I do not own any Naruto characters or settings.  I only own my OC, Musei Shiro.

This chapter contains some descriptions of blood.

I hope you enjoy the story of Shiro, the Weeping Samurai of the Land of Iron!

~~~*~~~

A pounding force drove her to the ground.  Shiro's eyes widened in shock, her outstretched arms, reached out and ready to grip onto the next branch, fell limp as she flew, suspended in the air for just a moment before plummeting down towards the earth headfirst.

Her body tumbled in the air, her body unable to move as she strained her neck at an attempt to regain the feeling within her own body.  Her long white hair rushed passed her ears, her pale skin growing whiter as some mysterious force leeched all of the feeling within her flesh out.

It was as though a shinigami was there, sucking the essence called life from her very lips.

Shiro could feel her bones crack as she smacked against the hard earth with a massive thud, her head slamming against the dirt as her body fell limp.  There was a ringing in her ears, an oddly irritating pain throbbing within her temples.  Dazed, her widened dark eyes stared at one particular spot in the lush forest scene, unable to comprehend what lay before her.

It was a young woman, cloaked in what seemed to be a thick maroon robe.  Though her face was obscured by her failing eyesight, Shiro could clearly see the glossy curtain of black hair that fell down to the woman's hips.  Piercing eyes of a certain vivid color bore into her own dull ones.

“Musei Shiro of Umi Gai...” the young woman hissed.  “Shidare no Bushi of the Land of Iron...”

She was paralyzed under the intimidating, almost panther-like glare of the woman, unable to even blink as she stared up at the figure.

“Join us...and your sister will not know any more pain...”

Shiro's thoughts rang with the mention of her sister, her name bouncing off the hollow walls of her skull.  The white-haired woman stared up at the black-haired one, her dark strands floating in the light breeze.

“Yamamoto-sama would be very much delighted if you decided to join..." she continued inauspiciously.  "Your skills will come quite in handy when we capture the Third Key...”

“Yama...moto...?” Shiro grunted slowly, forcing the somewhat familiar name from her stiff lips.  She sucked in a gasp, suddenly feeling her constructed chest release from its mysterious pressure.  “Third...Key...?”

“Wakamura Hisuiko, as we have heard, is quite the weakling,” the strange woman murmured darkly.  “In order for us to property open the Three Gates at the same time, Hisuiko-sama's body must be protected while she is in the Dream Realm; otherwise, anyone may get to us as we're opening the Gates.”

“Gates...?” Shiro gasped, her heart straining, as her body grew ridged once more.  Her hands hooked like claws against her body as she clutched her aching chest, a trickle of blood dripping down the corner of her mouth.

The mysterious woman glared down at the perishing samurai girl with toxic violet eyes before glancing behind her, scoffing.

“We will meet in time again, Musei Shiro,” the panther woman growled.  “Until then...think about the offer Yamamoto-sama has proposed to you.”

Her head tilted back, closing her dark vivid eyes as she did so.  Her hand suddenly slammed into the trunk of the tree next to her, sending a thick cloud of bloody crimson smoke into the air.  Shiro, unable to see anything, shook stiffly on the ground as she heard the light footsteps gallop away into the distance.

The red smoke swirled around her corrupting body, her throat choking as the restraining grip of some strange force closed in further on her neck.  Shiro arched her back, throwing her head back and gaping her mouth wide open into a silent scream; nothing but a few choked sounds escaped her throat.

She lay there on the ground, writhing as the bloody foam emerged from her now clenched jaws; her eyes stretched open to its maximum width and to the point of almost ripping her white skin.  Her hooked fingers lay at her sides, jagged, as her heels dug into the hard ground and rubbed against the fabric of her ballet flats, raw and bloody.

Shiro sucked in a long, loud gasp that echoed through the silent forest, falling still and collapsing into a pathetic bloody heap as her eyes glazed over in a deathly sheen.

The woods grew quiet, save for the few birds that dared to chirp once more.  The wind ruffled the leaves in the tall trees in such a serene manner, it masked the frozen body of the girl below and made it seem like she was sleeping; her still chest and drained skin though, said otherwise.

Itachi burst through the leaves, his forehead adorned in sparkling gems of perspiration.  His Sharingan eyes were wide, wild and gleaming in a crazed scarlet sheen.  Kisame followed closely behind him, the two shinobi landing on the ground silently as their muffled footsteps ceased; their round eyes bore down on the body that lay frozen in front of them.

“Shiro-san!” Itachi screeched, leaping up to the samurai’s body as he collapsed onto his knees.  “Shiro-san!”

“My my,” Kisame growled.  “Looks like you finally got what you deserved, Shiro-chan…”

“Urusai, Kisame!” Itachi barked, thrusting the two gleaming katana sheaths to the side.

“Give it up, Itachi-san,” the larger shinobi grumbled, leaning against the thick trunk of a nearby tree.  “She’s gone; we can both feel her body drained from Chakra.”

“She’s not dead!” Itachi snapped, his crimson eyes beading with tears.  “I can save her!”

“What makes you think you can save her, Itachi-san?” the ninja behind him snarled.  “Her body’s like an empty shell now.  There isn’t any possible way you can revive her unless you use that kinjutsu (Forbidden Jutsu).”

“There has to be another way!” Itachi protested, his voice straining to keep even.  “Shiro can’t die!”

“She’s dead, Itachi-san.” Kisame turned his back towards the frantic man, scoffing.  “The sooner you accept that, the better life will continue for you.”

“Urusai!” the distressed shinobi snarled.  “I have to try!”

Kisame scoffed once more, leaping up into the trees to peer down past the branches, spying on his lamenting partner as he screamed out in sorrow.

“Shiro-san!” Itachi yelled, striking her chest with a firm pump of his two palms.  “Shiro-san!”

Of course, there was no response.  The woman’s white lips turned even paler, her skin turning a powdery white as her figure’s remaining warmth ebbed away to an icy frost.

“Shiro-san!”

He struck the girl again in the chest.

Nothing.

“Shiro-san!”

No response.

“SHIRO!”

Itachi collapsed on top of the girl’s body, yelling in frustration as he gripped the samurai’s adulterated white kimono, streaked in dark blood and filthy mud, dusted in the dirt that scattered on the grave ground.  Itachi, suppressing his persistent tears, took a few deep breaths, clenching his jaws as he ground his teeth together.

Slowly, he sat up, a calm and collected expression wiping his tormented face.  His eyes flickered around, avoiding the body of the woman that lay in front of him, until his scarlet orbs landed on the white katana that splayed out to the side, right where he had tossed them.

