourself on my watch."

Startled, she tumbled from the stool she had been standing on and hit the floor with a resounding thump. It must've been odd to see the normally dignified Hyuuga consort splayed across the floor. But she didn't care. Couldn't care.

How could she when all she could think about was how all she had to do was reach a bit further and pull the rope around her head? Just a tiny bit and she would've been free. Stupid, she thought viciously. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She rolled onto her side and curled into a fetal position. She dug her fingers into the roots of her hair and pulled. Pain, that's what she need to feel right now. Sweet pain. Distracting pain. It made her forget watching Naruto fall, or seeing a child burned alive as his rebel parents were forced to watch, or heavens forbid, that humid night in August.

"Well, that's unfortunate," he said flatly as he regarded her current state.

Hinata was too far gone to look up as he padded across the room until coming to a stop before her. She could only imagine the disdainful sneer on his face.

"Come now, Hinata-sama, we wouldn't want any of the servants seeing you like this again."

Again. He was speaking about the incident three months ago when she had a particularly bad episode that ended with her being dragged from the bottom of the winter lake by two butlers. Or perhaps the time before that where she took a pair of shaving razors to her wrists.

It didn't matter if the servants saw her this time, either. They already talked. She could sometimes hear them gossiping in dark alcoves and corners.

Crazy, they said.

Demented.

Not right in the head, that one.

"It would give a bad impression of our emperor," said her guest. "And you don't want that, do you, Hinata-sama?"

The mere mention of the emperor, of Madara, was enough to shock her back to reality. Red, manic fever slowly drained away as if a plug had been pulled from the bottom of a tub.

The world became clear again.

Hinata couldn't exactly pinpoint when and where these episodes had started, or if they would ever go away, all she knew was that they took a little more of her each time.

She didn't know how much more she could take.

She didn't know if she could ever be happy again, be able to breathe without feeling dread curl in her lungs.

She prayed to the heavens, to every god she knew to take her away from Madara. To reunited her with her friends and family. To make her clean once more. And above all, to bring Fuyubi back.

And the gods would reply Stand up, girl. Stand up and keep going. Persevere.

And she did so to the best of her abilities. Even if it meant going insane.

Hinata undid the death grip on her hair and let her hands slip to the floor. Just for a while longer, she thought idly. She would have to stay in this world just awhile longer.

Heavens, she was tired. So tired that she didn't resist even as her guest grabbed her and forced her to sit upright in a kneeling position. Minding her manners, a trait that would never leave her apparently, she placed her hands in her lap and waited . . .

. . . just like a little doll to be played with.

Self-loathing twisted in her stomach. She wanted to throw up.

Stop, she reminded herself sharply.

Save face.

Pushed by the need to prove that there was still at least an ounce of Hyuuga within her, not matter how faded it may be, Hinata forced her tears away and willed herself to feign the cold demeanor that her clan had been famous for.

Hyuuga are dignified, she thought shakily, regaining her composure.

Hyuuga do not cry.

And above all, Hyuuga do not break.

Convinced that she had enough strength and was no longer on the verge of crying, Hinata inhaled deeply through her nose and looked up blankly at the face of her unwanted visitor- Yakushi Kabuto.

"Hello," he said with a kindly grin.

Lies.

None of that kindness was real. There were a thousand things she could not guess about Kabuto, but what she did know was that beneath all his gentility was a snake lurking in the grass.

He steadied her once more before backing away to an appropriate distance. Kabuto did this out of respect, or perhaps fear, of Madara – who made it very clear that he didn't like people touching his things.

"Thank you," she said quietly, but actually meaning please leave."

She took a break before swiftly gathering up her kimono and rising as elegantly as she could without tripping on the hem, all the while defiantly ignoring the hand Kabuto offered to help her up. Once on her feet she began to walk away from him as quickly as dignity would allow.

Kabuto apparently sensed her need to escape and deliberately placed himself in her path. Hinata paused and refused to meet his gaze. Years had gone by and he still looked monstrous with white snake skin and yellow eyes. He leered at her from over the top of the round spectacles he always wore. He smiled politely, managing to make her skin crawl.

"You are very lucky that it was me who walked in and not his Highness, Hinata-sama," said Kabuto with thinly veiled derision.

She nodded if only to get him away from her. When that didn't work, she strategically side stepped him and hastily continued to the other side of the room. Taking up half of the southern wall was a large and intricate vanity table, crafted from rosewood and gold by the best artisans in the nation.

That was one thing she could say about Madara, he always ensured she had the finest.

My timid little dove must have a pretty cage, he had once said.

Hinata took a seat before the vanity mirror with a frown.

On the corner of the table was a collection of brushes, as well as various palettes of makeup and glass canisters filled with creams. Absent-mindedly she picked out a kabuki brush from her assortment and gingerly swirled it into an open compact of rouge.

Be pretty, she thought.

Be pretty for Madara-sama.

Pretty–

I hate myself.

Pretty-

I want to die.

Pretty, pretty, pretty.

When she was young she never worried about make-up. Disliked it actually. No matter what, she had always looked like a clown. Five minutes was how long it usually took before she would scrub it from her face in private. Now, however . . . Now she effortlessly applied pink powder to her cheeks without as much as a grimace. Make-up had become part of the mask that she now donned.

Meanwhile, Kabuto busied himself with untying the noose from the rafters.

"Who gave you the rope?" He asked.

"I made it," she said quietly. It was her only option considering that no one in the palace was insane enough to give her any sharp object, length of rope, or any sort of medicinal herb considering her . . . fragile mind.

"Out of?"

"Fabric from one of my kimonos, Yakushi-san," she admitted, not finding any reason to lie. If her kimonos were taken away then so be it. She hated them anyways. Madara always picked out garbs that were to gaudy and heavy, lacking all the refined elegance of the Hyuuga.

That, and the bitter, shameful part of her wanted to simply spite him by taking his present and turning them into tools to end her life.

"That was very resourceful of you, Hinata-sama," said Kabuto, sounding oddly proud.

"Thank you for your gracious compliment, Yakushi-san," said Hinata hollowly.

But he had already moved on. "I am going to have to report this to his Highness."

"Whatever will plea-lea-lease you," she said, though she internally cringer at her stutter. Let Madara know that his little toy tried to break herself again. Maybe then he would finally be so annoyed by her tactics that he'd kill her off himself.

If only, she thought.

Kabuto seemed satisfied with the answer and continued his task. Just as she finished applying the powder, he approached her yet again and stood stolidly behind her seat, rope in hand.

"You look very beautiful today, Hinata-sama," he said.

"Thank you," she replied automatically.

Nevertheless, she knew that Kabuto was lying. Despite being twenty-two, she looked girlishly young with her long dark hair pulled back by a pink bow and wide white eyes.

A consort with a child's face.

How disgusting.

If Kabuto saw the brief streak of hatred in her eyes, he said nothing. Instead, he watched her for a few more moments as she continued to fix her her appearance before saying, "His Highness has called on you for the afternoon, Hinata-sama."

"F-for the Blooming Festival?" she presumed.

"Of course," said Kabuto.

Every year Madara held a festival to celebrate the blooming of the Shinju, the Tree of Chakra that had once granted him his power. It was the grandest of celebration that could only be outdone by the Blooming Festival of the following year. She always hated going, and the only reason she did was because she had no choice.

That, and the entire thing was an absolute farce. No one in the kingdom knew that the Tree was now nothing but a husk. If they did know they were either in the Coalition, Madara, her, or dead.

"Ah," said Hinata, though still not understanding her role in all of it. Then again, she never understood Madara's ways – the only thing she could configure was that he confused others as much as he confused her. No one could really understand his infatuation with her, a disgraced and plain Hyuuga, when he had so many other beautiful and accomplished women throwing themselves at his feet.

Maybe Madara was blind.

Maybe it didn't matter.

Maybe he even thought she was beautiful.

If that were the case the perhaps she should mutilate her face so he would be forced to leave her behind.

"Please take care to look your best," said Kabuto, as though he had heard her thoughts. He attempted to sound kind, even brotherly, but she heard the harsh steel beneath it. Hinata met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. They were black, fathomless, and empty. "Trust me, Hinata-sama, a bruise around your neck would only make his Highness upset." The rope in his hand suddenly burst into flames. " . . . I hope you understand."

He gave her a small bow and an eerie smile before swiftly exiting the room. Hinata stared after him, wishing even harder than before that she had reached that noose it time.

ooo

"Make it tighter."

Sounds of fluttering fabric filled Hinata's room as the stylist and his assistants proceeded to beautify her. Well, at least attempt to. At the moment they were trying to find the most fashionable way possible to crush her ribs.

"No, no, tighter."

Please don't, thought Hinata, barely able to breathe as it already was. Once the assistant untied her obi she took in an undignified, gasping breath.

"There's no need to be dramatic, girl," said the stylist with an eye roll. Yata had to be the only person in the palace who spoke to her in such a brash manner. Not that she minded – at least he spoke to her unlike mostly everyone else who avoided her. Some because they were afraid to accidentally incur the wrath of Madara. Others because of her . . . reputation.

"Yata-san, perhaps . . . perhaps not as tight this time," offered Hinata weakly, looking with trepidation as the assistants rolled out a new obi. She was still weak from her episode from this morning and she didn't know if she was up for suffocation via kimono.

"Nonsense," replied Yata with a swish of hand. Yata was a short, feminine looking man who looked every bit his occupation with a bright magenta kimono and spiky hair dyed an electric blue. Garish was the word that came to Hinata's mind each time she looked at him, but in Madara's new empire fashion was only as good as the limits it pushed.

"Yata-san . . ." she tried again.

"It's the latest trend and we can't have you showing up to the festival looking outdated."

By the end of it all she was standing in the center of the room looking as pretty as a pearl. Yata had forced her into a white kimono embroidered with gold leaves and paired with a simple spring green obi. Her hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder, dotted with porcelain plum blossoms that looked expensive enough to feed a village.

"Ja, amazing as always," said Yata, circling her with the eye of a hawk.

"You've outdone yourself yet again, Yata-san," said one assistant, actually clapping.

"Inspiring," said the other.

After a bout of congratulating each other, they turned to Hinata as though just remembering she was there. Three sets of eyes burned into her, yet Hinata said nothing, resisting the urge to blush.

"It is very good, is it not, Hinata-sama?" Asked Yata, looking at her expectantly. "His Highness will surely love it on you."

A beat.

