Ravage Nocturne

[Jake]

You post it here.

[Ravage Nocturne]

-Shichiteeru Mangusuu, 'Kinshilo' (Seven-Tailed Mongoose, ‘Kinshilo)

--Akimatsu (Autumn Pine) Akakita (Red North [Nicknamed "Aka”])

The rain was unusually cool this night, plaguing the sky with darkened clouds that would cry out in agony in the form of thunder, crying their tears and shedding their strife with bolts of lightning. The sky was saddened, and would flood the world until the Earth returned what it had stolen from it; warmth. The buildings of the Hidden Village of Leaf resembled a mixture of traditional and modernized homes, having various shapes, sizes, and colors, though the insides of each seemed to be the same. Just as the buildings of Konoha, so were people different on the outside, and similar on the inside, with the exception of the unusually dark or virtuous. Akimatsu Akakita was an exception.

Closing his amber eyes, he would contemplate the sky above, and try and soothe it with his melodious humming, though to no avail. He alone could not lull that rage within the heavens; it was not meant to be an act that one man could solve, and thus, he would give up in an instant. Sighing heavily, his breath slow and heavy, he would pause a moment during his travel, and seat himself upon a nearby bench, beneath the clustered canvas of the trees above. The bench was cool and bright yellow, as if children had ravaged it with their creative minds and their vibrant paints, but was enough to allow the boy to relax those strained muscles, and cut back on some expenditure of energy. One could call him a handsome lad or not, eyes mixed with reds and browns to form a glorious and swirling blend of the two, blonde hair complimenting his visage. His eyes, of course, were unique not only in the sense of glorious color, but in design; the irises had kanji inscribed upon them in bold, dark letters, difficult to see with the naked eye, but blatant enough to notice if looked at close enough. This was not natural, and he knew it the moment he had seen it. He had red paint around the corners and eyelids of his eyes, accentuating his unique irises, and wore an expressionless face wherever he went, unless some happening stirred him so that he would rip himself from routine. His body was thin, lithe, and defined. Though he lacked the muscle mass that some accumulated at his age, he did have definitions that would shadow his curves and emphasize his muscles as they were. He was flexible and kinesthetically genius; capable of moving in such ways unfamiliar to others, he had gained several nicknames as a youth, though none of them particularly kind or memorable.

He donned himself with a scarlet shirt, the collar lacking, instead forming a wide, open area that reached to his shoulders, golden markings lining odd shapes and patterns upon it. The back of the shirt had the kanji for "Red Autumn Pine” and was outlined with golds and silvers to bring about a contrasting beauty unknown to most tailors. His sleeves were intentionally too short for him, falling just below his elbows in length, and the shirt was slightly too large for his form, making it somewhat loose and comfortable. He had made it himself, and adored the shirt so. Below the shirt he wore a fish-netting sleeveless shirt, collar rising up to his neck, where it would meet a handsome black leather choker, where a silver skull would hold it together. Black shorts reached below the knees as taijutsu bandages were wrapped snugly around his shins and ankles, meeting a pair of black, open-toed ninja shoes. He always kept upon his person a series of belts, and with them, a series of pockets and holsters. He was an inventor; he enjoyed tinkering with mechanics, weapons, and items, and thus kept his supplies and inventory with him, wherever he walked. Nonetheless, these holsters were empty, himself having not been up to the challenge of making such objects, and would instead continue to rest upon that bench, eyes gazing into the endless sky above.

His lips were parted as he dampened them with his tongue, allowing the beads of rain to splash upon his warm face, exhaling slowly.

‘How long has it been now? Ten, Twelve years?'

