Darasu looked at the small girl, then to the blade in his right hand, his fingers tightly gripped around its handle. His wrist turned, and light reflected off the side of the large cleaver, and then he turned it again so that his eyes met the blade's edge. There was an odd shimmering to the blade, as if it had spoken to him when he looked at it directly. Again he stared at it, this time with less distraction. He tried to forget about the girl near him, about the memories he had just witnessed, and let go of everything else that he knew except for his family's blade.
Then there it was again, a hum of sorts that stirred his heart. Almost like a long forgotten mores code, stored deep within him that had never yet been learned. And as that language of no words was spoken to him, his eyes then left the blade and cast upon the flames. Then they fell to each of the walls, and again back to the flames.
His free left hand waved away the scroll and he finally looked at the spirit girl before him. " I need no instructions. This blade is my past, my present, and my future. Everything I need to know, it will tell me." He then flashed a gentle smile, and walked over to the forge, now resting the blade of the weapon against his left hand. Both arms balanced it, as he then gripped the handle with both hands, and held it over the flame. Not for just a moment, but for several minutes, and he then brought it back to him and touched it again.
It was cool to the touch.
Perhaps this was because the flames were a more magical sort than the type he would encounter in the real world, but it seemed that fire would not be the solution here. Again, the blade seemed to speak to him with a feeling, and he remembered who he was in a sense.
" I am of the Haku, we do not build with fire. We are masters of the frost and freeze, and only that will temper the blade.". Darasu walked over to a nearby table, and set the blade down, then held both hands over the length of its beauty.
Here goes nothing. He thought.
There was a brief glow about his hands, a gentle blue light that was akin to a cloud. And then he released a large portion of his chakra as a freezing mixture of wind and water, twisting it around the blade. He held this process, immediately feeling the drain on his energy as he did so. The ice wind then constricted around the blades entire being, almost like shield.
A hum within his chest told him it was not enough.
Again, he released an even stronger flow of his inner chakra, the sound of the frozen wind now whipping and screaming like that of a banshee as it engorged the blade. The wind began to blow back Darasu's long white locks of hair, and the flame behind him within the forge began to stir as well. Shadows danced around the walls as he growled and gritted his teeth, and even from the cold he dripped sweat.
Yes....
This continued for nearly a minute, before there was a crack, and he was taken off guard. The idea of the blade shattering had stirred him so much, the his hands shot away like a startled child and then returned to caress the steel. He feared for what he could have done, had he been so stupid to turn away the advice of a benevolent being and go off instinct he did not understand?
As his fingers swept the length of the sword's side, he saw what he had caused from his attempt. Where there had once been flat steel, there was now a strange symbol covered in dust. Except it was not dust, it was a weaker version of steel, as if someone had molded over the engraving to conceal it. He payed close attention to the symbol, and realized it was the symbol of a frozen flame, twisting together like teeth.
The blade had eaten his chakra up, and seemed to hunger for more. As if it was feasting upon his energy, and bathing itself in the excess.
Shimoshikon. A second voice seemed to whisper in his head.
"Blood directly from your heart." He repeated, after the words of the small girl who held the flower.
That would be the tricky part. This of what she said, he did not doubt. But how could he do such a feat? Shoving the blade into his chest would kill him, and nothing else would suffice. His eyes seemed to sag in confusion, as he questioned the methods of all of this. His first hunch had gone flawlessly, and had come to him with instinct. But now, there was nothing. Just doubt.
The technique is in your blood. The second voice whispered within his skull. Somehow, he knew it was the blade.
"How are you speaking to me? What do I need to do?" He asked, and laid his fingers upon the blade again,looking to it for answers.
Nothing, just silence. Was he going mad? Had Darasu lost his mind within the desert, and all of this was just an illusion? The mother of the sands genjutsu? Again, he felt that silent hum within him. Was this another way that the blade spoke to him? Did it need more chakra to speak? No, he knew that wasn't the case.
Closing his emerald colored eyes, he thought about what the blade had said. What the girl had said. What he knew. What he felt. And again, it all made sense. He had been taught what to do as a child, and the ability was something passed onto him by his fellow clan members! His mother and father had hinted at this as a child when they taught him about the precision of using one of his techniques.
Opening up his left hand, Darasu created a small orb of water from the moisture off of the stones within the ironwork, and then shaped that into a very very thin needle. With hesitation, he placed it directly over where his heard would have been. His mother taught him how to stun someone by barely scratching their arteries with an acupuncture needle, but this was different. No doubt he would pass out from the stress of it all, but it was the only idea he could surmise.
With a slow press, the needle began to chill through his flesh, and he gritted his teeth before crying out in pain. The young anbu nearly stopped, but he knew this was what the gods, and his ancestors wanted. It was all a test by a higher power before him, and the needle then passed between his ribs and he everything go black. As if his vision was closing in around him, everything slowly began to dim. He quickly withdrew the needle, and saw it covered in blood, but the tip was a much lighter hue. Darasu's strength began to fade, and his knees began to buckle. With what little strength he had left, he painted the blood on the inside of the strange symbol with the ice senbon, and held onto the table with his spare hand.
Nothing, nothing had happened. His fingers curled around the grip, and his right hand dropped the senbon needle. As he grabbed onto the blade fully, he seemed to gain more strength, and was able to hold himself up with his legs. The room seemed to brighten, and his vision returned. Taking his left hand off the grip, he weakened a bit, but not as much as before. Grabbed it again, he felt empowered.
