Curse These Old Bones - Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Otogakure 

Orochimaru sat motionless at its center, his pale hands cradling a single strand of hair. Its color was unmistakable—unnatural, almost. His eyes, golden and slit-pupiled, lingered on it with an intensity that was not quite hunger, nor curiosity. It was something stranger, alien in its fixity.

His tongue flicked out, tasting the air, as if searching for something unseen. A thought uncoiled in the depths of his mind, an intuition that gnawed at him like the whisper of an unseen predator. Something was coming. Not tangible, not near, but inevitable. A disturbance in the great web of possibilities. He could not place it—was it the ghost of his failed sagehood, the half-understood insights of nature itself? Or was it the cold void of his dehumanization, the whispers of his true self, the White Snake that now inhabited the flesh he wore like a skin-deep mask?

He flexed his fingers, watching as the pale skin stretched and bent unnaturally. The sensation wasn’t discomfort—it was detachment. This body was not his; it was merely an instrument, a hollowed puppet of flesh animated by his will. And yet, beneath that detachment, something deeper stirred. Something that longed for destruction, for the expression of his art through terror and domination.

His plan to kill the Kazekage and invade Konoha was already a masterpiece. Yet now, as the faint ripple of unease settled deeper into his thoughts, he saw its flaws. He knew form Kabuto that it would be easy but…It wasn’t enough. The invasion, his ambitions—they needed more. 

He needed more.

The hair drifted from his hand, curling as it fell to the floor. It would be of use in a few seconds.  Orochimaru rose, his movements unnervingly fluid, a sway more akin to a serpent than a man. His head turned, his gaze alighting on the genin standing at the edge of the room. The boy, pale and trembling, had been sent as an escort—a trivial presence, unnoticed until now.

Orochimaru’s smile curved, a thin line that revealed none of his thoughts but all of his intent. “Ah,” he murmured, his voice soft and silken, wrapping around the chamber like a constrictor’s coils. “You’ve been so quiet. Such a good little shadow.”

The genin stiffened, his wide eyes darting toward Orochimaru, then back to the exit as if gauging his chances of escape. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like prey caught in a predator’s gaze. “L-Lord Orochimaru, I—”

“You’re afraid,” Orochimaru interrupted, his tone almost tender. “I can taste it.” His tongue darted out, too long, too quick, the forked tip brushing his lips. “Such a delicious thing, fear. It’s pure. Honest. And Honesty…I was not given much, when I was myself a genin. I appreciate it. Truly.”

The boy took a step back, his hand inching toward the kunai at his belt. “I… I’ve done everything you asked. Please, I—”

“Shhh.” Orochimaru took a step forward, the sound of his bare feet on the cold stone floor soft yet unbearable. His head tilted, his movements too smooth, too alien. “Do you know what makes you special, little one? What makes you… useful?”

The genin’s trembling intensified. His hand found the hilt of his kunai, but he didn’t draw it. “I—I don’t understand…”

“You will.” Orochimaru lunged, faster than the boy could react. His hand closed around the genin’s throat, hoisting him off the ground as easily as one might lift a doll. The boy’s legs kicked wildly, his hands clawing at the pale fingers that held him.

“Please!” the genin choked, his voice a strangled gasp. “Please, don’t—”

“It’s not personal,” Orochimaru cooed, his voice soft and sweet, the mockery of a lullaby. “Your soul is simply a component I require. A tool for my art.” He leaned closer, his tongue slithering out to trace the boy’s cheek, tasting the salt of sweat and the coppery tang of blood where the boy’s nails had scratched his own skin. “And yet…”

The boy’s eyes bulged as Orochimaru’s lips parted, revealing sharp teeth. “And yet, it’s so exquisite, isn’t it? The terror. The pleading. The way your life burns so brightly just before it goes out.”