He missed his father. He had left the family while Akakita was an infant, and could only remember his voice, as brief as it was. His mother had passed away, or disappeared for some reason, after birthing Akakita; or so he was told. The village tended to hide things from him, as to why; it was unknown to the young boy. Little did he know, he was an experiment; nothing more, nothing less. The village, without the Kage's discretion or knowledge, attempted to seal an ancient demon within the child. The information regarding demons themselves, the effects the had both psychologically, emotionally, and physically upon the host and others, the birthing process, etc. were all unknown variables to those bright minds, and thus they would play the role of God once more to attempt and keep a child once again within their grasp, to study. However, when mankind takes celestial ruling into their own hands, things don't tend to go over well; as before, the demon reacted to the host, and began to devour his mother from the inside, as nourishment for its biding strength. His mother would die during the birth of her son, and would require him to be cut out from what was left of her insides to bring him into the world. Whether the demons, the child's, or a mix of the two, a rage was born within an instant, and the raging soul unleashed the highest potential force it could, to destroy everything within the building. His father was on a trip that day, as if by blessing. Since those minds have been destroyed by the power, more psychological than physical, it would drive them to insanity; that was the extent of the power the demon could release while within the child's body, as effective as it was. The kage would arrive to the scene, knowing full well what had happened from text regarding the Kyuubi demon, and would know that so long as the child was brought up ignorant for some time, he could harness the boy's powers more fully, until he was capable of learning how to control them, and how to protect him and others from it. Akakita was raised by his aunt from that point forwards, living near the Hokage's tower in case of emergency, escorted by the shadows of ANBU, to keep tabs upon the child, and to protect her if possible. He was by no means a violent demon, but still held some qualities that could disrupt the fabric of comfort within the Hidden Village of Leaf. He was a top priority; a demon's release could result in both mass hysteria and destruction unless prevented. The Kage had inscribed a seal upon the irises of the boy, to ensure that it would not escape. Unlike other demons, the Mongoose had entered the boy's body from his eyes, and thus, the seal had to counter the demonic one that remained there, to weaken it. Therefore, he was avoided. Therefore, he was kept ignorant. Therefore, he lived his life as a lie.

Ever since he was a child, he had always been considered something…different than the other children, due to his abnormally high level of energy and eccentric personality. The origin of these odd parts of the boy was unknown to him, and oddly enough, no one would discuss it when the topic was brought up. He was an outcast, a social disaster; this didn't stop him from bringing himself out to others, and forcing them to hear what he had to say. No, he wasn't that weak. Despite that pain he felt within him, he knew far better than to bottle it up, to allow them to get to him and to destroy his body and mind, ripping his heart from him, and afterwards, his soul. He was his own person, and would prove it to those harsh peers. Sure, he was weird, and yeah, he was a freak, but that didn't mean he was any less human…or so he thought. Regardless, he threw himself out to others, not as a clown, but not as a loner either. He acted as naturally as he could, and as friendly as possible, unless mass criticism was created, in which he would withdraw into his shell, threatening to never come out until the world could accept him for who he was. Why couldn't they?

Rising from his seat, the boy would remove from the forest a rather tall piece of plant life, which he would thrust into his mouth, beginning to chew upon it thoughtfully. It had a slightly bitter taste to it, but it was more relaxing than anything else. His mind would drift back into reverie as he did meander pointlessly around Konoha, being an oddity in him, a young boy walking in the rain, hands in pockets, odd form of plant within mouth. People avoided him; no different from his past, so why should it bother him now? He was the worst kind of person, in his mind. He tried, failed, and then gave up. He hated those who quit because the odds were against them, and in turn hated himself. He could express it little more than knowing that he just didn't care anymore about the opinions of others. Though that was a positive trait, his inability to interact with others as fluently was detrimental to his personality. He was a great person, but was too insecure to show those around him. Why had he become a shinobi? The thought left him paralyzed. He stood within the rain, eyes cutting to his feet, where he would watch the raindrops dance upon the ground in the form of shallow puddles that enveloped his feet. He was still, body moving not but to breathe, eyes narrowing and teeth releasing the plant, allowing it to fall into a puddle nearby. What had strived him to walk this path? He honestly couldn't answer. Perhaps it was because his mother pushed him into doing it, or even because his grandfather was an exceptional ninja as a youth. But why did HE choose to do so? He couldn't have been forced into it, as it took some personal spark within to walk a path of the shinobi…but what was it? He pondered the fact as he once again began to walk, eyes upon the forest, face contorting into a grimace. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, as his mind probed throughout its banks of memory to retrieve that information.

Laughing quietly, he closes his eyes, listening to the rain patter softly against the ground, the puddles building and growing as they become replenished with rain water, the world around him, sleepy and gloomy, crying heavenly tears for the Earth. The question bounced around in his skull, mingling with his brain, begging and pleading for the answer.

‘Why am I here? To what purpose do I serve as a shinobi?'

