The Power of Paradise
The Power of Paradise
Journeys Growth Within
Damon sat deep in meditation, the lukewarm winds caressing his bare chest, his unkempt hair swaying in the breeze.
Aroma Country was nothing short of paradise.
Just a few days earlier, he hadn’t even heard of such a place, which piqued his curiosity even more when he did.
A festival for all shinobi free to attend, a chance to mingle among all nations, a moment of peace among lingering tides of war.
The entire clan had been abuzz, from every level of the tower you could hear whispers and chuckles about the magnitude of this event.
Initially, Damon simply dismissed it. It was only after realizing the distance this journey could span that excitement began to bubble within him.
It was a land dedicated to luxury and pristine beauty, besieged by war on every side yet offering relief unavailable elsewhere. Somehow, they had forged a utopia between the great nations of Fire and Wind, carving out a life of peace so stringent it was enforced by law.
Damon reviewed all the material and documentation provided about this trip in his room while fiddling with a scroll he had unearthed. It bore a beautifully detailed world map, once belonging to his parents.
This journey would take him further from Lightning than he had ever been, beyond the furthest reaches of the empire.
He was astonished. Of all the scenarios he could have envisioned, it was a beach festival that would take him to the continent.
The next day, he signed his name up, determined to explore these places and meet its people.
He had spent the following days in a different kind of meditation, attempting to liberate himself from the nagging questions that weighed on his mind.
What would it be like? What would he see? Who would he meet?
He knew that no matter how much it troubled him, he wouldn’t find answers simply by mulling over them; instead, he had to pack his gear and embark on the journey.
Any conflict with locals or shinobi from other countries was strictly forbidden and punishable forboding extreme circumstances. He would leave all weapons but his three-section staff at home. There would apparently be some training and sparring opportunities, which he would not let slip. What techniques would he be able to witness there?
More questions arose as he packed his clothes. Apparently, swimwear was essential—but he made sure to include some colourful kimonos.
The items he brought along included a mask. He decided he would try his best to remain anonymous during the trip. While it was technically forbidden to remove his beads, he planned on doing so once they left the borders. If anything, it would serve to protect his heritage from the outside world, shielding his Ishiguro identity from potential enemies.
Regardless of the nature of this gathering, there would be adversaries; there would be those who would use such an event to prey on the unsuspecting. This much was clear to him; it was a trait inherent in all people, especially shinobi it was in their nature to deceive and lie. They were weapons, tool of destruction sharpened by age and morphed with horrid experience, it was simply in their nature.
The next morning, he left his apartment early, dressed in a thick, dark kimono, carrying a large pouch on his back, an ornamental oni mask strapped over his face.
Leaving the tower behind, he met a group of fellow chunin from across town near the gate on a slight plateau. Once the designated group had assembled, a jounin stepped forward and summoned one of the largest companions Damon had ever seen—a giant pelican-like creature with six wings and a gargantuan mouth.
Even hours later, as the group, now divided into small squads, soared high above the raging sea, Damon wasn’t sure if he was more in awe of the summon’s endurance and power or the thrashing waves below.
Apparently, others were traveling by boat, and still others via magnetic train. A few hours later, an extensively exhausted pelican summon landed on a small island before the notorious Soul Country, another hub for refugees and essentially victims to the great nation that surrounded it.
War had caused all of this, the need for places like this. Apparently, even landing on the mainland was prohibited for shinobi unless under special circumstances—that's how much they despised their kind there. Damon agreed, in a way; a country without shinobi was far safer than one with the most elite among them.
They were weapons, and in the last decade, the fear of mutually assured destruction had not deterred the great nations' leaders from plunging all their lives into conflict.
The Ishiguro had kept to himself, not uttering a single word the entire trip. He had pre-packed some rations and was intent on keeping to himself.
They left the island on the back of another flying summon just after sunrise the next morning.
Damon reflected on their journey, opening his eyes to once again take in the incredible view as he sat cross-legged on one of the long stretches of marvelous white sand beaches.
He had been mesmerized ever since his arrival. This was the closest thing to paradise Damon could have ever dreamed of.
The sound of crashing waves on pristine beaches, the whooshing of palm trees in the wind, and the flicker of a large bonfire in the distance.
Behind him, just a few hundred meters from the shore, was the bungalow he shared with another chunin, among many little huts rented to the shinobi of the festival.
He stared out into the dusk, wearing his mask, swim shorts and a fine kimono unbound, flowing in the wind, still sitting in the lukewarm sand just at the edge of the beach.
He fell into a prayer. You could call it meditation, but right here, it was a prayer, for himself to himself, a silent vow to not forget this feeling, these serene moments, the knowledge that amidst all the pain and sorrow, there must be places like this filled with joy and laughter. He sat and prayed, breathing in and out, letting his chakra flow through him in perfect, immaculate harmony.
He let dusk pass as the sun set into the horizon behind the waves. Damon remained seated, breathing and praying, wanting to breathe all the poison out of his system, cleanse his chakras from the vain pettiness and false expectations, wash away the innate evil that he knew was coiled up deep inside him.
When he opened his eyes again, it was dark. He was immediately drawn to a fire in the distance, a large bonfire set on the beach a few minutes down from where he had been seated. Some young-looking shinobi were dancing around it, one group teaching another some sort of choreography.
The boy rose and readied his mask, slowly walking towards them, hiding under it not his origin or the kekkei genkai of his bloodline, but a soft smile tucked at the corner of his lips.
Damon sat deep in meditation, the lukewarm winds caressing his bare chest, his unkempt hair swaying in the breeze.
Aroma Country was nothing short of paradise.
Just a few days earlier, he hadn’t even heard of such a place, which piqued his curiosity even more when he did.
A festival for all shinobi free to attend, a chance to mingle among all nations, a moment of peace among lingering tides of war.
The entire clan had been abuzz, from every level of the tower you could hear whispers and chuckles about the magnitude of this event.
Initially, Damon simply dismissed it. It was only after realizing the distance this journey could span that excitement began to bubble within him.
It was a land dedicated to luxury and pristine beauty, besieged by war on every side yet offering relief unavailable elsewhere. Somehow, they had forged a utopia between the great nations of Fire and Wind, carving out a life of peace so stringent it was enforced by law.
Damon reviewed all the material and documentation provided about this trip in his room while fiddling with a scroll he had unearthed. It bore a beautifully detailed world map, once belonging to his parents.
This journey would take him further from Lightning than he had ever been, beyond the furthest reaches of the empire.
He was astonished. Of all the scenarios he could have envisioned, it was a beach festival that would take him to the continent.
The next day, he signed his name up, determined to explore these places and meet its people.
He had spent the following days in a different kind of meditation, attempting to liberate himself from the nagging questions that weighed on his mind.
What would it be like? What would he see? Who would he meet?