"Surely," said Hinata in a faraway voice.

ooo

Her escorts arrived just as Yata and his entourage were leaving.

"Oh, here they come," she heard one of the assistants chitter bitterly. "Better clear the way before they beat us down."

Hinata did not hear much else, not that she cared to, as she ducked back into the room and prepared a small coin purse. There was a circular window to her left and outside she could see the party organizers setting up the tents for tonight's festival, their silhouettes stark against the backdrop of the deep pink sky.

"Hinata-sama," came a curt voice from the door.

"Ah," she said as she tore her eyes away from the sunset and set them on the two brooding men who stood in her doorway, "time to go already?"

They didn't answer. Only stared.

Their names were Kino and Shin, one of many of the civilian brutes who took turns guarding her (or rather, ensuring that she didn't run away). They wore simple black yukata with a small Uchiha fan stitched into the back of their stiff collars – the basic uniform of all non-shinobi in Madara's service.

Non-shinobi, Hinata thought bitterly.

As much as they looked like boulders wearing human suits, her escorts were still simply civilians. Bottom of the tier. There was still a part of her that had enough decency to be offended at the implication made by having non-shinobi guarding her.

Madara didn't see her as a threat.

He never would again.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the bitterness dissipated, with only heavy resignation left in its wake. Let the emperor rub salt in her wounds by having men, who despite their stature, she could've easily obliterated five years ago. It was probably the least humiliating thing he had subjected her to, after all.

If anything, these guards were absolutely unnecessary.

Madara had ensured that long ago when he sealed the majority of her chakra paths, leaving only the ones tied to her organs intact. Essentially, she was now useless as a shinobi.

Pushing the thoughts away, Hinata exited her room.

"Hello," she said with a wan smile, bowing to her escorts.

They returned the gesture with a hollow nod and nothing else, which she expected. Save Yata and Kabuto, everyone in the palace gave her respect due to her status as Madara's favorite – but it was a cold respect, a distant respect, and almost always with underlying hostility.

"Shall we s-set off, then?" She said before turning and starting down the hall.

.

.

.

Madara's palace was touted as a masterpiece. It held true to all the architectural motifs of the feuding era in which he grew up in: High wooden rafters, hand-woven tatami mats, and painted shoji screens that depicted legendary battle scenes of the greatest Uchiha shinobi.

Hinata and her entourage passed one such sequence – Uchiha Misari from a thousand years ago valiantly fought a fire breathing dragon with only a stalk of bamboo. It was an interesting art piece, made even more interesting by the fact that it was painted with melted gold.

Odd as it was, Madara had surprisingly grandiose taste for someone who had spent decades trapped inside a dirt cave. Nothing even remotely cheap was allowed to decorate his halls.

And he wanted everyone to know it.

Good manners dictated that all the doors were to be slid open so that guests would not feel claustrophobic. At least, that's what she had been taught. Hinata knew Madara well enough to know that he was only allowing his doors to remain open so that he could display all his treasures.

Hinata and her escorts wound through the halls and passed these open rooms that were brightly lit and filled to the brim with trinkets and trophies from around the world. Wind-blown vases from Suna in one room, tapestries from Kumo in another.

Hinata resisted the urge to frown.

The Hyuuga in her disapproved at such ostentatiousness.

She was brought out of her reverie when someone hurried past her.

Servants rushed to and from in this specific hallway. Some carried food, others carried cleaning supplies, one even held a statue – all said a breathless, "Good afternoon, Hinata-sama" if they passed, but kept their eyes glued to the floor.

After five years, she had learned not to take their indifference to heart. Hinata could imagine the rumors that swirled about her. Heavens, she could see the questions in everyone's eyes when they thought she wasn't looking:

Why is she here?

Wasn't she part of the resistance?

Was that not the one who betrayed the Uzumaki fool?

What happened on that August night?

And honestly, these were all questions she herself didn't know the answer to.

A breeze blew on her and she looked up in surprise. Madara had set up many of the rooms so that their shoji doors led to both the interior and exterior. Said exterior doors were also open, which was where the wind had come from. Outside was the garden – the only thing she liked about this place. A half-moon was beginning to appear in the sky as the sun faded away.

Lanterns shone softly on the dozens of early comer guests who enjoyed the hospitality of the One and True Emperor. They all looked to be having such a good time, laughing, dancing in their masks despite the festival not actually starting for another hour or so.

Hinata looked out into a sea of boar-masks, of oni, of kitsunes and spirits, and felt distinctly uncomfortable that she couldn't see any of their fac-

A chill struck her body like lightning.

Instantly, she knew that some had their eyes on her. Stilling, she immediately began to scan the crowd. Crow mask. Horse mask. Yurei. Snake. Mask after mask, colors upon colors. There was no telling who was who as the guests shifted around each other like water.

She felt dizzy.

As subtly as she could, Hinata lowered her head and continued on her trek to meet Madara. Yet she contined to glance from the corner of her eye and out into the gardens where she knew that someone beneath one of those masks hated her so much that she could feel it.

A stranger wanted her dead.

That should've hurt her, should've made her worried, but she only had one thought running through her mind.

Kill me tonight, please.

ooo

He watched.

He waited.

He plotted.

From far away, he observed as Hyuuga Hinata passed through the palace. From his vantage point, he could catch glimpses of her as she walked through the interior's hallway, skipping in and out of his view as she drifted past each room. Rage swelled in him little by little each time she appeared.

He wanted her dead.

He wanted to see her suffer.

Suddenly, her head snapped up and she looked into the crowd straight in his direction. Interesting, he thought and narrowed his eyes. Maybe she was stronger than the weak little whore he imagined her to be . . .

And then she looked away, looking completely unperturbed.

She hadn't felt him after all.

Stupid bitch.

He quickly squashed his disappointment. They would meet soon enough.

Uchiha Sasuke's eyes narrowed behind the slits in his mask. I promise, he thought vehemently, I will force the life out of your with my bare hands, traitor.

"What's wrong?" Asked his mission partner as she emerged from the crowd to stand beside him. Her voice was muddled by her mask – an okame face with blushing cheeks.

Sensitive to his chakra as always, she put a soothing hand on his shoulder. Sasuke threw her the nastiest glare he could muster before shrugging off her hand.

"I'm fine," he said curtly, turning back to look at his target only to find her gone.

"Are you really?" His partner asked with a soft voice, because she always felt the need to be kinder than she really was with him.

"Tch. Stop worrying."

He didn't like when she worried. Actually he hated it. They were shinobi. They were part of the damn Coalition for fuck's sake. Bad things were bound to happen when Madara personally wanted to chop off your head and hang it on the wall. One of them was going to die sooner or later (probably sooner if he was being honest with himself), and the only thing worrying would do would distract them from the mission at hand.

"Fine," she huffed and crossed her arms, "but only if you stop going all super serious avenger on me. I've had enough of that for a lifetime, buddy."

Sasuke adjusted his own mask, an owl, with a scowl. He didn't want to fight with his only friend left in the world on the night he may just very well die.

"Whatever," he said flippantly after a long moment, hoping that it would be enough to get Sakura off his back.

He had more important things to do at the moment. Like figuring out how to kill the woman who murdered Uzumaki Naruto.

OOO

Madara instructed that she wait in the tea room.

Hinata and her escorts arrived within a few minutes. Far sooner than she would've preferred, but everything was sooner than she would've preferred when it came to Madara.

She stopped at the entrance of the room and peered within. Inside, the low table had been laid with an intricate tea set and bundles of incense were gathered in each corner of the room, fragrant smoke wafting from their tips, filling the air with the heady scent of oranges and spice.

"Thank you," said Hinata softly as she bowed to both her escorts before stepping inside. Neither replied, but simply took up post in the hallway on both sides of the doorway.

Folding her hands into the space of her sleeves, Hinata drifted to the edge of the room to study a set of samurai swords mounted on the wall. They were a very old set, deadly looking too. Her eyes flickered to the insignia on their hilts – the character for hard – and knew that they had been made in the Land of Iron. No doubt that even after years of disuse that it could still slice through the thickest armor.

She'd learned when she saw the state of Madara's troops after they returned from their campaign on the Land of Iron. Despite numerous attempts by Madara, it remained the only country yet to have yielded to his will, and it was even rumored to be where the Coalition's newestheadquarters were located.

Shuffling at the door caught her attention. Hinata glanced over her shoulder and saw her two escorts bowing.

"Uchiha-sama," they said in reverent unison at an approaching figure.

Preparing herself, Hinata took a small breath and faced her emperor as he stepped over the threshold.

"Madara-sama," she said quietly, bowing low at the waist. "Good evening."

Madara would've been a beautiful man if it weren't for his unnatural rinnegan eyes, Hinata thought, surveying him as she straightened. He looked every bit of the emperor he was despite the simple set of black hakama and montsuki that he wore. It must've been the sheer power and confidence that radiated off him.

He smirked at her in a fashion so devious that she imagined horns sprouting from his head.

"Come," he said curtly.

She did so, quickly crossing the room, knowing firsthand what would happen if she disobeyed him, and stopped an arm's length away.

"Hinata," he said simply, but still his voice reverberated off the walls and his rinnegan glinted. Those eyes . . . those eyes had destroyed Konoha, had slaughtered millions, and had enslaved nearly the entire world. No matter how often she met his gaze, whether it be in public or in the bedroom, it would never cease to make her heart drop. Quickly, she averted he gaze to the ground.

"Yes, M-madara-sama," she said.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Hinata immediately complied even though all she wanted to do was tremble. White eyes met black. Madara seemed to stare straight into her, as though searching for something.

It made her feel so small. Like he was a lion, and she was a tiny mouse about to be pounced on. Predator and prey. Everything about him screamed power and terror. It poured out of him in malevolent waves. Even with her blocked senses she could feel the push of his aura against hers.

Overwhelming.

Frightening.

Destructive.

"Closer," he demanded.

As much as she would've wanted to, disobeying wasn't an option here. Years ago she had fought as hard as she could, and when she could no longer had the strength to use her fists, she became insubordinate in other small ways. Like wearing white when he asked her to wear red, chopping off her hair when he commented that he liked it long, doing everything in her power to simply resist.

That was a long time ago, though. Back when she could never let Madara forget that even though she was a weak Hyuuga, that she was a Hyuuga nonetheless. And Hyuuga did not break.

That's something that Neji had once told her.

Except, she did break. Shattered.

She took a step forward. A pebble squaring off against a dark mountain.