The question rang out louder, threatening to deafen him; the ringing in his ears slowly climbed, and he would grit his teeth in feeble counteraction. The words…they began to form in his mind, the voice began to take form….

‘Fate.'

Fate…was it determined by man or by celestial hand? Destiny, as was commonly known, was adjusted to personal preference, the free will of mankind. Fate, however, seemed to rule out all possible ability to control it. Instead of being a factor reachable by man, it remained an enigma; a word that held such gruesome imprisonment to the heart and soul that it became the enemy. Fate was an outcome, not a prediction. Destiny could be altered because it was planned out according to the actions of man; it wasn't that it couldn't be changed. It was merely that Destiny DID change as the path did alter. Fate, however, was the result of the paths taken. Fate was the conclusive end to all doors opened and all doors closed. Fate was the factor that determined whether life had been meaningful or not. It was cruel, and it hurt so badly. How could it be that he held no hand in determining his path? No, he was wrong. That voice, it was not his own. Clutching at his skull, he kneels upon the soggy pathway, dropping his hands into the mud, soiling his fingers as he drags them deeper into the Earth. Lies, all of them. He was beginning to remember, after all! Tears would form in his eyes, and he began to swallow harder than before, but he would not allow himself to cry. No, he had promised himself to be stronger than this. Rising to his feet and drying his eyes with his sleeve, he inhales sharply and shallowly, looking again to the angry skies. Did they have the answers? No. Did the Earth have the answers? No. Did anyone else have the answers? No. Did he have the answers? He couldn't tell. Shaking his head, he banished the inquiry. He knew the answer. It was the only path he could follow. He knew of nothing else he could do where he wouldn't be ridiculed or hated. The path of the shinobi was so open and free; it allowed anyone to become anything they dreamed. Legends were born from even the lowliest of men and women, and heroes were created despite past or background. It was a passion he held close to his soul since birth. Treated miserably, he needed and craved something new. To become a hero, instead of that oddity. To remain as respected as anyone else, he would just have to work a little bit harder. The path wasn't going to be easy, but it could be obtained.

A smile sneaks upon his face, lips curling to the expression. Yes, that was it. He was destined to become a hero. He had the makings of one, after all; a difficult background and a heart of gold, soul unbreakable. A heat blazed through his body, and he shivers in accordance. His youth felt revitalized, his soul recharged. He had found meaning within that path he walked. Though it was indeed dark and frightening, the lamp he held within his hand, his soul, would lead him, illuminating his path. Nothing would stand in his way, and he would fight against all odds to meet his dreams. As if he could rise up and clutch a star by merely raising his hand and curling his fingers into his palms, so would he grasp onto that dream, and hold onto it forevermore. He was Akimatsu Akakita, the "Red North” of Konoha. He would define the word ‘hero', and rise to become a legend. For that, he believed, was his fate.

Deciding to quicken his pace, the boy would begin to slowly press himself into a dash; he was fast, inhumanely so. Leaping high into the air and for quite some distance, he seems to flow easily throughout the air, and laughs as he does so, feet touching base only to press off once again. Leaping onto the building nearby, he would begin to dash even quicker, exceeding previous speed, before bounding upon the top of the Hokage tower; there he sat, confident and cheerful, feet hanging over the roof of the tallest place in Konoha. Removing from his belt a bright red apple, he bites into it with much satisfaction, savoring the juicy flesh, and the taste that came along with it. Remaining upon that point, he was able to gaze into the quiet streets, watching as the small forms of shinobi and residents alike go about their daily business, darting around in hopes of avoiding becoming drenched within the rain that fell so quickly. Akakita, young and heated with the blood of youth, cared little about the cold or the dampness that could strike him, and thus, was at peace. He was alone, which meant he had time to think about himself, and to ponder the mysteries of the world. Realizing that he could instead be off manipulating his body even further, he merely places the core of the apple down, and disappears, blinking out of existence.

Moments later, the young Akakita stretches his body, relieving muscles of tension before setting them to endure various pains and workouts. He realized that he was generally out of practice, and thus, needed to kick back into shape. Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, he spreads his legs slightly before bending at the knees, pushing his hands into the seal of the tiger. Inhaling as he builds the Chakra within his tenkutsu, swapping physical energy for that of spirit, he focuses to attain a level of strength unknown to most. The Chakra began to flow slowly, seeping from his body as it formed a small flame-like pattern around his aura, mind focused upon the task at hand, and nothing else.

