Greatly influenced by ideas found in the Deadpool comic books.
Note: This one-shot is written in a straaaange ass style,
with the italicized portions of text referencing the ideas presented in
the paragraph(s) above it.
Note, The Second Coming: Thinking of discontinuing
EDBB and starting up a new projects. Fans, yay or nay?
Greatness
Is A Four Letter Word
(Shinobi have a certain duty to be awesome)
Greatness...It is a distinctive word. It is a distinguishing word. Two
syllables that roll off the tongue with practiced ease and an almost fanatical
fervor. Great. Ness. A word that defines men. A word that sets them apart and
places them on pedestals high above all others.
Uchiha Itachi never knew the price he’d have to pay for power. Never
imagined the things he’d find in the dark, dank recesses of the world. The
scrolls told him he would have to kill his best friend to achieve ‘ultimate
power’, neither giving it a name of description, only citing that fact that
‘familiar blood must be split’
The problem was, Itachi did not know who he cared about the most in his
family. He loved them all so much.
Glimmering things, they are. Those who are great are like suns. Look
directly at them when you do not share their dreams and burn.
Orochimaru’s life was never easy. Was never meant to be easy. From
the cradle, he was a messiah; the only member of his clan in a thousand years
to bear the Mark of the Serpent, the mark of Manda; and to the grave, he would
be the most beautiful of monsters – feared by those who did not understand why
the ‘genius’ of the Kusunagi clan was so infatuated with power and ways to
achieve it.
Every year, he dies a little more. Every month, his body; his blood;
demands a little more. Every minute of every hour of every day, Orochimaru is
reminded that his bloodline is that of a common poison taster, and that the
poison running through his veins will kill him.
Greatness. It is a word that drives men to their graves.
What are the criteria for “greatness”? What sets apart the few
men and women who achieve this lofty title from those who long after it;
sighing as they look off into the distant sunset with a forlorn gleam in their
eyes?
When Lee comes home from training, he crawls to bed a broken, paralyzed thing;
muscles and ligaments screaming in agony from the sheer abuse he puts himself
through daily.
Even though nothing else can move, Lee always goes to bed with a
smile on his face.
What must a man do to be seen as “great” in the eyes of history? What sets
“great” men apart from those who sit on the sidelines and watch the events that
make them unfold?
In training field Nine, Hyuuga Neji sits beneath the shade of a tree and
watches. Rock Lee has been training for hours and hasn’t stopped
Who is the judge of “greatness”? Who truly deserves the title?
Tsunade watches the smoke from the fires twist and tangle and intertwine
above the blaze. Dan is somewhere in there, she thinks; watching other Med-nin
pick bodies from the piles littered on the battlefield and carry them over to
be dropped in their massive, burning graves.
Even though it's raining, the fires keep burning.
Is it the man like the shinobi? The stupid kid with a dream who
dedicates his life into honing his killing method into an artform? ...The jaded,
scarred A.N.B.U. member who puts the success of the mission above all else? ...The
fresh-from-the-academy Genin who follows orders, no matter what they are,
knowing at times in his heart that they are not right but that his
opinion does not matter?
“Father?”, a young Hatake Kakashi asks.
”…Yes, Kakashi?”
“Why do people call you the broken fang?”
His father sighs. “Because the teeth of dogs are better served biting at
throats, not dragging good friends out of foxholes.”
Or is it the commander? The Kage who rules over his village like the
emperor rules over his country, designating who dies and lives, who prospers
and fails? ...Who accepts which missions his shinobi undertake, for ill or for
gold? ...Who writes the orders that cut the strings of fate prematurely and
juggles the lives of his subordinates, playing his soldiers like chess pieces?
He stands upon the brink of annihilation, his child bundled in his arms
and the fires of a thousand hells smiling down on him in all of its malefic
glory. The city stands, burning but in tact, and for this, he is grateful.
“You look so defiant, Human.”
The Yondaime smiles
"Only because, even though you look so damn pleased with yourself,
Demon; I'm about to make you wish my son was never born.”
The enlisted man does not know what the future brings. He wakes blind to
the fact that he does not control his life and sleeps locked arm in arm with
death; he himself deaf to the fact that the screams he hears in his dreams have
faces and names and lives. No shinobi knows the demons he
will face when he wakes, but he is expected to face them.
Cold sweats. Screams. Dying. Uchiha Sasuke wakes at night screaming, his
eyes flaring red with the Sharingan as the image of his brother cleaning his
katana – meticulous, savage, emotionless – causes his every nerve to scream out
in agony.
In the darkness, beneath the earth and surrounded by the stone walls of
the Sound Village, Orochimaru frowns. He hears quiet, broken sobbing and thinks
less of of his apprentice with every passing day.
Kimimaro never cried.
The grunt does not control his own fate. He is controlled by it and
circumstance.
When Naruto beat him to the ground was the exact instance Hyuuga Neji
stopped believing in ‘fate’. When his half-cousin Hanabi does the same during
the Jounin exam the age of twelve is when he begins to believe in ‘irony’.
…And yet he pushes onwards without question. He reaches for the sky and
reaches for the prize that Icarus sacrificed everything for. For
Greatness. For Glory. For a place in History. The foot soldier is driven by the
fear of being forgotten. Is driven by self-greed and wanderlust. He is enslaved
by pride and lover only to the field of battle, the machine of war, and the
face of the woman who launched a thousand ships.
Naruto enters the room and is immediately hit by the smell. Blood is
everywhere. Gaara is less than a body, but more than a corpse. He stands at his
side and watches his insides reknit as Sand Shinobi stream past him and after
the Akatsuki member who did this to him.
When Gaara has enough meat on him to talk, Naruto smiles and strikes up
a conversation. It goes on as follows.
