For the first time in many, many years, the world stretched before him as a finely detailed blanket of mountains, rivers and meadows. The air was brisk, with an unceasing wind, buttressed by sheets of clouds both above and below, breaking round the floating landmass. There were no peaks to obstruct his view here. The continent of Kishin, for all its violence, was an extraordinary physical masterpiece.
After a long trek through the Land of Earth, he'd leapt aboard the Heavenly Emporium, riding the merchant shuttle to its docking station in the underbelly. Up through the steel scaffolding, corridors, and hatchways he'd moved until the Stowaway, Irui had emerged at the ground-level street. It wasn't truly a street, more like a wider-than-average passage between structures. Despite growing up in the frosty mountains of the Land of Lightning, the cold still bit at exposed flesh. Even if he didn't feel it now, he knew even the miracles of Jashin couldn't stop frostbite.
What drew him here, he couldn't say, only that he knew he had to get off the mainland as soon as possible, before the Hidden Mist located him. What a sight this would have been, if he could have seen his future. Catching his own reflection in the window of the hostel, he tilted and turned his head, eyeing the scars and stitches. Experimentally he worked his jaw: Jashin's miracle had restored his mandible, fusing broken bone and mending cracked teeth. The swelling below his right eye had diminished too and his vision returned.
A hot shower, the first in many, many days washed away the scabs and blisters. He'd grimaced with disgust as trail of grime flowing down the drain past his naked toes. Why couldn't Mora have just finished the job? Torched him all the way through so he couldn't see what his skin had once resembled. He ran fingers over a gnarled scalp. Crevasses and craters of tissue pockmarked his bare crown. He continued to scrub away, clawing the grime from beneath his fingernails. The gnawing, ceaseless itching and crawling of his skin had quieted. He felt it beneath his skin, in his mind too-- the wild, squirming thoughts, the desire for violence-- had gone still. Surrounded by the hot water and steam he allowed himself to lean against vaguely cold tile and slowly withdraw, curling into a ball. The thundering of water over his ears drowned the whispers of Jashin, and he squeezed his eyes shut, cradling his head in pruning hands.
Memories of the Hidden Cloud and the Academy filtered through his mind's eye; eating Mochi with Bobi; stretching his arms wide in his mothers arms as they rode her great Takagari eagle. Wandering the winding roads of the Hidden. Cloud. It all had changed when he'd spied the elderly woman in the Mikiri District that morning. He drew ins breath through the hot water rushing over his face, and felt his body shudder under the weight of it all.
The water ran cold in time. Fresh cloth wrappings had been applied to his neck and torso. Carefully he worked them, just like Nameda had demonstrated, around his forearms, biceps, and stomach, until at last he finished wrapping his head. Irui, the Burned Man was gone again, becoming Kyojin.
Irui looked down at the meager supplies he'd had left-- a few exploding tags, premade seals and a pile of throwing needles. He tightened the cinches on the underside of the Echo Speakers gloving his forearms.
That boy.... He thought, That boy had been a one-man army with shuriken, clones and Wood Release. There was little he could do to wound him as well; A blow to the arm with concentrated Lightning Release had only briefly incapacitated him. In spite of it, they were equally matched. He looked down at the mark on his left hand, the distinctive diamonds, interlocked at his palm. In combat his opponents had only scarcely allowed him to test the capabilities of his lineage. It gave him pause, thinking on the moment. There was more to it than just absorbing Earth Release. If he'd had time, he was certain he could undo the child's Wood Release. He could unmake the trees and devour them like the other techniques.
They would meet again, he knew it, and then they would be truly even: Creation v. Consumption. The boy held nature in his hands, and Irui held the ceaseless void. He'd seen the terror on the boy's face before, he'd tasted it in combat with others. Fear had always been an equalizer, whether it was overwhelming elemental firepower, or with illusions as with Tsuki. There was raw untapped potential here, and Shimiko had bought him time to discover it.