With a sickening crunch, Orochimaru bit into the boy’s neck, the warm gush of blood filling his mouth. The genin’s screams dissolved into a wet gurgle, his body spasming as Orochimaru’s teeth sank deeper, tearing into flesh. The taste was intoxicating, a symphony of life unraveling beneath his touch. He felt the boy’s soul shuddering, slipping free of its fragile vessel, and he smiled, his mouth slick with crimson.

When the body fell to the ground, it was empty—an object, no longer human. Orochimaru licked his lips, savoring the lingering taste. His golden eyes flickered with an intensity that defied description, and his voice, soft and sibilant, filled the air. He took back the strand of hair. 

“Yes,” he whispered, stepping over the lifeless form. “This will do nicely.”

He smiled.

“Kuchiyose no Jutsu: Edo Tensei - Impure World Reincarnation". 

Land of Fire

Tiger’s boot connected with Naruto’s stomach with what, for the Anbu Captain, could only be described as gentleness. The boy went careening backward, a tumble of limbs and indignant yelps that ended with him sprawled on the dusty ground, a cloud of dirt puffing up around his fall. Tiger resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If the kid couldn’t take this level of sparring, he had no business traveling with ANBU, even in this "team-building exercise." Still, the brat had pluck—and an endless capacity to get up and try again. It had to be nice, being an Uzumaki — or maybe it was the Kyubi? Whatever — it meant the kid would get up. 

Hopefully. 

He stretched his shoulders, loosening up as he returned to his ready stance, eyeing the genin before him. Haku, calm and composed, adjusted his grip on a pair of senbon, his eyes sharp and unyielding. Sakura shook of fear, but run towards Naruto to heal him. She was a natural Iryo Nin. Reminded him of his ex-girlfriend from his Chunin days, Shizune. And Naruto, well... he was back on his feet already, grinning like a fool despite the clear ache in his ribs.

"Again," Tiger barked, his voice gravelly, his tone brooking no argument.

Not far off, two of his squad members—veteran ANBU operatives who’d earned their scars and stripes—were locked in a flurry of strikes and counters with Kushina Uzumaki. She was all fiery determination and raw power, her chains lashing out like extensions of her will. Watching her was like watching a storm manifest in human form. His men were holding their own, though barely. He could hear the occasional grunt of exertion and the ring of steel on steel. Good for them. They were middle A-rank, and she was on the higher end of A-rank. And could regenerate. Training against someone like Kushina was the sort of trial by fire that forged excellence—or broke those not strong enough to endure. And he did not care for weaklings — not in his team. 

He shifted his attention briefly to the scene playing out farther down the makeshift field. Captain Cat’s team was being systematically taken apart by the Hokage himself. Hiruzen Sarutobi moved with a fluidity and precision that belied his age, his staff a blur as it knocked two operatives  from Cat's team into the air simultaneously. Tiger let out a low chuckle despite himself. If those three hadn’t been humbled by now, they were surely getting a taste of humility today.

Haku darted forward suddenly, breaking Tiger’s focus. The kid was quick—damn quick. He came in low, the senbon aimed for a vulnerable joint in Tiger’s armor. Impressive, but naive. Tiger sidestepped with practiced ease and countered with a palm strike aimed at the boy's - the girl’s ? Whatever he did not care, as long as they were loyal and lethal — midsection. To his surprise, an ice wall materialized in the blink of an eye, absorbing the force of his blow. Solid technique. The kid was a natural, no doubt about it.

“You’ll need more than tricks, kid,” Tiger growled, forming a quick series of seals. A stream of fire erupted from his mouth, overcharged with chakra to melt through the dense ice. It worked, though it took more effort than he’d anticipated. The brat had potential—real potential. Given a few years, Haku could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the best of them. High A-rank at least, with potential for S. 

“Alright!” The Hokage’s voice rang out, authoritative and final. Tiger dropped his stance and turned, noting the way everyone else froze as Hiruzen addressed them. Even Kushina, flushed and grinning from her sparring, paused mid-motion to listen.

