Seeking the Blackened Heart [OPEN]

[Michi]

The Obsidian Palace far out dates humanity and the site of the final resting place of Orochi. Orochi, formerly the Ancient of the Wild Hunt, Tarasque was the patron of predators and hunters in the Wind Country. Within his dominion fell the stewardship of beasts that were born with the need to hunt and kill others in order to survive and he was good at what he did. With his honed predatory skills, frightening size and supernatural physical power, Tarasque was without a doubt the single most dangerous of the Ancient Lords and was greatly feared by many of the lesser Court Lords-- and for good reason for it was Tarasque that first realized the power to consume the spiritual power of another being and to this day was the only Ancient to ever consume another. No being ever found out what it was that drove Tarasque to his madness. Perhaps it was simply years of leading hunts in the wild that drove him to insanity. Or perhaps he became bored with mortal fare and decided at last to move on to eternal. Whatever the reason was, the mind of Tarasque snapped in two leaving behind what could only be described as a rapacious eating machine fully capable of consuming the entirety of the mortal world if left to his devices.

To prevent this, the three lords of the Great Courts-- Fuujin, Homura and Suna --cast their power together and smote Orochi. Singularly he was the strongest of any Ancients but even he could not stand against their combined might. Slain, the threat presented by Orochi to the natural world seemed abated... that is until Orochi reappeared. Word passed from court to court that the Mad Ancient as he had begun to be called had resurrected and was once more set upon his path of endless consumption. Once more, just as they had before, the Great Lords cast their power together and destroyed Orochi though it seemed that the cannibalistic Ancient had somehow increased it's power as well as having resurrected itself. This cycle of death and rebirth continued for Orochi for some time, each time the period between his resurrections changing. At times Orochi would re-appear within days of being defeated. Other occasions it would take years. By the final time they destroyed Orochi, it seemed as if they could not keep him dead for more than a few minutes until finally Homura cut the heart of the beast from it's chest in a fit of anger... and suddenly Orochi ceased to be reborn. It seemed as if whatever unhallowed power it was that gave unto the twisted monstrosity which had once been their kin a cycle of eternal rebirth was contained entirely within it's heart. Fearing what might happen to the sanity of any Ancient which dared to try and use the power of Orochi's heart to achieve a similar power, the Three agreed to hide the heart deep underground where it might never be uncovered. So it was that by their agreement the building which would come to be known as the Obsidian Palace would be constructed and the Heart of Orochi hidden deep underneath it behind a series of elemental locking seals which were never meant to be unsealed. Eventually the ravenous hunger and hatred of the Orochi, it's very spiritual presence, began to leak out and corrupt the shadows of the Palace creating the ominous dread that permeates the air in the prison. To be present in the Obsidian Palace is to feel the pull of Orochi's mindless and all-consuming gluttony and eventually be consumed by it.

She was here to seek the heart, the truths this site held had been forgotten to the annals of time. Shoiri was seeking the heart to fulfill her own needs, or rather the needs of the youth she had taken on as her son. Tarasque was the single ancient who defied death and denied the universe the only constant: that all things must come to an end. The depths of the Obsidian Palace filled the soul with dread and scratched away at one's fragile sanity. The heart constantly sought life and energy, draining the essence from degenerates and the falsely accused. The obsidian palace was an intrusion on the Deep Court, a lesser court during the time of her reign. She wondered if Lord Mikaboshi was aware of the dangerous power housed within his realm. She coveted this heart, the centuries have passed and neither Fuujin or Homura had recovered their form. In time, they should have returned even if they were destroyed utterly. The flame was not extinguished nor were the heavens broken, they were the incarnation of their elements and domain and their domains existed still. Much like she was the wind, sand and storm. Perhaps the regenerative properties of the heart would be enough to rebuild them from their grave soil or so she hoped.

The shell of the Obsidian was still fractured. The criminals housed within these confines have fled, albeit some stayed as madness had addled their minds and hearts to the point that they had forgotten what freedom was. The sharp click of Shiori's heel resonated down the corridor. Her dress met at her knees and her long red hair was pulled back from her face less several unruly strands bound with a piece of cloth. Her 'son' hopefully provided with some form of nourishment be it in the form of meat on a stick (her preferred source of human nourishment) or something more akin to rabbit-food if that be his preference. His form, hopefully better covered than a johnny-coat, the choice of garment had he chosen any would be his. Her tastes far too archaic for any youth to enjoy unless he wanted to appear as a fragile feudal lord.

Her goal here was two-fold. To feed the boy from the stores of the Obsidian, these souls were sullied but so were those of any mature mortal man. To give him true sustenance, beyond what he could find in a slab of meat or knobby bit of fruit. But also to recover her brother's heart, to learn his immortal secret. To pass this on, the boy's life assuming he was human, would be fleeting. She had no wish to see any more death even if she was among the last of her kind. "I am taking you here to teach you how to hunt." Shiori explained gently. "I eat souls to survive," She admitted with a hint of shame in her voice rather than pride. A consequence of a great many years of humanity, of their ideals being stuffed into her brain... perhaps... or perchance it was to minimize the child's fear. "Eating bad people that won't be missed is not wrong." She contended. Her blue eyes watched the young man's face for reaction with bated breath. She expected a level of rejection, an ethic all of humanity shared. She would not blame him, but she would still feed him.

OC: An Adventure Topic -- feel free to join. I have invited one player already and would like to cap this off at 4 if possible for the sake of speed. This will have environmental consequences for the setting (hopefully).

 

[Takahashi]

OC: Continuing from here.

Unlike that of his adoptive mother, Makeinu's footsteps were barely audible, as if the bottom of his feet were padded. Having left the hospital which had been his only known home and marching out into the subterranean world, the meager excuse for a child would experience much. He didn't like shopping for clothes, nor the hustle and bustle of any group numbering more than five or six. His senses were always sensitive, pupils darting at every sound and visual anomaly. Fear was nonexistence, in its place alertness and a constant search for familiarity.

He spent little to no time going through garments, apparently having a strong and immediate sense of what he did and did not want. So much so, that he was able to look at a mannequin and without hesitation begin to strip it. While others might have been concerned about their behavior in such a place, he didn't know any better and it was likely Shiori could afford the simple set. However; the clothes were much larger on the probably malnourished youth than on the mannequin, with the sleeves passing his fingertips by a few inches and the hood almost entirely covering his face. A simply leather belt held his pants onto his waist, barely. They simply didn't make clothes that small and Makeinu had no intention of entering more than one store.

With his jacket zipped up, and gas-mask in place they'd move on to some sort of food. Not quite liking the hustle of the markets or food centers, he'd make it with "rabbit-food" for now, choosing a small parcel of fruits and vegetables over sweets and anything else. He ate quietly, but it seemed he was being energized a little more and more, by either simply being around Shiori or eating from nature's hand. Whatever the case was, he still seemed sickly, but at least the clothing gave the illusion of more meat to his bones than the exposing hospital clothes did.

He didn't much like looking at himself either, his features so vastly different from those he saw. His skin a disgustingly pale shade, with grayish blue veins visible through the thin layers of epidermis. His lips, a little less chapped after the moisture of the fruit he ate had been absorbed, but thicker than those of most (My avatar shows that aspect perfectly) if/when seen without the obscuring mask. The grayed pale color of his hair nothing like the vibrant whites and silvers of other Shinobi. No fancy styles in his hair, just dead cells forming limp strands that clung to his face beneath his hood. His nose wasn't as pronounced, a more inverted bridge and smoother tip. By all accounts, he was an alien. Unlike the rest at a deeper and more primordial level, and still plainly human as far as anyone could tell, especially himself.

The soft bottoms of his new sneakers were quite sneaky indeed. So much that while trailing behind Shiori, he mostly went unnoticed with all that black coloring overshadowing his deformities. His tone and mood changed little from the hospital, speaking when spoken to and responding in short little words without honorifics. Inside the obsidian walls of the prison, he felt something whittling away at him. Something that scrapped what felt like the inside of his heart and made him begin to grow nauseous. He had little energy, and little concept of sanity before reaching, and now those things were being assaulted by an indescribable force. He tried to hide it, only half hearing his mother's words, and swearing some of them were imagined.

None of it made any sense, as his equilibrium began to rock. He heard her now echoing voice talking about eating souls, which clashed with the logic of even an amnesiac. By the time she would stop to turn and look at him for reaction, she would notice how glazed his own eyes were, barely opened as his skeletal frame swayed to an invisible wind. "Why would you eat a soul?" An earnest question, one that he wasn't sure he even asked but Shiori's ears would hear the reality. Never mind how anyone would accomplish such a task in the first place. She was talking about hunting, and eating bad people...Was he going to have to actually eat someone? His stomach lurched and flipped with nausea, a combination of not being able to digest what he had eaten and a twisted sensation from the sinister propositions. "I ...Don't feel too-" Almost falling to the side, he propped himself up against the wall with one hand and almost tore the mask off with the other, regurgitating any form of nourishment he'd tried to absorb through food on the floor right next to one of the prison personnel standing watch.

