01/29/2014 05:14 PM 

My Survival (First-person Account, not from Manga/Anime)

Being buried alive.

I would think for most people, the thought alone would be disturbing.  To imagine being trapped underneath tons of suffocating soil and sand.  What it would do to your lungs, and moreover, what it would do to your mind.  An unthinkable, inescapable horror.

Fortunately, I have never been 'most people.'  I stand as a testament of ultimate survival and perseverance.  I would not consider myself lucky for having survived such terrors.  However, the only way I can explain the miracle of my presense (and I use the word miracle loosely) is to recount the last moments of that fateful day, many years ago.

To give credit where it is due, both of my adversaries were incredible fighters.  I tried not to underestimate them, but I know that I was still the better fighter, even after my defeat.  Had it not been for my long-lingering illness, my body would have never given up the ghost.  But I am not here to explain whether or not Gaara and Rock Lee killed me.  Even in the absense of a clear victory, I was still able to stall them long enough for Sasuke to choose his fate.  The vessel would deliver himself to Lord Orochimaru, regardless.

I do not remember dying.  In some ways, I think that my heart slowed to an almost indescernable rate, but I was still alive.  My last waking thoughts were of the master to whom I hoped I had served well, in spite of the failure of my incurable ailment.  If I had been stronger I would have been his vessel, myself.  

As it turns out, I was stronger.  But I did not know this, and neither did Kabuto sensei.  If he had realized it, I am sure that he would have gone through the trouble of collecting my body from that field.  Thankfully, the people of Otogakure were never very respectful of their dead.  My very bones pulled me into the soil of that field, as a last act of remorse and regret.  I think that my Shikotsumyaku has always felt guilty for making me the monster that I am.

As my body lay sundered and generally lifeless within the soil, something inexplicable began to happen.  The only way to describe it is to compare it with the theory of evolution, itself.  One by one, the cells of my body began to knit together and transform.  The process was slow.  Painfully and agonizingly slow.  There was a point where I began to understand what was happening to me, and that was the point where I lost all sense of sanity.  My Shikotsumyaku and my Cursed Earth Seal were working together, repairing my body as it incubated under tons of rich sand and soil.  

The more my body healed, the more pressure I could feel, and the more I wanted to take a breath of air.  It was maddening.  I was too weak to escape, but I was too strong to die.  The curse was allowing me to somehow filter the oxygen from the soil.  My bones were reaching out and drawing nutrients from the soil and plantlife, feeding me as I suffered in madness and darkness.  I wondered if I would ever see again, or if I was fated to go on that way.  Trapped under the field of my defeat.

The day finally arrived when I knew that I had suffered enough.  The soil fought to keep me in its embrace, but I was far too eager to leave.  It had lasted a span of time that I had lost track of within what was left of my mind.  Three years.  The toll on my body had been so bad, that even with my dead bone pulse and the power of the earth seal, it had taken three years to mend.  I pierced and dug my way out of the earth, and my lungs burned as I gasped my first breath of air.  As I desperately broke through the topsoil layer of the meadow, I thought of how ironic it was that I was dying now, after all that I had been through beneath the earth.  I could not open my eyes until evening.  Even then, my pupils burned at the fierce moonlight.  But at long last, I was alive.

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