Private Remembering what was...

[Myakashi Migoya]

It is always a strange feeling, looking at the remains of your life and reminiscing of how things used to be. Often, those memories were clouded by emotions, adding weight to simple objects and turning them into myth.

Migoya looked at what was once his clan house - the Myakashi compound - and let out a small sigh.

Perhaps it had been a rival, or simply looters desperate to obtain any scrap of worth from the remnants of what was once a stately home. The gardens, once Migoya’s pride and joy, once housed statutes and manicured topiaries depicting many different types of animal now lay bare or ripped from the ground, probably to serve in someone else's garden. The cultivated hedgerows, the small wooden bridges over the winding streams… all had been desecrated.

The physical loss was great, but to Migoya who had grown up destitute, the greatest loss was the memories. His children had played in these gardens, he had held hands with his wife, Kirin, here and shared secrets and plans. Watching his brother Yong play with his own children, now grown, and with Doku. Hisao drinking his strange tea whilst young Yong tugged on his beard and Mikki placed duck poo into his teapot.

But they were now gone, and whilst young Yong remained, the others, like his once home, had faded away.

Migoya barely made a sound as he walked towards the remnants of the main clan house. When the clan had been exiled, most of the furniture, curtains - anything of value really - had been taken from the building and used in the creation of Yamigakure. Now the bare bones of the house remained, and clearly had been neglected. The windows had been smashed by small pebbles, the remnants of the glass still scattered on the wooden floorboards.

He placed his hand on the main door frame, the once strong oaken and brass doors removed long ago. Crimson eyes looked around what once was a simple if not magnificent entry way. Remnants of lost civilizations had been displayed here once, but now only shattered glass, warped floorboards and the remains of rodents made this place home. Again, memories flooded into his mind of better times, bringing a small smile to the corner of his mouth.

It was somewhat cathartic that no one had simply moved in, or that the land had been repurposed. One of his last orders to the hidden Myakashi that remained was to spur on the rumours that this place was cursed, and the reputation of the clan and their links to the Yakuza certainly led credence to those claims. As such, Migoya hoped that a certain part of his compound would still remain untouched.

He walked forward, noting the levels of dust and debris that indicated that no one had been here for quite some time. Good. Looters may have tried to enter the premises, but it seemed nothing in the house itself had been disturbed since they had left it many years ago, not that there was anything left.

A small song from a bird shattered the eerie silence, Migoyas eyes darting towards the unwanted sound. It was simply a bird, singing its way through life. Lucky bird.

Walking briskly towards one of the many rooms that served as a library of sorts, Migoya looked inside to make sure that he was alone. Roof-high bookshelves that once held immeasurable amounts of knowledge on esoteric and simple facts now lay bare, transported elsewhere. Those empty shelves made Migoya wince, remembering how difficult is once to obtain some of the rare texts, and whilst he certainly still had them, the somewhat difficult weather conditions of Yamigakure caused them to be stowed away safely rather than on display as they deserved.

A careful glance saw that he was alone, and more importantly, that the object of his search seemed to be untouched. No - he wasnt looking for a secret passage behind a bookshelf - that was too obvious. No, neither was it in the long-dead fireplace.

A pale hand reached towards the wainscoting, indistinguishable from all the other areas of the room. Only someone intimately familiar with how the contraption worked would know how to release the panel - and unlike Migoya the rest of them were dead or long gone.

He felt the release as the small wooden panel moved to the side, the glorious smell of decay wafting from within.

[MFT]
[WC: 734]

 

[Myakashi Migoya]

Ignoring the fetid smell, Migoya descended the narrow staircase, ensuring the secret passage was closed behind him.

A type of bioluminescent mould grew here, cultivated by Migoya decades previously, casting a strange greenish-white glow around the cavern. Shadows flickered as if sentient and grasping out towards the living intruder who dared invade their space. The silence was palpable, weighing down the already eerie cavern.