~~~*~~~

“Tousan…”

“What is it, my tenshi?”

“I think I know why your Chakra made two white katana now…”

An older Shiro stood before her father, holding a white blade skillfully in one hand.  Opposite of her, an older man the age of thirty stood tall and mighty, his own white sword hanging from his lightly clenched hand; perspiration beaded the six-year-old’s pale brow.

"Why is that, my tenshi?” the man chuckled.

Shiro straightened herself up, sheathing her katana in its white sheath as he proceeded to bow respectfully towards her sensei.

“What you were saying just now…how I possess more yang Chakra than yin…”

“Yes?”

“Well…” the younger Shiro went on.  “I think I somehow influenced you into take some of my yang Chakra…and made a white blade of my own.”

Her father stood there, pondering deeply as he sheathed his own sword.

“It’s possible,” he finally replied.  “I had you in my lap when I created them; you were so young then, and even now, that your Chakra hasn’t been controlled very well.  There is a possibility that some of your overflowing Chakra may have intertwined with mine.”

“That’s why Okaasan’s hair is white, isn’t it?” Shiro asked curiously.  “And that’s why mine is white too…”

“Shiro,” Ichiro said firmly, so sudden and abrupt that it startled his daughter.  Shiro blinked wildly and stood up straight.  “You must understand that the balance in this world is crucial, yet it’s very delicate.  Your mother just so happened to have a little more yang Chakra than yin.  You must understand that this is very dangerous; one tip of the scale and everything could fall apart.”

“Hai, Tousan.” Shiro nodded quickly.  “I understand.”

 Ichiro lowered his clear blue eyes, deep and never-ending as the cerulean sky itself, which glowed unusually bright for a normal day in the Iron.  He gazed longingly at his daughter.

“Life is a delicate thing, Shiro,” he murmured.  He quickly lashed out his blade, watching it glint in the high afternoon sun as he stared at it with deep blue orbs.  “It’s too short and fragile to tamper with to waste your own…”

He turned his eyes to her.

“In time, you will understand fully, my tenshi,” he whispered.  “For now, you must realize that your life is very precious indeed…”

~~~*~~~

Shiro’s eyes shot open, her mouth widening as she let out a screech of pain.

Blood oozed in both of her hands, literally pinned down each by a white blade.  The katana glared at her in the sunlight, gleaming a murderous glint as Shiro screamed in excruciating agony.

“Shiro!” Itachi’s low voice yelled out at her.  “Oh thank Kami…!  You’re alive…!”

He proceeded to yank out both swords, Shiro jerking from pain as she felt the cold metal slide from her flesh.  She lay there, panting, as her eyes watered and overflowed from the outer corners, drenching the soil that lay beneath her.

Noticing this, Itachi bent down next to the girl and furrowed his brows in worry.

“Sumimasen,” he murmured.  “It had to be done…the Chakra…it revived you…”

Shiro blinked her eyes, making more tears slide down her face as she broke out into an uncontrollable sob.  She sat up and wrapped her arms tightly around Itachi’s ridged figure, surprising him completely.

“Shiro-san…?”

Her mouth furrowed down as she sobbed.

“What have you done…?” she wept.

~~~*~~~

Another chapter up!! I apologize again for the short update; but I swear I have bigger plans coming up for this story! >:D

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And as always, thanks for reading!