Mnemosyne [Mid][Flashback]

[Tenzō]

flashback.

He is a young man in a large dojo within a common-house outside of Amegakure No Sato. The borders around the village seem to have swollen shut, bloated with the back-and-forth travel of those who wander between the old world and the new, seeking to trade their petty secrets for machines they cannot understand. He is only a genin, but even so, Goryo Tenzo has been praised for his usage of his clan's kekkei genkai, and is feared by the younger students for a brutality that seems misplaced when one considers the innocent black haired boy staring them down. His eyes do not hold any intrinsic evil, his voice is calm and soft; his words fall simply like those of a poet and he is polite enough to go unnoticed amongst his elders.

But with his brother, he is savage and cruel. His eyes flash with constant anger and he berates the younger Tenzo's inability to perform the techniques he feels defines them as something more than human.

They stand only a few meters apart [2-3], weapons drawn, and Goryo's hand closes tightly around the handle of Tenjin, their father's ceremonial Nodachi. He mocks his younger brothers stance and taps at the blade of his sword experimentally, as if only to correct his stance. But there is malice hidden in every movement. A condescending air of superiority. A graceless descent into the true madness that will one day define him as the Clan's Head.

But that is not this day. Today, they are only siblings, only playing.

A shuffling charge of chakra radiates outwards from his heart and brings heat to his extremities. His squares his stance, grinding his right heel into the ground. The tip of his nodachi twitches.

They will begin soon.

[Nightmarish]

Tenzo, the allies and ruthless family that Mu-Hyul revered and respect above all else, even Amegakure itself. While an isolated love for his village remained somewhere in a deep, almost uncharted area of his mind and heart, his family had been everything to him. Unlike their faux counterparts, Tenzo refused to change their names and and DNA to fit the cowardice needs of a traitor! While one of their late leaders lay peacefully within his grave, slain by his own kin, Tenzo maintained their pride and in turn gained something far greater. . .

"Power"

He acknowledged that most if not all Tenzo carried that trait, no matter what shape for form that power took. For Goryo, the elder, inherited their famed bloodline known as the shikigami, a fierce and most deadly art which changes the users genetic make-up to the point where their own body's produce abundant amounts of paper. Mu-Hyul lacked that very skill, thus causing him to focus and channel all of his efforts into shaping and molding his body to physical perfection, even at the mere age of ten. Raised in the way of the sword, Kenjutsu became Mu's home and his sanction.

For now, within the dojo, Mu-hyul merely watched as the burn and ache of muscle and mind would overcome the two combatants once they crossed swords. Goryo, who he beleived to be the most superior Tenzo, decided to face off with his younger and more inexperienced brother, one of which Mu even felt confident in defeating. Sitting just five meters off to Goryo's left side, Mu watched the beginning of a short spectacle.

[Mitternacht]

Tenzō was a name- my name, a name I had bore no pride in and felt very little of any positive emotions to any Tenzō. Especially Goryō. The adolescent was extremely two-faced, appearing like any normal, polite boy to others, but to me...to me he was this monster, full of wrath and hate, a boy who plagued my every waking moment, filled me with disdain that I would remember clearly a decade from now.

I didn't want to admit it, but I hated him. I was an outsider, in my own family. The orange that radiated from my head set me apart from all my brethren, made me shunned in all their eyes even though I was one of them. But I asked myself, was I even one of them? I possessed none of their skills- I could not master the use of paper jutsu, I couldn't even use it at all. It was totally out of my reach, as if such a thing didn't pass to me at all. I must've not inherited that Kekkai Genkai...and it seemed I didn't inherit anything at all from my father's line. Not paper, not the hair, not even ninja skills at this point. I was a failure.

Those thoughts went through my mind as we squared off, I loosely brandishing a wakizashi, the only weapon I could handle with any sort of fluency, and stood in a horrid, sub-par stance. I knew Goryō would wipe the floor with me, no matter how hard I tried. It happened all the time, it was inevitable. I saw the tip of his blade twitch, and sighed inwardly.

Here it goes, again.

[Tenzō]

Myu-Hul had arrived, and though he could not spare the young man a glance, Goryō took note of his position as a spectator. Good, he can perhaps learn something. His mind is a startlingly blank canvas before the sparring match diffuses into real abuse, and he fills the emptiness between seconds imagining his younger brother's death. In truth, he always wished that Myu-Hul had been closer in relation; at least close enough to have developed the fabled Kekkei Genkai of their line.

But it was not to be, the dark-haired child standing opposite of the suddenly cramped dojo floor had all the potential to wield their 'gift' as Kureno himself, and it was with a vicious hacking grunt of effort, battle-cry and mocking salute in one, that he lunged forwards with abandon, sliding the edge of Tenjin

[/b] along his brothers wakizashi and allowing the tip to bite into the short sword's hilt. The disarming blow would force his brother's hand to spasm wildly as Tenjin's edge marked a red line across the back of his fingers, and he stepped forward, hard, his foot dug into the boy's own, his left elbow rising to catch Kureno full in the face.

He'd whip the Nodachi forward as the boy fell, pushing it down to pierce delicately between his shoulder blade, then pulling back to extract it drawing more blood. A simple half-step to his rear would create another meter of distance between the two, and he'd raise the sword to its full height before him, slashing experimentally at the air.

You are always so unprepared. It is dishonorable.

His voice was dispassionate and condescending in the same breath; the voice of a bored professor or disenchanted priest. His breath came in a steady, slow rhythm, and perhaps without his brother even noticing, a small trail of paper had begun to break away from the bottom's of Goryō's feet, sliding flat across the dojo mat, sinister as snakes.

Get up. Now.

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[Nightmarish]

Observing.

Analyzing.

Calculating.

A few among many comparative phrases that described the amount of focus that Mu-Hyul applied to his mind as a meager spectator. Goryo, the obvious elder of the two, stood as a man among men, a god among mere mortals, the very man-god that Mu-Hyul one day wished to surpass and believed he could do so. Huffing a sigh, he watched as Goryo's and Kureno's match had begun, and, to no surprise, Goryo immediately imposed his will upon Kureno and took control of the fight in an instant. Kneeled with both hands in his lap, the fingers curled and with it, grabbed small fabrics of his pants. The sudden curl of his fingers had been nothing more than a sign of how hard Mu had to restrain himself from wanting to launch himself into the fray.

"I don't know why you waste your time with him! I should be the one worthy to fight you, Goryo."

Overly anxious to have his chance to seize and gain Goryo's utmost respect and loyalty, Mu naively thought and that Kureno had no business, no business at all in trying to prove his worth to Goryo.

As quickly as they came, his childish visions became a mere afterthought as he continued to watch the battle unfold. Relaxed, yet, filled to the brim with excitement.