InuYasha Fan Fiction / Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ AGainst All Odds ❯ Opening thoughts ( Chapter 1 )
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: kittyb78 
Just some opening thoughts about this fic.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction / Naruto Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Romance | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 01.15.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.9K | Visits: 1.2K | Status: Work In Progress
Just some opening thoughts about this fic.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction / Naruto Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Romance | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 01.15.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.9K | Visits: 1.2K | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or Inuyasha, nor any of their affiliated characters. They respectively belong to Masashi Kishimoto and Rumiko Takahashi. Full credit for these wonderful characters and worlds, belong to them! I am however using Naruto, Sakura, Bankotsu, and Kagome {along with various others} for my own twisted enjoyment. The plot line of this story and all of its little twists however, I do take full credit for!
--
Summary:
Kagome and Bankotsu find themselves trapped in a completely different dimension and are forced to become allies in order to survive. Eventually they end up with even newer and much stranger allies. But, will they really be able to carve out new lives for themselves in this strange new world, and perhaps maybe even find love along the way? Read to find out!
--
A/N: Okay so a new year has begun, and I have decided that this year I’m going to ‘broaden my horizons’ by doing more crossover fics. This will be the first.
I’m fairly new to the Naruto fandom of writing, so kindly bear with me while I slowly familiarize myself with this exciting new universe- Thank you in advance for your patience! XD
Key
‘thoughts’
“speaking”
[Inner beast speaking]
~random thoughts~
--
All my life I’ve been misunderstood. I’ve been labeled as troublesome and unfeeling. It’s even been said that I have no heart.
They don’t understand, they could never even begin to fathom the kinds of hell I had to endure.
I spent my entire childhood, well… what little of one that I was allowed, in isolation. Watching all the other kids be happy and playing together, even the lanky and somewhat clumsy ones. I on the other hand, was constantly shunned, and left to entertain myself.
I’ve always been branded a monster. An outcast.
No one could see my suffering, or my increasingly overwhelming loneliness. I hid it too well I guess.
They all had families or at the very least friends. Me? All I had was the darkness to console and comfort me. I didn’t have a mother to hold and nurture me, nor to mend my wounds, as I had seen so many other children have.
I didn’t even have a father to discipline me, or teach me how to become a man. Everything I knew about fighting had been learned the hard way, through numerous brutal beatings at the hands of the kids that I so desperately longed to fit in with.
Harsh, cruel, kids who never even tried to befriend me. They only laughed as their feet kicked me hard, repeatedly leaving nasty sore spots and sometimes cuts all over my young barely clothed four year old body, as they said mean things to me.
“Nobody wants you here.” One said, while delivering a series of kicks to my ribs.
“Stay out of our village, you little freak.” Another spat at me, while kicking me in my back, causing me to wince as unwanted moisture filled my eyes. I refused to let my tears fall though.
“Go bother somebody who actually wants you around.” Yet another sneered, while kicking me in my legs.
I’d learned early on to curl into a tight ball, trying to protect my stomach, and only ended up kicked in the back and ribs even harder in retaliation. I’d grit my teeth against the pain and wait for them to finish. I refused to every cry in front of them. They didn’t deserve to see me anymore vulnerable then they already did.
It just went on and on for many years. I lost track of time, only focused on surviving the beatings and struggled to stay alive, day by day.
Over the years, I spent many nights shivering under a single ratty blanket in the corner of one of the abandoned huts, as the chilly bitter cold winds invaded my sanctuary through the various holes of the slowly rotting wooden walls. It wasn’t much, but at least most of the time I stayed semi dry.
During the rainy seasons, I’d look for a place with the least amount of holes and curl up under the driest patch of roof and floor that I could find. I had to steal some material like blankets and rip them up trying to plug the holes from the wind in the winters. It didn’t always work, but I had to try something, right?
In the summers, I’d often hide in the shade of some abandoned building and wait for it to cool off a bit before scavenging for something to eat. I learned early on to ration what little food I did manage to steal and ignore the insistent growling of my stomach, so that I could try to survive the cold winters on less food. Nuts and berries was what I ate mostly in the winter, just enough to keep myself from starving. Once in a while I’d manage to steal away into the shadows with some fresh meat, or some day-old bread.
But more often than not those damned kids would catch me and would chase me down. I couldn’t lead them to my hide outs, so I’d try to run for someplace else. They’d overpower my weak body and short legs and would knock me to the ground and begin hurting me with their kicks and punches, but I always managed to get away with my food. I’d either eat it right away or hide it where they would never find it.
