======================================== Surname, First Initial: Shoda, K Call Sign: The King's Man Aliases: Kage (old academy nickname) Company/Squad: Unity Squad 080 Technical Occupation: Intelligence; Internal Affairs Military Rank: Corporal ======================================== Birthplace: Shoda Clan Grounds Serial Number: 118621643924 Specialisation: Lightning Release Chevrons: 6 Standard Grade Medals Earned: --- ======================================== Associations: Shoda family: Hisoka (father); Kotone
(mother); Kei (sister); Kumiko (aunt) Declared Next of Kin: Shoda Kumiko (head of branch) Dependents: None Marital Status: Single ========================================
Lightning Body Status: Active (Vibrant Gold)
Age: 20 Sex: Male Height: 180cm Weight: 152lbs
Physical Description
Clean Cut: A fine piece of man candy, Kagero’s characteristics reflect a symmetry of strength and sensibility. He bears many attractive qualities including neatly styled hair, unblemished skin and well-manicured fingernails, but each one is also imbued with a defined sense of masculinity.
Mannish Boy: Take a look under the playful brush of coffee blond and you’ll find storm blue eyes of youthful exuberance tempered by self-discipline, or follow the line of his sophisticated nose to lips well-versed in the art of the smile; Kagero’s features seem to have been personally designed by Nature herself for a more refined ‘je ne sais quoi’.
Rough Edges: More man than boy under all his fine clothes, Kagero definitely has the physique needed to perform his duties. At just under six feet tall he is fairly slender but has endeavoured to develop an athletic build in order to keep himself trim and fighting fit, and he could do to go shirtless more often were it not for his finely tailored fashion sense.
Clothing
Respectable: If one is presentable, interaction with others comes easier, and so if one is more that just presentable... Kagero isn't a clothes whore, but he enjoys looking his best, whatever the occasion. He prefers smart yet comfortable wear, especially shirt and jacket combinations, and he dresses appropriately for each season.
Fresh: Kagero is all about style. Each article of clothing he owns must therefore also be cool and suited to his personality, making for a wonderful host of possible variations. Up-to-date on most fashions in the Lightning Country, Kagero seeks to eventually expand his sphere of knowledge across the borders. He is also fascinated by hats and has quite the collection.
Practical: Style is important but not without practicality. One needs to be able to move well in whatever they wear, especially shinobi. Kagero's tailor therefore makes sure that his client's casual clothes will afford him decent mobility, and that his hitai-ate can be clipped over the young man's belt buckles. He has also improved on Kagero's military uniform.
Individual: Black boots capped with an extra layer of leather over the toe and heel complement the tough hide of his belt, and a new padded flak jacket (navy blue for members of the Intelligence divisions) replaces the traditional variety. Able to be slipped on overhead, it is slightly smaller but offers denser protection, its pockets relocated to either side, integrated into the broad velcro bands that fasten front to back under the arms. His hands, sheathed in dark, fingerless gloves, would be hard pressed to find a pocket elsewhere in the utilitarian ensemble — certainly not in his plain black military trousers, which are sleek, matt and always freshly pressed. His undershirts, likewise, remain tactical at all times: crew-necked, slim-fitting and either long-sleeved or three-quarter-length, these come mostly in black, dark navy or grey. The ensemble is topped off by a pair of brown leather shoulder holsters for projectiles, the left one serving as a forward-facing mount for Kagero's hitai-ate.
Personality
The Casanova: This is a common and often misinformed exaggeration. He likes women, and he gets women, but he is no seducer. Good looks and charm will only take a man so far. The attention Kagero receives is the product of being a genuinely nice guy who never mistreats his dates. Add to that a quick and creative sense of humour, and restraint to rein in his ego when he must, and he'll protect their honour too.
The Aloof: With high standards for a compatible partner, less emotionally driven (and even platonic) relationships come easily to our mannish boy. This opens up his schedule for a little fun every now and then — which he certainly excels at — but he also tries not to lead anyone on. Unfortunately, as a result, he appears to have a somewhat higher turnover rate than most which has earned him the title of 'heartbreaker'.
The Artiste: Kagero knows that when he puts his mind to something, he can achieve it. He is both determined and resourceful. Despite being a free thinker, he plays by the rules and takes life at the pace meted out to him by society as a whole. His professional life never encroaches on the personal; as a shinobi, he fights for the freedoms of his clan and countrymen, including the right to enjoy life, which applies to him as well. Thus, there is little truly separating the two save a change of clothes and, as the same rules therefore apply, Kagero also approaches both causes with equal style.
The Agent: His knack for compartmentalising his various qualities bleeds seamlessly into his work as a shinobi. A natural student in the art of espionage, cut from the same cloth as the rest of his tribe, he has cultivated an extraordinary level of concentration, as well as a thirst for learning and professional development. To this day, his sterling commitment to the philosophies of the LGM continues to turn heads, most notably among those who would otherwise look down on the Fallen Kings and Queens as traitors.
The Scarred: Kagero is a survivor. As a member of the Shoda clan, he has always walked a path between the paradigms of treason and integrity whilst weathering the warring winds of contrived duties. The way has never been clear and the ever-storm has left its mark. The Three Faction War was especially cruel, but Kagero endured its bloody conclusion nonetheless. It is not optimism which drives him forward, but responsibility. He hides the scars of a conflicting life well, keeping them to himself — for himself. Loss has failed to crush his spirit; his memories force him to persevere and live his gift of life to its fullest. To be the very essence of resilience, the poster boy for recovery, and a voice for those who were not given a second chance to draw breath.
The Unexpected: Indeed, there are many layers to this boy. Somewhat closer to the surface, yet still hidden from outward appearances, lies the inner geek. Kagero is one of a kind, his veil of dapper gentility overshadowing an inquisitive brain-box who can recite entire film scripts, who owns extensive manga collections, who is beguiled by avant-garde technologies, who longs to master his element and reinvent himself through it, who dances and dreams, and who defies expectations but does it all on his own time. And yes, he dances. Well, he dabbles. Ballroom, if you must know.
The Precipice: All but his close friends will never fully recognise the above characteristic, and fewer still will even come close to unraveling that which precedes it. They seem highly contradictory, as if they might clutter and overload his psyche, but the many sides of Kagero exist in a healthy balance, both in the public eye and in his own. This flexibility and depth of character is the secret to his ever youthful demeanour, his wells of resolve and imagination, and the mystifyingly charismatic element that continues to draw people into his sphere.
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Nindo:All good things might come to an end, but not all great things have to.
Primary Archetype: Elemental Specialist (Lightning) Secondary Archetype: Fallen King
Special: Gains a free low-level technique of the corresponding element for free. [S]tat Merit: +2 to Power, +2 to Reserves, +1 to Strength [S]tat Flaw: -2 to Willpower, -2 to Tactics, -1 to Speed
Stage 1 Transformation Technique (Henge no Jutsu) Stage 1 Required: Control 3; Intelligence 2; GMAP Bonus Stage 2 Wall Walking Technique (Kabenobori no Jutsu) Stage 2 Required: Power 5; Control 4; Reserves 4; GMAP Bonus
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Inventory:
- Standard Issue Shinobi Kit
- Handcuffs x2 (4 points)
- R-SAK Hand Radio (2 points) Item Points Remaining: 2
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Memoirs of War
I remember that day: Chuunin graduation — the first one — wearing dress blues and all. Man, I looked older there, but I was still so naive. It was just after my 16th birthday, just before I had to defend my home from my former allies...brother against brother...
I think I thought there would be a measure of comfort in the formality, but no matter how much I tried to loosen my collar it still felt tight around my throat. We all felt it — Nagai's hot breath on the backs of our necks despite the cold of winter. He was gaining strength daily while we walled ourselves into Jishaku, preparing to defend our Village, our way of life, our families...
I remember another day, long before that. It's my first memory.
It might even be my best memory.
The Lost Generation
Family
Age: 4
Quote:
Originally Posted by Memory Fragment I
I was 4, my sister, Kei, 2, and my older brother Ichirou had just turned 6. Our parents had taken us to Matsuri City as a treat. We stopped at this cute little shop, its walls dressed with a rainbow of toys. The place was a haven to my hopeful eyes, which I imagine were as big as saucers and almost bigger than Ichirou’s nerve — yes, almost. But nothing’s quite that big. My older brother had found this stuffed animal and was bashing it about with glee. I don’t remember much else for him, other than the fact that he got away with his antics.
Me, on the other hand? Well, my eyes had settled on a box of marbles sitting on this little table. It might have actually been a foot stool, but we were a team of adorable little people back then, so a table it was. And on it, there stood a veritable treasure chest. I stared as the marbles for ages, daring myself to run my hands over the cooly gleaming curves before me, each bearing a unique pattern, from typical surface marbling to internal strands of colour and even paint-flecked metal. I suppose I was waiting for permission; I was a good kid in that respect.
Then my sister waddled over, barely walking. She grabbed onto the table edge to steady herself, surprising me as her little cushioned feet made no sound. She stood next to me, sucking on the tip of her thumb while our mom, Kotone, was just out of sight, keeping an eye on all of us, I guess. Kei was big for her age, coming up to my shoulder, and very free spirited. Before even I had mustered up the courage to peruse the marble box, her little hand was outstretched, her wet fingers bouncing from marble to marble. I thought she was playing a game, so I played too, but with my eyes, finally settling on my prize.
It was this little orb of milky glass with a dash of amber and brushed with wisps of red and green. I knew that if there was ever one for me to touch, this was it. I reached out, but faltered, momentarily doubting my claim to that perfect sphere. As fate would have it, Kei’s hand had chosen the same one as I, and she looked up at me enquiringly, silently asking for my permission. I started when I realised that her own eyes were like the marble, honey-coloured and verging on pale rouge. I smiled and nodded, and she lifted it from its perch, then did something incredible, or, at least, I thought so.
She offered it to me. What to do when you get handed the greatest treasure of all time? I smiled more, and laid my own hand over hers. The marble, which had been hovering just in front of my eyes, disappeared from view. I didn’t need it; I had her. And she had her prize. And Ichirou had his two toys. He even gave one to me later that day. That guy, with his charm, was incorrigible, and at that age, we were all so cute.
Princelings
Age: 7-8
Everyone does — they all just come to the point in different ways. Living in Aunt Kumiko’s branch of the clan, we grew up around a respect for the power of knowledge and the price of secrets. So we were pushed into education quicker than our cousins, and I think it was probably to prepare us for the day one of us manifested the clan’s Lightning Body, which was a gift worth sacrificing a few things for.
Back then, Aunt Kumiko was the branch’s sole bloodline user. Even our mom, her younger sister, as awesome as she is, didn’t have it. This proved that it wasn’t dependent on strength. And the three of us…well, we were the next generation. It was our time to shine.
That said, Ichirou didn’t really want to shine. It was a real shame, and something I still don’t fully understand, as nothing was forced on us. But at age 9, who really knows what they want to do well enough to stand up for their choices? In the end, he led a half-hearted lifestyle, with Aunt Kumiko’s teachings clinging on for dear life as they went in one ear and out the other. Maybe it was his defence mechanism against the reality that he was being groomed to participate in a world that would sooner castrate him for being Shoda than simply shun him, let alone accept him.
This wasn’t a bright prospect — we all knew that — but natural charisma and the hope for something different, something better, can only take a person so far. If we wanted to be welcomed back into the fold and regain our standing as Kings, it would be through the actions of the herd rather than the black sheep. To be fair though, this retrospective comes from experience. I’m 12 years older now than I was then. Conflict has a habit of changing you, and not just war.
My first wake up call, or rather reminder, came around that time, when Ichirou had entered a particularly rebellious phase, drawing children from other families into his plot to bring all of the new generation to his side and boycott anything relating to shinobi arts, which inevitably led to death and persecution. If he had set his sights any lower, his free thinking might only have registered as a mild concern. However, with each new story of the independent life that he heard from passing travellers and incoming settlers, both his imagination and his distaste for the familial ‘shackles’ of childhood grew.
