Marked for Death: A Rational Naruto Quest

It was time for Hazō to do something he'd once have considered unimaginable.

Hazō's door was securely locked, with a sign warning any would-be interrupters that sensitive experiments were in progress (he didn't dare tell anyone in his family what the experiments were today, but on the other hand those who knew him also knew it was generally better not to ask). His map of the Elemental Nations annotated with scroll location theories, his pride and joy, was spread across the floor in front of him, overlaid with a five-by-four grid. A stick of expensive meditation-enhancing incense, once a loathsome symbol of clan excess, smouldered gently in a container by the window, filling the room with the beginnings of a sweet, musky smell. Finally, the Jashin medallion he'd received from Hidan was clutched tightly in his left fist. Was it a little warmer than he'd expect of a metal object at room temperature? No, probably just his imagination.

Hazō sat down, legs crossed, and closed his eyes. It was time to answer, once and for all, a question that had haunted him ever since his duel with Hidan in the village of Bakuchioka. There was nothing strange about lucky or unlucky streaks in games of chance. They were called games of chance because they were fundamentally unpredictable in a way that go or shogi weren't. But Hazō had learned the basics of calculating odds from Kei as preparation for the Chūnin Exam. In a simple game like Chō-Han, where the odds were always fifty-fifty once you ruled out cheating, streaks like his simply didn't happen. It was the same kind of only-technically-possible as Yuno letting Noburi hold hands with another girl.

Hidan claimed the ridiculous luck was proof of Jashin's favour. Initially, Hazō had been sceptical. Setting aside the question of whether Jashin would be inclined to favour a non-believer over his own high priest, did this obscure deity worshipped only by a handful of crazed fanatics even exist in the first place? Thinking back to Team Bloodrage, it was almost more logical to conclude that Jashin didn't exist because these were the kinds of people who believed in him. Joining Team Bloodrage in their faith was like joining Hagoromo Ritsuo in homophobia—even if, hypothetically speaking, there was some convincing argument against gay love, it would automatically be turned into self-serving, hateful sophistry by the mere fact of coming out of Lord Hagoromo's mouth.

Yet the more he thought about it, the more he wondered. Something had allowed Hidan to go toe to toe with Orochimaru at Nagi Island, dealing and taking unquestionably fatal wounds until one of them lost at ninja rock-paper-scissors. It could have been ninjutsu. It could have been a seal. It could have been some other trick. But Hidan, the only person with the answer, believed that his fate was ultimately decided by a god of blood and murder who was both able and willing to intervene on his favoured shinobi's behalf. What if Jashin was real? If he was, what if he really did hold the secrets of immortality, as an alternative path to an objective Hazō had to pursue with every tool at his disposal? It wasn't something he could brush away just because his introduction to the religion had been a pack of battle-crazy morons.

What he was about to do was an act with implications. He knew that. Hazō's religious foundations were already shaky. The ancestors hated him twice over, maybe more. He was out of the area of influence of any Water Country kami who might have favoured him for their own inscrutable reasons, and he doubted he'd already earned positive interest from their Fire Country counterparts (and even if he had, he'd converted to a religion that forbade their worship). As for the Will of Fire, if it really dwelled in the heart of every Leaf shinobi, then it definitely knew that his interest in it was instrumental at best, and that he'd drop it like a hot potato if it ever got in the way of Uplift.

If Jashin was real, then praying to him for aid here and now, of his own free will, without a scythe-wielding lunatic standing over his shoulder to compel him, might count as an act of conversion. Hazō couldn't begin to guess at the implications if that was the case.

On the other hand, Jashin had already done more for him as a non-believer than any of those other entities ever had for him as one of their faithful. If real, the god of murder had lent him his power to save a dozen lives, maybe more, without even being asked. If Jashin's power could be used to save lives, and maybe even pursue immortality, and Hazō already had his favour and the favour of his high priest (unless the latter was dead, which was still a win because it meant the position was open)…

This test was going to be important in more ways than one. If Jashin answered his prayer and it resulted in mission success, that wouldn't just mean he was real. It would mean he was real and prepared to help the Gōketsu get a summoning scroll (or a summoning scroll's worth of gratitude from the Hokage), and that would be proof that Jashin's favour was an enormous competitive advantage for the clan and therefore for Uplift. Or, if he didn't answer, it wouldn't mean anything in particular, and Hazō would have lost nothing by trying.

Now, how did one draw Jashin's attention? Hazō doubted that he was in the "Lord Jashin is always watching over me" bracket with Hidan, and he wasn't prepared to carry out a Jashinite ceremony just to test a theory (not that he knew what those entailed, other than blood sacrifice being a sure bet). The best he could do was to meditate on things Jashin liked for ten minutes or so, and hope that was enough of a spiritual beacon.

Jashin was the god of blood, violence, and murder. If what he'd learned at O'Uzu was true, he was also the god of sex, fertility, and birth—if only as a prelude to the blood, violence, and murder. That was probably a better, or at least, less disturbing place to start.

But how could a healthy teenage boy with two attractive girlfriends possibly keep his mind on sex for ten whole minutes?