Standing full height within the forest, life quivered in anticipation; the leaves danced across the forest floor, thrown up into the open canopies as the wind picked up, and slowly fell back down as the wind did slow. Akakita cleared his mind of distractions, and focused on his goal: Training, The lightning in a bottle, the earthquake in a can, a vortex contained by will. He had grasped the general jist of it, and had been excited to engage in such brutal workouts; he was willing and able to prove his strengths within to himself, and would do so in this form. He began to spin his chakra in all directions in order to create a vortex of chakra first. Step by step then. Aka raised his hand and stretched his fingers, blankly staring, feeling the ebb and flow of the world. In between his fingers, he felt the air pop as chakra oozed forth. With a rush, it surged into his open palm, an unbridled spirit of rage. Cussing out loud as it spins out of control, he feels his body scream in agony as more energy is wasted in the conversion, as if his very mind had been leeched by some vile foe. Quickly canceling the motion, and instead immediately dropping to his knees, he cuts the Chakra circulation before it would be wasted entirely.

His right hand struck like a violent snake, forcing the chakra into a violent spin, but it wasn't merely a uniform spin; the chakra exploded in all directions, threatening to go beyond Aka's control, as it had before. He simply had to enforce more organized power, keeping track of the movements within his Tenkutsu, as opposed to allowing it engulf him, and destroy his control. He caused more chakra to surge into his hand, and he felt its wrath grow in leaps and bounds, spiraling around his body in pell-mell manner, so easily crushed, so easily broken.... Containing this nightmare of chakra, focusing its anger as he focused his own, he'd surely become adept to chakra control.

Both hands rested against his sides now, holding the immense pressure of its fury, feebly providing a barrier against the pressure. If he could only hold on a bit longer...sweat poured down his face, and tears stung his eyes. It hurt so much...He gritted his teeth against it, and fought to control it...but with a pop, his own chakra fizzled leaving no sign of control behind, Resulting in burnt skin in its wake. Aka panted and blew on his singed fingers. Cursing, the young male would grip the burnt flesh with his other hand, and stare into it. It seemed to reflect failure, taking the form of injury in this moment. Glancing to the sky, he cusses softly as he realizes his failures. He was far from becoming what he dreamed of...but would reach it soon enough.

Swirling, crimson and hazel eyes. Absorbing light as if it were a void, then spitting it out into a series of dark reds and golden browns. Translucent and spellbinding, it had taken him over. All he could think about was succession. It had reached out with a large hand, clenching his heart into a fist, squeezing it until he couldn't breath. It had more power over him then anything he had ever experienced before and he didn't like it. He was strong. He felt independent and felt unbeatable, he wanted to prove his worth-no he needed to prove his worth. But true strength does not come from the fist…it comes from the heart. In attacking, one attempts to destroy something around him or her. They depend on rage, anger, rough and sporadic emotions to carry them through, giving up the initiative of evaluation and calmness. But it is only when they are defending, that something precious to them became in danger, that they truly find strength…prolonged strength to outlast the enemy, and succeed.

The rays of the morning sun glared brightly in his eyes, frustrating him heavily, but he could only push on as continuous explosions of chakra released itself from Aka. The light hurt his eyes, and he couldn't help but gather his stresses, and release them upon the world in the form of spiritual energy. Immediately, an enormous amount of wind and chakra poured out of Akakita and formed a spinning sphere of white-blue destruction from his palm, though consequently turning into a bright, red flame. Sifting through the wind, it would burn brighter as it was fueled with the pure air. The flame grew in size and intensity until it burst, as if a firecracker, but rather just a loose explosion of chakra. Nonetheless this would continue for what would seem hours as Aka relentlessly trained without hesitation. He was close; he could feel it…

"I will prove to the world that heroes are made, and not born.”

