Published at 17th of September 2024 12:36 am

Chapter 54 Deidara: Art in Destruction

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The sound of distant explosions echoed through the mountainous terrain, the harsh symphony of chaos reverberating against the jagged rocks. High above, perched on a cliff with the setting sun casting a blood-red glow over the sky, Deidara stood with a smug grin stretched across his face. His cloak billowed in the wind, revealing the Akatsuki’s signature red clouds. To the artist of destruction, the world was a canvas, and he painted with the most powerful medium of all—explosions.

“Art is an explosion, un!” he muttered to himself, watching the remnants of his latest creation disintegrate into a shower of dust and fire. The village below him, once a bustling, lively place, was now reduced to rubble—another testament to his philosophy. The fleeting moment of beauty, the instant where creation met destruction, was the only true form of art. It was in that brief moment, when everything ceased to exist, that the true essence of beauty could be felt.

Deidara’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he wiped a smear of clay from his fingertips. The detonating clay he used to craft his art was his lifeblood, his obsession. With the mouths in his palms, he molded the clay into creatures, sculptures, and symbols, infusing each one with explosive chakra.

But no one understood him. No one could comprehend the elegance of his work.

“Those fools think art should be eternal,” Deidara muttered under his breath, thinking of the many who had mocked his vision. “They cling to statues and paintings as if they mean something. Bah! It’s pathetic, un!”

His mind wandered briefly to his former comrade, Sasori. The puppet master had been obsessed with eternal art—art that could withstand the test of time. They had argued often about the nature of art, their philosophies clashing like oil and water. Where Deidara saw beauty in destruction, Sasori saw it in permanence. For him, a masterpiece was something that could endure, like his eternal puppets.

But Deidara had never agreed. How could something that stood the test of time be art? True art was in its fragility, its impermanence. The beauty came from its fleeting nature, the thrill of its sudden destruction.

“Everything that lasts is worthless,” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “Only in that moment of explosion, when everything is annihilated, does true beauty reveal itself. Un!”

Despite the satisfaction of his most recent act of destruction, there was a lingering frustration within him. It was the frustration of not being understood. Even within the Akatsuki, his comrades treated his art with indifference or outright scorn. To them, Deidara was just a tool—another weapon in their arsenal. They didn’t appreciate the artistry in his methods, the delicate balance between creation and annihilation.

Especially Itachi Uchiha.

Deidara’s eyes narrowed at the thought of the stoic Uchiha. Itachi had humiliated him during their first encounter, trapping him in a genjutsu that made Deidara’s precious art seem like nothing more than a cheap illusion. That insult had cut deeper than any physical wound ever could. For someone to make him—Deidara—doubt the value of his art was unforgivable.

“Itachi…” Deidara’s voice was a growl, low and dangerous. The Uchiha’s name was a stain on his pride. “One day… one day, I’ll show you. I’ll show you the true beauty of my art, and you’ll understand, un!”

He had dedicated himself to surpassing the Uchiha ever since that day. His training had intensified, his art had evolved, and with each explosion he created, Deidara felt himself drawing closer to his goal. The desire for recognition burned inside him like a fuse, leading him ever onward toward his ultimate masterpiece.

Deidara reached into the pouch at his side, feeling the soft, malleable clay between his fingers. He pulled out a small chunk, letting it form into the familiar shapes—birds, dragons, centipedes—all waiting for his chakra to bring them to life. He rolled the clay in his palms, feeling the tiny mouths bite into it, savoring the sensation. It was a ritual, almost meditative.

“Perfection,” he whispered as he shaped a bird with delicate wings, infusing it with explosive chakra. “In just a moment, you’ll soar into the sky… and then, in a glorious flash, you’ll disappear. That’s what it means to be art, un!”

The bird took flight, soaring high into the sky above the mountains. Deidara watched it with a mixture of pride and longing. In a few seconds, he would release his chakra, and the bird would explode, becoming a brilliant spectacle of light and fire. It would be gone forever, leaving only the memory of its beauty.

He savored the moment, his finger poised to detonate the bird. But just before he could do so, a voice echoed behind him.

“Still playing with your toys, Deidara?”

The voice was smooth, laced with condescension, and immediately familiar.

Deidara turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he saw the figure standing at the edge of the cliff. It was Tobi, the Akatsuki’s enigmatic and irritating member, the one who never took anything seriously. The mask he wore—a swirl of orange with a single eyehole—seemed to mock Deidara with its perpetual grin.

“Tobi…” Deidara growled, his irritation palpable. “What do you want, un?”

Tobi tilted his head, as if considering the question. “Oh, nothing much. Just watching. It’s always fascinating to see you so… passionate about your art.”

Deidara bristled at the sarcasm in Tobi’s voice. He knew that Tobi didn’t appreciate his art either, but unlike the others, Tobi seemed to enjoy taunting him about it. Deidara had often wondered if there was more to Tobi than the idiot persona he presented, but for now, he didn’t care.

“Shut up, Tobi,” Deidara snapped, turning his back to the masked man. “You wouldn’t understand true art if it exploded right in front of your face, un!”

Tobi’s muffled laughter filled the air, but Deidara ignored him. He had more important things to focus on. The bird was still in the sky, still waiting to be set free in a brilliant display of destruction.

With a flick of his fingers, Deidara activated the chakra in the bird.

There was a moment of stillness—a heartbeat of silence—before the bird exploded in a magnificent burst of light. The sky lit up with the force of the blast, and for that fleeting moment, the world seemed to stop. Time itself bent to the will of the explosion, and in that single instant, Deidara’s art reached its zenith.

He watched the flames fade, a satisfied smirk on his face. That was it. That was true art.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he muttered to himself, feeling the adrenaline of creation still coursing through his veins. “That’s what art is supposed to be, un.”

But behind him, Tobi’s voice broke through his moment of triumph.

“Are you sure? I think that bird could’ve been a bit bigger.”

Deidara’s eye twitched. “I said shut up, Tobi!”

He turned, clay already in hand, ready to shove it in Tobi’s face, but the masked man was already gone, leaving Deidara alone with the fading light of the sunset.

Deidara clenched his fists, glaring at the spot where Tobi had been standing. The frustration that simmered just beneath the surface of his skin bubbled over. It wasn’t just Tobi. It was all of them—the entire world. No one truly understood his art, his vision. They mocked him, dismissed him, treated his work like nothing more than a weapon.

But he would show them. All of them.

One day, Deidara would create the ultimate masterpiece—a single, perfect explosion that would make even the gods tremble. It would be an explosion so grand, so breathtaking, that it would silence every critic, every skeptic.

And when that moment came, when the world was bathed in the light of his final creation, they would understand. They would see the truth.

That art… was an explosion.

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End.

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