A dreary morning on Mount Ikkyu, the sunlight hardly broke through the dense mass of clouds overhead. The mountain air was cool and fresh, but the breeze was just a tad too cold. It made the blonde hairs on Daraku's arms stand up and left goosebumps in its wake. He woke early but remained in his room for a number of hours with black hair dye, a comb, and determination. He wondered for a moment why he didn't just leave most of his hair in its natural color and have a black streak running through it instead; it would be more cost efficient since he would need much less dye. But regardless, it wouldn't look the same, and since he liked the way he had been styling it he didn't want to change it reverse the colors now. Once the sides of his head were slick with the black, tar-like dye, he washed his hands until they were spotless and watched the color bleed into the sink and down the drain. Now, it would take a while for the dye to do its work, so he went to the bed and sat down. He positioned himself comfortably but carefully so that the dye didn't stain the headboard or any of the pillows; he already paid a fortune to stay at the resort for so long, and he didn't want any additional costs for fucking shit up.

While he sat there idly waiting, he looked over to his swords which he had gotten into the habit of leaning against the far corner of the room near the window. He didn't usually walk around the resort with them, so the only time he took them out was when he ventured back to the main hub of Kumogakure no Sato to shop or hang out since the resort was in the outskirts (on a mountain, obviously) and it was a far and potentially dangerous trek. Or maybe Daraku was just paranoid and he felt strange traveling a long way without his swords. Either way, looking all three threw him into deep thought. In order from left to right against the wall were: Kage no Ken, the sword that was used to kill his mother which his father gave to him; Nisebi, the sword he had taken from his father's hidden armory in Sunagakure after killing him; and finally, Mugen Hikō, Daraku's personal favorite that he originally had forged in Iwa and eventually had upgraded by a ronin who specialized in fūinjutsu. He knew these three weapons perfectly, down to every last detail about their weight, length, and specialized capabilities during battle.

There was another important component to any good weapon-user, and that was personal skill level and expertise. Daraku had been using swords to kill his adversaries for a majority of his life. It was part of his training as an assassin...while the Ishido clansmen of his grandmother's branch were experts of fūinjutsu, ninjutsu, and chakra control, his father had put him down the path of murder, stealth, and close combat. His training was rigorous but it paid off immensely in the long run; bukijutsu was his strong point and it got him to where he was today, as one of the strongest ninja of Sunagakure no Sato. He wasn't satisfied though, and with that he decided that today he would go back to bukijutsu training. It had been quite a while since he had focused on improving his swordplay, maybe two years total? Aside from his Senjutsu training, most of his routine consisted of practicing jutsu and basic exercise for physical fitness. He got off the bed and walked over to the weapons, picking up Hikō and bringing it with him back to the bathroom. He would have considered bringing more than one sword, but it was often too heavy and it slowed him down in fights, especially since that required he strap them to his waist. It would be the same case in any sort of intensive training, so one sword would have to do, and Hikō was his personal favorite.

The Sannin set the blade down on the bathroom counter and washed the dye out of his hair. When he pulled his head out from underneath the faucet and looked in the mirror, he was impressed with the job he had done. The colors were separated clearly and the once-faded sides were now pitch black again, like they had been when he dyed them last. Good, glad that's finally over with. I've been meaning to touch it up for weeks... Appearance was something that was vastly important to Daraku and keeping his hair color maintained was directly related to that, but he was so absentminded sometimes that he would forget to do it, up until the point where his blond roots were showing clearly and the whole look of things was ruined. Now, it was fixed, and the dye would last him another month or two. He put on some pants, his mesh shirt with a black silk shirt over it, and sandals. In the bedroom he gathered his wallet and his room key and gathered them in his pockets, then he strapped his Sunagakure hitai-ate around his neck.

The walk to the large waterfall was unpleasant and far, but Daraku managed to get there in an ample amount of time. The cold morning air still bothered him, but he figured it would end once the sun was high enough in the sky and the clouds started to fade a a bit. Water crashing was a harsh noise, and yet it was oddly pleasing to his ears, continuing consistently in the background. He walked along the base of the water until he found a clearing just under the path of falling water, where he would have peace and solitude away from the various tourists and other resort visitors. He unsheathed Hikō and set the scabbard down on the stone ground beneath him. The blade pointed ahead, angled slightly upward due to the curve that started at its base. A common design for an uchigatana, when paired with the length of such a weapon made for long, sweeping strikes and a surprisingly good reach. That part of why Hikō worked well with Fūton and why Daraku preferred to use it more than Nisebi or Kage no Ken. He took a deep breath and concentrated on his form while he practiced his weapon swings.

