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Did you pray because you believed? Or because you could do nothing else—as a human being abandoned, left with no one to help, no one to answer the ache? So you forced yourself to believe… that if you prayed hard enough, maybe—just maybe—the pain clinging to your heart would become more bearable?
Day after day—hands clasped, knees bent—you spoke no words. The sorrow lived deeper than language, cried out from your chest in silent screams, hoping, pleading, that perhaps one day God might take away the anguish.
Or perhaps… take your life instead?
“Sasuke.” A voice—baritone, steady—entered his ears. Footsteps followed, slow and deliberate.
“Did you complete the check today?”
The raven-haired man lowered his head and rose from his seat. “Yes. I took the test with brother Kabuto this morning.”
“Good. You know what is expected of you, don’t you? Tomorrow, you will serve the Almighty. Our God.”
Sasuke only nodded. His lips remained sealed, even as the old man—Orochimaru, as the others called him—walked past.
He remained still as stone, eyes slowly lifting to the altar before him. There, on the wall, hung the image they all worshipped—an icon painted with adoration, spoken of as if it could deliver salvation. They said He could bring joy, that all suffering would be erased by faith alone. A single prayer, a whispered belief, was all it would take.
Sasuke had once believed that too—or rather, he believed he must.
And yet, every time he prayed, his words returned not as comfort, but as knives—blades pressed deep into his palms. He did everything they told him. He cast out sin, chose love, looked toward the light. They said He would reach out in every form imaginable. He prayed whenever life lost its meaning.
But nothing ever changed.
The pain remained. Each morning he awoke to a world still cruel, still carved in torment.
“Have I not loved You enough?” he whispered, eyes fixed at the image. “Is that why You never answered even one of my prayers?”
A twisted feeling gripped his chest, tightening until his breath faltered. The surge within him grew unbearable. It would be a lie to call himself a believer now—when faith had only ever been another form of suffering. He had bled in the name of the Almighty’s love, forbidden to fight back, forbidden even to speak. Orochimaru had told him once, “A servant must obey in order to be shown mercy.”
But no mercy ever came.
He had been laid on the altar many times, year after year. They touched him—hands crawling over his skin until his stomach clenched with nausea. Their mouths chanted rituals he didn’t understand, words drenched in sanctimony and cruelty.
When it ended, they dragged him to a room where he was made to kneel for twenty-four hours, hands clasped, reciting empty praises to the sky.
This had been his life since he was ten.
His parents had brought him to this place—told him it would offer a happiness the world could not give.
And yet, only a year after they arrived, his father died. The people said it was punishment. That God had taken him for the disobedience of Sasuke’s family. From that moment on, Sasuke lived with a question he dared not ask aloud:
Why?
If God is love, why would He punish a man for the sins of another?
But before the question could escape his lips, his mother and brother died too—just two years later. Sasuke was left behind. Alone. In a place he did not know, surrounded by strangers, forced to worship a God he no longer recognized.
When grief crushed his ribs and he begged for deliverance, they forced him back onto the altar.
They told him it was for mercy. That he was chosen—to redeem his family’s disobedience, to seek the Almighty’s love.
But Sasuke knew it wasn’t love.
He understood. And yet he obeyed. Because the punishment for refusal was worse than pain—it was annihilation. And sometimes, he thought perhaps the reason he kept praying…
Was because he hoped God would take his life instead of his pain.
Sasuke still stared at the altar, though he hated it. The mere sight of it brought back every nightmare. But today, he could not look away. He needed to see if there was anything—anything at all—that resembled the love they claimed it held. Love for someone like him.
They said God’s love was beautiful. Unlike any love offered by human.
But…
“It was ugly,” Sasuke whispered. “Just like everything they did to me.”
He turned—intending to walk away from the very thing he knew would summon his nightmares into the room. But just as he meant to take a step, his knees buckled beneath him, collapsing to the floor. Everything he had held inside surged, begging to be released—yet no tears came. Only the pain of breathlessness remained, carving a hollow ache into his chest.