Sometimes a few adults would walk by and see what was going on. It was as if even the adults who did see what was happening didn’t care, because they just walked by as if nothing was happening. A few times they would stop and stare, while the kids beat me up and some of them even laughed about it, before walking off.
That is when the potent anger and resentment starting building up inside me. Not even the adults seemed to care; they just went about their own business not bothering to help me by at least pulling the bullies away from my badly bruised and aching body.
No, instead they just watched as I lay there bleeding and covered with scuffs of dirt, bruises, and even some gashes from where my skin had been split open by the rough treatment from the kids, as my ribs shattered, cracked and broke.
Eventually I learned to just send myself deep inside my mind and block out the pain. It was just the price I paid for trying to get a few measly bites to eat. I was left to my own tools to survive, mainly my mind and the slowly growing strength that I was building up, in reaction to all of those mindless cruelties the kids my own age and older treated me to.
They all called me names. Vagrant. Troublemaker. Hoodlum. Freak. Thief, just to name a few. But there is one that they always came back to.
~Monster~
Little did they know that deep inside they made me feel like a monster. Because of their cruelties and bullying, I was slowly turning into the monster that they had already labeled me.
My soul slowly began filling with resentment, anger, and hatred. Over the years only darkness, anger, and a deep abiding loneliness slowly consumed me, mixing together to make me very emotionally unstable.
Why should I be hated and feared for something that I couldn’t even control? I had no knowledge of my heritage, and it wasn’t something that I even had any say in. Just because I had no family or friends, they treated me like I was useless, and lower then dirt. Like I had no feelings and never would. They treated me like I would never amount to anything.
~But why?~
It wasn’t my fault that I had no family, no friends, no one to guide or protect me. I didn’t ask to be abandoned into a callous world with no one beside me. So why was I made to suffer because of things I had no control over?
Couldn’t they see that I only wanted to fit in? To be loved as they were? Or at least accepted? Was that too much to hope for?
I felt a deep resentment and powerful rage beginning to eat away at me day by day, consuming my every fiber. Anger and resentment at how I was constantly treated- all because I was different and had no one to love or even care about me. It began to fester deep inside me and blacken what little bit of good I’d been born with.
I began to bury my childish hopes of fitting in or ever being accepted, because it was becoming crystal clear that something that simple was just too much to ask for.
Slowly over the years the darkness became my only friend and eventually giving in to the overwhelming sense of loneliness that was my only companion; I began talking to myself.
Eventually the beatings began fazing me less. I’d simply lay there and wait for it to be over and then take my few morsels of substance that I managed to hide and be on my way, limping and often times, crawling down the rough streets on my already sore and battered body, scraping it even more as I made my way to my little hide a way where no one could find and hurt me.
Sometimes my legs wouldn’t even work and I’d have to hide in the shadows and rest for several days and nights before the intense pain would finally begin to subside.
Because of this, my upper body strength began to increase exponentially. Eventually my arms began to grow larger and much stronger, my young body began developing at a much faster rate than the other kids my age and I began to become far stronger than any of them ever realized.
One day while I was recovering from one of their harsher sessions, with my bruised and battered body hurting everywhere. Inside of my mind a voice reached out to comfort me.
[What is wrong little one?] I heard, as I sat in a dark corner shedding tears that I was not yet strong enough to keep from crying.
I startled and asked, “Who are you?” worried that someone might have discovered my little haven.
The voice inside me chuckled and said, [I am you, the inner you at least. We are one and the same.]
I blinked and thought, ‘You’re me?’
It chuckled and said, [Yes young one, I am you, the real you.’ and then repeated, ‘what’s wrong?]
I replied, ‘Why do they do this to me?’
[People fear what they do not understand.]
I frowned at that and asked, ‘They fear me? But why?’
[Because little one, they know of the power that resides deep inside you and has not awakened yet.]
‘Huh? What power?’
[The power of your heritage.] Adding, [It will soon be unleashed, and their fears will be realized. Just hold on a bit longer little one, and all of your suffering will be avenged.]
After that I was left to wonder in cold, dark silence, what had just been said and what had happened to me.
Shortly afterward I begin to heal even faster. My broken ribs mended themselves in a few days, and my bruises disappeared within hours of receiving them.
I was confused at the unusual occurrences, but at least it allowed me to venture out and steal some food sooner than normal. Over the next few weeks, I became faster and was able to steal more food, hiding it away for the coming winter.
Over the next year, the beatings increased in cruelty and they began taking much delight in finding newer ways to torment me. I remained stoic and after the torturous beatings ended, I crawled home and spoke to the voice, pleading for deliverance.
Apparently the voice had heard me and finally decided to answer my pleas, because the very next day, when the kids began beating on me, I felt the deepest anger and hatred I’d ever felt in my twelve years of a hellish existence.