He knew that no matter how much it troubled him, he wouldn’t find answers simply by mulling over them; instead, he had to pack his gear and embark on the journey.
Any conflict with locals or shinobi from other countries was strictly forbidden and punishable forboding extreme circumstances. He would leave all weapons but his three-section staff at home. There would apparently be some training and sparring opportunities, which he would not let slip. What techniques would he be able to witness there?
More questions arose as he packed his clothes. Apparently, swimwear was essential—but he made sure to include some colourful kimonos.
The items he brought along included a mask. He decided he would try his best to remain anonymous during the trip. While it was technically forbidden to remove his beads, he planned on doing so once they left the borders. If anything, it would serve to protect his heritage from the outside world, shielding his Ishiguro identity from potential enemies.
Regardless of the nature of this gathering, there would be adversaries; there would be those who would use such an event to prey on the unsuspecting. This much was clear to him; it was a trait inherent in all people, especially shinobi it was in their nature to deceive and lie. They were weapons, tool of destruction sharpened by age and morphed with horrid experience, it was simply in their nature.
The next morning, he left his apartment early, dressed in a thick, dark kimono, carrying a large pouch on his back, an ornamental oni mask strapped over his face.
Leaving the tower behind, he met a group of fellow chunin from across town near the gate on a slight plateau. Once the designated group had assembled, a jounin stepped forward and summoned one of the largest companions Damon had ever seen—a giant pelican-like creature with six wings and a gargantuan mouth.
Even hours later, as the group, now divided into small squads, soared high above the raging sea, Damon wasn’t sure if he was more in awe of the summon’s endurance and power or the thrashing waves below.
Apparently, others were traveling by boat, and still others via magnetic train. A few hours later, an extensively exhausted pelican summon landed on a small island before the notorious Soul Country, another hub for refugees and essentially victims to the great nation that surrounded it.
War had caused all of this, the need for places like this. Apparently, even landing on the mainland was prohibited for shinobi unless under special circumstances—that's how much they despised their kind there. Damon agreed, in a way; a country without shinobi was far safer than one with the most elite among them.
They were weapons, and in the last decade, the fear of mutually assured destruction had not deterred the great nations' leaders from plunging all their lives into conflict.
The Ishiguro had kept to himself, not uttering a single word the entire trip. He had pre-packed some rations and was intent on keeping to himself.
They left the island on the back of another flying summon just after sunrise the next morning.
Damon reflected on their journey, opening his eyes to once again take in the incredible view as he sat cross-legged on one of the long stretches of marvelous white sand beaches.
He had been mesmerized ever since his arrival. This was the closest thing to paradise Damon could have ever dreamed of.
The sound of crashing waves on pristine beaches, the whooshing of palm trees in the wind, and the flicker of a large bonfire in the distance.
Behind him, just a few hundred meters from the shore, was the bungalow he shared with another chunin, among many little huts rented to the shinobi of the festival.
He stared out into the dusk, wearing his mask, swim shorts and a fine kimono unbound, flowing in the wind, still sitting in the lukewarm sand just at the edge of the beach.
He fell into a prayer. You could call it meditation, but right here, it was a prayer, for himself to himself, a silent vow to not forget this feeling, these serene moments, the knowledge that amidst all the pain and sorrow, there must be places like this filled with joy and laughter. He sat and prayed, breathing in and out, letting his chakra flow through him in perfect, immaculate harmony.
He let dusk pass as the sun set into the horizon behind the waves. Damon remained seated, breathing and praying, wanting to breathe all the poison out of his system, cleanse his chakras from the vain pettiness and false expectations, wash away the innate evil that he knew was coiled up deep inside him.
When he opened his eyes again, it was dark. He was immediately drawn to a fire in the distance, a large bonfire set on the beach a few minutes down from where he had been seated. Some young-looking shinobi were dancing around it, one group teaching another some sort of choreography.
The boy rose and readied his mask, slowly walking towards them, hiding under it not his origin or the kekkei genkai of his bloodline, but a soft smile tucked at the corner of his lips.
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1170/+2 Control
The Power of Paradise
Walking the Waves
When Damon stepped out of his beachside cabin late this morning, his sleepy gaze was hidden behind a colorful ornamental mask he had been wearing since his arrival in Aroma Country.
He was persistent about staying anonymous during the festivities, going so far as to hide his Kumogakure ninja headband deep in the pockets of his colorful summer kimono, keeping it close in case he needed to identify himself to local security. He draped the silken cloth over his shoulders but left it open, exposing his chest and abdomen to the sun.
He had rested well but overslept—a rare but welcome occurrence. Instead of heading out to one of the lavish banquets at the resort atop the hill overlooking the pristine beach for a hearty breakfast, he chewed on one of his rationed protein bars.
As he blankly stared out into the azure waves, he noticed figures moving in the distance. Initially, he thought there was a group surfing, but upon lifting his mask to rub the sleep from his eyes and focusing on the flickers, he realized they were shinobi running back and forth on top of the waves.
Water walking technique.
I hadn't even thought of that...
Damon was immediately curious; what an interesting concept. He needed to get closer.
The boy slowly made his way to the waterfront until the ocean currents splashed onto his ankles, the residue of one of many waves flowing past him before being drawn back and returning as the next one crashed onto the shore.
He concentrated chakra on his feet, a technique he had used many times before, and stepped forward quickly to get atop the surface. The jutsu worked as it always had, that was until he took about three steps forward, concentrating his gaze on the spectacle unfolding a few dozen meters into the ocean. Suddenly, he fell through as his legs sank into the sand and water drenched the bottom of his fine garments.
What…
It occurred to him he had never used this technique in an ocean before, only in lakes, streams, and even rivers, but not a body of water like this.
He trudged a few steps back before attempting it again. Moments later, he found himself standing on the currents yet again, this time his concentration was on his feet. He waited for the next smaller wave and proceeded to step over it successfully, planting his foot on the other side.
Huh... this is trickier than I thought…
He practiced this a few more times until he found himself ten to fifteen meters offshore, where the waves rose almost to the height of his torso. He had no other choice but to use chakra again to leap over it before carefully balancing himself on the water's afterwards.
It wasn't impossible, he noted its intricacies, but also quickly understood this had almost more to do with pure force chakra than control. As long as he exuded the adequate amounts, the rushing surface wouldn't hinder or throw his movements of balance.
He had barely had enough time to figure this out and leap over yet another wave when he saw that he was being approached from the shore.
A blonde-haired boy, slightly shorter than him, wearing a Kirigakure headband and a giant grin, rushed into the water, springing and then lifting himself off into a giant leap, landing just a few meters beside him.
"Looking good, weirdo. Never water-walked before, or what's your deal?"
The brat was lucky that the recent days of serene paradise had untwisted Damon's normally rather bleak and grouchy personality into a much more open one.
