Pyrrhic Victory by Infernezor Category: Naruto Genre: Adventure Language: English Characters: Naruto U. Status: In-Progress Published: 2016-04-15 07:24:58 Updated: 2016-04-27 05:15:00 Packaged: 2016-04-27 17:43:58 Rating: T Chapters: 5 Words: 34,533 Publisher: www.fanfiction.net Summary: Kakashi never wanted to be a teacher. Sarutobi insisted. And so, exploiting the very lax definitions of the Genin testing parameters, fought back in the most brutal way he could think of. And so, team Seven was born in blood, tears, and pain. 1. Prologue **I use first person for the first bit of this story. If you don't like that, don't worry, it won't last long. For those of you who do, I'm sorry.** **Prologue I** Do you know what Pyrrhic means? Growing up I sure as hell didn't. It wasn't until I was much older that I learned what it meant. For those of you who are confused, pyrrhic means a victory won at too great a cost to have been worthwhile for the victor. It's a funny word, pyrrhic. When you think of victory, you imagine a hero standing tall with his boot resting on the corpse (or corpses, I don't judge) of his defeated foe, flag held high, a grin of victory plastered over his (or her, once again I don't judge) perfectly chiseled face. If the hero is unlucky, there might be some blood on his pants leg, or if it's a really dramatic imagining the blood will be splattered across his or her jaw. I wish things had turned out as neatly as that. You see, in the beginning, I started a joke - which turned into a dream. That dream started the whole world laughing. I looked around me, at all the devastation I've seen, and I began to see. That the joke was on me. You'll understand later. **Prologue II** **Can't Pretend** _Count to four. Inhale._ Duty. It twisted up and gnawed at your insides. Duty ate at a soul as surely as acid would devour a body. It consumed you until there was nothing left. The black mask sat on the table in front of him; face down, polished porcelain glinting in the light of the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The concrete walls were suffocating; the only exit was a steel door directly across from him. He was alone. _Count to four. Exhale._ There was a knife beside the mask, cold, and the second option to leave the room. Though escape through that way was as permanent as any other. His hands were still drenched in blood, though his black uniform didn't betray his murders - implacable, unstained, ever present, a testament to who he was to become. Words. They boomed in his head like a drum. Over and over. "Once you don the mask, your old identity dies. You will be subsumed by your role as Ouroboros, Hand of Justice." It was madness. But, he wasn't a stranger to madness anymore. Time seemed to distend, twisted back on itself and swallowed its own tail. How long had he been in here? A minute? A day? A week? Inside this shell of crafted stone there was nothing to mark time's passage. The iron scent of blood was ever present. How he had he gotten so used to it? He taken and given in human lives like a dealer a hand of cards. The coppery taste sat on his lips like a viper. Perhaps his mind had broken and he was just putting himself back together again. _Count to four. Inhale._ Maybe it was love and loyalty that kept him going, a vestige sense of honor that had rusted with the rain. Honor went hand in hand with patriotism, didn't it? And he was a patriot. He'd sworn to live, bleed, and die for his country. He loved his home. It didn't love him. He was okay with that. He reached out, red-stained hand hovering in-between the knife and the mask – in-between life and death. He felt as though he could see himself, standing before the table, ramrod straight. He couldn't feel anything for himself, not even a vague sense of pity. He almost felt sorrow for what he was about to do. He loved his country more than life itself. He couldn't measure them against each other. He was willing to commit the worst sin against his soul for the best reasons, and no one would ever know what he'd done. He took the mask and placed it over his face, pushing long black hair away from his forehead to make room. Another deft movement and he pulled the hood to his black robes – and even the spiky, black mane of hair disappeared. The body armor beneath the robe didn't make a sound as he moved towards and opened the door. _Count to four. Exhale._ Itachi Uchiha died the moment his foot crossed the threshold. He was fourteen. He did his duty for Kage and country. **Lee** **Gods** "Are you tired of living under shinobi oppression? Are your lives governed by people who live so far away, who don't know, and don't care about you? *Their wars have goose-stepped you into misery and bloodshed. They have developed speed, and shut themselves into their villages. I say unto you now, the bitterness you feel is only the passing of greed. Kiri, no… people! Don't give yourselves to brutes. Men who despise you, enslave you, tell you what to do, what to think, and what to feel! Treat you as fodder! Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men! Murderous men, with murderous hearts! You are not murderers. You are not cattle! You are people! By the promise of peace, brutes have risen to power. They do not fulfill that promise. They never will!" Lee held his father's hand as he was pulled through the jostling crowd. As they went, he tried his best not trip over any of the cobblestones that jutted up from the uneven wagon way that served as the orator's platform. If he fell, his green tunic and pants, the robes of a merchant and his house, would be torn and his father would be disappointed. "Come along, Lee. We need to hurry." Lee's father, Gamlin, said softly, giving Lee's hand a slight tug of encouragement. Gamlin was tall and well muscled for a merchant, a fact he often grumbled over when buying new cloths. Lee was tall for his age but had, unfortunately, inherited his mother's slender body. Shouts and outraged calls were mixed with yells of encouragement as the crowd's agitation grew. Lee didn't understand what was going on. Why were the townsfolk yelling so much? He recognized Tilden the cobbler shouting with his wife in the crowd. "What's going on, dad?" Lee asked once they were out of the crowd and he could be heard. Gamlin slowed slightly, turning to look over his shoulder. Catching sight of his son's worried face, he stopped and knelt down so that they were eye to eye. Lee had never seen such worry in his father's eyes, not even when they didn't have a nice home and ate scraps for food. "Do you remember when we first moved here?" Gamlin asked, glancing over Lee's head towards where the man with slicked back white-haired dressed in black robes with red clouds continued to yell. "Do you remember how you were afraid?" Lee nodded. He had been terrified of leaving his friends and the familiar trails he'd carved in the forests. "Something similar is happening now and we need to move. This time we're going to Konoha itself." Gamlin smiled, though Lee could tell that it was forced. "You can become a ninja, like you always dreamed. You'll become one of the greatest ninja in the world." Behind them, the white haired man continued to scream. "Hokages free themselves, but enslave the people! Now let us fight to fulfill that promise! Let us fight to free the world, to do away with greed!The ninja think that they have all the power! But with the might of Jashin on your side, their magics and tricks can't harm you. Through god, you won't know pain. You won't know hunger! You won't know fear! In the name of Jashin! Let us all unite! And make even death turn even its head!*" **Tobi** **As Above, so Below** "I know they're good people and mean well. The problem is that we just didn't have all the information at the time - we didn't think it through, you see?" Tobi sat atop the tallest tower in Kiri, muttering to himself, contemplating the end of the all things. The land hidden in mist, Tobi thought, was aptly named. Thick tendrils of mist wafted on a haze of fog, dancing to a rhythm dictated by a mad god. From where he sat, left foot dangling off the building, right leg tucked under the left's knee-joint, black-gloved hands resting on the ledge. A breeze tugged at the black robes as he stared down at where he could just barely make out the crowd gathering at the base of the building. From this height, picking out individual figures was impossible. He could barely make out what they were doing. He ran a hand through his wild black hair, one of his fingers bumping the orange black-swirl mask covering his face. For several minutes, he watched the crowd continue to swell, even as a few figures detached themselves from the swarm and moved to the front. "What a curious sight." Tobi remarked casually, turning his head to look at where a short man with hazel-gray hair sat reclined in a chair, pale pink eyes gazed absent-mindedly at the misty sky. His purple jacket and green pants were slightly damp from the wet air. "Your subjects are beginning to turn on you, Yagura. How do you feel about that? I hear you don't sleep well at night. I can help take care of that for you." Yagura didn't respond. He continued to stare up at the sky; the only indication that he heard was a twitch of the eye and right arm. Tobi turned away from the Mizukage to focus back on where the ever-growing crowd was beginning to shout; their voices drifting up like the mournful wailings of a ghost. Three of the figures had pushed their charges to their knees. "Care to place a bet on which way the heads will roll?" No response, not that he truly expected one. The crowd's voices turned into a roar as the three figures swung blades, cleanly severing the heads of their charges from their shoulders. The executions had begun. Tobi rose from where he had been sitting and walked over to the Mizukage, his stride slow and meandering. "All my troubles, all my pains, stems from this thing you people call a brain," He said, lightly slapping Yagura over the top of the head. "So