He wasn't in a position to protest, not if he was going to survive even just standing in a place like the Obsidian Palace. He was a leaf in the wind, and Shiori would be nature's breath. It wouldn't be hard to see what was going on, the strength of the ancients being too much. Then, after a moment of breathing he eventually stood up straight and stepped back, looking at the mess he'd made and was only thankful none had soiled his first set of clothes. Wiping his mouth, he went on. "I just need- A mop ...I'll clean it up." He was making up his mind, coming to the conclusion that whatever she offered he would have to take. He didn't know what was wrong with him. It was like a curse, or an expulsion of life, and he was the remaining husk. Was he born this way, or did someone do this to him? Did any of that matter? He couldn't make eye contact with a dog to save his life at that point.

He wanted to pull his own weight, mop up his own vomit, wade through the energies of the damning edifice and then proceed into it deeper still. Persistent, courageous, stupid, or merely suicidal.

 

[Mikaboshi]

[col]"Why do humans always ask such stupid questions?." As Makeinu directed his inquiry to Shiori, the tenebrous surroundings all about them answered for her with a question of their own. It was in that moment that the air around them would cool at a rapid pace as if they had just stepped into a walk-in freezer complete with their breath being visible in the air as the lord of the Obsidian Palace drew close to them. "A soul is nourishment like any other form of energy. If you are going to learn our ways you might as well not fill your head with useless ideas like morality being important. Good, bad. The ethics of your prey is irrelevant. Food cannot have a conscience."

On queue the almost regal form of Mikaboshi materialized out of the gloom, complete with the voluminous hooded robes that he wore in place of the "typical" attire of a Sand ANBU. Where they wore masks, Mikaboshi wore the shadows themselves as befit a creature of his origin. Shinobi might have adopted the shadows long ago as a part of their quest to be as much like the natural predators that they mimicked with their silly masks but a being like Mikaboshi had been spawned by the night. It was as much a part of him as were his thoughts or his own spark of existence. In many ways it was impossible to separate where the shadows began and the existentialist sense of "Mikaboshi" began. The distinction was non-pertinent to MIkaboshi and he spent no time dwelling on matters such as those. He was shadow and shadow was he.

Looking down at the puddle of partially digested food and bile upon the floor of the Palace, Mikaboshi visibly shook his head within his hood before turning his gaze to Makeinu. If the youth looked up to Mikaboshi he would see only the dark depths of the Sennin's hood and nothing more. Not even enhanced eye-sight could pierce the veil of Mikaboshi's shadow-mask.

"Cease stumbling over yourself like a cretin, whelp." He commanded Makeinu. It could be nothing else. Mikaboshi did not offer suggestions. "I do not recall inviting you to hunt in my domain, Lady."

His second statement had been to Shiori... no to Suna. Mikaboshi had chosen to go along with her lie to the Steward for the time being if only out of respect for her but this place was his and he had no intention of putting up with facades that he had no interest in continuing while in his own house. The presence of Makeinu was irrelevant to him -- he had not yet decided if he was going to take the child's life as payment for Suna's decision to come to his hunting grounds without pre-expressed permission. There was a way to such things. Sunagakure had long since been Mikaboshi's domain but he'd been willing to share the "surface" with her, content to simply have another of his kind in the world once more but this was something different. For a human it would be akin to walking into someone's house and taking of their larder without permission or even asking first. To do such a thing was a grave offense to Mikaboshi and was a stroke of disrespect the likes of which could not go unanswered.

"Or have you forgotten so much of our ways that it did not even occur to you to seek invitation?" Glowered Mikaboshi, his dissatisfaction with the idea of her masquerade as the human woman Takahashi Shiori plain in the way he spoke to her. Makeinu would likely not understand but Mikaboshi did not expect him to.|[legend="[[b][u]OOC Notes[/u][/b]] - [[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jTIJMq_Fo_Q&index=6&list=PL883956BE5ACDA1DD]SCENE BGM[/url]]"]

Mikaboshi - Sand ANBU Sennin (Council NPC)

[/legend][/col]

 

[Michi]

Expectations and true consequence were vastly different. She expected some color, some vibrancy in his choice but rather his introverted nature was revealed. His clothes, a manifestation of his self-imposed exile and isolation where his clothes seemed to swallow him whole. It was as if he did not want to be seen. Did not want to be known. He was trying to hide in his childish way in plain sight; trying to disappear in the very place he stood. At least that was what she saw when she looked at him in those clothes likely three sizes or more too large, in the black hollow pit that housed his pale, emaciated face.

Was it a secret?

Was it shame?

Was it because he felt he did not belong?

A worried look. An intuitive sense that might be nothing more than her imagination yet it compelled her so. This familiar, familial, even maternal emotion that tugged at the sinews of her heart. Loneliness can do funny things.

By the time they reached the Obsidian Palace, she... perhaps they, had full bellies. Antediluvian cultures lost to antiquity used to consume their enemies in order to obtain their strength. Her people had a similar belief, but even among her kin it has always taboo to consume one's own kind. History accounts later examples such as Barynx the Devourer: a great sanworm who ate its own kind and because of this became exceedingly powerful but as a consequence lost itself and went mad. Orochi predated Barynx by centuries, the Lords tale relegated to that of fable by most, Shiori knew otherwise because she was there. The catastrophic power they obtained and the lengths she... they, brother Fuujin and Homura included, had to go to put an end to Orochi and the Kazekage Barynx.

The Obsidian Palace, best known as a stronghold to put away Sunagakure's most terrible fiends, had a 'natural defense mechanism' in the believed inherent chakra draining properties. Shiori knew better of course, the Obsidian predated this hidden village because this massive structure that reached into the depths was both Orochi's home and grave. Homura has ripped Orochi's heart from the ancient's breast and separated it from his the dangerous Lord by locking it away in a box before hurling it into the deepest part of the Palace. This Palace once so grand, now a pedestrian prison for degenerates and fiends. She knew that Orochi still lived because she could feel his corruption leaking from his blackened heart. She knew because he was still feeding, the spiritual energies of these criminals would in fact give him strength ironically if he was given the opportunity to recover his form.

"Do not mold any chakra," Shiori warned. Using your chakra was tantamount to suicide, one had to always 'rest' when here if they did not want their life grained from them. ((Note: If some uses their chakra when they have none, the chakra costs are taken from one's health at a 2:1 ratio. So if you had 0 chakra and performed a task that cost 100 chakra, it would take 200 health from your health pool.)) "Using chakra needlessly here will kill you," she explained. She was unsure if the boy heard her, she reached in her pocket and her fingertips drummed a trio of cans. She hoped she would not need them but she would rather be prepared than not.

"Why would you eat a soul?"

Makeinu inquired. It was hard to explain, but it would be even worse once she explained the potential consequences of the trespass they would commit that she would have to later remedy for which she had a plan.

Why do humans ask such stupid questions?

Just then, as if talk of souls summoned the demon of the Deep himself, the hair on the back of Shiori's neck stood on end. A physical chill came over her and her warm breath made a cloud of fog just outside her lips. "Stay near me she demanded, knowing exactly what the cold would herald.

A soul is nourishment like any other form of energy. If you are going to learn our ways you may as not fill your head with useless ideas like morality or being important. Good, bad. The ethics of you prey is irrelevant. Food cannot have a conscience.

"Have you been following me brother Mikaboshi?" Shiori asked, curious as to how long he had been there and if he had been with them prior to their arrival. It was irrelevant in her eyes, she was keeping no secrets from the fellow ancient yet but she was keeping a number from the Kazekage. "But, the time I have spent with humans has made me appreciate the fact that there is more that makes us similar than different." She contended, her time among humans certainly did more than give her a sense of empathy, she saw herself as one of them after all this time.

"I... don't feel too-"

BLAGH

Why did she have to have such a keen sense of sound? Her own gastric contents churned at the sounds he made gave her a clearer image than her eyes would have seen or her nose would have sensed. She could feel burning-hot gall reach the back of her throat that she forced herself to swallow before it was expelled.

"I just need - A mop... I'll clean it up."

"Cease stumbling over yourself like a cretin, whelp."

