The sky is the color of rusting armor, a crusty mixture of copper and silver, dull with age and yet still gleaming. It looms over the earth, a forewarning of the night, a confirmation of the twist in my gut. As my hands work methodically in front of me, I listen to the distant rumbling, feel it as my heart echoes the thunderous pounding, like the heavy chant of tribal drums reverberating in the air. The air that with every moment becomes heavier on my shoulders, static filling my ears with a low buzz that makes it difficult to not only think, but function at all.

Cool metal slides against my fingers as they steadily work, slowly drawing from them warmth until they tremble with a chill as perpetual as the darkening of the clouds. I watch as the pieces assemble and disassemble, sinking through flesh and slipping past muscle. The solemn face of the missing ninja, my assignment, looks to me, peering through me with his eyes unseeing. I ignore his sightless gaze, refusing to avert my attention to anything but my task and the impending storm creeping toward me with slow, malicious intent.

Extract information. Extract memories. Extract strengths. Extract abilities. Extract talents. Extract Kekkei Genkai. Extract identity. Extract life.

Extract existence.

It pours onto my hands as freely as if it is blood, ebbing from his lifeless form and seeping into me instead, festering just beneath the layer of my skin, where it so painfully does not belong. It pokes, prods, stabs at me from the inside until my hands feel ready to burst apart. Yet I endure it, the searing in my soul, overcome with the grotesque reality of having robbed another of not only his life but all he was once composed of.

The first drop hits my cheek with a solid smack, surprising me enough to pause, but I take up my work again with more earnest than before without bothering to look up. I know I will only see a furious spiral of the heavens, glaring down at my deeds with a mortifying snarl. My movements are precise and controlled; as much as I must hurry, I can not afford the price of fumbling. I do not let myself tremble, hesitate, or break my pace. It remains flawlessly constant and absolute.

By the time my job is finished, a thin mist has veiled my surroundings and the rain is falling steadily, as light and sweet as kisses. I stand, allow myself the luxury of stretching my spine, lifting my chin up until I face the wrath swarming angrily, quietly above me. Every brush of rain is like acid upon my cheeks, even as I wait, as I stand and stare and wait for nothing.

What is there to wait for, after all? The storm? A sign? Anything at all that might change the twists and turns of fate, and might rescue me from the cycling nightmares that escape from the dark hallows of my mind and into the vast expanse of reality, so far and wide I am trapped despite my greatest efforts? How can I wait so helplessly, so naively, for anything but my next mission, my next target, and hope ever so wishfully, when I dare, that my death might come quick and soon?

That I might be freed from Hell.

Lightning, blue in the ethereal half-light, slashes from the heavens, a merciful dagger crackling in warning. A crash of thunder swarms my ears just a moment later, the dramatic cue for the rain to begin its powerful descent. One moment, it sprinkles lightly, just barely a mist, and in the next, I am cloaked in heavy, lukewarm rain, cascading down my skin and clinging to my clothes. It is as though someone has been waiting, poised above me with a massive bucket in hand, waiting for just the right moment to tip it over and dump its contents over my head.

I can no longer wait.

The last of my work is to dispose of the body—the largest parts already lie dismembered in front of me, so it is only a matter of making them disappear. A fire won't do, not now. I take in my surroundings, noting the hard-packed ground at my feet. I can easily bury the body, but any uplifting of the soil is too risky, too noticeable. What then?

Scatter them. It is also a risk, but I know the area well enough to travel it quickly and obscurely. Biting down on my tongue, I gather up the pieces and watch the rain wash the blood into the dirt before sprinting into the trees.

A fox's den hidden beneath the thick underbrush of some trees. A cavern floor full of pocket holes I don't dare test for depth, a smell as foul as death wafting from their openings. A furious river that does not cease its rushing until it reaches the ocean miles and miles south of here.

By the time all that remains in my possession is his blood and life, the storm has arrived at full force. The wind screams and shrieks, clawing at me as the rain continues its ferocious onslaught. Thunder claps in time with each slice of lightning's forked blade, and I run.

From branch to branch, I fly, digging into the reserves of my chakra to increase my speed tenfold. I am done. Finished. All I want to do it go home and fall asleep. What kind of shinobi does that make me? That I so loath my work, my expertise? That it wearies me more so than actually completing the mission?