“Training is over. Rest,” Hiruzen commanded. “You need to be fresh in three hours. Fresh and well-rested.”

That tone of voice put Tiger on edge. Hiruzen didn’t waste that kind of authority unless the stakes were high.

The Hokage turned his gaze to Yugao’s team. “Mantis, Cobra, Hyena—your job is to protect the three genin. No matter what happens, even if you see an opening, don't act. Your priority is to protect the kids.”

Tiger frowned. Protecting the kids? That sounded ominous—he wasn’t one to underestimate danger, and if Hiruzen was making protection their priority, it meant something big was coming.

“In any case,” the Hokage continued, “the situation will be under control. And this will be excellent training for Kushina, Cat, and Tiger and his squad. It’s not every day you get the chance to take down an S-ranked ninja.”

“What?!” Naruto’s shout was pure excitement, a stark contrast to Kushina’s audible intake of breath—a sharp, maternal sound that was more instinctive than fearful.

Tiger’s lips curled into a grim smile. His blood thrummed at the prospect of a real fight. A good fight. But he didn’t let his excitement dull his caution. S-ranked ninja were no joke, even for someone of his caliber.

He crossed his arms, his tone measured as he addressed Hiruzen. “Six of us against an S-rank? Let’s see... three high A-ranks, two mid A-ranks, and one… variable. Not exactly balanced.” His eyes flicked to the genin briefly, then back to the Hokage. “Depends on who it is. S-ranks come in all shapes. Again someone like Deidera? Easy. Against someone like Itachi — fuck no.”

The Hokage’s smile was maddeningly calm, a glint of something Tiger couldn’t quite place behind his gaze. “Not exactly,” Hiruzen replied. “The six of you will not face them together. The three members of your team, Tiger, will leave now, carrying a package to Konoha—a meteorite. And we are going to be joined by three other operatives. Well, four, but Sura is not going to help.”

Tiger stiffened, his sharp instincts catching the shift in the Hokage’s posture before anyone else did. Hiruzen turned his head slightly, his gaze snapping to a distant point on the horizon. The air seemed to grow taut, charged with the tension of an impending storm.

He tensed, his senses sharpening. Something—or someone—was coming. And from the way the Hokage braced himself, Tiger knew it wasn’t just anyone.

“Is that the S-rank?” he asked, his voice low, his grip tightening around the hilt of his blade.

But Tiger felt his shoulders loosen as he recognized the chakra signature. Anko Mitarashi—brazen as always, her energy as familiar as an old scar—was heading toward them. His instincts urged caution until she came fully into view, but the tension bled away as she stepped into the clearing. Her trademark grin, equal parts smug and playful, made it impossible to mistake her for anyone else. She saluted the Hokage with crisp precision, a stark contrast to her otherwise casual demeanor. That was Anko for you—a paradox wrapped in a trench coat. And she was hot. Less than Shizune, but still. 

Tiger’s gaze shifted to the individuals following her. Sura walked just behind Anko, his steps silent, his presence almost deliberately muted. Tiger narrowed his eyes as he took in the man’s features: dark eyes, a neutral expression, and a heavy blade strapped to his back. Samehada. The sight of the sentient sword stirred a mixture of intrigue and unease in Tiger’s gut. The rumors surrounding Sura were ridiculous—a “secret son of the Hokage” pulled from the depths of ANBU? Nonsense. But it wasn’t his job to question the Hokage’s decisions. He’d work with the man, not gossip about him.

And then the next two arrived.

Tiger’s breath hitched—not in fear, but in a surge of recognition. Zabuza Momochi, the Demon of the Mist, strode into the clearing like he owned the damn place. His bandaged face was shadowed, but those sharp, predatory eyes gleamed with violence barely restrained. Beside him, Pakura of the Scorched Fields moved with a precision that spoke of her legendary skill. Tiger knew her reputation well. A war hero from Suna who had been betrayed by her village, her Scorch Release techniques were the stuff of nightmares. Huh. A surprising combination. Very surprising. But…the Hokage had said they were his operatives.