Mikaboshi commanded and Shiori side-stepped in front of Makeinu, standing between the boy and the monster. "Time has changed you, or my memory fails to serve. You used to empathize... or at least be more tolerant of these creatures. Now, you remind me of Fuujin." She argued, more offended by his treatment of her surrogate child than of his intrusion of their excursion. She saw Fuujin and perhaps Mikaboshi differently than Mikaboshi saw himself or Fuujin. Time remembered her fondly, some even see her as a dirty rather than a creature that was different from them who happened to do something -once- that appeared kind. Her 'gift' to the progeny of Primus, later known as the Sunahoshi clan was not intended as such but rather a consequence of her very existence. The desert, from what she was, is a harsh and unforgiving place that still nurtures and sustains despite meager resources and for those who can endure the desert wilds... they become stronger in the process. The Sunahoshi -survived- her, hardly a gift but history recalls a different tale. She, likely unlike Mikaboshi had no desire for zealots. She simply wanted a quiet, uninterrupted life with love and family. It was for this reason she still sought Homura and Fuujin's resurrection, they were her first family. It was an aspiration she had yet to achieve. Her false family and to some extent this... Lord, was all she had and she did not particularly care for the later.

"I do not recall inviting you to visit my domain, Lady. Or have you forgotten so much of our ways that it did not even occur to you to seek invitation?"

Are we going to argue such trifles? So be it. "I would have asked permission if I had entered your home, but you are squatting on Tarasque's domain." Shiori replied, the coloring leaving her cheeks and her breath leaving her lungs. IT HURT. It hurt to have so much pulled so quickly, but she had faced him before and knew that she could make more than he could eat as long as she did not pull from her chakra stores. "I have come to feed this boy something more substantial than fruit and bread and then I am going to seek an audience with our brother." Shiori raised an arched brow and waited for Mikaboshi's reply. She took a half step back, unsure of what the Lord of the Deep would do. Pride was the lifeblood of a great many ancients, petty vengeance another. She had just gotten a new plaything and -that- she was unwilling to share.

"I plan on raising this little human as my own," she added her voice dropped a near octave. She would feed him with or without Mikaboshi or anyone else's consent. She did wonder in a fleeting sense if he would be compelled to share her secrets with Sousuke. In fact, Sousuke was the only cause she had to feel concern. She knew that somehow Mikaboshi was tied to the Steward Kazekage's blade but she did not know how or why. Was he the Kazekage's lapdog? Part of her feared that possibility, not that he had Mikaboshi under his thumb although that was a concern in its own right but also that he had the power to subjugate an ancient in such a way. This was her only lingering, festering doubt.

OC: Cellphone post, no code. Sorry if there is an odd auto-correct or two. :-S

WC: 1457
MFT

 

[Takahashi]

Awareness, it was what created the conscious experience. When unaware of something, that individual cannot be conscious of that thing's existence. To be aware required, in the most basic form, the usage of one's senses to absorb their environment. Basic indeed, but not the easiest thing for most to do...True awareness, one that could pierce the veil of any illusion, that required a sense of focus and unwavering determination for the truth. For the reality outside of one's own perception, the reality that continued to exist with or without their acknowledgement and without a care for that individual's personal existence.

More often than not, the human being finds solace in their perceived view. The brutal reality outside of their perception refused to spare anyone's emotions. It refused to play favorites with this man or that woman, the crushing foundation of what is would always remain while the thoughts of how we would like things to be faded away with the frail body and brain that carried the sentiment. While ignorance was bliss, and nescience truly the only form of innocence, some people were either blessed or cursed with the inability to dance around reality. An ever-present awareness of what is, even if they could feign the opposite before another soul. Those individuals would never be granted the amnesty of the nescient, nor the delusional comfort of isolated perception. The category this child, this unsightly stray human, would fall into was another mystery. Maybe all, maybe none...Maybe he'd simply end up shattered, mindless, and dead inside.

The boy could feel his innards being compressed by contracting of his stomach's flesh, threatening to smother his intestines against his spinal column. The sour taste that coated his tongue and fouled his nostrils made it hard not to repeat the heaving motions. His world was unstable, and the bare minimum of will and essence to exist he possessed were being stolen by the very walls around him. As the air around him began to chill, his body barely reacted save for the already present shivers due to the exertion of energy needed to launch his lunch all over the floor. The goosebumps that lined his flesh were completely hidden by his clothing, and his addled mind began making late registrations.

His new mother had cautioned him not to "mold any chakra", and it was seeping in. Since he had done nothing in particular and hadn't the slightest clue how to make use of his energy, he began wondering about so many things so far off from his present crisis. He wasn't smart enough yet, to understand the natural flow of the spiritual energy known as Chakra or how it was so deeply tied to the mind...Both conscious and subconscious. He just knew he was weakened, and that he was an embarrassment to the woman who brought him there. His lids showed his exhaustion, but his defiant posture of remaining mostly upright showed the inability to remain down.

Shiori had suddenly commanded him to stay close to her. The order of events were becoming jumbled in his mind, but he knew it had something to do with the cold...Something to do what the disembodied voice that questioned his stupidity, that mocked his humanity. Had the voice been something he really heard, or imagined? No, this was real...The shadows were more than they seemed, and the voice continued with a small lecture of sorts. It spat upon the inherent idea of morality he found himself with simply waking up, it told him that prey should be viewed differently...That they either didn't have a conscience or that their conscience should be ignored in favor of nourishing the self.

Unconsciously, he found himself drawing nearer to Shiori after she intercepted. Whether it was for warmth due to the drop in temperature, or fear would never be evident from the surface. He had found his way behind, and slightly to her side so he could see what she saw. The shadowy entity that manifested itself carried the same voice that had intruded into his mind, that openly made its opinion of humanity openly known. The strange thing about it all, was that Shiori's words weren't much different from this...Mikaboshi, as his mother called him while they spoke to one another. Neither of them seemed to be concerned with the destruction of a soul, with the hunting of another and the complete discarding of that being's existence with no further thought.

From behind his mother, a single bloody eye peered from beneath the over-sized hood and looked directly into the ebony of Mikaboshi's. He could see nothing, and perhaps that's what made it all the more easier to stare. There was no expression to interpret, no eye movement, absolutely nothing but darkness. It was eerie, and at the same time beautifully serene. Any other child might have been offended by the statements, and to some degree he was, but the sharpness of his own ability to perceive cushioned the blow. He did not see his uncle as having called him a cretin, but simply telling him to not behave like one. The child didn't have a response to being called a whelp, for he inherently knew the definition of the word and was in no position to dispute the legitimacy of the comment.

Still, something inside him began to stir. No longer did the disturbance emanate from his stomach, but an almost burning sensation began to swarm around the center of his chest. He wanted to defend her, though he never could. For the most part, he remained in his place...The place of a child, not interfering with the conversations of not simply adults...But rather, Ancients, or Gods for all intents and purposes. Not that he understood that part much, but with how strange the two beings before him were, it was starting to soak in. If this ...Shadow Monster was her "Brother", and she ate souls to stay alive ...He really was just a whelp.

Maybe it was mirroring his own instinctual desire to protect her, or perhaps his was a mirroring of her's, the woman made it clearly vocalized. She let it be known to this entity that she had every intention of raising him as her own. Her fearless defense of him in the face of such power, it bonded him to her just a little more even if she didn't notice. She had only just brought him into her fold, and when danger reared its head, she didn't hesitate to step in. It made that same singularly visible crimson eye of his linger on Mikaboshi. The walls of the dark prison would begin drinking once more, drinking from the boy's heart what it could...That potent mixture of anger and protectiveness suppressed within his meager form, being whipped into an unseen frenzy by the fact he couldn't do a thing even if he tried. However; that wouldn't have stopped him from trying. He had nothing to lose, nowhere to go, no one to become and giving his life in the name of a person who still took him despite his beaten frame would have felt right.

She had told him not to mold any Chakra, but when the spirit was aroused by the emotion who could truly keep the energy at bay? Certainly not an untrained mutt. The same eye that looked unwaveringly into Mikaboshi's hood the entire time began to bleed, and the bluish grey veins on his ghostly skin became more visible. It was as if the building itself threatened to rip the blood from his veins, but he made no noise. From one of his dangling long sleeves, blood dripped also...His life force being used in place of what he didn't have, seeping from beneath his fingernails. The two Ancients wouldn't feel anything exceptional, not in the form of overwhelming force or strength...Just determination. A willingness to act should the need arise. With little to no regard for himself. An urge so strong, that it caused the prison or perhaps the heart of the Orochi to gnaw away at his being.

The concept of reincarnation was a strange thing, and one could theorize over whether or not time had meaning in such cases. Paradoxes, progression through the ages as well as regression, the destruction of the memory and the ego. The karmic consequences of the past hurling one into their present state. That could have been a theory about why the universe would allow a child like Makeinu to be born under such unfortunate circumstances. Then there was always the possibility that none of that existed, only the here and the now and only the Ancients moved in synchronized exception to the rigid laws of the aether. Could you exist both here and there at the same time? The Ancients did...Ever-present in all the elements.

 

[Mikaboshi]

I'm having some trouble putting the words together but I've got a basic concept of what I want to go down -- I'll get this up tomorrow when I have a bit more brain power at my disposal.