It doesn't take long for me to return to camp, and I duck into the main lodge to report in as soon as I arrive. My team captain sits with two others around a small fire, and he looks up at me expectantly, not quite surprised or impressed. His strong eyes study me briefly, and when I nod, he turns away with cool indifference. My dismissal. The flush of my cheeks is from the cold. My pounding heart from the dash back to camp.

So I tell myself.

I run from the wooden shelter through the rain and to my tent, ducking past the flap and into warm familiar safety. It's empty, aside from my own belongings and those of my teammates'. I crawl over to my side and dig into my pack for a meal bar, eyeing the bottles of soldier pills nestled next to the container that holds my insomnia medicine as I devour the food quickly. It is tempting, the latter, but they really do put me out, and in case of an emergency… I grab another bar, seal my satchel shut, and shove it aside.

I go through the same process every night. Wipe my mind clear until it is as blank as stone. Slow my breathing, slow my heartbeat. Unclip my pouches, unwind the cloth from my leg, untie my headband from my hair. I munch as I work, hands moving methodically before me. Once everything is settled, I curl up in my sleeping bag and stare at the opposite side of the tent until I fall asleep.

"Could it rain any harder?"

I open my eyes, instantly awake, and roll onto my back to watch Miyo climb in through the tent flap and tie it up behind her. She sheds her cloak with a shudder, shaking the water from her hair without a thought. I wince as the droplets spray me and my belongings, and I sit up with a sigh. Miyo doesn't notice.

"I mean, seriously," she goes on, discarding her weapon holsters and slipping out of her zori. "It's freezing out there. I nearly got blown away! How are we even going to complete any missions like this? You've got to be kidding me!"

As her ranting continues, I catch a glimpse of slow movement in my peripheral vision. To my left, Toshi sits with a book settled in his lap, legs stretched out and crossed comfortably in front of him. His gaze slides to mine knowingly, blinking at me from behind his rectangular, black-framed glasses. We stare at each other, Miyo's voice distant, and then he turns away.

"It's just water," he points out, disinterestedly flipping a page and ignoring Miyo's new wave of furious complaints.

I smile softly and climb out of my bag to crawl over to my satchel again and search through it for something more appetizing than a meal bar. When I succeed in finding a jar of dried fruit and meat, I sit back, observing my teammates as Miyo's annoyance calms to a simmer and Toshi's eyes continue scanning his book. We make for an unusual bunch, certainly, but we are enough of a team to get by alright.

"What time is it?"

Toshi's eyes lift from his novel even as Miyo pauses and shrugs apathetically. I turn to Toshi, who shuts his book slowly with both hands and sets it on his thighs, resting his palms on top.

"I got here almost four hours ago," he estimates, the calculating look in his eyes capturing me with its raw intensity. "You were already asleep then."

Over four hours uninterrupted; not bad. I nod absently, chewing on a chunk of salted pork to distract myself from his stare. A berry follows it; it explodes between my teeth.

"Did I say anything?" I finally ask, not daring to look back at his face, to look at those cold, unnerving eyes. Miyo turns quietly toward us when the silence lingers. She stares at Toshi. Toshi stares at me. I stare at my berries. My mouth is sweet with pulp and juice.

"No," he answers.

I breathe out, my nerves relaxing, and I nod again slowly. Another nod after a second, one last time, faster, to myself. I force my fists to uncurl, my jaw to loosen, my lungs to function properly. The rain outside spatters and the wind rolls against the tent. There is no more thunder, though. Only a warm, throaty rumble in the distance gives me any reason to believe it ever snarled in my ears.

"You aren't going out there, are you?" Miyo questions incredulously, wide eyes watching as I adjust my shoes on my feet. A smirk raises my eyebrow as I sweep up my cloak and pin it in place. "Are you crazy?"

"I need some fresh air," I reply carelessly with a shrug. It is a terrible excuse, and she knows it.

"Now?" she snaps, narrowing her eyes at me bitterly.