Training:

After a short time practicing, Daraku adjusting his grip on his blade as a presence came. The figure was settled in his peripherals within moments and he didn't dare move. He was gauging potential threat and the proper response. The person didn't move for a while; they stood at the edge of the waterfall just far enough away so that he couldn't really distinguish their details or facial features, but there was a stark white mass of hair upon their head. Daraku relaxed a bit, rolling back on the balls of his heels before taking a few steps toward the person. "Hey there. Come to watch me do ninja stuff?" He said jokingly, his voice trailing off towards the end, almost as if he didn't expect the person to listen. Getting closer, he noticed that this person was presumably male: shorter than Daraku by maybe a fifth of a meter, and with violet eyes. "It's not as entertaining as you might think...sorry to ruin the show." The humor drained out of him and he turned around, moving back to where he was before. There wasn't any reason to continue with mindless banter when he had come to train and this person probably had their own reasons to be at the waterfall, maybe a tourist or something. He switched his sword into a reverse grip with a quick sleight of hand and swiped in rapid succession, three slashes at an invisible enemy. He paused, considering using a rock or some other natural object as a practice dummy if necessary. He wanted to try a couple new techniques but they wouldn't work as well without a physical target.

Following his gut instinct, Daraku went to a small area to the right and picked up the largest rock he could carry from the terrain, reminiscent of a quarry. He carried it back with his opposite hand (keeping his uchigatana in his dominant) to the spot and dropped it, causing a loud crack as it struck the stone beneath. Focusing his energy, he dashed around the rock in a mad flurry of sword swings and stabs, marking it up as he went. He skidded to a stop and his other hand went to his waist, taking Nisebi from its sheathe. The blade felt warm in his hands, with chakra pulsing through it. Maneuvering with a fast spin, he reversed his direction and held both blades out in front of him, alternating their patterns into well-coordinated combos and precision strikes. There was some sort of haphazard method to his movement, but he wasn't exactly strategizing; it was more of a reflex. His sword hand knew where to strike in order to kill and his offhand had enough capability to be of use as an added asset. His dual wielding was mediocre at best, and he saw that in this move; so, he made it his goal for this session to improve that skill. He was already an expert at combat with a single weapon...he had a total of three swords, meaning there was a bit of dissonance between the amount of weapons he had and the way he preferred his combat tactics. Of course, there was always the cleverly titled "Slaughter Stance" that he used from time to time, but he'd improve that after he got used to using two weapons without the help of a "medical" boost. He stopped again and backed away from the rock to stare at how much damage he had done. It was substantial, visually, but he hadn't affected the rock structurally. All of this was starting to come together and he wanted to destroy the rock, render it to dust with two swords. He smiled and continued stabbing away.

Training:

Daraku was lost in a flurry of attacks. He had learned how to use strategy over time, of course, but his preferred fighting style was pure destruction. He was full-offense, which left him with plenty of weak points and no essential defenses. It was a reckless, dangerous, and foolish fighting style, and even he knew that. Regardless, it was his favorite and the most fun way to battle that there was. He would always choose a target and overwhelm them with attacks until they had no way to retaliate or protect themselves, and it would end with their death. But, in the meantime, the target's allies would attack Daraku or he would be worn down some other way; he would take as much damage as he could before he would quit attacking and change his tactics, simply because he was that stubborn. When he wasn't fighting recklessly, Daraku could be much more efficient. He had elaborate plans, he would be stealthy and use medical ninjutsu to heal himself and debilitate opponents, and if necessary, he would use supplementary or defensive jutsu for support. He didn't enjoy this as much. There was something so much more exhilarating when a kill was fueled with rage and violence, one will overpowering the other. So he spent his time training to be MORE destructive in an effort to somehow eliminate his own weak points. He figured the stronger his attacks and the more unavoidable his offense, the less he would have to worry about defense or strategy.

The rock, slowly being scraped and shredded to oblivion, was granted a reprieve as Daraku's outburst was disrupted. "I take it cutting up cacti isn’t an available option here." said the observer, in a silky voice. A reflexive response to the sound, Daraku twisted his right foot and pressed it firm against the ground in front of him until the force of resistance slowed him, then forced his left sword into the rock so that it halted him to a complete stop. Blood dripped from his palm; he must have cut himself with the blade without noticing while he was hitting the rock. Just as he was about to come up with his own witty response, the man with white hair continued speaking. "I’m no expert on bladed weapons, though it would be easier to hit, or create, a weak point in the rock if you wanted to destroy it faster." Although he was correct in some sense, Daraku didn't really care. He didn't like being told what to do, even if it was in the form of advice or indirect, so he just shrugged and walked back over to the man.

"I’m Imada, Seiryū…from Sunagakure no Sato." Daraku nodded, still not used to the man's gentle voice. His own was so noisy in comparison. "I'm Ishido, Daraku, also from Sunagakure no Sato. Nice to meet ya, uh, Seiryū. So what brings you to the waterfall?"