 

[Mikaboshi]

[col]Mikaboshi issued a low-volume hiss as Shiori likened him to the greatest of their kind Fuujin. While he would never have described himself as a rival Fuujin -- there were none that [rivaled the Solar Lord in true power -- he certainly never saw eye to eye with him. Diametrically opposed in their natures, he was a creature of the night and Fuujin was a creature of the day. It was not hard to understand why they did not get along. But for all their differences, the Mikaboshi of the present could understand why once upon a time Fuujin had advocated for the eradication of humanity. Perhaps the Lord of the Solar Court saw in them the potential of what they would eventually become. Perhaps he simply hated them because they were different. Like many ancients of that age, Fuujin was capricious and well known for his capacity for cruelty as much as his mercy.

"Not time, sister. Experience. For all my mercy and empathy towards them they repaid me in bloody betrayal and imprisonment." It was a harsh lesson that Mikaboshi lived with each second of his long life. His enslavement at the hands of Sunagakure was a constant sucking wound in his pride that never failed to remind him of what was most important: the First Law. The weak die and become food for the strong. In his curiosity he had allowed humanity to become the exception to his eternal law with exception to those that he hunted for sustenance and for that foolishness he'd been trapped for hundreds of years within his own sword, sealed there by the first Kazekage Sunahoshi Nori. Mikaboshi was a creature of deception by his very nature and for that reason he should have anticipated humanity inevitably turning upon him but that fact did nothing to diminish the anger and shame that burned white hot in his long memory. "They have long since spent any mercy that I possess for them. Now they are either tools to be used, food to be eaten or offal to be discarded. No more, nothing less."

Mikaboshi watched as Suna's moral form quailed before the devouring darkness of the Obsidian Palace. It was the most curious property of the structure that had enraptured Mikaboshi's interest early on in his limited freedom from being sealed within the Black Blade. In fact, it had been the entire impetus for his set-up and subsequent framing of the previous ANBU Sennin for crimes against the state so that he could take her position as commander of the black ops shinobi and more importantly warden of the city's unusual prison. It had shadows the likes of which tasted unique in the world save for perhaps his home in the long-forgotten realm of Shadow's Heart that was deep within the subterranean caverns of Wind Country. He watched and as she invoked the name of the Mad Ancient and claimed that Mikaboshi's territory belonged to a long-since dead man creature, Mikaboshi visibly bristled as what little light in the area shuddered under the weight of his outrage. While normally the name of Tarasque would not have escaped his notice, the sting of Suna claiming that territory which had belonged to Mikaboshi centuries before any other somehow belonged to another seared too deeply into his pride for any other words to reach him.

"The underground has always belonged to Mikaboshi and to no other -- those are the terms of our arrangement. The only reason that I allow these apes ..." Mikaboshi derided, his voice dripping with venom and violence as he gestured at Makeinu, "... to abide here is due to the terms of my pact with the Steward. Terms which can protect them for only so long."

Once upon a time there had been an arrangement between he and the Desert Queen. She understood that the depths belonged to the Deep Court and he abided that that the dark places of the surface belonged to her. Those were the terms and Mikaboshi was nothing if not a creature of his word despite being a spirit of natural deception. It was in his nature to deceive and trick but never lie. It wasn't something that he was even capable of doing. He could imply and insinuate and infer but never lie. Turning his attention to Makeinu once more as Suna claimed that she would raise him as her own, Mikaboshi snorted derisively before stalking closer to the child to inspect him. Between them Mikaboshi could feel a strong will to protect Suna from Mikaboshi and even among the suffocating darkness it was palpable in the child's aura.

"I can feel it, you know. That pounding in your ears... the thundering in your chest. Every inch of you clamors at your mind to run away but still you stand your ground. There is something to be said for that, at least." It was a back-handed compliment to say the least as it was more derogatory than it was positive but that was perhaps as close to positive reinforcement as Mikaboshi would ever get to a human he'd just met. "If you are to associate with Suna then allow me to grant you a boon for her sake."

Stepping backwards, ethereal wisps of ash and smoke billowed from Mikaboshi's back as a pair of large spectral pinions unfurled from his form for a moment and pushed against the consuming darkness of the Obsidian Palace. While the lighting in the immediate area did not improve, both Suna and Makeinu would feel the pressure on their spirits lifted at least for the time being. It seemed as if for all his time spent here in the darkest place of Sunagakure that Mikaboshi and the Palace had reached some kind of understanding. Spreading his arms wide as the ghostly vision of his natural form's wings evaporated into the gloom around them, Mikaboshi cackled tauntingly before voicing his offer to Makeinu.

"Take your best shot."|[legend="[[b][u]OOC Notes[/u][/b]] - [[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBdBdLvrNUY]SCENE BGM[/url]]"]

Mikaboshi - Sand ANBU Sennin (Council NPC)

[/legend][/col]

 

[Uri]

[Topic Crashed]

Little did the Lord of the Deep know that his challenge was issued to more than just The Mother and her child. A time prior to this meeting a resolute ANBU Captain had set his mind on discovering more about the shadowy maze that inhabited Sunagakure's own Devil. The Ametsuchi were known for being holy warriors, soldiers of the light and battling in the name of their divine Mother Suna. When Sunahoshi Nori, the first of his kind, had called for aid, the Ametsuchi rode with him. This was what brought the clan to prevalence, but their faith was not the clan's true strength. Before they wielded the blade, before they had battered back gods and ancient beasts, they had put pen to paper. The Ametsuchi were once scholars of old, gifted with memories as extensive as the Ancients' lives were long. While many of their archives had been destroyed as time advanced their development, the knowledge had survived amongst its members, never dissolving and always boasting an even more formidable arsenal than the Takahashi smith clan.

Kurisu's mind was similarly gifted like those intellectuals before them, able to store information and retrieve like one would a file from a cabinet at will. Delving into the cesspool that had become the new ANBU headquarters required precautions that many didn't know existed, lost to the flow of time and only upheld by those foolish enough to remember such dark arts. Faith had sustained the Captain through his long detainment and even since being back in the village did it warn him of terrible things to come. There was so much evil living within the village, lineages and bloodlines of tainted or fallen creatures that made the back of his mind itch like a mental rash. The Obsidian Palace amplified that itch a thousand fold and even though his group's headquarters was located there, it didn't feel right to enter, let alone safe.

Before even thinking about chasing down the Lord of the Deep, Kurisu had fished for words of a scribe long dead, buried beneath layers of darkness and tormented anguish. In the recess of his mind were runes and scriptures that the original Ametsuchi used to help them hunt Ancients and evils older than time itself, ways to prevent their darkness from pervading their purified bodies. Blood fueled these archaic spells, a life force more powerful than chakra in many ways. Drawn across Kurisu's entire body were markings that many would not understand, let alone be able to recall the dead language they originated from. While the blistering light in his core was now encased in a shell that chilled his soul, he would no longer shine like a beacon to the Warden of the Palace, no longer alert him to the sneakings of a suspicious and powerful shinobi looking to overthrow a monster.

It would also bear the unknown side-effect of lessening the effects of The Heart, buried stories beneath him.

That was how Kurisu came to be in the depths of the Obsidian Palace, crawling the dungeon and interrogating prisoners that would speak to him. Many seemed dazed or out of their minds, completely devoid of any ability to function like a normal social being. There was a weight pushing in on Kurisu, one he couldn't deny, but he felt the metaphysical walls he had put up holding that sinister will at bay. What knowledge he could gather told him much he already knew; that Mikaboshi used this place as a personal hunting ground, that the walls would whisper to them, and that even during their chance to escape many had remained put, afraid of what leaving their madness would do. Many of the floors were open habitats where the prisoners lived together and minor hierarchies existed for those enduring enough to overcome the staggering dread. Each passing visit would continue pushing his pursuit downward, deeper into the twilight void of The Obsidian.

No one seemed to be able shed any light to the depths of this hole, even if the ravings of madmen insisted that one prisoner, one who had existed in the Palace before Sunagakure, could provide answers. As with all information, it could only be taken with a grain of salt, or a sack in this case.

What even would be his plan if there was an answer to this alleged Ancient? To smack him with a glove and demand satisfaction? A burning desire to see Sunagakure restored to its former glory and with the help of the ANBU brought him here, but perhaps his youthful side had shown its faces and the decision to invade a dangerous enemy's territory had been the wrong one. His grip would seize the hilt to his fragmented katana, reassuring him that it was there and that he had survived his trials by faith.

Then I will show him the radiance of the Ametsuchi.

Refocusing on his careful exploration, his form melted into the shadows once more.

There was something here.