Ultimately, it was his overreaching ambition that brought his plans crashing down around him, but not without inspiring me, his younger brother. I looked up to him so much. But our sister looked up to me, and if it hadn’t been for her, I might have done what any little brother would do — simply pack up shop and lump my lot in with my role model. I didn’t want to lead her awry, though. I was torn.
Unbeknownst to Ichirou, the impact that his schoolyard manifesto had on the children from Botan’s family would bring tribes together that the elders would rather keep separate. But Ichirou was happy to see that his ideas were making waves. I think he fancied himself something of a peacemaker, even though his subversive methods suggested quite the opposite. Nonetheless, I tagged along one day, under the impression that we would at least be able to play a game of G-Men and Ninjas when we arrived at our usual haunt before Ichirou started spouting rhetoric. I liked to hear him talk too, but I think I’d had a bad day and wanted to blow off some steam.
Unfortunately, when we got there, some kids were waiting for us: a couple of Tadao's nephews and one of Rikiya’s lot. Out of respect for my elders, I'll strike their names from the record, but not their deeds. They just started teasing Ichirou right off the bat, claiming that he might as well be a G-Man because he didn’t act like a Shoda one bit. I don’t know who threw the first punch, but I do know that Botan’s lot just stood there for the whole thing. I mean, is it just me, or are they only passionate about nothing? So I got involved and, of course, that was a big mistake. I got my butt handed to me. And then Tadao himself intervened. I don't know how he found out.
I’ll never forget the expression on Aunt Kumiko’s face when Tadao personally delivered my brother and I to her doorstep. In fact, I’ll never forget the conversation that followed, either. Well, it wasn’t so much a conversation as a terrifying reprimand. Ichirou was suspended from the clan’s academy system for three months to give him a taste of the lifestyle he craved. She reasoned that it was what he wanted, and maybe it was.
I suppose that in the world of espionage, you make tough decisions. Maybe that dulls your empathy; maybe it had hers. I mean, I’m not the boy I was, and Ichirou didn’t…stay the same. I suppose no one can really see the bigger picture, nor where one decision will eventually lead us. But I think that then forbidding my brother to continue learning directly under her was a step too far. Lessons with our dad weren't the same for him, and I think he was hoping to make use of Aunt Kumiko’s external contacts when he finally made his break for freedom. Consigned to a standard clan upbringing, he changed.
But if I thought he was too young to be punished so harshly, wait until you hear what happened to me. I was 8. I was just along for the ride, but apparently even that wasn't enough to convince my aunt to pull her punches. I was tested; I was given an ultimatum, even at the expense of eroding my support for the family. I think she knew what I was going to chose, though. It was made to seem more dooming than it would ever be. I remember that I was a good student with a real knack for chakra manipulation, but I was also clearly so impressionable. So to push me away made no sense. To remind me of my responsibilities through memorable means? That made sense.
Both Ichirou and I were still family, as well as potential carriers of the Raikoukikan. Who knows, perhaps my brother could have redeemed himself in time, but Ichirou’s restlessness and spite had won the day, as well as the days to follow.
The War Against the G-Men / Destruction of Hidden Cloud
Recruits
Age: 8-10
When we returned to live in the country that had forsaken us, to fight for the shinobi and to die alongside them like estranged brothers, it was a rude awakening for everyone, particularly the children like me who had never known anything beyond stories. Growing up, we had been taught the staple clan histories — its version of events, at least — but we were now entering a world that we didn’t recognise and whose people didn’t understand us. Many still feared us.
The effects were jarring, and arguments frequently broke out in the clan training camps over minor issues with much deeper roots. These were the centres established to raise our skills to the required level. Ichirou was less affected, though, probably because he was chomping at the bit to leap into the world beyond, with or without the clan at his side. To be honest, I was just as eager. Aunt Kumiko's ultimatum may have instilled a certain diligence in me that I embraced in the years following Ichirou's 'rebellion', but I wasn’t the straight-laced, clan-minded ‘asset’, if you will, that I think they wanted me to be.
I wanted to see just how good I really was; to put my clan training up against the best of my age group in the country and see what all the fuss was about. What did my family see in me? What had I gained at the expense of a closer bond with my brother? Was the sacrifice and the servitude to a greater ideal worth it? Did my own estimation of self-worth even matter?
Yes it did. I think that, by the time I was 9, I might have grown a little too conscious of my progression. This isn't just me writing now — this was how I felt back then, for real. Even so, I still viewed life from behind the lightning-tinted glasses of Shoda philosophy, and appreciated the future that my clan could offer me. I merely sought to work within the system rather than against it. That was where our paths diverged.
These weren’t the “golden days”, mind you. Honestly, I don’t know if there ever were any sunnier times for me; as a child of war, all that I learned and strived towards was overshadowed by the pall of bloody conflict. A former child of persecution, I had traded one paradigm for another. The transition was strange, almost as if the change had happened around me, apart from me. It was difficult to trust this new shinobi world — returning to something I had never left, that I had never chosen. This ‘clean slate’ of ours meant so much more to my parents, my aunt, my cousins… Some treated it like the pardon it was, while others imagined it to be some sort of carte blanche. To me, it was as if the world had just gotten bigger while my duties remained the same.
I was very single-minded back then. Our country required soldiers, spies, symbols…that was my job. I did what was needed — that was my childhood. So when I finally entered the Kumogakure academy, which had just undergone its own transformation to something more professional, the added structure only made that job easier. To be a child of Hidden Cloud was to be a ninja, an alignment of clan and country.
There was a lot of pressure from the clan. Entering into the Aoi academy at an already advanced stage, I became a priority — a potential success story around which Aunt Kumiko and the other heads of family could rally. We needed to place as many Shoda on the battlefield as possible back then to reassert our presence among the populace, and that was a cause that practically all of them could agree on. But me? I put even more pressure on myself. I was proud of my progress and my abilities, and growing more self-aware by the day. I wasn’t just a pawn — a statistic. I could be a knight.
I saw Ichirou little during this time. Only a handful of things brought him out of his isolationist shell: his 12th birthday, my 10th birthday, and my recognition at the Number One Rookie for that year. To the family, everything else was falling into place, but Ichirou was drifting dangerously and, try as they might, our parents couldn't seem to hold their one errant son in place long enough for them to hammer any significant parental advice into his head. Ultimately, they conceded that it might be a ‘phase’ and allowed Ichirou the space he so desperately craved, confident in the fact that his rebellion would be short-lived. He was barely a teenager, but so desperate to be a man. And I was too young to hold him back, and too busy with my promotion to Genin to help him.
With an unmistakable interest in the field of Intelligence, I was also entrusted with the finer points of clan heritage under Aunt Kumiko and invited to question historical events for the first time as my insights, however naive they might initially be, were of growing importance. It was the soldier’s job to follow orders but the operative’s job to understand them, knowledge that would translate into more informed decisions both on and off the field. Placed in a newly formed squad, I was sent out to counter minor incidents related to G-men activity, cutting my teeth on real engagements as a clan ambassador. I now understood the power of perception and did my best to portray a level of responsibility and authority commensurate with the birthright of the Shoda people.
Deserters
Age: 11
It was difficult to maintain that kind of strength when yet another leader was cut down before his time. I was 11 - older, but still impressionable. With Raikages falling like dominos, the notion of an endgame was all the people could talk about. What else could the uninformed imagine? Thanks to my clan training, which had me keeping my finger on the political pulse of the nation as best I could, I managed to ward off the doubt of the rumour mill — but only just. I figured that Konishi was far from the best choice, but, in a time of strife, even I could see that the statesman provided a temporary tether point to the familiar, and sometimes that was what the lost and confused needed more than a revolutionary change of direction. Maybe we were wrong in that respect. Maybe we were guided too strongly by our hearts and not our heads — and by ‘we’, I mean the Shoda clan specifically.
Even though I was receiving training in how to assess facts objectively, I wonder whether Hideyoshi had paid any heed to Aunt Kumiko’s principles before deciding to follow a lineage before a liege. I mean, even our historical track record pegged us as outsiders, so looking in with a discerning eye should have come as second nature; trust was never something we had so freely given as in the election of Konishi over the Daishou. But, of course, despite this, I was still at a point in my life where I had absolute faith in my elders’ decisions, even if the pride upon which they were exercised was a dangerous cocktail of ambition and loyalty, one pushing us forward and the latter holding us to a set course, spinning our little clan dangerously towards ruinous calamity.
I’m not one to use such grandiose statements if they didn’t serve a purpose. Those two seem to fit the frustration perfectly, because when it’s your life — your family’s life — hanging in the balance, and you only have a pen and paper to channel how you feel, the grandiose is the equivalent of a kunai to the gut of a training dummy. It feels good to write this stuff down. I kept bits of a journal at the time, but they didn’t have the benefit of hindsight, nor maturity. It’s this maturity that’s made it easier to talk about Ichirou. And I know I’m no biographer, so I can’t do him justice when I tell you what he was going through, but, wherever he is now, I think he’d want someone to know.
See, he ran away. And I couldn’t stop him. I mean, I guess I should have seen it coming a mile off, but during that time we were all living day to day, wondering what intrigue or disaster would surface next. The power vacuum wasn’t just a time for the people of Cloud to capitalise on their newfound agency — it was a time of opportunity for the G-Men too. I see it now, throwing us into such disarray that options became distractions and necessity drove choice. Not reason. There was nothing reasonable about sabotaging public building works, raiding food banks or shutting down electrical grids. That’s how it began, as small scale guerrilla disturbances, but it escalated in due course. Although we weren't to know until later, when they began claiming responsibility, it was the G-Men, and escalation was their way. We should have seen it; we should have guessed. I wish we’d known. That way, we could have prepared for the moment things turned lethal - when the first radio tower was knocked down, trapping and killing a shinobi engineer, or when they bombed the post office.
Ichirou knew.
And I can’t believe he couldn’t tell us — tell me — what he’d gotten himself into, until it was too late. It’s not something you forgive easily…if at all. But when you consider what it would take for him to come forward, to admit to that kind of knowledge…the judgement softens. I don’t know if I’ve ever really forgiven him. I don’t think I ever told him. He didn’t really give me time, what with him being in such a rush to leave. And yes, I let him. I’ll say that now, and maybe find my own judgment for that act in time, but he wasn’t the terrorist responsible for those deaths. I want to make that point known too. He acted, he believed, in the best light, working for the government. For all his indiscretions, he believed that his secret life was geared towards doing the right thing. But he was 13 and easily convinced by men who had finally given him a purpose that was within his power to fulfil. The more I write, of course, the more I find myself perfectly describing the classic motivations of a terrorist or freedom fighter. I know how it seems.
Where I saw necessity behind the clan’s choice to back Konishi, Ichirou saw blind faith only. Where I saw my merits rewarded by my instructors and peers, Ichirou had turned his back on the scars of his mistakes, unwilling to heal, only to move forward, no matter which direction that lead. And when he happened across a group of infiltrators planning of the first non-lethal disturbances, just after the Riakage’s assassination, he found himself enamoured of the G-Men’s clout and conviction. I wonder now if they were the ones who happened upon him, because a black sheep in our clan isn’t hard to spot.
He told me that they won him over with promises of clandestine education in the art of espionage, and he was all too willing to learn what Kumiko had kept from him. For a while, this bargain served him well. He would feed them strategic information from within the Village walls and they would pull off the agreed-upon mission, depending on the nature of the intel. They brainwashed him so completely that I was surprised when I realised that a modicum of caution remained — an iota of self-worth and moral certainty large enough to stay his hand. It was the radio tower, of course. He came to me that day, a mess. It was a sight that haunted me for years: my brother, the hero, reduced to a jumble of principles.
He couldn't go through with his end of the deal, finally realising that people might get hurt this time. Once a rabble rouser, always a rabble rouser, but never a murderer. By the time I had managed to sort through the chaos of his explanations and convinced him to help me defend the Village by leading the way to the tower in question, doors were opening and what radio stations remained on air were buzzing with the news. And when we heard of the casualty, I saw my brother break more. What if it was his fault, he urged…what if by not feeding the G-Men crucial information about anybody who might be present at the scene that day, he was responsible? It took me an hour just to calm him, although he wouldn't accept my alternative theory — that if the G-Men were truly responsible, they had intended for this to happen.
