Questionable Loyalty

A/N: Well, here it is, the next chapter.



CHAPTER 58



Travelling to Konoha was excruciatingly slow for him. Yes, the puppet bodies moved fast, often faster than a normal Ninja did, but the machine he was plugged into seemed painfully slow to him. No matter how fast the puppets travelled, all their movement was limited by the range at which he could broadcast his commands to them, and that was limited by his own speed.



His frustration grew quickly in the fertile ground that his worry and fear for Kakashi provided. All kinds of scenarios went through his head, each more terrible than the last. The thought that he could do nothing while some nameless and faceless ANBU hurt his lover was crippling. And he knew that they would hurt his lover, as much as they could, because the Ninja system did not forgive traitors, no matter their motives.



This drove him crazy and by the time he finally reached Konoha, he was full with blinding desperation and a need to get to his Kakashi, to make sure that he was safe. If, in the mean time, he got a hold on the Jinchuuriki, or at least his whereabouts, he’d consider it a bonus. It occurred to him, while he was sending in the puppets through the shield around Konoha, that before he met Kakashi, all he cared about was getting the Jinchuurikis… and now all he truly cared about was his lover – his safety, his happiness… His priorities had changed and he hadn’t even noticed when that happened.



He watched them, all those men and women, and children, run and scream at the sight of his sheer power, he watched them, through six different pairs of eyes, as they tried to hide, get as far away from him as possible while buildings were torn apart and debree fell all around them. He watched them and he found them, grabbed them and asked them two questions:



“Where is Kakashi? Where is Uzumaki Naruto?”



All of them stubbornly refused to answer. His fear for his lover and the memory of his own abuse at the hands of Konoha agents hardened his heart and he felt no remorse as he ripped their minds to shreds as he searched for the information he wanted. If anything, he felt satisfaction as he consumed their souls, the same madness gripping him like the day Yahiko died. This wasn’t going to happen to Kakashi. He wasn’t going to allow it.



At the corner of Yahiko’s eye he noticed a movement behind a pile of rubber, a hooded and masked figure trying to crawl away from him, his leg shattered in several places and his left arm missing, torn away by the latest explosion, the jagged stump bleeding profusely. The ANBU noticed that he saw him and with a cry tried to move faster, his mask slipping away, revealing a face twisted in abject terror. He was on top of him faster than a man could blink, grabbing him by the throat and narrowing his eyes down at him.



Recognition lit up the man’s face as he stared up at Yahiko’s face, his numb lips forming Nagato’s name. This surprised him, but also gave him hope. This man could know where Kakashi was.



“Where is he?” he asked calmly. “Where is Kakashi?”



The man suddenly laughed, madness creeping in his eyes:



“What makes you think he’s still alive?” the man challenged.



Without a word he forced his way in into his mind, crashing through whatever mental defenses he had and sifted through his thoughts and memories. He found overwhelming jealousy of a man he considered to be inferior to him and yet who was wildly appreciated by the entire village, jealousy that sublimated into hate for what he considered to be unnatural relationships, compounded by his own desire for him, semi-realised and overwhelmingly strong at the same time.



He saw, through the man’s eyes, watching the incriminating video in the Hokage’s office, felt his arousal at the scenes and the blinding hate he felt at the same time, both at Kakashi and at himself.



He saw Kakashi, tied to a chair, helpless and defenseless, yet still so defiant as this man and his cronies broke his bones and strung him up from the ceiling to whip him within an inch of his life. He saw as this vile man forced himself on his lover, heard through his ears his cries of pain, of fear, his desperate pleas for them to stop hurting him. And, worst of all, he heard Kakashi beg him, Nagato, to come and save him, but no one came, no matter how much he begged and pleaded. They hurt him, over and over, and eventually Kakashi fell silent, his single remaining eye emptying out of emotion as they violated his body.



He was hard when he emerged from the man’s mind and it filled him with sheer revulsion. Mind-melding, especially on such a deep level, forced him live through his target experiences as if they were his own. And this bastard had enjoyed greatly what he had done to Kakashi. He paused, frozen with sheer shock at the information that had flooded his mind, all the noises around him fading out and leaving him in perfect silence. He stared numbly down at the bastard and to his even bigger revulsion he felt the man’s answering erection under his own.



The world returned – the screaming, the roar of the fires and the warriors quickly approaching his position, ready to recklessly throw themselves against his power. Nagato let go of the man’s throat and grabbed his head with both of his hands, focusing all of his power on him, all of his rage and pain and fear and revulsion, all of his hate, all the hurt that he had accumulated through the years of exile and homelessness and hunger and abuse, all the agony he felt at the sight of his lover hurt in such a terrible way. He compacted all of that into a single, searing thought and forced it into his mind, filling every crevice with it, wiping out all other thought and personality and memory to make room for this pain.



When he finally withdrew, the man was dead, blood pouring from his eyes, nose, ears and mouth, his body limp under him. Nagato’s own erection mercifully began to fade. He wanted to cry.



He was still reeling from the information he absorbed from the now dead ANBU, from the torture and rape he was forced to relive through the eyes of the abuser. If he had anything in his stomach he would’ve thrown up. Still, there were two relatively good things he discovered from the man – Kakashi, at least according to his latest memories, was still alive and he knew where to find him. It wasn’t enough to make him feel relieved, but it was a start. He would find Kakashi, he would take him away from that place and he would take care of him, for as long as he had to. Nothing else mattered. Absently he felt information about Naruto’s whereabouts trickle in his mind, ripped away from a dark-haired young woman, who was now laying dead in the feet of another of his puppets, her soul consumed by his overwhelming hunger and bloodlust.



