Chapter Text
Twice Mitarashi Anko has died in this lifetime.
Her heels kicked up a cloud of sand into the air, fine as the smoke from a funeral pyre. Her racing heart was the processional drum. There were even people accompanying her in this race towards death— two Chuunin (fresh greens too young to be promoted except in desperate times like post-war Konoha) three kilometers behind her.
The desert landscape was merciless to foreigners— and they all were. Unused to the way their sandals sank with each new step. But the kids had all the stamina of their youth.
Her? She could feel the ache in her bones, the sting of a wound she could no longer ignore, and this pop-pop-pop all over her body. Worse and worse for every pulse of chakra she pushed to her feet.
They’re catching up.
Anko pulled out two more kunai from her pouch. Slipped two paper bombs out of her vest pocket. Attach. Ignite the flame. Turn and toss.
The spray of sand bought her five seconds of lead time. One to dodge the hail of needles, one to pull out a scroll from her vest (lighter, and lighter. How many more materials did she have left?), two to create the hand seals. One for the snakes to emerge from the scroll—- lunging towards the Chuunin with poisoned fangs.
Pop. Pop. Pop. On her hands and up her arms.
Snake blood on the sand, and one Chuunin writhing in pain, but the other didn’t stop. Neither was the pop-pop-popping on her arm.
She dove down a sand dune and took a sharp turn to the left. Then right. Slide to the playa. Dive into a row of cacti (with just enough space in between for her to slip through, unscathed). Sharp turn left. Ignite another paper bomb. Sharp turn back into the sand dunes. Slip a paper bomb out—shit, she’s out of kunai. Cow skull at her foot— kick it up, attach, ignite, turn and toss.
The drum of her heart drew faster and faster towards a climax. Her vest was light. No kunai. No scroll. Three paper bombs. All the exhaustion sinking into her bones. Either she miraculously out runs him— or he catches her, and drags her back to Konoha. Back to the hell-hole that kept monsters like her old teacher in their village. And then demand her service, as if the anger boiling in her gut didn’t have a right to be there.
The only part of her they can drag back to Konoha would be her rotting corpse. She’ll seal acid into her mouth, activated when they drag her through the gates.
Maybe then she can spit in their faces one last time.
Anko pushed chakra into her feet until she glided over the sand dunes. Until she could feel the pop-pop-pop in her toes, at the soles of her feet, climbing up her ankles like little centipedes. Until the sun-soaked sand burned into her skin.
Until she was forced to stop at the sight of a wall—— stretching from the sand dunes all the way unto the sky, blocking out the sun. The wall of sand moved towards her with the force of a hurricane.
Caught between the devil, this unstoppable force of nature, and the thousands of knives that pricked her legs.
Twice Mitarashi Anko has died in this lifetime. First, on the cold laboratory table. Second, with the blood, the chakra, and all her faith in Konoha bleeding out on the forest floor in the middle of a war that forgot about her. Then now, as she charged head first into the raging sandstorm.
Third time’s the charm.