The greatest boon in my life came when I was going to die.
I was going to die, that I was sure of. When one thinks of being reborn into the world of Naruto, they could reasonably expect to be born into Konoha. After all, a reincarnation must be placed in the center of the hero's village, no?
Not so. If I had a ROB, he was (like most ROBs) a churlish troll and an asshole of the highest order. What kind of omnipotent being amuses themselves by throwing me into the fucking ghetto of Naruto? Sunagakure may have contained some cool themes and characters, but right now it was poor, disgusting, sandy shithole.
I hated every day of my life.
I was thankful I actually wanted to be a shinobi. It wasn't like orphans got a choice - you become a shinobi whether you like it or not, and you start making the Kazekage some goddamned money. The training is hellish, but being able to breathe fire, bend reality and destroy landscapes with physical attacks would make it all worth it.
Assuming, of course, I survived the village's demon.
Ickle bitty Gaara. In hindsight, I should've recognized the kid with the raccoon-like eye markings sitting alone with a teddy bear. Whatever fanfiction mentioned was definitely wrong - it's not easy to identify or remember people from their animated appearance. Here, they're actual, three dimensional people.
Back to Gaara. Kid was sitting on the slide - the only slide in the village - and I wanted to use it after a long-ass day of physical preconditioning. So, I asked him as politely as I could.
"Fuck off from the slide, kid,"
That was...not the wisest option. It turned out Gaara didn't like being talked to that way, and instead moved to shout at me. I only saw a four-year-old (not quite so scary to a big, strong, five-year-old like myself), instead of the Jinchuuriki of the One-Tail, and stood unimpressed at his anger. Seeing my unimpressed look only spurred him harder.
"Yo-you please don't talk to me this way! I want to use the slide too!"
I raise an eyebrow, "This isn't using the slide enough? There's only one slide in the whole village, and others can't use it if you don't move up and share."
"B-but, I-I like this slide," He stuttered.
"And I do too. You know what? Just slide down, and we'll take turns. How's that sound?"
He hesitantly nodded, and pushed down the sloped, smooth metal. Which was when I remembered that some people in this Universe don't understand the meaning of 'parental love', and Gaara's dad was one of them. A masked figure flickered into existence at the end of the slide, and jumped at the boy, kunai at the ready.
The sand all across the playground cocooned into a shield which the masked shinobi audibly crashed into it. Gaara's eyes began tearing up, and he whimpered - in direct contrast to his sand, which was crushing the shit out of the guy's head while the body attached to it struggled futilely.
I didn't turn my head away, instead watching, transfixed by the assassin's struggling body. Gaara was freely crying now, and with every shuddering sob the sand twisted tighter on the assassin's face, running down his neck and shoulders. I stepped forward, lightly holding the kid - who I'd identified as the future Godaime Kazekage by then - on the shoulder.
He slowed his bawling, turning to look at me with wary eyes. I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner, before tapping him slightly.
"He tried to kill you, Gaara. Someone as innocent, as pure as you, with no remorse or hesitation. A child playing at the park - doesn't he deserve to die?" My smile had turned to a light grin by now. Gaara tipped his head downward slightly, hesitantly. "Crush him, then. Show me your power and end his life - he tried to snuff out yours."
"B-But the villagers, they hate me, get scared of me when I come to them with my sand. W-Won't they not like this?" He whispers, almost like he was afraid of being heard.
I give him a pointed stare. "If the villagers' opinions mattered, Kami would've given them the power to beat you. But they can't, can they?" I move my hand from his left shoulder to his other shoulder, and twist my other arm around him, pulling him into a hug. I move my mouth to his ear, lowering my tone to a whisper, "Show me that your opinion matters more than anyone else's. Prove your strength."
Gaara's bawling had long since stopped, and he was pleasantly shivering in the hug I had him in. Sand from the ground started to rise up and cocooned the assailant, tightening until all that could be seen was the man's slowly shrinking form. A scream echoed from behind, and while Gaara's sand rose up behind to protect him, I was pulled backward.
I saw a Suna Jonin, identifiable by his tan jacket in front of me, chakra threads spreading out from his fingers. His head was bald, and he had a short beard framing the bottom of his face. It was the expression on his face that bothered me, though: He was looking at us like we'd shat in his sand flakes (because how the fuck is Suna growing enough grain for cereal?).
I got up slowly, staring him in the eye all the while as he had a kunai out, close to his chest and ready to throw at Gaara. "That was rude."
He gave me a sideways stare, wary, but also disgusted. "Gaki like you and that... thing don't deserve politeness,"
What the fuck did he just say? "We're Gaki, are we? Little monsters? Bit rich from a man who kills for a living and has a kunai aimed at an innocent child," I spat.
He narrowed his eyes, displeased. "Watch your tone, boy. Nobody's going to care enough to look for your little corpse in the sand. You'll be one more baking body I've left behind."
Fuck. In hindsight, it probably was a mistake to mouth off to a Jonin like that, but fuck if I was going to let someone disrespect me - I died once to come here, I can die again. I..just fucking hate that this piece of shit could do this, and I'd be forced to go along with it.
I pushed my hand forward to try and make a rude gesture, fury filling my mind. I just wanted him to die. Slowly. In the most humiliating way possible.
I heard a little shout beside me, and I realized Gaara was sending his sand at the man threatening me. He jumped back, but before he landed, I felt...awareness of him, inside him from my outstretched hand - like he was a doll, a puppet. I twisted my fingers upward, willing him to still.
To my surprise, and his too, he did. He landed roughly on the ground. I felt a condense flow inside him, twisting throughout his body, and I grasped onto the flow, stopping it. He was stilling, he literally couldn't move. I smiled, excited as I realized his life was quite literally in the palm of my hands. Did he deserve to continue to live? He was a Jonin, loyal to the Yondaime Kazekage.
I gave him a look mixed with hate, smiling widely as I put my hand into a fist, clotting all the blood inside him, then pulled it back roughly. The front of his chest bloats, and my grin grows predatory. I don't even have to turn before a wave of sand rises tightly around the mans bloated body, and begins restraining him. I keep pulling at the blood, pushing against Gaara's overwhelming sand restriction.
The result is glorious. The man's skin and muscles audibly rip apart as his blood spurted out of him from hundreds of forcefully exposed arteries. Little veins, exposed by the torn flesh leak blood in less obvious lines - wider lumen, of course, I understand.
I turn my head, looking at Gaara. He seems transfixed at the carnage he and I have unleashed upon the little playground. Imagine the kids checking the swing to find a nipple attached to it.
I can't help it. I start laughing, and the sand jinchuuriki turns to give me a quizzical look. "Just imagine the kids tomorrow! The reactions when they trip on a chin!"
The redhead gives me a nervous grin. I ruffle his hair heartily. "You did good, Gaara. No one's going to mess with us now." He gives a pleased hum.
In the distance, I feel two figures approach, full of blood. I turn my head to see the Fourth Kazekage and a masked ANBU - that's probably Yashamaru - stare at us.