Adult-FanFiction.org : Naruto

Naruto - Beast of Ecruteak	By : FestiveBoi Category: Naruto Crossovers > Het - Male/Female Views: 7688 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Naruto, and I do NOT own Pokemon. I am not getting paid to do this either. This is just for enjoyment! Also, I want to point out that I am a Co-writer/idea giver for this story, but the 'main' author doesn't have a AFF account.

Chapter List
- 1-Prologue
- 2-The Fallout of the Tower's Descent
- 1
- 2
The inferno seemed to consume the sky as the once majestic tower that pierced the heavens was consumed by the destructive force. The once bronze and brass ornate walls that made up the exterior of the high steeple had fallen in on itself with the brass and bronze melting, pouring off of their sculpted forms onto the ground below, igniting the ground around the building.
The walls below the steeple had broken down, their once stable walls had begun to crumble under the pressure of the flame. The walls that withheld the flames soon broke apart leaving only the framework of the once beautiful structure with the beast inside revealing its face to the world. The once dark sky was filled with the blackest smoke and a flame that outshined the sun with its might radiating roar that filled the night air. The tower that once represented a sacred journey and tradition to the people of Ecruteak was now a symbol of loss.
The people of Ecruteak were frozen still in shock from the events that had Transpired within such a short period of time. Their once magnificent tower was gone. And in its wake was a roaring storm of flame, fueled by the tragedy held under its crumbling walls. A storm that many of the crowd had just barely avoided being caught in with the old monk Saratobi being the last to leave the building. He ,however, was focused on something else besides the fire that lay in front of him. Looking to his right he spotted his young apprentice, Yusuke, who seemed transfixed on the flame like the rest of the crowd. Realizing that his apprentice wasn’t paying attention to him, he walked closer to him and grabbed his arm firmly.
“Gasp” Yusuke responded in surprise, nearly jumping.
“Yusuke” Saratobi called in a firm voice, quickly catching the attention of the young man. “I need you to get a headcount of the group as soon as possible”. His apprentice stood there for a brief moment before nodding and turning to the large crowd behind him.
“Head count” he shouted, trying to be louder than the inferno that lay behind him. In an instant the once scattered crowd of monks lined up in rows that seemed to span the entire opening that they stood in. All thirty eight of the monks present turned to stare at the young man who called for the role. And with that began an immediate count.
Yusuke slowly climbed down the ranks, from the grand elder Saratobi, to his advisors, then to the vast array of priests and converts that were in the tower at the time of the lightning strike, each seeming shaken by the recent turn of events. Some were unable to verbally respond to him, causing him to have to shake them out of their stupor.. This issue seemed to be recurring as he continued down the line of heads one at a time.
The monks were the next group that he counted, each of the once brightly colored outfits that once radiated light, being covered in a gray dusting of ash.. He began slowly as some of the monks were still trying to clear their lungs as many had inhaled some of the smoke that poured from the tower. Many seemed to briefly respond once they were reached.
The line slowly began to shrink, and before long the line was down to the children that had been witnessed entering the building. This group consisted of seven kids, only two of which were from the monastery.
“Akira” Yusuke called. The boy quickly looked at him, tears streaking down his face.
“Here” the young boy responded, his voice seeming to deteriorate as he struggled to speak.
“Yuuto”
“Here” Another boy responded, his voice slightly deeper than the others.
This only seemed to continue as the five other children were called and answered in kind. That is until a certain name was called
“Naruto” Yusuke called. His voice was as stern as stone, not leaving a single place for any possible mischief . He waited for a moment for any sort of response, but no response greeted him.
“Naruto” He spoke again, louder, thinking that the young boy couldn’t have heard him due the flames behind him that only seemed to grow more intense as time passed. Silence greeted him yet again. This seemed to grab the attention of his superiors and much of the crowd, namely Saratobi who rushed over to his apprentice to see what the commotion was about.
“What seems to be the matter” he spoke, his voice serious as ever with a slight hint of worry behind his breath. The boy paused for a moment before turning to his superior and speaking quietly.