Training:

Seiryū explained that boredom brought him to the falls, since the Chuunin Exams weren't exactly time-consuming when you weren't participating in them yourself. Daraku nodded in agreement, sheathing his weapon and slipping his hands into his pockets casually. That was a default position for him; he always wore pants with pockets no matter what. No other options. "So, because I had nothing better to do, I ended up here, seeing as how I haven’t gotten a closer look at the infamous falls." The falls were pretty nice, but Daraku was more accustomed to vast expanses of sand. Not that he liked those, he was just used to it. Being around giant waterfalls and mountains was such a big change of scene that, while he appreciated it, it would take some time to adjust to. He'd been staying at the resort for a fair amount of time at that point and the best part about it, as far as scenery went, had been the sunsets. So the waterfall wasn't his ideal hangout spot but it was a pretty good spot for training, since he had found the area just under it and tucked away from all the other visitors. "Right, heh. Everyone seems to go nuts over these things. They are cool, but I dunno, not my favorite. I'm here more for the fact that it's a good secluded spot rather than its aesthetic value. They're so loud and it's cold..."

"I assume you were bored enough to begin training?" Seiryū questioned. Daraku nodded, but blurt out to correct himself somewhat. "Well, that's not the only reason. I've been really behind on training, I was in Kiri for a very long time doing medical work and I'm rough around the edges, so I figured this was as good a time as any to 'get back on the ball'." He shifted his weight to his left foot a bit and gave Seiryū a grin. "What good is a ninja that doesn't train to stay in shape, right?" Seiryū noticed the cut on Daraku's hand and mentioned it, saying that he should get it checked. Daraku rolled his eyes and let out a chuckle. "It's nothing. I've dealt with much worse, I'm a medical ninja in my free time." He took his hands out of his pockets and held his opposite hand over the wounded one, healing it almost instantaneously. He realized that, by putting his hand in his pocket, he had stained his pocket with blood on the inside. Luckily, it hadn't bleed through entirely, and so the red mess wasn't visible on his leg. He shrugged it off and made an offer for his new acquaintance.

"So, how would you like to join me in training? Doesn't seem like you're gonna go away any time soon and I wouldn't mind having someone competent down here with me. If you were a tourist trying to stare at the waterfall, it'd be a different story, but you're a ninja, and a fellow Suna-nin at that. What do you say?"

330/345:

Training:

Daraku was tempted to see how well Seiryū fared in battle and what he specialized in, simply because it wasn't obvious just by looking at the man. His garments were fairly casual and he wasn't carrying any weapons that Daraku could see. Maybe a taijutsu specialist? He had the muscle definition for it. "What did you have in mind exactly? I didn't come down here expecting a spar, especially when this isn't a traditional training ground." Daraku squinted at Seiryū for a moment, looking over him carefully. "A long time ago, a wise man once told me you have to make do with what you have available to you. Or maybe I just heard that somewhere. I don't know," he shrugged, turning to face the rock he had been abusing for the duration of his practice, "We don't have to spar if you don't want to. Just having someone to train with tends to make things that much easier. All you need to improve yourself is a target, determination, and a goal for yourself in mind. Once you have all of that, practice comes naturally, at least in my experience." Seiryū made a strange face, looking as if he was about to sneeze. Daraku only went on with this proposal because Seiryū seemed disinterested in a fight, regardless of whether the location was really the issue. There was no way of telling the rank of this man standing in front of him, so maybe avoiding a sparring match would save him from failure, but he was never one to shy away from a challenge. Daraku always faced things recklessly and with more than enough confidence.

"If me inviting you to train immediately made you assume we should spar, I take it you're more of a practical learner, eh? Fighting, like the real thing, helps you fight better. If I wanted a fight out of this, I would've asked for one, but cooperative training rather than competitive training tends to be easier and just as beneficial. Besides, I've had enough fights in my time here, I need a break..." the Sannin cracked his neck loudly; his muscles and bones were still sore from his fight with Kōsai and her bodyguards, even though it had already been about a week since. That alone had exhausted him, but his more recent outburst with that younger ninja....what was his name?...Maigo, had left a bad taste in his mouth and turned him away from fighting. He didn't wanna risk anything after a relapse like that; it was too dangerous, he couldn't trust himself to remain calm.

Realizing now that he had gotten lost in thought and completely trailed off, he returned his attention to Seiryū and offered a warm smile. "I'm still surprised I've never known you before this, but we might as well get to know each other if we're comrades. What kind of ninja are you? Or rather, what is your fighting style? I remember asking the same kind of thing to my genin students back when Suzume assigned me a squad, but that was already so long ago, and it's a bit weird asking the same question to someone much older." He thought of them, the three genin. Kokoro and Heero were bright young kids; last he'd heard of them, they had both been promoted to Chuunin. He hadn't seen Ganto in a long while, though. "The point, really, is for me to a get a feel for your skillset and thus better help you train." It was rare moment when Daraku was as calm and helpful as he was being then, but he hardly noticed. Kind of a reflex to compensate for his rage and attitude in the last week. Fall back, unwind, relax a little. Anyone who was lucky enough to catch him like this would be stupid not to savor it while it lasted.

