AN: I changed the birth of whole Sound Team: Kin Tsuchi, Zaku Abumi and Dosu Kinuta, with everyone being born much earlier. That, and added slight AU to how chakra actually works. Just clearing up some things, you will understand more as chapters go on
Orochimaru
Orochimaru's golden eyes glimmered with satisfaction as he gazed at the boy lying at his feet, his chest heaving from exertion. The pitiful display of exhaustion pleased him immensely. His vessel, his creation; was adapting well.
The boy's body, while battered, had withstood Orochimaru's rigorous tests. He'd forced the child to run until his legs buckled and goaded him with bursts of killing intent that punished every faltering step. Kentarō's physical endurance; while average, still held potential, but most importantly, his ability to harness chakra was undeniable, the child's reaction to his chakra flaring was enough of a proof.
The experiment's primary objective had been achieved: the soul had fused seamlessly with its new vessel. But it was the unforeseen revelations that had truly made this endeavor worthwhile.
From the moment their chakras had connected during the ritual, Orochimaru had known there was something extraordinary about this soul. Unlike the countless others he had summoned, this one carried no trace of the purity so common in souls that had seen the Pure Land itself.
At first, he assumed the boy was a stray spirit, snatched from the world before it could cross into the afterlife. But after peeling back the layers of Kentarō's mind with the help of an experienced Yamanaka shinobi, Orochimaru uncovered a truth so staggering it left even him breathless.
This soul… came from another world. One devoid of chakra; a realm so alien it twisted even Orochimaru's vast understanding of existence. A realm of humanity bound by limitations he had long since discarded.
An entire world untouched by chakra. Could he infiltrate it? Summon more of its inhabitants to this plane? Bind them, dissect them, unravel their secrets? The thought alone sent a thrill of wicked delight through his cold veins.
He looked down at the boy with a mixture of fascination and craving. Kentarō wasn't a mere child; he was something akin to a summon.
Like his snakes of Ryūchi cave.
Summons were animals that through exposure to chakra gained higher levels of consciousness, and formed contracts with humans of their choosing. They aided their contractors, be it on the battlefield or outside of it, though if you asked Orochimaru, they were still below humans in terms of potential. While wise, there were still beasts, ambitionless, satisfied to just exist as apex predators.
That's why, if this newfound knowledge about human summons would ever leave those walls, Orochimaru would have had the entire world after himself and his new specimen.
It was a pity that he had to kill that Yamanaka Root member. A nuisance, though it would be far easier to appease Danzō than five great nations intertwined into an alliance against him.
Yet questions lingered, gnawing at his insatiable mind.
Why had the boy's chakra even manifested after Pure World Reincarnation? The most dumbed down explanation would be that the body simply possessed an innate chakra system as everyone does, thus after connection with the soul and infusion of spiritual energy, chakra was finally formed.
But that would be discordant with the theory of how chakra came to be utilized.
It is said that when Sage of Six Paths dispersed his own chakra amongst the folk, it was meant to be a linking power that would connect people's mental energies, so all could understand each other's hearts without words.
Such is the concept of Ninshū.
Yes, the body had always possessed that network. The tenketsu also were present.
And yet, this simplified hypothesis accounted not for the prerequisite.
Physical energy was not a passive resource. It did not arise solely from flesh and blood, but from personal existence. From instinct sharpened by fear, from strength born of attachment, from emotion that bound body and self together.
Prior to the Pure World Reincarnation the body simply existed, but not actually belonged to any spirit.
Without a soul properly rooted within it, physical energy existed only as potential, unable to grow without a sense of self to nurture it, without emotions and feelings to feed upon.
His summoning technique, that he spent months polishing, weeks inscribing the room with correct forms of calligraphy, the Pure World Reincarnation had altered the balance.
Obviously.
By forcibly binding a foreign soul to native flesh, the technique imposed identity where there had been none.
From that, physical energy started to take a defined shape and expand upon it.
And only then could it intertwine with spiritual energy to form chakra.
And yet, the boy's soul did not originate from this world. Its spiritual composition had never been shaped by the Sage's dispersal, nor attuned to Ninshū's original purpose. As such, the soul should not naturally interface with the chakra system of the body. Physical energy remained inert. Spiritual energy should remain unaligned.