"You are thinking of unsavory things," said Madara, drawing her out of her thoughts. Lazily, he reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder. Too close, she thought, restraining herself from taking a step back.

"No, Madara-sama," said Hinata. Her insides twisted at the sound of her own voice. It was so soft and meek, and worst of all, subservient. She hated herself each time she acquiesced to him. Each syllable she spoke in that voice was a betrayal to her friends, but she couldn't help herself.

The hand that he had rested on her shoulder suddenly came up and snatched her chin into a bruising grip. Hinata flinched as he bent down and pulled her face close to his. Near enough to kiss. His expression was nothing short of inscrutable as he smoothed his thumb over bottom lip over and over again, all the while staring her straight in the eyes.

"No is a very good answer, Hinata. I am always pleased to find that you are doing well. Speaking of which, I have received news from Kabuto about your most recent activities." He said activities as though she had been gardening rather than trying to kill herself. "I enjoy you, girl. Please do well to remember how fortunate you are, but if you do not, perhaps I could be as cruel as you imagine me to be and replace the pillows in your bed with the head of your father."

Hinata had learned many things in her time in captivity. One was that Uchiha Madara never lied. Even if it took him weeks, he would find the mass grave that Hyuuga Hiashi had been thrown into, decapitate the corpse, and have its head in her bed the next morning.

"Do you understand me, Hinata?" he said, glancing at where her hands trembled at her sides. "Do you?"

"Yes, Madara-sama," she said quickly. Her mask of indifference was long gone – it could never hold up in the face of Madara after all. It never took much time for her to crack and give up. A little field mouse trying to brave, that's all she was. "I understand . . ."

With that, he abruptly let go of her and smiled. "Very good," he cupped her cheek gently – monster – "Now, wipe that pathetic look off your face – yes that will do. Look like you're pleased to be alive as we welcome our guests."

OOO

"Was that necessary?" whispered Sakura, looking guiltily at the corpse that he had dragged behind the bushes. "The guy was just doing his job, he-"

"Everyone who chooses to work under Madara is a traitor," replied Sasuke curtly. He had his back to her as he shrugged on the dead man's serving uniform. "Even someone as low as a waiter."

Sakura bristled at that, but didn't reply. She knew as well as he did that if you weren't with them, then you were against them. No one could be trusted, and no one could be spared. He sent her a look that said if you don't like it, find a new partner.

With a hmph, Sakura readjusted her kimono and readied herself to step out from the shrubbery. "He wouldn't have talked. We could've just taken his uniform and let him go," she said resolutely, as if it would change anything now. Just as he was about to call her out on her stupidity she dispelled the jutsu that had been silencing the entire encounter. All the sounds of the festival flooded back into the space.

"Not everyone is the enemy," she said, barely audible over the din. And then she slipped between the break in the bushes and out of sight.

He stood there for a moment before turning back to the man he had killed. You would have talked, thought Sasuke viciously towards the body. They always do. No matter how much they promise they won't.

You're all traitors and liars. You're all the enemy.

A long time ago, he had learned this lesson the hard way.

He guessed that was the only good thing he could say about that Hyuuga bitch – she had taught him well.

No one could be trusted.

They all thought she was loyal. None of them expected for one of their own, especially not her, to be the one to do them in. But in the end, always the fucking end, life has a way of saying "think again".

And so it was little, quiet, good Hinata who betrayed them all. She was the reason why so many of his friends now lay deep in the earth. The girl who had killed Naruto, his best friend, his brother, and left him out like some sort of fucking animal.

And tonight . . . he would return the favor.

Tonight, he would change everything.

OOO

Madara's palace was a sprawling place.

It was far larger than necessary and looked like it had been scooped straight from the pages of a history text. Most of the interior had been closed off to the guests, but they didn't seem to mind since they had free domain of the real attraction of the place: The Scarlett Gardens.

It had earned its name from the dozens of maples in their autumn coats that dotted the plain of dark green grass and the ponds filled with only red-gold koi fish that punctuated the expanse. All of which was connected by a single, winding, cobblestone path.

Hundreds of guests partook in the brilliantly colored festival full of fireworks, music, dancing. It was so loud, and the partygoers were so joyful.

Hinata watched these guests with hooded eyes as she stood beside Madara beneath a lavishly decorated and roofless pavilion.

At the moment, Madara was partaking in small talk with one of his direct subordinates, a portly man named Toki who served as the imperial overseer to the Land of Rivers. They were speaking about trading, or something of the like – she wasn't listening – when a shooting star lanced across the sky.

No one noticed it but her and she dared to take it as a good luck charm as it blinked across the night. Dared being the key word. There wasn't much to hope for nowadays, but she tried to keep an optimistic eye on things when she could afford to. Just like Naruto used to.

Naruto-kun . . .

Hinata closed her eyes, and with the ease of long practice, banished the memory before it could take her to darker places.

When she resurfaced from her thoughts she noticed that the slip of a girl who hung on Toki's arm, was staring at Madara.

How cute, thought Hinata with a small smile. There were practically hearts in the girl's eyes, not unlike the way Sakura and Ino used to look at Sasuke when they were children.

The girl's aspirations were obvious. She wanted to become Madara's consort, and if not that, then at least one of his concubines. Hinata knew this because she had met countless women with the same dream . . .

So many women would kill to be by Madara's side – kill Hinata specifically. Madara's concubines would sometimes glare at her so hatefully that it made her laugh, as though being Madara's whore was some coveted position.

"You look lovely tonight, Hinata-sama," said Toki, bringing her out of her thoughts with his high and nasally voice.

Without missing a beat, Hinata bowed and offered a quiet, "Thank you ever so much, Toki-san."

"Oh, ho," chuckled Toki, boldly sidling closer to the stone faced Madara. "Tell me, your highness, how is it that you get your woman so well behaved? Most of mine always turn out to be so rebellious, it's absolutely infuri-"

Hinata registered his words.

. . . how is it that you get you woman to be so well behaved?

. . . you get your woman to be . . .

. . . your woman . . .

The world jarred. Everything was knocked out of focus and went gray and blurry. Experience told her that another manic episode was coming on. Hinata bit the inside of her cheek and tried to fight it off, but all she could hear was –

Your woman.

Your woman.

Your wom-

Stop.

Sweat began to form on her forehead and she knew that all the blood had drained from her face. Quick to mask her inner turmoil, Hinata reached for a cup of tea from the tray of a nearby servant, but found that her hand was shaking. Dazed, she simply stared at it, praying that this fit passed without incident –

Your woman.

People were laughing at her.

Hyuuga Hinata ceased to exist.

They were all around her.

She had been replaced by Emperor Madara's white-eyed, cold-faced whore.

They were tugging at her.

All at once, everything crowded in. It felt hot, far too hot, like the fires of hell itself were lapping at her skin. Suddenly, she found herself transported back to that humid night in August, and there was so much blood.

Blood everywhere.

It seeped into her veins, dyed her skin, and polluted every cell in her body.

It made the air smell like copper.

And cradled in her arms was the body of a broken boy, dark eyes staring off into nowhere, in his stiff hand was a mask with an orange swirl . . .

Madra was yelling at her, demanding that she just breathe. But he didn't know, couldn't know that every part of her was being shred to pieces and there was no way that she could simply breathe.

- Please not this anythingbutthis -

So he kept yelling.

Nothing but yelling.

Your woman, your woman, yourwomanyourwomanyourwoman.

"Hinata."

Madara's voice sliced through the enveloping madness like a knife. In a flash, Hinata was once again in the Scarlett Gardens. For a moment she was disoriented and only knew that she was trembling violently. Madara looked at her deeply as Toki and the girl, completely oblivious to Hinata's brief mental degradation, busied themselves with small talk.

" . . . pass me a cake," Madara said after a beat before returning to the conversation with an air of finality.

"Ah, yes! I'll have one as well," said Toki loudly.

Hinata was left to herself and all she could think was that Madara hated sweets. Nonetheless, she wiped her sweaty palms on her kimono before grabbing two pastries from a passing platter and handing them off to the men.

"Very well behaved, indeed," Toki said again as he took the pastry.

Hinata felt sick.

Ooo

"Poison?" guessed Sakura, unable to keep the concern from out of her voice.

Sasuke had been playing the good waiter and organizing the buffet table when Sakura, acting as a noblewoman, appeared at his side. He was about to snap at her for breaking character when she inconspicuously pointed across the pavilion to where Hinata seemed to be having a small seizure.

"No, not that," Said Sasuke as he narrowed his eyes. He hoped that he was right because he would be furious if someone managed to kill the Hyuuga bitch before he could. For the past six years Hinata had been number one on his hit list, and he'd be damned if he wouldn't be the one to put her in the ground. Fortunately, Hinata's violent tremors came to an abrupt halt.

"Something's wrong with her," said Sakura anxiously.

"So?" Sasuke shrugged and went back to organizing the table. "It's not out problem."

" . . . We need to help her," continued Sakura slowly.

"No."

He kept his cool but it irked him to no end that despite everything Hinata had done, Sakura still considered her a friend. She never said it aloud, knew better not to around Coalition members and especially him, but he was it in her eyes every time Hinata came up in a conversation.

"We're not helping her," Sasuke continued. "She deserves whatever she gets."

Unsurprisingly, Sakura rounded on him with a glare so fierce that it would've made weaker men run. "We have no idea what she gets. What I just witnessed was an obvious symptom of Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Do you know what that means?"

"No," he lied, "and I don't care either."

Determined, Sakura stamped her foot and drew a few gazes their way. "It means that she's either going through hell, or that she's already gone through it. Just look at her, he's obviously doing something to Hin-"

"Shut up!" Sasuke hissed under his breath. Sakura wasn't stupid. If anything she was one of the most intelligent people he had ever met, which was why he couldn't comprehend why she had almost just said Hinata's name out loud.

That, and he really didn't give a shit about the Hyuuga's trauma or stress. The bitch had it coming as far as he was concerned.

Damn, his blood was boiling just by thinking about her.

Sakura took a breath to continue speaking, but Sasuke turned and hit her with a glare so potent, so much more terrifying that her own, that she immediately shut her mouth. Wisely, she walked away to continue her mission.

Shikamaru had described tonight's endeavor as recon rather than a strike. His instructions had been clear: We're only looking for weak spots. That's all.

But Sasuke had other plans.

He knew he should've been rational about all this, logical. But he couldn't. Not when he was so close to her. A wayward memory flashed into his mind.