"Hehe, good catch, I guess... yeah, kinda getting the hang of it," Damon replied, noticing the kid had an accent. He made sure to bake a bit of his own northern speak into it to mirror the newcomer.
"Yup, we Water Country ninjas make a sport of it. Listen, it's real simple, don't just coat the bottom of your feet—wear the chakra like a shoe and make sure you keep it consistent as you run through the waves, alright?"
His bare feet flared up as he increased the chakra output to visualize the explained technique to the foreign ninja, then leaned forward, racing toward a group even further out.
"Come catch up, weirdo, we're playing waterball out there!"
Damon stared perplexedly after the speeding Kirigakure ninja.
Waterball?
But his insight had indeed made sense, and Damon was growing slightly frustrated that he wasn't coming up with these concepts himself. Was this cozy island affecting him?
Damn…
In a weird sense, even his pride had taken a bit of a hit; there was no way he would let this boy outshine him.
Tss…
He swallowed his pride, more or less, and followed his fellow shinobi's instructions, coating his feet in chakra as if he were wearing his signature winter boots.
He immediately noticed the difference; he no longer needed to balance himself against the movement of the water below. He eyed the next large wave coming his way, instead of powering up for a leap, he pressed himself off the water's surface and took his first steps, increasing his speed before almost kicking through the encroaching wall of water. Saltwater splashed and foamed as he found himself on the other side mere seconds later. This worked; he was getting the hang of it.
But he also noticed the drain; droplets of sweat were forming on his forehead under his mask.
This damn kid…
He needed to get this right. Having grasped the practice of ocean walking, he leaned forward once again, increased his speed, and raced towards the group.
As he neared the party, he spotted five others, a group of ragtag shinobi, some seemingly younger, some older than him, racing, jumping, and ramming each other as they chased down a rather large beach ball.
When the boy from earlier spotted him, he waved in his direction, and Damon followed his command, silently closing the distance to him.
"Alright, weirdo, seems you got the hang of it, huh? We need another player, so good on you for making it out here," he raised his chin proudly, and Damon noticed the freckles on his face as the blonde boy explained, "Waterball's real easy. All you need to do is get the ball to every player on your team in a row, and you get a point. If the opponents touch the ball before you manage that, the sequence is broken, got it?"
Damon nodded; those rules were easy enough. He wasn’t a big fan of team sports but wasn’t about to deny himself the chance to play a game like this, one he otherwise would never have access to with a group of shinobi he’d otherwise never meet. This was exactly the kind of experience he was hoping to partake in by coming out here.
"Alright, weirdo, see that stockier boy over there, and then the lanky one with the long hair? That's our team. You ready to play some ball, chap?"
Damon nodded again.
"Yeah, let's play some ball, small fry," he threw back at the shorter male, who immediately clenched his teeth before woefully shrugging off the insult and racing towards his teammates.
Damon followed a few steps behind him.
When Damon stepped out of his beachside cabin late this morning, his sleepy gaze was hidden behind a colorful ornamental mask he had been wearing since his arrival in Aroma Country.
He was persistent about staying anonymous during the festivities, going so far as to hide his Kumogakure ninja headband deep in the pockets of his colorful summer kimono, keeping it close in case he needed to identify himself to local security. He draped the silken cloth over his shoulders but left it open, exposing his chest and abdomen to the sun.
He had rested well but overslept—a rare but welcome occurrence. Instead of heading out to one of the lavish banquets at the resort atop the hill overlooking the pristine beach for a hearty breakfast, he chewed on one of his rationed protein bars.
As he blankly stared out into the azure waves, he noticed figures moving in the distance. Initially, he thought there was a group surfing, but upon lifting his mask to rub the sleep from his eyes and focusing on the flickers, he realized they were shinobi running back and forth on top of the waves.
Water walking technique.
I hadn't even thought of that...
Damon was immediately curious; what an interesting concept. He needed to get closer.
The boy slowly made his way to the waterfront until the ocean currents splashed onto his ankles, the residue of one of many waves flowing past him before being drawn back and returning as the next one crashed onto the shore.
He concentrated chakra on his feet, a technique he had used many times before, and stepped forward quickly to get atop the surface. The jutsu worked as it always had, that was until he took about three steps forward, concentrating his gaze on the spectacle unfolding a few dozen meters into the ocean. Suddenly, he fell through as his legs sank into the sand and water drenched the bottom of his fine garments.
What…
It occurred to him he had never used this technique in an ocean before, only in lakes, streams, and even rivers, but not a body of water like this.
He trudged a few steps back before attempting it again. Moments later, he found himself standing on the currents yet again, this time his concentration was on his feet. He waited for the next smaller wave and proceeded to step over it successfully, planting his foot on the other side.
Huh... this is trickier than I thought…
He practiced this a few more times until he found himself ten to fifteen meters offshore, where the waves rose almost to the height of his torso. He had no other choice but to use chakra again to leap over it before carefully balancing himself on the water's afterwards.
It wasn't impossible, he noted its intricacies, but also quickly understood this had almost more to do with pure force chakra than control. As long as he exuded the adequate amounts, the rushing surface wouldn't hinder or throw his movements of balance.
He had barely had enough time to figure this out and leap over yet another wave when he saw that he was being approached from the shore.
A blonde-haired boy, slightly shorter than him, wearing a Kirigakure headband and a giant grin, rushed into the water, springing and then lifting himself off into a giant leap, landing just a few meters beside him.
"Looking good, weirdo. Never water-walked before, or what's your deal?"
The brat was lucky that the recent days of serene paradise had untwisted Damon's normally rather bleak and grouchy personality into a much more open one.
"Hehe, good catch, I guess... yeah, kinda getting the hang of it," Damon replied, noticing the kid had an accent. He made sure to bake a bit of his own northern speak into it to mirror the newcomer.
"Yup, we Water Country ninjas make a sport of it. Listen, it's real simple, don't just coat the bottom of your feet—wear the chakra like a shoe and make sure you keep it consistent as you run through the waves, alright?"
His bare feet flared up as he increased the chakra output to visualize the explained technique to the foreign ninja, then leaned forward, racing toward a group even further out.
"Come catch up, weirdo, we're playing waterball out there!"
Damon stared perplexedly after the speeding Kirigakure ninja.
Waterball?
But his insight had indeed made sense, and Damon was growing slightly frustrated that he wasn't coming up with these concepts himself. Was this cozy island affecting him?
Damn…
In a weird sense, even his pride had taken a bit of a hit; there was no way he would let this boy outshine him.
Tss…
He swallowed his pride, more or less, and followed his fellow shinobi's instructions, coating his feet in chakra as if he were wearing his signature winter boots.