He ran out on me, and I didn't see him again for 2 days. By then, the post office had also been hit. When Ichirou returned, as I so desperately hoped he would, he carried a tortured look in his eyes. I’d never seen a truly haggard teenager until that day. He told me he feared for his life — that the G-Men were going to win the war and, when they did, that they were going to come after him. That or his own family would find out the truth and both sides would then have to fight over who would get to string him up as a traitor first. Ichirou had known that I wouldn’t tell anybody. I don’t know how, as I felt like I barely knew him, but he was right.
I was torn between fraternity and duty, that latter of which I valued so highly, but chose the former instead. It was my duty to catch those responsible, but a frantic and fearful older brother who simply wanted to do the right thing, who had been exploited by individuals that knew how to tug on the heartstrings like master puppeteers, was no prime suspect. Then again, he was no true victim either. So in that grey area, it was my foolish, stupid sibling love that won the day. Even now, I don’t know if I would have acted any differently. I didn't help him escape the Village, but I didn’t stop him either. I turned a blind eye and it hurt like nothing I had ever experience. That was his punishment and mine all rolled into one. And then he was gone.
Reinforcements
Age: 11-13
Telling my parents that Ichirou had fled from the Village felt like a necessary evil. They had to know, but it killed them to find out. Giving him space had been their way of extending an olive branch to their wayward son — they had never intended to ward him off so completely. I wish that I could have spared them his story. Had I been old enough, I might have spun a tale that portrayed Ichirou in a more favourable light, perhaps gone to help the countryfolk recover from skirmishes that touched upon their homes and livelihoods. But coming clean was the best thing I could have done — I couldn’t have held onto that secret for this long and not been driven mad by guilt on the verge of treason.
Man, I say it a lot, but “I was still young”, and, as much as I wanted to support my brother, I wanted to do right by my family, as well as my country. I always fall back on that excuse though, don't I? I must have said it half a dozen times already: I was young so this, or so that, but it was true. Thirteen should be old enough to take responsibility for your actions, shouldn’t it? But, honestly, I was going through a period when I was in a state of forced dependence, shaped by the adults to be their prodigious rising star, and even decisions that were seemingly my own had mapped as part of a predetermined path to greatness.
No, it wasn’t the easiest time for me. The pressure was mounting but for what I couldn’t tell at the time. And then, unsurprisingly, it all came crashing down around me when I owned up to the way I had handled Ichirou’s situation. My parents’ disappointment was tinged with respect for my act of mercy, but stung like a hornet to the heart all the same, and the clan leaders even turned their attention from supporting me towards suppressing the incident, a cold shoulder, protective but punitive. That lasted for a good while because, while not unforgivable, my action, or rather my inaction had shaken them, and maybe cleared the fog of presumption from their eyes. I had some of my brother in me after all — call it a family trait — and heavy handed control was clearly no longer the way forward. That sensation dwindled. Obviously, the opposite was also highly dangerous.
The compromise was more of a guiding hand, cautious at first but ultimately helping me to make my own way. I tell you though, it was not a good time to be making my first real, standalone steps into the big bad world of adult decisions. But step I did. Off a cliff.
I was hit hard in the first six months, shortly after my 12th birthday, when my squad-mate, Hideo — a good guy — was killed in action during a skirmish with G-Men, followed only a few days later by Mana, who had been travelling to her family’s home in the wake of our battle to bring them into the Village for safety. I remember…I was quite literally rendered mute in the days following, even as the Brass swiftly placed me into a new squad. My new teammates could hardly blame me though; we had all lost people to be there, and although numbers were being beefed up to 4 per team, it felt so clinical, less for our protection and more a way to recycle, reuse, return to battle.
We were all inexperienced, embittered, fire-cracker shinobi; it was a walking disaster waiting to happen! When I realised this, I broke my silence. As the ‘Number One Rookie’, I saw it as my job to keep us together, keep us strong, and keep us looking forward, not back. Saying it wasn't enough though, because even as I tried to rally the others behind this kind of optimism, they were voicing their dissent, losing the will to follow a leadership that couldn’t truly guarantee the success of its plans. And if the Raikage’s judgment was as impaired as people believed it to be, what did that say of our mortality rate?
I remember wishing, briefly, that I could be pawn instead of a knight, and not trapped between two hostile sides with no middle ground. I heard my teammates’ reasons, and measured them in my stride, as any intelligence operative would. Yet I was still unwilling to lose faith in Konishi. Call it clan honour, if you will, but I was adamant that a leader showing signs of weakness was no reason to oppose them. Not everyone could be strong all the time. In fact, even the most powerful people needed help to do their jobs well, and sometimes because they were so powerful — because of that gargantuan pressure that I imagine all leaders feel. I felt it, even on the small scale.
It was the pressure that was the problem: expose the flaws within the system that have destabilised the balance of power and you alleviate the symptoms of rebellion. The very vocal Nagai Jyushin was one of those flaws. And as far as my own situation was concerned, I chose to throw myself into active duty as much as possible. Our flaw, I figured, was fear. Courage was the answer — that and experience, which we needed desperately if we were to function cohesively and stand any chance of survival. By defying danger, and urging my teammates to increasingly fly in the face of that fear, mission after mission, I channeled their hair-trigger, powder-keg, knife-edge-walking mentality into something we could use: a band of daredevils who would rather die on our feet, avenging our fallen comrades until we went to meet them.
Each time we were deployed, we came back stronger and surer. I, myself, was growing increasingly fond of my Magnetic Fist. There was something almost therapeutic and poetic in punching G-Men with fists imbued with my electric spirit, and the expert manoeuvrability granted by the art was ridiculously helpful in rescue operations when we were sent in to tackle the Hima blaze. That effort, in particular, was good for us because, tactile therapy aside, the act of helping our country in a way that didn’t directly pit us against fellow countrymen was a non-destructive way for us to work as a team, and bond over something other than fighting… Life, actually; survival and recovery. Which, speaking of, brings me to something else — someone else that I want to talk about.
Rolemodels
Age: 13
You see, despite Ichirou’s disappearance, all was not lost in House Shoda. My sister Kei, the brightest spark I know, was then 11 years old and preparing for her academy graduation. She had taken an unorthodox route (for our family, at least), progressing through the Aka academy that Nagai had put in place before he had disappeared. Inspired by the desperate need to rebuild and rehabilitate after catastrophes like Hima and the damages incurred in a number of smaller settlements, her original designs to become a Field Engineer were replaced by the desire to help those at home and support the efforts of the Civil or Biomedical Engineering corps.
Her strength of character so closely matched her academy performance that she was already shaping up to become both the Red Body and Champion for her year group. My sister, once so timid, could probably have punched my lights out if I’d given her a reason to, and I recall making her promise to do just that if I ever faltered in my convictions back then, so it’s a good thing I didn’t!
She would have graduated sooner had Nagai’s trial not taken the wind out of her Koushaku’s sails and ground teaching to a halt for a time. Personally, I was relieved that the matter of his treason would be resolved through a fair enough trial. After all the dealings behind closed doors brought to light by the rogue sennin, which Aunt Kumiko claimed her sources knew nothing about, but which I wasn’t so sure about, I just wanted a decision to be made. A final verdict that would either condemn or exonerate Nagai as a flaw in the system. I made it my business to put as much distance between myself and gossip stemming from the trial as possible — out of sight, out of mind, out of duty. I wouldn’t have intrigue clouding my judgment; team leaders had to be better than that. Focused.
So when the sennin was released, the charges against him dropped, I was relieved that matters had been made clear, and Kei was overjoyed, Nagai having been one of her favourite teachers when she had first entered the academy. It was his revolution in education that had inspired her to follow her own compass and attend the Aka school, as much as it chagrined our parents and Aunt Kumiko. Of course, that was also the day that the Koushaku was rescheduled to take place, irrespective of its architect’s fate. A symbolic event in either circumstance, it marked a celebration of tradition and ongoing duty for its young competitors.
Sadly, Kei lost out on the ‘Number One Rookie’ slot, but was promoted to genin with approvals across the board. Part of a freshly-minted success story, she was placed in a brand new unit alongside her former contender for the title — the kid from Aoi academy. Us genin needed hope among our ranks, which were dwindling faster than we wanted to accept, and even my squad was an outlier. We were just getting by. Caught up in the spotlight, and the rush of the moment, we couldn’t find fault with the Brass’ plan. I certainly didn’t see it until it was too late. We were all just so happy for Kei. Well, that was the point of it all. I just think whoever planned it didn’t get very far past inception, or was a few doses shy of reality. Kei’s squad, dubbed ‘Team Cloud’, was whisked out of harm’s way before they had a chance test themselves in real conflict and was instead tasked with a publicity stunt…in Matsuri City, for the Festival of Freedom.
I’ll admit that somewhere, someone had a kernel of the right idea, because her arrival had a galvanising effect on public opinion towards shinobi, and even brought smiles to my squad mates. It calmed our riotous hearts, but only for a moment, it seemed.
If Raikage Konishi had had any inkling of the catastrophe about to occur, he would have pulled them back. Even sensing the danger, steps should have been taken to protect them. They were caught in the middle of it. The bombs went off, hell broke loose, and Kei told me she’d never been that out of her depth before in her life. It was all their sensei could do keep them together and try to organise them well enough to help evacuate the area. However, when the smoke cleared and the genin team that had actually been able to limit the destruction was revealed, the uselessness of Team Cloud was made apparent. And Kei…far be her from useless…she believed the masses too. If it had been me, and not her, who had had both my legs and parts of my lower spine crushed beneath falling masonry, I don’t know if I could reasoned any differently. The team was hounded from the city, forced into anonymity. The Number One Rookie was retired to a desk job, and Kei to the hospital. I don’t know what happened to the others, but that’s probably for the best — I like to think that means they're safe.
At the beginning, it looked like Kei’s spirit might take almost as long to recuperate as it would her body. She was adamant that she hadn’t been strong enough to do her job, walling herself away from most visitors and taking as much responsibility as she could for her own recovery. For the first few months, even my visitation was sparing, to say the least, and I worried that she would let the guilt dismantle her loving personality until there was nothing left but spare parts. But I clearly didn’t know my sister, because that wasn’t what happened. Sure, she took everything to heart, but she also learned from what had been done to her, or rather that which she had allowed to be done to her. She wouldn’t let anyone else decide be the judge of when she was ready for redeployment, and chose to focus her incredible talents in biomedical engineering, designing and constructing her means of one day walking out of the hospital.
And me? I didn’t know who to blame. Not her — never her. Sure, the G-Men had detonated the bombs that had killed so many, but with such an important mission for Team Cloud in the works, how had the shinobi forces not taken better precautions? Frankly, I didn't know where to best direct my abundant anger, so I funnelled it into my training. I think a lot of my friends were doing the same. It’s not like we could take the fight back to the government forces. We were practically corralled in the Hidden Village for the duration of the anti-war protests, successful teams like ours suddenly deemed too valuable to lose. Where was that caution for Kei? She’d needed it. Not us. But with, Tadashi, our team sensei repurposed to take care of damage control in the countryside, our wings were clipped. And then he got it too…killed in yet another protest trap orchestrated by the G-Men. It felt like our side was running around blind out there. Where was the intelligence? Why did this stuff keep happening to us?
There were no answers, and in the growing age of misinformation, there were now no assurances. My family branch suddenly became super-protective of Kei and myself — me in particular — but I couldn’t see why. I mean, my parents, my aunt, uncle, cousins…they were all still practising shinobi. If there was a chance that anyone could rally the genin, it would be teams like ours, but my arguments fell on deaf ears. Paranoid ears. And I began to wonder if there something they weren’t telling me, but realised that if I let my own paranoia take control, I might never climb out from its doom spiral. So I freed myself from the uncertainty; I accepted my lot for the time being, taking it as a reprieve from the plague of second-guessing my superiors. I realised that I couldn’t afford to compromise my loyalty and I couldn’t afford a flaw in my system that might compound this show of weakness.