Two people on a cliff.

Dark hair. White eyes. Small, fragile hands against Naruto's chest.

She pushed.

Naruto fell, and fell, and fell.

Sasuke reached out his hand in vain. He was too far away and could only look up in horror.

It seemed that Naruto was frozen then, forever falling to his death with the bright blue sky as his backdrop.

And on his face there was a -

Enough, thought Sasuke. He gritted his teeth and willed himself back to work.

Ooo

Midnight was nearing and the festival showed no signs of slowing.

Hinata thought it odd that while the rest of the Empire suffered through poverty, these people, these noblemen and women continued to feast until they were sick, and then drank as if it were a contest to see who could get alcohol poisoning the quickest.

It was a debacle of immeasurable proportions.

In the old world, most of these guests had been wealthy non-shinobi – daimyos and princes – and minor, but rich, ninja clans who had supported Madara in the war in hopes that doing so would elevate their statuses.

At first, Hinata tried to believe that they weren't all bad. That some of them just didn't realize the monster they were supporting. That was before she saw her first public execution mandated by Madara. She had been on the run then, dressed in rags and a genjutsu over her features firmly in place. She had hid in plain sight as a beggar in Madara's capital.

Had watched from the crowd as a young woman, not much older than her, was burned to death via fire jutsu. Her offense? Aiding and abetting members of the Coalition.

Hinata had seen the woman's eye. Had seen the pain and desperation there as the flames lit her skin. She could only watch horrified as those pained screams filled the air.

All the while, the nobles had watched from lofty stands, smiles on their faces as the woman burned.

Hinata came back from her thoughts with a frown on her face. Beside her stood Madara, silent and terrifying. Even now she couldn't believe that she now stood by his side. It was just the two of them at the moment beneath that beautiful pavilion. Quiet souls facing the cacophony of the festival.

There was no awkwardness – not after all they had gone through together. But Hinata wouldn't have called it comfortable (she would never be comfortable around him), but rather habitual.

"We will go to the throne room," Madara drawled suddenly, breaking her from her line of thoughts. Before she had a chance to fully register what he said, he had turned heel and was marching down the steps of the pavilion and onto the cobblestone path.

"O-of course, Madara-sama," said Hinata quickly as she followed. Together they followed the winding stone path, Madara not even taking the time to acknowledge as constituents broke from the activities to bow low at the waist as he passed.

They soon reached a pair of doors so large that they rivaled the gates of Konoha in size. It took ten men to open those ornate doors, but they had been left open for the occasion – the only interior room available for guests to roam about in. The room itself was perfectly round and with walls paneled in pure gold. It reminded her of the sun with its sheer magnificence.

Carved into the golden walls were relief sculptures of animals – bears, cranes, tigers, and dozens of more. But this all paled to the real attraction of the room – the Shinju. The God tree.

Its long stalk sprung up through the roofless room, rising so high, higher than anything that Hinata had ever seen, so high that its bulb seemed to brush the belly of the half moon. They things was beyond monstrous, far more terrifying than any of the tailed-beats, than surging armies, than nearly anything she had ever seen.

And somehow, Madara had leveled the grounds about its mountain sized roots and built his palace around it. He had looked at this creation of true hell and had decided, yes, this seems like a very good place to build my ridiculously large home.

It was almost blasphemous.

It was a thing of awe.

The only thing that terrified Hinata more than the God Tree was the man who had tamed the God Tree – the man who had dared to place his throne at the very base of it.

The throne itself was worked out of the Shinju's wood, creating an ugly, brutal seat that had been embedded with rubies and obsidian. Dozens of guests who had found their way to the room bowed as Madara strolled down the long red carpet that led to the throne. He took his seat, and she took her place at his side, standing and with her hands folded before her.

All eyes of Madara's adoring subjects were on them. Pining. Loving. Sickening. They were smiling.

The same sort of smiles that appeared the day that woman burned.

ooo

Sasuke slowly wound his way to the throne room with a platter in hand. He continued to play the part of a dutiful servant with his waiter uniform and owl mask.

None of these rich bastards would've guessed that he was planning to destroy their world tonight.

He grinned as he bowed to another nobleman. Everything was coming to fruition . . . the only problem was . . .

He searched for Sakura from the corner of his eye. It wasn't too hard to find her because she stood with a group of women so beautiful that it seemed almost impossible: Madara's courtesans.

Sakura still wore her mask, but he could tell it was her from the pair of senbon needles that she used to tie up her temporarily brown hair. The needles were beautiful as deadly, and had been a gift from him for her twentieth birthday.

She was the only hitch in his plan.

If things went wrong then he would not only get himself killed, but her as well.

The jutsu he was planning on using tonight, one that had taken him five years and several sacrifices to learn, could easily level a mountain if performed incorrectly.

Maybe I shouldn't do this . . . Not with Sakura here . . .

He became distracted when the most beautiful of the courtesans, a woman with vivid red hair wearing an emerald green kimono, departed from the group with a laugh and a quick wave.

Sasuke couldn't help but watch her leave. It was then that he spotted three drunken off-duty soldiers put down their drinks and follow after her with lewd grins.

He looked away. There was no guilt to be felt. Not even a tiny bit of shame. The courtesan was a noblewoman who helped to perpetuate Madara's cycle of pain. She deserved her fate.

Just as Hyuuga Hinata did.

And Sasuke would deal out that fate with a harsh and heavy hand.

His stomach burned with hatred and he found his hands balling into his fist. Kill. Kill. Kill.

There was no controlling it, this anger. It singed every part of him and his life. It overwhelmed any love or pleasure. All he felt was that fire.

Then it all became clear.

He would do whatever it took to destroy Madara. To destroy Hinata. Even if it meant his own life. Even if it meant Sakura's.

ooo

Madara lounged in his throne, legs spread in almost provocative manner, all muscles relaxed and a grin on his face, daring anyone – friend or foe – to approach.

Those who were brave enough, or as Madara once put it, worthy enough, had summoned the courage to near the emperor. Near being kneeling before the dais, and the conversation included praise of how great the Emperor was, how wise he was, and so on and so on.

Hinata like to play a game with the potential aproachees. With nothing to do but stand beside the throne, she entertained herself by trying to guess who would attempt to gain favor next. It was really quite easy. Even without her Byakugan, she could read people's movements even before they made them.

It started off whispering. Hushed 'Should I do it?' to their circles, followed by a fearful, yet reverent reply along the lines of 'Be sure to say the right things, friend, our Emperor does not take kindly to insult,' and then they would begin the trek through the crowd, undoubtedly apprehensive as they slinked their way through. Yet the moment they thought they were within Madara's sight (unaware that Madara saw all), they would wipe all nervousness of their face and square their shoulders. It wouldn't be long until all eyes were on them.

At least, that's how it usually went.

Usually.

Her eyes caught a red-headed woman making her way through the crowd, ignoring the usually, and breaking all the aforementioned guidelines.

Said woman was Lady Makoto of the Yutoro clan. One of Madara's courtesans; a beautiful desert flower from Sunagakure who had a good name as well as a good temper. With her vivid red hair and bright brown eyes, she captured the attention of anyone who looked her way.

Hinata had seen Makoto sometimes. The Lady had already been in the court for months by the time Hinata was first dragged in. For the year Hinata was imprisoned. Those days, all she could do was curl up in the corner of her cell and think of better days. Her body had always hurt then – between interrogations and long-standing malnourishment, she had become but bruises and bones.

But every so often a small blessing would come. Lady Makoto. Once a month or so, the Lady would sneak into the dungeons and bring treats for the prisoners. Nothing grand. Only pieces of candy, or slices of stale cake, but to them, it might as well of been the grandest feast. Back then, Makoto would look upon Hinata with eyes full of pity.

They didn't share words then. But always, as Hinata had reached through the bars of her cell to receive whatever the Lady had bought, Makoto would grip her hands in her own in a tight, but soft grip. Keep going, she seemed to say with an encouraging smile before she would swift to the next cell.

That had been a long time ago.

In the December of five years past, Hinata had been brought forth as the Emperor's new consort. Often, Hinata would see Makoto in the courtyards as she trailed behind Madara and would always try to covertly smile at her. But the Makoto she had come to know in her dark cell wasn't the same Makoto she knew in the sunlit palace.

This Makoto looked upon Hinata with pained envy. And when Hinata eventually began to grow, that envy turned to hatred.

We could've been friends, Hinata had thought sadly on more than one occasion.

Now, though, the woman who acted as the de facto leader of Madara's courtesans, was shambling towards the throne. Her eyes were bloodshot and tired, face grim, her hair wild around her head. Makoto looked dead on her feet. Everyone in the room watched her intensely as she slowly, but surely, made her way before the dais.

"Your highness," Makoto said with a haphazard bow the second she reached her destination.

"Lady Yutoro," Madara replied levelly, taking in her condition. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"The honor is all mine, your highness." Makoto bowed once more, but when she came back up, she seemed . . . unsettled. Hinata looked closer and saw a bit of manic in Makoto's bright eyes. That's when she also notice how mussed the Lady's clothing looked and instinctively knew what had happened.

Oh no.

ooo

All the guests present had quieted to a dead silence.

It was the courtesan from earlier, Sasuke noted. The beautiful one he saw who had unknowingly been pursued by three of the guards. At the moment he stood at the very edge of the room, but could pick out every single word that was said as the courtesan explained her ordeal, voice cracking.

"I didn't reply when the first started harassing me, your highness," said the courtesan with barely subdued hysteria. "I swear."

"I walked faster . . . but they wouldn't leave me alone . . . and then I began to run . . . but . . ."

She didn't need to say any more.

Sasuke's eyes moved from the courtesan and to the Emperor's consort who stood just behind the throne. Hinata looked onto the courtesan passively, face blank, nothing left of the shy and stuttering girl he had once known. And then she turned away in disinterest.

Bitch, he thought savagely.

ooo

Hinata was a coward.

She turned her head away, unable to stomach the woman's pain.

Long ago Madara had promised a kingdom of peace. A place where no man, woman, or child would ever be hurt again. Sometimes she regretted helping to stop him from creating that kingdom. Sleeping forever seemed much better than this hell they were all living in.

She had been a fool then.

But at least she had been a brave fool.

Now, she couldn't even listen to poor Lady Makoto's testimony for fear that it would dredge up memories of her own.

