A steady, slow hand carefully drew complex and complicated shapes on a flat, otherwise perfectly smooth and featureless surface. A cubic room, six meters in every direction from the center, was covered from ceiling to floor and in every wall by strange markings, runic etchings whose meaning was a secret closely guarded by time, that which eventually claims all things.
The blonde woman the hand belonged to was expressionless, her pale face betraying nothing. She could've been said to be pretty, with aristocratic, sharp features that showed a member of the noblesse featured in her parentage. Beautiful, even. However, her features were marred. Her ears, they were too long and pointed, almost like knives, and her eyes… her eyes were terrifying to all but the bravest of men, for her stare was as dead as any corpse's. Even its coloration was simply wrong. A black pupil, a red iris and finally, a black schlera to surround it, on each of her eyesockets.
Pale blond hair framed her face and cascaded down her back, swaying slightly as she rose to her full, if unimpressive, height. Her every step caused the ragged cloak that she wore to ripple as if it were liquid, giving a vague approximation of her feminine body.
She moved until she was at the center of the room, in which a ritualistic circle had been prepared, five lit and melting candles set in a pentagram around her. She sat, cross legged, and closed her eyes. Her hands moved outwards, until she held them level with her shoulders. Soon after, a pair of blades materialized on each hand. Terrifying things, chipped and rusted from overuse, a result of having been bathed in the blood of countless victims. So soaked in blood were they that they were dripping the vital fluid even before they had rented any flesh.
The sound of blades cutting the air could be heard, as they moved with incredible speed and unerring accuracy, and they were suddenly held above the belly of their wielder, in a clear position to be driven through it.
A squelching sound broke the silence, and the splatter of blood followed it, but soon, the world faded to deafening silence, as the markings in the room began to shine softly. The sound of the little droplets of blood that were hitting the growing pool on the floor was soon overtaken by the hum of the markings, which began to grow brighter and more intense with each passing second.
"… Finally… I shall have… peace…"
***
Namikaze Minato was many things.
He was the fourth Hokage of the Village Hidden in the Leaves, also known as Konoha, short for the name it had been given in the old language, Konohagakure no Sato, which translated to what was the city's true name. Despite it not actually being a village, but a city, but Minato digressed. This title came with its duties and privileges. He was to protect and nurture its society, he was to regulate and control it, ensuring a brighter future for its inhabitants. In return, he enjoyed a higher paycheck than any of his subjects, barring those who took high risk missions on a regular basis. He enjoyed the position of authority, and its perks, as much as he put up with its disadvantages and the tasks it forced upon him.
Minato was also a teacher, tasked with the nurturing and educating of Konoha's genin, a trio of which had been entrusted to him. He had enjoyed much with his team, and he was certain that they had enjoyed their time with him, as well, but he had failed in his duties as a teacher. Two of his students lay dead, both in defense of what they held dear, and whilst Minato could not be prouder of them, he could not help but admit, in his heart of hearts, that it was his fault that either of them had met their end, but he digressed again.
Beyond a Hokage and a Teacher, Minato was a Shinobi, a Ninja. He had all the abilities of one and, infact, even more than the abilities that the grand majority could ever hope to achieve, for he was a genius in the arts of a Shinobi, and far outpaced all of his peers. In return, he faced harsher challenges and was given more difficult duties. The prices of greatness were many.
Any of those three would've defined Namikaze Minato in the eyes of the public.
But there was another word that could define him, and what Minato wanted to be more than anything else. More than Hokage, more than a Teacher, more than a Ninja…
Minato was a Father.
First and foremost, he was a father.
It was for this reason that he looked down upon his neonate daughter, and his face twisted into a grimace of sorrow and anger, even as she let out her first cries. Justborn, and she had already had an attempt on her life. By the same monster who had ripped the Kyuubi from the seal on his wife's belly, at its moment of weakness. The monster who had fled, as soon as Minato disrupted his control over the Kyuubi. Minato was certain the monster wouldn't notice the Hiraishin seal until it was too late, but for now…
Minato swallowed.
It was this, the moment he dreaded. His duties, as a Ninja, as a Hokage, as a Teacher, they all conflicted with his wish to be the best possible father that he could be. He knew what had to be done. He knew what his actions would entail. It was for this reason that he called Gamabunta, and it was for this reason that he led the gigantic toad to battle against the creature that frightened every sane man in the world.
He hadn't been a father for more than sixteen minutes, and already he had failed as such. He was a genius, one who set new records in every category, and this was no different, he supposed. His failures, they had always been catastrophic, hadn't they?
"I'm sorry, Naruko-chan… I'm sorry you had me as your father… I wish… I wish I could've given you the life you deserved," he said, his throat constricting, threatening to cut off his words. Gamabunta shifted under him, his size-appropriate sword deflecting one of the Kyuubi's paws, stopping it from shredding the toad and at the same time killing Minato and his baby.
His wife was on her feet already, and he felt his lips twitch upwards. Her resilience was legendary, and her strength of will unparalleled. A wild, untamable beast, rampaging through life… Uzumaki Kushina was the same way she had been when Minato had fallen in love with her, all those years ago, when he'd assisted her escape from the Kumo Shinobi that had captured her.
Their plan was already in motion. Kushina's chains snapped into action, their strength more than enough to restrain the Kyuubi for a short time without issue, becoming progressively harder the longer she held it. Minato had to work fast.
However, as it thrashed, snarled and roared, the Kyuubi's eyes suddenly came to rest on Minato, and for a moment, Minato thought it had recognized him as a threat
What Minato saw in the Kyuubi's eyes shocked him to the core. He could see an immense terror had gripped the beast, and it redoubled its attempts at breaking out of the bondage Kushina had put it in. Minato hadn't felt the beast's gaze upon himself, and so his eyes shifted down.
His child?
Did the Kyuubi understand that his child would serve as its next prison? It was likely, Kushina had said that the beast was intelligent enough to hurl insults at her every time she met it…
But still… that wasn't desperation born of a fear of becoming imprisoned once more. No, that was the kind of terror Minato inspired in Iwa Shinobi. And so Minato looked at his daughter, truly looked at her, focusing each and everyone of his senses upon her.
What he found… Minato wouldn't say.
But his plans changed, right then and there, and he found himself having more than a little hope for the future, and for redeeming himself. Perhaps… perhaps he hadn't yet failed entirely as a father.