--I do not own anything in this fanfiction except the fanfiction scenario / plot, and the fanfiction writing itself. “Naruto”, and all related characters and characteristics, remain the property and rights of Kishimoto Masashi.--

--Well, I decided that will all my (irrational) fangirling so far, an angst oneshot for my new favorite character in the series was inevitable. LOL MOST VAGUE OPENING LINE EVER. Reviews are highly appreciated!--

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. . : A SILENT PRAYER : . .

Out there, somewhere, there is a place.

An area, separated from the physical world where we reside, where no compass, diagram, or map of man could possibly hope to uncover. A hidden place, strictly reserved for the righteously devoted, and left concealed from the eyes of the doubtful and the blind. Only one of genuine enlightenment could ever reach this solace; this refuge of true believers, this sanctuary of the faithful.

Only one was familiar with it.

‘Breathe.’

In fear of falling victim to an early reversal, the visitor made sure to keep his body still during the Transfer, allowing nothing but involuntary shudders and forcefully stifled exhales to escape him. The stabling stilts of his equilibrium wavered in confusion as he felt the strength in his knees give way; an overwhelming sense of gravity taking effect the moment he touched upon solid ground.

‘Breathe, damn you.’

A few moments passed until the throbbing aches in his chest began to subside. As the receding waves of pain ebbed the shores of human tolerance, the man opened his eyes, finally relaxing the distressed expression strained upon his face. He observed his surroundings in a blurred, wearied vision, witnessing the emptiness that ironically seemed to reflect the thoughts within his cleared mind.

A light smirk tugged at the corner of his lip.

He was here.

The lone priest allowed his arms to drop weakly to his sides; his hands, disappearing beneath the cuffs of heavy sleeves as the rest of his still form remained, left alone to linger in the silence of his serenity. The silken flow of blood had disappeared from his touch. The sound of nature’s violent gales and rushing waterfalls had gone from his ears. The familiar scent of warm earth was nowhere to be found. The gravity always seemed so intense here...it sometimes took a moment to remember how to stand.

Voiceless tranquillity was soon replaced by the comforting sound of stone beads, gently clicking together as they moved in a careful pattern around his fingers. His eyelids drifted shut once more as he began whispering a small prayer of gratitude; his experienced verses recited in none but a single breath, his lips flawlessly mouthing the words of a final blessing as they have done countless times before.

Countless times he’s recited this orison.

Countless times his prayers have gone unanswered.

Each word he spoke brought back memories of failed attempts; each syllable, a permanent scar on the face of his lifetime.

His denying eyes grew serious.

No...

Not this time.

This time, you’ll hear me.

Of course...there was no reason to allow his hopes to sway based on past disappointments, for those so-called ‘memories’ had been from a much earlier time. It was a time so long ago, in fact, it was often difficult to determine whether or not the recollections were his own. Sometimes he felt as if he were reminiscing mere dreams; ingrained nightmares which never ceased to haunt his mind.

But then he feels the scars scattered across his torn body, and he is forced to remember that all of it’s true.

Whatever he did to himself on the outside didn’t matter, for flesh was only flesh; his body was nothing more than a temporary vessel for the purified spirit that lay within. He would always make sure to don a vulgar remark and a cunning smirk, an arrogant attitude and an eager blade, so that no one would ever come close enough to taint his mind, to corrupt his heart, or to see him for the lone, vulnerable soul he held so covetously inside.

Alone...but never lonely.

There was no reason to be.

He was one of God’s children. God’s love was definite and amaranthine within itself, unlike whatever pettiness this physical world could offer him. Money, women, riches, power, were nothing but temporary pleasures, sinful indulgences which served no lasting purpose. It was infinitely wiser to place one’s hopes and dreams into the only thing that was sure in this life, for not even death was certain. God’s strength was the only thing worth depending on, the only thing he ever dared put his faith into...it was the only thing he believed was truly worth fighting for.

And if he had to sacrifice a few heathens to maintain that bond, then a few heathens were gonna die.

For God’s hand had wiped the regret from his eyes. God’s grace erased any trace of doubt life had placed within his heart. God’s love stole his passion for much else, for God was his life, and he loved Him, and Him alone.

God was nothing like man.

God would never betray. God would never fail. God would never abandon His followers. And yet, his God was not an inherently altruistic one. No irreligious bastard could simply pray for forgiveness and be welcomed into Jashin’s embrace with open arms. No, if you were repentant, you would fight. You must endure the test to claim the reward. Through indescribable pain, limitless dedication, and insurmountable conviction, you would prove to Him that your pitiful human existence was worth being recognized. The trial and tribulation which they called ‘life’ was nothing more than a test of character, to weed out the unfaithful, and to reveal whether or not you were truly worthy of His love.

But the irony of it all stung his heart worse than any blade.

He was blessed enough to dedicate the entirety of his existence to serving the Lord, and at the same time cursed to never reach final peace, the same peace he had mercifully given hundreds of others without question. He would never see His face. He would never hear His voice. He would never come into contact with the One he cherished most, the only One he ever longed to see. His periodic escape to this peaceful nirvana was the closest he would ever come to Heaven, and that fact tormented him to no end. The paradoxical status of immortality made him feel lost and unguided...almost as if God...

...had forgotten him...

‘Why won’t you accept me, Lord?’, he would often question. ‘Why won’t you allow me to pass through the Gates after everything I’ve done in your name? After all I’ve accomplished for you? Why won’t you take me in?’

A barely discernible voice beckoned him from somewhere beyond his mind.

“Hidan...”

‘Why won’t you take me?’

“Hidan?”

‘Why...’

“Hidan, it’s been over half-an-hour. Are you finished yet?”

The Jashinist’s eyes flew open; bridles of cruel reality snapping his vision into clarity as his peaceful mirage disappeared into the nothingness from whence it came. He could feel himself lying upon hard ground; a heavy wooden pike was drilled through his heart, the stabbing aches in his chest flowing with the unfortunate reinstatement of physical pain.

“GODDAMN IT, KAKUZU!”, he shouted, wincing at the agonizing sensation immediately filling his chest. “I told you the fucking ritual can’t be interrupted!”

A glint of aggravation sparked in his masked comrade’s impatient eyes.
“These ceremonies are getting even longer.”, he said bitterly. “What are you doing in that circle of yours anyway, besides lying there and wasting my time?”

Hidan glared scornfully at his ignorant teammate; the naive, disrespectful, avaricious heathen who dared to break his concentration. It didn’t matter what happened now...his escape had been cut short.

The discernments of his insignificant physical state settled into perception once more, as the metallic sting of cold blood returned to the tip of his tongue.