I've decided to relieve your people of this burden. Harsh, you call me? Possibly, but it is far kinder than what I've done to you, my friend. I could burrow into their minds, rip their consciousness from their bodies and turn them into puppets that only dance when I pull the strings." Tobi flipped around and clasped his hands behind his head. "But who has the time? To go through and rend each ant's mind individually would be a terrible waste of my efforts, don't you think?" There was no answer. The dead eyes of the Mizukage continued to stare blankly into the sky. Tobi stepped back over to the building's edge, and stared down at where the crowd was now having to be restrained by a row of shinobi. Occasionally, he could see a flash of fire or a burst of lightning. "You can come out, Itachi." As soon as the words left his mouth, a figure detached itself from the shadows cast by the stair's covering and stepped into the lethargic light that managed to pierce through Kiri's smothering mists. Itachi was an unassuming sight. Average height and build, black hair swept back into a small ponytail, he stood dressed in the black and red Akatsuki cloak with a casual air, as though he'd wandered onto the roof quite by accident. Pronounced lines framed his nose. "You summoned me." He said in a flat tone. "Yes, I did. Come here." Tobi ordered with a small wave. "I will show you how to destroy a nation." Itachi walked over to stand beside Tobi and glanced down at where the executions were being interrupted by people jumping up onto the stage before returning his gaze to his leader. "The first step in taking control of a nation is the simplest: You find someone to hate." "Rebels, I assume." Itachi said, his voice ever the flat, dead bass that never wavered, never trembled, and only ever truly questioned once. Tobi chuckled dryly. "Hardly. They are the family of rebels, and a few dozen random people taken from their homes last night - women and children mostly. Itachi's expression remained perfectly neutral, not even a flicker of passion or anger in his dark eyes. They were almost as dead as the Mizukage's lying on the chair. Tobi had to marvel at Itachi's apathy for everything beyond his sense of duty. It was truly a marvelous tool to wield. The screams picked up intensity in the background followed by the deep bass of a small detonation. "The people here will join the rebellion, and others will hear of what happened and will shy away from government control." Itachi said. "It will hasten the rebel's inevitable victory." "The rebel's time on stage has come. Their role in this production's lines were always uncertain until recently. How did things go for you? Kisame wasn't too much of a pain, was he?" "The mission was a success." Itachi said. "Half of Kiri's lower court has been eliminated and the evidence that it was Iwa behind the killings has been placed. They'll see through the lie, Kumo will be blamed. They are closest and stand the most to gain from the instability." "Excellent." Tobi breathed. Itachi hesitated momentarily, before speaking in a slow voice, as though working through a problem in his head. "The Daimyo will order a proportional response, but the nation will be in no shape to carry out those orders. Tariffs will be raised and the economy will sink even further, which will spur the rebels into an even greater frenzy. With more and more people flocking to join their banner." Tobi snorted. "Kiri has been destabilized for long enough. Yagura has served his purposes and I need a new board set up, free of my control for now. Their stamping feet will obliterate any signs of my interference under the weight of their own anger." "That's where Kisame, Kakazu, and I will come into play. Kisame and I will aid the rebel's from the shadows," Itachi continued. "You won't have us do anything major at first, just a push here or there, an outpost inconspicuously empty, a field general with a mysterious sickness. The rebel's will be lucky, even as you meet with Mei's generals and offer them Kakazu's medical talent. They will accept with few questions, happy to finally be receiving aid, regardless of the source." "I see you've read a few pages of the script already." Tobi said, turning away from the destruction below to meet Itachi's blank eyes. After several seconds, Itachi turned away and looked down at where a small battle had broken out. It was one-sided, the tower's guard rebuffing the angry crowd and pushing them back. Every few flashes, a guard would dart in and pluck a member from the crowd. He would then force his hostage to the ground and preform his execution, tossing the severed head back into the crowd. "You are dismissed." Tobi said, "Set about spreading what's happening here, and see that the story gets to the right ears." He turned slightly and smiled from behind the mask. "Unless you want to jump down there and get yourself a head of the competition." He chuckled at his own joke. Itachi vanished, dissipating the mist for a brief few seconds before