Disclaimer: I don't own this.

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Part One – Overture

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'Go west, young man, go west.'

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The Federation's Wild West, A History

Chapter Three:

Fire County, a plot of land founded by Tajima Uchiha in 816 AS. Tajima, a retired military officer, traveled west with his family with dreams of a new life. And what a beautiful life it was. Lush, green, tranquil. Wide open prairies that stretched out for miles. Thick woodlands that acted as a natural maze to combat federate expansion. To the Uchihas, they'd discovered a new world.

And, like any new world, aliens inhabited this land. Clansmen, a term coined by Tajima, lived among this plot of territory for generations. The Hyuga, the Senju, and the Uzumaki filled these lands, living as peacefully as they could. To Tajima, he saw nothing but savages. To Madara, Tajima's oldest son, he saw nothing but potential.

Shrewd, manipulative, and most of all persistent, Madara would broker peace with the Senju Clan, a tribe his father had battled for decades. Hashirama Senju, tired of witnessing his people suffer, and seeing the humanity in the Uchiha settlers, agreed to peace.

And so, with their combined vision, Konohagakure was born. The village hidden in the leaves. The first civilized town born within the 'wild west.'

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A man and his horse travel along a thin, dusty road.

The man is stout, his shoulder wide and his gruff jaw square. Sporting a blue duster, with white button up shirt and jeans, it is a wonder how he bares the heat. A wool felt hat protects his eyes from the sun, the brim dipping down to give some extra shade. Pinned to his chest sits a badge that reads, 'Elemental Federation Marshal's Service.'

His horse is of a similar stature, with a muscular neck and thick, powerful legs. Its brown coat shines against the summer sun, with a healthy black mane that sways with each step.

His horse hinnies, rustling her head as it continues its trot forward. Patting the base of its neck from his perch on her back, the Marshal shifts forward on his saddle tiredly, "I know girl, I know."

Leaning back, he pulls out a freshly rolled cigarette from his coat pocket. Flipping it forward, he places it limply in his mouth. Pulling a match from the same pocket, he drags the tip off the front edge of the saddle.

The now lit match ignites the cigarette, allowing the Marshal to take a deep drag. As he releases a smoky breath, the man allows himself to take in the scenery around him.

Having entered the more mountainous part of Fire County, a stretch of land that nearly bleeds into Earth County, the Marshal is deep within the county's wilderness. The typical activeness of nature did a mighty fine job of ignoring the smoky man's existence, allowing him to go about his business unabated.

And as he observed, as he listened, he picks up on what's coming behind the cacophony of spruce trees standing against the wind, birds phoning each other incessantly, and insects screaming at nothing in particular. The sound of running water.

Smiling in satisfaction, the Marshal clicks his teeth and presses his heals into the horse's side, "Come on, girl," He orders softly, giving the reins a flick.

As their trot turns into a gallop, the Marshal pulls the cigarette from his mouth. Before long, the gentle call of a rolling river grew closer, eventually revealing itself as the trees finally began to disperse. Pulling up to the side of the, he slides of the saddle, planting his feet on the tall grass bellow.

While his horse got her fill, the Marshal tucks his cigarette behind his ear as he leans down in front of the river. Dipping his hands in the water, he cups a handful before taking a sip for himself. A few more handfuls later, he brings the next one up to his face for a quick rinse.

He looks up at the sound of a splash.

Across the river is another man. Kneeling directly across from the Marshal, he too takes a drink from the river. He looks up, and the Marshal immediately recognizes what he is. A Hyuga. Going off his handmade robes and cascading raven hair, the Marshal should have known without having to see his pure white irises.

The Hyuga nods. The Marshal returns the gesture.

And, with that, the Hyuga continues on his way.

As the clansman disappears into the thicket, the Marshal finally releases the breath he'd been holding. His hand, pressed at his side, loosens the tight grip on his revolver.

Patting his horse's side as she continues taking a drink, he sets his cigarette back in his mouth before taking a long, stress filled drag. As he looks over her shoulder, he notices something off in the distance.

The cigarette drops into the grass, forgotten.

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Feet fall softly against the forest floor. Each step is careful, calculated to ensure the least amount of sound. A cracking of feet against branch, not belonging to this skulking hunter, echoes down the forest slope.

The hunter stops. Slowly, he draws an arrow from its quiver. Knocking the bolt along the string, the hunter squares his shoulders and begins to steadily draw the thread back.

A pause fills the woodland. No creature dares make a sound. The hunter's breath is still, his gaze is keen. The bow begins to shift to the left, tracking what was at the center of its sight-

The arrow is released with a 'thwip.'

The rustling of grass signifies the query's attempted escape. The hunter sighs, lowering the bow to his side. Sliding it over his shoulder, he continues his pursuit down the slope.

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The Marshal's horse is in a fully charged gallop. His face is contorted in alarm. In one hand, he aggressively flicks the reins. In the other, he grips his revolver so tightly his knuckles are bone white.