Training:

"Why do something completely unnecessary when one can simply enjoy the day as is?" Daraku looked at the man slyly, trying to figure out his thought process. What kind of ninja would say something like training would be entirely unnecessary? It was odd. Daraku understood a laid back mentality, to some extent, but that was too far for his own tastes. "If you honestly believe that you don't need to train, then you must not be that dedicated to being a ninja. Kinda sucks, you seemed like more fun a few moments ago, but whatever floats your boat, man. I know we don't have the ideal means but letting that hinder you is not much more than giving up too easily when faced with adversity...at least, that's how I see it." He said this coldly and he was being brutally honest. He wasn't the type to hold back what he believed for the sake of being polite. After a short pause, broke eye contact with Seiryū and let his icy blue eyes meet the waterfall; he watched its steady flow with casual interest.

Seiryū continued, answering Daraku's next question a bit ambiguously. "Well, I don’t think it’s ever in the best interest to expose all of one’s tricks." Daraku nodded, at least sort of understanding what his fellow Suna-nin was getting at. Nonetheless, although Seiryū wasn't willing to reveal everything about himself in terms of his "tricks", he mentioned he was a kyujutsu specialist. This almost instantaneously brought Daraku to think of that rogue ninja from so long ago, when he was with the Aoi Bara. The one named Tame, the one who had killed the Hokage, Tatsumaru. The memories came flooding back so quickly that it gave Daraku goosebumps. "Other than that...nothing really special about me. Aside from also being proficient in sealing. What advice can you bestow upon this lowly shinobi?" The sarcasm wasn't as fun when it wasn't Daraku's, but it seemed that Seiryū had his own unique talents. Daraku hadn't known many to specialize in fūinjutsu, but it had its uses, he supposed. Regardless, if Seiryū didn't want to train, then there was no point in Daraku trying to help him; they each had their own reasons for being there.

"Well, first off...whatever's got you not wanting to train, you should fix that. It's the best way to get you out of the lowly category and into the ranks." he said, rolling his eyes. He smirked at Seiryū. "So? What do you want to do then? If you don't have any suggestions, I'll gladly continue my training by myself." He said this with a bit of hostility in his voice, almost like he was challenging his ally. There was tension in the air now, whether imagined by Daraku or clearly present, and it bothered him deeply. He couldn't shake the feeling the he was being watched by something, and it was waiting for him to make the wrong move. He had enough clarity, though, to understand that this meant another one of his episodes was coming on, so he didn't feed into it and instead focused on his breathing and remaining calm. His smirk shifted into a blank expression and he closed his eyes, waiting for Seiryū to say something.

Training:

The nervous and almost cautious feeling Daraku had started to sink as it was slowly replaced with amusement; when he opened his eyes next, Seiryū was visibly irritated. "Oh, I should apologize shouldn’t I? How rude of me not to be fun to you. I didn’t know that I should be falling in your steps." Such a vicious response! Almost UNBEARABLE! It wasn't exactly Daraku's fault that this man had happened upon his training and proceeded to stick around with idle talk criticizing Daraku's training, but the man was certainly acting as if it was; Daraku would rather him just leave if it was that much of a bother. Regardless, Daraku's smile started to return and he suppressed the urge to giggle. He had struck a nerve, and he was certainly about to get chewed out somehow. Suddenly those that were watching him became a happy audience and the show was a wild comedy. Voices danced in his head like a mad party and yet Seiryū's was still loud enough to hear. His hand moved along his side until it met the scabbard of Mugen Hikō; he let it swivel around to the hilt, which he gripped firmly before giving it a quick tug, just enough to reveal the glistening metal of its lethal edge. The show was about to start and everyone was waiting patiently, their cries slowly dying back down so that the actors on stage wouldn't have to deal with the noise during their performance. The mood was lively! Daraku would patiently wait his turn, because naturally, he was a mild-mannered and polite gentleman when he needed to be. Or rather, in his dream world he was. He tuned back into reality for the time being so that he could actually comprehend what else this considerably-offended person had to say. "...obviously you know more about my life than I do. How did you know that I never fully committed myself to training, day in and day out..." To this, Daraku's ecstatic inner monolgue rapidly replied with a witty Just a hunch! but his mouth was too slow to repeat it out loud. Daraku couldn't help but feel Seiryū was applying this all to a larger context outside of their current circumstance...what was that called? Oh, right. Taking it personally.

"Mhmmm, mhmmmmmmm...." Daraku nodded, genuinely interested in what more Seiryū could pull out of his ass. "As for my suggestions, doubt you'd like to hear any of them," this made Daraku think that he was finally done talking, but alas, he managed to push through and he finally got around to giving Daraku the suggestion that he had been prompted: "Why don’t you go back to hitting that rock like a big boy? After all, a stationary object would happen to be the only thing you could hit." With that "suggestion", Daraku tuned back out, having lost all interest once more. It was all heated emotional talk, but it was so indirect, primarily in the form of sarcastic insults. Daraku didn't care enough to go for the neck, though; not yet at least. He'd rather have his own time toying with the white-haired ninja. His audience applauded him and all the spotlights converged at his position, and the show was his to steal. With a sleight of hand, he pulled Mugen Hikō from its sheath and pointed it at Seiryū. "A stationary object is the only thing I could hit? I'd like to put that to the TEST! You should see me when I'm really trying, I can make ribbons out of anything. Not to brag, here, but you would seriously love it. All the blood stains things so nicely, kind of like a really fucked up painting. Can you imagine?" He tossed his weapon into the air and caught it with his other hand, flipping it into a reverse grip so that the blade faced away from Seiryū.