The memories returned—unbidden, cruel—flooding every corner of his mind. They spun like a broken hymn, forcing Sasuke to recall what he had spent years burying in silence. He sank further, knees pressed to the cold stone, facing the altar as he tried to breathe through a throat that felt strangled by invisible hands.
In moments like this, Sasuke always did the same—he closed his eyes, straightened his spine, and brought his trembling hands together in prayer.
"I beg You…” he whispered, his voice cracked by shallow breath. “I beg You… please take me. I cannot do this anymore. I don’t want to live. Take me. Just take me…”
He repeated the words like a desperate litany. Again and again. But nothing happened. He remained—still here, still bound to his agony, even breathing was a torment this time. And worst of all, no tears came—only his mouth parted wide, grasping at the air like a man already drowning.
“Poor soul.”
The voice came—unfamiliar, sudden—startling him. But Sasuke did not turn. He didn’t dare break his position, even as the presence drew nearer.
Then came the light. Soft. Warm. It washed over him gently, bright even behind closed eyes—so radiant, it colored the darkness.
“Do you wish to die, poor soul?” the man spoke again, stepping closer. His laughter followed—a sound delicate and kind, soothing in a way that made the sorrow in Sasuke’s chest soften, if only slightly.
“I asked you,” the voice said once more, “do you wish to die?”
Still, Sasuke did not answer.
Then came the wind—strong, all-encompassing—like wings unfurling or a divine breath stirred from heaven itself. The warmth now radiated not just before him, but above him, bathing his face in light and cooling the fever that had long lived beneath his skin.
For the first time, Sasuke thought perhaps—this time—God had answered. That He had finally sent one of His own to collect Sasuke’s weary soul.
He let out a bitter breath—half a laugh. Of all the prayers he had uttered, of all the countless nights bent in supplication, the only one granted was death. The swiftest end to his suffering.
How pitiful, he thought wryly. Even my own Creator must loathe me.
“Why do you not answer?” the voice said again, gently. “Did they teach you that love is not only to look away, but also never to speak?”
Sasuke cleared his throat. Death stood before him—he should feel relief. Yet his chest twisted strangely, with a feeling he could not name.
“Are you… commanded to take my life?” he finally returned, eyes still closed, hands still clasped.
“Do you wish me to?” the voice replied.
“If your Creator commands it, then you must obey.”
Silence followed.
Sasuke heard nothing—not even the hum of air—but he knew. He could feel it. The end was near. He had only to surrender.
But instead of a blade, something else touched him—something gentle. A warmth pressed to his body like an embrace. No pain. No violence. Just an aching softness, as though arms had wrapped around him. The touch was so tender it nearly drove him to tears. But again—nothing fell. Only his chest tightened until it ached.
“I’ve been watching you since you were ten—the first time they led you down the aisle to the altar,” the man said, voice now deepened with something almost unbearable. “I watched you. Oh, how pitiful you were… how pitiful you must still be.”
The man sank into stillness, examining Sasuke in silence. He could see how pain had not only marked the young man’s body—but had etched itself into his soul, so deeply it bled through his very breath.
And it tore him apart.
He had laid his eyes on this raven-haired boy since the first time they led him down the aisle to the altar—like a lamb offered to a needless sacrifice. He had watched as mortals twisted the image of God into an alibi for their own selfishness, forcing others to suffer in the name of a love they were told to believe.
But the worst part—the part that crushed him—was that he had only ever been allowed to watch.
Again and again, he bore witness as Sasuke sank into an abyss even his Creator would not reach for. For years now, he’d had no strength to intervene. No hand to offer. Only eyes—to witness what he wished he could unsee.
His breath caught. He could feel the sorrow surging from the boy who knelt before him, forehead nearly to the floor. Every time Sasuke exhaled grief, the pain struck his own chest as if they shared the same heart.
That was why he had come today.
Because the more Sasuke suffered, the more he felt himself perish alongside him.
“Speak now, poor soul,” the man said softly. “Tell me—do you truly wish to die?”
“I surrender,” Sasuke whispered, his voice no louder than breath. He remained bowed, hands still clasped, as though prayer were the only thing holding him together. “If you take my life now, perhaps… I could ask Him.”
“What would you ask?”
