29 Interlude - The God of Ame

Walking was Nagato's new favorite pastime activity – well, hobbling. Walking implied the ability to walk at a steady speed, and Nagato was not there yet. Healing his damaged legs was not his current priority. He was still recovering from malnutrition after having his life force drained by the Demonic Statue for years.

He could still feel the phantom pain on his back, from where the black receivers had pierced him. He knew that he was resilient, the Uzumaki in him made sure of that, but he did not really know how he could withstand the torture for almost a decade. One thing that he knew for sure was that he did not miss being emaciated. Konan never said anything, but Nagato knew he looked terrible – frail, gaunt, all skin and bones. He had almost forgotten how good it felt to move on his own, to not have to depend on others' assistance for simple tasks such as eating and urinating.

Nagato missed the feeling of being free.

He hobbled slowly, but steadily. The crutches dug into his armpits, but it was no longer as unpleasant as it had been last month now that he had gained some meat. He stuck close to the walls. Nagato ignored the vacant looks of his currently decommissioned Paths, especially his Deva path. It felt good to travel and see the world through their eyes, but it was not as good the feeling of the ground beneath his own feet – which were numb due to destroyed nerves.

Exhaustion settled deep into his bone. He had been hobbling for hours and his arms were getting tired of supporting his useless legs, thus it did not come as a surprise when his body tilted over and hit the cold, polished floor. Nagato did not use his control over gravity to soften the blow. He simply lied there, breathing heavily. His knees would bruise, he knew, but the pain he felt was nothing new. Pain was an old friend, something that he welcomed, it showed that he was still alive – he looked down at his numb legs – well, half alive.

Nagato felt Konan's presence before he saw her. She slipped her manicured hands beneath his arms and lifted him with practiced ease. Her hands were getting tanner, he noted.

"How's your travel?"

"Productive," she said. "We now have the famed Sasori of the Red Sand among our rank. He and Orochimaru seem to be getting along."

Nagato snorted at the sarcasm.

Konan strode across the large room and gently deposited him on a well-worn couch. She had tried to convince him to replace it with something better, but the thought of lavishing himself with wealth when many people were barely able to make ends meet simply felt wrong – Nagato had lived in poverty in his younger days, thus continuing the frugal lifestyle suited him just fine.

"You're heavier," Konan remarked with a pleased smile. "That's good."

Nagato hummed his assent. He still had a long way to go before he reached his healthy weight.

Konan conjured a paper chair and sat in front of him. She then handed him a bento and folded her arms over her chest, her eyes were expecting. "Go on, ask."

Nagato murmured a quick thanks and broke his chopsticks. He took a small bite before he faced his second-in-command – or was it leader now? – again. "How's the Uchiha boy?"

When one talked about Uchiha scion, one would immediately think of the Uchiha heir, believed to be one of the best shinobi that the clan had ever produced. His younger brother was also a very promising young man, though his potential was shadowed by his brother's accomplishments, who was a prodigy even among prodigies. One would rarely – if ever – think about the youngest son. Few knew of his existence, including him, and those who knew thought that he was dead, for he scarcely left his house. Hospital records showed that he was a sickly child, born with a strange illness that left him desperately weak. The boy was guaranteed a short existence.

But one day Madara brought his wayward niece – cousin? – who had commendably – if rather foolishly – reverse engineered an Uzumaki seal and made a deal with the Death God for her child's life, and their lives were tilted sideways.

Nagato was not one to pass up an opportunity, he knew that Uchiha Mikoto would be a valuable ally. He had the King of Hell under his control and the Shinigami Mask that Madara had scourged from the woman's belongings, reviving her was easy. At the time he still thought nothing of the child, Konan took care of him whilst Nagato did his job. He then had sent Mikoto and his son away – through his Deva Path, of course – with a stern reminder for the woman to get herself in shape.

Nagato then had drifted to sleep – summoning the King of Hell had always made him sleepy – and was startled into awareness when the black receivers on his back slid off of his flesh and fell into the floor with loud clangs. It took him a few moments to gather his bearing and summon the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path.