Just as he was ready to go on, Daraku felt a hand on his shoulder and heard his father's voice in his left ear. Stop fooling around. He is your victim...put him down. Yet he ignored his deceased father's words and took his own desires to heart instead. He was having too much fun to end it just yet. He figured Seiryū was fun after all, but only as a target rather than a training partner. "But what around here isn't stationary? I guess the most logical thing would be the waterfall, of course! Silly me, what was I doing hitting a rock when I have water right in front of me!? It's not like I'm practicing my stances and attacks; all I care about is hitting inanimate things!" He twirled his uchigatana in his hand every few moments before gripping it tightly again, an absentminded habit of his. His eyes were back on Seiryū, crazed as ever. They matched his exuberant smile. "No, no no no no no! Wait just a minute! The waterfall doesn't deserve that, it didn't do anything wrong. The more logical thing to do here is to make you my target." He laughed loudly, before raising a finger and pointing it at Seiryū accusingly. "Allow me a moment to explain. See, you came here and interrupted my training and told me that it was essentially pointless! Why bother training when you can be a lazy ass and sit around enjoying the clouds? Now I was just trying to be nice by inviting you to train with me, but that offer is already long gone and I think I should just use you to train. Much more beneficial, I'm sure you run like a scared kid when you need to so it'll be a challenge!" Taking in the bloodlust and letting it run through him like a power source, Daraku's eyes rolled back and fluttered for just a moment and he crouched ever so slightly. He was holding his weapon perpendicular to himself but still in a solid reverse grip, so that the curve of the blade shown outward and was ready to cut down anything in his path.

For a moment, Daraku contemplated using his Sage Mode just as a way to absolutely guarantee there was no escape, but ultimately he didn't think it was that vital. If Seiryū managed to get away or talk his way out of this one, Daraku would be tame enough to let him go without too much effort. Daraku was getting his training in, one way or another, so it didn't matter whether or not he got the kill. Although the kill would be sweet, it would also get him in a lot of trouble back home since it was a fellow Suna-nin he was after, so he kept this thought in mind. It was hard, though; the voices of the crowd were cheering him on, and they wanted to taste the blood just as bad as he did. His father chimed in once more: What's the harm in a little death? Everyone's gotta go eventually. Maybe today is his day. Daraku dropped his smile immediately and let Seiryū see the danger in his blue eyes. "I'm feeling pretty fucking confident in my skills today, so tell you what, I'll give you a five seconds to try and attack me first." He said this with no hint of sarcasm in his voice whatsoever, but rather in an imposing monotone. "You're going to be getting much more than a spar, though, so if it's too much to take on, you can walk away and we can both forget this ever happened. Seems like the easier option, if you ask me, but I'd have to go back to my big boy rock and nobody wants that, now do they?" The voices booed at that proposal, and it was clear that everyone in Daraku's head wanted to see some real violence. It was all up to Seiryū, though; he had the final say here, even if it was only because Daraku didn't want to end up having to become a missing-nin again.

Training:

One misunderstanding after another, Seiryū kept his words coming like bullets. He accepted the "lazy ass" name, sarcastically donning it like a cloak and adding that he would essentially be a stationary target simply because he was "lazy". Daraku half listened, all the while more focused on the audience in his mind; their reactions and responses determined his own. Seiryū went on about not attacking an ally and finally decided to take his leave, advising Daraku not to train in such a public place if he wanted privacy. Daraku had found a secluded spot under the waterfall simply for that purpose, but his mind started to race. The crowd whispered and murmured to themselves while Daraku was on stage; they awaited him to make a move, say something, but he tried to bring himself back to reality for the time being for a moment of clarity, if he could manage it. I need to go back to my room before anything bad happens. I can't risk it, this is already too dangerous. The therapist called it dissociation, when I lost my grasp on reality. I can identify it now but I can't control it, not yet. The voices, the people...they're...not real. He rubbed his eyes harshly until they started to hurt, and the volume was getting higher. Everyone was yelling, flooding the stage, crashing into him. He moved his hands from his eyes to his temples and then to his ears, covering them to block out the sound. It was giving him a headache, bordering on a migraine.

