Okay. This is my third fanfic listed, and I -still- haven't gotten the hang of this thing. How sad. Welcome to chapter one, or.. the so-called prologue. If you're actually reading this, then you've read the summary, and know that Haku is a female for the duration of the story. Sorry, guys. I don't have a problem with Yaoi at all--honestly, I support it whole-heartedly though sex period really isn't my cup of tea( too bad there'll eventually be some in here.. Sorry in advance if I don't hit too heavily on it? As for the rating, just wanted to be safe.). But for this, it's.. better that Haku's gender be swapped. Especially with my inspiration. Not only was it one of Gackt's songs combined with my sister's Memoirs of a Geisha book, but a very dear person to me. This is actually an attempt at the Zabuza he has always portrayed to me. So it'd make sense that it should be -his- Haku accompanying him this go-around, right? .. But I'm sure I've droned on more than enough. So, without further adieu..

The disclaimer, first off: I don't own Naruto, or any of the characters. This is solely fanfiction. Never will be anything more.

The setting of this is still Kirigakure, of course; Mizu no Kuni is still covered in civil wars. But there are no shinobi. There are only soldiers, mercenaries, that sort of thing. Any fighting will be done with hands and weapons. If that disappoints you too, then.. I'm even more sorry. TT Forgive me? Wah. Anyway... Enjoy the fanfic, and be sure to review. Heck, you can even chew me out if you really feel like it. But just remember, especially if you're going to do it over the whole gender issue, that you can't go a single weekend at conventions without seeing Sexy no Jutsu cosplayers. Considering the only ones who know the move are Naruto and Konohamaru? ... I rest my case.

Please enjoy. I did work very hard on this, and still am, though the updates may be slow. My other fanfic is still in the works, as well.

Chapter 1: The Beginning

The stench of blood and death still clung to him, teasing his nose and his alone. Though, he hadn't tried particularly hard to rid himself of it; the sooner it faded, the sooner his desire to kill would return. Showers were a regular thing, including soap and shampoo. There was just that significant hint remaining, as a reminder. As a sedative for his bloodlust. Ending the lives of innocent civilians was never a good idea, now was it..? Not that any would stand up to the Demon, should he decide to rampage. Prematurely he had been ripped from his sanctuary on the battlefield; forced to leave war behind temporarily for the dull halls of his childhood home. And for what reason? .. The death of his father. A man he'd scarcely cared for. When the letter had arrived two mornings ago that the old man had passed away, it had brought no loss to the heart of Zabuza. At the very most, it had caused an amused chuckle, to the disturbance of soldiers around him. But like a good boy--and because there was no other choice--little argument was put forth to change these preset plans, and by noon the remaining Momochi was on his way back to the city to deal with funeral arrangements and the reading of his father's will, though he already knew that both the estate and money were left to him; months ago the old man had stated this in another letter.

All of the necessary paperwork had already been dealt with. As for the funeral, it was scheduled to be four days from the current date; not at -his- advisory, but relatives he had honestly never known about residing in another country-- which one had it been again? He really didn't care. The bottom line was, they wished to attend the funeral, so it was only fair that people who actually -cared- about this event should be allowed to see the deceased man's burial. Did it have to be ninety-six hours away, though? He'd managed to make it back home in half a day. Then again.. he wasn't outside the country, not to mention his stamina kept him going for hours on end without pause. In truth, he -still- was not tired, and sleep had been a rare thing since returning. Something about being inside the walls of the estate left him feeling quite .. nauseous. To the servants who found themselves awake in the later hours of the night, it was not uncommon for him to be pacing the halls, or preparing to leave altogether; nor was it uncommon for his return to wait until the following evening or night. This was always the case, and had been, upon his returns, rare as they tended to be.

This was another sleepless night for Momochi Zabuza. The streets were not as crowded at this time as they used to be. That was the first thing he had noticed about the city. People seemed to have more important business indoors, or more specifically, in the safety of their own homes. Even the bars came across as close to empty. Not a problem; lately drinking didn't give him quite the edge that it once had. What was so fun about entering a state where your mind was clouded and logical thought no longer existed? No, to be blunt, the thought irritated him. But that could easily be due to the amount of reliance placed on his senses. One could not go into battle drunk, and expect not to be killed within seconds. It was foolishness. Streetlights overhead cast their false light on the dark ground below. Briefly he stopped beneath one, a single calloused hand disappearing inside his pocket; feeling around almost thoughtlessly. There was a soft jingle. Coins, no doubt. Slowly sandaled feet continued their movements, a constant battle as one passed the other. There were only two true pleasures that Zabuza felt in life. The fulfillment of killing, and the most natural desire of the human body; sexual urges. Kirigakure -did- have a very lovely selection of women to choose from, in its most well-known bordello. Probably the only thing the Momochi could enjoy about coming back. This was his destination for the night, as was usually the case when he stole away without a word; not that anyone deserved to know his personal business, anyway. That was simply putting too much faith in those around him.

Every evening, it was a different woman. The variety was wonderful enough to allow it. He really didn't care about their beauty, facial or body. They were all the same; worthless, disgusting whores. Things to be used and tossed away like trash. Instilling fear into the hearts of those he crossed paths with did not cease with merely killing; women recieved a different fear. When bought by this Demon, the night could easily compare to Hell. He was like poision to their poor veins, spreading throughout them so rapidly, like the plague. Torturing, degrading. Teaching them their place again and again without mercy. He felt no remorse; it was the life they chose to lead. Why should he regret his own heartlessness? What was it to any of them, these filthy wretches? Affection was an alien feeling. He'd be damned if he ever bothered to learn--or remember--one whore's name. Now, something that would never be forgotten by Zabuza was the bordello. It was a well-kept building. A bit closer to the fancy side, but, it did do its job in attracting customers. It was, quite possibly, the most ornamental in the entire city. Double-doors covered in Oriental engravings, made of thick wood, pushed open to reveal the lobby. Leading to the main stairs--and the rooms--was a red carpet, an embroidered gold dragon stretching vertically along it. Tapestries covered the walls; some depicting more dragons, others resembling women. One even looked like it could have passed as an angel--but that was just his personal speculation. Of course at the door waited the manager to greet the customers; and sure enough he was in fact there, to bow in greeting to Zabuza before beginning his standard persuasions.