[OoC: Come at me bro]

 

[Takahashi]

He'd listen intently, practically hanging on every word ushered forth from the abyssal lack of facial countenance. Shiori's words coupled with that of Mikaboshi's unwrapped a tale far older than the boy's own conception, and it appeared that neither of them minced words in front of the youth. It was solidified that neither his mother nor her sibling were humans, and that while she'd grown into their fold Mikaboshi himself had suffered a tragic betrayal at their opportunistic hands.

The tale of spurned mercy made him empathize with the lord of the deep on some level. He could see no form of imprisonment, but the bitterness in the voice without lips held truth in their tone with a firm grip. He could hear the resentment, an emotion he found himself unknowingly quite familiar with. Something like that was earned, not simply handed out. Even the most cruel of tyrants never truly had such feelings for those they trampled, more often it was simple disregard. His jaw tightened instinctively as he was thrown in with the same apes that had jilted the speaker, an insult that couldn't be taken as anything but that.

The phantom-like entity approached nearer, and though there were no eyes the child felt himself being examined. A slow inhale through the nostrils would make his feeble chest swell, more useless defiance that came from an unknown well of reserves. The evaluation of his position and intention was absorbed, and subsequently he found himself wondering if there was some validity to the assertions being made. Almost everything was correct. His ear drums throbbed as if his brain had become a heart, pounding and pulsating. His ribs were being beaten against by the pounding within his chest. Every atom in his body surged with an undone will, and yet...Nothing.

His fists tightened at the sight of the Ancient's backward movement, causing the blood from beneath his nails to squish against his palm and trickle more onto the floor of the Obsidian Palace. His eyes widened marginally in awe as the smoke and ash-like substance formed ethereal wings that spread like those of a giant eagle before fading into the darkness. There was a sudden feeling as if an unseen weight had been removed from his core, and the blood that streamed from the singular exposed eye began to crystallize and clot upon his cheek without a fresh supply to keep it fluid. The mocking laughter made the boy's lips part, revealing gritted teeth for but a fraction of a moment. He didn't like what he was feeling...The ridicule. It was too familiar. It was more hurtful than it should have been, and furthermore he was being shamed in front of whom had chosen willingly to mother an invalid such as himself. Then came the offer.

He was taken aback, forcing a quick glance towards Shiori that returned to the host of his current discomfort just as swiftly. He took a single step passed her, and bit his lip. A tremor swept over his body, and it was evident that fear dwelt within. It was his first day outside of the hospital, a place that could be thought of as his only known world after waking from his long period of unconsciousness. It was a simple life when he did wake, merely helping the other patient within his room and experiencing bad hospital food. Day in and day out he fought against the depression of not knowing who he was, where he had come from, and the most potent urge to no longer exist. He had eventually been asked if he'd like to become a Shinobi, and without considering what it truly entailed he accepted for it was a better choice than being bed-ridden and surrounded by the disabled. Shiori came in and offered herself as a mother figure, took him for his first real taste of food and clothing, and showed him the closest thing to care he'd experienced since his eyes opened.

If he was going to die, then as far as his perception was concerned his last day wasn't too bad. It made him smile a little, though the timing was most inappropriate and likely to offend. He hadn't a future, and he knew he'd been offered the chance to become a Shinobi in hopes that he'd die and no longer be a waste of dwindling medical resources. No one expected anything of him, and he didn't expect anything from himself either. Yet, something within him raged. It screamed inside his skull that he was somebody even if just a nobody, the paradox within. Even if he were stuck down then and there, his contemplated action would define his short existence in the memory of both Shiori and Mikaboshi for as long as either of them cared to acknowledge it.

He didn't have any aces up his sleeves. Not a single weapon on his body. Not a single technique of any kind learned, and definitely no hidden bloodline to awaken during this most stressful and dangerous of times. The boy didn't even understand the basic concept of Chakra at this point in his life. He refused to hide behind his new mother, and thus exposed himself to death.

"What they did to ya." He started, his weak and wispy voice only granted depth by its raspiness broke through. A tumbleweed propelled by the wind rivaled his vocal strength. "It was wrong, but you're wrong too." He started walking towards Mikaboshi, the weight of his seemingly brittle bones barely making an audible footstep. He was approaching for all intents and purposes a monster of a being, behemoth-like in essence to his insect-like presence. "I don't wanna' run away...I don't think I know how." His steady approach shifted drastically into a full on sprint. They'd see him have to physically use the left hand to help make the right into a fist against the stiffness of its little finger. Ignored pain surged through his extremity but every intention of using the same damaged fist to slam into Mikaboshi's chest. Instinct aimed for the solar plexus, if the being had one. All of this was likely to no great effect, and it wouldn't be surprising if he was swatted away like the impudent little whelp that he was.

[MFT - Word count is 1051]

OC: Sorry for breaking post order, but I couldn't run the risk of his mother stopping him. I'd have posted sooner but my chance at getting on a legitimate PC only happened to be at this particular moment. The "Bravery" is probably a bit lackluster with Kurisu being somewhere nearby, but this was always my intention from reading Mikaboshi's challenging post. However this plays out, I'm glad to be a part of the story. Conversely, that isn't to say Kurisu's presence isn't welcome in the least. I'm glad to be with such high caliber of writers, even if I'm probably headed for character creation.

 

[Michi]

OC: LOL, geesums

IC:

"Not time, sister. Experience. For all my mercy and empathy towards them they repaid me in bloody betrayal and imprisonment."

She knew nothing of Mikaboshi's fate, only the false projection from Sousuke's blade. The shade who lied and claimed false witness to what has come to pass. The same weapon she had every intent of destroying when given the opportunity still. "I know nothing of Sousuke's deal with you, or how an echo that is not you but housed within his ebon blade had come to claim your identity." There was a sense of disdain in her voice, but for this one moment it was not directed at Mikaboshi but rather his 'master.' For all the affections she had for him, imprisoning her fellow Lord was not only concerning but it was also offensive. She knew nothing of Kazekage Nori betrayal, the same man she cursed, how he imprisoned the Lord of the Deep Court for all these years inside his weapon. How those years must have festered and deepened his dark hatred for humanity. "Sousuke has been keeping many secrets from me it would seem," Shiori stated thoughtfully.</COLOR></FONTFACE>

Knowingly putting an ancient on a leash, even a short one was either a demonstration of epic stupidity or great power. Which of these things was he?​

<i></i><FONTFACE fontface="helvetica">

"They have long since spent any mercy that I possess for them. Now they are either tools to be used, food to be eaten or offal to be discarded. No more, nothing less."

"I doubt the years have changed you this much brother."<i></i> Shiori debated, more sure of this fact than she should. His freedom was much more recent than her own, her 'prison' was of her own making when she tried to resurrect her Homura and Fuujin the greatest of the ancients of their time. She truly never knew Mikaboshi, even at the height of her power they were from different worlds. It was ironic how time remembered them both so wrong but how those memories were closer to what they both were today. Perhaps these beliefs and their faith molded them into what they were. Mikaboshi, an avatar of darkness and shadow, but the element far from analogous to the dark nature within a human's heart. He tolerated these humans, and took no stake in the war that destroyed their kind. It was not his nature that compelled him to remain neutral, something she held against her brother even after all these years. Suna had no choice in the matter, once the line was drawn into the sand and sides were chosen she much like the desert took no sides. The strongest would survive. She did not believe that cattle could overcome their masters and she would have... could have intervened if they broke the peace with her first. None rose against her and what was hers, so she was forced to be a spectator to the brutal war that decimated her kind to near extinction. She claimed stake in the boy, a purposeful statement. He was hers. She wanted the capacity to intervene. To eschew combat in the final days of the Ancients earned her the unmerited love of humanity, her attempt to kill Nori gifted him and his progeny with the power over the storms solidifying the ideal that she was a benevolent protector, a maternal aspect of the human world. Humanity was not her family, it never was. However, time and perhaps circumstance has softened her in a way, she needed something to care for. Something to nourish. For that reason she now had a son.

"The underground has always belonged to Mikaboshi and to no other -- those are the terms of our arrangement. The only reason that I allow these apes ... to abide here is due to the terms of my pact with the Steward. Terms which can protect them for only so long."

Such pride. Such arrogance. Such Shiori let out a low laugh that erupted into an echoing cachinnation that reverberated down the corridors and into the hidden spaces no other could see but her. <COLOR color="red">"How quickly you forget your neighbors, the fire court... I shared my domain with terrestrial avatars of their element and looked to the celestial spaces to see the avian lords intrude of what Fuujin thought was his." Ancient Lords hated to share, it was a trait that many possessed. "You are standing on your brother's grave... can't you feel him feeding on your now like he once did our brethren?" Shiori hissed. The heart of their brother, the Lord of the Wild Hunt still continued to beat in the deepest, darkest depths of the Obsidian where Homura had thrust his blackened heart all those centuries ago. Separated from his body and locked away in tight quarters, hidden in the deepest part of this palace. Had anyone ever wondered why a structure referred to as the Obsidian Palace which predated Sunagakure and arguably written history had such a name?