“Sir Naruto is missing.”
“What!”
A sense of dread seemed to fill the air as the two conversed with the crowd intently listening to them. Before either of them could speak again, however, a loud crash was heard as the third floor collapsed.
“Naruto!” Saratobi yelled in anguish. This was when the crowd finally understood the scope of what had happened. The boy had been trapped inside of the building. Their holy tower and along with the boy were a set of eeveelutions who took shelter in the structure.
The structure that was once a symbol of their holy Guardian had been destroyed and in the process has taken the lives of those few who could not escape the collapsing tower. The poor beggar, the trouble maker, the burden on the small village of Ecruteak had been consumed by the beast that consumed the tower along with the three small pokemon that had taken shelter within the now crumbling tower.
This turn of events had taken a toll on the many who witnessed the tower being consumed by the wave of flames. The face and voice of the lost soul seeming to cry out as became ingrained into the masses minds the horrors of the night carving its way into their hearts as they watch the carnage ensue, unable to put out the flames due to the immense heat that circled around the once magnificent spire that was now reduced to its sturdy frame work.
This infamous moment only seemed to escalate once the flames had destroyed the once ornate well tower. The once gorgeous bell that had adorned the top of the tower soon followed the rest of the structure as with a loud bang the bell had fallen, collapsing all of the floors beneath as the violent rose devoured the brass bell that once defined both the town and its culture. This event seemed to awaken many from their stupor as the crowds began to openly grieve the loss. None however received the news worse than the grand monk Saratobi who had fallen to his knees in despair.
Saratobi was the man responsible for many aspects of the maintenance that took place in the tower, but most importantly he was responsible for the care of the young Naruto, the boy lost to the flame. His once kind and caring face that many had associated with his many charitable works was now broken into a distraught and pained expression.
He had failed not only his post, but he had failed the boy with the sunstriken smile. The poor innocent boy who once showered those around him with a glowing smile and a sunny demeanor. The boy who smiled brightly towards him and called him grandfather, the one who had caused him so much grief, the one who had desperately needed his help. He had been the last one to exit the building, the one to shut the boy in. He had damned the boy to his fate. In his time of need, he had shut the door in his face, and now this boy with such a bright future was gone. He struggled to even comprehend the magnitude of this loss. That smile and laughter that had seemed to infect the small monastery and the town, even during his worst of pranks, and that radiant smile that always brightened even the worst of days. All of those glorious actions that the young boy had blessed them with would never be seen again, and it was his fault.
The once smiling youth that had brightened those long days was now a haunting nightmare to the old man, a reminder of his greatest failure. Those once happy memories would always return him to this night, to the very last moment that he had seen the boy, and to the last minute he spent in the tower before the doors were closed.
The very thought The man’s face almost seemed to shrivel up in his realization. Tears that were once on the brink of overpowering the dams that held them back had finally surpassed the emotional barriers that the monk had erected years ago after the passing of his wife.

He failed not only the Pokémon whom he promised help and a home for, but he had also broken the promise to the boy's parents. He had failed to protect his charge and had failed them once again.
The monk who could not protect his own son from the horrors of the world, had failed to protect the boy who had become a second son to him. The once stoic man that was the image of his very belief had finally broken down, his distraught whimpers overshadowed by the cursed wailing flames originating from the tower he had sworn to protect with his life. A tower that was supposed to protect and serve as means of strength for those needing aid. That very thing that he had swore to safeguard with his life from the warring nation that surrounded the poor village. That very structure had destroyed everything that he held dear. And he was left feeling empty in the wake of its combustion.
The boon of his survival and the possibility of the infinite possibilities of the future only seemed to feel more hollow as the boy was lost to the cycle of the world. This only seemed to make his wails more violent as he struggled to hold himself up. His mouth sore as he struggled to speak even a single word. Not one phrase except for one left his mouth as his life long mission crumbled in front of him as the Red spire screamed in a raging song in front of him.
The other monks soon joined him by his sides and began to help their elder off of the ground. His wailing only seemed to fade as they brought him into a sitting position. As they began to check over the old man he spoke in a subdued tone, one they had never expected to hear from the stoic man that they had worked with for so long.