Was it the act of being reborn in this dimension that had altered it? Or was there something inherent in the cycle of reincarnation itself, even when fractured and incomplete? Each answer seemed to spawn a dozen more questions, a labyrinth of mysteries that both tantalized and tormented him. A labyrinth that required time to break.
'Ahh… time.' That relentless tyrant loomed over him as always. He was still mortal, still vulnerable to its cruelty. And while today's success was monumental, the technique remained crude. In its current form, it was volatile, dangerous. He shuddered, not with fear but excitement; at the thought of what horrors he might inadvertently summon if his calculations were even slightly off.
Someday he might just try it. He chuckled coldly to himself. 'For research purposes of course.'
But the risks were worth it. This experiment was a milestone in his pursuit of the ultimate jutsu: the soul transfer technique. His 'magnum opus.'
A method to shed his mortal shell and step into a new, perfected vessel; a gateway to immortality.
"Dosu," he called, his voice a soft rasp. The boy at his side straightened immediately.
"Introduce him to the others," Orochimaru commanded, gesturing towards Kentarō. "Drill the basic katas into his head. I will be departing shortly, and when I return, I expect him to be useful for more than dissection."
"It will be done, Orochimaru-sama," Dosu replied, bowing low. The boy surely learned the price of failure all too well.
"As of you Kentarõ-kun, I left some materials for you to study in your room. Be sure to inspect them thoroughly."
With that, he began to slither away, his robes rustling against the floor. At the door, he paused and glanced back at Dosu, who was watching Kentarō with an expression both contemplative and calculating.
'Good... very good kukuku.'
"Also," he added, his tone turning icy, making Dosu flinch.
"You and your teammates are forbidden from teaching him anything related to chakra until I say otherwise. We wouldn't want his precious, delicate mind to wither under the strain now would we~?"
And with a chilling laugh, Orochimaru disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind an eerie feeling that seemed to linger long after he was gone.
Dosu
Dosu kept his head bowed until the low cackles and fading footsteps vanished entirely. Only then did he risk lifting his gaze to the figure sprawled on the ground before him. His newest assignment; a slumped, brooding silhouette radiating exhaustion.
At least he seemed the quiet type. If he had to endure another loudmouthed brat, his head might very well implode from the incessant noise.
Still, Dosu's stomach churned. He didn't relish the thought of breaking in another rookie. His team had finally settled into something that he could rely on, something he started to put his trust in. No more dead weight to drag around. No more ghost faces haunting their sleep.
"This is going to be a pain in the ears."
…
"What do you mean fifth member!?" Kin Tsuchi's furious voice exploded in his ear, loud enough to make him wince. She jabbed a finger towards Kentarō, who stood absentmindedly to the side, head turned upwards as if he deemed the ceiling far more interesting than them. "We don't need a fifth member! Did you already forget what happened to the last one!?"
Dosu's jaw tightened. The mention of the last recruit left a bitter taste in his mouth. He noticed Zaku stiffen slightly, his eyes darkening before returning to their usual mask of nonchalance. It made Dosu sigh inside the confines of his mind. The memory of a first kill wasn't something easily erased, no matter how much they pretended otherwise. He too knew that burden all too well.
"Shut up," Dosu growled, shoving her face back with his palm, more to preserve his own sanity than anything else. "It's Orochimaru-sama's will. You know what that means."
Kin glared at him, muttering something under her breath, but relented with a frustrated huff.
Dosu sighed internally. He understood her anger, even shared it to a degree. How many faces had come and gone, each one disappearing as if they'd never existed at all? It had been different since "Team Dosu" had solidified three months ago. Trust was fragile, hard-won, and now it teetered on the brink once again.
But this was not up for debate. Orochimaru's commands weren't merely orders; they were a way to ensure their very survival. Disobedience wasn't an option, and failure was met with severe punishment.
Dosu's fingers instinctively twitched toward the bandages covering his arm, hiding the grotesque evidence of one such punishment. He could still feel the phantom pain: the searing bites, the rotting flesh peeling from his bones. A shiver crawled up his spine.
'No one can mess around with a Sannin,' Dosu thought grimly. 'Not even this new twink.'