Billowing out over the distant treetop, smoke piles up into the sky. As he draws closer, the smell of burning wood and black smoke begins to fill his senses.

In his breast pocket, a letter sits:

'To Elemental Federation Marshal, Asuma Sarutobi,

A wanted fugitive by the name of Kazuma Furido has been spotted within Fire County, near Hokage Rock. He is wanted ALIVE for the crimes of assault, murder, and acts of terrorism. Governor Yoshiyuki has personally requested your assistance in apprehending this dangerous criminal.

Kazuma's notable features include a pronounced scar under his left eye, shoulder length white hair, and a tanned complexion. It is believed his son, Sora, is travelling with Kazuma. Sora is known to have grey shoulder length hair and a heavily scarred right arm. It is believed that Sora is an accomplice to his father's crimes of terrorism.

The apprehension of these wanted criminals is of the utmost importance.

Dictated but not read, Elemental Federation Information Officer, Yugao Uzuki.

Asuma gives his horse another squeeze with his thighs, flicking the reins he urges her to go faster. He knows she's going as fast as she can, but he needs her to do the impossible.

He needs to get there before it's too late.

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The hunter had worked his way down the forest slope, reaching a slanted outcrop of rocks. The rocks, towering high as a natural monolith, give natural shade to anyone suffering from the sweltering summer heat. Because of this, clansmen long ago had dubbed it, 'Kage-iwa,' or Shadow Rock.

Hundreds of years later, as a way of showing mutual respect, settlers and clansmen agreed to call it Hokage Rock. This was the first step towards the creation of Konohagakure, or Hawthorne as it would later be called.

Country superstition states that if you look at the rock's face long enough, you can see the features of Hashirama Senju. Some even claim he speaks, giving sage advice to those in need.

The hunter steps up on the rocky outcrop, drawing his arrow out as the trail of blood he'd been following begins to pool closer together. His query is close.

Walking into the shade, the man notices something lying in a heap on the other side of the shadowed ground. The heap is still breathing, the puddle of blood it lies in rippling with each shaky breath. His arrow, buried halfway through its chest, follows along with each intake and outtake.

And, even in that short time standing there, the hunter notices the heap's breathing is beginning to slow, becoming more labored. It didn't have long.

The hunter placed the bow back on his shoulder. Reaching for his side, he unclasps his holster and withdraws his revolver.

He cocks the hammer back.

The crack of a distant gunshot fills the rock filled clearing. The hunter pauses. He looks back down at his prey, its breathing filled with blood.

He squeezes the trigger, the firing sounding off with a loud crack.

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Asuma bursts out from the tree line, his horse barely coming to a stop as he flung himself to the ground. Pulling his rifle from the saddle's holster, he quickly cocks the lever action. His gun primed to fire, he lifts it up to his shoulder.

He aims, the barrel of his gun facing directly towards the lone figure standing in front of a small log cabin. The cabin, crumbling under the weight of a blazing fire, casts an eerie backdrop along the man's gangly figure. To Asuma, it appears as though the devil himself has come to do the devil's work.

And in the devil's hands, a young man. His shoulder length grey hair is drenched in soot and blood, his limp body dangling from the figure's tight grip.

"Elemental Federation Marshal's Office!" Asuma screams over the roaring bonfire, "Drop the boy, now!"

The figure complies, dropping the boy onto the crispy grass below. He lies in a heap, lifeless.

Asuma walks forward, "Now, drop the weapon. Get on your knees, hands behind you head!" He commands.

Cackling, the figure turns to face the lawman. He is young, not possibly passed thirty years old. His grey hair is slicked back tightly, and his pail complexion is glistened by a heated sweat. Draped over his torso, a black poncho with red trimmings. Tied around his neck sits a black bandana.

And held tightly in his right hand, a long reaping scythe runs red with the boy's fresh blood.

"I said drop the weapon!" Asuma bellows, spittle flying.

The scythe wielding devil continues to cackle. He takes a step forward-

A single gunshot rings out over the roar of the raging fire, echoing through the open forest. The devil drops to the ground, his feet knocked out from under him after getting shot in the chest.

Asuma wipes his brow before cocking rifle's lever. As he does, another gunshot sounds off in the distance. The Marshal looks west. Giving one last glace towards the downed devil and Sora Furido, Asuma places the rifle back on his shoulder, and begins to head westward.

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The hunter has no time to waste. Knowing he can't lift his prey and carry him up the steep forest slope, he does the next best thing. He pulls out his hunting knife. The blade, freshly sharpened, sings as it is withdrawn from its sheath.

Using his foot, the hunter kicks his prey over on his back. Pressing his knee down on its chest, the hunter takes the knife to its throat and begins to saw into the flesh. Blood, skin, and bone begin to fly and squirt out viciously as the hunter decapitates his prey.