“Naruto my boy, I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything.”
With the words finally coming out of his mouth the old man cried in his broken tone. The young boy of sunlight who had shined his light upon them had left him along with the tower. Him and the poor creatures that he had sheltered in the structure were gone. The safe-haven that it once presented was now a hell-scape, that only seemed to louder as the night progressed
The once grand tower that instilled awe and amazement, the sacred tower that had once represented new beginnings and healing had been bastardized into a shell of its former self. The golden tower had become a glowing black menace that devoured all that came near it. An end to all beginnings. A stain upon the ground that would never leave the village. A sign of life's cruelty, an image that would stay with those who bore witness to its destructive furry for the rest of their lives.
The blazing inferno spat soot and debris into the crying sky that brought the flame to life. Said soot seemed to paint the world in a dark glaze of madness. The squealing metal that buckled under the pressure was a Banshee of Terror. A Banshee that would leave nothing but destruction in its wake. A wake that would long outlive the flame that birthed it.
Said flame would burn into the early morning, leaving the once glorious tower crumpled to the ground similar to that of a sand castle, crushed under the weight of one's foot. The Bell that once adorned the tower had fallen through the center of the structure and laid in a pool of black that was once the floor of the basement of the tower.
The inferno had spared nothing from its wrath. This included the young boy that had risked his life for the Pokémon that had been trapped with him. Under the rubble that had crushed him and those he tried to save, under that damned beam that had failed under the pressure of the blaze was nothing but a small swirl necklace piece that was disfigured by the flame and a small amount of ash that had blown away in the updraft from the roaring flame.
The symbol of their town had stained the ground with loss and pain. The world had stopped for the villagers as they attempted to piece together what remained of their old lives. The recent events from the previous night stained into their thoughts as they struggled to move past the horrors of the events that razed their very foundations from the ground.
The once jovial town was now silent in mourning the losses from the previous night. The streets that used to be covered in an uproar of movement and sound were now silent and desolate save for the few who traveled it. The markets once booming with life seemed to have been snuffed out. The children that once played in the nearby field were missing, and the farmers that once worked with a sense of pride had fallen silent in the wake of the previous night. The once lively town was seemingly dead to the world and the monastery held adjacent to the village was worse for wear
The once grand and shining structure was gray and faded. The courtyards that were clean and tended to were replaced with a see of ash, in the place of the shining roof of the holy structure was a gray floor that only seemed to drain the life out of the once bustling monks that walked the grounds. The interior was no better with its lively halls replaced with hollowed voices and stunted movement. The events from the previous night still on their minds as they struggle to rebuild past the violent rose that had taken their guardians home away from them the night prior. The job seemed hopeless. The once invigorated monks seemed downtrodden but still nevertheless worked to repair their destroyed home.
This grey cloud that seemed to swallow the community would eventually pass and the town would begin to recover from the utter annihilation that took their village's grand Spire. Throughout all of the building and the repairing that took place, the many who had witnessed that night had refused to forget the young boy that had once lived in the small town nor the poor Pokémon that were lost in the massacre. This idea soon began to develop into determination as the once downtrodden people who were suffocated had become invigorated. They had finally decided to change their outlook. They would no longer mourn the loss of the four, but instead they would find a way to honor them. This plan that began to grow in the public consciousness was soon stunted once realization struck them. They would need to rebuild their monastery before they could hope to begin work on such a structure.
The once grand structure had received major damage from the inferno, and even as the monks attempted to repair the structure, they were lacking in materials. The once large stockpile they once collected for emergencies had been burned in the explosion and what remained was ash and random pieces of metal scattered across the once sovereign ground. So with heavy hearts and determination an idea was strung upon the monks. A blasphemous idea: They wanted to tear apart the remains of the old tower for resources. What remained of the once imposing structure still retained many of the metals they would need from repairs, namely the brass for the complex architecture that defined the very monastery.