He immediately noticed the difference; he no longer needed to balance himself against the movement of the water below. He eyed the next large wave coming his way, instead of powering up for a leap, he pressed himself off the water's surface and took his first steps, increasing his speed before almost kicking through the encroaching wall of water. Saltwater splashed and foamed as he found himself on the other side mere seconds later. This worked; he was getting the hang of it.
But he also noticed the drain; droplets of sweat were forming on his forehead under his mask.
This damn kid…
He needed to get this right. Having grasped the practice of ocean walking, he leaned forward once again, increased his speed, and raced towards the group.
As he neared the party, he spotted five others, a group of ragtag shinobi, some seemingly younger, some older than him, racing, jumping, and ramming each other as they chased down a rather large beach ball.
When the boy from earlier spotted him, he waved in his direction, and Damon followed his command, silently closing the distance to him.
"Alright, weirdo, seems you got the hang of it, huh? We need another player, so good on you for making it out here," he raised his chin proudly, and Damon noticed the freckles on his face as the blonde boy explained, "Waterball's real easy. All you need to do is get the ball to every player on your team in a row, and you get a point. If the opponents touch the ball before you manage that, the sequence is broken, got it?"
Damon nodded; those rules were easy enough. He wasn’t a big fan of team sports but wasn’t about to deny himself the chance to play a game like this, one he otherwise would never have access to with a group of shinobi he’d otherwise never meet. This was exactly the kind of experience he was hoping to partake in by coming out here.
"Alright, weirdo, see that stockier boy over there, and then the lanky one with the long hair? That's our team. You ready to play some ball, chap?"
Damon nodded again.
"Yeah, let's play some ball, small fry," he threw back at the shorter male, who immediately clenched his teeth before woefully shrugging off the insult and racing towards his teammates.
Damon followed a few steps behind him.
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1213/+2 Chakra Pool
The Power of Paradise
Traits of a Trainer
The young Damon Ishiguro rested leisurely in a hammock strung between two palm trees, his feet dangling from the comfortable fabric as he dozed off in the afternoon heat.
He had fully embraced the beachside lifestyle: the comfortable temperatures, warm nights, the smell of salt in the air, the sound of waves washing ashore and breezes rustling through the palms. Coconut juice, fresh fruit, and garnished chicken drumsticks all day round alongside laughter, joy, and the occasional training regimen.
Who knew that a shinobi could enjoy life like this.
Yet, there was something nagging at him, a thought, a bitter taste that he tried to wash down again and again with more mimosas and pineapple slices.
At first, the serenity was so overwhelming that he prayed he would never forget that this place and its inhabitants existed. Compared to the sheer cold and rugged wilderness of the north, this was paradise.
However, as the days passed, it all began to feel more like a dream, as fleeting as sand slipping through his hand and as elusive as catching the water of its oceans. It was a false reality, unattainable on the grand scale of life and living. This would never be his future; it would never be his reality. He knew it; he just couldn't accept it, yet.
So, he continued his daydreams of giant summons and S-rank Denjinton techniques.
That was until a sound pierced his subconscious.
A yell?
Damon rose instantly, his left hand snapping to where his kunai satchel would have been—it wasn't there. It wasn't quite dusk yet; the blue hour had set in, and the temperature was beginning to cool.
He slipped out of the hammock, clad in another fine, colorful kimono and donning his signature oni mask, which he carefully adjusted before falling silent, waiting for the source of the noise.
A clashing sound in the distance.
A sword?
He was alone on this part of the beach.
The boy crouched slightly as he approached one of the bushes, the sound coming from somewhere within the foliage.
A few meters in, he heard it again, louder this time—the ringing of metal against something...?
He very much wished for a kunai in his hands right about now.
He took a few more steps and slowly peered onto a clearing a few dozen meters ahead.
Two shinobi stood on either side of the clearing. Before each of them was a creature: on the left, a large canine suited in armor plating; on the right, a large blue spirit summon, a bat with a massive wingspan and a giant gaping mouth.
At the command of what Damon could only assume was its owner, the canine charged at the bat and leaped into the air, tackling it with its plated steel body. The bat-like monstrosity skillfully avoided the attack before being commanded to retaliate.
With its fang-littered jaws, it grabbed its attacker out of the air and in one swift movement tossed the armored dog onto the ground with overwhelming strength.
The dog yelped in pain for a mere moment before the shinobi responsible for it rushed to its aid.
A third participant, whom Damon hadn't noticed, blew a whistle and waved his hands frantically to indicate the end of this battle.
Was this some official sparring situation?
Damon now emerged from the bushes and rose to his full height.
Before he could approach the trio, a samurai guard appeared out of nowhere before him. The speed at which he approached and the distance he must have covered immediately alarmed Damon, who held up his arms in a sign of peace.
“This is a moderated training ground. Please behave yourself accordingly.”
Damon nodded in agreement.
While the two shinobi—who had either pets or summons, Damon wasn’t quite sure—were celebrating and tending to their partners, a third participant, an older-looking man with a traditional topknot and wearing a blue uniform with shorts, approached him.
“Remember, we take security very seriously here on the festival grounds. You could have gotten injured as these two trainers were duking it out.”
“Trainers…?” was the first thing that Damon stumbled over.
“Yes, this is just one of the many activities hosted as part of the international festival and grand opening. It’s a gauntlet where trainers battle it out using only their summon or pet. We call it a trainer battle.”
Damon was initially perplexed but also thoroughly curious.
“You mean like a spar, but with no jutsus or other shinobi techniques?”
“Yes, well, almost,” the man scratched his chin. “The summon or pet is allowed to use techniques as long as its trainer does not get involved or use techniques themselves.”
A grin unfolded beneath the mask; this was both incredibly intriguing for the tenkujutsu-obsessed shinobi and a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had been plaguing him all day.
“How may I participate as a… trainer?”
“Ah, another contestant! I'm glad I could spur your interest!” the man exclaimed with a triumphant smile. “Simply sign up at the counter just up the hill from here. There are quite a few other trainers interested, and battles are held every hour or so at various training grounds.”
A few hours later, as the sun slowly began to set, Damon was back on the beach. He had signed up for the activity using a fake name and a made-up shinobi registration number. There was no need to give away his identity for something like this; it could potentially be used to backtrack certain techniques to him.
But it was quite an amusing sight to behold on a lazy late afternoon. He stood surrounded by at least a dozen or so fellow shinobi from all over the world, preparing their chosen fighters for the trainer battles. Damon was captivated by the sheer diversity of creatures from around the globe—a giant colorful spider with thick, dreaded fur stood out among the group. So did a fire elemental lizard, its tail ablaze, breathing out hot fumes of air with every lift of its chest. The Ishiguro could have gone on but was distracted when he heard his pseudonym called out by one of the referees, now identified by their blue vests and whistles hanging around their necks.
“Toga Ashiguro.”
Damon walked over and lifted his hands. “We just need to verify your fighter before you can enter the next battle. Have you chosen?”
