Fate Wheel | Naruto

Prologue

"Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step." – Martin Luther King Jr.

───※ ·❆· ※───

SASORI

There was many things the red-headed Sand Shinobi hated- no, despised, as hate seemed too strident. He despised when the wind blew his hood off and messed up his hair, he despised when tiny particles of food slithered between his teeth whenever he'd eat, but the thing he despised the most was the sound of his partner talking.

Filters did not exist in his dictionary. Words spurred out of his mouth faster than the string of insults he'd recall his grandmother throwing at him whenever he meddled with deadly poisons. He didn't think before he spoke and stated exactly what was on that blasphemous mind of his. He was repulsive, rude, a huge slob, unqualified to make his bed properly, burns the kitchen when he cooks, snores loudly when he sleeps, makes sexual remarks about attractive passerby's regardless of their gender... or age and most importantly, he refused to leave the red-head alone.

And for some, undetermined reason, the red-head didn't leave his partner. He could just dump his ass off at a local inn and leave him to harass a moping woman who had only wanted to drink her sorrows away peacefully, and yet... he found himself capering from tree to tree, inn to inn, hot spring to hot spring and even sailing on a two-person rowing boat with his partner yapping about nonsense he barely paid any attention to.

"Oi— puppet dick, are you even listening to me?"

Sasori sighed, shutting his tired eyes as the wind, once again, ruined his hair. Oh how he yearned for a day of peace and quiet, instead he got this blithering fool right next to him.

"No, I find my pitiful, internal, monologue more interesting than your voice Hidan." Sasori deadpanned, swiftly ducking his head to avoid being whacked in the face with a branch. The branch then whacked the former Jashinist dead straight on the forehead.

"Ow! That fucking hurt you piece of shit- can you even shit? Would your shit be plastic or something because you're a damn puppet—"

"I'm not a puppet anymore, just like how your Lord Gashin or whatever disowned you after our deaths. We are renewed." He elaborated for the millionth time, it appeared that not only was Hidan a fool with the mouth of a sailor, he seemed to have inherited a brain of a fish as well.

Goosebumps appeared on his porcelain skin, recalling that fateful night as if it was yesterday. It was destiny that made Sasori stumble upon a masochist with a maniac grin on his face as he ruthlessly stabbed himself with his scythe— his victim withering in a puddle of her own blood. He didn't know whether he should be concerned, not for the dead woman, but the purple guy giggling at the gaping wounds on his chest, or if he should walk away and pretend nothing had happened.

Later on, he wished that he'd chosen the latter option. It just so happened that the woman he killed, was the daughter of a Daimyo and there was already twenty to thirty Shinobi cornering them— leaving no room to escape.

It was just his luck that beforehand, Sasori had a run-in with bounty hunters who had roughed him up quite a bit.

As he recalled the events of his death, it all unleashed like an adrenaline rush. The flow of the battle was similar to an explosion that he could barely keep up with. Ironically, it also happened to be a shit-ton of paper bombs that dismantled his prosthetic limbs, transformed his neck into a twisted, one-eighty angle and plummeted his body six feet below the earth where the light was scarce and the darkness enveloped him. Oddly enough, death was nothing he had ever expected. A couple of scenarios included him enjoying a Sake as the flames of hell swallowed him up whole or him spending an eternity reliving the horrors of his crimes and being inflicted with the pain he bellowed. Killing people wasn't his proudest moments, especially if they did nothing to spark even an ounce of hatred within him.