This idea was immediately swatted down by the monks, who refused to dismantle the once grand tower. They had protected and cared for it in their guardians steed and they would not betray them, even if it would cost the entire faith dearly. And thus a feud broke out between the two factions.
The monks wished to retain as much of their home as possible, to the point of leaving the tower in its current state. The masses however wished to use the remains of the once grand tower to increase the rate of repairs and to help clear the large black stain from the village. This is where the debate stood for multiple weeks, as the two groups refused to budge on the matter. Tensions only seemed to rise as the public grew more and more impatient with the monks. The delay had begun to turn for the worst before Saratobi took a stand, one that would divide the once unified monastery.
He was willing to offer one of the components of the once large bell tower so long as the brass and bronze would be used for an order of the temples choosing. This seemed to satisfy a majority of the public who wished to see some form of action involving the tower, even if it wasn’t to the scale they hoped for. The various monks who had spent so long defending the sacred remains of the tower from the public ire were livid with this decision, namely Yusuke.
How could his master make such a decision without any of their input being considered. Why would he of all people be willing to allow their once sacred tower to be desecrated by these low lives no less. What was he not seeing? Yusuke was not the only one who seemed to question this decision.
This turn of events was a surprise to many of the monks who would have never considered Saratobi to be one for compromise, much less anything involving their Guardian, and yet here he was, allowing the sacred bell that was used to signal the arrival of the Guardian to be tarnished by these people. All that they could do was trust the old man and pray that his decision was wise, as many had noticed that ever since the death of the young beggar, he seemed much more sentimental than he once was. Rarely leaving his room in the monastery, instead praying nonstop, except when eating and sleeping. Even then his sleep was not of any help.
Every night they could hear the Grand monk weeping for the loss of the young boy. This only seemed to put the monks more on edge.
The crowd on the other hand were ecstatic. They finally had the chance to make something from the brass, even if it was only for the temple.
Saratobi on the other hand seemed to be contemplating something. His mind constantly turning back the four souls that were lost to the flames. His mind still unable to comprehend the magnitude of such a loss. Part of him begged for the thought to leave him, so that he could find peace for his failures. This peace he sought only seemed to elude him as he searched for something, anything that could help him to make amends for his failures. How could he make it up to the four. He had thought about the idea since the fire and could only find one possibility that could work.
A monument, something to commemorate their lives. Something to honor them. That seemed to be the only method that he knew of, and he knew exactly how to do it. He had already spoken to some of the crowd members prior to this meeting to try and understand their reasoning for wanting the metal from the tower.
Once he realized that their goals were in the same intent, he decided to take the risk and take some of the metal to be made into something to remember those for. He refused to forget them. And neither did the villagers.
They would always remember those lost to their hubris, their names would not be forgotten, and the bell that once donned the top of the spire would be used to make them something magnificent.
The boy and Pokémon that faded away in the tragic event would be remembered in more ways than just name. They would build a mural out of the bell.
A mural to the lost souls of the golden spires.
After several days the beginning of the project took place with the party first needing to retrieve the bell from the basement of the tower.
This process took hours as they moved the large bell from the all consuming void of black soot. The bell would be slowly craned out of the tower via a system of pulleys where it would be tenderly laid upon a large cart pulled by any equine Pokémon that the village could muster. Said Pokémon pulled the once glowing bell to the towns black smith where their work would truly begin.
The initial design for the mural was created by the monks of the village, consisting of a plaque that would be placed at the entrance of the compound. This plan for the mural was not popular with the masses who wished for something much grander in scope. They were not the only ones to disagree as Saratobi placed a second design down for the order. He wanted something that would remind people of the four lost souls instead of a simple plaque that anyone could walk by without noticing it. One that would be created in the image of the young boy and the three eons. He wanted a statue.