Shiori's presence, not nearly as dramatic as Mikaboshi's. Her brilliance housed behind this mortal shell. Her storm gone... given away... Her song remained, her voice with such uncanny clarity and such a melodic tenor. Her skin felt too tight, as it it would crack or rip away at a moment's notice as their brother feasted on their glory. Mikaboshi's presence still felt cold, this chill that ran off him in waves causing her breath to be released in small clouds. "You, dear brother are if nothing else a man of your word. The only thing that truly binds you," she announced so boldly "yet you subject yourself to these humans you hate to what end? You are not the kind to partake in such a rigid contract that you have no release unless you desired this invisible tether to this land... these people you so hate." She accused Mikaboshi of being tolerant of humanity. She knew not his oath to Sousuke, the finite deal that would end when Sousuke's does. What is sixty even ninety years in the life of an immortal ancient - it was a blink of an eye. Much like her, tolerating the curse she left on the Sunahoshi, knowing fully that one day their power would destroy them if they could survive the exponential gains. They were heathen warrioer, unsophisticated in the art of manipulating the elements but with her 'gift' or rather curse they had to serve as stewards to the desert. Holding back or summoning the storms, never learning their true human potential as their brief lives were wasted mastering their skill-set etched into their blood.

"I can feel it, you know. That pounding in your ears... the thundering in your chest. Every inch of you clamors at your mind to run away but still you stand your ground. There is something to be said for that, at least."

"Leave him alone..."<i></i> Shiori warned. Makeinu drew near Shiori, Shiori's leg in front of the boy. Her son, his insubstantial and feeble form only partly blocked by her own. "I am not going to let you hurt him" Shiori warned, her voice cold and her words angry. She was not asking him, she was not telling him what he would or should do, she was announcing to him the eventuality of the matter. He belonged to her as much as a a sword belonged to its holder.

"If you are to associate with Suna then allow me to grant you a boon for her sake."

The darkness pushed against them. Shiori glared into the void that was Mikaboshi's face. Wordlessly she rose her hand, and pulled at her own jaw dislocating it with her own hand. "Do not make me subjugate you with my word." She threatened, her jaw loose in comparison to what is was. She was unsure if it was even still possible, she was growing at a rapid rate in power but she had not yet explored what she lacked and what she regained. Her song, or rather her voice was not lovely it was commanding. Or it used to be. As a 'shinobi' she had learned how to replicate their methods of elemental manipulation, delving into the domain once relegated to her brothers and sisters but she failed to try to recall her skill-set. As Makeinu looked back at Shiori, she started to shake her head 'no' but her efforts were too little too late.

"Take your best shot."

Mikaboshi taunted. Makeinu stepped in front of her. "GET BACK!"<i></i> Shiori snapped, her voice changing. Winds started to blow from behind her, a gale-force wind not unlike the maelstrom in many ways.

"What they did to ya."

Her son announced weakly, even her sensitive ears perceived his words as soft. The pounding of his heart much louder in her brain. The grumble and groan of his gastric contents against the walls of his intestine. Even the skitter of roaches and the squeak of mice had more significance but she heard him still despite being upwind.

"It was wrong, but you're wrong too."

He approached the Lord, without restraint but not without fear. He was brave, braver than any human and most ancients she knew. But her eyes widened in fear, not for her own sake but for his. "BACK DOWN!"<i></i> Shiori demanded, her voice brittle and laced with urgency.

"I don't wanna' run away...I don't think I know how."

He did not seem to hear her, if he did he was not listening. "NO!"<i></i> Shiori bellowed, her voice causing the stone walls to shudder. Her hands ran through a series of hand-seals in rapid succession. Her fingers nimble, but this not an Ancient's art but a human skill. She created a shining barrier to protect Makeinu from whatever Mikaboshi would do in return, or at least lessen the damages so she could take what was left of him with her to resurrect. While an Ancient's life required more energy than even she possessed, a human's require a mere pittance in comparison. A Pristine Aura (Mastered) was cast around the foolish boy. His attempt to strike Mikaboshi was not prevented however. Shiori reached in front of her and tried to snatch Makeinu by the hood and pull him back behind her before Mikaboshi could respond (obviously your calls guys).

 

[Mikaboshi]

[col]Mikaboshi howled with laughter at Suna's threat to subjugate him. For her talk of time having passed, perhaps it had escaped her notice that their positions of power had been altered greatly by the flow of time. No longer was she the Desert Queen and even though he was no longer the King Under the Sands... the distance between them now was minuscule. If they came to blows their battle would have been spectacular to be sure but Suna would not be able to claim the victory through her raw power alone as had once been the case. And in this place where the shadows reigned, Mikaboshi had no doubt that he would be the victor in such a struggle. Suna's past as his superior colored her vision of their relationship but the Dark One saw things as they truly were -- here in the shadows of the Palace she would just be another hunted beast for him to bring down if she chose to forcibly oppose him. Though he did not respond fully to her threat, his laugh said more than words ever could about what he thought of her threat:

You have no power here.

Suna cried out to stop Makeinu from giving into Mikaboshi's taunting but in the end was unsuccessful in preventing the child from diving forward and driving his fist into the center of Mikaboshi's body. The young man's fist connected solidly but the flesh of Mikaboshi's construct body gave no ground to the young student's attack giving the distinct sensation of having just punched into a brick wall. Still, there was conviction behind the child's attack. Dropping his arms, Mikaboshi turned his head to the side not unlike a predatory bird as he looked down at Makeinu.

"Almost competent." He credited. His body had suffered no lasting damage from the attack -- perhaps a bruise that would disappear moments later due to his body's natural regenerative properties -- but if nothing else Mikaboshi respected Makeinu's willingness to put everything he had behind an attack. After all, if Mikaboshi had truly meant him harm then there could have been no escape. No matter how quick he was for his age there was no possible scenario in which Makeinu could manage to out-run Mikaboshi in full pursuit. Especially not in the place which he called his home. "Now, I will make good on my promise of a boon. I have a gift for you."

The physical form of Mikaboshi did not move but despite that both Suna and Makeinu would suddenly feel the weight of Mikaboshi's presence of spirit crash down upon their shoulders like the heavy rain of a monsoon. It fell in waves of despair and fear, an unrelenting tide of supernatural terror that only the most terrible of creatures could evoke. Suna was still quite powerful in her own right and while the sheer suddenness of Mikaboshi's spiritual and psychological assault might take her by surprise and toss aside her willpower, Makeinu was not so lucky. For a child his size and age it would be next to impossible to overcome the power of the aura that Mikaboshi was expelling from his body and especially not at the ground-zero point of range that he stood. In his mind's eye Makeinu would likely witness flashes of horrifying visions -- the various gruesome deaths at the hands of Mikaboshi that he might have experienced following his one strike against the ancient lord -- each one more horrible than the last. Leaning down to put his cowled face closer to Makeinu's, Mikaboshi's voice would grow quiet but no less full of menace as it had always been.

"My gift to you is two-fold. You claim that you do not know how to flee so perhaps you have not yet been properly motivated enough to learn how. Because of that the first part of my gift I give to you is true fear. An experience to remind you for years to come what heart-rending terror is like."

In the truest sense of the phrase, Makeinu had come face to face with Death itself. At the range they stood from each other, nothing would have been able to save him if Mikaboshi had chosen to attack which had been why Suna had been so adamant about Makeinu not allowing himself to be goaded into attacking. Makeinu stood within the very jaws of the dragon which could close around him in an instant the moment that the fancy struck the beast. Still, for all the disrespect Suna had shown him thus far Mikaboshi had not forgotten her words. She claimed wild things such as the Obsidian Palace being the grave of Tarasque the Mad Ancient and that merited further investigation to say the least and slaying Makeinu would only slow that process by making Suna even less receptive to sharing the information she claimed to possess.

"My second gift is a gift of truth. No matter what other nonsense some might fill your head with, this is the foundation of our world. The strong live and the weak die. If you are weak you exist for no other reason than to be food for the strong. Forget this lesson at your own peril."