"So… how much do you know about… well, anything? How is it outside now?"
Benjibaru, the youngest among them, spoke first. The blond-haired boy tilted his head curiously, his bright eyes contrasting sharply with the tension in the room.
Kentarō blinked. "Umm… nothing?" he said, smiling.
…
…
The silence that followed was deafening.
"…Aw shit," Zaku muttered, voicing what they all thought.
Dosu pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't signed up for this. Did that brat spend his entire life under a rock?
It was all that Dosu could take before his shoulders slumped in defeat. He made a mental note to teach him about surface acting, as it was pitiful how out of place that caricature of a smile felt.
…
By the thirteenth time he send the newbie face-first into the dirt, Dosu's patience started to wear dangerously thin.
"Can you at least pretend you're trying?" he growled, his voice harsh through the bandages muffling his mouth.
The so-called "Deadeyes," as Kin Tsuchi had so eloquently dubbed him, dragged himself up with exaggerated sighs and groans. The cacophony was enough to make Dosu's ears twitch in irritation.
"I am trying," the boy replied, his frown almost 'convincing'.
It would work on civilians at best.
Dosu felt the vein on his forehead throb with anger. He had demonstrated the basic katas countless times, even resorting to having each team member guide the newbie in pairs. It wasn't a matter of memory; Kentarō clearly understood how to execute the movements. But each attempt was a half-hearted, sloppy mess, devoid of focus or effort.
It was infuriating. A blatant mockery of everything Dosu had fought, bled, and clawed for in this hellhole.
'If he wants to waste his potential, fine,' Dosu thought darkly. 'But not while our lives are at stake. Not while Orochimaru-sama depends on us.'
"And not while those damn books are at stake," he muttered under his breath.
"I was four when I had my first kill," Dosu snapped, his chakra flaring as his frustration boiled over. "What's your excuse? You think Orochimaru-sama will tolerate this… performance?"
Kentarō's only response was a single, unimpressed eyebrow raise.
"You're an ungrateful, edgy little bastard, aren't you?" Dosu hissed, taking a step closer. "Do you even realize how many people would kill for this opportunity? For the chance to grow stronger?"
A scowl darkened Kentarō's face. "You yap as if I asked for this."
Oh? Dosu's eyes narrowed, his chakra stirring as he spoke again, this time with a mocking undertone. His spiritual energy woven into the voice, bending the sound waves just enough to press against the newbie's mind completely undetected.
"Let me guess. You were living in some cozy little hideaway with your parents, safe and sheltered, until war came knocking. They took you from your home because you were weak. The same weakness you still refuse to face."
Kentarō's jaw tightened. "I don't need to be lectured by some brat whose pubic hair hasn't even started growing." he growled in response.
A grin tugged at Dosu's lips beneath the bandages. Gotcha.
"You think you're special?" Dosu sneered, his chakra-laced words digging deeper. "You're just as unlucky as the rest of us. Keep this up, and you'll die just like the others. Maybe then you'll finally see your precious parents again."
The rage that exploded in Kentarō's eyes was palpable. Without hesitation, the shithead lunged, aiming a near-perfect jab straight at Dosu's eye. It was fast and precise enough that it might have taken his eye if not for his reflexes.
Viper Style. It emphasized speed and precision over brute strength, targeting pressure points to cripple an opponent before they could retaliate. Kentarō's technique was raw and unrefined, but the foundation was there.
Dosu's foot lashed out, kicking the idiot in the gut and sending him stumbling back. He leapt away, putting space between them. 'Now, let the fools have their turn.'
"Kin," Dosu called while jumping backwards, a sharp edge to his voice. "He's yours."
The girl's feral grin was all the response he got before she charged forward, meeting Kentarō in a vicious bout of pure and lethal taijutsu.
...
In just a few exchanges, it became obvious who held the upper hand. Kin, while the weakest among them in taijutsu, her experience still outshined Kentarō's. Every strike he threw was deflected with ease, while her blows landed again and again, leaving him battered and bruised.
As the fight progressed, her arrogance began to swell. Each successful strike widened the smirk on her face, her movements becoming more careless and her guard weaker; a fatal flaw that Dosu had anticipated from the start.