I suddenly found myself with more time than I had ever had before, and I had no idea what to do with it. As a child of war and a child of royalty, a prince among fallen kings, I had been given so little time to be boy when I was younger. I realised, quite agonisingly, that all I knew was how to be a soldier. I didn’t even know who I was without that.
Kei seemed to know who she was so completely, so I spent as much time with my sister as I could. Civilian clothing was so foreign to me that every time I went to see her, I was dressed in something different, experimenting with all the fashions of civility that I had denied myself. And, I guess, having always been so neat and precise in my military gear, that I naturally gravitated towards good grooming and clothing that just seemed to fit.
I wasn’t the only one reevaluating the life I had lived. It was a pause in the storm, and people could think for the first time about how they were prepared to band together and ready themselves for whatever came next. Some of us, I suppose, took this further than others. I don’t exactly know how it happened, but I started getting a lot of attention from girls — genin, like me, who had grown up devoted to duty and the needs of the many, rather than the needs of just the one. Or the two. I remember the things they told me, complements they’d probably never given a boy beyond the way it related to his duty. Maybe some had; they came at me with all sorts of intensities. I wrote a few things down back then, keeping the good things safe in a notebook I’d bought: things like “electric charisma” — that was the best one, actually — and “gentleman-like”, “driven”…“the hotness”. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed, because I’m sitting here blushing despite hearing pretty much the same thing these days!
This was a new kind of uncertainty for me. I was swamped! Girls my age, older…even drawing looks from chuunin. What was I meant to do with that? Well, the answer did start to grow quite clear at I…embraced things. I went on a few dates, had my first kiss, got in trouble with my parents for the first, second and…fifth time. As much as I hated the circumstances that had led me there, I was having a time of my life. Sadly, well…predictably, that came to an end with Nagai’s declaration of open rebellion. And there went my control on a situation in my life.
My clan, true to form, sided with the Raikage, thus continuing to honour the terms of our return from exile, and began the second exodus of my childhood. Most children don’t even have one. But the southern city of Jishaku apparently had our name on it, so off we merrily trundled.
Fall of the G-Men / Resistance
Settlers
Age: 14
I count myself among the fortunate genin to survive the scattering of the Cloud tribes. Now a fragmented nation, torn between the Raikage’s new Hidden Village of Jishaku City and Nagai’s encampment in the Holy Grounds, many teams were split apart, either by their families or broken from within by conflicting ideology. My squad remain intact, loyal not only to our leader but to each other. We maintained this bond during our reassignment to the different divisions’ personal tutors to train up our skills for the inevitable Three Faction War. I was assigned an Investigator, picked at random from the Intelligence division, and boy, did he have his work cut out for him!
He tried to convince me that his division had been the most important player in staving off G-Men offensives, preventing all those unheard-of incidents that would have otherwise overtaxed the Combat division. Of course, his division didn’t feel like mine, despite our aligned skill sets, when I knew that the fault lay with those who had failed to weed out those responsible in the first place, thus allowing cracks to form in the command structure that would widen as greed and doubt bloomed. No one was blameless, but a more efficient and objective internal affairs department might have prevented the situation from progressing this far.
However, I did everything I could to absorb his other lessons, from standard operations protocol to holding, cross-examination and even interrogation tactics, the latter having grown in importance during wartime. It was a drop in the bucket of what I’ve picked up since, but it was a start. And when my tutor presented his instructions of form and function, I was quick so spot the cookie-cutter explanations. I had been trained well by Aunt Kumiko, remaining wary of deceit in all its forms, whether intentional or simply a bi-product of indoctrination. Yet for all my apparent insight, I still felt like a simple observer. For all of my battlefield experience, I was still just a member of the crowd, cheering on the real combatants from the sidelines.
When I came to think of it, I realised that I had had so little impact on the changing world around me. Truly, I understood the why of the secession, and the how, and in each of those instances, my active role had neither helped nor hindered on the grandest of scales, where all the events of substance seemed to play out. What I wanted to know, beyond simple principles of investigation, was how I could actually prevent things from getting worse, as nothing seemed to be getting better. Our prior plans had failed, we had retreated and, if the same people continued to make the same decisions, our power might even decline further. The bolts of inspiration and epiphany were long overdue among our leaders.
I made the most of the stillness, of the brief time we now had to acclimatise ourselves to our new settings, before we began killing our former brothers-in-arms. Reclaiming my hard-won private life, I would either spend time with the family, as a son, nephew, brother and cousin, or explore the emerging opportunities of my new home with, dare I say it, friends outside my team. Granted, most were fellow clansmen and women of the different branches — we were force of solidarity during and after the move — but a few of the old…sparks, I suppose, were still looking for a distraction. That was all I could provide. I was completely thrown by the fact that I might very well be forced to fight any number of the girls who had gone with Nagai. Would that impair my judgment and stay my hand at crucial point? I prayed that I would never have to find out, because I was scared that the answer would be ‘no’.
There were things that I did want to know, though, like whether Ichirou was surviving out there in the war-torn world. In my heart, I believed that he was alive. It was a kind of faith that I had never really exercised much, having been brought up with the express understanding that evidence should alway inform a verdict. If anything did turn up in the official reports, my parents would have told me. I know it. So even if Ichirou had found his way to somewhere like Hima for work before the bombings, or to one of the villages hit by the G-Men, no news wasn’t necessarily bad news. So I held out hope.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Memory Fragment II
My sister always did bring out the best in me. The more I saw her, the more I came to understand myself. I’ll always remember this one sunny afternoon when we sat together by the window of her room. It was in the recovery ward of the clan’s new medical facility, one of the perks of loyalty.
Kei was showing me the prototype for one of her new legs. It was later in the evening, so the sun was coming in at just the right angle, slipping across the sill and bathing her invention in a warm orange light. It was a bioengineered contraption that responded to the electrical impulses sent by the body’s nerve endings, her own damaged, yes, but not irreparable. I was floored by the level of complexity and by the thought of her, maybe one day soon, actually walking out that door. Maybe it was my excitement, or my happiness, that did it — the genuine stuff so rare those days — but something happened. I did something…unprecedented.
The radio on the windowsill, which was warbling along with some news bulletin, just shorted out with a burp of smoke, while Kei’s new leg practically kicked the air, nearly jumping out of her hands with a fizz of yellow sparks. She cried out and I leapt to protect her, but she was quicker to regain her composure and held me back, calming herself. We sat there, utterly confused, until she yelped and pointed to a tiny boomerang of golden electricity arching around the back of my hand, and then a second one apparently curving over my shoulder.
I had a Lightning Body. The more I thought about it (which was a lot), the more I suspected that this was the reason my family had been so protective of me, and the more I wished that they had simply told me, as if trying to awaken the bloodline limit would have been its undoing. Then again, had they known or merely based their assumption on my knack for lightning conduction? To this day, I still haven't been able to get a straight answer. All I knew was that maybe I could do something after all. Maybe I could be more than I’d thought I could be; if there was symbolism to be had in anything, it was in this. I turned my energies back to training, and Aunt Kumiko was all too happy to take me under her wing. I suppose it wasn't an option, but I liked to imagine that I had a measure of authority. The rarity of my bloodline limit had just redefined my status in the clan.
I doubled down and worked hard to master my Denji Soujuu, already a natural with my element (if I do say so myself), and advanced quickly. By the time news arrived that Nagai had taken the mantle of Lightning Lord and that we were to march on Sakoshi City, I had perfected my basic control and was raring to return to active duty, as were my estranged squad mates. As far as I was concerned, the end of the war began now. The past was behind us and my role, through which I might actually do some tangible good, was just beginning. Despite our time apart, we fell back into the rhythm of war with ease, and I was ready to fight for my new way of life.
Defenders
Age: 15
Almost immediately following my Rite of Crowning, I joined my mom and other members of the clan as we made fast for the city of Sakoshi at the Raikage’s bidding. Taking part in my first real mass deployment, I would be bringing the fight to the G-Men whilst showing my overprotective family just how well I could take care of myself. I could see their reasoning for holding me back — made more necessary, they argued, by Ichirou’s absence and Kei’s withdrawal from active duty. I saw that. I got it. It didn’t mean I totally forgave them, though.
Like uncaged birds, my squad and I verily flew in our new roles. We were assigned to the primary assault of Sakoshi’s upper city, followed by the act of clearing any lingering G-Men from the lower city. Our enemies had little time to prepare, and even less strength to weather the siege, what with their reinforcements cut off by Nagai’s sacking of Gaika. That was bad news for us in the long run, but, at that time, all my thoughts were on the battle. Even my own squad met little in the way of serious resistance, planning and teamwork winning the day, and decisive victories all round rallying those in the country who still supported us, as well as a good number of those on the fence.
I stayed in Sakoshi for the next month, only returning home briefly as escort so that my sister could safely visit the city of her dreams while we held it. I had to request special permission from Hideyoshi himself, but when Aunt Kumiko informed me that he had agreed to clear it with the higher ups, I could have easily fainted from the shock. It was an unthinkable kindness in a time of war, but perhaps one which I had earned. We generally had little cause to be happy at that point. Although intel that Nagai was strengthening his base of power and his ‘legitimacy’ between Gaika and the Holy Grounds gave us Cloud shinobi time to consolidate our new position, it meant that, when he did come, it could very well be like the sky raining bricks.
I knew that the lower levels would be rich with technological inspiration just waiting to be mined by her insatiable mind, and my parents agreed. My mom brought her for an initial period of a few days, but our supposedly short window of opportunity lengthened as our sources revealed that Nagai was taking his time. Three days became two weeks, and Kei, who was in her element from Day 1, lapped up every iota of scientific substance she possibly could, practically gorging herself on the stuff, her lateral thinking giving even the resident inventors pause for thought. All the while, she was developing her biomechanical legs towards full prototype status.
She almost had a viable model by the time she left. I wish we’d had longer; seeing her walk again would have made my decade. Instead, it became the reward to my survival — a sight only for eyes that lived long enough to see it. My teammates Katashi and Miwa joined me to escort Kei on the trip back to Jishaku. They too, wished to use the time to visit their families, in case it was the last chance they might have. My mom’s presence in Sakoshi more than shored up the gap in manpower left by our departure. At that point, she was still a Chuunin, but apparently one of the best in the village. I didn’t doubt that reputation but I’d never actually seen it verified. Well, wouldn’t you know…I was about to!
We made it back the very next day, but barely within our window. We thought we had more time, that we were cautiously ahead of schedule, but timeframes had shifted in our absence: first the enemy’s, then our own. I received a static-filled radio communique from my mom first thing in the morning and we were out of there like steam from an engine. Little did we know, but Nagai’s army was hot on our tails, attempting to jam frequencies between Jishaku and Sakoshi, and closer than anyone could have anticipated. We realised just how close when we entered the last stretch of land en route to the city and caught sight of the veil of dust kicked up by an army that was only a handful of kilometres behind us.
That still comes up — people like to pretend it was me that Nagai was chasing. Some jest for the sheer insanity of the idea, but others joke as if drawing from a kernel of truth. I don’t doubt that the front runners were aware of our little three-man cell, but no way were we a priority on their list. We were one on the Cloud nin’s though. That’s for sure. They had held off on a complete lockdown just for us, mostly at the behest of the city’s rather large portion of Shoda clansmen, and the three of us were equal parts honoured and ashamed that we’d become this liability. Still, once we were safely inside and I was reunited with my mom in the upper levels, I was equal parts relieved and excited instead.
The Siege of Sakoshi did not disappoint, nor did my mom. It was incredible, watching her throw great volumes of lightning in defensive jutsu interceptions, then vanish only to reappear, sprinting and leaping along the city’s great bridges towards the front lines of the enemy, which bristled like a wall of cockroaches on the lip of the chasm. It was the first time we had, effectively, fought side by side, but it was all I could do to keep up as best I could. Covering her six with my Raiton and projectiles, I ventured out into the fray as far as I dared until the encroaching Chuunin and Jounin forced me to retreat.