And with that, the air around Makeinu would condense into a swiping fist of shadow that shattered the glowing shield around Makeinu's body and attempted to knock him flying back towards Suna. The medical technique that Suna had placed around Makeinu's body would have taken much of the sting out of Mikaboshi's attack -- not that it had been intended to kill in the first place -- but still it would hurt if Makeinu were struck by it. Hurt but he would be relatively unharmed except for perhaps a bruised ego.|[legend="[[b][u]OOC Notes[/u][/b]] - [[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCfiqY05BpA]SCENE BGM[/url]]"]

Mikaboshi - Sand ANBU Sennin (Council NPC)

When Mikaboshi was a player character he had a 3,600 Power Level and thus a maximum base Melee Accuracy for his Devastating Aura which he cast. Makeinu -- you still have the right to choose for your PC to resist it's effects but I detailed what would happen if he failed to resist it. Devastating Aura does no damage, for the record.[/legend][/col]

 

[Uri]

Although his audacity to invade the territory of an alpha predator was boosted only by the tenacity of his stone-willed resolve, he found that the darkness of the new Sunagakure, and especially the Obsidian Palace was unnervingly terrifying. Nearly twenty consecutive years in solitary confinement, not a sound different or a day brighter than pitch black, his soul was scarred and lurking about in an environment he once found refuge bothered his him to the core. What spurred him onward into the empty void of the prison's lower depths? An unwavering faith that was placed in a false god unbeknownst to him. Mother Suna had carried him through so much in his time fighting for Suna and during his missions away, found that he seemed blessed in unnatural timing and perfect perception. Whether or not it had been Mother Suna, a being had seen him through the worst of it and it would see him through this endeavor as well.

Floor-to-floor the Obsidian Palace varied greatly. Whatever it's original purpose had been lost when Sunagakure had moved in and re-purposed it as a correctional facility. Makeshift cells and bunkrooms were carved into rock walls, catwalks and uneven pathways made up a highway for captives to travel about their entombed homes. Amenities found their way to the folks residing inside the obsidian walls, probably distributed by Mikaboshi himself to watch as criminals and murderers picked each other apart for them only to have the precious few items squirreled away for a later date. Before long the vast open spaces gave way to winding halls and labyrinth-like interiors. Only instinct and dumb luck guided him through these, still searching, still hoping that something would fall into his lap.

Every interview went much like the others before and simply pointed him towards another person who knew better.

At this point he wasn't even sure what floor he resided on...which was news that sent up red flags for him to retreat and try a different angle, but a nagging sensation in his gut told him to push onward. Plain metal door after plain metal door would greet him, many of their residents unmoving, if even still alive after being forgotten by the village. Some doors remained ajar from their Cabal Liberators, many of the previous tenants either having perished in the ordeal or simply remain at large.

His pursuits seemed fruitless so far and when he was considering a recall to the top level, three soft metal pings overtook his attention, his hand instantly reaching towards his weapon. One door, identical to the others had sounded off. Approaching slowly, he rapped his knuckles against it three times and waited. Again, the three knocks came back. Someone whose sanity remained intact and had an ability or sense keen enough to tell them Kurisu had been nearby was of interest. Down this deep, even the Captain's mind felt the pressure of the Palace bearing down on him, an ocean of dark water threatening to crash inward and drown him in despair and dread. Deep breaths passed through his lips and he undid the fasteners to the door and opened it slowly, hand ready to quickdraw his weapon at a moment's notice.

Sitting in the center of the room was a dark figure whose features were hidden by stark white hair and the shadows of the cell.

"What do you know of this place?"<i></i> A single hand went through seals and generated an orb of brilliant light, stationing it into the corner of the cell to illuminate everything around them. There was no cot, no toilet, no features to the room other than four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. Gazing up from the sitting position, dark eyes locked onto Kurisu, revealing the face of the prisoner.

"More than any mortal should and less than its Warden, but even he is ignorant to many of its secrets."

Just as before, many had been driven mad by the Palace, and it would take some time before he believed anything she had to offer.

"Do you know what the Warden is?"<i></i>

"Only what the whispers tell me, that he is an abomination like myself, older than nature should allow. A being whose body is merely a vessel and not its true form."

"And what of the Palace, what do you know of it?"<i></i>

"Merely that it is a cage for a monster, but some saw it prudent to build upon it and create a collection. Layers upon layers of the damned, meant to keep out those that would pry into realms beyond their control." Now she got up, Kurisu immediately tensing and releasing the first inch of his blade from its sheath; a blazing light shone from the scabbard. She kept her distance, but pointed a long, pointed finger at him. "What of this stranger who fears the deep, what does it seek in an abyss greater than its own light?"

"Answers, a method to oust the darkness from this place."<i></i>

A high-pitched cackling reverberated off of the walls and echoed throughout the entire floor, rousing its inmates and causing a cacophonous symphony of flesh on metal as they beat on their doors.

"These answers you look for will consume you, as it has all past adventurers. It will come at great sacrifice, Light Seeker, are you willing to offer everything in exchange?"

The Captain's mind hung onto her every word, the pressure of The Palace destroying his objectivity and his desire to find anything had abolished his common sense.

He nodded to her query.

"Then traverse the shadows until you have discovered the source of the whispers, but do so in haste-" The woman would lash out, sharpened nails raking across Kurisu's entire left arm. While the wound was superficial and easy to mend, it had done damage that could cost him his life. The numerous runes strewn across that arm had been severed and a wave of light washed over him as his concealment arts were destroyed. "Because you do not have much time!"

Eyes wide, he back pedals out of the cell, his orb of light dissipating, and he slams the door shut, sealing it again. Now his unusual radiant chakra would be like a glowing sun in the Mikaboshi's somber kingdom, like taunting a cat with a laser pointer. Only this presence was buried deep within his own home, in a place that he had no business of being in. Time was all that mattered now and Kurisu turned down the hallway, instantly breaking into a rapid sprint. Direction didn't matter, just elevation. Finding the way down, to the levels that not even the normal keepers of the prison could find. Would he be able to delve deeper before being discovered or would his light be extinguished, snuffed out by the Lord of Nocturnal.

[mft]

 

[Takahashi]

An epic of legendary proportions was beginning to unfold within the massive onyx prison. Names of important figures and places unknown to the stray had been mentioned. He'd found himself absorbed into a tale about things he couldn't comprehend, merely absorbing them into his subconscious would have had to suffice. Inhuman beings, avatars, celestial space, sibling squabbles, ancient codes and buried betrayals. What did he know of any of it? Not a damned thing. He could hear Shiori's voice change, becoming loud and powerful as she warned him but it had already been too late.

He was neither exceptionally fast nor able to predict that she'd have reached for his hood. Maybe it was the gust of wind that helped to carry him forward in an ironic twist, or the fact that he ran literally head first towards the Dark Lord, but her fingertips would miss only by a mere centimeter. It was as though fate itself sneered at the power of the ancient in an effort to remind her, and perhaps all that fate itself was power greater than them all...Some things were just up to chance. His new mother's voice revealed itself to be nearly as potent as that unseen force, sending powerful vibrations and causing tremors all around them. He was too far ahead to see her subtle transformations.

His focus had locked onto what he knew was greater than himself, but had also mocked the first true bond he had formed. Before he knew it, the distance had been covered and the incredibly dense substance he felt his knuckles smashing into reminded him of stone. He could feel his already damaged hand begin to break, his colorless knuckles splitting open and splattering sanguine against the immovable target. Stubbornly he kept pushing with his shoulder, and arm, trying to make the seemingly omnipotent move while failing. The only thing he achieved was more fracturing of his extremities, the most severe shattering occurring on the already near immobile little finger. He could feel its knuckle being pushed back further than the rest, but his teeth gritted harder as frustration set in.

It didn't surprise him too much that he had failed to make a dent. Back in the hospital he didn't even consider it a possibility to beat one of the orderlies if he had wanted to break out, much less hurt what seemed to be a timeless deity of sorts. Mikaboshi's arms went limp and Makeinu knew without looking upward that he had disappointed. Though small for his age, the ancient beings had surely crossed paths with humans that possessed greater prowess at much more diminutive statures. His right hand began to pull back, the ripped skin on his knuckles almost sticking to the armor of his devious uncle, blood stretching between the distance like a string of spit. He was barely listening, he wanted no gifts. Preparing to strike again with the same battered hand, he would suddenly be overcome with alien emotions.

There was an onslaught of devastation that manifested images of incessant death and gore within his mind. How quickly he had forgotten the suppression of the dark prison, only to be struck with something worse. He saw himself absolutely decimated, viscerally destroyed over and over again in fresh and terrifying new ways. It made his stomach tremble, wishing it had something left to spit out. It was illogical why he felt so afraid, considering that he spent so many hours of his known life wishing for a lack of existence and caring little about where he went or what happened to his body. Then it struck him, the familiarity of it all. The images instilled by Mikaboshi would unknowingly draw out brutal faded images of countless darkened forms of human beings being torn asunder...Tortured, and not by Mikaboshi. It was all so undecipherable but the cruel laughter of many mingled with that of the current threat. He saw little glimpses of a past, and none of it made sense.

