Published at 18th of September 2024 12:38 pm

Chapter 123 Shadows of the Sand: 1 The Rise of Sasori

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The Hidden Sand Village had always been a place of harsh beauty. The endless expanse of desert stretched far beyond the horizon, the sun casting long shadows across the dunes. It was a place where survival came first, where strength was everything. But for one young boy, strength meant something far darker.

Sasori of the Red Sand stood on the outskirts of Sunagakure, his cold eyes fixed on the horizon. His puppet, Hiruko, hovered beside him, a silent sentinel. Though his face betrayed no emotion, his mind was racing. He had long since severed his ties with the village, but the memories still clung to him, refusing to fade away.

The night was quiet, save for the distant sound of wind whistling through the rocks. It was a fitting backdrop for the thoughts that plagued him—thoughts of his past, of the village that had abandoned him, and of the path that had led him to join the Akatsuki.

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Years earlier, the streets of Sunagakure had been filled with life. Children ran through the market, their laughter echoing off the sandstone buildings. But in a small, dimly lit room on the outskirts of the village, young Sasori sat alone, hunched over a wooden puppet.

His hands moved deftly, carving intricate details into the puppet’s face. Each stroke of the knife was precise, deliberate, as if he were pouring a piece of himself into the lifeless wood. The puppet was almost complete, and soon, it would be more than just a toy.

Sasori’s grandmother, Chiyo, entered the room quietly, her old eyes filled with concern. “Sasori, you’ve been working on that for hours. You should take a break.”

Sasori didn’t look up, his focus entirely on the puppet. “I’m almost done. Just a little more.”

Chiyo sighed, watching him with a heavy heart. She had seen the change in her grandson after his parents’ death, the way he had withdrawn from the world. The once lively boy had become cold, distant, obsessed with his puppets.

But it wasn’t just the puppets that concerned her—it was the way Sasori talked about them, the way he treated them as if they were real. He had begun experimenting with strange techniques, adding hidden weapons and traps to his creations. Chiyo feared that he was losing himself in his work, that the pain of losing his parents had driven him to seek solace in something far darker.

“Sasori,” she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Your parents wouldn’t want you to isolate yourself like this. They would want you to live, to find happiness.”

Sasori’s hands paused for a moment, but he didn’t look up. “Happiness is fleeting. People die, and all that’s left is emptiness. Puppets are different. They don’t die. They stay with you forever.”

Chiyo felt a chill run down her spine. She knew that Sasori’s heart had hardened after the loss of his parents, but she hadn’t realized just how deep his disillusionment had become.

“They aren’t a replacement for people, Sasori,” she said gently. “You can’t live your life in the shadows of the past.”

Sasori’s grip tightened on the puppet. “I don’t need people. They’re weak. They break.”

Chiyo’s heart broke a little more as she listened to him, but she knew there was nothing she could say to change his mind. Sasori had made his decision long ago, and the path he was walking was one that would lead him far from the light.

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As the years passed, Sasori’s skill with puppets grew. He became a master puppeteer, feared and respected in the Hidden Sand Village for his creations. His puppets were works of art—beautiful, deadly, and terrifying. But the more he perfected his craft, the more he distanced himself from the world around him.

Eventually, his experiments took a darker turn. It wasn’t enough to create puppets from wood and metal anymore. Sasori wanted something more. He wanted puppets that would never age, never decay—puppets that would last forever.

And so, he began using humans.

His first human puppet had been an enemy shinobi, captured during a mission. Sasori had taken the man’s body and carefully transformed it into a puppet, preserving its strength, its abilities, even its chakra. The result was a masterpiece—a puppet that was indistinguishable from a living person, yet completely under Sasori’s control.

But one wasn’t enough. Sasori’s thirst for perfection drove him to create more and more human puppets, each one more powerful than the last. With every new creation, he felt a sense of satisfaction, of control. He had found a way to cheat death, to make his art immortal.

It wasn’t long before the Hidden Sand Village began to notice. Rumors spread of missing shinobi, of bodies disappearing from the battlefield. Chiyo, though heartbroken, had turned a blind eye for as long as she could, hoping that Sasori would come to his senses. But when she discovered the truth—that her grandson had been turning people into puppets—she knew she had to act.

Confronting Sasori had been one of the hardest moments of her life. He had stood before her, calm and cold, as she begged him to stop, to come back to the village, to leave behind his twisted obsession.

But Sasori had simply looked at her with empty eyes. “You don’t understand, Grandmother. This is art. This is the only way to make something last forever.”

Chiyo had tried to stop him, but Sasori was too far gone. He had severed his ties with the village and disappeared, leaving behind only the memory of the boy he once was.

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Now, standing in the darkness outside Sunagakure, Sasori felt nothing as he recalled those events. His transformation into a puppet—his own masterpiece—had stripped him of his humanity long ago. The emotions that had once driven him, the pain of losing his parents, the guilt of leaving his grandmother, were distant echoes in his mind.

All that remained was his art.

The sound of footsteps behind him broke the silence, and Sasori turned to see a figure approaching. It was Deidara, his Akatsuki partner, his expression as cocky as ever.

“Enjoying the view, un?” Deidara asked, glancing out at the desert. “Not much to look at if you ask me. All sand, no beauty.”

Sasori didn’t respond. He had never cared for Deidara’s childish obsession with explosions. To him, true art was something that lasted forever—something eternal.

Deidara grinned, clearly unbothered by Sasori’s silence. “So, what’s the plan? We’ve got our next target, right? Some shinobi out in the Land of Rivers. Should be fun.”

Sasori nodded, his mind already shifting to the mission. The Akatsuki’s goal was clear—capture the jinchūriki and harness the power of the Tailed Beasts. But for Sasori, the missions were just a means to an end. His true goal was perfection, the creation of the ultimate puppet.

As they set off into the desert, the night swallowing them in darkness, Sasori’s thoughts lingered on the past for just a moment longer. He had left behind everything—his village, his family, even his humanity—all in the name of art.

But in the end, it was all worth it.

Because true art was eternal.

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