I remember, I would take refuge both on the top and undersides of the bridges, which was also where the combat medics prepped under cover to extract fallen front-liners. I was able to maintain this function for the first hour, if I remember correctly, but as the siege lengthened and Nagai’s numbers continued to swell, my mom saw fit to send me further back, despite my many protests. Of the Shoda present, there were perhaps a dozen bloodline users, all trained to varying degrees but all in possession of far more control than I could lay claim to. To those without, however, I was the big fish, so I chose to lead my cousins as best I could.
The rest of my squad — Katashi, Miwa and Usagi, the final member — were spread over Sakoshi at this point, loosely based around their division functions whereas I remained attached more to my clan. I therefore assembled a new unit — one of Gekko’s, two of Rikiya’s, a Matabei and a Naoya — to undertake a mission of support. We would gather whatever small, portable electronic devices we could lay our hands on, including batteries, which were in abundant supply around the city, and distribute them to whichever Raikoukikan adepts were in need of a second or third wind.
We thought we were all that. I should have remembered — should have predicted — that our side’s flawed intelligence would undermine our position yet again. The defences seemed impenetrable, but we were shortsighted, naive. We had failed to anticipate a more subtle incursion. We forget. We forget that ninjas are not soldiers. At our core, we are children of the night, students of subterfuge and debilitating interference. It was all flashy lights on our side but Nagai’s strategists had found substance and, if anything, I’ll give them credit for that. But for nothing else.
Bypassing the battlefront was a clever move, and I still don’t know how they did it, but, for whatever reason, were had moles in our midst. When they finally made their move, I was there, having travelled down the Grey Obelisk to the Lower City in order to ferry battery crates to the surface. From then on, it was an uphill battle — a retreat. We all knew it; those of us in the lower city were clearly outmatched by this cream of the crop, even with our numbers. Harangued at every turn by guerrilla tactics, we made it to the last freight elevator. I chose to wait; we still had people down there.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Memory Fragment III
I remember scanning the downhill slope leading straight to us while we sat in our rat-trap of an exit strategy, a poorly-wrapped parcel of wounded genin and chuunin ripe for the picking. I remember pain-ridden cries, and vehement calls for us to make haste, to escape while we could. I blocked it out. I was in charge, being the most able-bodied one there. I had asserted myself; my Lightning Body crackled with bottled rage, quietening all but those most fearful for their lives. I couldn’t believe they could be so selfish when the screams echoing up the slopes from the lower levels drowned out our own. Or maybe it was just me hearing those. One chuunin in particular — I’ve since put his name from my mind, the bastard — was commanding me to go, to the extent that I had to restrain him, grabbing a fistful of his shinobi vest and pushing him to the floor.
We were able to save two more of our brothers because of that. Harried by the enemy frontrunners, who were finally close enough to quell my hesitation, they leapt through the gap in the doorway and I cranked the release lever down. We shot up the shaft, outpacing our pursuers. I wish I had chosen that moment to sit down, but I couldn’t. Fear and adrenaline kept me upright even though my knees were shaking. My hand was slick to the elevator controls but wouldn’t budge, even when we reached the top and filed out into the loading bay. It took one the kids I had saved to pull me out, and I collapsed on the floor just beyond the doors, snapping to my senses when my head knocked against one of the retrieved battery crates.
I then watched as two of our rear guards stuck explosive notes to the elevator walls and disconnected the brakes through an outside panel, jury rigged for just such an occasion. Other Cloud nin would likely be doing the same for the rest of the shafts, loading the compartments with just enough explosive to blow out their sides upon impact without damaging the Obelisk’s superstructure. I got up. I pushed on. Everyone else was doing the same, so I was no exception. But that damn chuunin took exception, shoving his way past me with an arm over a fellow escapee’s shoulder. He clamoured, I took the abuse. You do things in war: things that may be uncharacteristic, unseemly, unsound, and saying that they are what they are because of war doesn't make them right, but it does go a long way to explaining them.
I suppose I thought we deserved some kind of respite at that point, but we had no such luck. Word of a similar infiltration in the Upper City soon spread to the loading bay floor, where I was stocking up on batteries and portable devices, my Matabei and Naoya cousins from before still able-bodied enough to assist. I was bleeding from just above my eye, and had a medical trainee tending to the injury as I strapped on additional weight. There was panic in the air, but I pushed it away. I couldn’t afford to lose my tether on reality now. My mom needed me, my clan, my brothers and sisters in arms, my country… It was so much extra pressure, but like coal to diamond, I used it to concentrate my willpower in order to pursue a pinpoint of purpose. Help them.
We dumped the remainder of the electronics into the duffel bags on hand, swung them over our shoulders and set off to find the rest of our clan. Emerging into bright, white daylight on the East side of the city, in an alcove between the bay and an administrative building, we were nearly blown off our feet by an explosion just North of us that obliterated a portion of the bridge there. Resisting the bubble of hot air that rushed to meet us, the Matabei kid shouldered his way forward. He held the Naoya girl behind him protectively as I scrambled to search the medics rushing past us for family members in need of a recharge.
I barely had six or seven seconds to do so before the wall of the administrative building that bordered the walkway erupted in a horizontal column of fire. Half of the medical response team was either blasted over the edge and into the canyon or burned to a crisp, while the three of us were sent rocketing back into the wall of the loading bay exit. The structures around us shook as similar coordinated attacks detonated — it wasn't just my brain rattling around my skull. I drew on the electrical charge in my own supplies for sustenance, righting my balance and recovering a semblance of my eyesight. Ears still ringing, I crawled over to where my teammates lay by the wall.
Mamoru was dead… The back of his head was in pieces where it had struck the metal frame of the loading bay’s retracted doors. My heart and body sagged as one then curled up, with such white hot anger clenched in my fists that it put the fires of our undoing to shame. I remember that moment so well, I could write volumes on the smell of charred skin and burnt blood swirling through the air, on the pounding of my own eardrums, of the exact shape, size and glowing intensity of embers that had drifted to the ground. But I could not fully describe nor explain how hope returned to my battered body too. How I found Naomi curled up safely beneath Mamoru’s bear-like form, immobile but breathing, and how I somehow found the strength to pick her up and carry her back into the bay, returning to do the same for Mamoru out of a respect for his hero’s death — a respect that I will carry with me until the day that I, too, meet my end.
It would not be that day.
The Yellow Offensive
Leaders
Age: 15-16
Our flight from Sakoshi was yet another tortuous process, one that cost us dearly in the forces that remained. Even the Fallen Kings of Cloud didn't come away unscathed. Including Mamoru, we lost six in the siege and two in our retreat, their eternal sparks returned to the heavens. It could have been me. If I’d been carrying less, or standing closer to the wall when the bomb had detonated, it might have been me instead. Is it luck to survive when it’s misfortune that puts you in the vicinity in the first place?
I made it back to Jishaku in one piece, more or less, and was issued fresh orders to fortify the Hidden Village almost immediately. We had no time to grieve except on the job, but for the sake of those around me, new faces and old, I suppressed my sorrow during the long days that followed, giving myself the chance to cry at night until I couldn’t tell the difference between dreamless sleep and the numbing stupor of loss. It was Kei who finally reached me, finding me in one of the houses below the wall, which we were clearing out to use as staging areas for reinforcements. She knew a little something about pain like this — about being out of her depth, of trying to do the right thing in the wrong circumstances and for hating both herself and the forces that had put her there. For the first time since Matsuri City, she opened up to me with all of her anger, hatred and guilt, such that I had never seen her display before. But she told me her secret.
I had seen them before. I had seen them in her strength of character, in the way she had put herself to work for herself, in her refusal to call it quits. They had been her stepping stones, and she had forced them beneath the heels of her imaginary legs to bend their primordial essence to her will. She said that I could do the same. She said that I could do it better. Where she now had a viable, working chance to walk again, I could have something for myself. I could have my revenge. Or maybe I could figure out what the hell it was that I was doing with my life: who I was, where I stood, what I believed, what I wanted.
What I wanted was for Kei to walk again. That was one thing. And if I could help the Hidden Village survive the winter, then it meant that her training placement with the biomedical units would have a better chance of yielding fruit. Until I could figure out something else that I wanted for myself, that was my goal. Survival for Kei, survival for the clan, and survival to spite the enemy. That’s who they were now; they had made their intentions clear.
They had also made a clear statement of their strength. They could crush us — they could. Even Jishaku was vulnerable now. Nagai had the run of the country while we had our final bastion. Everyone could see the reality for what it was, but I don’t think anyone wanted to believe it. We needed hope and we needed a chance in hell, because that was where the rumour mill had us pegged to wind up. And to get that, we needed people willing to fight for more than just their lives. I’m going to be honest — people were doubting the Raikage even from within the ranks. More than usual. I’m not going to say who, nor have I ever, but it was a legitimate concern. I’m sure he was aware of it too, though, or he wouldn’t have responded as he did.
In order to bolster morale and strengthen our depleted command structure, Raikage Denryuu II enacted a wave of promotions for distinguished shinobi, elevating the worthy to a probationary status that could be reviewed once we had won the war. I was nominated by my squad and by my clan, but I was one of many. Not all were chosen. However, as a Raikoukikan adept, my Lightning Body presented a powerful symbol of divine right behind which troops would rally. I think it was this special circumstance as well as the impassioned argument put forward by my friends and family that actually landed me the position. Although I was less convinced, who was I to argue with a whole clan of elders that saw otherwise. I was strong, I knew that much. But was I ready? Did I want this?
Well, desire or no, I was promoted. And I would have to figure out how to reconcile my doubts sooner rather than later, because there was no time for indecision when you held lives in your hands. Two days after my sixteenth birthday — the coldest one in memory — I was made a chuunin, as well as a team leader for a new four-man cell. Naturally, Katashi, Miwa and Usagi filled in the positions. If you saw the photo I stuck to the first page, it was taken just after the ceremony, when I was still reeling. And about three seconds later, I was glomped by the lot of them, pretty much dispelling all the awkwardness I was feeling right off the bat. It helped. Our bond had grown close over the years and we were strong together. The series of conditions under which we had first assembled and those that we had since weathered had been the equivalent of crucibles lined up like a row of shot glasses. This wasn’t the last hurrah — the dirty pint chaser at the end — but we had had little time to assure ourselves. Nagai made his move two days later.*
But something strange, something even more surprising, happened before that. For the last few months, the Hidden Village had become a fortress to all those citizens who feared for their safety in the countryside if they were found to support the Raikage. Part of my job had been to set up a refugee camp within the walls, erecting tents, supplying blankets, provisions, that sort of thing. But we only had the space we did because permissions had grown so strict in the wake of the Sakoshi debacle. People were being turned away by the dozens each day. Well, now, who should arrive one day but a young man claiming to be one of ours? I was delivering a different missive to Aunt Kumiko when word arrived that a refugee by the name of Shoda Ichirou was requesting her presence at the main gate. Wordless, we rushed to validate this claim, although my aunt ordered me to keep my distance when we were within a stone’s throw of the guard house. Did she seriously think that I was a liability? I know what she told me after the fact, but it struck me as borderline untrustworthy. Maybe she had part of a point, as it had been me who had turned a blind eye before, but that was then.
The guards were wary of releasing him into Aunt Kumiko’s custody, having found his behaviour suspicious. Apparently, he had been sticking to the centre of the influx, head bowed and hooded, offering his identity only after multiple rounds of questioning. It took a call from Hisashi himself to get the men to relinquish him. Aunt Kumiko took him directly to the clan headquarters to explain himself. I trailed after, my other responsibilities placed on hiatus. Maybe she was right; I was putting him first already. I just had to see him, but I was only able to share a single, brief moment of connection, our eyes meeting for a second before he was pulled into the clan council chambers. I hoped beyond hope that he recognised the sense of support I so desperately tried to convey. He was older, taller, and just as haggard, but unmistakably Ichirou, and...my brother. Our family was reunited… But at what cost?
