Daraku woke to another bright morning in Kirigakure, content with himself. He'd been growing much stronger since his arrival in the village. Between the high risk, high reward missions to resist the Seven Bells' forces and the rigorous training he'd put himself through, everything was beginning to change. He found himself running that much faster, reacting in the blink of an eye, and using the many newly-learned jutsu to fight opponents at a skill level much higher than those he'd encountered in the past. Meditating on the idea of becoming as powerful as he was, he grew nostalgic. Memories flooded into his consciousness, of how innocently it all started and how quickly it all changed. He thought back to his fondest times, those back in the Ninja Academy of Sunagakure.

He remembered his days in the ninja academy, having difficulty using even the simplest techniques like the Substitution Jutsu and the Genjutsu Kai. He remembered his intense sword mastery training with his father early in the mornings, and he remembered his mother's daily Medical Ninjutsu lessons at night. He remembered his mother's death by his father's hands during the Massacre, shortly after he became a Genin. He remembered being promoted to Chuunin and feeling the truth of what it was to be a ninja, such a simple thing in retrospect but in reality a burden of only those with wills strong enough to accept the truths of life, death, love and hate. He remembered the hatred that all those denizens of Sunagakure projected onto him, just because of his clan's reputation. The bullies who physically attacked him were no problem, he could defend himself. It was the stinging words and glances of everyday people, both adults and children, that saw him as no more than Ishido scum, a vile thief, a merciless murderer, a greedy bastard. It was those that got to him, that left him thinking at night while he cried himself to sleep.

Low and behold, Daraku came to fit those roles more and more with every year. First the kleptomania, then the general hatred of all people around him, the persistent and bitter attitude, and eventually the satisfaction accompanied by each kill. It was clear that he had fallen to everyone's assumptions of him, but did that make him a bad person? Not that it even mattered, he didn't care anymore. He could only accept who he'd become, the manipulative and selfish person who killed and stole and seduced...it was Daraku.

The Ishido's mind continued to race, now at the next stage of his life. He thought of the missions he did as a Chuunin, the monotonous work, year after year. He'd helped many, sure, but come night time, his true self emerged as he took to the Suna Slums. Anything for the sake of pleasure would work for him and he fit the mold of a hedonist well enough. Sex, murder, lies. Always the same the next day, more ninja work, saving people, yada yada yada. And just when he felt condemned to this restricting, repetitive life, he found his way out. He was a special jounin, and he left on a whim. If any time to hunt the woman he blamed for his problems was opportune, it was then; he defected, leaving no trace. He was assumed dead by his clan, and still hated by the rest of the village.

But since that day when Daraku finally left, he never felt more alive, more free...and from then on, he'd begun his own journey of finding himself and understanding the world around him for what it was, and it changed him in a sense. He still generally hated everyone, was greedy and ambitious, and his bloodlust was as strong as ever, but there was a small part of him that had concern for things outside of his own interests, and some sort of newfound morality along with it. He had a sense of hope in his life, although he wasn't quite sure whether this was a direct result of his new status as Ishido's  "Hokkyokusei", or just an awakening as a result of his experiences since leaving Sunagakure in the first place. Regardless, it was a good thing for him. He'd gained the respect and love of others that he'd always craved so desperately, those true emotions he'd kept in the dark. No one knew how much their words had affected him in his vulnerable, younger days, but now their impact wasn't so heavy. But there was still one last burden, his father's final wish: the legacy of the Moth Sage. He hadn't bothered to undergo the trials of a sage at all since his father's death, but was it the path he wanted to take just because his father wished it? That seemed wrong. He killed the man because of all the evil he did that ruined Daraku's life and the lives of the other Ishido. Why should he be so eager to follow the man's ever present goals for him when he couldn't do it himself? He came to a conclusion...it was better to follow his own path.

Daraku finally sat up in bed, pushing the hair out of his eyes. He made his way over to the bathroom and looked at the faded black, already beginning to revert to its natural blonde color after only two weeks. Luckily, he still had some hair dye left, but he'd need to buy some more permanent stuff later on. For now, he felt like working with what little he had left to dye the sides and leave the top of his head its natural color, see how he could pull off the two colors. I'm sure I'll look hot either way, but why not try something new? he thought to himself as he headed off into the shower to take one before he got to work, and once he was done with that, there was a long day of training ahead. 

