Chapter Text
.
.
.
.
Three hundred years had passed since Sakura had last seen the orange glow of sunset or the blue skies of the day. Feudal Japan had been rocked by centuries of conflict — the power no longer lay within the noble bloodlines of the daimyo, but in the military might of the Shogun.
And no Shogun was mightier than Madara Uchiha. It was rumored that his power was obtained through wicked means — using the demonic strength of the vampire he’d forced his most elite soldiers to succumb to the immortal kiss.
It was nearly eighty years after his reign began that Sakura had been born— a mere mortal slip of a girl. She studied her herbs and potions, intending to follow in the footsteps of her mother into the healing arts. She’d been born a peasant and her prospects for marriage would generally be nothing too grandiose. She hoped whomever he was, he’d allow her some autonomy to continue to heal the sick and infirm.
However, she’d attracted the interest of the kind samurai Rock Lee. He wasn’t much to look at, but he had a good heart and a strong body. Unfortunately, he enjoyed writing poetry dedicated towards her.
The poetry was terrible. It was bloody awful!
And Rock Lee was a bit of a drunk.
It was at a party — meant for celebrating the engagement of one Lady Tenten to the Lord Neji Hyuga that Sakura’s life would no longer be simple.
It was after a particularly atrocious, ear-bleeding night of drunken poetry, that Sakura had managed to escape the party. Lee had challenged Neji to a spar and Sakura managed to find solace outside — away from the fists and back-and-forth of terrible poetry.
Softly, Sakura began to hum to herself, a sweet little lullaby her grandmother used to sing. A few moments later, she began singing quietly — her voice clear as a bell.
“Not a fan of the declarations of eternal youth and springtime sappiness of the vocal man in green?” A rich, baritone voice called out from the darkness of the forest.
Sakura stopped singing immediately, her pounding heart was in her throat as she curled her hand into a fist at her side.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt, your voice is lovely,” the man continued.
Sakura knew better, she really did, but his voice was just so beautiful. She found herself wandering closer to the forest, just outside of the brilliant lanterns illuminating the party and away from the loud cheers of the crowd. Leaning against a tree was the most beautiful man she ever saw — alabaster skin, hair and eyes dark as midnight.
“He’s a nice man, but I can only handle so much poetry,” Sakura confessed, trying to force her hand to relax and calm her heart. “I’m more of a realist.” She cocked her head to the side, trying to study the stranger better. The shadows of the forest made it difficult to see his details.
“Oh?” The dark haired man asked, a faint smirk on his lips. “I thought women liked lyrics about their beauty.”
Sakura stood on the edge of the clearing, just outside of the forest’s shadows. She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her palms over the goosebumps prickling her skin. Wasn’t the man cold? “Beauty is fleeting. I would prefer to be acknowledged for my talents— some skills in healing ailments, my appreciation for the written word, my hard work and dedication.”
“Hm. Some beauty is immortal,” the man countered.
“Oh?” Sakura asked. “Like the statues carved at the temples?”
Suddenly he was no longer standing against the tree, but his tall, lithe frame was behind her. His warm breath ghosted across the skin of her neck. “That’s one example. Music is my preference.” His large, firm hands were on her hips and he began to rock slowly. Then he started singing her lullaby from earlier. His voice was soothing and Sakura felt herself grow drowsy under the comforting melody.
Sakura felt her eyelids grow heavy. He was no longer singing but humming while he brushed his lips along the column of her throat. She relaxed against his muscular frame as sharpness pierced her flesh and drowsiness overwhelmed her.
Then there was darkness and the coldness of a deep, winter night.
When she came to, there was a sharp pain in her gut.
There were raised voices — two men.
“What have you done?” One hissed, quiet and dangerous.
“Brother, her voice was like an angel. Don’t you remember how Mother would sing to us?” The familiar baritone of the beautiful man in the shadows entreated. “I didn’t want her to whither away like the last one.”
Cold hands stroked Sakura’s hair and then another set of cold hands gripped her chin.
“Open your eyes,” the quiet voice demanded.
Sakura opened, blinking into crimson and black eyes.
“Drink,” he ordered.
It felt like a cold wrist was thrust against her mouth and then the warm, coppery tang of blood. Sakura shook her head, moaning at the ache in the base of her skull. She was so light-headed. It felt like she had a concussion.
“You’ve lost too much blood. Drink or die,” he ordered. This man wasn’t the same one she met. He was harsher in his tone, but his face was no less beautiful. He seemed angry.
“Please, Merodī, drink for me,” entreated the sweet voice of the man in the woods. “Drink and sing for me.”
Sakura felt those soothing fingers running through her long hair again. And then she drank.
.
.
.
OoO
.
.
.
For three-hundred years, twenty-five generations of humans, and twenty five slayers, Sakura had survived with the brothers Sasuke and Itachi. They had left their Master years ago. Itachi was the leader of their coven — he was a hard man.
And Itachi made it his business to eliminate the slayers.
Slayers were born every generation — a powerful human with supernatural powers that made them a threat to the vampires and the demonic curse within them.
The three of them had been Master Madara’s perfect little soldiers for centuries.
However, that changed when Itachi fell in love with the witch Izumi. She cursed him— gave him a soul as she lay dying in his arms. The pain of all the terrible things he’d done sprang into his conscience and almost led to him walking into the sun and ending it all. It was only the love for his brother Sasuke that kept him from abandoning them.
