"In the pursuit of power, one must be willing to extinguish even the brightest lights of hope"
My hands weaved effortlessly into the first two kata as I recall the upon of my mantra.
"The darkness within us is the canvas upon which we paint our desires."
Eight consecutive palm strikes dedicated to eight imaginary tenketsu points followed.
"As I accept my inherent darkness, liberation I shall find."
A mighty strike towards an imaginary target's heart hammered the bitter night air.
"From birth I have not seen
Love and Blessing others been
So with my own two hands
And no limit to achieve my ends
No defeat or failure will be taken
My sorrow - I could not burden
My heart to mirth at the same tone
And all I've loved - I've loved alone"
Whirlpool of chakra shook the surroundings, rattling the autumn leaves apart. Once the clock strikes two at midnight, I calmed my breathing and ended my training. Six months has passed ever since I was taught the secrets of the Eight Gates by Maito Guy - Jonin of the Hidden Leaf. That hideously clothed man might be eccentric, but no one can ever say he wasn't generous.
Yet I frowned to myself, after all those late night trainings.. my body and mind is still unable to burden the strain of opening the Second Gate any longer than ten minutes. I had to rely on a self-programmed mantra to keep my mind distracted from the pain. If Maito Guy had really mastered the Eight Inner Gates to it's fullest, then he must be a freak of nature to endure such immense pain. I can't even begin to imagine how it would feel like to open the Fifth, let alone the Seventh or Eighth gate.
Konohagakure is truly the land of the blazingly willful. Sandaime might be a half-senile relic of a Hokage, but his talk of the Will of Fire aren't completely baseless.
Such a shame that these patriotic fools waste their sweat and blood serving a village that cares not for their fate. What all Shinobi Villages are, is basically a super-powered Military Industry, selling their services to the highest bidder as long as they do not step out of line with their Nation. Each to their own, I suppose, but I see these villages as Fascist Militia at best.
Though, it may not be fair to blame those ignorant Shinobi altogether. They were raised and taught of sacrifice and loyalty.
But I knew different. I knew better than to waste away my life like them.
Twenty years of past memories would do that to anyone. Twenty years of hardship, in a world not unlike this one, motivated by money, power and politics. But more importantly, the cynicism that comes from knowing multiple realities exist. One where the current world I live in might possibily be a cruel joke by some higher power to torment me. Or perhaps bless me with a second chance, guess I'll never know.
Back home, this entire land of Shinobi, their lore, culture and magic is just works of fiction. Though, an immensely popular and beloved work of fiction dubbed "Naruto".
For ten years I endured a shameless life. Growing up as a helpless infant.
Weak, dumb and undesired. Born into the Hyuga's side branch family, a baby out of wedlock, I was considered less than Human.
If it weren't against Konoha's laws, my mother might have left me to the wolves. Thankfully, a retired Shinobi from the main branch took pity, he accepted me in and trained me traditionally. I've always been unorthodox, however, but as long as that doesn't hinder the subjects or set of skills my guardian wants me to learn, I was left to my own device.
Now exhausted, I dragged my limbs from the backyard. Saburo, the retired veteran of the Second Great Shinobi war, took me in to live in his house. It was a small and quaint wooden hut by the edges of the Hyuga Compound. But just like every other clan house, we had a generous backyard lawn intended for training and sparring. I would be a fool to waste any bit of entitlement life had provided me with.
Ever since I could talk, I've asked to learn about the history of the Shinobi world. Ever since I could read, I've read scrolls depicting ancient battles since the beginning of the warring clan era. Ever since I could walk, conditioning my young, infantile body to the rigorous life and discipline of a Shinobi had been my upmost priority.
Saburo had a good eye, that couldn't be denied. He had lost his wife and only son in the war, and bereft with no legacy, he look towards me to replace his dead offspring. It was an open secret, a tradition among withering veterans of the war.
That planted the wisdom of "No act of kindness was ever done without purpose" early on, and often times the purpose was mostly serving one's agenda or self importance. Even Jiraiya the Sannin's act of mercy to stay behind and raise the Amegakure orphans, Yahiko, Konan, and Nagato, was done partly to the Sage Toads of Mount Myoboku's prophecy that Jiraiya would one day train and mentor the Child of Prophecy.
Outside of childish innocence, pure-hearted and sincere souls like Naruto are rarer than a Rinnegan in this land.
And nothing is free. Only with absolute power could I make absolute changes...
I'll be damned if I take this second chance for granted!