" . . . And that's when they left me your highness," Makoto finished the account of her assault by Madara's Elite soldiers quietly. Hinata had willed herself to remain stone-face throughout it all, absolutely positive that Makoto spoke the truth. Madara's men were just as vile and without shame as their master was.

Makoto looked into Madara's face, and when she found not a trace of sympathy, her eyes instead turned to Hinata. They seemed to say help me . . . please.

The urge to step and comfort Makoto was strong, but Hinata didn't dare.

Finally, Madara leaned forward and said, "What is it that you want me to do about this?"

"I want them dead," Makoto answered immediately. She stood rigidly, yet trembled, not unlike a dam holding back the flood. "I want blood."

Three heart beats.

Then he started to laugh. His mirth was cruel and unforgiving in light of the tension. "Now, now, my dear Makoto. Losing one of my Elite guard in battle is a tragedy. These are men that I have trained personally, many of whom I have practically raised." His grin twisted into a sneer. "I won't entertain the thought of voluntarily killing any of them, regardless of the crimes they commit."

Hinata knew what breaking looked like, and in that moment Makoto broke.

Makoto launched herself onto the dais accompanied with the sound of dozens of affronted gasps. Madara could've easily kicked her away, but for some reason he didn't. He allowed her so close that she laid her forehead on his knees. "How can you say that?" she cried, clutching at his pant leg with desperate fingers. "They hurt me. They took me. I was once your favorite . . . don't you remember?"

"You have had a horrible day, girl," soothed Madara. He gently grabbed her chin and tilted her head up so that their eyes directly met. "However, you are still a whore. My whore, in fact. Those are my men and they've been working diligently. I'm sure they were in need of relaxation – and you gave that to them. They will work harder because of you, and that is a good thing."

"Your highness . . ."

"Be proud of yourself, Makoto, you have pleased me."

" . . . I . . . please . . ."

"Now stop this embarrassing charade before I cut your throat."

Madara let Makoto's chin slip from his grasp and he leaned back into his throne with a malevolent grin.

Makoto, on the other hand, was looking down at the ground, at her trembling fingers, unable to find purchase. Hinata knew the look on her face well. She had seen it on her own face the day she slit her wrists.

"Thank you, your highness," Makoto said with a long bow before backing away and turning to face the crowd. She didn't look up as she unhurriedly ambled out of the room with a surprising amount of grace. The audience composed mostly of tipsy guests parted ways for her, all eyes following until she finally disappeared out of the doors.

Nervous air filled the room until Madara waved a hand and ordered, "Continue with the festivities."

The crowd had no problem doing so as they returned to their frivolities. All were smiling as though Lady Makoto had not broken down before all of them.

I'm sorry, thought Hinata, heart breaking. I'm sorry that happened to you.

"Hinata," said Madara lowly as he surveyed the crowd, "did that bother you?"

" . . . Yes, Madara-sama. I-it did." He would know if she lied.

"Why?"

Because you're a monster.

"I worry that you would all-allow those men to have me as they did Lady Makoto," she lied.

Madara chuckled. "Don't worry," he said darkly, "I would paint the walls red with the blood of any man who dared to touch you."

Her blood went cold.

"No other man will ever lay his hands on you. . ." said Madara, his voice lowering dangerously. He narrowed his eyes at the crowd even though he spoke directly to her. His fingers curled into the armrests, nails biting into the wood. "I will not have it."

Sometimes Hinata wondered if he were insanely possessive, or just simply insane.

Abruptly, Madara motioned for one of the stewards. The steward made haste and kneeled at the steps of the dais. "Inform Kabuto that I'm leaving the festival his hands for the remainder of the night," Madara ordered before rising from his seat. He glanced at her from over his shoulder and gave a curt, "Come."

There was an underlying viciousness in his voice, highlighted by the way he began to march down the aisle without waiting for her reply.

"O-of course, Madara-sama," she managed but he had already turned away. For a moment she stared at his retreating figure, resignation, anxiety, and the ever constant, fear, sped through her body. Running through her head was every possible scenario that may occur within the next few hours.

Don't go, her heart said, he'll hurt you.

Go, her god sense said, otherwise he'll hurt you more.

"Heavens," she whispered in prayer before gathering wits and hurrying after him.

She didn't even notice as a server in a fox mask stared after her, red eyes glowing.

ooo

Sakura entered the corridor oblivious to his tall form hidden among the shadows. She leaned against the wall and folded her arms, had he known her to be any other woman than he would've thought her only thinking. But Sakura was shinobi, one that had been trained to conceal her emotions, even when she believed no one else was around.

Yet he did know her. Well enough to know that behind her calm façade that she was nothing but nerves and anxiety. If they weren't on a mission she would've most likely paced a path into the floors.

"Yo," he said, finally drifting out of the shadows.

She all but jumped out of her skin, but quickly recovered and turned on him. "Where. Have. You. Been!" She hissed, voice distorted by her mask. "We were supposed to meet a half hour ago."

Thirty minutes didn't seem much, but when you were on a mission thirty minutes of absence could easily mean death.

"I'm fine," he reassured, when she didn't look satisfied with his answer her continued with, "I found something, however."

Her head tilted to the side, "What could you have possibly found that-"

He cut her off and turned to walk down the hallway. Even though he had checked the space for any ears or eyes twice over, he still didn't want to risk anything. "I'll show you," he said as Sakura trotted after.

"Hey," she said suspiciously, "does whatever you found have anything to do with our dance?"

Dance was referring to their reconnaissance mission. The mission with orders like Remain Inconspicuous and Flee If Discovered, among other things, but most importantly, Absolutely Do Not Engage with Enemy. Funny how things worked out.

"Of course," he lied and walked in the direction the Emperor had taken the traitor.

Ooo

It hadn't always been like this.

At first, he didn't touch her. For so long, she had just been known simply as the Coalition's Hyuuga. Three months – that was how long it took for him to come for her. No rhyme or reason. He simply . . . appeared that night, chest heaving, eyes on fire.

He plucked her from the dungeons after that first night and shoved her into a lavish room, all without a word of explanation.

To this day he hasn't told her why he came for her, and she made it a point not to ask.

It was hard to fight the guilt sometimes. All the time, actually. She tried by managing a passive resistance towards Madara. It was easy enough because he demanded that she not speak unless spoken to, but even then she kept her responses short and polite. Nothing to betray herself with.

In all her years with him, she had consciously opened up to him only once.

They've been together for years and she still refused to be comfortable with him. To allow herself to be content would be akin to betraying her friends, and she would net let that happen again. But does it matter? A bitter voice in her head would say. It's hardly redemption if you refuse to speak to him, yet let him sidle between your thighs every other night.

Let me fool myself, she would plead with that voice. Just for a little while longer.

These were her thoughts as she stepped timdly into Madara's quarters. His hand was at the small of her back acting as both a guide and a warning. Keep going forward. Dim lanterns lined the corridor, so weak that it made it hard to see. But Hinata didn't need to see to know where to go.

She stepped away from Madara and strode ahead to the third door on the right hand side. The bedroom.

Hinata slid the door open and paused to spare him a glance before walking into the room. The quicker this was over with, the better. She didn't look back as she heard him follow in after, and the subsequent whisper of the shoji as he slid it shut. Sighing softly, she began to untie her obi with deft hands. Quickly. Expertly. She didn't bother with any of the slow tantalization she had once overheard a few of the courtesans speaking about.

"Stop."

Madara's command echoed in the dark room. His voice was rough and lower than usual. She could feel his eyes burning into her back, daring her to disobey him.

Immediately, her hands paused above her kimono's intricate front-facing bow. It took Madara all but two steps to cross the space between them. Heat radiated off his body and spread across her back. His hot breath curled against the exposed skin on her neck.

Close, thought Hinata, skin prickling.

Too close.

A hand crept around and pressed against her lower stomach. With a growl, he crushed her to him, pinned her backside to his groin so she could feel how hard he was for her.

She whimpered.

He chuckled.

"See what you do to me," he breathed. "No other woman is enough. Only you, little dove."

Hinata couldn't stop the blush that began to cover her entire body.

Madara's left hand joined the other and he tugged gently at her spring-green obi. "I do not like this color on you," he said before leaning down to kiss the side of her neck. Then he reached back into his pocket and bought for something that glinted in the dark. A kunai.

Instinctively, she struggled but he held fast.

"Now, now," said Madara quietly. "When have I ever hurt you?"

You hurt me every day, thought Hinata even as her mind continued to fog up.

Impatient, he wedged the sharp edge of the kunai between the fabric of her kimono and the obi. Metal flashed as he sliced through the silk, and the sash fluttered to the ground to gather around her feet.

"There," he said, roughly grabbing her chin with the same hand that held the kunai. "Was that truly so bad?"

Without the obi, the kimono began to part freely, exposing the several layers beneath. Layers that didn't deter Madara as he slipped each one away with a slow deliberateness, like peeling the petals of a rose away from its core. Hinata was unable to stop her whimpering, and instead bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. Madara laved hot kisses along the side of her neck, her face, the corner of her mouth, any and everywhere he could reach.

Forgive me.

He peeled away the top coat.

Forgive me.

And then the middle coat.

Please, please, forgive me.

The base coat was pulled away, leaving her only in her undergarments. Her entire body prickled, cold beneath his searing hands. This was something she would never get used to. Remains of the kimono slumped around her legs; a ruined hill of silk that was worth millions now lying on the floor. Hinata thought of all the impoverished that that kimono could feed to distract herself as Madara slowly began to unwrap the satin bindings around her chest.

"Why do you bother to continue wearing these?" He said, brushing the sides of her bound breasts with back of his fingers.

Madara was surprisingly impatient for a man who spent years doing nothing but sitting in a dirt cave. He brandished the kunai once more, and before she had a chance to protest, he cut right through the bindings. Hinata screwed her eyes shut, but could feel his lustful gaze on her. Madara tossed the kunai and it clattered to the floor.

For a long moment, the only sound was her heavy breathing.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe ou-

"Ah!"

Madara squeezed on of her breasts hard. "Ah!" she cried again as he gave another experimental squeeze. Still, she refused to open her eyes. But she could see it all in her mind's eye. Her – flushed, and oh so frightened. Him – rinnegan eyes focused and alight, hands twitching to claim her once more.

A desperate flame began to bloom in her core, but she refused to give into them yet. Not this early.

"Please. . ." she whispered. Please stop. But the words wouldn't make it past her lips.

