. : : Prelude : : .
Summer's warm spell continued throughout the day, with the stain of leaves descending further from the canopies of a large tree hanging over a small apartment building. In it, a young man left his tiny room, which he sublet from some tenants who lived down in Konoha's West, stepped out onto the street, and slowly, as if indecisively, set off towards the walk-out basement of his building.
He had successfully managed to avoid meeting his landlady on the staircase. His small room, more like a closet than an apartment, was tucked under the roof of a three-story building. The landlady of the apartment, who rented him this room and provided both dinner and a cleaner, lived below in a separate apartment on the same staircase; every time he left open onto the landing. Every time the young man passed, he felt a painful and fearful sensation, one that he was ashamed of and that made him wince. He was deeply in debt to the landlady and was afraid to face her.
It wasn't that he was so fearful and cowed; in fact, it was just the opposite; but for some time he had been in an irritable and anxious state, similar to hypochondria. He had become too absorbed in himself and so isolated from others that he was afraid of meeting anyone, not only his landlady. He was losing too much through gambling, but even his constrained circumstances had ceased to burden him of late. He had completely stopped handling his own everyday affairs and didn't wish to deal with them. He was not actually afraid of his landlady, no matter what she intended to do with him. But to stop on the staircase, put up with all sorts of nonsense about ordinary rubbish that didn't concern him at all, her constant pestering about payment, her threads and complains, and, in the face of it all, to have to dodge her, make excuses, tell lies--no thank you; it was better to slip past somehow, like a cat on a staircase, and steal away unnoticed.
However, the footfall was light, barely discernible among all the myriad of noises of the bustling streets: the shoes clacking against the pavement, the distant cell phones ringing, the echoes of voices talking, the store doors opening and closing, yet this young man recognised it as he made his way out onto the street wearing a white cloak to cover and hide his appearance. His face shrouded.
For a moment, a feeling of the deepest loathing flashed across the young man's delicate features. Incidentally, he was remarkably handsome, with splendid lime green eyes and dark brown hair; he was taller than average, slender, and well built. But soon he seemed to slip into profound pensiveness, even, it would be more accurate to say, into a state of oblivion. He walked along not noticing his surroundings, not even wanting to take notice of them.
Now rotating his hands across the latch to the entrance of his walk-out basement, revealing a passageway that went down through a dark corridor, Satoma was immediately consumed by the sense of boundless space. The room unfolding before him in a blank canvas with walls that seemed to stretch perpetually. It was almost surreal to anyone, what was this place, and what purpose did it serve? It was Satoma’s bottomless-storage, sponsored by Hiroshi Sarutobi’s ninjutsu to create a space where he could train undisturbed or uninterrupted. A place where Satoma regularly visited in recent times to work on a very specific Sealing Technique. One that would, in theory, afford him the possibility to find the Truth behind his comrades death and the truth behind Namazu Uzumaki; his former Sensei.
The high ceilings add to the effect, giving the impression that the room continues upward far beyond what you can see. In every practical sense, this allowed Satoma complete autonomy over his training and refinement of his craft. The walls and flooring was made from stone, very weathered and scarred by deep cuts that reveal a story of maybe this being the place he came to create Wind Release Chakra Mode. Regardless, in the center was a large wooden table with parchments of paper laid across the surface, on it, ramblings and riddles of formulas etched against it.
The face of a golden-bronze serpent emerged from the shadows as Satoma looked down at the Parchments. Its circular, sunken eyes, nestled deep inside the caverns of its head, glisten with a moonlit eeriness, with a cold, hungry intelligence that leaps to Satoma and sucks him into its vinous void with entranced attraction. There is something extremely heavy about the stare, the amorphous embodiment of power.
“Are we trying this again? Are you ready?” This enigmatic serpent spoke.
“I had a revelation. A strike of inspiration hit me last night––this will work.” He replied in confidence, his face animating into a smirk. Long has he waited to feel re-invigorated by what he was about to attempt.
As he prepared to pencil down his inscriptions of this complex sealing formula, the atmosphere around him thickened with focus and intent. The room was dark, becoming more and more dimly lit coming from the soft, flickering light of the parchments of paper in-front of him. Casting dances of shadows along the floor of this seemingly-endless space. Each hand stroke of his was deliberate, with subtle hums of energy emanating from its inscriptions. His chakra weaves into the fibers of the parchments. The sealing formula itself was an intricate dance of symbols and patterns, and as he completed each segment, Satoma and his Serpent could sense the rising intensity of the energy. The parchments start to hum faintly, resonating with his power. It’s as though the very air around him vibrated with the force of the seal being crafted.
At this stage, is when the seal would fail–every time. However Satoma decided to change it up and try something different, the diamond pattern on his forehead denoting the Strength of a Hundred Seal began to change. Tendrils of black ink began to spread as the core glowed, a decade of his own chakra which was stored becoming unleashed. The room began to shake and the floor cracked under the oppressive weight of power Satoma unleashed. Pouring most–if not all of his added chakra he has stored over the last 10 years, since the conclusion of the War.