Sakura had never succumbed to the bloodlust that the brothers used to enjoy. It didn’t mean she wasn’t an effective killer — she was a very deadly vampire, but she preferred to feast only on those whom harmed others — the humans that were the true monsters. Like a siren, she would lure them to their bloody ends. Often times, Sasuke would giggle when he joined her, feasting from her prey. Itachi would burn their bodies to ash afterwards — just another missing person.
She was still a murderer, but a murderer of murderers was a kind of hero, right? Sasuke assured her it was so, while he sang his lullabies and rocked in his madness. She and Itachi struggled to keep him from killing the innocent and youthful. Beautiful, insane Sasuke — he was likely the strongest vampire — he had abilities like no-other vampire in millennia. Yet, his madness left him vulnerable.
For two hundred years, Sakura has been sure that Sasuke was her soulmate. But did a vampire still have a soul? Itachi had one—thanks to the witch’s curse. And she loved Sasuke, truly she did. But over time, that love had turned into more of a protective familiar love. The last decade had been especially bad — his episodes of confusion were becoming more frequent and lasting longer. Humans referred to a similar condition as dementia.
They had to leave their old village, once again Sasuke had gotten loose and caused havoc to the populace. He’d killed an entire flock of sheep. Sakura and Itachi had found him giggling as he counted the massacred sheep and the shepherds over and over, saying how he was going to sleep so well!
To protect Sasuke and to protect the people, they traveled to the far reaches of the continent, away from Master Madara’s crumbling influence.
It was on a patrol of their new home that Sakura saw him.
He was etherial with his silver hair and thunderstorm grey eyes. He wore a mask that obscured the bottom half of his face. He sparred with a blond-haired man, both moving faster than any human could.
One sniff and Sakura could tell that he was the Slayer of this generation. Of all the places they could settle, how could the fates be so cruel as this? Masking her scent and chakra, Sakura watched from the upper boughs of the trees.
A clash of sword against kunai caused sparks of purple lightning to illuminate the training grounds.
.
.
.
OoO
.
.
.
Kakashi Hatake, son of the infamous General Sakumo Hatake, knew from a young age that he was destined for greatness in combat. He’d assumed that meant he would follow in his father’s footsteps joining the military. He’d been trained by the best of the best since he could walk in various forms of Martial Arts.
It wasn’t until his twelfth birthday that Kakashi learned his true destiny. He was the Slayer. Once a generation, a human — sometimes male, sometimes female — was born with supernatural abilities to rid the world of certain demonic threats.
His father, wasn’t just a military legend, Sakumo was also the Head of the Guild of Watchers. Kakashi had been assigned the Watcher of Minato Namikaze — a man only ten years his senior. Kakashi’s eidetic memory was put through the test, forced to memorize countless material about various supernatural threats to the world.
It didn’t seem right that a single human would have to face off against so many threats. No wonder the life expectancy of a Slayer wasn’t particularly lengthy.
At eighteen, Kakashi had killed at least a hundred vampires and tamed a multitude of werewolves and exorcised dozens of demons. Watcher Minato had warned Kakashi that he’d only faced low-level supernatural threats at this point. A fledgling vampire was much different than seasoned ones. Most vampires perished in their first year.
Minato had called it for the night, told Kakashi he could do a quick patrol and then turn in himself. Minato wanted to hurry home to his young son, Naruto— it was getting close to time to relief the babysitter.
The babysitter was one of Kakashi’s best friends — Rin Nohara. She was a kind, shy girl — studying witchcraft and sneaking glances at her long-time crush Obito Uchiha. Obito was Kakashi’s clueless best friend. The man had the biggest heart, but was completely oblivious about most things. He still foolishly thought that Rin and Kakashi were a “thing.”
They’d gone on one date back in middle school — a shared dinner at Ichiraku Ramen could hardly be called a relationship.
It became clear to Kakashi that he felt nothing for his friend outside of familial affection.
Kakashi watched Minato head back toward the residential part of the village before he turned towards the outskirts. The Memorial was a popular area for supernatural threats to congregate. There was some kind of magnetism that drew the monsters to the feelings of grief and sadness as well as the earth’s reclaiming of the dead.
Kakashi twirled his kunai between his fingers before tucking the blades into his belt. He also had a sword strapped across his back. He was thinking of taking up the bo-staff for his next weapon’s training.
He hadn’t gotten too far into the abandoned grounds of the Memorial when he could sense that something was amiss. His sensitive hearing could pick up the faint sounds of a distant melody playing gently on the breeze. It made him think back to when his mother had been alive and he’d been a young child, being comforted after a nightmare.
Kakashi shook himself, dispelling the trance that had started to settle over his mind. He masked his chakra and slunk deep into the shadows.
That’s when he saw them. Two people — one much larger than the other, wrapped into what looked to be a lover’s embrace.
A glint of green peeked over the shoulder of the larger person before the smaller figure vanished and the humming abruptly ended. The larger person slumped to the ground, body cooling quickly.
Kakashi felt for a pulse but there was only two beats of the heart and then it was still. He scanned the area for the source of those green eyes, but sensed no one. He examined the large man, noting the tell-tell signs of fang marks on the man’s neck. He also recognized the man.
He had wanted posters all throughout the country — a serial killer.
Kakashi stepped back from the dead man and pulled out his kunai to find the vampire.
The humming started up again and he started to walk towards the music, only to feel heat build from behind.
He turned to see the dead man burst into black flames, a third figure, wearing a black cloak flickered into his periphery for only a moment and then was gone. The music was gone too.
Then there was only silence and the ash of the serial killer.
“What the hell just happened?” Kakashi asked aloud.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.