Recuperating

[Kakashi Hatake]

Kakashi’s world went dark as the raging sorcerer’s blast tore into his exposed chest, the violent energy searing into and through his flesh, devouring both muscle and bone alike. What semblance of vigor he had had was wiped away by the maelstrom of plasma the mage had delivered, leaving his battered body to slump down into the venomous mire. The shinobi’s muscles ceased to hold tension, his chokuto sliding from his grip to meet him in the toxic sea. Blood intermingled with the caustic chemicals as officials made their way into the arena. The victor had been crowned, now there was only to scrape up the defeated.

“The winner...Strazio Rockwell!” The magically enhanced voice of the Colosseum commentator boom through the arena, his thunderous announcement barely audible over the cacophony of cheering spectators. The battlemage made no sign of acknowledgment, trudging slowly toward his exit.

Though the Sharingan-wielder’s consciousness had slipped away, his body had refused to relent. He disciplined organs, despite their obvious impairments, continued to chug along without Hatake’s say, though with significant effort.. The lavender muck slowly drained from the arena, receding away from the scarecrow’s now emaciated form. Prolonged exposure to the dark magic had drawn the vitality straight from his tissue, his skin now tight and leathery against his mangled muscles and broken bones. Few in the stands presumed the man would live to fight another day.

From the lip of the ravine, the crew that comprised the Colosseum’s medical team got to work on their task. Their long beige cloaks parted as withered hands extended, clutching various enchanted totems, their dry lips muttering ancient words. Without delay the broken warrior’s limp body ascended from what remained of the poisonous goo, suspended by unseen hands. The sages continued their ritual as the scarecrow’s dead weight hovered toward them, finally clearing the edge of the pit some moments later. The handful of wizards exchanged muttered words before ushering their find into the infirmary.

- - -

Bat, bat, bat…

What?

Bat, bat, bat...

But where…?

“Hey.”

The silver-haired struggled against fatigue and confusion as he ascended from unconsciousness. Swaddled in rough sheets atop a meager cot in the facility’s dirty medical ward, the shinobi had seen better days. His muscles scarcely followed his brain’s commands, barely able to roll the man’s head away from the sensation.

Bat, bat, bat…

“C’mon. Wake up.”

Kakashi’s weakened body struggled in vain against the 5 pounds of canine that sat atop his chest. Try as he might, he was unable to avoid the creature’s assault on his face.

Bat, bat, bat...

“Kakashi. Open your eyes.”

With what felt like enormous effort the shinobi peeled his eyelids apart, his tired eyes failing to do their sole job. A muddy sea of color swirled above him as his pupils shrank to blot out what meager light had passed though the pair of grimy windows above his cot. It would be nearly two minutes before the ninja’s optics could recognize the stoic face of Pakkun hovering over him.

“Glad to see you’re up,” his canine companion muttered. “Was worried about you for a while. You’ve been out for nearly two weeks now.”

“Wha…” Hatake rasped in response, his lungs struggling against the miniature pug’s meager weight.

“Fenrir came back to Mokugakure after your match finished,” Pakkun explained, hopping from the swordsman’s chest onto a nearby chair. “He didn’t see you until after they’d brought you out, but from what I gathered it didn’t go as you’d hoped.”

Kakashi raised a hand to his face, his sore muscles fighting him every step of the way. He gazed upon the pale extremity for a moment, attempting to recall the harrowing battle amidst the miasma. Though not all of his memories filtered through, he could grasp enough to affirm the miniature pug’s assumption. “Not exactly.”

Pakkun nodded sympathetically. “Regardless, I’m glad to see that you’re still with us. The boys and I were worried.”

Hatake lowered his arm, laboriously pushing himself into a seated position. His eyes were finally managing to reach an acceptable level of focus. “Thanks,” he replied simply, glancing out the smoky window.