Training:

Within an hour, Daraku's shower was finished and his hair was redone, and he stared at himself for  long while. He ran his fingers through his black-and-yellow mane so that the hair gained a windswept look about it. He picked up some clothes and put them on, equipping his armor over them. Finally, he pivoted and walked over to the next room, picking up Nisebi. He wrapped the strap around himself and secured the weapon on his back, but opting to take only that sword. There was no need to bring all of his swords, they would be too heavy to walk with altogether. One sword would suffice in a simple training session, for the time being. He strapped on a pouch full of senbon and shuriken, as per usual, and made his way out of the front door, downstairs, and away from the inn. Where to train today? That seemed to be the most pressing question at that moment. He'd gone into the Wilderness to train once or twice, and the actual designated training grounds were full of wimpy little Genin and Chuunin, so he figured he could find some location within the "City" as the villagers called it. It was a hub of large towers and spires, but still all toward the center of the village. Quite the sight to see, as it was visible even as far as the borders of Mizu no Kuni; but he was sure being in the middle of such a hub would be even more breathtaking, with the mist stagnant in the air and the sunlight behind it casting an eery glow of sorts. Each step on the hard pavement was another tug back into reality, and he realized his surroundings. Numerous restaurants and shops, services and hang-out spots. The difference between this scene and the usual scene of Kirigakure, according to its villagers, was the odd silence and the tension in the air.

The Seven Bells invasion had changed Kirigakure, leaving the bustling streets to be desolate of any and all souls. Everyone was too afraid to even leave their houses unless they were ninja or just plain stupid. So Daraku was currently the only one amongst these tall towers in the mist, his body shifting and moving about the gray stone roads and wooden walls around. Truthfully, the silence was a blessing to him. He hated people, not only for the fact that they were all assholes but also the fact that they were annoying. Now, the same could be said of himself, sure, but he didn’t see it that way. He projected his own issues onto others, seeing his asshole-attitude as “not nearly as bad and completely harmless” and seeing his loudmouth as “endearing and honest”. These qualities on other people, though, made him want to brutally murder them more so than he would have otherwise (which would already be a pretty strong desire for him because who didn’t he want to brutally murder, really?). As a result, a session of peace and solitude was refreshing every now and again. It calmed him somewhat. The remaining problem, though, was that it was still dangerous even for a ninja at his level. A Seven Bells ninja could ambush him at any moment, or multiple if he was unlucky enough. He kept his guard up and scanned the area for some sort of training grounds within the compact streets. Maybe in one of the buildings? He managed to find a larger, decrepit-looking warehouse that was empty, with shattered windows in the front that let light from the outside flood in and illuminate the rusted walls and tattered roof. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough to provide an environment to train in. Daraku entered without a second thought.

Training:

Daraku's eyes glared ahead at the wall of the warehouse. He was determined to master the two jutsu in mind by that night, and that was that. He had become much more confident in his use of ninjutsu, for the most part, so it was more a matter of time than a matter of will. The silence was short lived as the blood rushed to his head. He made a swift step to the left, arcing his arm with him and joining it with his opposite arm to create a hand seal. His fingers, one by one, shifted again into another hand seal, then another, then another, until they moved to a blurred pace so rapid that the eye could not perceive its movements. Dozens of hand seals molded and built-up his chakra within his body over a period of seconds. He finished with a Horse hand seal, fingers intertwined as the chakra raged out of him in a physical manifestation. The simplest example of a ninjutsu; chakra being transferred directly into corporeality, forced out into the physical world and capable of many purposes deriving from destruction or creation. In this particular case, the result was destruction, and a widespread one at that. Water rose from the ground in a narrow pillar, spouting across from the area beneath Daraku's feet and moving over to the warehouse wall opposite to him, near the ceiling. The first element was incorporated. Now, shape transformation was the more complex part. Daraku always let his mind clear, facing the situation as if he was in it...the chakra around him, inside of him, was his base. He took the base and formed a scenario in his head, which in that situation was the water staying narrow and condensed. From there, he focused and willed the result into reality. The water continued raging against the wall of the warehouse with extreme force.