Invaders
Age: 16
Nagai’s army descended on the citadel of Jishaku the very next day, less like the hawk and prey analogy that I’m sure he imagined, our preparations being what they were, but in considerable force nonetheless. Our lookouts counted more shinobi battalions than anticipated, some of them unrecognisable, which, understandably, put us on edge. Much of our training had involved reacting to Cloud-based techniques and tactics. Thus, we would have to be unnaturally vigilant — with leaders like myself heading that initiative.*
Most of the Genin forces had been put on standby as second and third lines of defence within the walls, should the primary flanks be breached. They were to be commanded by newly promoted chuunin like myself, allowing veteran units to man the front lines. With the few good decisions I made at Sakoshi fresh in my mind, I assigned a portion of my genin ‘troops’ to running supplies to and from the front, placing those placing those medically inclined within a second group for triage duty. These two forces would effectively traverse the field of battle in waves, covering as much of the distance between the ground and the upper wall as possible to provide a sustained presence. My fellow team leaders agreed that this was a good plan, while one of the older chuunin suggested that a third line should be put in place to better defend the city’s non-shinobi inhabitants. This would leave the most capable genin fighters to actively patrol the area in the middle where the enemy might reach if they broke through the walls.*
Given the inherent danger in manning this final region, doing so would fall to the us, the chuunin captains. And my squad wouldn’t have had it any other way. With me in charge, they said they felt invincible. Whether that was true or not wasn’t for me to question. If we all died that day, at least we’d go out on an all time high.
When Nagai’s point men did finally break through, we gave them a reception to remember. Ours was a campaign of Shock and Awe. The heaviest offence our infantry forces could muster went first, going in fast and hard and stunning the invaders before the second line, composed of more experienced squads like my own, entered the fray as the enduring hard hitters. Here, the supply details were able to circle round behind whichever group of infiltrators were closest, supported by the units we had assigned to protect the medics. This allowed us to contain the breachers in pockets of intense melee combat. Fighting tooth, nail and electric current in these hotspots, we were able to whittle down the bigger groups, killing off the chaff and pursuing the wheat with our individual teams.
The thick of the battle therefore took place among the buildings closest to the wall. My own squad split into two: Katashi, our heavy hitter and Decaying Fist user pairing off with me, while Miwa, an assassin, and Usagi, our genjutsu specialist, combined their deadly talents.
It might seem strange, how I can remember parts of that day as clearly as I recall writing the last paragraph, while some hours have just faded into nothing. I suppose that, as a fully fledged child of war by that point, I was less shocked by the atrocities therein, and I saw more death that day than I’ve seen since. You know what? I’m actually glad that I can block some of it out. Some things don’t need to be remembered. But some things do. The first half hour that we spent chasing the intruders are little more than a blur to me now, but at one point, and I’d say this is the moment where things got kicked up a notch, events started engraving themselves onto my brain.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Memory Fragment IV
I was pitched in a frenzied bout of hand-to-hand and kunai-to-kunai combat with a Cloud traitor on the side of a building, our legs striving for superior footing on the vertical surface in the face of gravity, as if we were still on the ground but being pulled to one side by ropes around our waists. I finally managed to take out the guy’s legs by dazing him with my Electric Body, and I vaulted to the street while he fell, rushing forward to drive a knee into his chest as he stumbled to his feet. I wouldn’t give him and inch, and kept him pinned there while I threw fist after fist after elbow into his face even while he tried to push me off. A kunai to the throat, up under the chin, put an end to that.*
It was a good thing my EM field was up though, because anyone else might have thought to congratulate themselves for the win, but with me it was non-stop. I could sense the metal on someone behind me, 10 feet away, and ducked down without hesitation, doubling back as I crouched under a cloud of shuriken to throw myself in the direction of their belt buckle. Seeing a flash of enemy colours and going with my survival instinct, I spun my kunai from butt to blade and stabbed. And stabbed. I never saw their face; I was forced to dodge again before their body hit the floor, skating around my third assailant with all the grace that my 'M Fist' training could afford me and getting just within range to put her in a choke hold from behind, whereupon I started to squeeze.*
Katashi reappeared then, one side of his face sprayed thick with blood. There was so much of it, I was certain it had to have been someone else’s, but then you never know with the Decaying Fist… We had this ‘take no prisoners’ mindset that day (and you can kiss your innocence goodbye if that ever happens to you), meaning we dispatched the girl together and then tracked down the rest of our squad as quickly as we could. We knew we probably wouldn’t decide the day with our actions, but we’d be damned if we let anyone through who could, or who could assist those who could.*
We backtracked around this cleared out factory that used to provide jobs for the local neighbourhood, back when there was a community living there. It was this big, chimneyed building, all dark brown bricks and tall, pane glass windows, about six storeys high. The four of us had joined up there about five minutes prior, having finished off all but five of our prey by that point. We knew that three had gone our way, so Usagi and Miwa took the left fork at the building’s corner to track the others down.
We followed the path of destruction down the side of the building but were intercepted half way to the next block by two shadowy forms. They slipped into the street from a shattered door on the other side. We knew by now that Nagai had found allies among the Sound nomads, and had already seen some of their handiwork. They proved harder to kill, more unpredictable than the Cloud traitors. Their techniques were still new to us, though, and even this favoured trick of the dark, which we had seen before threw us momentarily. As the veils lifted and the nomads turned to charge, I discerned one about our age and another that might have been two or three years older. The older one — the bigger one — glared at my chest, seeing my chuunin vest, I imagine, and pointed to Katashi, whom the younger one, a redhead with tattoos down the side of his face, aimed for.
He then came at me, and although we had the home turf on our side, I couldn’t help but consider that I might be at a disadvantage. The doubt passed quickly — I was going to end him, somehow — but I don’t think I was naive enough to assume that just because I’d been promoted, I was suddenly anything more than the accomplished genin I had been the week before. It wasn't some magical power up that meant I could now take on all comers. It meant putting my best cards in play at all times and proving to myself that I wasn’t just another one of the Raikage’s misinformed judgment calls.*
Although, immediately, I faced my first setback; I didn’t realise that Sound nin could walk on smoke. He leapt up, over me, and while I prepared to fend off a ninjutsu attack, he had other ideas, and actually kicked off from the black gauze wafting overhead. Furthermore, he had no metal on him so my EM field was useless. I took a spinning kick to my raised guard, forearms shuddering with the impact, and stumbled back, fumbling to form a seal as he landed and pressed on.*
I managed to fire off a quick lightning bolt, like a gunshot from my fingertips, which caught his arm as he spun out of range, still advancing. I skated towards him in an electric slide, using the preternatural agility of my Magnetic Levitation to ignore burning debris in my way and come up from below as he swung his affected arm over my head. I then sent a little flurry of jabs into his exposed rib cage, testing the strength there before circling around behind him and raising my guard again. In the corner of my eye, grey smoke blossomed and I chanced a glance towards Katashi.*
He was coughing, and running along the building, chasing the small nomad, whose legs seemed to now be smoke. I had to make sure my foe didn’t get the same chance — I couldn’t afford to be running blind against this guy. I also couldn’t afford to get distracted like that again either. Big Nomad had chosen to get out of the alley and into the sky, hopping a current of smoke to get higher up the building and away from me. My game of electric tag probably spooked him; I was as surprised as he must have been.
I pursued him up the brickwork of the factory walls. We were about evenly paced as far as wall running was concerned, each with our own strengths. I’ll wager that he was something of a specialist at vertical climbing — his movements carried a certain effortless swing to them, using both the wall and the spiralling smoke to keep him out of my sights. By the time we reached the roof, I had gained on him and we were about five feet apart, but he turned, right on the gutter line, and swung his arms out wide to envelop both of us in darkness.*
I barrelled straight into it, hoping that, at best, I might be able to dive under his arms and get past him. But he got me — it must have been with the heel of his palm. I thought for sure I was moving fast enough, but his shot was so precise. It was a Smoke Zone. I felt him get me right between the shoulder blades, flooring me (well, roofing me), and I rolled back down the slope, only just managing to catch the lip and swing, side-first through the upper storey window below us.
I found myself in an attic space, dusty wooden floorboards, now littered with glass, below me and boxes piled high around me. He didn't waste any time either, and came through the window with a yell that sent my ear canals reeling. Up for only a moment, I dropped down to my knee painfully and took a solid fist to the cheek. That sent me sprawling. I pushed myself up to my knees but that just gave him more room to kick me in the stomach. It winded me, while the sheer force launched me into the air and, as I spun, I groggily saw this guy, with his hands to his mouth, belch out these dark blobs of smoke. At least, I think they were smoke. I haven't been able to find out what that technique is actually called, or what it does, but I got struck with two of them. The hit hard. I’m pretty sure they cracked something, and not just the glass of the window overlooking the factory interior, which I went through.*
Spinning, I managed to land against one of the tall steam towers that shot up like organ pipes from the factory floor. Sliding down and around its length, I pinned myself there with chakra, beaten but alive, and saw the dark shadow that followed me out pass the other side of the cylinder and land on another tower. He was looking for me. I rounded my own perch and clung to the far side, pain flaring in my ribs as I held the position to hide and slide down to the bottom.
While hiding in a blind spot served me well for the moment, my whereabouts would become all too obvious within seconds of his searching, so I dropped off the lip of the platform behind me and into the bowels of the factory’s machinery. The multi-storey pipe, and all others like it, perforated this large, metal cage on which I had stood, its upper face allowing factory technicians access to other levels, other dials. Inside the cage, I met a tangle of tubes, angular joints gleaming darkly. It was crowded down there, but there was room enough for me to move relatively unimpeded, given my smaller, slimmer, more agile form. I prepared to slip silently through the web of ancillary pipes, eyes darting around as well as up through the ceiling to the floor above, but it was then that I saw the sides of his sandals edging towards my position.*
I was trapped. There was no skirting around the cage without drawing attention to my movements, whilst going under it would be an arduous process, and my only advantage seemed to be my speed. I couldn't lose that. But I couldn’t escape. I felt sick, therefore, knowing that all I had left up my sleeve was a blaze of glory. Well, I’d had a good run, and lasted longer than most kids my age. Dying as a chuunin wouldn’t be too bad either, even if it wasn’t a real position.*
I don’t really know what guided my actions then: a force of habit; a force of inspiration; a force of nature? I sprinted up over the lip of the cage, my feet locking to the metal grating and propelling me forward in a Magnetic Rush that took him by surprise. He swung and missed, but was quick to turn about to where I had skidded to a halt behind him. I used his movement to my benefit, saluting back over his head in order to confuse him and pull his attention back to where I should land. I didn’t give him the satisfaction and threw out an electric hookshot, one of the perks of my Raikoukikan, which latched onto the ground right in front of him and cut my journey short. I came down right inside his guard, connecting with an uppercut he never saw coming. Midair, I landed a jab with my other hand, then a kick. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I’d die if I did.*
We came down and he recovered, landing with the heavy precision of a tarantula and fending off my kicks as I advanced, rising from the floor to meet me but getting pushed back all the while. He dove to his left and I fired off an Electric Spike, scorching a warning shot into the panel beside him. He moved to go right and I threatened another with an outstretched fist, even though it was too soon to unleash a second. I could feel my Electric Body ignite around me, see its golden tendrils dance in front of my eyes - a being of light staring down one of shadow. He would have seen my eyes. I can’t imagine what I looked like, but I know how I felt. I felt like breaking his damn face in half.*
He swung again, this time an accurate right hook with some form behind it, a concerted attack drawn from the moment’s stillness. I let him, swinging my own right down into a kidney shot and raising my left hand in defensive greeting. His blow hit harder, but mine carried a vehement sting, and I discharged my excess electricity into his torso through the closed circuit that we had made, lifting him off his feet while I still clasped his fist. His body broke over the top of the control panel on the other side of the cage, and he clung to it like a wounded rat. Then he clutched his gut and leapt away, latching onto one of the tall pipes and running up its length. I gave chase, using the smashed controls as a stepping stone to help my Magnetic Levitation give me extra speed and height. I was waning but I couldn’t let him know.*
We wound up in a fifth-storey room on the opposite side of the building. Coming in through the window, right behind him, my magnetic charge was spent but my spirit wasn’t and I barrelled toward him as he screamed, jarring my mind and making me go cross-eyed. I slammed my hands over my ears and yelled, although it was just white noise against his Dissonance technique. It took everything I had to remove one of them long enough to click my fingers and make certain that the feeling was mutual with my own Deafening version. It stunned him and I finished my headlong charge, spearing his waist, which sent us both out of the far window and back into daylight.
