Date: March 21, 2013
Poster's note: foul language filtered in obvious places.
"What If? Future Me - Fate of the Accursed"
Five in all were the figures that raced through the canopy of a jungle
untouched by man's vices. As true to the view of the ordinary the figures
were but blurs of shadows to the even some of the keenest of eyes;
disturbing not even the most sensitive of the jungles inhabitants as they
passed. This fact alone would denote a history spent learning the shinobi
arts. If so, then naturally their presence within this jungle would entail
an objective that would involve monetary gain for themselves and their
village. Or perhaps even the elimination of a threat to said village.
Closer inspection of the five however would quickly lead to a dismissal of
They each bore armor that roughly resembled those used by samurai but
from there the designs varied, most likely due to each bearer's personal
aesthetics. Obsidian, Silver, Purple, Crimson, and Azure, they each bore
those colors in spade but only one per person. It was their eyes, or in a
sense, lack thereof of one that truly set them apart from true shinobi.
For all, it was the left that was missing. Instead, the socket seemed
filled by a dense ball of blue flames that faded into nothingness as it
burned outwards. With the armor and eye aside, it is their expression on
each of their face that truly sent home the truth of their nature. Apathy.
Complete and all consum-"Neh, Oni-bozu. Just where the scourge are we going
anyways? My feet are jinxing killing me over here!"
And just like that, the mysterious air about them is destroyed by the
largest and most heavily armored of the five. Figures.
A sigh escaped from the figure in the lead, a true demon if not a ghost
compared to the other five. Where skin might be exposed behind the
faceplate of his armor or even the neck, his body instead appeared to be
entirely composed of an azure flame. Said faceplate - cast in the likeness
of a human skull - clicked, signifying an attempt by the leader to speak.
"Twenty years and a beat down go by and still, you insult Oni-sama. For
shame, Murasaki-kun~ You really aren't much of a man at all." The sole
woman and least armored of the group commented airily. "Quiet Shinkoki. I
will not be tolerating any lip from a woman today." Murasaki countered
venomously, and then growled gutturally as he lunged at Shinkoki upon
noting the taunting smile. Much to his personal chagrin, Shinkoki's lithe
frame and intuition kept her out of harms reach. His persistence and use
of the katana at his side only proved to heighten his embarrassment.
"Ano.. Kurosawa-sama? Oji-sama? Shouldn't we stop them?" Yoshimitsu, a
teen bearing silver armor, asked worriedly as he peered between the black
armored and silvered hair man to his direct left, and the leader of their
five man band.
It is the former of which that bothers to answer with silent, direct,
and placid look directly into Yoshimitsu eye for an extended moment. Once
that moment has passed, Yoshimitsu looks away feeling ashamed for what he
had done. "Go-gomen, Kurosawa-sama. I-I didn't mean to imply…"
Yoshimitsu trails off into silence, blushing furiously. The elder 'teen'
known as Kurosawa simply nods his head before redirecting his focus upon
the back of their leader's head. The silent plea within that action is
ignored by Onimitsu.
It was difficult enough as it is just trying to keep his mind in the
present, and away from the path that would 'complete' his transformation.
Unfortunately, despite his best efforts he cannot resist the urge to look
back into the past, and relive every painful moment of it. The worst of
which revolved around two decades ago: a time of nativity and arrogance.
The only thing that mattered back then was to protect Kirigakure, find and
cure his niece, and simply live out the rest of his days in peace, or as
much as can be expected in a world of shinobi. To accomplish these goals
his life became a never ending stream of sacrifices. They were minor ones
at first, such as time and effort being put towards research medicines and
honing his swordsmanship, then increasingly more drastic measures.
The first, was an arm. Severed by the man responsible for placing the
Yoshimitsu back into the Manji Clan's care; only to use the tragedy that
soon befell the family in order to further his own desire to study and
manufacture powerful weapons. He had never truly hated anyone before that
moment, and once it was felt… nearly consumed him. With the aid of time
and the guiding spirits of his comrades-in-arms Onimitsu learned to beat
back his hatred.