Suddenly I felt my anger and resentment begging to roil inside of me and it continued churning with white hot hatred. It continued building and strengthening until it all boiled over and I finally reached the end of my rope. Then everything just exploded.
When the foot went to kick me, I grabbed it and slammed my hand into it as hard as I could, also sinking my teeth deep into the flesh at the same time. I heard a cry of pain rip through the air and was elated to realize that it wasn’t my cry of pain.
I felt a heady rush of joy at the fact that I wasn’t the one suffering anymore. My body began to feel emboldened and a rush of power filled me to the brim, and I sank my teeth into the flesh of the attacking limb a second time, earning another pained cry from my attacker.
My heart felt a little lighter and began to pound inside my chest. Something new began coursing through my blood and made my strength increase a hundredfold as my bestial anger was unleash.
I spat the boy’s blood from my mouth and grinned, before pushing myself to my feet. I saw fear in the other kid’s eyes as I grinned at them, with a trickle of blood flowing from my mouth still. That made me feel… happy.
They all looked like scared rabbits, and I felt… different. I was no longer scared, or hurt. No, now I was going to be the one doing the hurting, and it felt empowering.
With my new found joy increasing, I went on the attack, and lunged at the kids who had made my life so unbearable for so long.
I lost count of how many times, my feet and fists connected with my tormentor’s bodies. I just kept going, not holding anything back, until none of them could even move. In fact, by the time I had finished, I could barely swing my fists anymore. I was huffing from the exertion and my heart was racing inside my chest. I looked at my hands and smirked. My hands and their faces were covered with a shiny red liquid and I finally felt… free.
After that I began roaming the lands and didn’t allow anyone else to even touch me. If someone tried to hurt me, I would feel the excitement build up and feed off the fear I sensed growing inside of them, as I began hitting them with everything I had in me, reliving the day I had found my freedom.
Over the years as my anger and strength increased, I used weapons to increase the pain and suffering my enemies felt. Every time I come across a village, I relieve my childhood and go berserk, wreaking havoc and chaos until not a single soul is standing.
~And yet they call me a monster.~
--
A/N I get so sick of people assuming that bad guys are just evil. No one is ever born a killer, it’s something they learn. The fact that people do fear what they don’t understand is truly sad.
I may be a fool in your eyes, but in mine I’m simply compassionate. I always try to look for the reasons behind people being and acting the way they do. I suppose that is why I like to analyze the bad guys and come up with reasons why they may have turned out the way they did.
I hope this helps to enlighten at least a few of you. For those of you who didn’t figure it out: the child in this, who went through everything- was actually Bankotsu, not Naruto. The prologue will be next.
--
Summary:
Kagome and Bankotsu find themselves trapped in a completely different dimension and are forced to become allies in order to survive. Eventually they end up with even newer and much stranger allies. But, will they really be able to carve out new lives for themselves in this strange new world, and perhaps maybe even find love along the way? Read to find out!
--
A/N: Okay so a new year has begun, and I have decided that this year I’m going to ‘broaden my horizons’ by doing more crossover fics. This will be the first.
I’m fairly new to the Naruto fandom of writing, so kindly bear with me while I slowly familiarize myself with this exciting new universe- Thank you in advance for your patience! XD
Key
‘thoughts’
“speaking”
[Inner beast speaking]
~random thoughts~
--
All my life I’ve been misunderstood. I’ve been labeled as troublesome and unfeeling. It’s even been said that I have no heart.
They don’t understand, they could never even begin to fathom the kinds of hell I had to endure.
I spent my entire childhood, well… what little of one that I was allowed, in isolation. Watching all the other kids be happy and playing together, even the lanky and somewhat clumsy ones. I on the other hand, was constantly shunned, and left to entertain myself.
I’ve always been branded a monster. An outcast.
No one could see my suffering, or my increasingly overwhelming loneliness. I hid it too well I guess.
They all had families or at the very least friends. Me? All I had was the darkness to console and comfort me. I didn’t have a mother to hold and nurture me, nor to mend my wounds, as I had seen so many other children have.
I didn’t even have a father to discipline me, or teach me how to become a man. Everything I knew about fighting had been learned the hard way, through numerous brutal beatings at the hands of the kids that I so desperately longed to fit in with.
Harsh, cruel, kids who never even tried to befriend me. They only laughed as their feet kicked me hard, repeatedly leaving nasty sore spots and sometimes cuts all over my young barely clothed four year old body, as they said mean things to me.
“Nobody wants you here.” One said, while delivering a series of kicks to my ribs.