"Welcome, good sir! Oh, you are a military man, are you? Returned on leave? Well, look no further for your relaxation! Our girls will make you feel right at home, I can assure you!" It was the same man it always was, not surprising. His name... It took a moment of silent contemplation before the name found its way back into his mind. Gatou. Behind medical bandages lurked the beginnings of a smirk. Gatou was short; no, not just compared to his tall stature, either. He was -short-, and none-too young, either. He had to at least be pushing fourty, fourty-five. Resting on his nose were a rather small pair of glasses; tinted, actually giving the impression that they could be more of sunglasses, but they did their job well. Hiding beady eyes unless he was peering up at you with that annoying grin of his. The man really did reek of foul play. But, who was he to judge? Turn a blind eye, pay no attention, and even if your conscience tries to nag you, it won't have anything -to- nag. No matter; Zabuza's conscience had long-since been crushed.

The grin lasted only momentarily. He peered up, closer at the visible features. And then the sandy mustache seemed to twitch as proof of realization. "Momochi Zabuza? I should have known it was you... Welcome back, welcome back. I can assume it's your father's passing that has brought you around? Such a shame..." To this, Zabuza simply grunted. Let the man think as he wished. Gatou knew damn well that he was not very patient; the reminder of this came in the form of that sharp gaze flickering off to one side; appearing to fixate on a tapestry. "Of course, we'll find your perfect girl. But first..."

-This- was the only part of buying a prostitute that was troublesome. Parting with his weapon. It was customary, to avoid any harm coming to any of the 'merchandise'... but if someone truly desired to kill any of them, they could just as easily do it with bare hands. What a pointless task. Again, he grunted. But he was not stupid enough to think that he would be the exception to the rule, especially with his choice blade. Reaching back, the hilt of his massive cleaver was grasped, and with ease he removed it from its resting place. Handing it to the small being in front of him. If Gatou needed it from him so badly, he could try and drag it on his own. After all, he was lucky that the Momochi did not put up a fight right then and there just -parting- with it. Unfortunately Gatou had wisened up from the last visits made. Instead of taking the time to actually try and lift the cleaver, he brought it up as much as he could, only to rest it against the wall. It was a shame, too; the show granted was always entertaining. Even if the one performing disagreed. "Now. Right this way, right this way."

A lone door sat off to the west end of the back wall. This was the door he was led to. The crimson cloth hanging down in the doorway was brushed aside, and the unusual pair moved into the next room, another room Zabuza would never forget. It was set up in the style of a lounge. There were couches all around, with a single table in the middle, and throughout the room were women; hair and makeup to match Geishas, kimonos covering bodies of all different types. Some voluptuous, others having a more youthful twist to them. But each held their own specific beauty. Beauty that he felt the need to crush into nothing but dust. A sea of eager--perhaps too eager--smiles awaited them.

He knew what to do by now. Pick the girl he felt the most desire for. The price for her would be stated, and he'd pay. Then she would lead him up to one of the rooms. From there on, the rest was up to him. Just as he was about to exercise this granted right of selection by elimination, something caught his attention. That stupid grin had returned to the brothel owner's face. Actually, it was safe to say that he had lit up, probably from some unknown secret tucked up his sleeve, about to be revealed. Sure enough he piped up again; "There is one more perhaps you would be interested in taking a look at? She's a new girl, just arrived this morning.. Heh, heh."

A shiver crept up Zabuza's spine. A rare occurance, that words could have that effect on him; but something suddenly felt off. Felt .. undescribable. None of the women in the room sparked his interest. It was mainly their willingness to go with him turning him off. They were filthy, every last one of them; selling themselves not for money but for the sake of gaining new experiences from every man that chanced to come across them. Perhaps he was just as bad as they. But.. this thought was best left to die, lest it manifest into something deeper such as loathing. His agreement to view this 'new girl' was all-too obvious with the hanging silence. Before he even realized it, Gatou had left; and just as quickly returned, too. Still grinning like the lecherous old man that he was. He motioned the Momochi back out, and Zabuza obeyed, desiring no further to look upon the cheerful faces of the women in that room.

Had he known what his eyes were about to behold this time, maybe he would have taken chance with one of those lustful tigresses. But, deep down, curiousity compelled him to do otherwise. Gatou seemed unusually proud of himself, he thought with an inward growl. Was this newest prize really so valuable? Just another prostitute, to be soiled by the hands of Kirigakure's Demon. Just another whore to defile. But this opinion was silenced. Dark orbs involuntarily widened. The prize was no woman, but a mere girl; she could not have been older than fifteen. Soft chocolate-hued eyes stared up at him, full of nothing but the sweetest innocence. Unlike the others, her kimono was worn right; showing no flesh other than her slender little neck. Porcelain cheeks held a tint of scarlet to them, but it was blush he quickly realized, for she too was dolled up to seize the eyes of pent-up men. Again the coins in his pocket jingled. In dove his hand, to remove the mass, which was immediately handed over to Gatou. Those eyes alone had cemented Zabuza's decision, as Gatou had probably known they would; stupid old bastard, he cursed mentally...

But Gatou's grin only broadened as he handed the key to their room over in exchange for the money.

----End Chapter 1----