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Kinshilo is the mongoose demon that is known for its hijinks and dangerous pranks; it harnesses the power of teleporation and the ability to open and close dimensional rifts. It is marked by its brilliant scarlet eyes, golden fur, and white belly. Having thin, clawed legs and feet and seven large tails with white tips, it is often times seen as a harmless creature; it generally is. It seems to prefer manipulating such portals to perform its own devious means, it has been said to be one of the least violent of demons. Preferring to take small form whenever possible, Kinshilo prefers acts such as arson, theft, glancing up the kimono of women, making rude noises, destroying crops, and generally bringing mishap to the world. In some areas, it is respected and worshipped because of its tolerance of human life, and is said to care for children. One tale has been spun claiming Kinshilo had located and rescued a small child from the forest, and returned the youth to his home. Another tale accuses the Kinshilo demon of sneaking into the house later that night, and stealing five silver coins from the father's wallet, as penance. Nonetheless, it is said to be capable of taking human form if desired, to pull its pranks off even more effectively. Not to be confused with the Kitsune demons, the Kinshilo demon is more youthful in spirit, and generally harmless, as it aims to not hurt others. However, when threatened, it will reach its full size spanning mountains, and will become quite vicious. Teeth will lengthen, ears will prick upwards, claws will sharpen, and the eyes will glow vibrantly. Kinshilo's enemies tend to be those of snake-origin, and it boasts a tremendous immunity to poisons and toxic chemicals, due to its natural form. It is an expert concerning agility and speed, and is known to utilize omnidirectional jutsu when in danger. Generally harmless unless startled or threatened, the Kinshilo demon usually expresses humor and danger, isntead of violence and destruction

((BAM, 150 lines, not counting demon information))

EDIT: Wow, I had it saying "So were the people different on the inside and similar on the inside. D:

Edited August 4, 2005 by Ravage Nocturne

[Ravage Nocturne]

-Ichiteeru Mangusuu, 'Shukaku' (One-Tailed Tanuki (Racoon Dog), Shukaku)

--Suzuki (Bell Tree) Akakita (Red North [Nicknamed "Aka”])

Sunagakure rose up towards the scarlet heavens as that ivory orb did rise, glaring upon the world it so ruled with feverish heat and unbearable scorn. There had been no rain for what seemed like ages, and none would come due to this angry sun, the celestial object seeming to never set around the Hidden Village of Sand. Luckily, the village was located above a small underwater oasis that was fed by underground passageways that led to the ocean, allowing for the salt water to come by. The ninja of the village would then purify the water by removing the salt element, and creating drinkable water. Nonetheless, in times of incredible heat, the oasis would dry, providing for the village less and less until it rained upon the ocean, where it would flourish once more.

The figure of a young man crept across the dusk-lit Suna streets, feet falling one after the other in a calm and composed manner; he seemed as though he was in no rush, and such a detail would become brutally obvious when his eyes were addressed. Crimson outlined with dull brown and black, his eyes swirled into a never-ending void of blends and colors, producing a truly fantastic pair of irises that would, in turn, reflect his very emotions with but a glance. These eyes were outlined with thick black lines, due to his incredible lack of sleep; if he did, in fact, fall prey to sleep, something within him would devour his mind. He couldn't place a finger upon it, but could feel the results the next day, being irrational and irritable at the same time, taking some time to recover. Thus, he became a professional insomniac. A Disheveled mess of auburn hair plagued his skull, messy and spiky without due cause, providing him with an odd appearance indeed. Face pale and generally expressionless, he boasted a curious tattoo on his right cheek, being of black ink and intricate swirl-like design that ran up to his ear and fell to his jaw line. He was told it kept his mind under control while sleeping, but it had helped so little, he had still decided to go without the precious sleep nonetheless.