This idea was almost immediately opposed by the other monks of the shrine who believed that said statue was unnecessary, as the brass that would be used on said statue could, instead, be used for the creation of another tower. This stance seemed to be shared by a majority of the higher ranking monks, but not necessarily the younger converts. Many of this group wanted something far grander for the memorial. Something that would help them to remember the young boy. This only seemed to cause a rift within the temple as the once united faith became divided. The subject matter would be argued for many a day as The elder monks refused to budge on the design. Eventually though, the other monks relented thanks to the support of the locals and the younger majority in support of the statue. The statue that they had wanted so badly would be made, and it would be in the image of the young boy and the three Pokémon who were lost to the destructive flames.
The destruction of those flames had scarred many of the residents and harmed many during the events of that night. Flames are by nature destructive, but that does not mean that they can’t be used to begin again. This philosophy was in many ways true as the very element that had killed the poor souls was now being used to create the grand statues in their memory.
Said statue would be a large undertaking by both the Sculptors and the Blacksmiths of the village due to the scale and complexity. The large form for the metal would take several weeks alone to complete due to the arduous task of forming and shaping the figures of the small boy and the three eons. This struggle did not deter them from pouring their hearts and souls into the creation that they wished for the world to view. They would see to the statues being the grandest creation that they ever conceived.
And it was.
The statue consisted of four figures. There was the small fire fox that stood in front of the three in a protective stance, there was the Vaporeon that lay at the legs of the young boys legs, and there was the Jolteon who sat by his side with one of it’s paws laying on the boys legs. Then there was the boy’s statue
It stood at four feet five inches with his hands placed in his pockets. His clothes consisted of the rags that he wore. His body was adorned with a replica of his necklace and a hand full of small braided necklaces that were woven by the children in the village. None of these things compared to the expression painted across his face. Where the three Pokémon seemed to only have a blank face, The boy's smile was present in all of its glory. The sunny smile shining brightly. The beaming light from his smile only seemed to draw more and more attention to the memorial as the many viewed it.
The Blacksmith and metal sculpture had put the rest of the village's actions to shame. The statues were an exact replica of the “four lost souls of the gilded tower", as they were called by the locals. This shining reminder glowed in the light of the morning sun, almost like a beacon of hope. A symbol that would never be forgotten, a symbol of life and hope. A hope that one day the boys smile could shine upon the small village once again.
This dedication and prayer brought many to the village. From small traders and bands of travelers, to traveling monks who sought refuge in the monastery; but none could compare to the god of the village.
On a crisp morning while the many monks worked in the monastery, The Elder Saratobi was alone in his quarters. He was in the midst of a prayer to the Legendary for whom the village worshiped. A being known for new beginnings, a being known to instill hope onto those who witnessed its presence.
He had constantly been praying over the village and for the safety of his people, as he has always done, but as of recent he had begun to ask for something for himself. Something that he could not leave with the destruction of the holy Tower. He prayed for Naruto. The young boy who haunted his dreams every night. The young boy whose very name brought him tears. He prayed for the one who he had failed. He prayed for forgiveness and prayed for the safety of the young boy he had lost to the cruel world. He prayed for the three eeveelutions that he had invited into the tower. He asked for their forgiveness and begged for their safe travel to the other side. He continued to pray for these many different reasons, and would have continued, if his prayers hadn't been answered.
That morning whilst in the middle of his prayer, a loud swoon could be heard from outside, a sound that he hadn’t heard in countless years. He at first believed that he was imagining the noise as the once majestic tower that the deity would stand upon had disappeared from the world. The grand spire that their guardian had roosted upon was destroyed, and in its place was nothing but pillars that framed the large structure. Their guardian would not take purchase to such a sorry thing, much less to a lack of offerings. That couldn’t have been their guardian he assured himself, but then he heard it again.

“Hooooooooooooo”

That cry could not be confused for anything other than the protector. She had returned, but the question was why. Why did the legendary return to the village? What could she possibly want with them. The only thing that came to mind was.
“The Tower!” He yelled to himself in realization.
He quickly grabbed his things and went to leave before he noticed a small glimmer on his desk. The small necklace that he had held onto. The swirl that the young boy who shined light on his day left behind. He shuddered at the thought, but nevertheless decided to grab it before rushing out of the front of the monastery building into the courtyard where spotted her Majestic Rainbow Bird, Ho-Oh. She flew from overhead trailing a soft colorful trail of energy from behind her. With that stream came an influx of growth in the plants and wildlife around her.