A small scuffle broke that silence, and Migoya quickly turned to face its source. A shambling, rotting man moved towards him, the smell of decay hitting him like a punch. A wry smile found its way on Migoya’s face as he recognised the rotting creature as one of the past Oyabun of the Yakuza - one that had foolishly challenged the Myakashi over something so trivial even the remaining Yakuza members had abandoned him.

At least now he was useful, eternally digging a tunnel underneath the village.

His eyes gradually adjusting to the low light of the cavern, Migoya could see the rows of bloated corpses he had hung many years previously, each of them swelling with vile concoctions ready to be released should the need arise. Certainly, Migoya had in the past wished to unleash his poison upon Konohagakure in an act of revenge, but his own anger was tempered by the fact that too many innocents would suffer in such a wide spread attack. No - only those deserving should be punished accordingly, and as such the grotesque display remained after all these years.

Still, if Konoha moved against his clan again he would not hold back the wave.

This cavern, unknown to so many, was another failsafe of Myakashi Migoya. The solid stone had given away to his jutsu years ago, and here he had animated and worked at developing something rather potent. A concoction that would only harm those with active chakra reserves, the stronger the better. What he currently had was a biological weapon that would eat away at all chakra which was not his intent, but it was a start.

He had started testing it on animals, then progressed to members of the underworld that no one would miss. Corpses held a particular ability to hold in noxious materials, as long as they were not corrosive, and the ability to watch how the gases affected the chakra of the victims… err experiments were extremely useful to his research.

He looked over one of the cadavers, an old woman who had once been a spy for a lowly criminal house.

“Myakashi”.

Migoya’s words echoed around the cavern, and immediately, and silently, the corpses started to stand up.

“Brothers in arms”.

Again, almost immediately, those corpses fell back into their slumber. Good. Even after all this time Migoya’s animation still held.

The wind changed as a strange robed rat appeared on his shoulder, forming together from ash particles until he was solid. Barry, as Migoya referred to him, was a homunculus held together and empowered by elemental energy.

Let. Them. Die. The words were silent, appearing as if written in front of Migoya’s eyes.

“When the time is right”.

[MFT]
[WC: 498]

 

[Myakashi Migoya]

The blistering cold of the cavern continued to swirl around as if dancing, causing the hem of Migoya’s robe to sway silently as he moved further into the cavern. The intentional coolness of the cavern helped preserve the swollen corpses, ensuring that the noxious toxin they carried did not leak out due to rot. Certainly, Migoya’s animating and preserving jutsu (CRPJ’s) still held even after all these years, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Perhaps that should be the new motto of the Myakashi. No. That was too boring.

The cavern soon ended in what appeared to be a simple natural rock face, but knowing the Mayakshi the simplest things were always the most complex. Moving up towards the rock face Migoya placed his palid hand, feeling the cool stone for the ever so slight imperfection - or in this case perfection.

There it was.

Using his pinky finger, Migoya pushed what appeared to be an almost impossibly indistinguishable ‘knob’ of stone to the side ever so slightly, before manoeuvring it downwards. Silently, the wall started to move. Certainly some measure of jutsu could have been utilised here, but jutsu left chakra trails. Mikasa has taught him this. It was far more useful to use technology to disguise the most important things, and certainly what was behind this doorway was important.

The dull green glow of the bioluminescent cavern made way for an almost sterile white glean, shining from the white tiles that encompassed this room and reflected off metallic tables, strewn with old laboratory equipment. The acrid smell of formaldehyde mixed with the scent of unknown chemicals drifted throughout the room, almost as if they had waited for someone to finally free them from their sealed cage. Migoya’s crimson gaze looked over the room - his laboratory - the room where he had developed so much, far from the scrutinising gaze of those who did not understand either his methods or his motives. Only his brother Yong had ever set foot in this room, and that had been as a failsafe should the worse happen to him. Now though, despite everything, Migoya had backup plans on backup plans.

But they had all started here.

