Long ago he had considered leaving this village for it held nothing for him. At the time he had merely played with the thought though just as he had no reason to stay, he had no reason to leave. But with the eventual passage of time he came to realize that such thoughts deserved more consideration. All this time he had been living a mundane life which lead from nowhere to nowhere. The same routine every day which had resulted in his apparent ennui. It had been leading him to a lifeless stupor where his already indifferent self witnessed symptoms of acedia. Was this the life he wanted? Getting up each day to the same ritualistic schedule, eventually marrying and dying like a nobody? Was that what he truly wanted? Nay! That life was not for him. To him life meant an adventure, to explore the plains beyond this Ancor Vantian that he had never visited. To be stronger. The strongest in fact. To be free from the constraints of this pointless village life.
So it was not surprising that he found himself at the base of the Ancor Vantium, his bags packed and his blade scorched with marks of vaporizing blood, lightning flickering along its length. In front of him lay their bodies. Those of two guards who had by their own hands sealed their fate the moment they stood in his way. Blood colored the earth a deep red. He stood their, just staring at his former home. He felt it poof, that clone of himself far away and information flooded his mind. So was that what he had ended up doing? The clone had been sent to go ahead and distract the guards stationed at the top though they apparently had been occupied before hand. Though it turned out to be far more beneficial for him this way. Something appeared to draw close to him, flying through the air, and landed at his feet. It was a blade the value of which he was well aware of. He fastened the blade to his side. He smiled blankly. His eyes were stone and his lips curled as a scythe. There was nothing innocent about that expression. Not a flicker of any emotion on his face. Cold. Hardened. Indifferent.
Why should he 'follow' him? Those people did not interest him. They were hardly important to begin with. There had never been a reason for four chuunin to appear and attempt to subdue them. But it seemed over-reacting to shit was the new thing. Someone pops up near the steps, you send in four chuunin. A man wants to leave a village, you articulate to him the oath of the shinobi and the morality of man. When he disagrees, you kill him. Tsk. That is moral? Killing someone as they do not share your opinion? Talking in that holier-than-thou manner about things he could never understand to begin with. He was a drone. He lived mechanically. Served mechanically. And would some day rust, and die. It was as if obedience was programmed into him along with fierce loyalty towards the Vantium. And why? Simply because he was born there. Even then, by that logic, Law was in the right. He wasn't born anywhere near the Vanitum. Rather, he had always been hindered by the atmospheric condition upon the raised platform. It was clear as day that he had been born on solid, non-a'floating ground. Though how clear was the day to those who literally had their head in the clouds?
Perhaps that sort of life served a purpose to those machines. They filled the emptiness of not having a goal. Of not knowing what the future held. So by placing their faith in some higher authority of some sort, they found reprieve from the meaninglessness of their lives. It was pathetic. And it wasn't something he would succumb to. He would not be bound by such distorted renditions of reality. He would not be bound by anything. If it was power that it took to be the one with the most freedom, then it was power that he would acquire. Whatever it took to be free. Free from all the things that haunted him. Free from the fear of forever running around in circles. Free from doubt.
With his right hand he caught hold of one of the straps on his bag and pulled it up, swinging it over his shoulder and to his side. It was a duffel bag with all the necessities required to survive on his own, supplies of food and medicine that would last at least a month, and whatever money he could gather. Nothing was left in the bank, lest they freeze his assets. Who had the time to fight a battle simply to have his money liquidated? He had one a casual set of clothes. Jeans. Sweat-shirt. His fur hat. Trekking shoes. And the sheathe of his nodachi fastened to his back- running across from shoulder to waist. Locked and loaded.
He could still hear the sound of battle, and at one point, an explosion. Interesting bunch of peepz he was leaving behind, though fortunately not without throwing his own wild card in their mix. Caution had been taken to keep his identity from being exposed and it had often come close to revelation. But quick thinking and innovative methods of stealth, one of which demanded the aforementioned to hide within a public toilet. And god only knows about their plumbing. Communications had been kept to a minimum and the nature of their bonds clandestine. But somehow, through perseverance and planning for almost over a year, it had been accomplished. He had been liberated. Everything seemed better. Brighter. Even the air tasted of freedom. No longer was he a servant of this well designed system of slavery. He felt like dancing. He felt like smoking weed. He felt like streaking across fields full of beautiful flowers. No, not really. He didn't feel like smoking weed. One last time, he looked back upon the mangled remains of those two men. They were alive. They would live. But their memories would be hazy and by the time they could recover and tell their tale, he would be far, far away.
One last time, he looked back upon the floating city of Ancor Vantiun and exhaled. With an impressively fluid motion, he placed his nodachi back into its sheathe and walked away. Soon, he was merely a silhouette. Soon, he had disappeared into the shadows of the forest beyond which lay the forbidden fruit. Liberty.
[Exit to land of seas >>>]
Sat Jul 23, 2011 1:51 pm by 