As we came apart, me drifting closer to the buildings on the other side of the street, and him falling in a sharper descent, he knew that I had outplayed him. I was able to summon what strength I had left and catch the nearby brickwork with some weak combination of chakra control and my Raikoukikan light-hook. He, on the other hand, had no purchase. Knowing this, he made certain that he locked glares with me as he dropped, drawing out his hand seals until he was seconds away from hitting the ground, then escaped in burst of smoke.
I was speechless — and not just from exhaustion. He’d known techniques like that the whole time…advanced elemental jutsu? Either he was a terrible Hiyoutori, or I was just that good. I didn't feel that good. I felt lucky to be alive, but I could count my blessings another time. The sounds of combat weren’t far away, and I slid down the crumbling facade in an avalanche of powdered brick until my feet found solid ground. Collapsing against the wall, I palmed off the support and pushed myself into a half-decent stagger.
Katashi pretty much flew into me when I rounded the corner, having been knocked back by the other nomad’s Smoke Body Replacement technique. Together, we were able to put up a half decent fight, but weren’t able to finish him off until Miwa and Usagi arrived. Miwa capitalised on my Tether ability and rushed him. Then we regrouped and moved on. Usagi had managed to scrounge a few household electrics from the nearby buildings, counting on the fact that I would overdo it eventually. He said that Miwa had warned him against wasting time, but apparently I looked so weak by that point that she recanted her judgement. Absorbing their charge was like slaking my thirst with a teacup of ice water after a hot day’s work; it helped, but it would take me longer to recoup my full strength.*
We wove our way towards the flank where the battlefield rumours claimed Nagai was holding his own. But with both the sky and my vision growing dark, I put that idea on hiatus. I needed to refuel. It took some searching, but we were able to locate and break down the door to a workshop so that I could go to town on its electronic devices.
Destroyers
Age: 16
We didn’t have much time. The first explosion happened not long after we got there — maybe four or five minutes at most — and not from Nagai’s flank but from the other side. Inside the Village. The aftershocks were still rattling the workshop’s girders as we sped back onto the street. Smoke billowed in a thick haze like black tar from around the corner, which we rounded to find utter devastation.*
Quote:
Originally Posted by Memory Fragment V
As far as we could tell, a gas main had been hit, one of the shorter apartment buildings in the area blown sky high, from the inside out. The roof superstructure was bent back, the building’s heart exposed by a twisted ribcage. The next explosion followed quickly, this time from the right. Red fire bloomed down the hill, over the rooftops of another industrial lot. We had a crisis on our hands, but with manpower stretched as thin as time, I decided that the search for survivors would have to wait if there was a chance we could prevent further destruction.*
We were half way to the next site when an angry chorus of yells blared from within a building to our left, preceding a shockwave that made the ground tilt, a tsunami of hot air, smoke, glass and brick shards pummelling us as it lifted us off our feet and through the windows of the adjacent apartment. Some of us, at least. I hit the wall. I don’t remember anything else until I awoke, maybe minutes later. A vague, red Usagi was pulling to my feet. I remember the sight, but not how or when I split open the skin above my eyebrow. Events remain clear to this day, but injuries blur. Perhaps I sustained the blow when I was fighting that Sound nin, or maybe my head hit the wall in the blast. I suppose it didn’t really matter. We all looked and felt much the same.
The building to our left was gutted, the explosion having incinerated most of the interior, charring the portions we could still see through the veil of fire and heat. There were no life signs, no cries for help, merely destruction, death. Here and there, a smoking corpse littered the street — people inside when the building went up. We checked for vitals in all of them, holding down the bile rising in our stomachs. Or maybe that was just me. There are some things a teenager isn’t meant to see on such a frequent basis, child of war or no.
We had to shield our faces as we rounded the corner. There, a gas main sticking out of the ground, had been lit by, or perhaps before, the blast, but still it pumped fiery fumes into the sky, illuminating the darkening city streets. We moved on, closer to our destination. We paused when we reached the edge of the district, marked by a locksmith’s emporium on a hill. From there, the rent in the city walls was visible, as well as the sole figure atop a growing pile of bodies, Nagai. We were maybe two hundred metres out but we didn’t dare move a step closer. That way lay certain death, and no place for three genin and a beleaguered chuunin substitute.*
Amid the cries of battle that seemed to surround and ensnare us like a tangled web of triumph and doom, a pocket of yells downhill to our left brought our attention to heel. We hunkered down, taking a knee to diminish our profile in case there were enemies inbound. Three figures did then scramble into view — civilians, at a glance — with a two-man shinobi team running toward them from the other direction. I relaxed, rising. They were simply calling for the trio to head back to the shelters.*
We made to head down and join up with the other group. But then something we never could have anticipated happened. Maybe we should have seen it coming; the signs, I now realise, were there all along. The other squad was practically on top of the closest civilian when the three of them disappeared in an intense flash of crimson. We were stunned. I was frozen with horror for all of two seconds, which felt like an eternity too long to be standing in the open. Miwa’s slender hand on my shoulder pulled me back down behind a smouldering fragment of concrete walling and we collapsed there, breathless. Usagi and Katashi had made a similar bid for concealment by rolling into place behind us. The four of us waited in the ensuing silence, staring at each other, our hearts in our throats.*
Sometime in the next five or so seconds, I realised I was able to pick out a pair of voices, their muttered sentiments carried in a jumble of tones on the wind. Suicide bombers. What were they planning? I snatched a glance around the edge of our hiding place and spotted the black scar on the ground littered with body parts, the other two culprits picking through the debris as if searching for reusable parts before pressing on for new, unsuspecting targets. In truth, we had far less cause to be scared or to hesitate, now that we had uncovered the vital lie. We needed to put these rogue elements down, avenge our comrades and protect future victims from the same horrific fate. We simply had to come to terms with the apparent lengths that Nagai’s forces had resorted to. That fact alone cemented my motivation for taking part in this war.
Wary of the risk, we made peace with our stomachs and deployed in a rebalanced pincer formation. We were all lagging, but Usagi stuck with me, suffering the most from the strain of endured combat. We drew closer to the pair through a maze of debris, the clouds above burning dark red from the light of the fires, each pincer tracking its own target with a mixture of long- and short-range tactics at hand. When mine vanished down an alleyway, I gave pursuit, brashly sprinting ahead in my urgency.
When I arrived, with the sound of Usagi’s heavy footsteps pattering in my wake, the passage between the two residential blocks was empty, so I slowed to a walk. I remember how the kunai handle felt slick in my fingers — little details — or the way the brick walls were chipped and scored, not from battle but from life. That was its own war. I came to a crossroads, Usagi covering my six at a distance of twelve feet. The walls all about me were sending the sounds of strife ricocheting around the intersection, the screams of the defeated and cries of the rallied a pounding reminder that I could neither afford to waste time here nor afford to let this one nightmare lose on the other. Every soldier had his part to play.
I heard a commotion up ahead. A figure was backing out of a doorway, hands raised. In front of them, an older, beleaguered-looking man was brandishing a tanto, a frightened child clutched at his side. They could have been grandfather and grandson. The other figure was unmistakably my target, clothed in the same dark vestments, hood over his head, but without the cloak that I noticed before. In its place was a torso covered with bandoliers of explosive pouches. I lowered my aggressive profile for the villager’s sake, resisting the urge to cry out in warning. He could blow at any minute.
I wondered how any operative encumbered with so much powdered explosive could have snuck past the wall. Or had they always been inside, a sleeper agent? If so, how had they managed to get their hands on that many pouches? Cloud’s repeated susceptibility to this approach still astounds me, as it did then. First Sakoshi and now here… It was during this moment of reflection and indecision that my position was compromised. The figure turned his head and there I was. And without hesitation, as if pointedly responding to my presence or to assert his own, he batted the old man’s hand out of the way, grabbed the tanto and turned it on its owner, slitting his throat in front of the child. Then he turned and ran, no rhyme, no reason, no remorse.
I snapped; I must have. Usagi has told me of that time, when he saw me speed off in pursuit, skating over the ground with wispy ribbons of electricity bending around my legs. I don’t know where that chakra came from. But I closed the gap in the time it took for me to perform a burst of hand seals and send a lightning bolt into the runner’s back. He seized up, falling into a stunned roll, but rose quickly, albeit shakily, clearly trained to withstand such tactics. His hood fell, revealing a cleanly shaven head and the tilt of a masculine jaw. He came to a stop no more than ten paces away, fingers spasming and shoulders lurching. Then he turned.
Our eyes met and we stood in shocked silence. The face…that window to a heinous soul…it was my brother’s. That same haggard look…unmistakable. Ichirou. What had he done? The silence turned to ash, as if all of time had dried up, faint ripples in reality forming around my vision. I later realised that these were tears. His face was neutral, devoid of regret, but in his eyes I think I saw a flicker of recognition. Better I hadn’t, for I might have acted sooner and put him out of commission myself. I dropped my kunai. I raised my hands. My mouth was dry but I found a voice, and haltingly spoke his name.
He faltered. He did. I could see the struggle — the wince in his eyes, the clench of his jaw, the sneer of his nose. Muscles twitching, he made to step forward but caught himself, raising a hand instead. A hand, as if to hold me at bay. He momentarily dipped his gaze the the bandoliers bound about his chest. When he looked back up, eyes pained…I swear that I could sense his fear, hear it in the way he stammered “I…I am…”, searching for himself, for me.*
I heard the kunai before I saw it, a whistling sentence that sailed past my ear and embedded itself in Ichirou’s chest, just above the heart, a black bolt quickly dappled red. My brother’s fear grew, seeping across his features like the blood across his chest, until all fleeting traces of his personality were covered, obscured, then erased in those final moments. His expression deflated, his eyes dimmed, and his voice, weak though it was, became steady, impassive. Programmed, almost. “I am judgment,” he said. “I am the penitence of Cloud.” He lowered his hand to his bandoliers. “I am the light…”*
That was all I heard. Usagi’s second kunai stuck in Ichirou’s throat. He was trying to save me, and he probably did, but I never should have let it get that far. I should have gone to him, helped him somehow, and not just stood there like a silent witness. His last words weren't even his own. Usagi doesn’t know. None of them do. I returned after the battle and removed all signs of who he was. He had killed and murdered but he was my brother. He was a victim as much as them, and he deserved more than he would have received otherwise. Until this memoir is read, I suppose he will remain just another casualty of war. But when this memoir is read — by that time — I will have revealed the truth, enough so that his soul and memory can rest intact.
I tried to make a start on the explosives then and there, lying through my teeth in gratitude as I instructed Usagi to back up the others, all the while watching my brother bleed out on the ground, vacant eyes to the sky. I was interrupted through, a cry for help from those still living, and so, together, Usagi and I left to find the source of the detonation that we had heard. When we arrived, we found Miwa crouched behind a small lightning shield and Katashi picking himself up off the ground nearby, his hands and forearms marred by second-degree burns. The bomber was…everywhere else.
We sought higher ground, and climbed seven storeys to the top of one of the residential flats. From there, we tried to assess the field of battle as best we could. We could see that the breach in the wall was now one of many, with enemies streaming through them like angry fire ants. I took a knee, looking out to hide my face, which I knew was a mask of pain. We had lost. I knew it then. My suspicions were confirmed when I looked down, spying a group of fresh enemy forces mounting the base of our last outpost. I rose in preparation but my only thoughts were of Ichirou: his story untold, his life stolen, his body lying in the dirt.*
I could not let that rest. Would not.
So I stood, releasing all suppression of my bloodline, wreathed in fierce electricity, my two remaining kunai in each hand. With glowing eyes of bloody murder boring down on the approaching invaders, I gathered my comrades to me to make our last stand. But I was not the only golden flame out there that night. I was but a lowly firefly against the majestic dragon that snaked its way skyward, and I only dimmed further when I heard the voice of the enemy, declaring what I knew to be true. The Raikage was slain. Nagai had won.