His fingers gripped tighter around one another, bones pressed to bone. “Why… why did He allow all of this to happen to me? Why would He let it happen—and yet not give me the strength to survive it?”
His body trembled.
“I prayed for it to stop,” he continued, voice faltering, “and still it continued. He took my life, my family, and left me here—abandoned in this world—while they told me again and again that my suffering was just His love in disguise.”
He drew in a ragged breath, the act of speaking making it harder to breathe. “I prayed… I swear I prayed! But why… why did He forsake me like this?”
The man’s voice returned, calm and clear, “so you wish to die… because you want to ask Him that question?”
Sasuke could feel the warmth that had embraced him earlier shift—gentle, as though a pair of unseen hands had begun to stroke his shoulders, offering comfort through touch alone. Each movement radiated a warmth that tried to console the places too long left cold.
“Because I could do nothing,” Sasuke murmured, “no one came to save me—not even Him. Only death looked like relief. And if that is the only answer He gives to my prayers… then so be it.”
“But you tremble,” the man replied quickly. “You tremble—not because you long for death… but because it seems to me you long for something else.”
Sasuke’s breath caught. The words struck him like revelation—like a mirror raised gently to his soul.
His lips parted, but no reply came.
Because it was true.
He did not yearn for death.
But neither could he believe that God loved him enough to save him. So he kept silent, afraid to speak again—to beg again—and risk that this messenger might vanish and leave him alone once more.
Yet the man above him had seen it all. Every tremble. Every prayer. Every unspoken ache. And his expression—once calm—now grew heavy with sorrow, the bitterness in his gaze too deep to hide.
"I am an angel, so tell me, poor soul," the angel said as he introduced himself, while light washed over the room. "What is it that you desire?"
Sasuke could not answer. What do you want?— the question rang hollow in his chest. He could not name the thing he longed for, because every wish he'd ever dared to speak had returned to him as sorrow. The hands he lifted to the heavens were met not with blessing, but with knives pressed into his palms. To reach upward was to bleed.
His lips parted, but no words came. His fingers remained clasped, eyes turned toward the ceiling. He could not see—no, he was not meant to see. For to love is to suffer; to love is to listen without sight. Even God was no exception. And yet, he could feel the warmth upon his skin— gentle, persistent—like mercy cloaking a soul long sentenced to crucifixion.
"My wish would cast you into hell, angel," Sasuke murmured, voice hoarse and frail, trembling with the weight of what he still held back.
Because the truth was—he did have a wish.
He longed to be free. Free from the chains that bound him to a life not his own. From the hands that stole his youth in the name of a love he had never known. He had been offered up on the altar like a lamb, and now all he wanted was to be spared-to be alive in his own skin, even if it meant damnation.
"I would walk into the flames beside you," the angel replied gently. "All I ask is a word. Speak it, poor soul. What do you want?"
His wings moved, folding around Sasuke with reverent tenderness, shielding him like a blessing meant for the damned.
And in that warmth, the restraints broke. Sasuke collapsed to his knees, his breath catching in a single, fractured cry—for the first time.
"I... I want to live."
“I want to live… I want to live, I want to live, I want to live, I want to live, I want to live, I want to live, I want to live, I want to live, I want to live, I want to live, I want to live!”
The angel watched as Sasuke collapsed, his prayer shattered into sobs—raw, broken, beautiful in its honesty. This, he had always known. This truth buried deep in Sasuke’s trembling soul: that he never truly wished to die. He only believed he was unworthy of life.
And that was why he had asked—again and again—whether Sasuke truly longed for death. Because all he had ever seen was a boy desperate for the life he thought he could not hold.
He knelt beside him, reaching with care. “You want to live?” he asked softly, his face near Sasuke’s, coaxing him to lift his head.
Sasuke nodded, tears cascading freely now, streaking his tired face. He raised his head—slowly, fearfully—and met the angel’s eyes for the first time. And there, he saw it.
A smile.
Gentle, warm, impossibly kind.
No human had ever looked at him like this. Perhaps no human could.
“Then I will do it for you,” the angel said, cupping Sasuke’s cheek as though it were something sacred. He wiped the tears from Sasuke’s face with reverent hands. “I will do it for you.”