I slip outside, ducking my head against the rain. It has, indeed, become much more violent since I returned from my mission. The world around me glistens black with raindrops the size of coins, and I enter it with assured confidence. As I expected, I am alone in my desire to venture through the rain. I can make out the blurry outline of the other teams' tents, set into focus by the glow of lanterns on the inside. As I sneak past the main lodge, I note the fire has been smothered and our captains have gone to sleep. Or I assume that's where they went. For all I know, they have been sent on a mission.

Missions come and go sporadically and without warning, so there is no telling when any of us will be sent out—just like we have no idea which of us will come back.

It was worse when I first entered the ranks; the lower level shinobi are trained almost literally to the death. Only the strongest survive, while the weak are unfeelingly weeded out; that is how it works in Amegakure.

The Village Hidden in Rain.

I find the tent I'm looking for, the one with the wooden chimes dangling from the edges, and step inside, closing up the entrance quickly behind me before I can let much of the rain inside. It is still and quiet in here, the pattering of rain muffled on the protective tarp.

"Madara?"

My smile comes easy as I turn to face my two youngest brothers. Naru stares at me blankly, onyx eyes lost in the shadows of his dark hair. At his side, Suke's sleeping form lies curled beneath the blankets sprawled across Naru's lap. With a soft, quick sigh, I drop to the floor in front of them, crossing my legs beneath me.

"Long day?" I inquire, nodding in Suke's direction. Naru's lips curl affectionately, his hand stroking his twin's hair gently.

"Yes, I suppose," he answers, eyes distant, as they often are, lost in the world he and Suke share, and that disconnects them from the rest of us. "We finished our mission about an hour ago, I think. Had to fix Suke up 'cause he got hurt. But I think he's okay now. Just sleeping it off."

"I just woke up," I comment, tilting my head at Naru's fingers slipping in and out of Suke's layered pink locks. "Had to take out a renegade. Nothing challenging."

Naru stays quiet a moment, his eyes narrowed on the far corner of the tent. Out of all my siblings, it is these two I can never read—I figure it is because they are reserved for each other, their brains and hearts linked.

"It's been happening a lot lately," he murmurs, to himself, frowning softly. I blink at him questioningly, but he doesn't look at me. "The missing ninja."

"What do you mean?" I press, leaning forward eagerly. Naru is a chunin by now, knows far more than I do, and I take every chance I get to learn from the precious information his status and experience allow. He turns to stare at me blankly.

"They're getting tired of the war," he replies, with hardly any expression. I can see something flickering in his eyes, but it is faint and far from me. "They're disbanding, and they'll keep disbanding until no village remains. Until we're all rogue, scrambling in fear to protect and preserve only ourselves. Can you see it? It is not far in coming."

I stare at my brother, eyes wide. I can't breathe.

"Naru?" a soft voice chimes, like snow on flat, unyielding stone. The energy charging between Naru and I dissipates as suddenly as an unexpected pop, and we turn our eyes from each other, to Suke, whose eyes weakly peel open. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really," Naru assures him tenderly, index finger tracing the curve of Suke's jaw. "I was just telling Madara about the mission, and she was telling me about hers."

"I see," he yawns, stretching out like a cat before pulling himself to a sitting position and rubbing his right eye tiredly. "Did everything go well, Madara?"

"Yeah, it wasn't too hard," I affirm, smiling at Suke's soft-spoken, sweet voice. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, yes, very," he tells me, his smile not so much warm as it is soft and sweet. "It wasn't a serious wound, so I believe I'm about healed. Thanks to Naru, of course."

"Of course," Naru and I reply in unison. We grin at each other as Suke blushes lightly and falls into the cradle of Naru's right arm, and for now, I know I can simply let go of what Naru was saying before. Of what I don't understand.

For now, I can forget.

I spend maybe an hour or more with my brothers, relishing the comfort their company gives me. As the rain weakens, however, sounds of life begin to fill the camp outside. It is no doubt daylight by now, time for teams to disperse. I embrace both Naru and Suke, holding them close to me before departing from their tent to allow them to prepare as well.

I jog across camp, nodding in greeting to the shinobi I recognize or know from missions or my childhood. It isn't until I am just a few yards from my own team's shelter that I see Ryu. He catches my eye, beckons me to him, his gaze firm as it saddles mine.