One of Madara's hands caressed the underside of her breast. Hinata knew that he was fascinated with her body, he had so several times before, and that fascination had grown into a constant, hard lust that scared her with its intensity. Now, he slid his fingers down, keeping contact with her flush skin, moving slowly down her ribs – one, two, three . . . – and then into the smooth slope of her soft belly.

Her breath hitched higher and higher as he wound his way to her core.

"W-wait," she said as his hand slipped beneath the band of her underwear, but he paid her no heed and immediately pressed his fingers into her fold. Specifically, onto the button of nerves – and heavens, her vision went white.

"A-ah," Hinata cried, legs weakening.

"It feels good, doesn't it," chuckled Madara quietly. And she wanted to yell that it didn't, but that would be undermined by the fact that the only thing keeping her upright was the arm he had wound beneath her breasts, keeping her still as he continued to rub furiously at the nub. It felt good. Too good.

It was all so confusing. No matter how many they played this game, danced this dance, Hinata knew that she should not want this.

This was a conundrum that could be found in everything they did. Even now, she simultaneously tried to push away from Madara's hand while also trying to find a way closer to that delicious –

Stop, she thought.

Heavens, please stop.

"I . . . I can't," she whimpered even as she ground herself closer to his digits. Her hands have a mind of their own and she clutched at the arm he held her with, fingers spastically pulling at the fabric of his kimono in order to find purchase.

"You can, little dove," he said with malicious glee. "You will."

Hinata didn't reply.

Because perhaps the second most shameful thing she kept locked away was not that she had betrayed her friends, not that she yielded to the man who destroyed everything she loved – it was that even though her stomach squirmed each time he said her name, that her hair stood on end whenever he was near, that in the end –

Forgive me, she thought as his fingers abandoned the bud and fiercely thrust inside her slick core, finally curled insider her and finding heavens, heavens, please, right there . . .

Forgive me, she thinks even as she can't see straight. Please make him stop. Please make me stop. I can't . . .

Forgivemeforgivemeforgivemeforgiveme. Tears were coming to her eyes as he moved faster and faster, winding her up and taking her higher than the heavens she prayed so much to. The hand on her breast held her still with iron strength. His breathing was ragged as he muttered incoherently into her hair . . .

. . . this isn't what I wanted, she thought, hating herself as he smiled against her neck, knowing well enough that she was on the very edge. Her mouth widened and her spine curved as she tried to escape this mounting, hateful, so good release.

His body began to buck, and he kept her still, groaning as he ground his hardness into her backside. "God," she heard him say so darkly, so intimately.

And she's on the edge, higher and higher and higher. And then she snapped – coming in rolling waves of heat and pleasure. But Madara's fingers kept moving and it was too much. There's no room to breathe. He refused to let her go and held her impossibly tight as she trembled and thrashed in his arms, all the while his fingers playing a melody within her, seeing how much she can take.

Lights exploded behind her lids again and again and again until she sobbed, tears seeping down her cheeks. The only noises was his heavy panting and her begging him for any and everything . . .

- In the end, he lit her body aflame.

And she hated herself for it.

ooo

Hearing Madara fuck the Hyuuga traitor raw was not how he imagined his night going.

In fact, it was the furthest thing from his mind; and now he crouched in the hallway just outside Madara's quarters wishing that the bastard had chosen to build his walls out of concrete rather than fucking paper-thin shoji.

On the opposite side of the hall, Sakura was turning as pink as her hair and was trying very hard not to have a panic attack. Moans and mewls echoed from the Emperor's quarters, and Sakura was glancing in every direction but Sasuke's.

Her okame mask had been pushed to the top of her head, secured in place by the pair of senbon pins. She fiddled with these pins before huffing and squaring her shoulders. Sasuke knew her well enough to know that she was trying to refocus her attention on the task rather than listen to . . .

"Ah!"

. . . the emperor's activities.

It must've been hard to pretend that she didn't hear it, especially when the only man she had ever slept with was less than a couple of meters away.

For her it was embarrassing.

For him it was annoying.

Sex was sex. That's all it was. While Sakura would've called their time together making love, Sasuke called it fucking. He had no disillusionments for what the world held him at twenty-two years old. There was no love to be found. No fairytales left at the end of the road.

After their first time together, Sakura had told him that he was the only one as she trailed her fingers up and down his chest as though she could memorize that moment with touch alone. She had said that she wanted to be with him, no matter what it took.

He had laughed. Told her the truth.

She had been the twelfth woman he had been with at the time, and he had the thirteenth lined up for the next day. It had been a bastard thing to do, but he couldn't give a shit then. Not even when she had begun to cry. All he'd been trying to do those days was fuck away the pain that losing his best friend caused –

. . . Dark hair. White eyes. Small, fragile hands against Naruto's chest . . .

- Sasuke wished he could've told her that that night. He wish he could've told her that she was important to him, just not in the way that she wanted. Yet she still mattered to him a hell of a lot more than everybody else. But he didn't love her. Couldn't love her, no matter how hard he tried.

. . . "I'm sorry, Sasuke-san," she whispered . . .

Haruno Sakura was his friend but she could never be anything more.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. Even in the darkness she was beautiful with pink hair framing her face, and pale green eyes narrowed in concentration despite the noises. She was strong, brave, and loved him more than anything in the world.

You would've made a good wife, Sakura, he thought before he could stop himself.

And yet he couldn't love her because –

. . .. Hinata looked up from the ground and met his eyes with blank, empty white eyes. "I'm sorry, Sasuke-san." . . .

Dark fury filled veins and nerves.

- Because violent hatred for Hyuuga Hinata filled up every space in his heart.

Footsteps rounding the corner bought him out of his haze. Madara's Elite Guard making patrols. He met Sakura's confused eyes from across the hallway and he wanted to reassure her that everything was going to plan. Just not the plan she knew of.

ooo

It took hours before Madara finally finished with her. As always, Hinata drifted off immediately afterwards, curled into a ball with the covers bunched all around her like a mini barricade, and more importantly, as far away from Madara as possible.

She tossed and turned all night. But this was nothing new. She never slept well in his bed. Nothing but nightmares filled with blood and insanity and everything she'd rather not remember when she was with him. This time was no different.

Hinata woke from her bad dreams with a jolt and crying, but she was immediately tugged back down to the bed by a strong arm around her waist. Madara had found her in his sleep and pulled her tight to him, his fingers biting into the soft skin of her belly, never willing to let go. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, and his legs tangled with hers, effortless curling all around her like a prison.

It was almost metaphorical. The little dove and her iron cage.

Hinata stared listlessly at the walls. She thought of his hands on her belly, well aware that he sought to put another child in her . . . crippling dread covered her and she felt like she couldn't breathe. Stopstopstopstopstop – she vanished the thoughts desperately.

There was nothing but emptiness when the panic left. Nothing but her and him, silence and darkness. Hinata sighed shakily. The only thing she could do now was wait until he woke and gave her permission to leave.

Thankfully she didn't have to wait long.

"Your Highness!"

The voice had cut the silence so abruptly that Hinata jumped, Madara on the other hand rose from the bed with a growl as though he hadn't been asleep in the first place. There was rustling in the darkness as he tugged on a pair of pants before stomping out of the bedroom with an irate look on his face. She clutched the blankets to her chest and gingerly sat up.

It was odd, if not suicidal, for the guards to interrupt Madara in the middle of the night. Usually, most of the responsibilities of palace could be taken care of by the stewards or the security team. This was the first time she had ever seen this occur. Curious, she peeked out of the open bedroom doors and into the dimly lit foyer.

Madara's back rippled with agitation as he slid open the entrance door. Two of Madara's Elite knelt before the threshold. They wore A Tanuki and a Spider mask respectively. The masks were meant as insults – once they had been worn by Konoha's greatest warriors, and now they were donned by the very men who slaughtered them on the battlefield.

Tanuki bowed his head and waited for permission to speak.

"What?" Madara ground out.

"A member of the Coalition has been apprehended your highness," said the Tanuki quickly.

Hinata clapped a hand to her mouth. No.

There was no way to anchor her confusion. Coalition members weren't caught. It just wasn't possible. They had proven it time and time again over the past years, flawlessly spreading propaganda and gathering support while passing through Madara's hands like smoke.

In the six years of its existence, its only member to ever be caught was her. Then again, did she really count? Her membership had only lasted for two months before having to flee a couple weeks after her seventeenth birthday.

No, she couldn't be held to the same caliber to the rest of them. She had gotten captured only three months after leaving their protection. Nothing compared to what they were: whispers on the wind. They would come and go, leaving hell in their wake. They overturned shipments, assassinated key figures in Madara's regime, raided and stole, doing anything in their power to weaken the Empire.

In an instant, Madara's aura switched from irritation to a deranged sort of glee.

"Bring them here," he said, not bothering to ask for a full report. "Bring them here now."

Tanuki bowed before standing and motioning for someone down the hall. The sound of chains clanking reached her ears. Madara stood stock still, his bare shoulders quaking with what could be anger or joy, or an insidious mixture of both. Of course he would be happy. He'd been hunting the Coalition for years now.

That was supposed to be classified information, but there was only so much he could keep from her when they spent so much time together. Madara liked to talk after sex and he had once revealed to her the last time he had had a lead on the Coalition.

It had been three years after the war. Madara's spies had finally found the Coaltion's headquarters – a mass underground bunker in the former Iwagaure – and he had orchestrated an assault unlike the word had ever seen before. Water-affinitve shinobi gathered and were ordered to flood the bunker. For an entire night they did this, spewing boiling water into the bunker, making the ground swell until geysers began to form.

Screams of the dying coalition echoed throughout the entire city.

Madara had told her that it sounded like music.

Eventually, the water shinobi trickled to a stop and Madara went down into the bunker himself to verify. He stepped into the steamy rooms and found absolutely. nothing.

It had been a ruse, and Madara did not like being made a fool of. He had all 562 water shinobi executed, as well as vowed to find every member of the organization and destroy them. To this day, the Coalition survived, thrived even, and the only openly hostile opponents to Madara's iron rule.

Coalition – an unstoppable force.

Coalition - The last hope for a free world.

Coalition - Her Friends.

But . . .

Hinata was sure they didn't see her the same way. Not since the night so long ago, atop that cliff, her and Naruto and - I just want to forget. But this time she couldn't push away the guilt that gnawed at her bones. She hadn't met face to face with another Coalition member in years, but she was sure that their feelings remained the same.

