(COMPLETE) A Broken Soul and His Immaterial Sword

Waking up slightly later than usual, Fenrir took in his surroundings.  Bottles, mostly broken, littered the floor around where he had been asleep.  It appeared that he didn't drink there contents, instead spilling them all over the floor.  Oh well, that was a mystery for another day, for today will be the day Fenrir learns his most powerful jutsu yet.  He was so excited that he almost didn't notice that strange smell coming from somewhere around his house.  Now that he began to focus more on his sense of smell, he also found that the strange liquid he had spilled was some form of alcohol, strong too.  He began to follow the burning smell, while simultaneously wondering where in the hell he got that much booze, seeing as his pockets were still empty.  Upon reaching the source of the smell, Fenrir realized what he had done, if not exactly why he did it.  The burning smell came from a fuse, set to slowly burn all the way to the puddles of alcohol where he had been sleeping.  It appeared he had tried to kill himself.  Now he didn't fell like killing himself however, and quickly extinguished the fuse.  It's ash trail appeared to be enough to last all night.  Now that that was over with, what was the jutsu that Fenrir wanted to learn today?  C-Rank Space/Time technique: Immaterial Sword.  Using this technique, he could make a sword out of the space in front of him.  This would allow him to have a weapon at all times, one that he could instantly summon whenever he wanted.  The best part was that it was able to be thrown at a target, and would return itself to the user's hand.  He had figured this would be useful in the Blood Games, although the next one, which he would be participating in, wasn't going to be for a while.  After pouring himself a quick cup of cereal, Fenrir headed out to his favorite training grounds.  Today's jutsu would sadly need to be trained by itself, due to it being a C-Rank, and being stronger than the two D-Ranks he had already learned.

Upon his arrival at the training grounds, Fenrir noticed that, for the millionth time in a row, no one was here.  Maybe it was his reputation among classmates.  Had he scared off all of the training buddies? No, it couldn't be him, it had to be something else.  Maybe it was the dirt. No, it's you, being a psychopath. Red was right, but Fenrir didn't feel like admitting it yet, so he would stick with the dirt theory.  It was too brown.   Don't forget, you're here to train, not debate the opinions of your peers with yourself. Once again, they were right.  He had to train to actually learn the jutsu, not sit here talking to himself forever.  Moving to the center of the training grounds, Fenrir paused to take a deep breath, his eyes closed as he mentally prepared himself for the day.  Opening his eyes and spreading his arms to the sky, he would let out a short laugh as he clapped his hands together.  Time to get going!  Practically slamming his hands together to form the three required hand seals, Boar, Ram, and Rat, before distancing them, attempting to make the blade appear with the tip on his left palm, and the held end in his right hand.  This ended with nothing but a slight release of chakra through the two hands, and an instant drain of all the excitement felt only a moment before by Fenrir.  He wasn't entirely sure why the jutsu had failed so, but he was almost certain it was something obvious, as with the other Space-Time arts he had learned.  So far, he had messed up every one of them in some obvious way, but he didn't know what it was.  He would focus on creating something out of his chakra, and it just wouldn't happen. You aren't making a sword out of your chakra idiot, I've told you this before! With Space-Time jutsu, you manipulate time and space with your chakra, right? Following along so far, Fenrir nodded his head to the air in front of him.   So, if your supposed to manipulate the space into a sword, then why are you trying to make it come out of your hands? Fenrir didn't quite like the way that Red had decided to phrase that, but he knew that, once again, Red was right.  He needed to take the space that was already there, and turn it into his weapon.  Once again performing the hand signs, he then held out his right hand, focusing on the space near it, starting with only a one foot length out from his hand, focusing on it, attempting to make it a sharpened and dangerous weapon.  This didn't work entirely, but something was definitely happening, as the space he was focusing on began to shimmer with a gentle blue, and started to slowly come into focus.  He wanted to speed this up, so he put more chakra into it, trying to make it form faster.  As he attempted to expedite the process, however, the blue quickly faded as his control broke, leaving him with an empty hand and a bit of progress instead of a sword.  Now knowing what he had been doing wrong, Fenrir tried once again, and again, and again.  Each time, the blade would become more focused and solid, up until he could make a knife sized version of the sword.  Now that he had hit his first milestone, it was time for a break.