Sasuke could not fully comprehend what the angel meant—was it real, or merely a vision to comfort the dying? A mirage that would fade the moment his weeping stopped? But he chose to believe, if only because he needed so desperately to believe. Needed someone, anyone, to save him.
Moments later, hurried footsteps echoed into the chamber. Sasuke turned. He saw them—those who had dragged him into despair. Their faces, their presence, struck him like a blade. The gaze they cast upon him twisted the knife lodged in his chest.
“They are the ones who hurt you?” the angel asked, noticing the horror in Sasuke’s eyes.
Sasuke nodded, unable to speak. His voice was buried beneath the rubble of grief. Instead, his tears flowed like confession, and he clutched the angel’s robe, fingers trembling, nearly tearing the fabric.
“The… Angel,” Orochimaru—the elder of the temple—spoke at last, eyes wide in disbelief. He did not look at Sasuke, did not even flinch at the boy weeping at the angel’s feet. “Our prayers have been answered! An angel has come to us!”
The others erupted into cheers. Joy filled the chamber—the kind of joy that is born from cruelty, from the belief that the suffering of a child might summon grace.
“Sasuke! Your sacrifice was not in vain!” Orochimaru cried. “Look! An angel has descended! He brings a message from God!”
He stepped forward—closer, arms outstretched in feigned reverence. But before his foot could find the ground, lightning struck. It cleaved his leg in a flash of divine judgment. Orochimaru screamed.
The room erupted into chaos. The joy in their eyes turned to terror.
Sasuke watched in silence. He did not speak, even as the world around him fell into madness. He turned slowly toward the angel, confusion painting his expression.
But the angel only smiled. The same smile. Unwavering. As if none of the chaos touched him.
He reached forward and stroked Sasuke’s face again, gently brushing away the last remnants of tears.
“You will be free,” he said. “And so you shall live.”
Then he rose. His wings spread wide—majestic, radiant, terrible. He was beautiful in the way fire is beautiful, in the way death can be beautiful when it means freedom.
“You will be cast into Hell,” Sasuke murmured, his voice low, fixed on the divine figure before him.
“As I said,” the angel replied, calm and certain, “I am willing to walk through flame—so long as you are free, poor soul.”
Then, he stepped forward, leaving part of his wings curled protectively around Sasuke. A final gift of warmth. Sasuke remained where he was, trembling, as he watched what no scripture had ever prepared him to witness.
The angel moved.
And with that movement, destruction followed.
The place—once consecrated for prayer—was consumed by fear. A place of offerings turned to a place of reckoning. The angel drew his sword—massive, gleaming, divine. It reached the height of the temple’s ceiling, and yet he wielded it without effort, without hesitation.
He swung.
And Heaven wept, while Hell took note.
The angel was merciless.
He chased down every soul who tried to flee, allowing none to hide within the sanctuary they once believed sacred. With power over illusion, he made them witness what they had inflicted—forced them to see themselves in Sasuke’s place, kneeling, weeping, praying in vain.
“Argh!!! Please—stop this! Have mercy!”
One of the servants collapsed, screaming in agony, shaking his head as if that might make the vision vanish. But it remained. The truth held him in place.
“How does it feel?” the angel asked, his voice cold and unyielding. “To feel hopeless, even when you pray for it to stop?”
He paused, eyes sharp.
“You brought suffering to an innocent soul and called it divine. You wrapped your cruelty in the language of God’s love—and yet you can’t bear even the echo of what you’ve done.”
Then he drew his holy sword and raised it high.
“Be held accountable—for your actions, in hell.”
With a single swing, it was done.
He turned then, sensing no other living presence in the building save one. Sasuke.
But as he walked, pain began to creep into his wings—heavy, bitter. He smiled, though the smile was laced with weariness.
He found Sasuke still where he had left him, folded within the remnants of his wings. But as he stepped toward the altar, the angel paused. He turned his gaze toward the sacred space—the place they had once called holy. His expression changed.
Anguish. Irony.
They worshipped here. They knelt in adoration, yet chained a boy to suffering in the name of love.