There was no doubt that an attempt on her life would be made if she were to ever encounter another member. Even the Rookie Nine. Especially the Rookie Nine.

Yet she still cared for them all. It was weak of her to, but she couldn't help it. Hinata still loved her friends, no matter how much they hated her.

Madara was questioning Tanuki by the time Hinata returned from her thoughts, but she couldn't hear the conversation due to faint shouts coming down the hallway. She recognized the sound of struggling and manacles. Her stomach dropped.

There was no way she could watch this.

Before fear could convince her otherwise, she slipped from the bed and across the room to Madara's wardrobe. From there she grabbed a yukata, not caring that it was far too large, and made her way to the foyer where Madara awaited the prisoner's arrival. Firelight reflected on the muscles of his back as she approached. He looked over his shoulder, face betraying nothing at her daring behavior.

"May I leave?" She asked as politely as possible.

Father would be proud of how cool she kept her demeanor. It was the few defenses she had left, because in Madara's world, revealing emotions meant revealing weaknesses.

The Emperor was still as he surveyed her. For a moment she thought he would strike her for her boldness, but instead he smiled. A crooked, unsavory smile that made her skin prickle.

"No," he said simply. "You'll stay here."

A whine built in her throat but she pushed it down. Maybe if she went back to the bedroom she could sleep through the entire –

The captive was brought into view, struggling wildly against the grasp of two Elite. Tanuki stepped to side, and then followed them in as they dragged the prisoner into the foyer. Madara's Elite usually worked alone and seldom in groups. They were usually too full of themselves for proper teamwork, but something about this captive had spooked them.

Leave, she told herself, but couldn't move.

The rebel's hands were covered with a heavy black bag, both wrists and ankles shackled with, and Hinata knew this by first-hand knowledge, chakra-depleting manacles.

Leave. Go back to the room and cover yours ears. Sleep. Leave.

"The captive, your majesty," said one of the soldier even as his charge elbowed him in the stomach.

I must see who this is.

"Bring him in further," ordered Madara, also stepping away. He watched with barely concealed delight as the guards roughly threw the captive to the floor.

The captive crashed hard enough to break bones. He must be made tough, thought Hinata when she heard him growl. His manacles glowed a bright blue before returning back to gray, swallowing up any of the chakra the prisoner just tried to release.

Madara took to circling the man like a vulture. The Emperor looked like a demon in that lantern light, eyes glinting with a cruel grin. He sized up the captive's green flack jacket, the very same uniform of the former Allied Shinobi Forces. It seemed they still hadn't found the time to create new ones.

Ino always used throw a fit about it. She used to say, "People aren't going to take us seriously if we look raggedy and homeless!"

The memories weren't as fond as they were painful. It reminded her that the person beneath that black bag could easily be as close to her as she was Ino – Kiba? Shino?

My heart can't take this, she thought, but I can't leave. She continued to chant silent prayers for the captive over and over in her head.

"Let me see him," said Madara.

The captive furiously tried to struggle to their feet but the guards were quicker. One of them put their foot square in the middle of the captive's back and shoved him back to the floor. The guard gestured to his partner, who then nodded in turn and delivered a brutal kick to the captive's ribs. As the captive grunted in pain the guard yanked off the black bag.

Beneath it was a bloodied and bruised Uchiha Sasuke.

No!

Hinata wanted to run back to the room now, to curse herself for her stupidity. But all she could do was waver behind Madara, simply staring at Sasuke as every horrible implication fell into place.

They'd never been friends. Never been companionable with one another, but he had been Naruto's dearest friend. And Naruto . . . well, she had always loved him. Even now. Forever.

The thought that the person Naruto had loved most in life being subjected to Madara's wills made her stomach flop. Not only that, but Sasuke was the Coalition's greatest warrior, their ace in the hole.

Yet here he was. The only man left who could bring hope back to the world . . . and he was about to go through unimaginable horrors.

Madara wouldn't just kill him. No, Sasuke was far too valuable for that. Panic seeped into Hinata's nerves and she thought that her heart might burst from how fast it was beating. Yet throughout it all she maintained a façade of indifference.

"Yo," said Sasuke lazily. He smirked and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. For all her worrying, Sasuke didn't look the least bit bothered by his predicament. Then again, this was the Uchiha Sasuke, one of the few men who had battled Madara one on one and lived to tell the tale.

Rebel life had been good to him, but that didn't surprise her. Beauty had always come easily to him. Last time she had a chance to really look at him was by the fireside when she was seventeen. He had been a boy then. Now he was taller, more muscular, resembling Madara in more ways than she'd cared to admit. His smirk melted into scowl, screaming his defiance.

Fool.

For years he had been told he was best, and now here he knelt, looking fearlessly into the face of humanized war. Hinata would've frowned at his ignorance had she not ben so petrified. You were once like them, a part of her reminded. Yes, but once was a very long time ago.

"Sasuke," started Madara, languid and slow as he continued to circle. "It's been a long time. Though I always knew you would return to me in one way or another."

"Fuck off," Sasuke spat.

"I see you remain . . . spirited," Madara said plainly, though she could hear the hint of contempt. He didn't like to be disrespected. "Such a pity that you're working for the wrong side. Though perhaps it's a good thing after all, you did prove yourself to be an incompetent spy tonight."

Sasuke's eyes followed Madara as he continue to hover, mind probably shuffling through various escape plans. Her former comrade had yet to notice her at this point. A small blessing. She had been standing over Naruto's corpse the last time she saw him. Then, all she could choke out was a pitiful apology before vanishing from sight.

It was funny. Hinata had had every intention of returning to the Coalition after the deed had been done, prepared to pretend as though nothing had ever happened. But on that day, she felt such malevolent chakra at her back. Chakra that said nothing but murder, destroy, crush. Sasuke's chakra.

She had changed her course immediately and fled. And as fast as she had been, she knew that the only reason Sasuke hadn't caught her that day was because he was too busy screaming for his best friend to come back.

Hinata wondered if he still had that hatred bottled up in him. If he still wanted her dead. Don't ask stupid questions, she told herself, trying to make herself as small as possible.

"You are strong," continued Madara. "It would be a shame for you to waste your talents."

Sasuke remained unmoved, which only spurred the Emperor further. "You are an Uchiha, boy. Power runs through your veins."

This was all a lie. Madara was most likely saying this because he wanted a new opponent, because the only thing the Emperor loved more than tormenting her was a good fight. And who better to fight but a tried and true warrior like Sasuke?

Silence.

"It would be wise to join me," Madara explained. Then his voice dropped in pitch, "Or perhaps I can use you for other purposes. Extract the information I need to crush your friends like the worms they are. It wouldn't be hard. I could rip the skin from your body strip by strip, tear your teeth out, but you know all that. I don't have to explain these things to you."

He expelled chakra as he said this – even her damaged receptors could taste the danger in the air. Sasuke only stared ahead, ignoring Madara, and thankfully unable to notice her position in the corner of the room. It was easy to overlook her, a woman who was a civilian in everything but name. She no longer radiated any chakra, and even if she did it would still be a flicker compared to the forest fire that was Madara.

The next words out of Madara's mouth caught Hinata by surprise; as though he knew that she didn't want to be seen. "What would you say, Hinata?"

There was a marked silence as the Emperor and Elite all turned to her. There was only one who didn't follow. Sasuke tilted his head down so that his hair covered his face. He was unnaturally still, though blood continued to drip from his mouth to the floor in rhythmic beat.

"Hinata," repeated the Emperor again. She looked back and forth between the two Uchihas, trying to quell the unknown terror building. Not because of Madara, no, she knew that fear well enough. But from the fear of Sasuke – he emitted something dark and horrible and all she wanted to do was turn tail and run.

I thought you weren't afraid of death, a voice said inside your head. That's all you've wanted since that August night.

Earlier that had been the case, but now . . .

Yes, she thought, but not like that. Images of Sasuke towering over her dead body, stained sword in hand, came to mind. I want my death . . . to be my own. Nobody else's. It is the only thing I have left. The only choice that I can make on my own.

Madara's question still hung in the air, and he would only wait so long until he took her pause for insubordination. Thousands of thoughts raced through her head. Sasuke didn't deserve to be left to Madara's cruelty. With that in mind, she decided on the kindest answer she could muster.

" . . . kill him."

Slowly, Sasuke lifted his head. The black of his eyes were flat, dead. He took in her appearance – Madara's borrowed yukata and her mussed hair. Shame flared through her because she understood that members of the Coalition faced death just to bring scraps of bread to the starving people.

And here she was, in clothing that could feed entire villages.

Here she was, the whore of the man who had ruined all their lives.

"Kill him," she reaffirmed, while meaning I'm sorry. A swift death was the kindest thing she could do for him now.

Madara didn't hear the regret in her voice, didn't see as she broke into more pieces. All that was real to him was how cold and callous he had managed to make his little dove. And he smiled at her. Genuinely smiled. Hinata bit the inside of her cheek so hard that it bled.

I didn't do this for you, she wanted to say, but willed herself to remain stoic. She turned back to Sasuke, planning to give her regards and flee the room regardless of whatever punishment that would follow, but what she saw gave her pause.

His eyes were still flat, no glimmer, no life. Fathomless. He was not here with them now, he was inside his own head, thinking of things that Hinata didn't dare to imagine.

Madara continued to watch her. His arms were crossed and he looked oddly pleased with himself. For the first time, Hinata found herself wanting to kill him. She wished she could've cried, but there was nothing left in her. Every bit of was buried away and she refused to let it resurface. She couldn't bear to be in this room with them any longer.

"I'm tired," said Hinata, turning back towards the bedroom. There, she would slide the door shut, curl into a ball, and sleep until she forget that the past six years ever happened. Before she could think better of it, she paused and offered a somber, "Forgive me."

And then she continued on.

"I don't think so," she heard Sasuke say behind her, voice ragged. A beat of silence. And then the air charged as she heard the crackle of lightning behind her. The dim space filled with light. Hinata's heart stopped. "I'll never forgive you, Hyuuga."

ooo

"What would you say, Hinata?"

Sasuke didn't hear a single word after that.

A hurricane was in him, rushing, blocking out every sound and every thought save for one name: Hinata.

At the back of mind, so quiet that he didn't even register it. It was telling him to calm down or he would ruin his plans. Calm down or he would fail. But the only thing on Sasuke's mind was her. She was so near. How could he not realize it before?

Kill.

After, I will.

Kill.

Not yet.