Perhaps the most disturbing to Makeinu, was when the scenes shifted back towards his own death at Mikaboshi's hands for a second time. It wasn't the fact that he saw his head being pulled out along with the rest of his spinal column from between his shoulders. No, it was the perceived sadness upon a familiar onlooker's face...A face he found had been in the previous slaughters of his self, the sapphire eyes of his current mother streaming with hot tears and a face full of anguish. His heart sank to the depths of his core, feeling as though it had been dunked into his digestive juices and begun to burn away. None of it was actually happening, little to no time had passed, and the fractured visions had merely ripped him away from reality into an internal empire of despair and grief.

While his eyes were still clouded by the sadistic theater his mind had turned into, Mikaboshi's voice was closer than ever. Full of ice and venom, hatred and scorn, disdain and disinterest all at once...Whether it had been amplified as such by the increase in spiritual pressure or not was irrelevant, it was all the same to the boy who found himself having crumpled to his knees unconsciously. The voice preached to him the same survivalist concept, words that would literally engrave themselves into the fabric of his psyche along with the voice that carried them. Mikaboshi's words would haunt him. The lack of Mikaboshi's strength keeping the prison's aura at bay any longer caused a rip to split along the side of his head and blood to spurt out onto the obsidian walls. The palace had free reign to continue leeching from his untamed life force.

As he felt himself falling away within his nightmarish disconnect from the world, the tilting equilibrium would remind him of the truth. Remind him of where he really was, and what had really taken place. The fear would not lift, but his awareness would return. He caught himself leaning backwards and in a surprisingly savage and quick motion changed his disposition. The fight or flight response of the human being varied from individual to individual, and with his mind so ebbed his instinct took precedence. The reptilian complex or basal ganglia was flooded with energy, and the rest of his brain shut down. The muscles in his sunken gut tightened and bent him forward with wild abandon, unconscious of his actions as his fist surged through the air attempting to smash into the entity's valuables.

His fist would instead collide with the ebony gust and get pushed backwards. He had been unaware of his mother's protective aura, but it saved him as it shattered like sparkling crystals and the force of Mikaboshi's attack sent him reeling. Hoisted into the air and flung back in such a way that he landed on the ground harshly enough to bounce and continue, rolling until he crashed into a wall far passed Suna's avatar. From his position momentarily pasted onto the wall he would fall forward, face first into the ground below and knocking loose one of his front teeth. Blood pooled around his skull as he laid there lifelessly, but his eyes remained open. His left hand feebly attempted to reach out towards Mikaboshi, fingers trembling and twitching while implying a subconscious need to keep going, still wanting to fight, but he wasn't even aware of anything. His right hand seemed twisted now, and his shoulder on the same side slightly dislocated. He was not dead, but that didn't mean his sickly form hadn't been badly damaged. It was like an elephant trying to swat a fly, and Makeinu was that fly.

OC: Hope I didn't overstate the damage, but it felt appropriate considering all present could sneeze and kill him when he's at full health. Put into consideration that he was already having his life force drained due to the prison and his lack of Chakra reserves. Not to mention he'd light as a feather. In my opinion it's lucky his neck didn't snap and his life ended on the spot. Shiori did in fact adopt a genetically deficient runt, with no apparent redeeming qualities in terms of strength. This will be one encounter he's never going to forget. Yes, he did try to punch Mikaboshi in the nuts.

 

[Michi]

Mikaboshi responded to her threat with a roar of laughter. Shiori, or rather Suna's mood was turning more sour with each passing moment. The impudent boy charged the monster, her fingertips only brushing the hood of his shirt. She cried out for him to stop, to cease this senseless act of valor where nothing would be earned but pain and regret. The boy struck the Ancient Lord and Shiori would grimace for the child's sake. Her ears were more sensitive than any eye, should could hear the brittle bones break and shatter. They sounded feeble, almost hollow but the sharp snap near inaudible to most. As the metacarpals collapsed, the diametric force of the weak child's attack against the immovable target that even Shiori would find difficult to defeat. In her feeble state, she might even lose the fight if they were to exchange blows but her pride would not allow for that.

"Almost competent."

"Get back here," Shiori hissed. Humans lives were short enough without them making suicidal, headstrong choices like attacking a monster nearly as old as time itself without a plan or a means for victory. Her right hand took on a verdant glow but significantly more powerful than a mystic healing technique, but cast at her own expense. She could feel the air escape her lungs and an iron weight feel as if it was just placed upon her breast. Something else here hungered for the energies released, something that took a toll for every action and every choice made because they were nothing more than guests, her and Mikaboshi both in someone else's terrible estate.

"Now, I will make good on my promise of a boon. I have a gift for you."

Shiori was unprepared, for a moment. The flood of emotions she knew well, the sorrow and contrition, the dread and misery. She blinked twice, returning those specters in her mind to the ether. She glared at Mikaboshi accusingly, "superfluous hector now... is this what an Ancient Lord has been reduced to." She considered knocking the boy unconscious, taking him out of his misery as Mikaboshi lorded over the helpless child. Shiori was never an avatar of justice in her mind, perhaps in that of others but they were fools. All the same, she never liked to play with her food and further he was not lunch he served a proxy role for her son.

"My gift to you is two-fold. You claim that you do not know how to flee so perhaps you have not yet been properly motivated enough to learn how. Because of that the first part of my gift I give to you is true fear. An experience to remind you for years to come what heart-rending terror is like."

"Makeinu..." Shiori growled as she took a step forward. The ground started to shudder, being the Queen of the Desert was more than a mere title, she had utter and complete control over the earth itself and with each day her dominion expanded to include what she had lost. The stones rattled, breaking against the mortar but again done to her own consequence. That was why this prison was so effective, the structure seemingly fed off the inmates contained within. Many thought it was the runic etchings on the stones that muted and sapped the strength of the inhabitants, slowly driving them to madness.

"My second gift is a gift of truth. No matter what other nonsense some might fill your head with, this is the foundation of our world. The strong live and the weak die. If you are weak you exist for no other reason than to be food for the strong. Forget this lesson at your own peril."

With an unseen but certainly felt powerful force, Mikaboshi launched the unfortunate boy past her. As he collided into the far wall, additional injuries entered her perception. The pop of a humeral head escaping the acromioclavicular joint, the grinding snap of broken bones un-splinted and the brief snap of a tooth breaking free of the boy's maw colored the grisly scene. Shiori would deal with Mikaboshi's insolence at a later time, her heels clicked against the floor as she made her way over to Makeinu's side. "Let me mend you," Shiori offered. Here, in this pit of a dungeon she was not going to be able to set a bone or regrow a tooth but she could solidify what he had, stop the bleeding and fortify his feeble form. His arm a club, his hand a twisted claw - both not outside her scope and skill to later repair if he gave her permission to do so. It was another life perhaps that she had such skills, but for his sake she tried to remember. The nerves and the bones, the tendons and the ligaments. Things that went beyond 'ninja-magic' or the gates of death. If he accepted, he would feel such respite at the consequence of disfigurement. Hopefully such would be a fleeting circumstance, bodies and limbs were not as rare these days.

Ahead Shiori heard something, in the distance the scuffing sound of feet against stone. A distant ambient glow that shone despite the gloom past Mikaboshi. She was not going to call out, state anything for that matter. Who or whatever lay ahead was not Orochi, that was a peril she would soon encounter but this errant prisoner free... this rouge ANBU wandering in the black deep... this lost civilian turned mad by the ominous structure... She knew not what or who it was, only that the problem was likely not hers. Likely.

WC: 931

MFT

 

[Michi]

Fair Warning

How do you guys want to proceed. I could simply carry him about while we do this adventure until he returns or we can wait. Your call.

 

[Michi]

OC: It has been over a month -- leaving this topic for inactivity.

IC:
Shiori knelt down to the ground and scooped up her young 'son.' Battered and broken by Mikaboshi's ominous presence. She scowled and clutched onto the boy. Her hands had a verdant glow as she pressed the boy against her breast. "I will not forget this insult," she hissed as she carried Makeinu off. Through the narrow, dark corridors that pulled and tugged at her. Her chakra leaking from her as if she was a glass without a base. In the darkness and the gloom she could hear the heartbeat. The faint gentle drum of his antediluvian heart, fed for centuries off the energies of humans who came here like moths to a flame. It was a curious and queer fact truly, how in a place of such danger and offense man would purposefully come. That man would never wonder why a structure that predated their civilization and took from them was not worthy of inquiry. She wondered if they tried and died for their efforts. There was nothing to suggest that Orochi was not reformed by now, his ability to regenerate was terrifying and with his final heart cast into the depths it would only be cause for a delay.

She needed that heart consumed. For the ultimate taboo to be committed. Part of her was still fearful... subject to the old ways... despite the fact that there was no natural law to fetter her. She just liked rules. The click of her heels was the last thing they would hear from her. If she had a free hand, a rude gesture would have been made in the direction of Mikaboshi. Alas, even an emaciated youth such as Makeinu required a pair of hands.

TOPIC LEFT​

 

[Takahashi]

[Transferred/Topic Left.]​