Finally carving through the thick muscles tissue and bone, the hunter is able to sever the neck from its shoulders. Lifting the loose head, the hunter takes it in.

The head is that of a middle-aged man, with shoulder length white hair, and sporting a noticeable scar running along its left eye.

Looking down at the headless corpse, the hunter notices a satchel strapped to its shoulders. Setting down the head, he lifts the corpse up to a sitting position and relieves him of the satchel. Casually emptying the satchel's contents onto the forest floor, the hunter then places the head inside.

Strapping it along his shoulders, he turns to make his way back up the slope.

Asuma Sarutobi greats him, his rifle drawn and ready.

The hunter halts to a stop.

"Drop the bag," Asuma commands, gesturing with his rifle.

"Can't do that," The hunter declines coolly.

Asuma's nostrils flare with agitation, "Why's that?"

"S'my lucky satchel," Answers the hunter.

Scoffing, Asuma says, "I happen to know you pilfered that off that headless body over there, and I know you're probably keeping it's oddly missing head inside. So, why don't you drop it, before I blast your head off. Clear?"

"You have any idea who I am?" The hunter asks seemingly deaf to the previous threat.

"Should I?" Asuma asks, looking him over. No name came to mind when he looked at his face, though that might be due to him wearing an all-black hunting mask. The only thing of note seemed to be that he was wearing a matching poncho with the man he'd shot not fifteen minutes earlier.

"Kids today, no respect for what came before," The hunter chastises, "If you had any idea who we are, you'd have tucked and run, boy-"

Asuma tightens his grip on the rifle, "Enough! Now, you're gonna drop that damn bag, and you're gonna get on your fucking knees. I'm not telling you another time! Move-"

Thwump!

The Marshal gasps, stumbling forward. His face contorts into agony. He drops to his hands and knees, cursing under his breath.

A scythe is buried deep in his back, blood spilling out from the open wound. The devil stands behind him, smiling gleefully.

"Took your damn time, Hidan." The hunter scolds, giving the devil a name.

Hidan shrugs nonchalantly, walking further into the clearing, "Sorry 'bout that, Kakuzu. Bastard shot me in the fucking chest. Lucky me that I got my body armor under this poncho though, huh old man?" The young man asks, giving the hunter a name.

"You're lucky he didn't shoot you in the face," Kakuzu grunts. Walking over to Asuma, the hunter paces for a moment before dropping a heavy kick to the Marshal's temple.

Asuma drops to the ground, blinking the stars out of his vision. Looking up, realization hits him, "You're Kakuzu, of the Akatsuki."

Kakuzu kneels next to him, pulling Asuma's revolver out from its holster. He begins to inspect it, "Oh, now you know who I am. Now that my boot's on your neck." He lazily points to the devil, "Recognize my partner? The one you shot, apparently."

"I know him." Asuma spews out, "Hidan, right?"

"S'right." Kakuzu nods, "Now, why are you here, Asuma Sarutobi of the Elemental Federation Marshal's Service," Seeing Asuma's confusion, Kakuzu mutters, "S'right, I know who you are."

Asuma attempts to shift up off the ground, only to get a boot heel in the back from Hidan, forcing a cry of agony from the man. His breath, heavy from the pain, forces his answer to come out in small bursts, "I'm here for the head in your bag. Alive, on my end."

"Mm," Kakuzu mumbles, "Well, you Marshals and we bounty hunters aren't too different in that regard. Not uncommon, our current predicament. Wanna know the real difference between us though?"

"All you bastards ever want is money," Asuma answers assuredly.

"True, but no," The hunter laughs, "The difference is, is that I always go for the head."

Before Asuma can open his mouth, his own pistol is aimed towards his temple and fired. With a pop and a bloody mist, the Marshal's head goes slack.

Kakuzu tosses the pistol to the side, "C'mon, we're leaving."

"We just leaving him here?" Hidan asks, though he doesn't really seem to care.

Kakuzu pauses, "He worth anything?"

"No." Hidan answers.

"He ain't worth movin' then."

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Chapter Complete

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Author's Note: This story is a challenge. Not one anyone gave to me, but one I gave to myself. This is a Naruto story set within the western genre, taking influence from western films I enjoy. Films like the Dollars Trilogy, True Grit, There Will Be Blood, No Country for Old Men, Unforgiven, Shane, The Magnificent Seven, etc.

This was the prologue, hence the chapter title, 'Overture.' This was merely meant to introduce and tease the world. This is not the United States' wild west, not purely. This is the Elemental Nations, but in an alternate universe where it is known as the Elemental Federation. The hidden villages are towns, which are within counties instead of countries. Because of this, the scale is literally smaller as far as story and the world. In this alternate universe, there is no chakra, no ninja or samurai. Only guns, lawmen, and outlaws. Everything has been westernized, converted to the motifs of the wild west.

Please follow, favorite, and review. I'd love some feedback, and I appreciate everyone who checked this out.