Slung over his shoulders was a typical knapsack, generally larger than most, having a one-shoulder strap, and a belt running across his chest to further secure it. It was borderline-reddish brown, and had a neat golden buckle to hold it closed. It was within this sack that he would hold his precious items including his many 1' hourglasses of red, black, white, golden, and other colors of sands, and his packets of flower seeds, and his sunflower seeds. Akakita had a strange obsession with the snack; always caught absent-mindedly chewing them and spitting the shells; he was often times noted to be more composed than without, actually becoming irritable and arrogant when having none upon his person. Nonetheless, he draped about his torso a loose-fitting red-cloth shirt with various golden-stitched outlines, designs, and shapes to create original attire indeed. The sleeves fell loosely around the bends of his elbows, and the entire shirt was just a bit too big for him, allowing for comfort and movement when needed; his aunt stitched it for him, and he kept it in good condition; it was the only memory of her he had left. Around his slender neck he wore a thick black choker, leather in quality, held snug to his neck via a golden-skull like steel fastener. A ruby earring was kept within the lobe of his left ear, having a small kanji for "Recklessness” upon it, golden in color, to stand out from its crimson surroundings. About his waist the boy wore a pair of black pants that fell to the middle of his shins, where taijutsu wrappings would cover his skin, until reaching his black, open-toe ninja shoes. The final piece of attire he wore was his red-cloth fingerless glove upon his left hand. It had golden outlining to it, and a sapphire, emerald, ruby, and amethyst sewn into the knuckles of the glove. It was a handsome addition to his everyday wear, and he claimed it was for nothing but show.

Akakita was known to be handsome and not, dependant on the views of others. He was generally slim and fit, waist slender and muscles defined rather well for his age, but was somewhat scrawny due to his inability to work out; his muscles couldn't work as hard as others, as his body never truly rested. His visage was magnetic, to say in the least, his gaze magnificent and his eyebrows arched handsomely to provide for an attractive mien. Though often times picked on due to his eyes, he never seemed to lack the energy that most did, and thus, would confront them with either cool wit or harsh action, dependant on their crimes. He held himself in good composure most of the time, standing upright at all times, arms either folded across his chest, within his pockets, or hanging limply at his side, left hand clutching the strap of his knapsack tightly. He was not known to move about quickly nor often, preferring to conserve his strength for the things he needed to act to, instead of running around like a child. He was, ironically enough, still yearning to be that child; his childhood had been stolen from him, having to grow up with his aunt, until she too passed away, leaving him all alone in the world. It was pitiful, but he was pleased with the results, not having become particularly dependant upon others for attention or need, nor was he arrogant and pig-headed.

Akakita, in truth, tended to hide his qualities. His personality was masked with that expressionless countenance, having some difficulty engaging in social situation due to his lack of confidence in that field. He was awkward in speech particularly while addressing those he either liked or respected, and favored body language or expressions instead of the words that would blunder his reputation. Cool and witty, his tongue was made of silver, and as sharp as a sword when drawn. He was quick to anger and quicker to judge, making him often times careless in speech, and thus hurtful and cruel. He enjoyed being respected by others, but wouldn't go through hoops to obtain it. He simply enjoyed having the comfort of people around him, who enjoyed his company for who he was, and not what he had. He wasn't difficult to approach, despite his somewhat intimidating person, but was stubborn and unwilling to reveal his thoughts to others. He was a leader, not a follower, and used his strengths and skills to better illuminate that feature of him. He had great leadership qualities, watching out for those who followed him, and keeping his mind on task and focused on the many or several goals that they may have. He hated obstinacy other than his own, and would crush it when found, he not wishing to deal with it. One could claim he is a lonely person, truly striving for nothing more than acceptance, that thing he went without for so long, but there is no evidence that such is the case, and he actually grows angry when accused of said detrimental quality.

Akakita would walk the dusty streets, sending debris and sand about his path as he took each step, eyes fixated upon the horizon, hands now in pockets, arms limp and relaxed. He continued to chew upon the shell of a sunflower seed, finding it rather endurable and thus making for great concession for further chewing, keeping his mind occupied as he did travel. His eyes began to squint as the sun took notice, and turned its angry gaze upon his own; he would stare upon the rays of the sun touching the ground, illuminating his path as he moves, as if deciding for him where he would go. As if the sun would determine his fate. He chuckled at the notion, and denied it outright; none but him could control that. He knew that as a fact, within his power, and would never allow it to become a farce. Pausing for a moment, he withdrew from the world around him a deep, slow breath, holding it to savor the fresh quality the air held, closing his eyes wearily. Oh, if only he could drift into that reverie called sleep; the lulling sense that would disclose all fear and insecurity, allowing the mind to create worlds within it, to amuse or otherwise entertain the recovering body….but no, he could not, and never would without due reason. Exhalation seeping from his thin lips, his eyes opened to the morning. People would be awakening from their sleep now, wouldn't they? The thought of it sickened Akakita; he hated crowds above all else, and knew he would have to face them if he didn't beat them to the restaurants. So, picking up his pace, he would generally jog towards the plaza with his mind set upon a nice warm meal.

