Given that I have not posted anything in dA since I joined, I thought I would all tease you with a sneak-peak of what I am currently undertaking. It is a Naruto fanfiction altered to fit my tastes.

Any comments are welcomed, constructive criticism greatly appreciated, and any errors you find will be accepted and fixed should I find it to be valid or be better written.


The world of Naruto or its characters are the sole property of Masashi Kishimoto and/or his associates.

--

To be a shinobi, a true able-bodied ninja depicted in the legends of an era long past meant foregoing luxurious, something as inane as fame, recognition or appreciation were for the foolish to pursuit.

At the end of the day, when everything was said and done, one would do well to know that there was nothing honorable about being a shinobi.

Unlike their bladed brethren, the samurai who fought for honor with scruples and righteousness; the veiled warriors did not, instead they chose to fight from within the enveloping shadows, to fight for victory and nothing else. For a fighter whose life revolved around assassinations, espionage and sabotage, the same traits that were so highly revered among the swordsman were considered folly. A shinobi was an immoral assassin, one whose loyalty was bought if only temporarily. They were but pawns, a glorified and vilified tool at the whim of the gilded.

Oddly enough, through the years in an innumerable number of seasons, perceptions changed, the once feared warriors became something more, something much more; they became guardians of the weak, fighters who fought to keep the stability of the world.

And through it all, while the civilian society thought otherwise, an aspiring ninja's upbringing was ordinary for most; their childhood saturated with tales of legendary figures and their even more legendary acts of heroism. Only a startling margin was told of the many bloody wars or the brutality and cruelty only another human would ever be capable of committing.

Had he not known the reason for such deceit, he would question the sanity and moral perception of the diluted masses.

The reason however was both simple and naive.

The older generation did it for the safety and wellbeing of the young, for the innocent and the consciousness of the virgin mind. It was a parent’s maternal instinct to shield their young, to keep their children's innocence for as long as humanly possible. Given their mental fortitude and developing maturity, it was all too common for children to be unable to fully grasp and process the information of a dark reality.

Impetuously, the ignorance was spread, both widely and profusely.

But because of said ignorance, the severity of the situation came far too late for most to be understood. The naive practice done to shield the young from the all encompassing twilight was the instrument that would eventually leave them a bitter shell of their former selves or worse yet, dead and while the grisly truth was valid for all stages in a human's live, it commonly claimed the life of the young.

But why the young?

Simply because they lacked the experience, were prone to naive paradigms and unprepared for the brutal reality that came with their acceptance of the hitai-ite.

He fortunately, knew otherwise.

Not only did he know of their dark expectations, but also of their grisly roots, one which was ensnared in a web of lies. A shinobi was not a noble fighter, one who fought for the weak but one who yearned for death and destruction.

Furthermore, the dark origins held him in a state of absolute bliss, his mind beleaguered by the rapture of the profession.

Why?

As one of them, he knew the frightening depth of a human's hatred. He knew that there was no length; both corporeal and supernatural which could sufficiently intimidate the creature known as man from getting what they really sought. The proof was in the past, the present and the future.

Darkness was a creature that not even the purest of souls could elude for long; with its unlimited patience, the shadowy entity would wait as long as required - but when the time was right, it would strike, without warning, and completely inexorable.

...and once a soul, luminous or otherwise, be besieged by the veiled entity, it would be corrupted, entirely and absolutely. Like Chikamatsu Monzaemon, it would weave the body in an intricate dance to the malfeasance dirge tones of the Abyss, a dance where its malicious intent would be made manifest.

In all honesty it was laughable how ninjas had a code of honor, when their past was shrouded with the crimson of countless thousands. Once more, it was ironic that the protectors held themselves above the law; whereas a civilian would be normally heralded as a lunatic or murderer for said actions, a ninja was worshiped as a hero, a beacon of light in a world veiled by shadows.

How could someone whose occupation required them to lie, cheat and steal, all on a daily basis and all of which were condemned by the teachings of god be held upon as saints.

It was all bitterly amusing.

From the years of observation through preternatural eyes, he had come to a decisive conclusion, ninjas of the modern age - should they be allowed to call themselves that - were nothing more than glorified servants and entertainers. They lavished the attention their names and exploits brought them, as if the passing praise or brief semblance of importance given by the common-folk or the majority of present-day ninjas made the world alright.

It was simply ludicrous.

How could someone battered by war, pained by great losses and other cornucopia of grievances be as inattentive and pretentious as a common day thug? It was plain idiocy when one considered a ninja's life was just as susceptible to death when struck. Given the countless exposures to enemy attacks, a simple fall, a light scratch could just as easily deal the mortal wound as an all encompassing explosion.

These fighters were easy to manipulate, to control by surprisingly small groups of determined individuals. Using their fears and insecurities just as easily as their aspirations or dreams, they weaved them around their fingers and played them, used them in their nefarious plots of world conquest.

With that mindset even the great fell before the weak.

...but unlike those who believed in the propaganda fed by countless books, the instructors constant gospels or the words spouted by the masses; he chose to question. With blinding clarity, he swore an oath, a pledge to make his own path, a path that if need be, be bathed in the blood of all those who stood between him and his destiny.

However unlike what one would assume or be led to believe, he wasn't a monster, a fiend who relished the smell of death, the taste of widespread destruction or lusted for perpetual darkness. He was but a simple, slightly warped boy, one whom was forced to mature, to adapt to an unforgiving environment bathed with the blood of the countless fallen.

--

A small fix.

As you can see Naruto is much more jaded, cynical and serious.


This story was inspired by these two stories.

Genius of Konoha by MrRiddler @ [link]

Houses of the Holy by HowdyU @ [link]