the errant strands of vapor rushed in to fill in where the Uchiha had once been. An air of mischief settled over Tobi's shoulders like a well-worn cloak. Slowly, deliberately slowly, Tobi turned to where Yagura still reclined. With measured strides, he moved over to the defunct Mizukage. With one hand, he reached out and grasped the Kage by his jacket and lifted him from the chair; the other moving to his mask. "Now, we have to prepare you for your performance with the rebels in a few months. It wouldn't due for that lump of chakra in you to interfere and ruin my plans. There must have been a little of Yagura left, as the pink eyes shifted away to look at the floor. Tobi shook him, "Look at me." No response. Tobi whipped the Kage around and slammed him into the floor, cracking the tiles and rupturing one of the water pipes. "Look at me!" Tobi roared. What little control Yagura had scrapped together cracked and his eyes fixed once more on Tobi's face. "You need to focus. This is important." Tobi's voice was mocking parody of being serious. "Your little show of resistance tells me that you need to be reeducated. Its fine, don't worry. I'm…happy, to oblige." Tobi gripped the edge of his mask, "try not to move." With a deft movement, he whipped the orange mask from his face and tossed it clattering to the ground. In that moment, if the rebels could have heard, they would have known that puppets could feel pain and even Kages scream. **End of Prologue** **The astrics at the start of the chapter denote phrases I've changed from Chaplin's speech on war. I couldn't help but to twist it.** 2. Chapter One **A/N:WOOO! ** **Chapter One** **As Happy as You Please** ___If my friends read these words, please know that power is a heavy burden. The toad prophecies say that I will have the power to save the world. Me? Can you imagine it? What they don't say is that I will have the power to destroy it._ _**Line Break**_ The Hokage's office was meant to be warm – welcoming - a quiet haven to returning ninja. The soft, cream-colored walls and large windows that let in a moderate amount of sunlight were broken only by the occasional bookshelf stacked with both crinkled scrolls and leather-bound books alike, each giving the air a comfortable, musty atmosphere that encouraged muscles to relax in the plush chairs that were scattered through the room. That was the intent, at any rate. The intent, as ever, was lost on Kakashi, who sat stiff-backed in his chair; his singular visible eye that wasn't hidden by a Konoha headband was locked with the Hokage. He had never been one for informality when in the presence of his superior, aside from the one indiscretion he allowed himself in the form of an orange book tucked into his vest's pocket. His black, militant attire, reminiscent of his days in ANBU, was augmented with a green flak jacket and slightly looser pants. White linen bandages were wrapped around his ankles and thighs to stifle the sound of movement and provide first aid in the event of an emergency. Konoha's headband and symbol of his allegiance was wrapped around diagonally across his head, covering one of his eyes. His prematurely gray hair swept back and sticking up at odd angles. He had often been compared to a scarecrow, gangly, narrow, and most importantly, terrifying to the targeted audience. The silent battle of wills between him and his leader had been going on for the better part of an hour. Sarutobi Hiruzen was puffing pleasantly on his pipe, white robes of office nearly glowing in the orange light filtering in through the windows behind him. His aged face that was almost as wrinkled as the tomes he kept. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he held Kakashi's gaze with an even one of his own. "I refuse." Kakashi said sharply, breaking the silence, his lips thinning as he tapped the outline of one of his knives poking through his weapon's pouch, the only outward expression of his annoyance. His refusal was technically treason, and Kakashi could practically feel the ANBU hiding in the shadows grip their weapon's hilts. The Hokage raised a hand; forestalling their movement, his smile never faltering. "I haven't even said a word." The Hokage pointed out. "You don't have to." Kakashi allowed himself a soft smile. He could hear the ANBU's tendons creak as they gripped their swords tighter. "As childish as ever." Sarutobi sighed and leaned back slightly in his chair; his gray eyes were like chips of obsidian boring into Kakashi's own. Then, with another wave of his hand, the ANBU's presence vanished. "ANBU have grown tense since I left." Kakashi pointed out idly. The Hokage chuckled and said, "They're no longer accustomed to your little games." "How very irresponsible of me." Kakashi said dryly. "A trait quite unbecoming of a ANBU captain… or any kind of authority figure. Perhaps that's why I left." The Hokage's smile broadened. "To the point, and so soon? Aren't we impatient today?" "Old age must be settling on me already, another reason I'm unfit