Tsurugi came through, just like he always did. Everything that had transpired, from his death to the restoration of the clan and even including Daraku fulfilling his last wish and becoming his successor as the true moth sage, hadn't changed a thing in terms of his presence. He haunted Daraku like a recurring nightmare, albeit much more realistic, and unpredictable. Daraku was a ghost, in some ways, and so was he. Daraku had learned from him, after all. It was funny to think about. And what do you think of this? He tells you you must find a better spot to train, even further isolated from people if you wish to have your privacy. You know what I think? Fuck what he says. You tried to get your peace and he ruined it, and he ran away like a scared child thereafter. If you need to grow stronger, abandon this idle training altogether. A live target would fit better, you have that much correct. Victims running from you, terrified of what you'll do to them, afraid of their inevitable demise. The violence fuels you, the bloodlust will rage but feeding can only benefit everyone. It all comes down to this; you are still a weapon, and to hone your edge, you need to practice your one purpose. Murder." And as hard as it was for Daraku to hear it, the same thing he had always been told, he accepted it subconsciously. He knew that Tsurugi was right...he thought back on all his countless kills and how after each one he had only grown in strength. There was his own family that stuck out above the rest; killing Fuiyoka and Tsurugi had resulted in the largest advances in Daraku's power. Almost as if by killing them, he had taken their power as his own.

Just because he knew that Tsurugi was right didn't mean that he would go through with it, though. There was so many consequences to killing, and Daraku, as reckless and violent as he was, didn't want to take them. He had definitely threatened to kill Seiryū, that was obvious enough, but he wasn't even sure if he would've gone through with it, simply because of what such a deed would entail. This is the whole reason he had stopped going around doing whatever he pleased. He acknowledged that there was a higher power, a legal system that was superior to him. If he didn't follow the law, he would be forced to go back to the life of a rogue ninja. He had reformed himself. Became a sage, pursued greater knowledge thereby, and contributed to the greater good. His time in Kirigakure was a testament to his own recovery; dedicating himself to saving lives after the war and his mental health. A massive improvement to his previous identity, but not yet fixed. This time of uncertainty was another phase before he reached that stage. As long as he put effort into it, that was all that mattered, because he'd reach his goal eventually.

Dad. I need to ask you something. Tsurugi was suddenly there in front of Daraku, facing him with that same placatory and yet stern expression that he usually had when he was alive. His eyes were dark, nothing like Daraku's. Daraku had his mother's eyes, bright and crystal blue like sapphires. Oh? What is it? Tsurugi raised his eyebrows with a tad of confusion. Why are you here? I killed you. I watched you die in front of me, and you not only gave me your dying wish, but I even fulfilled it. What more could you want? Clinging to my soul from the afterlife like a desperate parasite not ready to leave its host. I'll tell you one thing, I might be a weapon, but I'm not yours any longer. I'm my own weapon to utilize. After he said this, the stage grew quiet. All the others had left and it was just him and Tsurugi standing there under the spotlights. Tsurugi was quiet, his mouth pursed and eyes aimed to the ground now. He didn't have a real answer.

You don't know. Exactly. But I do, I've figured it out at this point. You're just in my head. You've been dead for over a year and for some reason I can't get over it, so you're still here. I'm not gonna let you fuck with me anymore. I'm blocking you out until you're gone forever. So...goodbye, Dad. Tsurugi's mouth started to move, but Daraku didn't listen. He closed his eyes and covered his ears once more. After a moment, he felt a hand on his arm, then another and yet another. Soon, there were dozens of them all over, pulling at him and forcing him to the ground. They pulled his arms behind him and tied them, and he looked up to see Tsurugi looking down. You're in my head! How are you doing this!? This time, when Tsurugi spoke, his voice wasn't his own; it was deep and throaty, like a beast's growl. You'd be surprised what you can do from the inside of someone's mind, fool. The hands pulled harder, forcing his left arm around until a loud crack sounded. Daraku cried out in a pain and collapsed onto his side. Dislocated, probably, he thought. He yelled for a long while until the hands were gone and everything was quiet.

When he next opened his eyes, Daraku was next to the waterfall again and he was soaking wet. His arms were still positioned behind his back, and his left was throbbing in intense pain. His hand was numb, further evidence that the shoulder joint was probably dislocated. He sat up and scooted back against the cliffside, facing the waterfall. He used his other arm to relocate the shoulder, pushing it back until he heard a loud pop. The pain was maddening, but he had experienced far worse, and he didn't even flinch with this. Next, he used a basic medical ninjutsu to help restore the shoulder quickly to avoid any sort of unnecessarily long healing process. He sat there for a solid 15 to 20 minutes focused entirely on the jutsu to ensure that it healed properly without expending too much chakra. Once everything was fixed, he leaned there against the hard stone and looked up at the sky. It was dark, now, and there were plenty of clouds above. They were coagulated into a black mass, and lightning flashed within them now and again. He thought it was beautiful, really, but it also meant there was a storm coming. He couldn't tell what time it was, but it was far colder than it had been earlier so he feared it was night. How long had he been hallucinating there, alone? He was soaking wet even though it wasn't raining, which meant that he had probably gotten too close to the waterfall and it had splashed him. Or perhaps he had fallen into the water? It didn't matter too much. He was just worried, because now he had himself to fear. He knew he was dangerous, but now that he knew he was capable of inflicting pain upon himself, it had gotten serious. If he wasn't careful, he could accidentally kill himself during his next dissociative episode. He was breathing heavily and still watching the lightning above. The Village Hidden in the Clouds, within the Land of Lightning; a powerful ninja sat upon a mountain resort near a waterfall and suffered yet another psychotic break. The situation was almost funny, from an objective perspective.

"I'm a fucking mess...this is ridiculous." Daraku mumbled, giggling to himself. He looked around a bit and discovered his sword sitting on the ground to his left. He slid his hand over to it and brought it to his lap, holding it gently by the hilt. He wasn't ready to head back to his room just yet; he needed time to calm down, and he still wanted to finish his training as best he could.

Training:

It started to rain. Not a light drizzle, either, but a heavy rain where every drop was loud enough to create a roaring torrent against the hard mountain surface. Daraku got to his feet at once and brushed his soaked hair out of his face. It was so cold; he hadn't prepared for any cold, much less rain. The waterfall raged like a desperate competitor, trying to get an upper hand against the rain's advances. Soon, the small pool near Daraku was overflowing onto the stone and the area began to flood. He focused chakra into his feet and started moving across the water's surface, scanning the area carefully for a new place to train. There was booming thunder in the distance, now, and the lightning was likely striking the ground rather than remaining high up in the dark clouds. He reached the edge of the cliff and looked out over it, the current still running fiercely beneath his feet. He unsheathed Mugen Hikō once more as he stepped over the edge; the world around him seemed to shift but his position didn't. From this viewpoint, he was perpendicular to the falls, standing on their side as he walked down. He increased his pace as steady intervals, from a walk to a jog and finally into a mad sprint, until he was barreling down the side of the waterfall at nearly 30 meters per second. The wind blowing through his hair gave him a rush of adrenaline and he was already breathing hard, his heart racing, a few beads of sweat making their way down his wet forehead. Just as he was about to reach the bottom of the waterfall where multiple jagged rocks protruded from the river, he leaped out onto a muddy clearing and stopped to regain his posture.

Tourists scurried by, here, so he figured he was much closer to the main buildings of the resort than he had been up closer to the falls. There was a pair of them holding their hats in some useless effort to remain dry. He watched them for a little while, but when one of them turned to face him, he was startled to see a monster's face looking back at him. A mouth full of dozens of sharpened teeth, blood dripping from the lips, crazed eyes and a contorted neck. The monster stopped while the other tourist continued on its way, disappearing into the distance. Daraku was tense but his fear had subsided and was replaced with a defensive instinct, his sword still raised. As a reaction to the blade pointed at it, the creature spoke in an oddly human voice. "What are you doing!? Please don't hurt me!" A clever ploy to try and protect itself, but Daraku wasn't so easily convinced. He ran toward the creature and raised his weapon, but the creature let out a screech so shrill that it deafened Daraku for a moment. He recoiled and dropped his sword but managed to keep enough balance so not to fall and leave himself vulnerable for attack. He picked up Mugen Hikō and went for a slash to the right arm, cutting deep into the beast. What happened next was strange; rather than a regular wound forming, an abnormally large gash appeared and widened every second, and blood exploded forth, moving toward Daraku in the form of jagged needles. Utilizing his expert reflexes, he deflected the blood needles that were coming upon him with well-timed counter strikes and then jumped back to escape the remainder by positioning himself just out of range. The gash on the monster's arm was still bleeding profusely, creating a massive pool that continued to rise.

The monster's eyes moved feverishly in every direction, unable to focus on anything. Blood was now seeping from its mouth, too, and its ears and nose. "Stop...no more, I don't want to die..." it whimpered. Its voice was reminiscent of a young woman's, sweet and innocent, just enough to make Daraku let his guard down. In that split second, there was a flash of lightning, and Daraku saw its true form. A dark haired woman, one arm covering the other in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Tears streaming down her pale face, her eyes forest green and her lips quivering from pain or maybe fear. Once the light from the flash faded, it returned to its sinister state, bleeding everywhere. The deep voice he had heard his father speak in earlier called from behind, It's a trick. Kill it before it kills you. Daraku wasn't so sure. He moved closer to the creature, reached out and touched it. Its contorted neck snapped into place and it let out an awful cry, but when he pulled his hand back, there was no blood on it even though the beast was covered in it. Something was amiss. Too late now, it seems. the deep tones complained as the pool of blood beneath Daraku started to form into needles, like it had before. Daraku jumped into the air to avoid them and a figure appeared above him, which upon close inspection turned out to be his father's.

Without hesitation, Daraku stabbed his father through the chest, and then everything was dark. All he could sense was himself falling, up until he hit the ground hard. He turned his head to look around and saw the "monster" was indeed a fair-skinned woman, and she was getting ready to run away. "Wait!" Daraku cried as he desperately reached for her. He was in too much pain to stand but his body reacted for him, and he instantly entered Sage Mode. His vision shifted as his eyes turned into compoundeyes and silk shot from his hand, wrapping around her and creating a cocoon in less than a few seconds. The cocoon fell over and she couldn't escape now. Everything was starting to clear up and the blood all around him faded; he was returning to reality, understanding the difference between the world and his hallucinations. Why hadn't he thought of it before? Sage Mode enhanced him in every way imaginable, including his mental state. It made sense that it would provide him clarity and lessen the severity of his schizophrenia's symptoms.

Once his strength had fully returned to him, Daraku walked over to the cocoon and placed his hands over it, healing her while she was within. She was silent, probably rendered unconscious by fear or blood loss. He hadn't gotten a close enough inspection of the wound he had inflicted upon her when he attacked her, since he had only gotten to see what she actually looked like for a split second in between illusions. He felt bad, somewhat, but mostly he was worried for himself. He had committed a crime unintentionally and would have to suffer the consequences if this woman reported the incident. Rather than outright killing her and hiding the body, his first reaction was to help her, which showed that he had some semblance of a conscience. He used his dominant hand  to maintain the medical ninjutsu while he used his right to uncover her face. He slapped her a few times until she woke up and started screaming. "Hey! Shut the fuck up! I'm trying to help you. You awake now?"

"What are you!? AGHHHH NO PLEASE GET AWAY FROM ME, LET ME GO!" Daraku had forgotten he was still in Sage Mode, so his compoundeyes were probably why she asked what he was. She struggled to escape the rest of the cocoon for a bit but stopped once the pain from her arm was too intense. She started to cry again, softly this time. "Stop that...I'm healing you. I didn't mean to hurt you like that, I promise. I need you to relax, you'll be ok." They sat there for while, still in the pouring rain, while Daraku did his work. Once he was finished, he cut the rest of the cocoon apart and let her out. She got to her feet and examined her arm carefully, almost in disbelief that the injury was gone. Daraku didn't dare leave Sage Mode for fear that he would start hallucinating again; it was always much worse when he didn't have control of his emotions, but still, not knowing the difference between what's real and what's not was too unsafe to risk allowing. The woman asked him the same question again. "What are you?"

"A ninja, believe it or not. This is one of my jutsu, I don't always looked like this. And I'm sorry for hurting you, really. I haven't been doing to well, uh...mentally. You can leave if you want to, just please don't say anything about this. If you do, it'll end badly for both of us." He said the last part with a cold glare, letting her know that even though he was being nice, he was still a threat to her if she tried to antagonize him. She didn't seem scared anymore, though, and she didn't leave. "Can you walk me back to the rooms...if you don't mind?" Daraku rolled his eyes. Women always loved the enigmatic and menacing types, apparently. "No, I've got to finish something. Just go, you'll find your way back on your own." Disappointed, the woman left and once again, Daraku had solitude. It wasn't so dismal, despite the rain and the thunder and lightning. He was actually relieved, since now he knew Sage Mode stopped his episodes. Maybe the Dusk Moth Sage could help him get rid of the schizophrenia somehow, if traditional medications and therapy couldn't do it.

The Sannin held the weapon to the sky and let the rain wash off all the blood before putting it back in its scabbard. He was starting to understand that all this time, he had been focusing on the wrong things. Becoming stronger, seeking physical prowess and power beyond his current capabilities shouldn't have been his focus. He was already one of the most powerful ninja of his village, and perhaps of an even broader scope. It was his greed that consumed him, made him want more. Seiryū had the right idea; sometimes its just important to enjoy the day as is. There were much more pressing matters at hand than to perfect his killing technique; he had spent a year trying to rid himself of mental health deficiencies and chronic psychosis, and it wasn't enough. He needed to apply himself to understanding just what was wrong with him and how to fix it. Otherwise, he would have no chance as a clan leader, a ninja, or even an assassin...he was too much of a danger to himself and everything around him. There, near the river, he decided it was high time to change who he was on the inside.

The boy of Sunagakure, born assassin and chock-full of daddy issues. He was named Daraku (堕落 ~ literally meaning "corruption") by his father; that in itself was a testament to their relationship, and what his father thought of him . His mother had shown him an unconditional love that he thought he never needed, but after he was honed into a weapon by Tsurugi, his name became a self-fulfilling prophecy...here he was, years later, still fighting his own corrupted mind and soul. He was supposed to be a sage, but he lacked the wisdom to help himself. He thought his journey was done, but he was wrong. That next step into the path of a sage was finding that wisdom.

Daraku had a long walk back to his room, and he was exhausted. All the while, he thought of that day, the day when he would reach the greatness he sought after. It was different now than when he had imagined it before...there was still wealth beyond comprehension, power, influence, and freedom, but now there was also peace. Not necessarily world peace or anything like that, but peace of mind. He didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know where he would be in 5 years, or what he would be doing with his life. But he knew that his biggest goal was happiness, and that was all that should have really mattered all along. His smile having returned to his face, he unlocked his room and shut the door behind him quietly.

[Exit, Thread Closed]

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