“Stay out of our village, you little freak.” Another spat at me, while kicking me in my back, causing me to wince as unwanted moisture filled my eyes. I refused to let my tears fall though.
“Go bother somebody who actually wants you around.” Yet another sneered, while kicking me in my legs.
I’d learned early on to curl into a tight ball, trying to protect my stomach, and only ended up kicked in the back and ribs even harder in retaliation. I’d grit my teeth against the pain and wait for them to finish. I refused to every cry in front of them. They didn’t deserve to see me anymore vulnerable then they already did.
It just went on and on for many years. I lost track of time, only focused on surviving the beatings and struggled to stay alive, day by day.
Over the years, I spent many nights shivering under a single ratty blanket in the corner of one of the abandoned huts, as the chilly bitter cold winds invaded my sanctuary through the various holes of the slowly rotting wooden walls. It wasn’t much, but at least most of the time I stayed semi dry.
During the rainy seasons, I’d look for a place with the least amount of holes and curl up under the driest patch of roof and floor that I could find. I had to steal some material like blankets and rip them up trying to plug the holes from the wind in the winters. It didn’t always work, but I had to try something, right?
In the summers, I’d often hide in the shade of some abandoned building and wait for it to cool off a bit before scavenging for something to eat. I learned early on to ration what little food I did manage to steal and ignore the insistent growling of my stomach, so that I could try to survive the cold winters on less food. Nuts and berries was what I ate mostly in the winter, just enough to keep myself from starving. Once in a while I’d manage to steal away into the shadows with some fresh meat, or some day-old bread.
But more often than not those damned kids would catch me and would chase me down. I couldn’t lead them to my hide outs, so I’d try to run for someplace else. They’d overpower my weak body and short legs and would knock me to the ground and begin hurting me with their kicks and punches, but I always managed to get away with my food. I’d either eat it right away or hide it where they would never find it.
Sometimes a few adults would walk by and see what was going on. It was as if even the adults who did see what was happening didn’t care, because they just walked by as if nothing was happening. A few times they would stop and stare, while the kids beat me up and some of them even laughed about it, before walking off.
That is when the potent anger and resentment starting building up inside me. Not even the adults seemed to care; they just went about their own business not bothering to help me by at least pulling the bullies away from my badly bruised and aching body.
No, instead they just watched as I lay there bleeding and covered with scuffs of dirt, bruises, and even some gashes from where my skin had been split open by the rough treatment from the kids, as my ribs shattered, cracked and broke.
Eventually I learned to just send myself deep inside my mind and block out the pain. It was just the price I paid for trying to get a few measly bites to eat. I was left to my own tools to survive, mainly my mind and the slowly growing strength that I was building up, in reaction to all of those mindless cruelties the kids my own age and older treated me to.
They all called me names. Vagrant. Troublemaker. Hoodlum. Freak. Thief, just to name a few. But there is one that they always came back to.
~Monster~
Little did they know that deep inside they made me feel like a monster. Because of their cruelties and bullying, I was slowly turning into the monster that they had already labeled me.
My soul slowly began filling with resentment, anger, and hatred. Over the years only darkness, anger, and a deep abiding loneliness slowly consumed me, mixing together to make me very emotionally unstable.
Why should I be hated and feared for something that I couldn’t even control? I had no knowledge of my heritage, and it wasn’t something that I even had any say in. Just because I had no family or friends, they treated me like I was useless, and lower then dirt. Like I had no feelings and never would. They treated me like I would never amount to anything.
~But why?~
It wasn’t my fault that I had no family, no friends, no one to guide or protect me. I didn’t ask to be abandoned into a callous world with no one beside me. So why was I made to suffer because of things I had no control over?
Couldn’t they see that I only wanted to fit in? To be loved as they were? Or at least accepted? Was that too much to hope for?
I felt a deep resentment and powerful rage beginning to eat away at me day by day, consuming my every fiber. Anger and resentment at how I was constantly treated- all because I was different and had no one to love or even care about me. It began to fester deep inside me and blacken what little bit of good I’d been born with.
I began to bury my childish hopes of fitting in or ever being accepted, because it was becoming crystal clear that something that simple was just too much to ask for.
Slowly over the years the darkness became my only friend and eventually giving in to the overwhelming sense of loneliness that was my only companion; I began talking to myself.
Eventually the beatings began fazing me less. I’d simply lay there and wait for it to be over and then take my few morsels of substance that I managed to hide and be on my way, limping and often times, crawling down the rough streets on my already sore and battered body, scraping it even more as I made my way to my little hide a way where no one could find and hurt me.
Sometimes my legs wouldn’t even work and I’d have to hide in the shadows and rest for several days and nights before the intense pain would finally begin to subside.