Well, it wasn’t much of a choice, but Damon had practiced with Devil Dust just before meeting up at the checkpoint.
“Yes, Devil, come forth.” Activating the seal he had prepared, the black, dust-like swarm appeared out of thin air, swooped around before forming into one large ball-like organism—a giant version of the normally pebble-sized horned smaller demon.
All the dust demons sized up the creature, which was just about three meters in diameter. The man poked the swarming creature ball for a moment before making some adjustments on his notepad and finally signing it, ripping off a section of the paper and handing it to Damon.
“Here's your permission slip to fight in the Trainer battles all over the resort. Just check in with the local referee at the training ground with your opponent. Enjoy!”
With documentation in hand and closely followed by the swarming orb-shaped summon, Damon paced to one of the many zoned-off training fields scattered across the beach.
There were at least five or so trainer fights happening simultaneously, and as much as he wanted to stop and observe, the itch of battle drew him to the last of the fields he spotted, which was currently not in use.
Approaching it, he nodded to the blue-shirted referee, a small man with a fine mustache, who waved him over. They exchanged a few words before Damon took a stance at one end of the rectangular field. It was marked only by lines drawn in the sand, but these were sufficient to clearly define the battlegrounds; if one of the fighters left it, they had lost.
Damon had studied the rules after signing up and had devised several strategies for leveraging Devil Dust's unique nature to clinch some victories.
As a summoner, he had one significant advantage and one notable disadvantage. The advantage was that he could communicate telepathically with his spirit summon—the demons lived in his mind whether he liked it or not. The drawback was the chakra drainage he would experience as the fights dragged on, which is why it was in his favor to end these battles swiftly.
"Teheh, look, look, look!" a thousand screeching voices burst into his head. Damon was jarred from his competitive analysis when a young female shinobi approached the field.
She was a Iwagakure ninja, evident from her headband. She wore a bathing suit, a light jacket, and even sported swimming goggles on her forehead. Her long brown braided hair thrashed about as she jumped onto the field, declaring, "I am Karigiri Mai, and I challenge you to a trainer battle!"
She exuded joy, sporting a giant grin as she posed her challenge. Damon was oddly thrilled; combat always got his blood pumping, and the fact that he didn't have to risk his own well being added a novel twist that he had never experienced before.
"I accept," he stated plainly.
"A challenge has been issued, and a battle will commence between Karigiri Mai and Ashiguro Toga on field five," the referee paused in suspense as both participants readied themselves. "Trainers, choose your fighters!"
Get ready, Devils!
"I choose my sweet Naru-chan!" The Iwa girl clutched a piece of paper, acting as a summoning scroll.
So it's a spirit as well.
Out of the smoke appeared a large floating piscine seahorse, with a tightly curled tail. Its body was covered in blue scales, with long fins on its belly. It had a large round snout, clearly used to shoot projectiles, while an even larger fin protruded from its back.
This must be a menace to fight in an underwater situation.
"Trainers, begin!" the referee yelled out.
Before Damon had a chance to think, Mai called out to her summon, "Go Naru, show him your Suiton techniques!"
The creature seemed to want to sneeze as its head tilted back before moments later it flailed forward, releasing a stream of pressurized water at the floating Devil Dust.
The large orb-like swarming creature was immediately impaled by the attack, the blast of Suiton hitting it dead center before breaking through its backside.
"Haaa!" Mai celebrated triumphantly.
But Damon and the Devils were just playing a charade. He already had an idea of how he would best this trainer's fighter.
Devils, scatter and reform.
The orb broke apart like an angry swarm of bees, buzzing about illuminating its small green eyes whilst releasing their signature screeching sound.
“What the??” his opponent uttered, confused before adding, “Ewwwww.”
Damon chuckled softly under his mask; it was amusing to watch someone else struggle with the Devils aside from himself.
Then the black floating particles regrouped into a giant look-alike—a swarming mirage of a tailed, green-eyed oni with sharp teeth and large, mouse-like ears.
Alright, now charge at it, Devils.
“Heeeeeeeee heeheheh heeeeee,” the swarm screeched and chirped as it suddenly surged forward at the seahorse-like summon.
“Ahh, Naru, dodge it and then ready another Suiton blast, you got this!” Mai encouraged her spirit.
But the trap was already set. The creature might have successfully dodged the charge of the devils, but once it repositioned itself and readied its next attack by ducking its head back once more, the devils truly struck.
Breaking formation, they morphed into a long stream-like shape and shot forward into the blue monster’s snout. As it jerked its head forward, the water wasn't able to escape its body and instead burst within.
The creature, along with some of the devils, popped into white smoke.
“BWAHAHAHAH teheheeh, heheheh,” the Devils snickered loudly.
“The winner of this round is Ashiguro Toga.”
“Ehhh, no, that's not fair, what was that!” Mai protested. “Argh, I'll come back to avenge my sweet Naru-chan, don't you forget it!”
Without another word, the brazen young girl stormed off.
Damon had to chuckle again; he was having fun, and it was quite clear that the Devils were also enjoying this.
He needed to get a few more of these matches in before he’d call it a day, that much was clear.
Damon was exhilarated, and his Devil Dust reveled in it.
"Heheheh, battle, battle, battle," they sang in unison into his mind.
"Yeah, yeah, we're going to battle more," he affirmed them.
He had stumbled upon something significant here: the opportunity to study and encounter a variety of spirits and summons, as well as a chance to bond and train alongside the creatures he had a formed a pact with on that fateful day almost two years back. It was beneficial to both of them no matter from what angle you looked at it.
It also helped that he could stay out having to put himself in bodily danger while doing so, something that normally tugged at his heartstrings and stirred his decision-making.
He itched for another challenge, and he didn't have to wait long for his wish to be fulfilled.
Just as sunset approached, and the temperature began to cool, as the tide retreated and the flow picked up, washing onto the beachfront. An older teen stepped up to the training field that Damon was still occupying.
"Hey, I'm Okobo," he announced from across the designated battlefield. "Hashin, Okobo, from Konoha."
He was a lean, well-trained, almost inherently handsome young man. Brown hair brushed into his face, sunglasses and a smirk adorned his face, while his ninja headband hung loosely around his neck.
An open short-sleeved beach shirt revealed a toned set of abs, and swim trunks completed his sparse outfit.
This guy didn't seem like he was messing around.
Damon's teeth clenched, and his fists tightened.
Well, damn neither am I…
"Devils, come out of shadow summon," he declared deliberately. If the boy wanted to maintain his bravado, the Ishiguro would play along.
A black fog with a green, almost bioluminescent light slowly came to life, shifting about like the waves creeping up the beach before solidifying into the signature illusory reflection of themselves. One large Devil with giant, almost toxic-colored eyes stared the newcomer down menacingly.