The trees grew more lush and bore more fruit, the flowers began to bloom and the remaining soot in the area almost seemed to vanish, being replaced by a glittering sheen that brought new life with it. All of this growth seemed to create a path leading to the broken form that once acted as a home for the legend.
He ran along this thriving path with all of his strength, struggling to remain balanced as he pushed with everything he had to meet his god at its roost. The lush foliage that painted the once dead landscape seemed to strengthen his stride as he soon began to outpace the other monks who had managed to get out of the monastery before him. He flew past them in a blur, leaving nothing but a swift wind behind him, catching many of the other monks off guard. They had never expected the old monk to be capable of such feats. His stride held the whole way there as the crowd that had begun their trek to the ruins were left in dust. His stride was soon rewarded and as he was at the base of the rubble. The steeple that sat atop the rubble that seemed to be only partly secure since the fire. In many regards it was a miracle that the steeple stood at all. The steeple was a moot point in comparison to was mounted upon it.
The steeple held a grand figure of all colors, one whose body seemed to hold the wonders behind the rainbow in the post stormy skies. Its body seemed to radiate energy and conjure a sort of elegance that none could hope to match. Its wings, radiant red and green, tipped with a grandeur of gold that would outshine the once beautiful steeple that it stood upon were wrapped around its form, as it looked around the rubble of its once grand home. Its piercing eyes only seemed to strike those who looked at them still in aw as its majesty stood upon the remains. The owner of the tower, their guardian, had returned to find its home destroyed and its temple divided.
This seemed to have peaked the interest of the holy bird as it looked down upon Saratobi and the other monks who had just barely made it to the tower before they had spotted the grand legend. Immediately they began to bow down before the deity who watched after them. Saratobi, however, continued to stand where he stopped. He continued to stare up towards the glorious beast that stood upon the steeple that seemed to call out in a somber call.
This action caught the many monks off guard, they had never heard their fair maiden cry out in such a manor. This cry, a song of Mourning that seemed to still the very air around them, they could have never imagined that their god would make such a call. That the village that they served, that the temple that they served could have ever caused their master to cry out into such a low wail of sorrow. The villagers who were unaware of the significance of the song simply stood there. The song brought the rest of village to a standstill before the many of the villagers, young and old who had yet to see the legend began to descend upon the once glorious tower.
Soon the village stood upon the burnt soil, watching in silence as the elegant creature continued to sing its song of mourning, tears pouring down its face as its woes became known to the many who bared witness to the song. Something had upset the phoenix, something had pushed her to the point of tears and a sorrowful mourning cry, but the question was what. What could have possibly brought such an old creature to tears. This thought seemed to permeate through the crowd who stood awestruck at the being that lay in front of them, whose sorrows lay witness to.
The song continued for what seemed like an eternity with its audience silenced by the tones of the legend that produced them. Then it slowly faded into the air before it finally stopped, and all the village and forest that lay adjacent to the tower was silent. Then before the many eyes that bared upon the phoenix, the god leaped from its once golden roost to the ground in front of the monks. Said monks almost jumped from the impact that the creature made upon the ground they had kneeled upon. The once silent and mournful air that held the breaths of the large crowd was now replaced with one of anxiousness. What could their deity want, what could they have done to gain the ire of such a creature.
Before the question could be asked the Grand Monk began to slowly approach the legend. His pace slow but steady as he walked with a heart broken expression written upon his face. The man's arms that once held firm under the strain of his post and his warm smile that greeted the many travelers who would commune with him were replaced with frail twigs and a frown made of dark clay. His movements heavy and shaky as he inched closer. The crowds watched with bated breath, while the monks that once supported the man and followed his every whim began to curse him.
What gave him the right to stand in the presence of the god, their ray of new life and hope. Who did this monk think he was to walk in her presence, much less approach her with such a sour expression, but still they held their tongues. They would not make the same mistake that their fool of a leader had.