Incorporating the next element was not as complicated, but rather using basic ninjutsu skill in a slightly different way. All five elemental natures in chakra were strikingly similar in origin and execution, and thus using them with similar methods would work just as well as broadly contradictory methods. Daraku shifted his body from water release to wind release, feeling his aura change with him. Water made him feel fluid and smooth, while wind made him feel powerful and weightless at the same time. The wind inside was forced out as he changed his horse hand seal into a dragon hand seal. Wind chakra weaved in and out of the water spout, shaping it further and providing a full-speed rotation to it, picking up speed and revolutions per minute until it was like a violent hurricane. Two sections of the water glowed a vibrant orange color like eyes, and the rest of the water-wind technique followed suit, forming a perfect model of a dragon-like creature. Daraku gave a smirk as he willed it further with his chakra.

The dragon was spinning so quickly that it was drilling through the wall with its power, sharpness, friction, and precision. The reason Daraku knew this self-created technique so well was the commonly used jutsu that he'd based it upon: the Water Dragon Bullet Jutsu. This one was smaller, but more effective for dealing more severe damage to a lesser number of opponents due to the incorporation of the wind element. A masterpiece, in his opinion. Something about forming his own Ninjutsu techniques was almost gratifying in that he built his battle strategy around concepts that fit his abilities perfectly. He regretted not learning Ninjutsu earlier in life, but alas. He released the hand seal and the dragon dissolved, losing its wind affinity entirely and falling to the ground with a splash. Interesting how without Daraku's power, that once-mighty "dragon" was reduced to its true form of water. Daraku took a small break, thinking hard on how to use different hand seal in order to manipulate the chakra process easier and cause less strain on his body during use. He'd only used the technique he'd pioneered as "Whirlpool Dragon Bullet Jutsu" for a few seconds at most but it drained him significantly, as all new jutsu of his seemed to. Practice, practice, practice, that was the only way around it. No jutsu was easy until he'd perfected it and mastered its use, especially considering he was more used to Bukijutsu and close combat anyhow.

Training:

Daraku refocused on his surroundings. The world around him seemed to shift and changed as his chakra surged through his body, leaving him feeling rejuvenated and powerful. The damaged warehouse wall ahead had taken enough assault, but his next jutsu was more of a close-combat deal than a long distance ninjutsu attack like the Whirlpool Dragon had been. He reached behind him, his arm aimlessly reaching for a weapon. His hand swept across the hilt of Kage no Ken, then past Nisebi, until it found Hiko. He remembered specifically picking up Nisebi only, but apparently he had unconsciously equipped the other two as well. Having only one sword at a time was...foreign to him, after having two to three for the last few years. He unsheathed the blade in one twist of the arm and was left with it bare in his hands, blade shimmering from the few rays of sunlight escaping the nearby window. He let his chakra enter the sword like a pilgrimage entering a sacred temple, infusing the blade with its energy and providing it with a lively connection between himself and its entity. They, together, were a combined unit of dexterous skill and lethality. He held the weapon out in front of himself with his left hand, and formed a half-Ram hand seal with the opposite. "Water Clone Jutsu." he spoke, as if willing the clone into existence with mere words.

A pool of water gathered beneath his feet, branching out and rising back into an active form. The figure shaped itself further and lost its liquid viscosity, instead taking on a solid body. It was a perfect replica of Daraku in terms of appearance and it unsheathed Kage no Ken, holding it up against Hiko. The true Daraku gave his self-generated adversary a sly grin. "Come at me as if...you weren't me. That's the best way to practice with this next technique." The chakra within Hiko accelerated, racing up and down the blade's length, making a loud vacuuming boom. It was similar to the sound of a violent wind blowing, a tornado in the plains. Being in close proximity to the source of the noise only made it seem that much louder to the two Darakus, but they were unphased as it was a familiar chakra--their own chakra. Hiko reached its capacity, holding generous amounts of wind release chakra in addition to its own affinity for the element. A mere glance at it would be useless...to the naked human eye, it was no more than a fading blur, although it wasn't even moving. The original Daraku, who was holding it, was the only one capable of tracking its movements effectively because he was the one guiding its path. With a lunge forward, the water clone pushed Daraku to the right, spinning in a 360 and ending the circular movement with an upward slash for Daraku's neck. Not an effective tactic, though, as Daraku was ready for the blow. He pulled his hand down in order to make his weapon follow, making the blurred artifact arc downwards and meet the blade of Kage no Ken. He'd defended the strike with perfect timing, simply because his jutsu had acted as a mask for the weapon's movements, preventing the water clone from aiming at weak spots efficiently without Daraku's immediate intervention. It was taxing, however; Daraku's chakra was draining every second as it was forced into Hiko, maintaining the persistent wind vacuum that caused the blur effect and booming noise. An effective, easily-accessible tactic for close combat with weapons to give the Phantom of the Sand an upper hand against other Bukijutsu users, but certainly no long-term battle strategy.