“Anyway, I’ll head back to the village now and fill the Morikage in on your mission. Rest for a while. Fenrir is waiting for you outside when you’re feeling strong enough.” Kakashi nodded in response before the pug vanished in a puff of smoke.

With a sigh, the scarecrow turned his attention back to his shaking hands. He hadn’t a doubt in his mind that he should have perished in the arena. He had come close to death in the Land of Fire with much injuries. Was his survival a consequence of his ‘Prime-hood’, or perhaps Omni intervening? The shinobi swordsman could only speculate as he stared through the murky window at the setting sun.

[Red]

What happened? Wakka wondered as his eyes cracked open.

How long had the blitzballer been unconscious, a few hours? A few days? Everything proceeding his last recollected moments were lost toys within a large sandbox of mystery. He remembered Dante catching his ball, and then throwing it back at him; he remembered trying to retaliate with an impossible trick shot, too. Even the roars of the crowd seemed like a distant memory now.

Wakka winced while attempting to sit up, expecting a jolt of pain to explode from one from his ribs. None occurred. Not even a tingling reminder. He unlatched one of the arms to his overalls and looked down at his chest, but saw nothing.

“White mage,” he murmured.

Had to be; though many things in the Omniverse conflicted with his knowledge of reality, anything encompassing healing fell into the magic wheelhouse—white magic.

By the appearance of his surroundings, he was in some sort of a makeshift infirmary. Wooden cots with white sheets—though they appeared orange, under the dime light of a single cast-iron chandelier suspending from the center of the ceiling—lined each wall, tracing the inside of the room. Most of them were filled, which slightly baffled Wakka; there were more bodies in cots than contestants that lost. Peculiar.

He glanced over to his right, then his left. Both cots supported the dead weight of men. Their faces were covered, fully—whoever did the deed even had the respect to tuck the sheets under the crowns of their heads. They must have been too far gone for a mage to restore.

Across the room, a couple of voices went back and forth. The dialogue came out as barely audible whispers, but Wakka’s ears caught notice.

“I guess I’m not the only one up, ya?” the blitzballer said with a light chuckle. “You take a loss in the tournament, or something else?”

[Kakashi Hatake]

Kakashi’s introspection was cut short by an unfamiliar voice calling from across the cramped infirmary. Though the source sat a mere few meters from the shinobi on a cot much like his own, the dusty-haired ninja failed to grasp the inquiry. Turning his head toward the source of the noise, Hatake’s sharp eyes caught sight of the inquisitor.

“Ya’ just gonna stare at me?” the man inquired, a wide grin plastered across his face. With a small chuckle he pulled away the sheet draped over him, squirming against the nurses’ handiwork. In a moment he was free from the cottony confines, eyes back on Kakashi. “No shame in it, bruddah. I’m here to, ya’?”

The masked shinobi’s mind finally caught the meaning of the man’s words as he strode across the room toward the bedridden ANBU. He stood perhaps just a shade taller than Kakashi, bronzed skin over a muscled physique. He was adorn in an odd ensemble: saffron overalls buckled at the shoulder, his otherwise bare arms obscured by a few odd pieces of armor. A blue swath was tied around his forehead, a stark contrast to the bright orange coif it kept in check. “Uh...yeah, sorry. I lost my second bout in the tournament. You?”

The islander nodded knowingly. “They’re tough here, ya’? But at least we’re not dead,” he replied, his grin widening. “I’m Wakka,” he stated, crossing his arms over his muscled chest.

“Kakashi,” the scarecrow responded, giving an awkward seated bow as he struggled to pull himself free of the bedding. The medical staff evidently took their job quite seriously, ensnaring their patients in linens in an attempt to keep them from over-exerting themselves.

Wakka gave a hearty laugh at Kakashi’s struggle, lending a hand to help free the shinobi. “Well Kakashi, what brought ya’ to Camelot?”