"Do we have a mission?" I ask, hoping to appear either neutral or restless. But it doesn't seem to make a difference either way; he is busy packing his bag, so he doesn't look up at me.

"We have a target," he confirms, hands moving swiftly, swifter even than mine. His golden locks, damp and dark from the sprinkling mist-rain, stick to his forehead, sway over the tops of his eyes. "However, information points us both east and south. To save time we'll have to split into two teams."

I swallow hard, my heart stuttering until it aches.

"Once we hit the checkpoint, Toshi and Miyo will head toward Suna," he pauses then, solid eyes flicking to mine. I feel my face become hot. "You and I will go east."

The Fire Country.

"Yes, sir," I fight past the hold on my throat. I suppose I succeed, because he turns from me without raising a brow or shaking his head. He continues his work.

"Go inform the others," he commands. "We leave in half an hour."

I give another quick grunt of obedience and speed back to our tent. As I slip inside, the sun is clearing the remaining rain, and my breath comes and goes, shallow and fast. Miyo peers at me suspiciously, still annoyed from before, but Toshi is nowhere to be seen.

"Mission in thirty minutes," I gasp, still struggling to regain my composure. At her stare, I avert my attention to my supplies and ignore her until she speaks.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demands. I can feel her eyes in my head. I duck my chin, as though I can evade her, as I strap my holster to my leg and fix my pack.

"I went running," I answer briefly, knowing my lie is too weak to fool her. "That's all."

"Right," she scoffs, and turns her back to me with a huff. Her moods have been up and down more often than usual lately, but I am surprised she's willing to drop the matter so easily.

I'm not going to complain or wait for the next mood swing, though. If Miyo decides she isn't in a nosy, talkative mood, I'm not about to try and change her mind. I slip on my leg holster, adjust my pouch, and when my pack is secure, I fling it onto my back. Our tent will stay up, either for when we return or for the next team to enter the camp.

"If you see Toshi, let him know," I say, more kindly than I intend.

I leave the tent so she can pack on her own. The mist has cleared, though the sun still makes no effort to brighten the earth. It slouches, lethargic in its bed of clouds, refusing to rise like a child hiding beneath the covers. Smiling grimly at the grey, groggy sky, I set out in search of Toshi, moving steadily from one end of the site to the next. By the time three minutes have passed, my pace quickens, my movement less controlled. While my team was deployed to this campsite no more than a month ago, such a time is enough for me to memorize every tent's location, and I can find Toshi nowhere.

"Madara!"

I start and spin, hand instinctively flying to my side, fingers itching for a kunai. I blink twice, at Ryu, who stands not five feet away. Toshi is behind him, peering at me through his glasses. Ryu raises an eyebrow, not out of interest or warning, but instinct. Toshi's expression remains iced. None of us move until I relax, my hands falling to my sides. I try for a sheepish smile, but such a thing is foreign on my face, and all I feel is stupidity coursing through my blood.

"We're ready to go," Ryu informs me, not commenting on either my jumpy behavior or the face I'm making. I nod once, and follow him when he turns from me and strides away purposefully. I fall in line with Toshi, but he does not spare me a glance.

I keep my eyes on the cords of muscle flexing rhythmically in Ryu's neck, to distract myself from Toshi's uncomfortable presence and to make sure I do not do any more stupid things.

We're traveling until we reach the border of our country, and I absently keep one eye on the sky rolling ahead. Watching the clouds slowly dissipate and the landscape gradually change. I am used to skyscrapers and muddy valleys, sparse and uninhabited woods, a perpetually stormy world. It is still a wonder to cross into a land where the air is fresh, the ground dry, and where life thrives freely.

The journey is uneventful and short, and the checkpoint may be even duller. Miyo is still miffed about earlier and stalks away to be by herself. Neither Toshi or Ryu are any more interested in being social during our rest. They exchange only a few words, and I know that's because Toshi will be in charge of his faction once we split up. I find a corner of the checkpoint's border and restock my energy with a couple soldier pills and some water. I know we've only been on the move for a few hours, but I can tell by the dramatic change of scenery that I'll need all the energy I can get in order to be prepared in such unfamiliar territory. Dark and gloomy has been replaced with a brilliant sun only partially covered with clouds. It is a color the sky was never meant to be, so bright and clear. As everyone else eats and stretches, I keep my face turned up to that miraculous, impossible blue.