Tiger grinned, sharp and feral. Zabuza and Pakura.  A-rank fighters, no question — and maybe even very low S-rank for the later, on an excellent day. With them on the field, this mission was already shaping up to be the kind of challenge he craved. There was nothing like working alongside warriors who could hold their own in a bloodbath.

Yugao, standing a few paces to his left, didn’t share his enthusiasm. Her hand dropped to her blade, drawing it in one fluid motion. The sound of steel sliding free was subtle, but it carried weight. Anko glanced at her and scoffed.

“Relax,” Anko said, smirking as she tilted her head toward the Hokage. “If they were here to kill us, we’d already be painting the ground red. They’re allies.”

Yugao didn’t respond, her body taut with readiness. Tiger could feel the tension radiating off her. Good. Caution was a virtue in ANBU, and Yugao had enough to make up for Anko’s reckless mouth.

“Team Tiger, Team Cat, Team 7,” Hiruzen said, his voice steady and commanding, “meet Team Sura. Allies.”

“Whoa!” Naruto’s voice burst out, as unfiltered as ever. “Are they like the super-secret Black Ops assassin team? That’s so cool!”

Tiger groaned internally but managed to keep his expression neutral. The kid had guts—he’d give him that much—but his enthusiasm was going to get someone killed one day. And it would probably be the boy himself. 

Yugao resheathed her blade, though her posture remained stiff. Her instincts wouldn’t let her relax entirely, which was just as well. Meanwhile, Tiger’s grin widened, a wicked flash of teeth. Three more heavy hitters in the field — four if it went to shit and Sura had to step in? This was going to be fun.

“Fuck yes,” he muttered under his breath. He almost felt sorry for whoever—or whatever—they’d be facing. Almost.

Hiruzen didn’t miss a beat, turning to Sura, who unfurled a scroll covered in intricate seals. The craftsmanship was top-tier, the kind only a master of fuinjutsu could produce.

“You three,” Hiruzen said, gesturing to three ANBU operatives standing to the side. “Deliver this scroll to Nono in Konoha. She’ll know what to do with it.”

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” they said in unison, saluting before stepping forward to take the scroll.

“Afterward, find Jiraiya and inform him to meet Nono. They will study the meteorite together. I've already briefed them. Is either of you proficient in fuinjutsu?”

One of them stepped forward confidently. “I’ve mastered the basics: explosive, stun, chakra-depriving, sound-canceling, and storage seals, Hokage-sama.”

“Perfect,” Hiruzen said. “Once you’ve completed your task, head to the capital of the Land of Fire. Collect the twenty cameras and hundred screens ordered by Taro. Deliver the cameras in Konoha and the screens to him in the Land of Waves. Hiroto knows the specifics; consult him if necessary.”

“Yes, Hokage-sama.” They saluted again and disappeared, their movements a blur as they executed the order without hesitation.

Tiger barely had time to digest the flurry of activity before a ripple of energy snapped him to full attention. The air around him thickened, like an animal breath on his neck. This chakra wasn’t sharp or chaotic; it was something worse. Cold. Heavy. It moved with a strange, sickly weight, seeping into the edges of his awareness like glue spreading through cracks. 

He stiffened, his body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance. His hand found the hilt of his blade, fingers tightening around it. His senses screamed danger.

“What the hell is that?” he muttered, his voice low and rough, more to himself than anyone else. Definitely not a low-S rank. 

Hiruzen’s gaze didn’t waver as he stared into the distance. “Prepare yourselves,” the Hokage said. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. It's a great training opportunity : Kushina, Zabuza, Pakura, Tiger, Cat and Anko against them. You won't need us, all of you are high A-rank, bordering on S for two of you — but, just in case, Sura and I are behind you, ready to fight.”

Tiger’s grin returned, sharper now, laced with anticipation. His blood thrummed, his heart pounding in a steady rhythm. Whatever was coming, it was going to be big. And dangerous.