"Well, so much is clear. I challenge you!" The boy snapped his fingers.
Hmm, he's a spirit tamer as well, then…
As he predicted, a cat-like creature appeared in a puff of white smoke. Just as cool and presumptuous as its handler, the feline stood on two feet, wearing an eyepatch and a flak jacket, wielding a cutlass almost twice its size.
"You're in for a treat, buddy, tss tss tss," the creature sneered towards the other side of the battleground.
The Devils snarled right back, their scratchy voices blending in unison, "Battle, battle, battle."
The referee intervened, "A challenge has been issued, and a battle will commence between Hashin Okobo and Ishiguro Toga on field five," without wasting another moment's worth of already pent-up aggression between the two trainers and their fighters. The man in blue blurts out, "Trainers, begin!"
Damon almost instinctively got into a fighting stance himself before commanding aloud, "Devils, poke at it a bit, go."
As commanded, the swarming creatures released three smaller sets of swirling flocks of devil dust, which shot forward like predatory birds diving for their prey.
"Hene," apparently the creature's name or at least what its trainer called it, "Dodge and attack the main body!"
The creature reacted almost instantaneously. It was fast, like really fast, and it was strong, like really strong. It darted forward at an incredible pace. Damon didn't even see it draw out for a swing; that's how quickly it brought the massive blade down on the unsuspecting swarm of tiny oni spirits.
"Scatter," the Ishiguro commanded loudly, before he added telepathically, "become fog."
Damon commanded his summons, and they obeyed. The small patch pristine white beach sank into darkness as the creatures covered the ground, floating about, tightly huddled together, surrounding their opponents who stood motionless, awaiting a command.
“What the…” his opponent stuttered. “Hene, get back over here.”
The ninja cat once again moved at tremendous speed, flickering back to its original position, sliding in the sand as it came to a stop just before its trainer.
Hmm, we can work with that...
Damon smirked under his mask. He had just spotted his winning condition.
It seemed Okobo was also scheming with his fighter, both trainers telepathically linking with their summons to direct their next moves.
“Devils, push them about, we need to keep moving.”
“BAWAHAHAHAH,” the thousand little voices of the Devils screeched as they reformed into a large flock, a unified ball-shaped spirit. As instructed, the buzzing creature sped forwards into motion as if to tackle its feline counterpart.
With a proud purr, the cat ninja summon ducked to the side, dragging its giant cleaver along as it outpaced the roaming ball of floating particles.
Again and again, the large swarm chased after their much faster opponent, pushing each other around the arena, with Hene continuing to have the upper hand in terms of raw speed.
After another such dodge, the cat slid across the sand and swung the sword behind its back. Damon could see the concentration of its trainer Okobo intensify, most likely telepathically readying his fighter. It was time.
Get in position! Move back! he wordlessly communicated to his summons.
The floating flock of pebble-sized demons continued to buzz about the area, stopping and facing the cat. Mere seconds later, Hene pushed off the ground and came charging at the Devils.
"Charge now!” Damon yelled.
The cat's cleaver struck down on the swarm summon as it zapped into and through the Devil Dust, floating about, now lost in formation and whirled about by the strength and speed of the attack.
“The winner of this round is Ashiguro Toga,” the referee announced bluntly.
Both Okobo and Hene stared onward, shaken and blank-faced. Hene's foot clearly placed outside the arena's zoned-off line in the sand. It had slid past the line on which the Devil had purposefully placed themselves.
“No… no way, ahh, you tricked us! What?!” the trainer got riled up pretty quick. “What a cowardly victory! Fight fair, damn it!”
“Bweheheheheheeheh,” the scratching, twisting sound of the Devils emanated out into the nightfall that was slowly creeping in.
Hene puffed into white smoke as the angry Okobo stomped off and away from the battlefield.
Damon smirked gleefully under his mask.
These types of victories against larger, faster adversaries were Damon's specialty, and he was thrown back into some of the more unsavoury victories he pulled off during the Chunin exams.
In the end, it was a binary game; there was always a winner and always a loser, and he would be the former by any means necessary.
The still giggling Devil Dust faded into a shadow summon and sluggishly flowed towards Damon as it enveloped his feet in its black fog, emitting a bioluminescent green hue.
It had been enough training for today, although Damon knew he would return to the battlefield again.
The young Damon Ishiguro rested leisurely in a hammock strung between two palm trees, his feet dangling from the comfortable fabric as he dozed off in the afternoon heat.
He had fully embraced the beachside lifestyle: the comfortable temperatures, warm nights, the smell of salt in the air, the sound of waves washing ashore and breezes rustling through the palms. Coconut juice, fresh fruit, and garnished chicken drumsticks all day round alongside laughter, joy, and the occasional training regimen.
Who knew that a shinobi could enjoy life like this.
Yet, there was something nagging at him, a thought, a bitter taste that he tried to wash down again and again with more mimosas and pineapple slices.
At first, the serenity was so overwhelming that he prayed he would never forget that this place and its inhabitants existed. Compared to the sheer cold and rugged wilderness of the north, this was paradise.
However, as the days passed, it all began to feel more like a dream, as fleeting as sand slipping through his hand and as elusive as catching the water of its oceans. It was a false reality, unattainable on the grand scale of life and living. This would never be his future; it would never be his reality. He knew it; he just couldn't accept it, yet.
So, he continued his daydreams of giant summons and S-rank Denjinton techniques.
That was until a sound pierced his subconscious.
A yell?
Damon rose instantly, his left hand snapping to where his kunai satchel would have been—it wasn't there. It wasn't quite dusk yet; the blue hour had set in, and the temperature was beginning to cool.
He slipped out of the hammock, clad in another fine, colorful kimono and donning his signature oni mask, which he carefully adjusted before falling silent, waiting for the source of the noise.
A clashing sound in the distance.
A sword?
He was alone on this part of the beach.
The boy crouched slightly as he approached one of the bushes, the sound coming from somewhere within the foliage.
A few meters in, he heard it again, louder this time—the ringing of metal against something...?
He very much wished for a kunai in his hands right about now.
He took a few more steps and slowly peered onto a clearing a few dozen meters ahead.
Two shinobi stood on either side of the clearing. Before each of them was a creature: on the left, a large canine suited in armor plating; on the right, a large blue spirit summon, a bat with a massive wingspan and a giant gaping mouth.
At the command of what Damon could only assume was its owner, the canine charged at the bat and leaped into the air, tackling it with its plated steel body. The bat-like monstrosity skillfully avoided the attack before being commanded to retaliate.
With its fang-littered jaws, it grabbed its attacker out of the air and in one swift movement tossed the armored dog onto the ground with overwhelming strength.
The dog yelped in pain for a mere moment before the shinobi responsible for it rushed to its aid.
A third participant, whom Damon hadn't noticed, blew a whistle and waved his hands frantically to indicate the end of this battle.