My mom used to tell me about a blue sky, one I had never believed existed until I was sent on my first mission out of the country. I'd thought it was just one of her stories, her children fairy tales that we coaxed out of her every so often when we were little. But no. There it is, beautiful and surreal, dotted with clouds that are white rather than black. How many of her other stores were actually true?

"Are you ready?" Ryu's voice shoves me from my thoughts; I push to my feet to face him, a wary smile betraying my anxiety. "The others went ahead, to the east. We should go soon."

"Of course," I agree, snatching my pack up from its resting place and slinging it over my shoulders. "Let's go ahead and leave now."

"Alright," he murmurs, his body leaning forward a sudden moment, before he turns from me and darts up to the trees.

Ryu is one of the most respected—and feared—shinobi in Ame. He is just a year my older, but he is said to have extraordinary ability… The few times I've ever watched him in real combat, he only used taijutsu and a few basic ninjutsu. I have no idea what he is actually capable of, but I'm not exactly eager to experience it for myself. He is terrifying enough without powers, what with his towering height and death-swept eyes…the muscles chorded along his arms and the set stone of his lips…

I shake my head clear, focusing my eyes on each branch I propel myself toward. Not on him. Not on Ryu.

I drop next to Ryu, careful to keep the distance between us decent as I lean forward to peer through the brush. I immediately recognize the tents and the congregations of armed shinobi; it's a war camp. However, it's nothing like ours. In the camps stationed near Amegakure, there is an undeniable aura of misery and weariness constantly permeating the air. This place is full of laughter and friendship. I bite my lip as one young man strolls past with his female teammate. They're so fascinated by each other that they do not notice us, but they're close enough I can make out the engraving on their headbands. A sideways leaf.

Shinobi of Konoha.

I chew on my bottom lip and resist the urge to look at Ryu—I keep my eyes on the camp in front of us. There are five tents, and what looks like a single three-man cell for each, plus each of their captains: much smaller than the camp where we were stationed. I've heard rumors of Konoha's more luxurious lifestyle, reflected in the size of their tents and the boldness of their fire, the food being passed around in abundance, the casual conversation and occasional laughter.

I have to struggle with both my awe and envy to keep my head clear. This is an important mission, I know, and if I let Konoha's irresponsible behavior distract me, I'll screw up for sure. I blink.

What if it isn't irresponsible?

What if Ryu and I are the ones being careless?

I activate my Sharingan just as the ninja behind us dives from the trees, and throw myself into Ryu seconds before the kunai thud into the earth where we crouched just moments prior. We roll to the side, but I can hear the bomb tags fizzling away, and I can only pull us both to the ground before the explosion rings in my ears. Uprooted soil flies in my face; rocks and twigs catch on my skin. I spit out a mouthful of dirt and spring to my feet, raising my hand to snatch a kunai heading my way out of the air. I spin it in my hand and use it to parry more incoming projectiles.

Ryu is suddenly on his feet, plunging into the storm headfirst, hands working signs furiously. He evades every weapon flawlessly, approaching the enemy quickly. Through my Sharingan, I see them hesitate.

A torrent of fire erupts from his mouth so suddenly I gasp; there are no more knives aimed at me. The enemy is too preoccupied with getting away from Ryu's raging fire, which is whirling around the camp like a flaming vortex, as alive and with a mind as its creator. For some reason, I expected them to panic and swarm, but they don't. Of course they don't. They are moving in perfect formation, and one of them is releasing a water jutsu just as the whistling of the blade reaches my ear.

I shift my head to the side, but the kunai slides into my cheek on its way past. I can tell it is burning, but I don't feel it. The next knife is easier to block as I spin to face my opponent. My Sharingan takes him in, all of him, in a second.

Approximately one-hundred seventy-five centimeters tall, about fifty-nine kilograms, milky complexion, shoulder-length black hair, and eyes as translucent as butterfly wings. At first, I am disappointed there is only one of him, while Ryu takes on more than a dozen just a few yards away. But then the eyes become clear and I brace myself, Sharingan beginning to whirl to life. I might have grown up in Ame, but my mother had plenty of bedtime stories for my siblings and I when we were younger—stories that, for her, were memories. And though I've never seen them for myself, there is no mistaking the eyes of the Hyuga. The Byakugan.