Sitting within the now-crowded restaurant, Akakita calmly began to eat his breakfast, pleased that he had been the first to come, and the first to be served. Thus, he kept his window-seat, allowing him to gaze out into the splendor of the day, and to keep tabs on those around him. Upon finishing his meal, he would allow his feet to rest upon the table as he folds his arms, cutting his eyes to the left, where they would look through the window. Thoughts began to flood his mind. Memories, painful in essence, rose from the back of his mind, into his conscience. His birth was an odd one, wasn't it? He was told that his mother faced complications during the procedure, and perished during it, forcing the medical shinobi on duty to cut him from her belly. His father had not been present, and never showed up to meet him. To this day, he had never found him…how odd that he was born with such negativity. It was as if he was a plague threatening to destroy everything he touched. Sighing a breath of annoyance, he closes his eyes to further probe his memory bank. His aunt; he remembered her little, as she too passed away while he was fairly young. She had acted as a maternal figure in his life, raising him and caring for him in his mother's place. She was an excellent person, and he would forever claim his good qualities to her immense virtue. Leaning his cheek upon the palm of his hand, he cocks his head to view the world at an askew angle. It occurred to him that he really didn't have any details concerning his family, his birth, or his strange gifts. He was known to have dominance over sand, and to control it without even requiring immediate thought; he was masterful with everything Ninjutsu, and enjoyed the splendorous results. However, what is it that had actually happened?

Unknown to the boy, he had been cursed the moment he entered life; nay, before. Before he even entered the world, the hands of man ravaged him. He had the soul of a priest, a demon, nonetheless, sealed within his body, as yet another experiment. Mankind had not yet learned that while taking the role of controlling celestial bodies, things would go wrong; man was not meant to dabble in such things, and it was the very reason the demons walked the Earth that they continued to do so. It was a cycle, one born from blunders, fed by further mistakes. Regardless, they had seen Shukaku, and lost him, finally recovering him once again. This time, they would put the demon within a new host; one of common blood. He would not stand out and be noticed aside from combat, and would remain ignorant of the entire happening. They would kill his family, to forever seal the secrets regarding him, and everyday would study him. Psychologically, emotionally, physically…he was the perfect host. He exceeded their expectations as a child. At the infantile age of three, he boasted incredible Chakra control, particularly due to the fact that Shukaku would protect him regardless of if he wished it or not. So long as sand was nearby, he was invulnerable. However, anger would drive the demon, feeding it and causing it to awaken little by little, until it grasped basic control over its host. One day, the anger of Akakita would flare so high, that Shukaku himself would partially awaken, to take the lives of those researchers; he could not feed off of a host that was depressed, as it lacked the substance hate did, and thus, had to create it himself. From that point onwards, Akakita was free; no longer under study, no longer oppressed by others. He was, however, kept under the careful watch of the Kazekage, in case of incident. He was still kept ignorant to his abilities and his past, to prevent possible awakening of the demon, and was taught how to control the ‘feelings' within him, and how to remain awake to further control the ‘weakening' of his mind. Lies, basically, would keep him in the dark, those others fearful of what would happen to him if he found the light; his heart was fragile, and if provoked, could break at an instant.

Another sigh produces another question. Why was he here? What had led him to become a shinobi? Raising a glass of water to his lips, he dampens his dry mouth before tackling the question. It was to gain control over him. He had no practical application to his gifts aside from combat, and knew that he could protect his village and allies if he learned to gain complete dominance over them. He would learn to use his powers for any purpose they could possibly serve, not wishing them to go to waste. Was he shallow? Grinning, he merely dismisses the thought. Of course not; he had other reasons for becoming a shinobi. That was, after all, merely his primary goal. As a child, he was told of the magnificence, the legends of heroes and villains, the dreams that were reached, and the dreams that were lost; the shinobi world was adventurous, and would put his abilities to the limit. It would be chance for him to reach his own dreams, whatever they may become, and would allow him to live life with fullest appreciation. Smirking out of the corner of his thin lips, Akakita merely mutters something about the breakfast as a waiter approaches, and hands her a tip, as well as the fee. Returning to his thoughts, despite the curious looks of others (himself standing out) he reaches from his pocket to retrieve several sunflower seeds. Placing them within his mouth, he begins to break the shells, before using his tongue to neatly organize them within his right cheek, as the seeds would be chewed and consumed. When he accumulates a mass of shells, he would merely spit them, without even knowing it. However, this was a public area, and thus, he would merely spit them upon a plate. Yes, he would be classy today.