Hazō persevered for the greater good. After long milliseconds of effort, images of Akane began to float to the surface of his mind. Fascinating, vivid images. Some were memories. Others were dreams, desires, even plans, long held at bay by simple lack of time (or, in rare moments of time, by sheer tiredness) and therefore ever more keenly yearned for. If this much passion wasn't enough to draw Jashin's attention—

The thought was like being doused in icy water.

Hazō had already prepared himself mentally for this ritual. He'd accepted that he was praying to the god who had chosen history's most prolific serial killer as his high priest. He'd accepted that he was asking for help from the god whose favour was a reward for murdering Daizen, and whose further favour Hazō didn't know how to earn except through blood sacrifice. He'd accepted that, if the prayer was successful, he'd be placing himself in the dark god's debt, if ever so slightly, and encouraging his greater attention or even intervention in the future. Hazō was prepared to take that first step on the path, and face whatever consequences came, for the sake of his ambitions.

But if there was one thing he could not do, it was to involve Akane. Akane did not belong in the same thought as Jashin. Akane was precious. Akane was holy. Akane was pure. Hazō's feelings for her were pure. The idea of drawing Jashin's attention to her, or even just using her as a tool to draw Jashin's attention to himself, was disgusting. It was like using one of Jiraiya's haori to clean the latrine.

Huh. Akane was holy. It was a thought that might never have crossed his mind if he hadn't been thinking in a religious register to begin with. It sounded like something Kei would say about Ami, or maybe Ami about Kei, and therefore not exactly a healthy way to think about a relationship. But on the other hand, maybe their attitudes made a little more sense now. This was what it was like to have a person occupy a special, unique position in your heart, to the point where it felt like even thinking certain kinds of thought about them would sully them. No wonder Kei got murderous at the idea that a lowly mortal whose flaws she knew intimately and could list alphabetically on request might try to seduce her immaculate icon.

But this was no time to empathise with his sister's unhealthy worshipping tendencies. He had a dark god to invoke.

Lust was apparently not the way to go. That left… murder. Hazō's murders had not been many. Most of them were old, their emotional impact faded, and the ones that sprang to mind first, the sixty sailors of the Sunset Racer, were another thought he was unwilling to offer up to Jashin.

On the other hand, there were plenty of murders yet to come. In Hazō's darker moments, he'd contemplated plans and weapons capable of wiping out the entirety of Rock, held back only by the abstract concerns of not getting Leaf Whirlpooled or running out of Tama. When he recalled his friends' families being wiped out by the Collapse, it was not hard at all to immerse himself in fantasies of rampant murder, or to dream of the day when his special training finally bore fruit and he was able to end war by the simple expedient of killing anyone who refused to make peace. Besides, what did it matter how many died if his quest ultimately ended death?

Keeping the Blood God at the forefront of his mind, Hazō allowed himself to imagine the various things that he would do to Rock ninja if he could, or when he could, with his fists, or with his dogs, or with his seals, or with seals that—for now—only existed in his imagination. What would appeal to Jashin most? Spines snapping in Hazō's hands? Hearts ripped out and held aloft? His enemies melting into goo or being exploded into tiny shreds of flesh or turned to mincemeat by macerator shrapnel? He still hadn't seen what the banshee seal line, properly applied, could do to a human body, but he added his imaginings to the growing mountain of corpses. The air would burn in their lungs as Elemental Mastery—no, no Akane. But he could easily imagine Candoru or Cantelope tearing out throats, water dragons crushing bones with their enormous jaws, and pangolin claws slashing open the bowels of those too slow to flee.

Hazō's blood boiled. His muscles burned with the need for violence. After long minutes of glorious slaughter, he found himself having to force his mind back to his original goal. Yes, this was enough.

In his mind, he kneeled in supplication.

Lord Jashin, I beseech you. Tell me where to go in order to locate the Otter Summoning Scroll.

Then, he opened his eyes and picked up a handful of d20s. With an effort of will, he forced himself not to crush them. Then, glaring at the Wind Country as if willing it to give up its secrets, he threw the dice down onto the map all at once.

5.
17.
2.
11.
19.
3.
5.
5.
8.
2.

Hazō stared at the map in growing fury. There was no pattern. Nothing. Either Jashin wasn't real or he wasn't listening. This whole damn experiment had been a complete waste of his time.

Still, he might as well be thorough, since he wasn't going to bother with this shit a second time. Hazō rolled the dice again.

7.
4.
4.
19.
17.
11.
11.
18.
10.
5.

Still nothing. What an idiot he'd been, hoping that a lucky streak at dice meant there was a god out there who personally liked him.

7.
18.
5.
17.
18.
6.
11.
19.
8.
14.

Fine. Whatever. He should probably do some more meditation after he cleared up. It might not be good for his judgement if he had scenes of blood and violence hovering in his mind's eye the entire rest of the day.

But as Hazō got up to put out the incense, something curious caught his eye.

He gathered the dice. He used the Iron Nerve to replicate his original position and his throws. He frowned.

The numbers were still meaningless, but wasn't it odd how, all three times, several dice clustered together on Wind's northern border?


You have received 1 - 1 (Brevity) + 1 (Fun-to-write) = 1 XP.

The rest of the plan hasn't happened yet. Since the experiment took less than an hour, you're only getting XP for a small part of the day.


Hazō tried throwing the dice some more, but the results were inconclusive.


What do you do?

Voting closes on Saturday 15th of January, 1 p.m. New York time.