Konoha's last surviving prize.

"Can see right through me, can't you?" I ask, not expecting an answer, or even a reaction. But the surprising twitch of his brow makes me grin despite the tremble of anticipation in my bones. "The meeting of a lifetime. How many years has it been since Hyuga and Uchiha faced each other in battle?"

He says nothing, but sinks into a stance I've seen before, one I've been trained to one day fight against. Knees bent, back foot angled away from me, front foot pointing in my direction, right arm tucked at his side, left arm stretched toward me palm out, relaxed. The muscles around his eyes twitch and crinkle, morph until they bulge from his skin. Muscle and veins, pulsing with the ability to see all my body contains, chakra and all. This is Gentle Fist. I wonder if he assumes I do not recognize it

"Too many," he replies, successfully surprising me. I wasn't expecting an answer.

But the moment is more strategy than a desire to chat; he darts forward the second I'm off guard, thrusting his palm right at my chest.

He's too slow, though, for my Sharingan. I have many options, but the safest is to duck, so I do. The heel of his palm slices through some of the hair above my head as I drop to a squatting position, balanced precariously on the balls of my feet. Sharingan spinning, I touch my hands to the ground at my left and use the momentum to swing my legs around at his calves. I make contact, but he gracefully composes himself as he falls, twisting to land on his hands and springing into a crouched position.

I'm already standing, hands signs flashing quickly. His eyes narrow just as my jutsu is complete, and an inferno erupts from my mouth. It's one of my default, awe-inspiring, buy-time-to-think jutsus. There's no way a skilled ninja will fall from a general fire technique like this, but it's impressive and fuels my veins with crackling energy. It's even better than Ryu's jutsu from before, but that's only normal. I'm an Uchiha. Fire thrives inside me.

I'm right that the jutsu doesn't faze him—I see the works of the Eight Trigrams Palms Revolving Heavens move cutting through the flames—but I've already developed my strategy. When he looks up, there are four more of me. I spread my clones out, sending them to circle him; he watches carefully, no doubt attempting to pick out my chakra from my clones; but it won't work. My chakra has been distributed flawlessly.

I'm almost surprised he lets me surround him, and I begin to wonder what he's thinking when he doesn't stop our next set of signs. He's older than I am, experienced, and a Hyuga, meaning he's smart. He must have a plan, too.

But I've already begun my jutsu, and I can't stop the energy from pouring into my right hand, the one I slam palm-down to the ground. My clones act in precise unison with me, and as the earth crumbles beneath our hands, slowly crushed beneath the steady flow of my chakra, my opponent slides into a new stance. I can't tell if it's offensive or defensive. Electricity erupts from our fingers, flying to connect with each other, a steady stream of blue lightning running between my clones and I. His eyes twitch in concern. I smirk. He wasn't expecting this.

And it doesn't take much to direct the energy, until it has completely encompassed him, a dome of prickling electricity. All this I do in less than ten seconds. I release my jutsu and step back, watch it pulse once, twice, shudder, and then begin to condense. Not even his Revolving Heaven can prevent my electricity from either crushing or electrocuting him.

But Rotation wasn't his plan. Through the blurred veil of energy, I see him extend an arm upward with a flick of his wrist, and from his hand, a spear of light slices to the sky. My dome crackles fiercely, like the screech of a banshee, and presses on, but the brilliant thread of light expands and I watch, jaw hanging, as it interrupts the current enough that any resemblance of my jutsu disperses.

I have to recover, think fast. I was counting on that attack to at least hurt him, and he stands untouched. I clench my fists as he readies his next move. Energy from my jutsu crawls up my skin like rain dripping upward, gravity defied.

He dashes for me, and I can see the light clouding his own fist now. I wait until he is upon me to let the fire spill from my lips. I meet his eyes, red on white, but he doesn't retreat, even though he knows. The air is pulsing with electricity. The flames lick forward, and only for just a second, before they combust.

Explode like a star in the sky.

Well, there we go. Not what you were expecting?

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