The water clone didn't stop, though, and it unsheathed Nisebi, swinging it to Daraku's torso from the left. Daraku wasted no time, pulled his sword out of the stalemate with Kage no Ken and ducked to the right to avoid that weapon before raising Hiko once again, blocking Nisebi's slash completely. Another strike from Kage no Ken followed but Daraku jumped, keeping Hiko pressed firm against Nisebi's blade as he avoided the attack, and did a follow-up strike of his own. Water clone Daraku saw the blade coming, but struggled to find exactly where it was going to land since it was entirely an unintelligible blur as far as visual perception went. The blade was driven through the clone's chest, causing the sound to cease as it met flesh. Daraku ended the technique for fear his chakra was nearing its limit; he was satisfied with the result, anyhow, so there was no more point in continuing it further. The water clone's "corpse" staggered back and collapsed, reverting to its liquid state as it fell, leaving a puddle in its wake. Daraku stared down at the water with fuzzy vision. He was feeling a bit light head, having a rush of chakra return to him after pulling it back from his weapon. He put Hiko back in its scabbard and sat down on the cold, metal floor of the warehouse. The cold was just now getting to him, although he'd spent almost a few hours in there already. Training always made him lose his sense of time, and usually he would've gone for longer, but he was already at the point of exhaustion which he recognized as his "limit".

Once Daraku caught his breath, he stood again, moving towards the entrance to the warehouse. It was pouring outside pretty heavily, and he didn't have a cloak on. Hesitant, he contemplated staying back for a while in the warehouse and taking a rest; the rain almost made him uncomfortable and his desire for the warm sun and desert sands of Sunagakure only grew stronger. But staying in the cold warehouse wouldn't but a much better alternative, and he had no idea how long it would take for the rain to pass, so he finally took a step out. He was assaulted by falling drops small enough to barely be noticeable to the touch, but since they came in large numbers, they slapped his face mercilessly, leaving behind a stinging sensation that lasted a few moments while more drops assaulted him. This was it; this was Kirigakure no Sato, a decidely dismal, war-torn place that Daraku had had his fair share of. He walked on in the wet onslaught, his clothes drenched underneath his tough armor, and planned out his travel back to Sunagakure. His matters were in order and he was ready to return, so he set the date for 4 days from then. He could say his goodbyes to Mr. Kajiya and Sye and all of the armed forces against the Seven Bells beforehand, of course, but he had no need to remain. The threat of the Seven Bells was nearly eliminated entirely and the war was over. He'd done his part in this battle, and gained valuable experience from it.

Daraku continued on in deep thought, wondering of the affairs of the Ishido during his absence but also Sunagakure as a whole. A lot could change in just a month, and Daraku had been in Kirigakure for nearly two. He hadn't received any negative news, so he assumed that the rest of the clan must have been doing alright. But what would he do when he returned? There was still the problem of his wanted status in the country of Kaze no Kuni, and he'd never gotten the change to fix that with the Kazekage. Was it safe for him to return? Would he be attacked on sight? Either way, he would need another cloak and mask to hide his identity just in case, since his Aoi Bara gear had been ruined in the last few days. He figured the best time to go and get those would be early in the morning the next day, maybe get some breakfast along the way. Despite these concerns, there was an ever-present feeling of joy welling up inside Daraku. He was finally going home, or the closest place to home he had, rather. It was human nature to feel joy in such a thing, and as apathetic and disconnected as he loved to paint himself out to be, the idea of homesickness being relieved was one of the most appealing things Daraku could imagine. A smile had come to his countenance and it stayed there as he reached the inn and escaped the rain. He got into his room, threw his weapons to the ground, and collapsed onto the bad. A nap couldn't hurt. He didn't bother to look at the time, just a short rest was all he needed.

[End, Thread Closed]

Training: