The blade of a kunai flashed in front of the mirror once, twice, a third time, and so on, each strike slicing away at the long locks of snow white hair that had once been the pride and joy of the female standing there: hair her mother used to spend hours brushing and braiding and styling. But now she wanted nothing to do with it. It was one of the things which had marked her as a victim, and she had sworn as she started down this new path that a victim was something she would never allow herself to be. So with each slice of the kunai blade across her hair strands of it littered her shoulders, the sink before her, and the floor, until with a last slice the last long strand was cut short. Through the shaggy whiteness that was left she peered at her appearance; her thin face, silvery eyes, and the new length of her hair giving her a boyish appearance.

But she wasn’t finished. Not yet.

Stepping away from the mirror she took a moment to realize and appreciate just how much hair she had removed, how much her change had cost her. Knowing there was no going back, and finding strength in that revelation, she carefully brushed herself off with her hands before using her hands to scoop up the loose strands of hair – it was slower than a broom of course, but doing so this way was somehow more cementing, a portion of this self made ritual of hers she didn’t want to skip out on. She didn’t stop until every last strand had found its way into the garbage can. Then and only then did she look back into the mirror, able to see from about her belly button and up. She stared at her chest, the other portion of her willowy frame that had made her a victim in the past before her silvery gaze darted to the roll of bandages she had got.

Slowly she slipped her shirt up and over her head, tossing it to the side, and staring at her scar and bruise covered body in the mirrors reflection. With a determined exhale she squared her shoulders and picked up the bandages. In silence she wrapped them around her chest, tightening them as she went over her breasts, binding them, forcing them to appear much smaller than what they were. She didn’t stop until she was satisfied with the results. Then and only then did she tie the bandages off and pick up her shirt. She slipped it on, the black turtle neck tank top and the bandages binding her chest only increasing her boyish appearance.

Stepping back further so that she could see more of her appearance, including the black pants which were bagging in the legs but which cling to her ankles, she turned to the left and then to the right before deciding she was pleased with how she looked. She looked only slightly feminine now – able to do nothing about the natural curve to her hips after all. But now she looked… dangerous. More masculine. More deadly. It brought a wicked and satisfied grin to her face that threw her facial features into something that was far more sinister than she would have been able to pull off before.

”This is who I now will be… no longer will I be the young girl from the past who was made a victim because of her body. Now I will be the weapon fearlessly ready to strike forth and bring Death upon those who cross me...”, she whispered to her reflection as if by doing so she could absorb the words into herself and make them a reality.


It was in the middle of her room on the floor that she sat, indian style. Her arms were at rest on her knees, hands loosely open with her palms hanging over her knees and facing downwards towards the floor. Her back was straight, and her eyes closed. She was dressed in the same black turtle neck tank top, and baggy pants as earlier, feet just as bare as they had been there. There was a coldness around her, natural for the female due to her chakra nature – or perhaps this time it was because of her thoughts.

They were dark, murderous even.

She had attempted to slumber, had spent well over three hours tossing and turning on the bed that was all but a foreign concept to her by now. Sleep had eventually claimed her, tiredness winning out. Yet, then so had her demons. Vividly in her mind she had witnessed her last few moments as a slave again as if it were happening for the first time…

”Slave, if you don’t hurry up I’ll tell my father you’re slacking and he’ll have you beaten to death! Or worse!”, Hiromasa’s daughters voice had cracked like an invisible whip at her, causing her to jump startled, hands all but forgetting the pin it had been inserting into the fabric as she attempted to hem the ruined kimono sleeve as she brought them up to protect herself from a blow that didn’t come and yet she was sure would all the same. Hiromasa’s daughter was as much a brute as her father, though where her father was downright violent she was cunning – able to manipulate others into doing her bidding. Jihi waited several long moments to be struck but it didn’t happen, and so she lowered her hands again and glanced towards the mirror that her Master’s daughter stood before: she was watching Jihi with cold and dark eyes that were black like coal: an amused expression on her face. Clearly she had found Jihi’s reaction – something which had come all to natural to her now – entertaining.

Jihi had had to focus to keep her hands from trembling as she returned her attention back to the loose pin, fixing it so that the hem was straight and even with the rest. In silence she threaded her needle, ignoring the burning sensation that came from the knowledge that she knew she was being watched: Hiromasa’s daughter was of course waiting for Jihi to give her a reason to beat her, or have her beaten.

“Miss, do you think you’ll be okay for a few minutes while I uh… help take care of an issue with one of the other slaves?”, came the voice of Kinzoku behind her who had been overseeing the whole process to ensure Jihi behaved herself, and Jihi didn’t dare still or stop in her task, she knew to do so would draw attention to herself. She felt rather than saw as Hiromasa’s daughter turn her focus onto him. “No, by all means. Me and this one will be fine.” Jihi became aware then of a door opening and closing behind herself, the sensation of the room now empty save for her and the woman before her creeping up her spine.

Jihi worked in silence as she began to sew, shifting her body only as needed so that she could continue with her work. It wasn’t until several long and uncomfortable minutes had passed that she shifted and saw it – a scroll, her scroll – sitting on the woman’s desk. She glanced away quickly, afraid to draw suspicion while she felt her heart-rate increase. Her scroll, her scroll filled with her weapons and her Kirigakure hitai-ate with the seal still intact: but of course, these were slavers, not shinobi, they wouldn’t know how to pop a simple seal even if it would save their lives. It was nothing more than a trophy for Hiromasa’s daughter – a conversation piece. Her mind began to churn, thoughts she had long ago given up on, schemes she had thought impossible, suddenly now seeming to be anything but. She didn’t know what had set about her mind into action but she found herself standing suddenly and wrapping her arm around the woman’s throat, locking her in a choke hold even as she clawed and scratched at Jihi with her long nails, kicking over the stool she had been seated upon. Jihi locked her legs around the woman, bringing her to the floor and refusing to let go, knowing she would succumb soon enough – Hiromasa’s daughter was strong, but Jihi had been a newly minted Genin when she was abducted so she had the slightest of an edge over her. Sure enough her struggling lessened and then stopped. Jihi held the position for only several more heartbeats before releasing the woman and pushing her off of her, ignoring the fact she rolled into the pile of pins unconscious but still very much alive.

Jihi was up off of the floor in a hurry, dashing over to the desk and snatching up her scroll before heading to the window – it was one of the few devoid of bars on the overly large house because Hiromasa’s daughter refused to be caged – slaves were only allowed her room on special occasions such as this, and this opportunity with Kinzoku out of the room and no guard in sight was a one in a million chance. The window was thrown open, a glance down ensuring the guards patrolling the area weren’t below or within sight. She knew Kinzoku would be busy for a while yet, and so she launched herself into the air, free falling the two stories until she hit the ground in a crouch. She didn’t waste time in darting forward and into the darkness, allowing it consume her as she escaped from the property. She ran as fast as her legs would take her, but it wasn’t long before she heard the dogs barking in the distance: her departure had been noticed. She had hoped that with Kinzoku gone and Hiromasa’s daughter unconscious she would have been bought time, but she hadn’t thought about the dogs catching her scent...

She had woken up with her heart racing and feeling ready to fight only to find herself in the safety of what was now her new room. Even with that revelation she hadn’t been able to fall back to sleep, instead she had given up entirely and moved to the floor where she had sat motionless for nearly two hours, not so much meditating but in deep thinking, as she waited for something to come along or occur – though she wasn’t quite sure what exactly that something was she was waiting for.

Word Count: 1,790

With dark thoughts still running through her mind she finally shifted from her position on the floor, head rolling on her shoulders from left to right as several soft cracks filled the otherwise silent room. She had no means of knowing how long she had been seated there – clocks and time meant little to her after all the years in captivity – all she knew was that her spine felt stiff and her buttocks had gone numb. Shifting her legs so that they were out straight in front of her she then lowered her back to the floor, placing her hands behind her head for added support and staring up at the ceiling as she had done for hours while trying to fall asleep. Even though she stared above her it wasn’t the ceiling she was seeing, instead she was going through every thing she had been taught at the Academy: a useful trick she had relied upon while being tortured for hours, something which had allowed her to keep some slice of her sanity. Of course, she wasn’t being tortured now, but it helped her focus herself in a way.

It had been four years since she had graduated and yet the knowledge came to her as if it had been yesterday: the Puppet Technique, the Item Reinforcing Technique, Supernatural Walking Practice, Genjutsu Dissipation, the Substitution Technique, the Doppelganger Technique, the Transformation Technique, and the Generic Sealing Technique…. The Generic Sealing Technique. Before Jihi knew what she was doing she was up and on her feet in a single lithe movement, crossing the floor with each silent barefoot step as she made her way to the side table of her bed where the scroll she had all but forgotten about until that moment rested – a scroll with her kanji on it, one where she had sealed her possessions into that fateful day her life had been turned upside down. She stood before the table for but a second before reaching out and grasping hold of the scroll, turning on her heel and heading back to the same spot of the floor she had been seated before. Just as gracefully as she had stood she sat herself back down indian style, placing the scroll before her on the floor. Instead of unsealing it she simply stared at it for a moment with her silvery colored hues, remembering everything that was inside of it even though four solid years had passed.

With a scoff at herself she reached forward, unsealing the scroll and lettering it unroll, revealing all of her weapons and items: a single kunai, three shuriken, her Kirkgakure hitai-ate, her identification, her bow, and the twenty arrows in their quiver to go with it. These were items she had been so proud to have in her possession, nothing more than trophies for the twelve year old freshly minted Genin. She had given no thought to their purpose beyond being shiny and new and a sign that she was now considered an adult. She had been so elated back then that she could now carry them around freely, that even her parents couldn’t stop her or scold her for having them on her. It had seemed like a lifetime ago, like a different life altogether.


Now though she saw the weapons before her as what they were: instruments of torture and murder. They were her allies in her goal, her friends, they would help her with her goal and desires to eradicate all of those who had caused her harm. Beyond that she would use these to free others like herself, to rid the land of those who held people like herself against their will and used them for their own sick reasons. The weapons wouldn’t be so much a tool but rather another piece of herself, an extension of her own being, a useful one that she would use and hone to utter and complete perfection: a razors edge.

”I will need to gather up more...”, Jihi muttered to herself as she slipped the kunai and three shuriken into hidden portions of her articles of clothing she currently wore – hidden, but close enough to be used at a moments notice as well as her identification. She moved her bow and her quiver of arrows off to the side before picking up her Kirigakure hitai-ate. Gently she rubbed her thumb over the symbol engraved there, her hand clenching around the plate as memories of past excitement flooded her mind. The day of her graduation had been one of love and celebration, of happiness and cheer. She could still see her parents waiting for her as she left the Academy, both smiling ear to ear as they hugged her tightly, her father beaming with happiness that his daughter was following in his footsteps in service to the village while her mother had tried to hide the concern in her eyes behind a mask of joy for Jihi’s sake – she would have preferred her daughter become a seamstress like her, a much safer profession in her mothers opinion. They had gone out to celebrate that night, Jihi had gotten to choose the place they had eaten at, and afterwards they had gone ice skating. It had been a night of so much laughter and happiness that she could hardly believe it had been real at this point.

As her grip tightened further around the metal plate of her her hitai-ate she found it shaking as she stared not at the plate but straight ahead. ”I will make sure those who took your lives suffer. Those who had hurt you will know the true meaning of pain before Death claims them.”, it was a soft spoken vow to her parents, one she was completely serious about. There was nothing she could do to reverse their pain and suffering, nothing she could do to bring them back from the dead, but at least she could make sure that those who had had a hand in it experienced the same – that they received some form of justice. It would be her life’s goal if nothing else.

Word Count: 2,850

It was a principal that Jihi had been taught young by her father and she knew the words to ring true even now. Even though she wished there was some fast forward button that would end up with her being strong in no time and easily able to defeat her foes there wasn’t. She was going to have to put her blood, sweat, and tears into what she was doing. Before that though she was going to need to be prepared – and to do that she was going to have to do some missions. She was no stranger for working for what she needed and wanted, and she certainly wasn’t the type to take a handout without giving something back in return. No, she would once more don her Kirigakure hitai-ate and get back into the field. The missions likely wouldn’t make her strong, or teach her much about combat, but they would give her the needed ryo to fund the weapon collection she hoped to build upon – weapons that she hoped to stain red with the blood of her enemies later on.

If wasn’t as if her first target wasn’t known: she had every intention of heading back to the place from which she had come. She knew the general location well enough from the times she had traveled against her will in and out of the place, so even though she had been running blind when she had escaped she had known from where she had come. Of course, her intentions behind heading back weren’t all evil and dark – there was someone still there, someone who needed to be saved too: her god-brother, though she had not been able to risk calling him such for years. No, had they known, had that established connection been acknowledged, they would have used her against him to torment him and make him obey, and vice versa. Of this fact she was absolutely positive. So even though she was free, even though she risked so much by daring to go back, she knew that she had no other choice. Back to that hell she would venture so that she save him if nothing else, she wanted to do at least that much for the amount of times he had taken care of her.


Of course, if she could get away with killing the rest of those who had held people as slaves, those who had caused harm and torment, then she would do that as well. No one who got in her way would be spared, of that much she was certain. She knew her training had yet to even officially begin, but this was something she wanted to waste no time in doing. She knew if they moved him she would likely never see him again – or if she did, it might be too late, it might be far after he was broken beyond repair. No, she simply couldn’t risk it. ”Perhaps I should ask for help…?”, she mused out loud, but even before the words finished leaving her lips she was already shaking her head. Who would she help? Who even knew she was alive? The man who had saved her… well he had done so much already, so much more than she thought any stranger would. She felt like she couldn’t bother him with this. But then who else? Should she risk going at it alone? She couldn’t just abandon him, they had been friends since she was born.

Even now she could think back and remember the first conscious memory she had of him: her Godfather was working so her dad had taken her and Sim to one of the freshwater lakes nearby so that the pair could go swimming. ”Watch me, Jihi!”, he had called to her as she stood at the edge of the water feeling unsure. Her silvery gaze had shifted to the pier where her god-brother stood. Once he saw that her attention was on him he took several steps back and then ran forward, launching himself off of the edge of the pier and into the air where his tucked his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, cannon-balling into the water with a large splash. Fear had flooded her as it took him several long seconds to surface, but as soon as he did he had spat water up into the air like a whale and caused Jihi to burst into a fit of giggles. She had lost her fear of the deep water that day, and had spent the majority of the time in it, going so far as to give her father a hard time about having to go home, something she rarely ever did. Jihi shook her head as she pushed the thoughts of her old life away – she couldn’t dwell on them long, they only angered her further. It was a life she couldn’t get back, one she had been robbed of too early in life. The memories didn’t make her happy, nor did they make her sad, they pissed her off and got under her skin. It awoke the fire to destroy and to kill like nothing else could. She had had a good life, a perfect life in her opinion, and they had taken it all away. Well, they weren’t going to take her god-brother away from her, that much was for certain.

In a single lithe movement she was suddenly up and off of the floor, standing on her steady feet. She glanced down to the Kirigakure hitai-ate in her hand once more before taking the ends and tying it around her forehead, her new white bangs obscuring the face plate from view. She reached down, picking up the quiver of arrows and her bow, both of which were secured to her back with a kind of quickness she had almost forgotten – it felt so natural strapping the weapon on herself once more: though she intended on vastly expanding the types of weapons she knew how to use – something she had already begun just the night before. Gods, the night before: she had cut both Hiromasa’s and Kinzokus’ heads clean off, something she knew was helped greatly by whatever that substance had been dripping from the weapon she had been allowed to use, some kind of acid that had their heads hanging on by nothing more than a thin strap of flesh by the time it was done. The thought brought a grin to her face, she would learn to do so much worse than that if she had her way. Yes, she would make them all fear her, if it was the last thing she did – they would know her vengeance. It was a promise.

With the dark thoughts still running through her mind she turned on her heel and wandered out of her room: she had a lot to do if she was going to rescue her god-brother from the confines of hell, as well as get strong enough to take out anyone who crossed her bloody path.


Word Count: 4,065

Strength E0 to D1: 4,065 – 1,075 = 2,990
Reaction Time E0 to D1: 2,990 – 1,075 = 1,915
Perception E0 to D1: 1,915 – 1,075 = 840
Speed E0 to D0: 840 – 750 = 90

Discarding: 90 words.