Published at 17th of September 2024 12:36 pm

Chapter 73 The Heart of Stone: 1 In the Shadows of the Earth

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In the shadowy depths of the earth, far below the surface, a figure moved silently through the tunnels. His body seemed to merge with the very rock around him, a living ghost in the underground labyrinth. Deidara had always preferred the sky, the open air, and the freedom of flight, but his current mission had brought him to the heart of the earth, into the lair of his partner, the silent and enigmatic Akatsuki member, Sasori.

Sasori was a man of few words, a master puppeteer whose heart had long since turned to stone—both metaphorically and literally. He viewed the world as a collection of fragile, breakable things, and he sought to make himself eternal, unchanging, invulnerable to the passage of time. It was a philosophy Deidara found distasteful. To him, art was fleeting, a moment of beauty that exploded into nothingness, leaving only a memory behind. But despite their differences, the two worked together as a pair, bound by the shared goals of the Akatsuki.

As Deidara approached Sasori’s underground workshop, the heavy stone doors creaked open, revealing the dimly lit chamber beyond. Puppets hung from the walls like lifeless sentinels, their empty eyes staring out into the void. Sasori himself sat at a low table, his back to Deidara, meticulously working on one of his many creations. His real body, hidden inside the puppet form of Hiruko, remained concealed beneath layers of wood and metal.

“You’re late,” Sasori said without looking up, his voice cold and detached.

Deidara rolled his eyes, stepping into the workshop. “Yeah, yeah. You’re always in a hurry, Sasori. Art takes time, un. You should know that.”

Sasori’s hands continued to move, adjusting the intricate mechanisms inside the puppet. “Your ‘art’ is destruction. It’s temporary, like the life of an insect. My art is eternal.”

Deidara smirked, crossing his arms. “Tch. Eternal, huh? What’s the point of something that never changes, un? True art is a fleeting moment, a spark of brilliance that vanishes before anyone can fully grasp it.”

For a moment, there was silence between them, the only sound being the soft clicking of Sasori’s tools. Their differing views on art had always been a point of contention, but neither of them was interested in changing the other’s mind. Their partnership was one of necessity, not friendship.

“We have a mission,” Sasori finally said, setting down his tools and turning to face Deidara. “The leader has given us new orders.”

Deidara raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh? What are we doing this time, un?”

Sasori’s eyes glinted from within the hollow sockets of Hiruko’s mask. “We’re going after the third jinchūriki. The one who holds the Three-Tails.”

Deidara’s grin widened, his excitement barely contained. “A jinchūriki, huh? That sounds like fun. I’ve been itching for a good fight, un.”

Sasori, however, was not as enthusiastic. “This mission is about capturing the jinchūriki alive. Don’t let your reckless tendencies get in the way.”

Deidara waved off the warning with a casual flick of his hand. “Relax, Sasori. I know how to handle a jinchūriki. I’ll just give ‘em a taste of my art, un, and they’ll be begging to surrender.”

Sasori’s gaze remained fixed on him, unblinking. “If you destroy the target, you’ll be the one answering to the leader.”

Deidara’s smile faltered slightly at the mention of Pain, the Akatsuki’s leader. Even Deidara wasn’t foolish enough to disregard a direct order from Pain. He might have been arrogant, but he wasn’t suicidal.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it,” Deidara muttered, though his mind was already racing with plans for how he would handle the upcoming battle. The thought of facing a jinchūriki, a living weapon, filled him with a mix of excitement and anticipation. To him, every fight was a canvas, and every explosion was a stroke of genius.

As the two Akatsuki members left the underground hideout and made their way toward the distant location of the Three-Tails’ host, Deidara’s thoughts drifted back to his days in Iwagakure. He had been hailed as a prodigy in his village, a master of explosive jutsu from a young age, but he had never truly felt like he belonged. The rigid structure of the village, the constant emphasis on control and discipline—it stifled his creativity.

It was only after he had defected and joined the Akatsuki that Deidara had truly found a place where he could express himself, where his art could flourish. The Akatsuki didn’t care about rules or traditions. They valued power, and Deidara’s explosive techniques were the perfect tool for their goals.

Yet, despite the freedom the Akatsuki provided, there was something about Sasori that always nagged at Deidara. It wasn’t just their differing philosophies—it was the way Sasori seemed to look at the world, the way he dismissed life itself as nothing more than another material to be shaped and controlled. Deidara couldn’t understand it. For him, life was vibrant, chaotic, full of unpredictable beauty. And while he had no problem with death, he believed it should be grand and spectacular, not cold and mechanical like one of Sasori’s puppets.

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As they traveled in silence, the landscape around them changed, giving way to mist-covered forests and jagged cliffs. They were nearing the territory where the jinchūriki was rumored to reside, and the tension between the two Akatsuki members was palpable. Deidara, riding on one of his clay birds, glanced down at Sasori, who walked below, seemingly indifferent to the oppressive atmosphere of the land.

“You know, Sasori,” Deidara called down, “I’ve been thinking. If we’re gonna catch this jinchūriki, we should make it look good, un. A real masterpiece.”

Sasori didn’t even look up. “Your ‘masterpieces’ tend to leave nothing but rubble.”

Deidara laughed. “Exactly! That’s what makes them art, un. The explosion is the moment of creation and destruction all in one.”

Sasori remained silent for a moment before responding, his voice as emotionless as ever. “A moment is nothing. Eternity is everything.”

Deidara shook his head, a mixture of amusement and frustration flickering in his eyes. “You’re so stuck in your ways, Sasori. Maybe one day you’ll understand what real art is, un.”

But Sasori would never understand. His heart, encased in the puppet body he had created for himself, was beyond feeling. He had given up the fragility of human life for something he believed was eternal, but to Deidara, he had lost the very essence of what made life beautiful.

As they neared their destination, Deidara’s thoughts shifted back to the mission at hand. A jinchūriki was no ordinary target, and despite his bravado, Deidara knew they would have to be careful. The Three-Tails’ host would be a formidable opponent, and the capture had to be clean and precise.

But that didn’t mean Deidara couldn’t enjoy himself in the process.

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