He drifted silently towards the side of the laboratory, the lights glistening on the rows of large class canisters. Faces looked back at him from within the glass, floating on bodies in various stages of growth. Clones.

His brother’s.

His wife’s.

His closest relatives. Hisao... Doku... Yong... Kiko... others...

Himself.

Immortality was something one could brew in a bottle after all, it just required a very large bottle.

[MFT]
[WC: 422]

 

[Myakashi Migoya]

The glass was cool beneath Migoya’s pale hand, smooth and unmarred as Migoya looked directly at a reflection of himself. That is, it would have been a reflection if this was a mirror he was looking at.

Floating in a concoction of his own design was a perfect copy of himself, albeit somewhat altered to suit one of his many purposes. Indeed, Migoya had several of these altered clones of himself, each with specific ‘tweaks’. This one resembled him in his prime, which was several decades ago, albeit his current body was more than capable of holding its own.

A wry smile climbed its way onto Migoya’s face.

Yes. This one will do for now.

Moving carefully to the side of the large glass vat containing his clone, Migoya located the small ladder that would enable him to climb up to the top of the vat. Pulling his weary bones (ok… he was used to faking it) up the ladder, Migoya climbed to the top of the vat, looking down at the floating form in front of him.

One of the annoyances at having been so rudely banished from his home town was the inability to take all of his work with him. Indeed, some of his own clones and those of his family and friends were here, and couldn't be moved in such a quick time. Migoya had pondered the issue at length - how to get into the village and remove upwards of 40 ‘bodies’ without suspicion. Certainly the use of storage scrolls would work, but those left chakra trails that were far too obvious. No… he needed a different method.

Asoka’s request for a meeting was the opportunity he needed to enter the village. The deal with Takeshi would be an interesting sideline, but this was the true reason for entering the village. He hadnt shared his plans with Yong - such a religious man might baulk at the thought that his father had been cloned after all. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, especially if his fathers clone asked him for it…

Muttering a kinetic jutsu under his breath, Migoya positioned himself in such a way as causing the body to stir, and slowly levitate out of the vat. With a casual gesture from the albino the body floated towards one of the empty metal tables.

It had certainly been a struggle to acquire this ones… genetic abilities.

Placing the body onto the table, Migoya climbed down the ladder and slowly made his way towards the pale form. The body was not alive - Migoya didnt want independent clones after all - these were simply vessels that souls could be placed in, preferably his own should the worse happen and his current body perish. Despite this, there was little indication that the body was dead, apart from the rather obvious lack of breathing. Placing his hand on the clones cold face, Migoya moved to open ‘his’ eyes.

He remembered the battle, the ambush. He had been training some of the young Myakashi students near to one of the cities within Moon country. The lesson had been one of observation - watching a particular individual and ascertaining relevant facts about them simply based on their appearance, mannerisms, gait and the like. Migoya had attempted to make a game of it, selecting individuals that were somewhat obvious, given their uniforms or calloused hands, to make it easier for his young charges and build their confidence. An old lady, a moon shinobi, a cabbage seller.

He had made the mistake of thinking that here, in the middle of a large city in Moon country, that he would be safe.

It had been some sort of distortion that had captured his eye - something he had not seen before, but knew instinctively that it did not bode well. Immediately Migoya had thrown up a kinetic barrier in front of him and his students, just as the released jutsu seemed to pour out of the ‘warp’. Flames surrounded him, lapping at the edges of his jutsu and causing him to feel the enhanced strength of the flames.

“Myakashi - to the shadows”.

Migoyas words had been drilled into his young charges from the moment they could understand. Those words meant they needed to run, to hide, no questions asked. The children fled backwards into nearby alleyways. That was when Migoya started to hear the screams of panicked civilians.

A cursory gaze saw upturned carts aflame, the body of the elderly woman scorched. It was then that another of those ‘warp’ swirls appeared just behind him, again his instincts taking hold as he body switched away as yet another jutsu, this time a swirl of electricity, exploded behind him.