Worship is not an act of love.
You cannot love someone and keep them bound beneath a cathedral.
Then he continues to approached Sasuke again, and knelt before him. His hands—now losing their warmth—cupped the boy’s face. He stroked Sasuke’s cheeks gently, watching the tears that had finally ceased.
Sasuke studied him closely. The angel still smiled as warmly as before… but something had changed.
His form.
The white radiance was gone. His wings, once pure and golden, were black. His robe, no longer glowing, had darkened completely—like the shadows that had clung to the altar walls where Sasuke had once been forced to kneel for hours in silence.
Sasuke’s eyes widened. The shift was too stark to miss.
The angel let out a soft laugh. “This is nothing you need worry about.”
“What’s happening to you?” Sasuke asked, his voice low, gaze heavy.
“No angel is permitted to take a human life—only the Reaper. That is the absolute law given by the Almighty.” His voice was calm, but Sasuke stared, horror dawning in his expression.
The angel smiled again—soft, unbothered. “But this was my choice. Not yours, poor soul.”
“But… you did this because of me!” Sasuke cried.
“Yes,” the angel replied, his hands still cradling Sasuke’s face. “But my choices are mine. And I do not regret them.”
Then, his body began to disintegrate.
It began with his left wing—eroding, turning to ash, carried off by the wind. The decay spread quickly, taking parts of him with it.
“No—!” Sasuke’s voice broke. “You’re vanishing!” Panic seized him. His hands clutched at the angel’s robes, desperate to hold him together, to keep him from slipping away.
“You can’t give up your life—not for me!”
But the angel only smiled, his heart warm even as the flames of consequence consumed him.
He took a shuddering breath and lifted one remaining arm, reaching for Sasuke’s hands to soothe him.
“Sasuke,” he said. The boy’s true name.
Sasuke looked up—eyes filled with awe and grief. The angel’s face was still soft, still gentle.
“Why… why would you do this for me?”
“I told you,” the angel whispered. “I’ve watched you for so long. Your sorrow has wounded me more deeply than you know. I only wanted you to live—truly live. Free from the chains that bound you to this place.”
He smiled faintly.
“I don’t know what to call this feeling either. Only that the urge to see you happy became greater than the fear of my own end. I simply… could not bear to see you in pain any longer.”
With what strength remained, he brushed away the tears that had returned to Sasuke’s cheeks.
“So live, Sasuke. And do not regret any of this.”
Sasuke froze. Even in death, even as warmth fled from him, the angel still gave warmth. “Tell me,” Sasuke whispered, “your name.”
“It’s Naruto,” he replied. “Uzumaki Naruto.”
At that, Sasuke surged forward, seizing the collar of Naruto’s robe, pulling him close. Just in the moment crash their lips together.
Their lips met—trembling, uncertain, yet aching with everything unsaid. For Sasuke, it was the first time he had ever felt what others spoke of when they spoke of love. Or so he believed.
He held him there, memorizing every inch of that fleeting closeness. The warmth. The hope. The safety.
Naruto did not pull away. He let the boy kiss him, let the sorrow and longing pour into that touch. For even at the brink of hell, there was joy in this—joy so deep it quieted the pain.
And for that brief moment, they held each other like the world had never been cruel.
Five minutes passed in sacred silence. Then Sasuke pulled away. He stared at Naruto—his body now crumbling, his wings gone, the lower half of him dissolving into ash.
“I’ll come to you in hell,” Sasuke whispered. “Wait for me, Naruto.”
“No…” Naruto replied softly. “You don’t belong in hell. You were meant for heaven. Let me be the one to bring you there—even if it costs my immortality.”
He leaned forward and pressed a final kiss to Sasuke’s forehead, then pulled back with a smile.
Their eyes locked.
And then Naruto began to rise—slowly—his body fading with the wind.
Sasuke reached out in desperation, screaming his name, begging him to stay. But Naruto could no longer touch. His hands were already gone, scattered to the air.
Still, he smiled. He could no longer speak, but he knew one truth remained:
Even without him, Sasuke could now live.
Truly live.
“Live long, Sasuke Uchiha… my beloved.”