Fenrir's idea of a break was slightly different than a normal person.  Due to his obsessive nature in the area of power, rather than taking normal breaks, he takes time to mentally train.  Instead of taking a nap, or even just chilling out for a bit, he sits and meditates, focusing on whatever training he is doing in detail.  For this one, he focused more on his chakra network than anything, seeing how he uses it in this jutsu and trying to see what he could do to improve his ability to do so.  After about 30 minutes of this, he figured he'd had enough of a break, and had a somewhat better understanding of what he needed to do to improve his use of the jutsu.  Once again, he stood up, ready to get going once again.  First he spent a minute psyching himself back up, jumping around a bit and getting excited.  Then, he attempted the jutsu again with a quick boar, rat, ram combo, this time focusing on two feet next to his hand, double what he had been able to achieve thus far.  Focusing his chakra into the space, he began to solidify it, once again the hazy blue thickening into a more solid shape, before finally dissipating.  He had almost gotten it this time, and was sure he would get it if he tried just once more. If you're going to have any hope of making a six foot long sword by the end of the day, you'll need to speed this up. Once again, Red was right. You can't over exert yourself or you won't be able to train tomorrow.  Just pace yourself. Damn, Blue was right too.  He needed a way to speed this up, but he couldn't just do it harder, because that would tire him out much faster.  So, he needed to change the situation into one where he is forced to do better, but without using more energy than he currently was.  While this would be best, the only way he could think of is a fight.  Either he could fight someone for real, or find someone to spar with.  The real fight was right out the window as soon as he thought of it. But why!?!? You haven't had a real fight in ages, and I want to kill something. "That's exactly why! I want to kill something too, but we aren't supposed to kill people here.  At least, not yet.  We need to wait for the blood games.  Once we get there, we can kill everyone." This was a conversation he had with Red daily, and most of the time, he would simply tune out, but he was beginning to lose the will to fight this feeling.  He wanted to kill someone, but the village wouldn't allow it, at least not for a genin.  That was why he had to win the blood games.  If he didn't, he would either die trying or never be allowed to kill.  So, for now, he would train so he could win. You don't need to kill anyone.  You can just live your life, like a normal person.  Fenrir didn't reply, he didn't need to.  Every tenent of his mind was fully aware of how this conversation ended, with him thinking about his past, and coming to the conclusion that had led him to this path.  He needed to kill, and he needed a purpose.  Being a ninja of Kirigakure gave him both of these things, along with a way to pay back the village that had taken him in, no matter how terrible it's people may be.  Now that he had settled the dispute in his mind, he returned to his training.

Forming the hand seals again, he began to close his eyes, picturing the sword, and once again he tried to form the blade in his outstretched hand.  This blade was meant to be exactly 4 feet long, once again double his length.  As it began to slowly come into focus, the blue haze appearing and slowly coming into focus.  With his left hand, he began to shape the chakra, running along where the edge of the blade would be, using it to focus the chakra more.  Through this, he eventually solidified the blade, and with one last push, he finished his blade.  It was only 4 feet long, not a complete sword, but it was a solid one.  He was nearly finished with his training, and he was almost ready to leave the training grounds for the day.  Before he could do that though, he needed to get that extra two feet worth of training in.  Now that he had a firm enough grasp on the jutsu, this would be mostly achieved through repetition.  First he would do what he had been doing the rest of the time, this time with an extension that increased the length to 5 feet.  After this point, it became noticeably difficult for him to add length to the blade, every inch feeling like a greater drain, but he did eventually get his blade to five and a half feet, give or take an inch.  After this point, he noticed that his progress was greatly slowed, requiring many more attempts to add any length to the blade.  After another few hours of training though, Fenrir believed he had the proper length for the jutsu.  According to what he knew about it, it was meant to be 6 feet tall, and it was only a few inches shorter than he was, so he assumed it was good.  It wasn't as if a single inch would matter in a fight, and if it did, he would be able to cover it with a single step.  Now that he had actually finished his training, Fenrir realized that he didn't want to go home, or more, to his house, specifically because it wasn't home.  He had no home.  The closest thing he had to a home was this training ground.  So, for the night, he would just stay here.  Laying down on his back, he laid there all night.  Sleep eluded him all night, tears quietly streaming down his face.  He hated these times, when he thought clearly.  When he thought clearly, he remembered.  And when he remembered, he felt the pain of his memories, and nothing else.

WC 2002
Claiming Immaterial Sword
Claiming 10 Stat points

Approved.