Jinchuriki
Gaara
They hated him, and he felt the same. The cold looks his father gave him intensified the hate; he wanted to slaughter his elder siblings. Especially Kankuro; when his hood was off, and his face paint had been removed, he looked like a miniature Kazekage. Gaara loved to fantasize that he was slowly crushing his father with his sand. His mother would finally get her revenge on his father; he could feel her warm embrace whenever an assassin tried to strike him down. Her protective hug was the only thing that reminded him that he had a purpose. He would be the weapon that his father had wanted him to be – the weapon who would grind the Fourth Kazekage into scraps of flesh, after reminding him what he had done. Gaara could see the guilt on his father's face, whenever the man met his eyes. He regretted what he had done; Gaara's mother's death was a weight on his back.
Gaara loved seeing the man flinch whenever he spoke. They were all inhuman; whenever he dozed to sleep, the Shukaku within him constantly reminded him about how it would help him. Once, they had nearly succeeded. Iwagakure merchants had violated strict agreements with Suna, and they had been sentenced to death, after Iwagakure had agreed. His father was an ironic creature; he loved his village, and hated failure. Gaara was his main failure, and Gaara knew that someday, he would kill that man. The Kazekage doggedly sent trained assassins after him, but they were a threat to his existence. They had tried to destroy his mother and himself, and together, they showed him that they were very much alive. His siblings would edge away from him, and he was eager to use the slightest excuse to decimate them. They had no love for him, and he knew that they were a potential threat to his existence. It was enjoyable to make them jump, but he would much prefer to take in the scent of their blood, splattered around them, like a tipped-over painting bucket.
A creak was audible that night, and the blood began to boil in Gaara. It was an assassin, foolishly trying to kill him when he was most alert. Gaara's sand began to clump in the air, manifesting itself into an eye, which he could see through, if he concentrated hard. The eye hovered just above the stairwell, and he could see a Chunin at the bottom, crouching, and nervous. Gaara grinned, the smile stretching across his face, as he thought about the fear of the young man below. Gaara decided to experiment a bit, and he took a deep breath, speaking loudly. "What do you want?"
The Chunin froze, and only his eyes revealed his fear. He had lost the element of surprise, so he went into action. Leaping straight up, he threw a kunai at Gaara, who lazily smiled, as his protective sand knocked it out of the air. The Chunin looked dismayed; what had he expected? Gaara's purpose of life was to protect his existence through killing, and the Chunin's was to die at his hand. Gaara willed a stream of sand to shoot at the teenager's stomach, though his heart wasn't really in it. There seemed to be a shortage of assassins; there were fewer and fewer. It seemed to be something that his father did when bored.
Gaara sent a spear of sand forward, and it struck gold, impaling the shoulder of the Chunin, who gasped in pain. Gaara yanked at him, and grinned. Blood was beginning to spill, and he was stirring inside. Gaara let the Chunin, dangle over him. A few droplets of blood dripped onto the symbol branded on his forehead… Gaara, bored already, began to enwrap the Chunin in sand, ignoring the screams of mercy. He wouldn't have gotten any mercy had the situation been reversed, and it had been a few weeks since he'd killed. The bandana on the Chunin's head fell off, revealing sandy blond hair, much like that of…Yashamaru. Gaara felt rage boil inside of him, at the memory, and let sand obscure the screaming ninja. Gaara compacted the sand for a moment, and after hearing a nauseous crunch, kneaded the remains in the sand, letting the blood sink into it.
It was over. His purpose in life had been proven. When thinking seriously, he often thought about what his purpose was. He was positive that loving only himself would lead to absolute strength, and killing others showed that his purpose in life was to survive; to eliminate all that could try to kill him. That was the meaning of a Jinchuriki. He was alone, and he would fight tooth and nail to drive back anything that threatened his existence. He only needed the Shukaku within him and himself; together they were invincible. He refused to die until he had confirmed his meaning, by slaying his father, and anyone who dared oppose him on his path to meaning.