It was then though he realised that he had moved in exactly the way his opponent wanted him to. This time he saw the man for a split second before he grabbed him. However, Migoya knew the game of shogi all to well and as the man lunged for him, Migoya quickly used his own bloodline to freeze his body with a simple glance. The mans blood began to boil, and there was little he could do against the rage Migoya had… for this one had dared attack his clan, especially with the most hated dojutsu. His pain-filled cries echoed around the street as citizens ran to get help from the local law enforcement - people Migoya did not want to answer to. This would need to be quick.

He drew his blade.

Migoya’s eyes grew even more filled with hate as they bore into his would-be assassins, now filled with pain and fear - his eyes the same colour but bearing Migoya’s most hated dojutsu.

—------------

Migoya stared into his dead clones’ eyes and saw the hated Sharingan staring back.

“Now you will serve as a… mule of sorts. Raba. That will suffice.” Edo tensei was called upon, the unwilling soul of the Uchiha thrust into this clone body to give it life. A slave. A mule.

Raba.

 

[Myakashi Migoya]

Migoya nodded slowly, mostly to himself, as Raba transported the last of the vats into the ‘Hollow’ - some extradimensional space that certain members of the Uchiha clan could access through their ocular powers. It was a convenient battle ability indeed, but the practical use of it in logistics management could not be denied. Migoya wondered if this perhaps was a good business opportunity… or indeed a good smuggling method. Well of course it was - that was why he was doing it...

Once the corpses were stored, Migoya commanded his ‘puppet’ to go to the back of the laboratory. A metallic door stood here, its steel reflecting the artificial light. Walking behind his clone Migoya soon reached the door, his hand reaching out towards the handle. He turned it, and its rusty hinges screamed at him in return. Turning the handle Migoya could see the light enter this small room, the smell of chemicals assaulting him and causing the hairs in his nose to wrinkle. He involuntarily let out a a cough as he looked inside.

The janitors closet was just as he had left it, although it seemed the barrel of cleaning materials had split under the years of constant gaseous presence. Its spillage had caused the nasty smell, but at least the floors looked sparkling.

Migoya walked forward, avoiding the pool of chemicals, and made his way over to where several crates were propped up, brooms and mops overing them. To the casual observer this would seem almost innocent, but its was the old Myakashi stronghold - things were never how they seemed.

Mmigoya pointed towards the crates, and his clone moved forward. Using the power of the Void once again Raba transported the crates into another dimension. Not long after and after releasing his Edo Tensei, Migoya willed Raba to wherever his soul-slaves resided, waiting to be summoned. By using this method, he surmised that any search conducted by Konoha security, particularly the ANBU, would not turn up anything - after all they needed Raba to be summoned for him to summon the corpses and supplies in turn. Layers upon layers.

For within those crates was his family's old armour. Old insignia. Old ANBU robes. Old forehead protectors. Carefully stored away for a rainy day.

All war was deception.

 

[Myakashi Migoya]

The true purpose of his visit to Konoha had been completed, and as the door screamed in protest at once again being closed, Migoya looked on what was probably the last time he would physically be in this place that had transformed him into the man he was. For some, events would transform them, for others it was the people that surrounded them. For Yushi Migoya the transformation to Myakashi Migoya had taken place here, in solitude and in silence.

The door shut, once again allowing blessed silence, with the odd sounds of shuffling, to take hold of the cavern once more. The vats were now carefully stored in a dimension out of time and space ready to be taken ‘home’, and the toxic gas still slumbered within the numerous corpses laid on various tables. He walked forward silently, gazing somewhat nostalgically at the remnants of his old laboratory as he took a breath inward.

It seemed an age ago that he was a simple boy, burning with love of country and medicine, learning from Konoha’s best. Nakata Daichi. A true hero. Then came Mikasa. Those who represented an ideal he wanted to be a part of. But he was not destined to be a hero, or glorified. He was born an outsider, different, creepy.

‘Kooks’ they had called him. Only one could call him that, and his brother was dead.

