God Damn It, Kyuubi!

Blood lust and promises

The mist of Kirigakure is a shield.

To people loyal to the land, the mist was a blessing. It protected them from harm, shielding them from the calculative views of their enemies. It protected their shinobi, providing cover for their vicious blades.

To people of Kirigakure, the mist is a form of protection.

The mist of Kirigakure would never harm the people it was protecting.

The red of the mist was from the blood of the enemies. The stale stench of death littering their borders were the mix of their brave fighters that have fallen on duty and that of the enemies who tried to infiltrate them. The blood that fertilised their soil was never from an innocent citizen or their own children.

It has always been the enemies, and never the people.

The bloody mist of Kirigakure would never swallow its own people.

Vicious and unforgiving they were, but they would never swallow their own people.

So, what made him then?

What was Momochi Zabuza, then?

When he snapped. When he blacked out and lost control of himself the moment he held the graduation sword. When he tainted the mist around the arena with the blood of his own brothers and sisters. When he lusted for the warm blood of his own kin. When he drove his sword through the unprotected chest of the Mizukage. When he was literally an inch from killing Mother—their leader, the mother of Kirigakure himself—the one that was protecting them all.

What was him then?

Sometimes Zabuza didn't understand why he was still treated with respect. After the lives he ended. After the blood he has drunken from his own comrades. After the scar he left on the Mizukage. After the nightmares he gave Mei. After the worries he inflicted on Kisame.

Why was he still welcomed in this land?

He didn't understand his people.

He didn't understand his own self either.

He didn't understand the reason it was so difficult to contain this bloodlust. He didn't understand the reason his blood felt like it was boiling when he thought of that incident. He didn't understand the reason the feeling that bubbled up his chest when he thought of that day wasn't of disgust.

He was supposed to feel disgusted.

But he didn't.

Behind the guilt and disgust that he tried to convince himself he was feeling, deep down, he knew that his blood was simmering in excitement at the memories of blood, bubbling with the urge for more. He wanted more. More. He wanted to feel the warmth of fresh blood on his skin. He wanted that electrifying pleasure it gave him when he swung his sword and was rewarded with blood.

He wanted to fight.

He wanted to submit.

Submit to the bloodlust. Surrender himself to the instincts. Draw his sword and fight.

"Let's fight, then."

Zabuza grimaced, flashing his naturally razor-sharp teeth as he acknowledged the challenge. His mind was already halfway submitting into the instincts, already sizing up his opponent, lusting for the smaller boy's blood.

Though, there was still a spark of sanity left.

It was just a spark, but for a brief moment, he considered of backing out, because Sukea has done nothing but stating the obvious and didn't deserve death at this young age. It wasn't Sukea's fault that just remembering his graduation day would put Zabuza into a mad bloodlust.