Ascension
Lawmakers
Age: 16
In the days that followed, all members of the Hidden Village were called upon to choose sides. We Shoda were a house divided, but my family had always been of a more practical nature. That influenced my decision some, but each was given his own voice. Strangely, for the first time in memory, I alone was responsible for my choice. When I was called to testify in Nagai’s presence, I had still not made my peace with what had happened. Here was the supposed root of all our woes, which I knew that to be only part of the truth, but he was also to blame for the losses incurred at Sakoshi, as well as Ichirou’s fate. The war had been inevitable, but the strategies used…they were things I could not accept. They were mysteries I needed to solve, more pressing than the immediate concern of how my brother had escaped the clan grounds and armed himself to the teeth to enact a clearly calculated plan. His passing was mourned by the clan and the circumstances of his disappearance investigated, but explaining the latter count, the true account, was my task.
So I turned my attention away from the past and towards the future, to outcomes that I could affect, hidden truths that I could uncover. I would not lose my life at this point over a matter of egotistical righteousness. However, I would not follow unquestionably the man whose forces had turned my brother. On the other hand, I was finally able to act on my personal doubts surrounding the Raikage’s capacity to lead, not just the man’s lack of decisiveness but his inability to bend, to compromise, to empathise, or to realise his own faults. So when I appeared before Nagai, my course was set. I now lived to find whoever was responsible for the war crimes I had witnessed and to bring the architects of these atrocities to justice. They were a cancer in the system that needed to be eradicated if this unity was to last, even if that culprit turned out to be a high ranking member of the LMG.*
My loyalty was to Hidden Cloud — the real Hidden Cloud — and to the safekeeping of its hard-won stability and peace. I tried to convince my teammates to do the same but Katashi would have none of it. Like the rest of his family, he chose an 'honourable' death. I found nothing honourable in the sacrifice. Meanwhile, I was stripped of my honorary title, a genin once more. I opted to rejoin the new Intelligence division, my heart set on the department of Internal Affairs. It was not a simple transition; the Shoda name carried little weight, and there was also that matter of trust, and of promotion. It took me years to earn that back. I was now a military man and a citizen. These things were important to me. If this new government under the Daishou was to last, as alien as it seemed, I needed to embrace the status quo.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Footnote I
I stopped writing such detail-oriented journals after the war; my thoughts were my own and my memories were need-to-know. As an Intelligence operative, it made sense to redact certain things. And as a man with a history and renewed purpose like mine, such precise records could lead to complications further down the road. Of course, in the event of my death, these memoirs will be released to those I trust to continue the fight, as well as all of my subsequent findings. The truth will come out.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Narrator's Note
Our insight into Kagero's memoirs ends here. It is followed by a brief, biographical account of his later teenage years, through peacetime to the present day.
===============+===============
The Last 4 Years...
Records of Peace
Age: 16-18
Kagero's transition was not as straightforward as he would have liked. His personal goals would take a backseat for some time, all effort placed, instead, in the service of the new Lightning Military Government. He was assigned to a new three-man team, but was not without allies. Saionji Miwa had been recognised as a valuable asset when deployed alongside her former team leader and was therefore kept close. Usagi’s performance, however, had been reevaluated and the younger boy moved to another squad. The new, third member of their team was a druid by the name of Ingakankei Akihiro, a long-standing, outspoken proponent of Nagai’s rule, while their leader was a chuunin Staff Sergeant, Gushiken Masaki, a young man with similar views. Theirs was one of the new ‘unity’ squads, combining former enemies in much the same way that new genin from the Aki and Aoi academies might be grouped. As such, there was a distinct tension in the first few week of service, including initiations led by Masaki that bordered on hazing for the former loyalists, Kagero and Miwa. Such tactics were to be expected, and the pair doggedly persisted in order to prove their worth.
As they were older than most other genin, the team followed an accelerated programme, their chuunin commander on a similar path to promotion. The first year was spent helping to cement Nagai’s position through any means necessary, weeding out any lingering loyalist dissent. This was achieved by uncovering and capturing the ringleaders of small-scale civilian protests, as well as raiding sites that were suspected of housing religious gatherings. These were mostly a mix of B and C grade missions, but undertaken with such necessary frequency that, by 17, Kagero was a Corporal, along with Miwa, and Akihiro, their junior, was but one chevron from achieving the same rank. It was a busy year for the Shoda clansman, who threw himself into each mission so completely, as if to prove himself so desperately, that it took his sister, Kei, now a fully rehabilitated Private in the Engineering Division, to break that spell. She always was his saving grace, and called him on his zealous activities, urging him to compartmentalise for fear of military life overwhelming him.*
She knew that there was more to him than duty, and he came to realise (slowly) that there was more to him beyond duty than his personal vendetta. He was glad that he caught himself when he did; he found himself forming a relationship of convenience with Miwa through which to release his pent up pressures, rather than one of genuine adoration. It would have destroyed them both. While they had already shared a bunk, warm bodies in the night, the situation was at an early enough stage that Kagero’s honesty was appreciated, respected even. The circumstances brought them closer together, and while there would always be a certain chemistry between them, it was never acted upon again. Kagero did some digging, and found that enough of his old friends and 'old flames' were still alive to help rekindle his previous life. He began to take more than a soldier’s sense of care in his appearance, a united country giving way to a united market for goods and services that he was quick to capitalise on and, at times, lose himself in, exploring life beyond a childhood of war.
Kagero was promoted to official chuunin status in the latter part of his 17th year, ahead of Miwa and Akihiro, and well before to the next, scheduled examination, credited by his advanced experience, proven maturity and exemplary service record. He replaced the Masaki, then a Senior Staff Sergeant, as the team’s leader and selected his own replacement, a promising Private First Class, Yamane Ren, as the squad’s third member. A lightning dilettante, she was in her element following his example. Finally a chuunin, and finally feeling worthy of being one, Kagero welcomed the adulation of his family, including his aunt’s hard-won respect for a job well done and a title well received. But far be it from him to let that praise go to his head, especially when his squad was in a state of uncertain flux. Unlike his predecessor, Kagero had no love for hazing, nor for testing his new charge with hidden motives. Furthermore, he needed to cleanse the bad blood of rivalry that Akihiro had been imagining for some time.*
So he took his squad out for a meal and told it like it was: that, if anything, he had their personal interests at heart now more than ever (which Miwa had never doubted); that he would make sure each one of them made it to chuunin status like he had (satisfying Akihiro); and that the four of them would work hard to make theirs the top unity squad in the entire LMG (satisfying Ren’s ambition and diehard allegiance to Nagai). This Kagero character was alright in her eyes. He also began to blossom in the eyes of friends and family, a young man of experience and new wisdom coming into his own. Thus, his work goals found balance with personal ambitions, not to mention romantic exploits. Physically capable, powerfully emotional, conditioned for control and open to new possibilities, he was a natural lover and fighter who had simply never known that these two things could coexist. He took care to keep them separate, though, fiercely protective of the life lessons and joys that each could offer him.
Age: 18-20
As per his request, Kagero was assigned to Internal Affairs, his longstanding ambition to join their corps commended by his new supervising officers. It was in this role that he began to take part in explicitly chuunin and jounin ranked missions. Of these, helping to root out and quell conspiracy within Gaika’s LMG infrastructure has been his highest priority to date. In an official capacity, the operation’s successful completion represented a major victory for the country but, unofficially, Kagero’s missions therein led him to discover evidence that he believed could help in his own investigations. While scouring the offices of a government official for clues, he was leafing through a military dossier when he found reference to wartime funds redirected to ‘reeducation directives’, although a brief cross-examination of the other files showed a complete lack of follow-through, revealing a potential secret.*
It wasn’t until a subsequent mission in the city that Kagero was able to act on his suspicions. Coincidentally, one of the apprentices to the auditors listed on the financial document was revealed to be the source of a leak regarding the names of possible conspirators, now an administrative aide to a senior official. During her questioning, Kagero was also able to glean the whereabouts of her former employer. He is now preparing to act upon this information, although investigating the LMG on his own time, unaware of the extent to which the cancer has taken root, will require heightened levels of subterfuge and care for the necessary trip to Doruma City.*
This brings us to the present day, and the man, the weapon, Shoda Kagero: the most well-rounded and thoroughly motivated servant of justice that the Hidden Cloud will ever, never, know.
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Other Info:
Bloodline Colour:
Geared Up:
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Mission Log
Mission 01: Thunder's Roll Call [11/06/14]
Character Creation AP (Maxed Out): +3 AP to Speed; +3 AP to Willpower; +2 AP to Intelligence; +3 AP to Raiton Advanced Chuunin Points: +3 Adv to Control; +2 Adv to Reserves; +1 Adv to Power; +3 Adv to Raiton Cloud Creation GMAP: +2 GMAP to Global Ninjutsu
I've never actually seen a character refer to a technique as 'stage one' or 'stage' anything. My understanding is that stages (like the stats) are abstractions and not something that actually exist in-character. If I'm wrong then it's fine, but I'd prefer to see something like 'basic of control' or something that doesn't show so much of Engi's game-rules skeleton.
The shift from first person narrative to third person in the last part of the bio is extremely jarring. For the first few sentences I was wondering who this 'Kagero' person was. Maybe ease into it a bit better?
Stats and numbers all check out. Given that your bio is quite comprehensive I'm sure there are details that those more knowledgeable about Cloud can go over better than I can. I'll Half-Approve anyway.
You're probably right about the Stages thing. As I'd included so few references to the system in that way, I went ahead and changed them like you suggested.
I also added a narrator's footnote at the end of the Ascension section, as well as a return to biographical form in that last part. Hopefully, it's not as jarring now, but if you have any advice on how to make it even smoother, I'm all ears. Hopefully, short of explicitly referring to the third person omniscient, what I've done will be alright.
I like Kagero, though an initial point of concern in his bio that pops out to me is the spot when you've named Rikiya's child. The reason I'm apprehensive about that is because I don't want that to hamstring anyone else who might want to create a Shoda under his branch, and was interested in being a direct child. This would have then forced a character/section of bio they may not have been keen about.
Other than that, like I said, I like Kagero. I'll have to do another round and just make sure the family timelines make sense.
I also now realise that I haven't followed naming conventions for said character. That being said, it's probably in everybody's best interest that I simply generalise this point and remove specifics.
I'm fine with people breaking the convention if it serves a purpose (which it does with Ichirou), but I just didn't want the book to be written for someone else, which I'm sure you can understand :)
From what I can tell, things look fine. Kaen will have to go over the history of events from a Cloud perspective...but the only thing I noticed is that Kagero would have been 7 when the Shoda were pulled out of exile, and currently you have him as age 9 when it happens (unless I misread it). Just a small thing.
Other than that, consider this clan GM approved, though I'm pretty sure that doesn't count towards your regular required number of approvals.
I'm fine with people breaking the convention if it serves a purpose (which it does with Ichirou), but I just didn't want the book to be written for someone else, which I'm sure you can understand
From what I can tell, things look fine. Kaen will have to go over the history of events from a Cloud perspective...but the only thing I noticed is that Kagero would have been 7 when the Shoda were pulled out of exile, and currently you have him as age 9 when it happens (unless I misread it). Just a small thing.
Totally. All's good in the hood now.
I could have sworn I had that age progression worked out. It was one of the toughest things to reconcile between the two histories and his own personality progression. I do have him as 9. I can probably rephrase that easily enough to account for the time difference there, but then that throws off everything else. I think, originally, I had him as older, but wanted a younger chuunin about half way through writing. I'll have to pick through this and course correct as necessary.
EDIT: I have advanced him a year to 20 now, so he's 8 when the Shoda return to the fold, 13 when Hideyoshi sides with Denryuu Konishi (and when he starts to take an interest in girls, which was the reason for the shift, because 12 was too young), then 16 when Nagai triumphs. Whew. Edits done. Short but painful
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10-11-2014, 02:58 PM
[Cloud Chuunin] Shoda Kagero
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