Torture

Here, in all-encompassing darkness, was the beast. A formless, decomposed mass, it had come here to unravel itself, to literally tear itself apart, so that it might linger here in the dank, chill blankness.

It was growing stronger.

It shed its form willingly so that it might reemerge stronger, more formidable... as it lay, nothing more than a sum of its pulsing, writhing, demonic parts, it was drawing ever closer to utter invincibilty.

But to gain such power... it had to suffer. And it endured this suffering, as it must... but it did not go along quietly. The halls above echoed with its tortured cries, sounds of frustration and agony that permeated every corner.

While he built up his power thus, Naraku was, for all intents and purposes, motionless.

And his nose itched.