It never came.

He almost tried again, but the absence of exhaustion, the absence of the seemingly never-ending engulfment of his life force stopped him. Nagato was not sure what came over him, but a single thought struck him: he did not want the Demon Statue back.

Up until that day, he had spent his entire life placing the needs of others before his own. He became a ninja so that he could protect Yahiko and Konan; he joined Akatsuki as a powerful tool meant to help Yahiko bring peace to their country; after Yahiko's passing, he became its leader because it was his responsibility – his destiny – as the bearer of Rinnegan to save the world from itself, to inflict pains of such magnitude that nobody would ever harm anyone else ever again. But for once in his life he wanted to do something for himself. He wanted to walk, to run, to climb – everything that he was unable to do ever since he became a cripple. He longed the feeling of not being helpless.

Konan, for the first time since Yahiko's death, looked genuinely happy with his decision and assisted him in his recovery. She also assisted him in his duties; namely, leading Akatsuki, and of course, searching for the missing Demonic Statue (he might not keen on using it anytime soon, but their plan of world peace should not be tossed aside for the sake of his personal happiness), and logical deduction had led her to their main suspect: the youngest Uchiha scion.

Nagato did not know if Konan was the crazy one for suggesting the notion of if he was the deranged one for entertaining it. But there was simply no other possibility left.

"Last week," Konan began, "barring hospital visits, was possibly the first time the boy ever stepped foot outside of his house. He looked sick – anxious, but there were no black receivers in sight." Konan held up her hand before Nagato could interrupt her. "I took a liberty to put him in a life threatening situation, to see if he would summon the statue – he didn't. So, I healed him and waited."

Nagato narrowed his ringed eyes when his partner's face scrunched into something unreadable.

"When he woke up, he went into the woods, for some reason. I'm not sure what happened there, but by the time I noticed anything the man that I had sent after him was already dead – hanged on a tree. I don't know how he got there. I knew he walked into the forest, dazed, after he somehow freed himself from my illusion, but he was walking into a completely different direction. Even ignoring all the inconsistencies, there's something that's just…" Konan grimaced, "wrong about the whole situation. Then the boy found him and started sprouting gibberish towards the tree. I thought they meant nothing, but then I listened – truly listened – and I realized that it was a language."

Nagato remained silent. He did not think he had ever seen his normally calm and composed teammate look so confused.

"There's something about that boy that is more than meets the eye."

"Perhaps," Nagato said neutrally.

Konan raised her brow knowingly. "I know you don't believe me, Nagato. I didn't believe me."

Nagato paused his chopsticks. "Didn't?"

"I was trying to heal these lacerations on the boy's neck, and you know that in order to use healing techniques we have to convert our chakra ratio to imitate that of the recipient to stimulate the healing process. It's difficult for me to do that, considering the boy's condition and my Yang affinity, so his system rejects me, but not in the typical way. His spiritual energy surged, almost forming a Yin Release, and I saw these…"

They were glitches of reality, flickering back and forth between nothingness and existence. Konan could vaguely make out a physical form behind the translucent fume, but it was like trying to peer through raw sewage. She could barely get any details through the haze of absolute wrongness that surrounded the things. They were something like porcupines, though they had no spines; they reminded Konan of octopuses, though they had no tentacles; they seemed similar to vultures – preying on energies and minds. Starving.

Konan shook her head, "I don't know… floating things… held by a cord on his navel."

"What…?"

Nagato's hands twitched, the movement did not escape Konan's watchful eye. They both knew if it wouldn't inevitably kill her, he would have already used the Ningendō.

Konan stared into a distance, lost in thoughts. "That boy is not like us, Nagato, not really… human. Say what you want, but I know, I know… I have held him in my arms, I have felt his energies. I know he looks like us, behaves like us… but don't be fooled by his appearance. He might look frail, as if a simple gust of wind could send him sprawling, but on the inside…

"He's something out of this world."