Jinx-the-Pink-Goddess is back!

Back again with another story, this one being a collaboration piece between Nekodemongrl and I. We have been working on it the majority of the summer, her helping me with characters and scenes, and me typing it all out. Well, we really hope this story does well, we worked hard on it.

A few notes. To explain the title 'Extroverted Philosophy', well, it's catchy and hold a true meaning...the need for pure knowledge, to know all that there is to know, and learn from life's lessons. That is one of the main concepts in the story is is portrayed by the characters. There are OC's in this, but not Mary Sues, so don't worry. We stick to the Anime in most instances, but quite a bit of reference is in the manga. The story takes place roughly 2-5 years after the end of the show. Events are explained and gaps are filled.

Neko is working on a companion piece to this, covering the history of her OC, Tani. The history of both of mine is covered in the Prelude and thoughout the first few chapters. There is quite a bit planned for the story and a new chapter will be posted every Tuesday. If not on a Tuesday, then on a Wednesday.

Well, if I still have your attention and you like the beginning bit, add the story to your alerts so you know when the next chapter is posted. If not, why are you still reading this.

Without further adieu, here is Extroverted Philosophy.

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Once upon a time, such a common way to start a story, but, it only works for fairy tales.

...And so they lived happily ever after, never true. Life is crazy. It likes to fuck with everyone. In our world, there is no happily ever after, there is just to be continued, until another time, until the next moment when fate wants to screw us over again.

The End, the finale of the story. The End is everywhere, like a clock, it's always turning. The End is the cessation of life, the monotone curtain call of death.

No one life is perfect. Darkness is always around, always watching, always waiting for it's time to strike. Most are able to evade it, but some get sucked into it. Happiness is stolen, memories of the good times are sealed away, locked under key, never to be opened. Light cannot shine through the dark, overcast skies.

I would love to say that my story began, happened, and continues to be happy...but then, I'd be lying. I had a typical childhood, parents together, us living in a nice home, it started out alright. When my 3rd birthday came around, however, it took a turn downhill. Father started drinking and abusing mommy and me. When my grandparents tried to intervene, he did something terrible...he killed them, right before my eyes. The blood from their bodies splattered onto me. I was young, but I was smart. What father did was wrong. Even now, I am haunted by my grandmother's empty, lifeless eyes. They gazed up at me, forever, now, unblinking...

Soon after, my father began teaching me to fight, just out of the blue. Mother protested, but father only beat her more. We started simple, defense. Father would come at me, fists before him in an offensive stance, and attack. Being small and quick, I was able to dodge a couple, but would soon get hit. Every time I messed up, we would practice longer. He has broken more bones then I could count at the time, bruised me, and cut me all over. Father was brutal, but I tried my hardest to make him proud.

By my sixth birthday, I was skilled fighter and had been training with weapons for the past year. Father had started me off with a lone knife, but, as my birthday present that year, gave with twin blades, the length of my small arms. Mother was getting older and with that, she got sick. I stayed with her as often as I could, even if it earned me a beating from father.

She passed away one night when I wasn't there. Father forced me into the forest several miles from our home to stay for a week. I had to live off of nature and fend off any invading enemies. When I came home, slightly scratched up but nothing serious, I saw a burial mound in the garden. Mother's bow was resting atop it. Knowing what had happened, I ran into the house and to my parent's bedroom. Father was standing by the window, his face stoic, but sadness rolled off of him. Turning, he found me there, tears running down my cheeks and his ever present anger was aimed at me. He stripped me of my clothes and beat me mercilessly, claiming it was my fault that mother had died.

This very treatment continued up until my fifteenth birthday. I became mute the day I found out about mother's death, after the first beating. Father never got the pleasure of hearing my screams of pain, so he assaulted me until I passed out. My training was an every day occurrence, along with my weekly 10-mile runs and week-long survival camp-outs.

Father found another woman and, 9 months later, they wound up having a daughter, my half-sister Kira. I loved her so much. Father and Nyara would have me watch her quite often. Nyara did not like me, but would not strike me, knowing full well I could kill her easily. She also had a son, a little less then a year older then me, named Touya. We became like brother and sister instantly, him being able to pull me out of my muteness. Father had us share a room, along with a bed, and we kept Kira in a sheep's manger near our bed. Touya and I were close and partook in sibling activities. Where he was from, it was custom to kiss your sibling on the lips in affection and, when he was proud or thankful, he would do so. I eventually got into the habit as well, considering we were from the same tribe.

Father did not mind this, but to spite our relationship, he would have Touya and me fight each other. We followed his orders, but, at the same time, enjoyed the fight. Techniques were created and shared and, through that, our bond grew even stronger. On his seventeenth birthday, he disappeared. We did not know why and I was saddened by it, even though he told me. He said that he was going out into the world to make a difference, to become something. Once he was established, he would come back for Kira and me. As he told me this, I cried. Before he left, he kissed my lips softly, sealing his word. Father went out looking for him and never returned. Word came to us that they were both killed.

When Nyara found out, she locked herself up in her room and cried. I brought her food, but she hardly ate. It was up to me to care for Kira, who was only 4 months at the time. This carried on until one day, just a week later, when I was making food, I heard an almost nonexistent gasp and sob from Nyara's bedroom. Grabbing Kira, I hurried into the room to find Nyara laying on the bed, the white cotton and wool sheets stained red. A sob escaped my own throat and I turned away. Kira grabbed my arm and I look into her soft blue eyes. Pure innocence reflected in them and I knew it was my duty to protect her.

I sang her a lullaby my mother used to sing to me. Sleep washed over her, the river of dreams sweeping her away. Making her comfortable in her bassinet in mine and Touya's room, I gathered Nyara in my arms and proceeded to bury her beside my mother. Deep down, I knew I cared for Nyara and her me, but father constantly hovered over.

Once I finished burying her, I bowed in respect for both of them. Tears fell from my eyes and soaked their graves. Wiping my cheeks, I gathered up my mother's bow and returned to the house. In Nyara's room was a dagger that her father had given her and that she planned to pass on to Touya. I took that, father's prized sword, spare arrows, and my own knives, along with supplies for Kira and myself.

Kira was wide awake when I entered our room. Placing everything by the door, I picked up her carrier, strapped it to my front and placed her within it. With our belongings on my back, we left the house, me making sure to set it on fire so as to burn everything within it. The forest seemed to lean back as it roared with flames, but I paid it no mind. Walking forward, I didn't look back. I was determined to find Touya, no matter how long it took, so we trekked, into the wilds, of Makai.