The ANBU captain paused for a moment as he got to his feet. “Advertising, I guess,” he replied, grabbing his gear from a side table. The staff had kindly laid them out neatly for just this sort of occurrence. “A friend of mine runs a village and I was supposed to represent their mercenary corps to help drum up some business.”

The blitzballer cocked his head, his impressive coif bobbing as he did so. “Strange place you must be from, bruddah. Usually friends try not to get each other killed.”

Kakashi chuckled at the athlete’s assumption. “Good point,” he agreed. The shinobi had been immersed in war since his very birth. He had forgotten that most people had the luxury of being reared in peace. “Well, what about you? What’s your story?”

[Kakashi Hatake]

The copper-haired athlete was slow to respond. Where Kakashi was from, this sort of behavior spoke of mistrust. He held nothing against the man, as he had not been exactly verbose in his own explanation. A moment later, the man spoke up. “Not much t’ tell. Got bounced around back there and wound up here. Not like I really know where ‘here’ or ‘there’ is, though…”

The masked ninja nodded quickly as he sorted his belongings. “I know the feeling. This…’Omniverse’ is an odd place to say the least. I’m guessing you know as much as I do?”

The baller shrugged. “Jus’ what the big guy told me. Came right here from the fountain.”

The scarecrow responded with another nod, dropping various scrolls and tools into their respective pockets. He noted an almost complete lack of shuriken (a fact he’d soon need to rectify) as well as the absence of his ANBU mask. Thinking back, he doubted the porcelain shards had survived the miasma.

“You seem pretty well prepared, bruddah,” the islander commented with a grin. “Wanna travel together? I’m used to working in a group.”

Kakashi glanced up from his preparations and met the man’s gaze, his warm smile easing the uptight Jonin slightly. Wakka’s easy-going and friendly attitude reminded him of Might Guy somewhat, though his hair was not half as ridiculous as his former comrade’s. “Sure, that’d be alright. Just let me refill my stock and we can get going.”

“Sure thing, bruddah,” Wakka responded. “Lemme know when you’re ready, ya?”

A few quick moments of summoning and arranging later, the shinobi captain slipped the last of his supplies into their designated belt pouch. He had recouped the loss of his shuriken and armed himself with a fair few kunai for any future battles. As he made to motion for he and Wakka to take their leave, he noticed an odd-looking device tucked into one of his scrolls. He pulled it free of it’s confines, rolling the smooth, metallic object in his gloved hand.

The bronzed athlete cocked his head, looking just as confused as Kakashi felt. “What’s that?” he inquired.

“Doesn’t look familiar,” the shinobi answered without looking up. He tapped at the glass-like screen experimentally. “Seems pretty high-tech.”

“Consolation prize, maybe?” Wakka wondered aloud. He patted his own pockets, searching for any gifts from a clandestine benefactor. Finding nothing, he frowned. “Nothing new for me.”

Kakashi’s attention was swallowed up by the strange object, its luminescent screen displaying a great many strange shapes and functions. Though portable technology existed in Konoha, it didn’t extend much past simple radio communication. Was this device perhaps a sort of mobile communication device? It didn’t seem to have any mouthpiece or even more than a few buttons. A stray finger movement alerted the ninja of the device’s touch-based interface. The scarecrow’s mind whirred as he poked and prodded his new toy.

The baller craned his neck behind his companion, struggling to observe the strange device. “That’s a pretty cool uh...thing,” he muttered, watching as the silver-haired shinobi navigated the device’s menus.

“Seems to be some sort of mobile communication device,” Kakashi affirmed, swiping through a few screens. “There’s a few other things on here, too, though.” He paused, his confidence turning to confusion. “I’m not sure what they are…’pesterOmni’?” The Jonin tapped the icon, deftly working his way through the interface and writing a quick message. Though he had little experience with cutting-edge tech, learning was the one thing he was exceedingly good at.

“You about ready to head out, bruddah?” Wakka asked, poking the shinobi square in the center of the spiral-esque shoulder tattoo.