Just the way he liked it.

— — — 

Sasori sensed them long before their presence breached the edge of the clearing. Chakra signatures, sharp as drawn blades, cutting through the distance with surgical intent. They moved like a storm—a disciplined, converging force, swift and unrelenting. His wooden heart pulsed faintly, its mechanical rhythm undisturbed. Fear, anger, hesitation—these were relics of his discarded humanity, meaningless to what he had become. Now, there was only logic. Cold. Detached. Absolute. The battlefield was what mattered. The stage. And on it, he would craft his art—whether through survival or death.

Had Kabuto betrayed him? The thought passed through his mind like a flicker of shadow, dissolving as quickly as it formed. Betrayal was inconsequential. He would still elevate him, make him a puppet, after Sasori survived the ordeal. If he survived.

Encased within Hiruko’s grotesque shell, Sasori emerged into the clearing. The creak of its joints fractured the stillness, the spiked tail behind him swaying with a regular rhythm, dripping the faint promise of poison into the soil. He stopped, the air around him heavy with the bitter tang of venom and lacquer.

The six shinobi were already waiting for him, arrayed like executioners. They made no move, but their readiness was a weapon in itself. Their formation was purposeful—not rigid, but disciplined, the subtle fluidity of killers honed by countless battles. Skilled. Deadly. The ideal audience for his performance.

Two stood at the forefront. Konohans. Two Anbus commanders.  Tiger, his stance as unyielding as his name implied, exuded raw aggression, his chakra already licking faintly at the edge of his blade. Beside him, Cat was coiled, her posture taut with quiet precision. Her eyes behind the mask were glacial, her stillness the prelude to something deadly. She wasn’t impatient; she was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

They would make fine additions to his collection. 

And…Strange. Very Strange. On either side of the front line, Pakura of Sand and Zabuza of Mist. Pakura’s chakra radiated searing heat, her presence so intense the ground beneath her feet shimmered as though poised to ignite. Zabuza, by contrast, was a smoldering threat, his massive Kubikiribōchō resting on his shoulder like an extension of his will. Anko Mitarashi stood to the rear, a contrast of mischief and menace. Her kunai spun in her hand like a toy, her grin a flash of reckless arrogance. 

And at the heart of their formation stood Uzumaki Kushina. Sasori’s gaze lingered on her longer than the others. The crimson hair that spilled wildly around her was unmistakable, as were the chakra chains coiled around her like living serpents. Dead. She was supposed to be dead. And yet here she was, reborn in wrath. The implications of her return were troubling, but also fascinating. If he could discover how she came back, the things he could do with his art…

Beyond the main formation, the shadows moved, subtle ripples of intent. Three more ANBU clung to the edges of the clearing, their chakra subdued but present, hidden but lethal. And farther still, at the edge of Sasori’s awareness, stood Hiruzen Sarutobi—the God of Shinobi. The old man watched with the stillness of a mountain, his chakra poised like a drawn blade, his presence as much a warning as a promise. And a man — the one who killed Kisame. And Kisame could have killed Sasori. Maybe. Not sure — they were about the same level. 

The truth settled over Sasori with a clarity that might have shaken another man. 

This was an execution team. Waiting for him. 

Even with his perfected form, the balance of power tilted too far against him. The six before him were strong enough, but with the ANBUs, and the two Sarutobi lurking in reserve, this was not a fight he could win outright. Hiruko’s tail swayed behind him, its motion slow and deliberate as Sasori assessed his options. A distraction. Time. That was all he needed to flee. He felt no doubt, no hesitation. He would turn this battlefield into a stage, and they would witness his art.

The air grew taut, the seconds dragging out like blades drawn across flesh. The shinobi were waiting. Calculating. Ready.

And if he could not flee — he would try to take them head on. 

“Move!” Tiger’s voice shattered the stillness, and the clearing erupted into chaos.