Meanwhile, the fire in Kentarō's eyes dimmed, though not from the impending feeling of defeat as one might have expected. The wild rage melted away, replaced by a cold, calculating sharpness. Kin didn't notice the shift; she was too focused on basking in her apparent superiority. But Dosu saw it, how Kentarō's gaze began tracking each movement, analyzing and learning.
When Kin aimed a high kick at his head, her overconfidence finally betrayed her. Kentarō raised his arm, deflecting the blow with precision he hadn't shown earlier. Before she could pull back, his hand slithered around her leg, coiling tightly like a snake trapping its prey.
Without hesitation, he drove the tip of his foot into her groin, a strike as ruthless as it was effective.
Kin crumpled, gasping in pain as she fell to her knees. She took a few shallow breaths, before her wide, furious eyes locked onto Kentarō.
"You piece of shit…" she hissed, launching herself at him with unbridled fury. This time, her punches were unrelenting, landing cleanly. One cracked against his head, and the second, aimed at the groin, finished the job.
Kentarō collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Dosu couldn't help but snort at the spectacle.
Still, for all the chaos, the brief flicker of satisfaction on Kentarō's face as he landed that blow on Kin, made the whole ordeal worthwhile.
'Now, that was a real smile.'
Himself
As soon as the cell door slammed shut, he allowed the body to collapse, falling face-first onto the thin, musty pillow. The cool fabric pressed against the skin, soothing the bruises and the raw ache left by the day's efforts. A welcome chill crept through the limbs, numbing the persistent throbbing and silencing the phantom twinges of exertion.
A loud sigh filled the room, as exhaustion ebbed and gave way to reflection. Today have been... different.
It had been a day of effort, more so than he would put in recent years combined.
Or at least he thought so. Memories were unreliable since he got here just like Orochimaru said; slipping like sand through fingers. Whenever he tried to grasp onto a particular feeling; a moment of pride, a sense of accomplishment that accompanied specific memory, anything positive; there was only an ever expanding feeling of void.
What seemed to remain clearer though, were only vast feelings of disappointment accompanied by somewhat distinguishable memories of failure.
Still, it wasn't the loss of memories that frightened him most. It was the realization of having forgotten. The dawning horror when he reached for something in his mind and found nothing but a cold, suffocating emptiness. And soon it will be more than just memories. He would lose himself, piece by piece.
That made today's events stand out all the more starkly. For once, he made something he could latch onto, a clear feeling that made his chest tickle. It felt hundredfold more fulfilling than the scarce days he had worked out.
That satisfaction was what unnerved him most. He couldn't ignore the sweetness of it, the faint sense of triumph that lingered despite himself.
Was he losing himself after all? Each effort he put into anything seemed to cast a bright glimmer of hope, like one from a lighthouse, tempting him with safety as he drifted towards it, while his old memories felt like chunks of once beautiful ship, left abandoned in the dark sea of evanescence.
Each effort felt like a shake of hand with the devil himself. A snake-looking one. Was it his fate, to fall for this forbidden-fruit-like body? To try and… fail again?
It made him wonder, how long will he last like that, before actually forgetting himself? Before becoming someone else, simply because it's easier to forget and move on? Maybe it would be better to give up now? Or end it already, once for all.
…
"..Fuck me sideways, that's just pathetic." the voice rasped. The body shifted, or at least tried to, only for a sharp pain to flare through the ribs, making the attempt futile.
Another groan, another involuntary reaction from a frame that felt more borrowed than owned.
And yet, even through the haze of discomfort and self-loathing, that ember of satisfaction refused to extinguish. The memory of landing a hit, however cheap or petty, burned too brightly to ignore.
Tomorrow, the cycle would begin anew. More pain, more bruises. More effort would be demanded, and more fragments of self, if there were any left; might slip away and replaced. But for now, he let the confusing thoughts fade, retreating into the dark recesses of mind that still belonged to him.
He barely glanced at the bunch of scrolls and books before his vision started to become blurry.
'...Might as well skim through them tomorrow...'
Even as he fell asleep, his thoughts drifted through the shadowy parts of his mindscape. He couldn't help but feel the bright glow of today's accomplishments burn at the back of his mind.