A blinding light and hole began to manifest within his painted strokes, amalgamating into a portal, the atmosphere around it distorts and shimmers, as if reality itself is being stretched and warped by the sheer power contained within. At first, the space around the portal seems to ripple, the air thickening with an unnatural energy. The portal emerging from the seals , its edges lined with an ominous, glowing light that pulses rhythmically, casting eerie shadows across the surroundings. The light has an almost spectral quality, shifting between deep purples, dark blues, and unsettling greens, creating an otherworldly effect that makes the portal look like a rift in the fabric of existence.
As the portal materializes, its interior appears as an endless, spiralling tunnel of shifting colours and swirling patterns. The walls of it are not solid but seem to be composed of swirling mists and fractured images of different realms and times, giving it a disorienting, kaleidoscopic appearance. The portal stretches infinitely in all directions, creating an unsettling feeling of being suspended in a void that defies the laws of physics and time.
Satoma was unable to keep his composure and resist, being sucked in–along with the Serpent. It’s giant body being effortlessly pulled like a noodle. Being sucked into the Infinite Corridor is a disorienting experience. The moment he was, the world around him blurs and warps, with the sense of motion being both swift and strangely slow, as if you are being pulled through a thick, viscous substance. The walls of the corridor rush past, their ever-shifting patterns and colours creating a dizzying visual cacophony.
Satoma felt a magnetic force, his mind only holding onto one thought. His comrades, that one fatal incident that shaped him to be the Shinobi he is today & his Sensei. The magnetic force pulled him inwards, accompanied by a feeling of weightlessness and a rush of cold, electric air. The sensation is both exhilarating and terrifying, as he was enveloped by the Portal’s chaotic energy. The cacophony of sounds and images—distorted echoes of distant worlds, whispers of unknown voices, and the throbbing hum of the portal itself—creates a sensory overload that heightens the sense of being lost in an unfathomable space.
As he falls deeper into the portal, time seems to lose meaning. The visual distortion intensifies, and the portal tenses into an immeasurable, timeless, infinite corridor in a vortex of light and shadow. The sense of spatial orientation collapses, leaving him and his Serpent with the feeling of being adrift in an ever-shifting sea of energy and illusion—until a solid light—looking like an exit materialized. Satoma felt unable to speak, his chakra quickly draining as he used what he had left stored from his seal to reach for his Serpent and together they pulled themselves to the light…
. : : Now : : .
So, summer’s warm spell continued… Besmirched by a scene both awe-inspiring and unsettling, a ball of light begins to form in the centre of a rock formation overlooking a ledge. At first, it appears as a faint, shimmering sphere, hovering in the air with a delicate, almost ethereal glow. The light gradually intensifies, growing brighter and more intense, casting an otherworldly radiance that illuminates the surroundings with an eerie, shifting brilliance.
The sphere pulses with an inner energy, its surface flickering with patterns of shifting colours—blues, purples, and greens—that dance and spiral in mesmerizing swirls. As the light coalesces, it seems to pull the very air around it into its gravitational field, creating a subtle distortion that makes the space seem fluid and unstable, kicking up large piles of smoke and dust in the air into a thick cloud..
From the outside of said smoke cloud, a large coiling silhouette figure—or creature—started to become more and more discernible. Its yellow, bronze and gold keeled scales shine in the sunlight towering the landscape. Its eyes grow in anger, unfamiliarity and almost—despaired.
“Saaaaaaaaaaatoma!!!!!!!!” its hissing almost turning into a roar of protest as he called out to the figure standing on his head.
In complete contrast to how he normally appeared, this man was now completely unsettled. The markings along his face slowly dispersed as the chakra he had all stored was now used. His face was riddled with disorientation, mixed with adrenaline, fear and a sense of peril. Part of these feelings soon gave way as he now felt grounded. The transition was jarring… like stepping from a fevered dream into a waking world of where he once came. He had no response for his Serpent, who was none other than Ryuga. His summon and companion. Turning his face to observe his home, except that… it wasn’t. It seemed different. It was very familiar but at the same time, unfamiliar. This sense was quickly shared with Ryuga. Who seems to feel disconnected from his ancestral home, Ryuchi Cave.
“Satoma…” Ryuga said in a more calmed tone.
“I know.” Satoma replied, except that he really didn’t. He was processing his surroundings just as much as Ryuga was. His eyes darted at two individuals, his gaze peering down at them as he sensed tension between the two—but one—looked extremely familiar…
“Reiji?” he called out his name, utterly confused as he stood upon Ryuga’s head. Towering over nearby trees.
Ryuga meanwhile remained silent, sensing something is not right as it was telling that this fellow Reiji didn’t carry the same scent as the Reiji Satoma knew. The one Satoma trained. What was going on? What was meant to be a jutsu to allow Satoma to change the events of his past or find the truth behind Heian Uchiha and Nobara Suzumeno’s death quickly turned into something else entirely. What was certain was, this is not the same Konohagakure and Ryuga has lost connection to Ryuchi Cave. What is going on? Satoma grew incessantly weary on his surroundings.