"Wanna hear a joke, Gaara-kun?"
"...Whatever."
"Alright, here goes. When does a ninja stop being a ninja?"
"S'easy, you twatface. When they die."
"Ha, s'true...Now, when does a demon stop being a ninja if demons
can never die?"
"...You’ra blonde-haired bastard, y’know that?”
The General is the man who courts Helena. Who walks in the shadow of
Death and spits at her feet. The General knows the goal intimately and works
not against it, but in conjunction with it. He knows that the goal is
everything, and he is addicted to this knowledge. No one will take that away
from him
In the quiet nothing of the laboratory, bodies writhe and spasm in
agony; some alive, some dying, some dead but still moving. Kabuto treats each
limb as though it were his own. As if he were maimed, blind, and dumb. The
secret-truth he is looking for is somewhere inside. Is somewhere deep, past the
warmth and wet and musculature. He needs the secret. He lives for nothing more
than finding it that Orochimaru is so desperately searching for.
Yakushi Kabuto thinks in life signs and flashing neon screens. The
lights are as cold as Orochimaru's skin and just as comforting.
The General could not survive without the soldier. There would be
no use for the soldier without the clashing ideals of Generals. Their relation
is symbiotic, and each could not exist without the other.
They are inextricably tied. The soldier flies blind. The general flies
with wax wings.
So who, then, is the greater man?
Hidan and Kisame know their roles in the Akatsuki. They are not leaders.
They do not make decisions. Their partners would no sooner kill them than
strike up a decent conversation. They are weapons, whether it is because of
their mastery of weapons or their servile nature.
But it is no secret truth that both Itachi and Kakuzu wouldn't be half
as effective without them.
Contrary to the spin of history, great men are not worshipped in their
lifetimes. They are feared. They are despised. Great men are led by dreams. Are,
in and of themselves, dreamers. They are led by stars. Their glory is that they
will go to any length to reach their goals, and their ultimate failing is that,
by nature, great men must be false.
When they ask him who is the boy’s father, what they are to do with him
and why he looks so much like him, Sarutobi smiles uncomfortably and
says: ‘He’s an orphan, Arashi is dead, and the Kyuubi is gone. What more do you
vultures want?”
Heroes do not suffer the common failure of Generals. Do not share in
their falsehoods. The common man revels in the life he gains on the
battlefield. On the comrades he saves from death and in turn, is saved by in
his time of need. The Hero; the grunt; deals in absolutes and maxims, and he
lives and speaks the language of laughter. The language of truth. Screams.
Tears. Blood and sweat spilled at will.
In the aftermath of the Sound-Sand invasion, Sarutobi Asuma walks
through the ruins of what once was Konoha’s northern district and tries his
best to help in the rebuilding. An extra pair of hands here, an extra cigarette
or friendly joke tossed over there. The faces he sees are drawn. Morbid.
Pained. Everyone mourns the passing of the Shodaime, and it shows.
Asuma, as a shinobi, must never bask in the memory of his predecessors. As
a son, he has a duty to try to live up to his father’s name.
Asuma is very trying.
The General cannot portray this image. He can only portray one
image. He cannot revel in the duality of the common man. He must assassinate
his hero. He must strangulate his true feelings into oblivion. The General must
destroy his ego and raise the phoenix of his dream from its ashes. They chase
the castles they see in the sky and step on the dreams of their underlings to
get there.
It is this duality of self; this double-handedness in life, that makes
the enlisted man distrust the General.
Shikamaru always finds himself arguing. Arguing with himself. Arguing
with Tsunade. Arguing with his friends. Always arguing with everyone because
they do not have the answers he looks for.
Because they tell him so many different things. Obey your orders.
Question your orders. Try to find ways to live around your orders. Live with
your orders and hope they don't get you killed.
The only person Shikamaru has never argued with is Naruto. He finds it
slightly ironic that the blonde wants to Hokage.
Who then, is the greater man?
History is built on the bones of the enlisted man. He is the thimble and
the thread that is used to weave the tapestry of fate together. He is the
nameless soldier that leads his company to greatness. Until fate decides to
immortalize him, the enlisted man will never be remembered in history books
unless his name is engraved on a centopath.
Tobi watches the proceedings very, very carefully. The Akatsuki do not
speak with words, they speak with gestures. The room they stand in is oval.
Large and spacious. Lit only by candles. He cannot hear what transpires between
them, but, he knows.
Akatsuki is a house without doors.
History is an editor of the only book that matters. "Great"
men are those who survive the first draft.
Hinata begins the sparring match with Sakura, fists and legs
interweaving in a maelstrom of flesh that leaves them battered, bruised and
bleeding when it passes. Though Sakura beats Hinata, there are no hard
feelings.
As they lay in the grass side by side, Sakura asks: "Hinata, why do
you push yourself so hard?"
Hinata seems to contemplate the question for a moment, but does not
answer her. As the sun begins to set, they spar again (this time Hinata winning
out over Sakura) and when Sakura turns to leave -- Hinata beginning to practice
her Kata by herself -- Hinata answers her:
"Because I want to be noticed, and I don't want to cry to have get
attention."
She doesn't know why, but Hinata's word cut Sakura very, very deep.
Who is the greater man? The general or the enlisted man? Though one can
not live without the other, they fight for vastly different things. For vastly
different Greatness. One fights for country. For life. For sanity. For self.
The other fights for dreams. For castles. For stars. For everything he
believes in. Where the enlisted man speaks the language of battle and
bloodlust, the General is the only man who can interpret it.
Are there great men?
Are there heroes?
Tsunade doesn't know. Her own opinion on the matter is that there are no
truly “great” men.
Never were
Just well intentioned fools.
- Finis