A pale hand rested on a cold, metallic table, its knuckles clenching as Migoya’s grief came to the surface of a face that had perfected the art of misdirection.

“I wish you were here now my brother.”

He, the one who had bested shinigami, kami, yukai, killed a sand worm, fought alongside Secondus, spoken with Gods, survived the fall of Kirigakure, climbed the world tree, created his own hidden village…in perhaps a different time and dimension... fell to his knees.

And wept.

Tears fell down his cheeks unashamedly in this place of absolute solitude, where he could be himself without others expecting him to be strong. He shuddered, his ancient frame releasing decades of grief for he had lost yet more people, those that had bound him to this life. He had lost a brother in Yong, and an uncle in Hisao. A wail like no other escaped his throat, a wail that spoke of untold pain. A wail of the truly scared and alone - for he knew the truth, that silent unspoken truth, that indeed everyone deep down was alone. The rest was a lie, and the strongest were simply those that lied better than everyone else.

He let it all out.

And then he stopped.

He looked into the dead eyes of his homunculus, ‘Barry’, his rodent-like features looking confused at what Migoya was doing as it ‘sniffed’ at his tear-stained face. This creature he had created and given life to would never feel such emotions as loss or sadness, for the elements had no such morality to cause such things from sprouting within. No, Barry only knew anger, elation, lust - it was a far simpler life.

Master? Leaking? Disgusting. Wet.

Migoya stopped for a second in confusion, before realising what Barry was talking about. It was times like this that he was glad that Mikki was on an ‘adventure’ with his nephew - the puppet would have had a rather different approach, and perhaps Barry’s ignorance was what was needed right now.

Migoya chuckled in response, garnering further confusion from the rat as he slowly rose back to his feat.

“Yes. Leaking. It happens sometimes.”

Yes. From. Holes.

Migoya looked at the rat, realising that the creature had been a bit too observant. Part of him was impressed that this undead creation was learning, but it was a bit concerning what exactly he was learning…

“Different reasons. One is disposal of ingested matter. This was a disposal of emotion.”

Somehow explaining it to his creation was cathartic, as if he was processing his own emotions. He wiped away the tears from his face as the rat looked at him.

Disposal. Strange. Wasteful. Stupid. Pointless. Keep. Makes. Big.

Migoya chuckled again. “Perhaps you are right, still they are needed for us ‘mortals’ or we might explode.” The homonculous’s words made him think though - perhaps his emotions were something he should keep more often.

Good. Explosion. Death.

Migoya raised a white eyebrow towards Barry, his gaze meeting the dead one of the rats. He would need to watch this one. That statement reminded him of something and he cast his gaze around the laboratory at the many bloated corpses. Reaching into his vest pocket he produced a wrapped scroll.

“Release”.

Upon that command a strange wooden box would appear - a radio of sorts, made to produce a louder than normal sound. Migoya placed the box on a nearby table, making sure that it faced the majority of the zombies. Should the need arise, a simple radio call to this transmitter, along with the right words, would cause the zombies to rise and fulfil their eternal mission, one that Migoya did not want to transpire… but you never know.

After all he had a dinner to attend with the Hokage and the Sennin, and should things turn sour… well. Poor Konoha.

“It is time to go”, he said to no-one in particular. He felt the whiskers of the rat nuzzle his ear, as Barry tried to lap up the remainder of his tears. He gazed around the room before walking towards the exit, ensuring that each piece of security, from the doors to the hidden traps, were reset in place.

“One final thing Barry - should I ‘leak’ emotion again, came and tell me the village is being attacked. It is untrue, but will give me an excuse…”

The rat gazed unemtionally at his master.

Yes. No. Emotion. Leak. Warning.

“Good. We have a dinner to attend.”

And with that, Myakashi Migoya would leave his home, leave behind his grief for his comrades, and leave behind a reminder that Konoha should not mess with the Myakashi.

[Topic Left]
[MFT]
[WC: 1002]