Because of this, my upper body strength began to increase exponentially. Eventually my arms began to grow larger and much stronger, my young body began developing at a much faster rate than the other kids my age and I began to become far stronger than any of them ever realized.
One day while I was recovering from one of their harsher sessions, with my bruised and battered body hurting everywhere. Inside of my mind a voice reached out to comfort me.
[What is wrong little one?] I heard, as I sat in a dark corner shedding tears that I was not yet strong enough to keep from crying.
I startled and asked, “Who are you?” worried that someone might have discovered my little haven.
The voice inside me chuckled and said, [I am you, the inner you at least. We are one and the same.]
I blinked and thought, ‘You’re me?’
It chuckled and said, [Yes young one, I am you, the real you.’ and then repeated, ‘what’s wrong?]
I replied, ‘Why do they do this to me?’
[People fear what they do not understand.]
I frowned at that and asked, ‘They fear me? But why?’
[Because little one, they know of the power that resides deep inside you and has not awakened yet.]
‘Huh? What power?’
[The power of your heritage.] Adding, [It will soon be unleashed, and their fears will be realized. Just hold on a bit longer little one, and all of your suffering will be avenged.]
After that I was left to wonder in cold, dark silence, what had just been said and what had happened to me.
Shortly afterward I begin to heal even faster. My broken ribs mended themselves in a few days, and my bruises disappeared within hours of receiving them.
I was confused at the unusual occurrences, but at least it allowed me to venture out and steal some food sooner than normal. Over the next few weeks, I became faster and was able to steal more food, hiding it away for the coming winter.
Over the next year, the beatings increased in cruelty and they began taking much delight in finding newer ways to torment me. I remained stoic and after the torturous beatings ended, I crawled home and spoke to the voice, pleading for deliverance.
Apparently the voice had heard me and finally decided to answer my pleas, because the very next day, when the kids began beating on me, I felt the deepest anger and hatred I’d ever felt in my twelve years of a hellish existence.
Suddenly I felt my anger and resentment begging to roil inside of me and it continued churning with white hot hatred. It continued building and strengthening until it all boiled over and I finally reached the end of my rope. Then everything just exploded.
When the foot went to kick me, I grabbed it and slammed my hand into it as hard as I could, also sinking my teeth deep into the flesh at the same time. I heard a cry of pain rip through the air and was elated to realize that it wasn’t my cry of pain.
I felt a heady rush of joy at the fact that I wasn’t the one suffering anymore. My body began to feel emboldened and a rush of power filled me to the brim, and I sank my teeth into the flesh of the attacking limb a second time, earning another pained cry from my attacker.
My heart felt a little lighter and began to pound inside my chest. Something new began coursing through my blood and made my strength increase a hundredfold as my bestial anger was unleash.
I spat the boy’s blood from my mouth and grinned, before pushing myself to my feet. I saw fear in the other kid’s eyes as I grinned at them, with a trickle of blood flowing from my mouth still. That made me feel… happy.
They all looked like scared rabbits, and I felt… different. I was no longer scared, or hurt. No, now I was going to be the one doing the hurting, and it felt empowering.
With my new found joy increasing, I went on the attack, and lunged at the kids who had made my life so unbearable for so long.
I lost count of how many times, my feet and fists connected with my tormentor’s bodies. I just kept going, not holding anything back, until none of them could even move. In fact, by the time I had finished, I could barely swing my fists anymore. I was huffing from the exertion and my heart was racing inside my chest. I looked at my hands and smirked. My hands and their faces were covered with a shiny red liquid and I finally felt… free.
After that I began roaming the lands and didn’t allow anyone else to even touch me. If someone tried to hurt me, I would feel the excitement build up and feed off the fear I sensed growing inside of them, as I began hitting them with everything I had in me, reliving the day I had found my freedom.
Over the years as my anger and strength increased, I used weapons to increase the pain and suffering my enemies felt. Every time I come across a village, I relieve my childhood and go berserk, wreaking havoc and chaos until not a single soul is standing.
~And yet they call me a monster.~
--
A/N I get so sick of people assuming that bad guys are just evil. No one is ever born a killer, it’s something they learn. The fact that people do fear what they don’t understand is truly sad.
I may be a fool in your eyes, but in mine I’m simply compassionate. I always try to look for the reasons behind people being and acting the way they do. I suppose that is why I like to analyze the bad guys and come up with reasons why they may have turned out the way they did.
I hope this helps to enlighten at least a few of you. For those of you who didn’t figure it out: the child in this, who went through everything- was actually Bankotsu, not Naruto. The prologue will be next.