to lead. Either way, I know why I'm here. It is for the same reason I'm here every year. You want me to fail another team." The Hokage didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached down and opened one of the drawers on his desk, withdrawing a pipe - who's finely polished wood appeared almost as old as the Hokage himself. Taking his time, he stuffed his pipe and lit it with a small flame from the tip of his thumb. After a few puffs, Sarutobi blew a long stream of smoke out from his nostrils, which curled and twisted on the invisible eddies of wind floating around in the office. They remained like that, the Hokage smoking quietly and Kakashi sitting straight backed in his chair, for ten minutes. Kakashi was a good shinobi. He was a _very_ good shinobi. He was, in fact, a so wholly accomplished shinobi that very few could say they dreamed of being his equal. However, the old and withered man who sat before him was not only stronger than he was, but was so old that he'd forgotten powers and stratagems Kakashi was only just discovering existed. "I'm afraid declining isn't an option this time, nor is failing them." Sarutobi said in what Kakashi could tell was a carefully fabricated voice meant to convey some sense of sympathy. "What do you mean? The testing jounin retains the right to fail any group he deems unworthy of becoming genin." Sarutobi nodded, "True, true." He said indulgently, "Ordinarily you would be quite correct. However, circumstances are a bit different for this team." Kakashi's eye narrowed in thought. "Naruto graduated and you want me to train him because of his father." Sarutobi shrugged, releasing another puff on his tobacco. "Along with Naruto, Sasuke Uchiha and a promising civilian girl, one Sakura Haruno, also graduated. My advising body and I believe that you are the teacher best suited for training them. Your… asset would be invaluable in training the Uchiha. This is not to mention that you could mold Naruto, as your mentor would have wanted. In addition your diverse skill sets ensure that whatever direction Sakura chooses, you could guide her." Kakashi hesitated for a moment, actually seeming to consider the offer, before shaking his head. "My answer is still no. I am not used to baby-sitting children. I train soldiers, ANBU who are already competent in what they do." Sarutobi sighed, placed his pipe on his table, and opened one of the drawers in his desk. He withdrew a form and set it on his desk. "Kakashi, as I'm sure you are aware, Konoha has always offered their ninja greater autonomy than any other nation. We allow Jounin and Chuunin to select teams, choose to decline missions if they feel they are not suited for the post, and even request funds in emergencies. These freedoms are what we pride ourselves on and what you're choosing to exercise. I believe in freedom, Kakashi." Kakashi suddenly had the feeling that he was 'on the ropes' as the saying went. This was never a position professional shinobi enjoyed being in. It made them violent. Looking down, he read the top paragraph of the forum, 'posting reassignment: Suna outpost – Ventari Desert. Temperature: 137 degrees; average. Danger of sandstorms: high. Warning: Jounin assigned to the post must be experienced with water-based techniques and not unfamiliar with cramped living space, low food and water supply. "Not many believe in freedom these days, though of course they will protest otherwise. There is always a choice," Sarutobi continued as he pull out a pen from another draw and set it to rest beside the forms. "And within the definition of freedom comes the implication of the consequences for those choices. I would argue that it this is the freedom in which all the others sit upon. Now, I will ask you again. Will you take the job?" Kakashi sighed, leaning back in his chair, finger tapping a new, agitated rhythm on his kunai holster. Suna was a choice, a miserable one, but he'd endured worse. The trick to swallowing a bitter pill was to make someone else do the same, because misery loves company. "I train them my way, no questions. Any tests I give them are beyond reproach." Sarutobi leaned forward, steepling his fingers before him on the table. "So let me get this straight. You are, in essence, asking for complete carte blanche? Is that correct?" >Kakashi nodded.<p> "Absolutely not." The Third Hokage said sharply. "Kakashi, this is a negotiation in so far as you have two choices available. Either you take and train the team, or you spend the rest of your career in virtual purgatory." Kakashi had learned from years of dealing with insubordinate underlings one precious skill: how to negotiate. You always aim high. He had little doubt that the Lord Third was perfectly aware of what he was doing. But that was the thing about haggling: it paid to be persistent. Some just took more cajoling than others. There was always another way – something underneath the underneath, if you will. "I suppose I have no choice. I'll train them so long as they are able."