Was this some official sparring situation?
Damon now emerged from the bushes and rose to his full height.
Before he could approach the trio, a samurai guard appeared out of nowhere before him. The speed at which he approached and the distance he must have covered immediately alarmed Damon, who held up his arms in a sign of peace.
“This is a moderated training ground. Please behave yourself accordingly.”
Damon nodded in agreement.
While the two shinobi—who had either pets or summons, Damon wasn’t quite sure—were celebrating and tending to their partners, a third participant, an older-looking man with a traditional topknot and wearing a blue uniform with shorts, approached him.
“Remember, we take security very seriously here on the festival grounds. You could have gotten injured as these two trainers were duking it out.”
“Trainers…?” was the first thing that Damon stumbled over.
“Yes, this is just one of the many activities hosted as part of the international festival and grand opening. It’s a gauntlet where trainers battle it out using only their summon or pet. We call it a trainer battle.”
Damon was initially perplexed but also thoroughly curious.
“You mean like a spar, but with no jutsus or other shinobi techniques?”
“Yes, well, almost,” the man scratched his chin. “The summon or pet is allowed to use techniques as long as its trainer does not get involved or use techniques themselves.”
A grin unfolded beneath the mask; this was both incredibly intriguing for the tenkujutsu-obsessed shinobi and a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had been plaguing him all day.
“How may I participate as a… trainer?”
“Ah, another contestant! I'm glad I could spur your interest!” the man exclaimed with a triumphant smile. “Simply sign up at the counter just up the hill from here. There are quite a few other trainers interested, and battles are held every hour or so at various training grounds.”
A few hours later, as the sun slowly began to set, Damon was back on the beach. He had signed up for the activity using a fake name and a made-up shinobi registration number. There was no need to give away his identity for something like this; it could potentially be used to backtrack certain techniques to him.
But it was quite an amusing sight to behold on a lazy late afternoon. He stood surrounded by at least a dozen or so fellow shinobi from all over the world, preparing their chosen fighters for the trainer battles. Damon was captivated by the sheer diversity of creatures from around the globe—a giant colorful spider with thick, dreaded fur stood out among the group. So did a fire elemental lizard, its tail ablaze, breathing out hot fumes of air with every lift of its chest. The Ishiguro could have gone on but was distracted when he heard his pseudonym called out by one of the referees, now identified by their blue vests and whistles hanging around their necks.
“Toga Ashiguro.”
Damon walked over and lifted his hands. “We just need to verify your fighter before you can enter the next battle. Have you chosen?”
Well, it wasn’t much of a choice, but Damon had practiced with Devil Dust just before meeting up at the checkpoint.
“Yes, Devil, come forth.” Activating the seal he had prepared, the black, dust-like swarm appeared out of thin air, swooped around before forming into one large ball-like organism—a giant version of the normally pebble-sized horned smaller demon.
All the dust demons sized up the creature, which was just about three meters in diameter. The man poked the swarming creature ball for a moment before making some adjustments on his notepad and finally signing it, ripping off a section of the paper and handing it to Damon.
“Here's your permission slip to fight in the Trainer battles all over the resort. Just check in with the local referee at the training ground with your opponent. Enjoy!”
With documentation in hand and closely followed by the swarming orb-shaped summon, Damon paced to one of the many zoned-off training fields scattered across the beach.
There were at least five or so trainer fights happening simultaneously, and as much as he wanted to stop and observe, the itch of battle drew him to the last of the fields he spotted, which was currently not in use.
Approaching it, he nodded to the blue-shirted referee, a small man with a fine mustache, who waved him over. They exchanged a few words before Damon took a stance at one end of the rectangular field. It was marked only by lines drawn in the sand, but these were sufficient to clearly define the battlegrounds; if one of the fighters left it, they had lost.
Damon had studied the rules after signing up and had devised several strategies for leveraging Devil Dust's unique nature to clinch some victories.
As a summoner, he had one significant advantage and one notable disadvantage. The advantage was that he could communicate telepathically with his spirit summon—the demons lived in his mind whether he liked it or not. The drawback was the chakra drainage he would experience as the fights dragged on, which is why it was in his favor to end these battles swiftly.
"Teheh, look, look, look!" a thousand screeching voices burst into his head. Damon was jarred from his competitive analysis when a young female shinobi approached the field.
She was a Iwagakure ninja, evident from her headband. She wore a bathing suit, a light jacket, and even sported swimming goggles on her forehead. Her long brown braided hair thrashed about as she jumped onto the field, declaring, "I am Karigiri Mai, and I challenge you to a trainer battle!"
She exuded joy, sporting a giant grin as she posed her challenge. Damon was oddly thrilled; combat always got his blood pumping, and the fact that he didn't have to risk his own well being added a novel twist that he had never experienced before.
"I accept," he stated plainly.
"A challenge has been issued, and a battle will commence between Karigiri Mai and Ashiguro Toga on field five," the referee paused in suspense as both participants readied themselves. "Trainers, choose your fighters!"
Get ready, Devils!
"I choose my sweet Naru-chan!" The Iwa girl clutched a piece of paper, acting as a summoning scroll.
So it's a spirit as well.
Out of the smoke appeared a large floating piscine seahorse, with a tightly curled tail. Its body was covered in blue scales, with long fins on its belly. It had a large round snout, clearly used to shoot projectiles, while an even larger fin protruded from its back.
This must be a menace to fight in an underwater situation.
"Trainers, begin!" the referee yelled out.
Before Damon had a chance to think, Mai called out to her summon, "Go Naru, show him your Suiton techniques!"
The creature seemed to want to sneeze as its head tilted back before moments later it flailed forward, releasing a stream of pressurized water at the floating Devil Dust.
The large orb-like swarming creature was immediately impaled by the attack, the blast of Suiton hitting it dead center before breaking through its backside.
"Haaa!" Mai celebrated triumphantly.
But Damon and the Devils were just playing a charade. He already had an idea of how he would best this trainer's fighter.
Devils, scatter and reform.
The orb broke apart like an angry swarm of bees, buzzing about illuminating its small green eyes whilst releasing their signature screeching sound.
“What the??” his opponent uttered, confused before adding, “Ewwwww.”
Damon chuckled softly under his mask; it was amusing to watch someone else struggle with the Devils aside from himself.
Then the black floating particles regrouped into a giant look-alike—a swarming mirage of a tailed, green-eyed oni with sharp teeth and large, mouse-like ears.
Alright, now charge at it, Devils.
“Heeeeeeeee heeheheh heeeeee,” the swarm screeched and chirped as it suddenly surged forward at the seahorse-like summon.
“Ahh, Naru, dodge it and then ready another Suiton blast, you got this!” Mai encouraged her spirit.
But the trap was already set. The creature might have successfully dodged the charge of the devils, but once it repositioned itself and readied its next attack by ducking its head back once more, the devils truly struck.