The scarecrow chuckled weakly, quickly tossing the communicator into his pocket. “Yeah, sorry about that. Let’s get going.”

[Kakashi Hatake]

The duo made their way through the barren halls of the Colosseum’s interior, drawing the stares of the occasional nurse or janitor as they searched for an exit. The rest of the competition had seemingly left the premises by this point, the empty rooms and confused staff indicative of their exodus. Wakka paid none of this any mind, his carefree demeanor evident as he strode casually beside his new companion.

“Man, looks like they all beat us out,” he said with a chuckle, running a hand through his coif roughly. “Oh well, don’t mattah, ya’?”

Kakashi nodded silently, keeping pace with the easy-going athlete. He merely listened as Wakka made small talk, rambling on in his odd accent. The copy ninja was not normally one to come together into an impromptu partnership; his life as a shinobi had gifted him with lifelong paranoia. Still, though he couldn’t place it immediately, he found something about the man oddly comforting. His kind, borderline goofy, attitude put the otherwise uptight ninja at ease from the start. Though still wary of the islander’s motives, Kakashi at least felt comfortable walking without keeping a hand on his blade.

“They got everythin’ here, huh?” The bronzed baller gestured into a small workroom as they passed, slowing to gawk at the inhabitant. A man-sized, bipedal reptile in a lab coat stood at a bench, grinding ingredients with a pestle. He/she (It?) glanced up as they passed, bearing a set of formidable teeth. “Yeesh!” Wakka uttered, quickly striding away from the creature’s room.

The scarecrow chuckled softly beneath his cloth mask, slowly beginning to understand his instinctual trust of this seeming complete stranger. He observed the man’s movements and mannerisms, his sharingan noting even the smallest shifts in his stance. The answer at first came slowly before smacking him square in the face. The baller’s confident stride and toothy grin reminded the shinobi instantly of Might Guy, his friend since his early days in the Shinobi Academy. Though Kakashi cared little for superlatives, one might have called the bowl-cut bruiser his closest friend.

“Ah, finally. This looks like it leads to the exit,” Wakka smiled confidently as they strode down the hall toward the orangey glow of the sunset. “So,” he said, turning to glance at the shinobi, “Where’re we headed?”

Kakashi slowed to a stop as they exited the Colosseum’s large archway. “I hadn’t given it too much thought,” he replied blankly.

“Me either,” the baller responded, chuckling. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the towering Colosseum; the arena’s strange, anachronistic presence was aptly representative of the Omniverse’s inherent oddness. “It’s so weird bein’ in a place as foreign as this.”

The copy ninja knew the feeling, of being pulled from a place of familiarity and being dumped into a world entirely alien. Indeed, though the he could navigate the forests around Konoha better than some could their own backyards, the same could not be said about Camelot. The Omniverse in general was a complete mystery to Kakashi, more so than anything he had ever encountered. Though confusion and fear vied for his attention in this strange world, one familiar feeling trumped the rest: curiosity.

“I came from that way earlier,” Hatake began, pointing over the distant hilltops. “So,” he quickly pulled an about-face, gesturing toward the horizon behind the athlete, “Why not that way?” Though he knew he could simply return to Mokugakure, something in him craved knowledge and adventure, two things he would not find in the village.

Wakka shrugged. “Sounds good to me, bruddah. We should get going though,” he stated, stepping toward what Kakashi assumed was the road.

“Agreed,” the silver-haired shinobi responded, casting his gaze toward the disused farmland in the distance. There he is.

“We should hustle, unless ya’ wanna sleep in the dirt tonight,” Wakka continued, glancing over his shoulder. “Sun’s goin’ down. If we hurry, maybe we can find can catch a carava-” the baller stopped suddenly, freezing at the sight of his companion swinging his leg over the back of an enormous wolf. “Friend of yours?” the islander gaped.

“I figured it would be faster,” Kakashi answered, grinning sheepishly beneath his mask.