Slightly confused, Darasu's gaze turned to the girl.
Then there it was again, a hum of sorts that stirred his heart. Almost like a long forgotten mores code, stored deep within him that had never yet been learned. And as that language of no words was spoken to him, his eyes then left the blade and cast upon the flames. Then they fell to each of the walls, and again back to the flames.
His free left hand waved away the scroll and he finally looked at the spirit girl before him. " I need no instructions. This blade is my past, my present, and my future. Everything I need to know, it will tell me." He then flashed a gentle smile, and walked over to the forge, now resting the blade of the weapon against his left hand. Both arms balanced it, as he then gripped the handle with both hands, and held it over the flame. Not for just a moment, but for several minutes, and he then brought it back to him and touched it again.
It was cool to the touch.
Perhaps this was because the flames were a more magical sort than the type he would encounter in the real world, but it seemed that fire would not be the solution here. Again, the blade seemed to speak to him with a feeling, and he remembered who he was in a sense.
" I am of the Haku, we do not build with fire. We are masters of the frost and freeze, and only that will temper the blade.". Darasu walked over to a nearby table, and set the blade down, then held both hands over the length of its beauty.
Here goes nothing. He thought.
There was a brief glow about his hands, a gentle blue light that was akin to a cloud. And then he released a large portion of his chakra as a freezing mixture of wind and water, twisting it around the blade. He held this process, immediately feeling the drain on his energy as he did so. The ice wind then constricted around the blades entire being, almost like shield.
A hum within his chest told him it was not enough.
Again, he released an even stronger flow of his inner chakra, the sound of the frozen wind now whipping and screaming like that of a banshee as it engorged the blade. The wind began to blow back Darasu's long white locks of hair, and the flame behind him within the forge began to stir as well. Shadows danced around the walls as he growled and gritted his teeth, and even from the cold he dripped sweat.
Yes....
This continued for nearly a minute, before there was a crack, and he was taken off guard. The idea of the blade shattering had stirred him so much, the his hands shot away like a startled child and then returned to caress the steel. He feared for what he could have done, had he been so stupid to turn away the advice of a benevolent being and go off instinct he did not understand?
As his fingers swept the length of the sword's side, he saw what he had caused from his attempt. Where there had once been flat steel, there was now a strange symbol covered in dust. Except it was not dust, it was a weaker version of steel, as if someone had molded over the engraving to conceal it. He payed close attention to the symbol, and realized it was the symbol of a frozen flame, twisting together like teeth.
The blade had eaten his chakra up, and seemed to hunger for more. As if it was feasting upon his energy, and bathing itself in the excess.
Shimoshikon. A second voice seemed to whisper in his head.
"Blood directly from your heart." He repeated, after the words of the small girl who held the flower.
That would be the tricky part. This of what she said, he did not doubt. But how could he do such a feat? Shoving the blade into his chest would kill him, and nothing else would suffice. His eyes seemed to sag in confusion, as he questioned the methods of all of this. His first hunch had gone flawlessly, and had come to him with instinct. But now, there was nothing. Just doubt.
The technique is in your blood. The second voice whispered within his skull. Somehow, he knew it was the blade.
"How are you speaking to me? What do I need to do?" He asked, and laid his fingers upon the blade again,looking to it for answers.
Nothing, just silence. Was he going mad? Had Darasu lost his mind within the desert, and all of this was just an illusion? The mother of the sands genjutsu? Again, he felt that silent hum within him. Was this another way that the blade spoke to him? Did it need more chakra to speak? No, he knew that wasn't the case.
Closing his emerald colored eyes, he thought about what the blade had said. What the girl had said. What he knew. What he felt. And again, it all made sense. He had been taught what to do as a child, and the ability was something passed onto him by his fellow clan members! His mother and father had hinted at this as a child when they taught him about the precision of using one of his techniques.
Opening up his left hand, Darasu created a small orb of water from the moisture off of the stones within the ironwork, and then shaped that into a very very thin needle. With hesitation, he placed it directly over where his heard would have been. His mother taught him how to stun someone by barely scratching their arteries with an acupuncture needle, but this was different. No doubt he would pass out from the stress of it all, but it was the only idea he could surmise.
With a slow press, the needle began to chill through his flesh, and he gritted his teeth before crying out in pain. The young anbu nearly stopped, but he knew this was what the gods, and his ancestors wanted. It was all a test by a higher power before him, and the needle then passed between his ribs and he everything go black. As if his vision was closing in around him, everything slowly began to dim. He quickly withdrew the needle, and saw it covered in blood, but the tip was a much lighter hue. Darasu's strength began to fade, and his knees began to buckle. With what little strength he had left, he painted the blood on the inside of the strange symbol with the ice senbon, and held onto the table with his spare hand.
Nothing, nothing had happened. His fingers curled around the grip, and his right hand dropped the senbon needle. As he grabbed onto the blade fully, he seemed to gain more strength, and was able to hold himself up with his legs. The room seemed to brighten, and his vision returned. Taking his left hand off the grip, he weakened a bit, but not as much as before. Grabbed it again, he felt empowered.
Slightly confused, Darasu's gaze turned to the girl.