This train of thought soon ended once the old man was almost a foot away from the holy Phoenix in front of them. The air seemed to thicken in the presence of these two’s approach, but before any of the onlookers could respond, the old monk closed the distance between the two and wrapped his arms around her neck, then to the shock of everyone present he began to weep into her side. The worried onlookers stood stone cold with the only sound being the wails of the once unshakable monk. He was not the only one to cry, the deity that he held began to weep once more, her head hanging over his shoulder and her once shining wings dimmed into a hollowed light as they wrapped around the old man's body.
The duo stood there in front of the crowd for what seemed like hours, as the old man cried out his eyes, the phoenix attempting to comfort the old man that had served her for many years. The man seemed unresponsive to the attempts as his crying only seemed to continue. His grip only tightened as his heart sang out. The god could only hold him closer as he continued. His cries slowly began to change to slurred words, ones that she couldn’t hope to understand. That was until he eventually stuttered out a name in a whimpering voice.
“Naruto”
The boy who haunted him, who had always wanted to see the Goddess that was wrapped in his arms, the one who never left his mind still plagued him with misery. Here he was, holding the very creature that had held the boy's interest for many an hour. Between his arms and wrapped around him was a being that the boy would never get to see. Another stab through his heart.
The Rainbow winged divine being seemed to squeeze him harder in an attempt to comfort the poor man as it struggled to stop the tears pouring from its own eyes.
After a short while the old man slightly pushed his left hand onto her chest plumage. A request for her to let him, a request that she answered as she released him. After a brief pause she looked directly into the old monk’s eyes with an expecting look. She wanted to know what could have possibly made the once jolly man that had always greeted her with a smile and praise so distraught.
The man sighed tiredly and thus he began to spin the tragic tail of the young beggar, and the Pokémon’s last hours. The storm that had destroyed her home and taken so much from the community that had always praised her name. And through it all his voice remained a constant low as he retold the night that brought sleepless night and terror to the village that witnessed it. The horror that had plagued them seemed to be such a short occurrence, and yet it only appeared more heartbreaking as the old man who had held this community together struggled to speak of his griefs. The unshakable man that the flames had destroyed, his tired and weary lips spoke only of the tears that the monks failed to see. He spoke of the loss of not only the boy, but of the failings on his part. A tail that only seemed to pull more life from the man as he spoke.
Once his story was finished, the man seemed to slouch over in an exhaustive manor. His eyes seemed to dull but nevertheless he pressed on. He slowly began to collect his thoughts as Ho-oh continued to stare at him with undivided attention. As he regained what bearings he could, he reached into his right pocket and pulled out the small crest from the fire, holding it flat against his palm. He slowly leaned forward and asked for Ho-oh’s wing. She obliged, offering her left wing.
He gently grabbed the glistening wing with both hands softly petting her wings softly as he began to speak.
“Ho-oh, for many a year I have served under you and protected this shrine with everything that I could. And yet, I have never asked you for anything, I have never once requested anything in return.” He spoke in an almost serene tone even as his voice began to break under the emotional strain. “Well, I guess what I am trying to say is that I have a request for you.” He spoke in a stutter. His words seemed to fail him as he struggled to speak. “ The young boy that we lost, him and those poor creatures that he died with, I wanted you to see to it that they remained safe. Even if it is in the afterlife.”
The man was struggling to stand as he spoke, his body crumbling under the strain as he continued to keep his eyes forward.
“Their lives were taken from them before they could even begin, and the pain and misery that followed shouldn’t have been what they left here with.” He seemed to almost collapse, having to lean on the outstretched wing, but never breaking eye contact with the Goddess.
“I know I am asking a great deal of you, but as my only request, please see to it that they receive something better than what they were dealt.” He spoke in a faint tone as he began to open his hand revealing to the legendary the small medallion that he had retrieved from the fire.
“I have one other favor to ask you before you go. When you see Naruto make sure to give this to him. It came from a necklace that belonged to his mother.” He almost seemed to smile as he said that last part.
