Some years after the Kyuubi attack, the Fire Lord's castle.
He waited. It was something he was good at.
The courtyard before him was abuzz with movement, sound, colour and light.
Guests in great formal Kimono's, elegant silk and polished jewellery spread around the courtyard. Hurried servants in the colours of their Lord also moved about swiftly, trying to stay out of the way and out of sight. They carried platters of sweet meats, and piles of pastries and thin flutes of bubbling drink.
A part of him was offended at their slow, clumsy movements. The clothing was all wrong for the task, the orange cloth ungainly and offensively bright. He mentally shuddered at the colour. What kind of idiot wore that for work?
Mentally, he plotted courses that would work better. He worked out supply routes that would be more out of sight, or methods of improving efficiency. He worked out their rotation systems and baulked silently at the crudity of it, and how bad they were at keeping it.
His single visible eye picked out more details he already knew. The guards were patrolling diligently, their patterns obvious and easy to decipher and avoid. So far he had picked his way past several such patrols.
His progress had been almost comically easy. After all, ninja were meant to be stealthy. They were meant to be good at details.
The window overlooked all of the entrances to the courtyard, and was brightly lit, a great beacon of welcome, a great centrepiece of the great castle that the Daimyo occupied.
At the base, a squad of elite samurai stood guard over the great oak doors to the tower. At the top, half a dozen more made sure nobody could get to the top, without being visible themselves in the glory of the light that shone from it.
It was so brightly lit and so well guarded that nobody had bothered to check the small, dingy window about halfway up, which was darkened to glorify the majesty of the top of the tower.
The candles nearby only existed to let people slightly know what they were doing. Any guard worth his salt could climb those stairs in the dark anyway. The flickers on the wall behind pleased him as he waited. After all, they didn't show his shadow.
He ran black gloved hands over his weapon. The crossbow was an antiquated and little used weapon in the world at large.
When opponents tended to see you before you could fire, and it being as good at close range as a caramel dagger, nobody really bothered to use it. It was also slow to reload, at second or two of downtime where a dozen shuriken and kunai could be thrown, and that was with a skilled practitioner.
But it was compact, powerful, and more than capable of taking out anyone who didn't suspect it. More importantly, with a little bit of extra modification and just a touch of chakra, things could be made a little more different.
His eye flicked to the grand archway that led into the courtyard. It took in the fine marble work and its foundations, working out angles and determining the best places to put explosives should he need to take it down if he wanted to use it for his mission.
He flicked to the flagstones on the courtyard. Foundations, tunnels, gas attacks with smoke to disguise his movements. Surprise doton jutsu maybe.
His mind was less a mind than a thinking engine, programmed to work out the quickest way to complete his job. And every other way possible. And the probability of success for every possibility. Kept the mind sharp.
He eased his finger into the trigger grip of the bow. It was nearly time.
The bell atop the tower began to toll.
Bong
The chatter from the crowd became quieter as the first blow reverberated and the event began in earnest.
Bong
A silence fell as they turned towards the archway, the figure in the tower pulled his long hood up over his head, hanging it at an angle so that his visible eye was left uncovered and the other kept further into the dark.
Bong
The first figures emerged in the archway. The figure in the tower placed his hands together as if in prayer.
Bong
The figure whispered a few syllables before taking hold of his weapon once more. The entrance party made its way around the corner,
Bong
The figure brought the butt of the crossbow to his shoulder. It fit like a glove, the stock shaped to fit his figure. He slowed his breathing down as far as he could to decrease any movement.
Bong
The figure shut his visible eye, and prepared himself.
Bong
The target became visible to the naked eye as he passed the great masonry archway. Clad in a rich robe trimmed with animal pelts, he was every inch the vision of a prince. He waved to all around him, blowing a kiss into a group of tittering ladies.
Bong
The figure stopped to absorb the crowd's adulation. There was barely a whisper as the finger twitched the fire mechanism.
Bong
The Daimyo's son fell to the ground as the bell sounded. People looked over to see what had happened. The crossbow was swung back to hang on his back as the figure began flying through hand seals.
Bong
The first guard reached the Daimyo's son and saw the crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest, having pierced the armour under the robe, straight into his heart. He looked to the tower where the bolt had been fired from; the fact obvious from the angle the bolt had it.
Bong
The guards in the tower moved to sweep it clear from top and bottom. The figure leapt upwards as he heard the clatter of iron boots on the stairs.
Bong
Midnight struck, and the guards met in the middle of the tower.
"There has to be someone here!"
"There can't be, they'd have to be invisible. Even shinobi can't do that."
"They must have somehow got past, lock down the castle!"
All the guards moved off efficiently down the stairs.
As the door at the bottom slammed shut and was locked, the figure dropped silently from the ceiling, deactivating his jutsu.
He walked slowly up to the tower to once again wait. Knowing the guards, they would leave the next day to search the nearby countryside for anyone suspicious. By then, he could be long gone.
He pulled the hood off his head, stroking a dark gloved hand through his blond hair.
Another job done, another target taken out for his Lord and nation.
His footfalls were like a child's, light and making barely any noise. Mainly because they were the footsteps of a child. The hooded cloak rippled softly behind him as he moved up the tower. It was difficult to describe the colour of the cloak. Black wasn't right. It was close. It was more of a dark grey, then a deep, deep green and a midnight blue. It was like a shadow, like raw darkness.
He reached the top of the tower and shut off the great light at the top. Nobody would really notice with the guards running everywhere.
Finding the darkest corner in the room, he pulled the cloak around him in a practised movement. His hands cast the genjutsu that would smooth the darkness around him just in case anyone tried to find him again. He allowed himself the luxury of a smile.
Uzumaki Naruto did what he was best. And waited.