They all had to pay for this violation, for the destruction of his village, for all who had died at the hands of the soldiers who had come there to fight their little wars. He had to make them feel the same agony he felt every single waking and sleeping moment of his life, his grief, his loss, he had to make them go through the same desolate despair. He had to make them pay for what they had done to Kakashi, whose biggest dream was to set them free from the oppression of the system that had suffocated them and exploited them for years, and whom they had condemned for trying to help them.



And then he felt her, the Hokage, standing proud at the top of her Tower, her power protecting and healing her subjects, still so defiant and relentless in her determination to not give into his might.



Jiraiya’s partner, the one who had proposed, so many years ago, to just leave them where they had found them. Her indifference had been far more terrifying than Orochimaru’s proposal to kill them in order to put them out of their misery. At least he had cared, in his own twisted way, he had noticed them. She had been ready, like so many others, to just look the other way and walk away, as if they didn’t exist, as if she wasn’t responsible for what was done to them and their people.



He wasn’t going to give her the chance to do so again.



Seconds later he landed on the roof of the Hokage tower, facing the Hokage herself, a pale, golden-haired woman, her face tired enough to hint at her real age, even if her eyes glowed with fierce determination. He felt satisfaction when she recognized Yahiko’s face, even if he would’ve felt even more pleased if he could truly stand face to face to her. Still, perhaps it was fitting that she was facing one of Konoha’s numerous victims, rather than someone who still lived, relatively speaking.



“You…” she whispered.



“Yes. We haven’t seen in a long time. I am surprised that you actually recognized me.”



“We all thought that you were dead.” She answered, reigning in her shock. “I won’t give you Naruto.”



Nagato shrugged.



“I know where he is. I will deal with him, once I am done with Konoha and take Kakashi to a safe place.”



She bared her teeth at the mention of Kakashi.



“You can’t have either of them.”



“And how are you going to stop me, exactly, Hokage-sama?” he said mockingly. “I know where he is too, and I will get him, once I am done here. You have nothing to offer me in exchange for allowing this pathetic village continue to exist at the expense of countless others.”



“If you didn’t want to negotiate, then why are you here?” she asked him.



A small, pitiless smile tugged at the corners of his pierced lips.



“I wanted to say this to you face to face, Hokage-sama: I want you to feel the pain that you, your people, have caused to all who stood in your path, all you considered vermin, unworthy of a second glance. I want you, and this whole village alongside you, to experience their loss and grief and pain. I want it to consume you, to seep into every fiber of your very being, until it is the only thing you can think of.”



He slowly began to turn away as he talked, gathering the power to jump off the Tower and levitate above the village.



“We should’ve killed you as Orochimaru suggested!.” Tsunade growled.



“Unfortunately, Tsunade-sama, we all have to live with our mistakes.” He remarked before he flew into the air, leaving the woman to scream after him far below.



At this height, Konoha, despite its size, looked small. It reminded him of the miniature scale model of a town he had seen once in a dollhouse in Ame, all those years ago, before the war, before his parents died, before he had to sell his fragile body to the soldiers who often threw him away without even giving him the stale piece of bread he asked for his services. Konoha looked small, and the panicked people were even tinier, reminding him of a toppled over ant-hill, running frantically up and down, bumping against each other, tripping and falling down, their screams faint at this distance. He looked at them and felt no remorse, no regret as he focused all of his power on them, all of them.



“SHINRA TENSEI!”



The sheer force of his Jutsu blasted through the buildings and streets, through the fragile little bodies of the humans trying to scamper away, rending stone and flesh and bone to pieces.



Where Konoha once stood, now there was only rubble and blood.



Slowly, he allowed himself to float back to the ground, exhaustion seeping in his bones, as it always happened when he used that Jutsu. He felt emptied out of emotion, of his previous anger and hatred, as if they had left him along with his power. Only the need to find Kakashi remained.



The scraping of stone against wood drew his attention and he turned away to see that someone was digging himself out of the rubble, pushing pieces of bricks away and slowly emerging. It was a man, his faintly recognizable Chuunin uniform torn in several places, blood oozing from cuts and bruises, his entire form covered in fine dust, his hair caught in a tight, high ponytail. He crawled out on all fours, obviously still dizzy and confused and slowly tried to get up, holding onto a piece of metal sticking out from the rubble.



Nagato, through Yahiko’s eyes, watched him quietly, noticing that he looked faintly familiar. When the man finally got back to his feet and turned to face him, he recognized his features, despite the layer of dust covering them. It was Iruka, the Chuunin Kakashi had seduced in order to get to Naruto’s medical data.



Apparently the younger man recognized his face too, because he stared at him in mute shock, slowly changing into rage.



“You!” he growled and pointed at him. “You did this!”



Nagato still stared at him, still too surprised at having bumped into this person, considering all the destruction he had just caused.



Iruka paused and looked around, taking in the ruins that were left from the once proud village and a sob escaped from his throat before he turned to look at Nagato again:



“How could you do this?”



“How could you stand back and do nothing while your lover was tortured into insanity?” Nagato fired back.



Something snapped into those chocolate eyes and the Chuunin charged him with a roar, a Kunai clutched into his right hand.



It was easy, almost too easy to use his power and throw him away, far enough and hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs when he crashed into the remainders of a wall, then slowly slumped down, dazed and confused.



Nagato approached him slowly, looking down at him dispassionately.



“Actually, that would be my lover, not yours.” He slowly intoned. “Once, I told him, I promised him, and myself, that I would kill you if you ever hurt him. I always keep my promises.”