His eyes were dim, but that smile that he shined on her was the brightest that she had seen. She slowly began to wrap her wing around the small piece of metal as the old Monk began to lift himself off of her wing and up righted himself. And with that, he thanked her and ever so slowly walked away from her, never losing that smile
With a small nod and a loud cry she flew off and circled the tower in her living aura that graced the path she flew previously. Almost seeming to pour that energy into the basin at the bottom of the tower, covering it in a glittering sheen that seemed to speak life into the very air of the now deserted tower. This wonderfully sorrowful act however was missed by the village that had congregated around the old monk who was struggling to hold himself steady. Before anyone else could speak to the old man, his Apprentice, Yusuke, took center stage with a vengeance. His normal composed and meek stance had been replaced with that of outrage and betrayal. He walked towards his old master, every step only seeming to make him seethe more as he went. He soon stood face to face with his master, who was struggling to stand. He had waited for a brief moment so that his master could catch his breath. Then he began
“Are you that senile you old coot, you should have asked the Guardian to help us!” Yusuke shouted as the crowd began encircling the two. “We are struggling just to make ends meet with all of the income from the tower being lost to the fire. We needed that aid more than they possibly could!” The young monk yelled, his anger only seeming to grow as he spoke to his old teacher.
The old man looked at him for a moment. His meek student had finally decided to stand up to him. The building tension between the two had finally come to a head as his once faithful student stared him down with a large hateful glare. His blue hair covering part of his face, shadowing his hardened eyes. This only seemed to confuse his master more. That was until his students' words finally registered. Never once had he raised his voice, never once had he questioned his master’s methods, and yet at his weakest moment his student finally lost his temper. It was ironic in many ways. The irony was not lost on his master His master looked on in bewilderment and began to laugh as he began to cough roughly with each shake of his chest.
“Seems that you still have yet to learn such a simple lesson old boy.” He spoke in an almost serene voice as he struggled to catch his breath. “We will survive this, the same way that we have our past. This struggle will not destroy us.” He spoke in a more confident tone. As his smile began to become more sorrowful.
“Yeah, well how are we going to fix any of this!” His student exclaimed in anger. “We might be able to scrape through this year, but what about next year, and the year after that!” he continued as he slowly began to get louder and louder. We don’t have any guarantee for the future, what the hell are we supposed to do n…”
“Enough!” Interrupted Saratobi in a more aggressive manner.” It may look bleak now, but as long as we have faith we will be fine. Money has never been in our favor even before this happened.” He finished in a stricter tone as he hunched over in pain, his cough returning as his breaths became more labored.
“I swear, ever since you brought in that beggar boy you have lost all of your sense when it comes to the state of our estate!” he spoke in a condescending tone, his composure long since destroyed. “In case you have forgotten that brass that you wasted on that damned statue could have been used to help rebuild the spire for our Guardian!” His once steady voice slowly turned into hysterics as he spoke. He refused to look at his teacher any longer before continuing. “It could have been built long before she showed up again, but no, you had to have that statue for that damned beggar!”
“You can’t possibly mean that! That young boy has never wronged us!”
“Oh really, then do you mind explaining why ever since that pest came to our monastery our donations have been coming up short in comparison to the years prior!”
The Older man remained silent as his student stood up and stared him down. Instead he averted his eyes in pain and grasped his chest in pain. But his student failed to notice this action as he continued his rant.
“And another thing…” His student ranted, ready to continue their shouting match. His eyes watering as his emotions began to get the better of him. He turned back ready to spout those hateful daggers at his master, but he couldn’t.
Before the old student could continue his attack, the old man collapsed. His heart, heavy with grief, couldn't handle this last betrayal and had begun to fail. His last moments had been met with an attack on his character, and a betrayal that left his soul heavy. That was what he would leave the world with. The grand monk that had built the very basis for the temple and the peoples relationship had finally passed from mortal toil with his students hateful words being the dagger that pierced his heart. This reality his student would have to live with, the fact that those would be the last words he would say to his father figure, but his father’s last request would be played out; even if it would not be in the manner that was intended.
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Naruto - Beast of Ecruteak