Walking away from that small source of nourishment, he cusses beneath his breath as he stands within a crowd; the bazaar was always full and teeming with others, making him extremely uncomfortable. Aside from paranoia, the sheer inability to move as normally as usual set him to an annoyed mindset. Cutting his eyes to the right, he takes notice of the many shops and merchants lining the narrow streets, and moves towards an alleyway; he could duck into it and slip out into the more peaceful side of town. Through much pushing, shoving, cussing, and moving, he eventually does so, and leans against the wall to exhale with relief. That had been an adventure he hadn't signed up for. Recovering composure, he pockets his hands and begins to walk down the quieter road of Suna. Bringing his hands up to lock behind his head, he walks without a care in the world; stomach full and mind at rest, he felt pleasant and cheerful today. Despite his brushes with annoyance, he had survived the rush hour of breakfast, and lived to tell the tale. However, one thing did catch him off guard; he was late. He had a schedule concerning his periods of rest and those of training, and today, due to those cursed merchants; he had become tardy for his own session. Huffing to the dismay he had begun to face, he pockets his hands and begins to make way towards his usual grounds.

The sand fluttered about his stalwart form in the careless wind, licking his skin as he moves slowly. Suddenly, he thrust out his arm, like the talons of a raptor reaching for its prey, and curls his fingers into the seal of the tiger; left arm bent at the elbow, hand near face in same seal. He had an odd way of performing seals; though he lacked the coordination of performing them with one hand, he was able to form the seals without having both hands connecting. Nonetheless, he gazes into the world before him, moving his right hand differently now, controlling a pile of sand from the earth, and moving it to his will. At the mental command and the separation of his fingers, it splits into a million individual particles, before forming back into one as he closes his hand. Squeezing hand into fist, he compresses the air within, and makes an explosive noise. Dropping his hand to his side, he causes the sand to follow suit. Smiling profusely, he turns his head as he creates with his left hand several projectiles, sand-made and compressed into density and sharpness, and draws them towards him with incredible speed. As was custom, an automatic wave of sand leapt from beneath his feet, and crashed into the shurikens, causing them to fall into rubble before the mighty barrier. He was pleased with how the day was going, and knew that with some time, it would only become greater; such was his destiny…

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Shukaku is one of the "bijuu", a tailed beast of the ancient world. Seeking a way to create a ninja with a large amount of chakra that would be an unstoppable machine. He was said to be the corrupted spirit of a Sand priest who was imprisoned within a teakettle. Current information suggests Shukaku is a "bijuu", one of the tailed demons of the ancient world. He has been in the possession of Hidden Sand since ages past. When Akakita's mother became pregnant and had Shukaku imbued into her son, she cursed the village for what they had done. When Akakita was later born she lost her life in the process, being devoured as nourishment for the demon within. When Akakita grew older, he gained the ability to enter into a forced sleep, which would allow Shukaku to come out. Shukaku would gather sand from the surrounding area to make his large tanuki body. Shukaku seems to be fairly loud and flamboyant in his speech, probably as a result of not being released very often.

An unnamed Fuuinjutsu technique attached the Shukaku Ichibi to Akakita's unborn body. Shukaku was attached to several Sand ninja previously by Chiyo (Whom is now long deceased), presumably using this same technique. To attach the demon, the technique must bring the two beings into synch, both bijuu and human. As a consequence of the attachment, Akakita's mother lost her life. Akatsuki has termed the attachment of demons to an individual and the resulting loss of life a "Jinchuuriki," literally "the power of human sacrifice." Such a technique will grant the human portions of the demons power. The demon would be sealed into people, who would have near unlimited chakra from the demon, to become dangerous shinobi. As a result of Shukaku's attachment, the demon protects Akakita with nearby sand

((Shooting for Shukaku, instead))

Edited August 5, 2005 by Ravage Nocturne