Breaking formation, they morphed into a long stream-like shape and shot forward into the blue monster’s snout. As it jerked its head forward, the water wasn't able to escape its body and instead burst within.
The creature, along with some of the devils, popped into white smoke.
“BWAHAHAHAH teheheeh, heheheh,” the Devils snickered loudly.
“The winner of this round is Ashiguro Toga.”
“Ehhh, no, that's not fair, what was that!” Mai protested. “Argh, I'll come back to avenge my sweet Naru-chan, don't you forget it!”
Without another word, the brazen young girl stormed off.
Damon had to chuckle again; he was having fun, and it was quite clear that the Devils were also enjoying this.
He needed to get a few more of these matches in before he’d call it a day, that much was clear.
Damon was exhilarated, and his Devil Dust reveled in it.
"Heheheh, battle, battle, battle," they sang in unison into his mind.
"Yeah, yeah, we're going to battle more," he affirmed them.
He had stumbled upon something significant here: the opportunity to study and encounter a variety of spirits and summons, as well as a chance to bond and train alongside the creatures he had a formed a pact with on that fateful day almost two years back. It was beneficial to both of them no matter from what angle you looked at it.
It also helped that he could stay out having to put himself in bodily danger while doing so, something that normally tugged at his heartstrings and stirred his decision-making.
He itched for another challenge, and he didn't have to wait long for his wish to be fulfilled.
Just as sunset approached, and the temperature began to cool, as the tide retreated and the flow picked up, washing onto the beachfront. An older teen stepped up to the training field that Damon was still occupying.
"Hey, I'm Okobo," he announced from across the designated battlefield. "Hashin, Okobo, from Konoha."
He was a lean, well-trained, almost inherently handsome young man. Brown hair brushed into his face, sunglasses and a smirk adorned his face, while his ninja headband hung loosely around his neck.
An open short-sleeved beach shirt revealed a toned set of abs, and swim trunks completed his sparse outfit.
This guy didn't seem like he was messing around.
Damon's teeth clenched, and his fists tightened.
Well, damn neither am I…
"Devils, come out of shadow summon," he declared deliberately. If the boy wanted to maintain his bravado, the Ishiguro would play along.
A black fog with a green, almost bioluminescent light slowly came to life, shifting about like the waves creeping up the beach before solidifying into the signature illusory reflection of themselves. One large Devil with giant, almost toxic-colored eyes stared the newcomer down menacingly.
"Well, so much is clear. I challenge you!" The boy snapped his fingers.
Hmm, he's a spirit tamer as well, then…
As he predicted, a cat-like creature appeared in a puff of white smoke. Just as cool and presumptuous as its handler, the feline stood on two feet, wearing an eyepatch and a flak jacket, wielding a cutlass almost twice its size.
"You're in for a treat, buddy, tss tss tss," the creature sneered towards the other side of the battleground.
The Devils snarled right back, their scratchy voices blending in unison, "Battle, battle, battle."
The referee intervened, "A challenge has been issued, and a battle will commence between Hashin Okobo and Ishiguro Toga on field five," without wasting another moment's worth of already pent-up aggression between the two trainers and their fighters. The man in blue blurts out, "Trainers, begin!"
Damon almost instinctively got into a fighting stance himself before commanding aloud, "Devils, poke at it a bit, go."
As commanded, the swarming creatures released three smaller sets of swirling flocks of devil dust, which shot forward like predatory birds diving for their prey.
"Hene," apparently the creature's name or at least what its trainer called it, "Dodge and attack the main body!"
The creature reacted almost instantaneously. It was fast, like really fast, and it was strong, like really strong. It darted forward at an incredible pace. Damon didn't even see it draw out for a swing; that's how quickly it brought the massive blade down on the unsuspecting swarm of tiny oni spirits.
"Scatter," the Ishiguro commanded loudly, before he added telepathically, "become fog."
Damon commanded his summons, and they obeyed. The small patch pristine white beach sank into darkness as the creatures covered the ground, floating about, tightly huddled together, surrounding their opponents who stood motionless, awaiting a command.
“What the…” his opponent stuttered. “Hene, get back over here.”
The ninja cat once again moved at tremendous speed, flickering back to its original position, sliding in the sand as it came to a stop just before its trainer.
Hmm, we can work with that...
Damon smirked under his mask. He had just spotted his winning condition.
It seemed Okobo was also scheming with his fighter, both trainers telepathically linking with their summons to direct their next moves.
“Devils, push them about, we need to keep moving.”
“BAWAHAHAHAH,” the thousand little voices of the Devils screeched as they reformed into a large flock, a unified ball-shaped spirit. As instructed, the buzzing creature sped forwards into motion as if to tackle its feline counterpart.
With a proud purr, the cat ninja summon ducked to the side, dragging its giant cleaver along as it outpaced the roaming ball of floating particles.
Again and again, the large swarm chased after their much faster opponent, pushing each other around the arena, with Hene continuing to have the upper hand in terms of raw speed.
After another such dodge, the cat slid across the sand and swung the sword behind its back. Damon could see the concentration of its trainer Okobo intensify, most likely telepathically readying his fighter. It was time.
Get in position! Move back! he wordlessly communicated to his summons.
The floating flock of pebble-sized demons continued to buzz about the area, stopping and facing the cat. Mere seconds later, Hene pushed off the ground and came charging at the Devils.
"Charge now!” Damon yelled.
The cat's cleaver struck down on the swarm summon as it zapped into and through the Devil Dust, floating about, now lost in formation and whirled about by the strength and speed of the attack.
“The winner of this round is Ashiguro Toga,” the referee announced bluntly.
Both Okobo and Hene stared onward, shaken and blank-faced. Hene's foot clearly placed outside the arena's zoned-off line in the sand. It had slid past the line on which the Devil had purposefully placed themselves.
“No… no way, ahh, you tricked us! What?!” the trainer got riled up pretty quick. “What a cowardly victory! Fight fair, damn it!”
“Bweheheheheheeheh,” the scratching, twisting sound of the Devils emanated out into the nightfall that was slowly creeping in.
Hene puffed into white smoke as the angry Okobo stomped off and away from the battlefield.
Damon smirked gleefully under his mask.
These types of victories against larger, faster adversaries were Damon's specialty, and he was thrown back into some of the more unsavoury victories he pulled off during the Chunin exams.
In the end, it was a binary game; there was always a winner and always a loser, and he would be the former by any means necessary.
The still giggling Devil Dust faded into a shadow summon and sluggishly flowed towards Damon as it enveloped his feet in its black fog, emitting a bioluminescent green hue.
It had been enough training for today, although Damon knew he would return to the battlefield again.
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Last edited by Davak on Mon Apr 29, 2024 1:11 pm, edited 2 times in total.