His his hood drawn, and Kumogakure headband stashed, he ventured into the streets of the Heavenly Emporium, meshing himself with the wayward travelers. For the first time since the immolation, he took a seat at the nearest cafe and studied their menu.
After a long trek through the Land of Earth, he'd leapt aboard the Heavenly Emporium, riding the merchant shuttle to its docking station in the underbelly. Up through the steel scaffolding, corridors, and hatchways he'd moved until the Stowaway, Irui had emerged at the ground-level street. It wasn't truly a street, more like a wider-than-average passage between structures. Despite growing up in the frosty mountains of the Land of Lightning, the cold still bit at exposed flesh. Even if he didn't feel it now, he knew even the miracles of Jashin couldn't stop frostbite.
What drew him here, he couldn't say, only that he knew he had to get off the mainland as soon as possible, before the Hidden Mist located him. What a sight this would have been, if he could have seen his future. Catching his own reflection in the window of the hostel, he tilted and turned his head, eyeing the scars and stitches. Experimentally he worked his jaw: Jashin's miracle had restored his mandible, fusing broken bone and mending cracked teeth. The swelling below his right eye had diminished too and his vision returned.
A hot shower, the first in many, many days washed away the scabs and blisters. He'd grimaced with disgust as trail of grime flowing down the drain past his naked toes. Why couldn't Mora have just finished the job? Torched him all the way through so he couldn't see what his skin had once resembled. He ran fingers over a gnarled scalp. Crevasses and craters of tissue pockmarked his bare crown. He continued to scrub away, clawing the grime from beneath his fingernails. The gnawing, ceaseless itching and crawling of his skin had quieted. He felt it beneath his skin, in his mind too-- the wild, squirming thoughts, the desire for violence-- had gone still. Surrounded by the hot water and steam he allowed himself to lean against vaguely cold tile and slowly withdraw, curling into a ball. The thundering of water over his ears drowned the whispers of Jashin, and he squeezed his eyes shut, cradling his head in pruning hands.
Memories of the Hidden Cloud and the Academy filtered through his mind's eye; eating Mochi with Bobi; stretching his arms wide in his mothers arms as they rode her great Takagari eagle. Wandering the winding roads of the Hidden. Cloud. It all had changed when he'd spied the elderly woman in the Mikiri District that morning. He drew ins breath through the hot water rushing over his face, and felt his body shudder under the weight of it all.
The water ran cold in time. Fresh cloth wrappings had been applied to his neck and torso. Carefully he worked them, just like Nameda had demonstrated, around his forearms, biceps, and stomach, until at last he finished wrapping his head. Irui, the Burned Man was gone again, becoming Kyojin.
Irui looked down at the meager supplies he'd had left-- a few exploding tags, premade seals and a pile of throwing needles. He tightened the cinches on the underside of the Echo Speakers gloving his forearms.
That boy.... He thought, That boy had been a one-man army with shuriken, clones and Wood Release. There was little he could do to wound him as well; A blow to the arm with concentrated Lightning Release had only briefly incapacitated him. In spite of it, they were equally matched. He looked down at the mark on his left hand, the distinctive diamonds, interlocked at his palm. In combat his opponents had only scarcely allowed him to test the capabilities of his lineage. It gave him pause, thinking on the moment. There was more to it than just absorbing Earth Release. If he'd had time, he was certain he could undo the child's Wood Release. He could unmake the trees and devour them like the other techniques.
They would meet again, he knew it, and then they would be truly even: Creation v. Consumption. The boy held nature in his hands, and Irui held the ceaseless void. He'd seen the terror on the boy's face before, he'd tasted it in combat with others. Fear had always been an equalizer, whether it was overwhelming elemental firepower, or with illusions as with Tsuki. There was raw untapped potential here, and Shimiko had bought him time to discover it.
His his hood drawn, and Kumogakure headband stashed, he ventured into the streets of the Heavenly Emporium, meshing himself with the wayward travelers. For the first time since the immolation, he took a seat at the nearest cafe and studied their menu.
