AN - Keep in mind that this story is completely random. I have been wanting to do something like it for a long time, and finally got around to it. It is rated M for future chapters. I do realize that this first chapter may seem a little random, confusing, and very short, but there is a reason for it. It is a prologue, and is merely introducing the story. The real story comes next.
I do not own the Naruto Series, or any of the characters used within this story. It is merely a fan-made story involving those characters. The story, however, does belong to me.
Forbidden Fruit
-Prologue-
Fear made him move faster as adrenaline began to pump through his veins. He was in a fight-or-flight situation, and he could use all the energy his body could muster up. It started out as a solo mission to gain intelligence and possibly capture a member of a group of rogues that called themselves the "Green Tigers". It started out fine, with him tracking them and sneaking into their camps at night, but things soon took a turn for the worst. They spotted him one day in the desert as he was following them through. With hardly any cover, and no shadows for him to use against them, the man was forced to take flight and hopefully make it to the walls of Sunagakure before they reached him. He knew it was a long shot. He was a genius, after all. He knew that unless some major stroke of luck occurred, he would die there, and his body would be lost in the sand dunes before anyone found him.
Shuriken whizzed by his head and kunai slammed into the sandy dunes. He tried to move faster, but his limbs could carry him no more and gave out. He was dehydrated and tired. He couldn't blame them. He slammed into the sand, spraying tiny grains in all directions upon impact. The dark haired man rolled onto his back and waited for his death, the scars on his face crinkling slightly as he squinted to see the faces of his attackers. There were four of them, all wielding claw-like weapons. They slashed at the front of his torso, shredding his Jounin vest and tearing deep gashes into his flesh. They stabbed at him and raked down his body, hoping to kill him slowly and painfully while laughing manically the entire time. They were succeeding and his cries of agony were lost in the winds of the desert. Soon the man could handle it no longer. He faded into the warm, dark abyss. It reminded him so much of the shadows he loved. Perhaps he would finally join his ancestors in the forest. Perhaps he would become a guardian just like they had.
The four rogues paid no attention as the ragged, torn and slightly shredded jacket of the man was swept away by the wind. The tattered beige material was heavily blood stained, and dirty from travelling. It floated freely through the air, carried by strong currents of air.
A loud, agonizing and grief stricken cry echoed through the area as Shikamaru Nara was delivered the news, and his father's torn and bloodied jacket. Hot and angry tears rolled freely down his cheeks as he sunk to the floor; First Asuma, and now his Father. The young Nara pounded on the wood beneath him, trembling with emotion. His Father was the only man left that he could talk to about his problems, and now that man was gone as well. He had nobody now. He was alone; all alone.
Yoshino, hearing the cry of her son, raced to the door, only to collapse next to him upon setting her eyes on the vest. Her heart sank and her stomach churned as she stared in horror. Her husband was dead; killed in battle. He was gone forever. The strong woman broke down into tears and cradled her son's head to her chest. The ANBU who had delivered the news merely bowed his head, offered his condolences, and disappeared, leaving the family alone to grieve.
The funeral went over without much happening. Shikamaru and the rookie nine were present. Yoshino, with her eyes emitting endless tides of tears. The two remaining members of the senior InoShikaCho team, Inoichi and Chouza were drinking in memory of their old friend, but their hearts were not in it. After the ritual was over, everyone began to disperse, but Shikamaru remained, staring at his Father's jacket, which hung over the headstone. Upon a whim, he picked up the article and lifted it over his shoulders, putting his arms through the arm-holes. Though the jacket was ragged and stained, he wore it with pride. His father would have wanted him to move on. Vengence could wait. It was about time that Shikamaru grew up and became a man.