Unfortunately, the cruel passage of time led to another major sacrifice:
companionship. After so many years of relative peace, Onimitsu had begun
to forget about the main reason behind taking up the Yoshimitsu. Kunimitsu
reminded him by bringing harm or stripping the lives of anyone even
remotely close to him, one by one. The only silver lining to that
particular debacle was Kunimitsu capture and the re-affirmation of a an
ideal that Onimitsu had dismissed a year prior: to eliminate all weapons
with attributes akin to the Yoshimitsu. In time, he may very well have
done the same with the Yoshimitsu itself for the sake of ensuring that it
did not pass along into the wrong hands. He refrained however only because
its mysterious powers were still necessary.
It was a mistake on his part to remain so reliant on the weapon, for
though it provided the means to eventually free his niece from its thrall,
the price required the sacrifices of his body and… mind. He agreed, but
not as wholly as the blade had expected. Fear, Desperation, these feelings
and more gave him the strength to combat the terror invoked by a ritual
that required one to fall upon his/her own blade. As a result, the body
forged from the physical energy stored within the old became his to
command. Still, even an immortal body has its flaws. The worst of which
was the hunger…
As one, Onimitsu's companions started, then turned to peer at their
leader. Sensing through the bond they still shared with the blade what
vision alone could not read from the armored spirit's form: Depression.
Unsurprisingly enough, it is Murasaki who makes the first move to combat
this truly immortal adversary. "Oni Bolt!" It is the only warning Onimitsu
receives before feeling his faceplate crumple like tin foil beneath the
force of violet, studded armor plated boot, then the loss of his head
altogether. The body itself came to a rest and kneeled upon the last
branch the swordsman stood upon.
An attack of this magnitude would usually warrant an immediate reprisal
from a normal allies. And yet, no one made a move to attack or do
otherwise. They simply all gathered upon various branches and watched.
"One-Hundred-and-eighty-six times we've told you, and still, you don't
listen." Murasaki spoke with a voice chilling enough to freeze a soul.
"Your fate is not your own. Never was, Never will be." The light of a
flame flickers from the headless armor; but aside from that, nothing
changes. "These bodies.. these gifts you bestowed upon us so long ago does
not change a thing. We are but fragments now. Bound by the blade. Bound by
our History.Bound… by our weaknesses. But never, ever, a slave to it."
Murasaki balled his hands into fists at his side and inclined his head.
"The little hothead is right you know." Shinkoki spoke up with her drowsy
smile in place. "Our master is only our whims now. Can any of you speak of
a better one to have?" Murasaki fumed, Yoshimitsu poked his index fingers
together and inclined his head, and Kurosawa…just stared off into space.
So overall, no objections were put forth.
"Mmmm, I figured as much. Neh, Oni-sama? We can't exist without a
purpose, and masters give us purposes. So, why not let it be whims?"
Shinkoki asked the headless man, or formerly headless given the fact that
tendrils of ethereal flames had drifted off towards the ground where the
helmet had fell. Even once the helmet was firmly in place, no light
flickered from beyond the eye holes. During the pregnant silence that
followed Onimitsu 'revival', Yoshimitsu started and managed to get, "I GOT
IT!!" out before being shushed by the others.
"Whims? How utterly foolish." Murasaki frowned and began to open his
mouth to say something. No words were forthcoming. The only thing that
echoed from his being was a bellow of pain. Soon after the bellow is
echoed in the others as screams, creating a cacophony that could inspire
fear in any man or beast. Onimitsu was neither of those things. Not
anymore. "If this one cannot be a savior, a guardian, a shield, a blade, a
wanderer, or a man… then this one is far too hollow to accept that
sickening, purposeless notion of false freedom." Onimitsu stated bitterly
and casually raised a hand skyward. This motion signaled the end for his
companions, for without Onimitsu will their bodies - dense and henged
chakra mimicking life - broke down into its basic form and flew into the
air space above the samurai/ninja. "A beast.. An Azure Beast.. An Azure
Phantasm… That is all this one can be without wallowing in lies
further… Just as 'I' should have been. Right, Death's Reject." He mocked
as he leered at the only one to remain of his four companions: Kurosawa,
aloof and silent as always. They stared at one another for an extended
moment. Then Onimitsu raised his hand up towards Kurosawa, palms facing
outward. "Do not fret. Your Son will keep us fed. Like always."