Rationality and logic was nowhere to be found as a part of him struggled against the silently screaming beast. Every cell in his body was focused on reigning himself in. But then she was talking in that soft way of hers, the way that she spoke on that day so long.

. . . "I'm sorry, Sasuke-san." . . .

He wasn't in control of his body as he turned to her. She looked the same now as she did then – blank eyes, blank face, completely and totally unfettered. There was a question on his mind then, a small whisper against the backdrop of screaming in his mind. How do you not care?

Hinata's lips continued to move.

How do you not care about what you did?

Her yukata was red.

The same red as the blood that puddled around Naruto as he looked lifelessly up into the sky.

Red.

Hinata.

Kill.

And now she was leaving, her back to him.

. . . She turned away from the corpse and vanished from sight . . .

He remembered how Naruto kept falling, falling, falling.

He remembered his best friend's smiling face: "Save up your hatred and take it all out on me, I'm the only one who can take it! I will shoulder your hatred and die with you! Because I'm your friend!"

Naruto gave everything for the people he loved. The dobe had been one of the good things in Sasuke's life Sometimes he had been so bright that Sasuke had to look away. But even still, he wanted to stay by Naruto's side. Would pray that his friend never saw just how truly unworthy he was.

So why, Sasuke now thought, why did you have to take him away from me Hinata?

But then she said something, barely a whisper, but he heard it like thunder on a quiet night.

"Forgive me."

And Sasuke snapped.

ooo

It all happened in the span of a second.

Hinata had turned back sharply at his words and almost immediately regretted her decision.

Sasuke looked her straight in the eye as he broke his chains. It happened so quickly that she was barely able to register what was happening. It was like watching lightning, like water slipping through her hands, impossibly quick.

Then Sasuke moved. What she witness was like steel cables snapping under three hundred tons of pressure. Duck now. A beat and Hinata instinctively hit the floor, barely escaping the chakra-fueled kick that Sasuke swung at her head.

They met eyes once more in a moment that would forever be in her mind – him suspended in air before her, complete unadulterated fury radiated from every fiber of his being – before a hand zipped in from the corner of vision, grabbed Sasuke's arm and snatched him right out of view.

Her head snapped to the side just in time to see Madara swing Sasuke against the ground with so much force that the hardwood shattered. Still holding onto the arm, Madara swung him once more as though Sasuke were a ragdoll, and slammed him back down.

"You're full of surprises," said Madara maliciously. Then he lifted his foot and stomped on Sasuke's shoulder. Hinata didn't have to see it to know that the joint was now crushed to pieces.

Sasuke yelled.

Apparently that was a signal because the wall closest to Madara burst as a figure smashed through. She looked so fierce and terrifying, like a warrior from the ancient times. Sakura, fist poised and glowing and headed straight for Madara's head.

And then Madara smirked.

The Emperor flickered out of sight just as Sakura's punch landed. She hit the ground and made the entire floor jump and crack. Madara appeared behind Sakura and Hinata shouted to warn her, "Watch out!"

But Madara was already smiling, and his fist tore through her back and straight through her chest.

A beat.

And then laughter.

"You tried that last time, girl," Madara admonished even as Sakura's body pulsed around her arm. "You should have learned your lesson." He slid his hand out, and Sakura fell to her knees.

"S-sasuke . . ." Sakura whimpered. Her eyes shifted from vivid to dull and Sasuke could only watch as she slumped forward. Blood poured out from her wound and seeped into the crater around Sasuke.

It was odd, Hinata thought.

She recalled the time she faced Pain. How the man had pierced her body, how he had laughed, and Naruto . . . she remembered those last few seconds before the darkness had claimed her. Naruto had exploded with rage.

It was exactly the same with Sasuke. But instead of transforming into the nine-tailed beast, Sasuke transformed into a whole other kind of monster. His Sharingan sprung to life and the air around them flattened with raw killer intent. The three Elite soldier rushed forward and were instantly slice in half. Sasuke had summoned a lightning cutter so lethal that it seared through the flesh of veteran shinobi like a hot knife through butter.

Madara looked down at the remains and chuckled.

"You've grown stronger," was all Madara had to say as he took a step forward.

Sasuke rushed forward with a scream of anguish. Hinata was sure he was going to be repelled immediately, and Madara did too because he lifted his arm to catch Sasuke's lightning-enhanced punch. That's why it was so surprising when Sasuke's was able to hit Madara point blank in the sternum with enough power that it sent the emperor flying through the shoji walls.

Madara landed on his feet as though the punch were nothing despite a star-burst shaped burn now on his chest. He began to laugh again.

"Is that all you've got?"

Sasuke growled and followed him out in the hallway.

ooo

He wasn't supposed to care so much.

He was supposed to be ready to sacrifice her, wasn't he?

This wasn't supposed to hurt this much.

"Is that all you've got?" Madara said laughingly, arms open. An invitation.

Sasuke took one last look over at Sakura's body.

Just an hour ago he had told her that everything would be all right. The Elite had rounded the corner and he told her to just trust him. Trust that he knew what he was doing – why did he tell her that!? He told her to stay hidden! He told her that he could handle it just before he allowed the Elite to find him!

Stupid, annoying, girl.

Idiot.

And then Sasuke couldn't see past the tears.

He went after Madara.

ooo

Both Uchiha disappeared from sight and the sound of crashing followed soon after. It sounded like the building was falling to pieces around her, yielding beneath the attacks of the two men. The ground rumbled beneath her hands.

Hinata didn't waste a second more before she was on her feet and stumbling towards Sakura's lifeless body. "Sakura-chan! Sakura-chan!" She faltered when she saw the proof that was the gaping hole in her friend's chest.

Funny how Hinata though she could never feel pain again. Not the dull, throbbing pain that painted her world gray – she felt that every day – but the hot, vivid white pain where the entire world just shattered around you. Hinata hadn't felt the latter pain in such a long time that she thought she had been rendered immune.

She was wrong.

So very, very wrong.

Her whole entire chest burned in agony as she stared into Sakura's unseeing eyes. Her knees were week and she tumbled before her friend. A scream bubbled in her throat, but she shoved it down. Down, down, down where no one could ever find it. Be strong, through Hinata.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Once she wouldn't had been afraid to cry, but the word had taught her better since then. The lesson taught her to keep it all locked away – the pain, the fear, the happiness, keep it under lock and key.

The years had made her gray, but now she found herself unable to anchor on the anger, confusion, or grief. Suddenly a sob ripped through her and tears were falling down her face uncontrollably. For the first time in a long time Hinata was crying freely and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Oh, Sakura-chan," she said, taking her friend's pale face into her hands. Two sharp senbon fell from Sakura's hair and into Hinata's palm. "I am sorry. I am so sorry!"

"Not yet, but you will be."

Hinata's stomach dropped as she turned slowly. Sasuke stood in the ruined doorway, Sharingan swirling madly. His chest heaved as he looked at the pair of them. She didn't know which to be more afraid of, the fact that Madara was nowhere to be seen or the manic look in Sasuke's eyes as he crossed over the threshold and advanced.

All her instincts yelled at her to run, but Hinata couldn't move as Sasuke stalked towards her. She couldn't move as he put both hands around her neck. Couldn't move as she was suddenly in the air. Couldn't move as he shoved her against a wooden beam and began to squeeze.

Her feet swung helplessly.

I deserve this, she thought.

I deserve to die.

And yet . . .

And yet before she knew it, the senbon that had fallen from Sakura's hair and into her hands was heading straight for Sasuke's jugular. He seemed so surprised himself when she stabbed it into his skin, twisting it, barely registering it as blood sprayed from the wound and all over her face.

What am I doing!

Hinata's hands shook as she forced the life out of Uchiha Sasuke. She dug the senbon in and thrust deeper, ingrained shinobi instincts kicking in.

"Fuck . . ." he said through clenched teeth as blood burbled from the corners of his mouth.

"For-forgive me," she cried, forcing deeper still. It was as though she had no control over her body. The will to live trumped her resignation to die. "I didn't want this!"

"You didn't want this," his voice cracked pathetically. It must've been so hard for him to talk, but his eyes were bright with tears, fury, and hysteria. His grip tightened. "Everything that has happened is your fault!"

"Please stop!" She cried and dropped the senbon to claw at his hands.

"Stop!?" He laughed deliriously. Color was quickly draining from his face and she didn't know how he was still standing. "I can't stop . . . no, not until this – this is finished . . ." Something flickered in his eyes and he released his hold around her neck.

Hinata dropped to the floor like a bag of bricks and coughed violently as all air rushed back into her lungs. Sasuke's hands began to move slowly. Hand-seals. He was sluggish, like sap inching down a tree branch. She could only watch in shocked paralysis as his veins began to glow white. The color broke from the veins and into his skin starting from the head down, and when it reached his feet it spilled onto the floor like water and began to rapidly fan out.

It reached her almost instantly.

The puddle of light seeped beneath her hands, and as soon as it touched her it began to race up her arms. Every nerve seared as the power soaked into her skin and lit her veins. Soon it was covering every inch of her, swallowing her.

Hinata screamed and desperately reached for Sasuke's hand as though it would alleviate the pain. But what stood in front her wasn't Sasuke. It was light in the shape of the human, so bright that it was impossible. A shadow blurred into the room and that was the last thing she saw before it all went white.

ooo

Revised: 2/3/2015

End Notes:

Changes made: When I re-read the chapter I realized that I wasn't paying much attention to Sasuke's point of view, which is a mistake since he does play such a large role in this story. I felt that in the original version his motives seemed vague.

Also, I focused on the writing style itself. I have the tendency to use too many commas and overuse certain words. In some cases it was so distracting that it detracted from the story. You'll still find the above mistakes in this version, but to a lesser degree.

Timeline: I reference previous events a bit in this chapter. It may be a little confusing, but for reference: Hinata was seventeen when she fled the Coalition and survived on her own for three months afterwards. She was captured by Madara and imprisoned for another three months.

Thoughts: Hinata has always been one of my favorites, but I've always thought that she had more potential than being solely Naruto's love interest. Kishimoto has limited her and all the other female characters in Naruto, relegating their lives to revolve around the men they love. I think Hinata deserved more as a character and that's why I began to write this story.

Also, I wanted to an explore Naruto from a more realistic point of view. How would a shy and weak daughter of an aristocratic clan truly fare in a world that champions traditional shinobi ideals?

I hope you enjoy it.

GoldKing