Seasons Beatings [Festival]

Ego was the poison to many great people. To shinobi, ego was the most definitive enemy that would linger with them in some form or another. No ninja wanted to lose a fight, yet that unwillingness closed off many other channels that potentially lead to better consequences. Few were willing to lose in order to learn, and that was not acceptable in Kirigakure... at least not while under the rule of Xyxer Tadashi. If egos were allowed to fester they would get in the way of performance, which would, in turn, inhibit the village as a whole because of an individuals inability to take a hit. That would be laid to rest in this festival.

Rain cascaded from the sky while the majority of shinobi had been diverted to one of the numerous islands that made up New Kirigakure, the civilians holding their own festival which consisted of marathons. All fine and dandy, but the shinobi would be experiencing a more physical lesson. The ninja were spaced out as light chatter broke out among them, Xyxer himself among the congregation yet his focus on something entirely different. Nobunaga. He'd make his way towards where the aegis would be, resting a hand on his shoulder while he spoke to him through the pattering of rain, "You'll do this twice. First and last. Don't fight back." His hand lingered for a moment, almost encouragingly, before Xyxer walked away from him. The event was being held on one of the grassy islands, usually used for large scale training and warfare training, yet the area they were situated in was barren. The rain fused with the grass to form only muddy terrain with visible trees in the distance. The smell of earth was rich and damp while the shinobi talked amongst themselves for the event they'd grown accustomed to.

They all knew what was coming.

The Mizukage spoke up from his position within the crowd, those around him soon distancing themselves and kneeling towards him to avoid irking the leader, "Kirigakure. Tonight is the night where we purge ourselves and one another of unhealthy egos. We all know how this goes by now. No weapons, no jutsu, no armour, no killing, no maiming. Don't fight back, keep going. Once they're through to the end, those at the front go next until everyone has participated." The crowd now rose, forming two lines with a gap in the middle for the chosen to traverse. It was time for Kirigakure to run the gauntlet.

Out of all the various festivals, activities and traditions in Kiri, the one happening today had a special place in Nero's heart. Some, like the winter festival, he simply enjoyed for what they were. Some, he was fond of for personal reasons, like the day they guided the dead to the afterlife. The one today, it was not simply another festival Nero took part in and enjoyed. It wasn't just a holiday for him. This... The gauntlet. 

Most traditions of the Mist were seen as savage by the outside world. Nero heard others question them, not only if they fit into the "woke" ninja world, but if they worked at all. But this specific festival, it was proven to be working. The Yuki himself was the embodiment of that proof. When he had returned to Kiri, he was full of himself. A self-proclaimed narcissist. Every little cog in the machinery that was Kiri helped polish him, but the gauntlet... It was the final touch Nero needed to be liberated of his immaturity.

Proud to be part of this great tradition once again, Nero, once again donning a new look, looked at his village, his fellow purgers, as some preferred to call it. Recalling this alternative name, Nero couldn't help but smile, thinking how fitting the weather was for this day. The day their souls were being washed clean, the rain was doing the same to their body. As a more experienced Kiri guard then before, this time Nero had more patience, and the maturity to cloud his excitement. He would not be going first this year. He took his place in one of the long lines, looking at the first person to walk through the gap. His proud smile would remained on his face the entire time.

Looking like he was unbreakable, the massive Hiyu stood with arms crossed underneath his black cloak and hood pulled over his head as to protect him from the heavy rain descending upon him. He stood outside the main congregation of the gathered shinobi, a lone stranger observing the others mingling with one another in preparation for some sort of festival. A peculiar festival however, one that separated the citizens from the shinobi, each on their own separate island. That only told the Hiyu that they were about to do something that regular citizens were not qualified to do or skilled enough to participate in. But what that was he had no clue and he was provided no answers upon the arrival of Xyxer. 

From underneath the protection of his hood Noubunaga would turn his stern gaze to face the man with his hand now placed on his shoulder. Making no attempt to shake Xyxer's grasp from his shoulder, the Hiyu stood still and silently listened to him, now only more confused as to what this festival was about. Dont fight who? Go where twice? It seemed his questions would not be answered as he watched the Mizukage walk away towards the larger crowd of shinobi. Upon noticing him, they would all kneel thus the cloaked Hiyu did the same and dropped down to his right knee. 

"Purge ourselves of our ego?" He thought to himself. Humility was an aspect of himself that Nobunaga held dear. He always put his own personal life, his own wants and desires second to his duty. He spent his life serving other men in achieving their goals, whether greater or lesser than himself. It did not matter. He devoted his life in service to others. In doing so, he learnt to remain humble. But was his perceived sense of humility only his own ego? Did he think himself better than others because he was willing to do what was necessary even if it meant sacrificing his own needs? Had he come to see himself better than men like Xyxer and those who willingly served under the conqueror simply because his ideals differed from theirs? Perhaps that was why Nobunaga chose to distance himself from the people of Kiri upon arriving to the village.

Nobunaga rose to his full height while pondering the Mizukage's words. Would they be fighting? Some sort of fight club where contestants battled each other regardless of their rank or age, nothing more than a full contact fist fight in the rain and mud with a make shift ring created by a crowd of onlookers? Whatever it was, Nobunaga would repeat the actions as he did in the fated duel that sent him here. First unhooking his massive sword and stabbing it into the ground followed by unclasping his robe and removing his armor. The heavy metal plate would drop to the ground revealing his scarred arms through the skin tight sleeveless black shirt, loose beige pants and shin high brown boots he now sported.

A line had formed and now the Hozuki's words fell into place like pieces to a puzzle. This was no fight club, it was a beat down, one handed down by fellow peers. However none of these shinobi were Nobunaga's peers. He was a foreigner to them, an intruder to their friendship and alien to their comradery.  Was this the entrance exam into their family?

As instructed, Nobunaga would step at the head of the line, making it known that he was going to be the first one to traverse the corridor of shinobi. To others, it may appear as if Nobunaga's ego was showing. A foreigner, stepping up to be the first one to traverse the makeshift mosh pit, willingly being the first to put himself in harms way as if they could not truly harm him. Perhaps that was Xyxer's intention, make Nobunaga come off as pompous and smug, thinking himself high and mighty, provoke the Kiri shinobi to break him. Thus his stern and unwavering gaze met the maniacal grins, chanting voices and eager eyes of those standing before him as he stood tall and strong in the rain, waiting to be told to pass through the gauntlet.

The last time Kotsuzui had been in Kirigakure he did very little exploring. He had spent most of his time within a specific part of the village, in bars. One day he was at one bar, the next he was at another. Plain and simple, he did not care for his situation at the time and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. The one time he decided to venture out the Mizukage had found him. This time he had the same intention but different reason. The moment he stepped off the ship he was planning on finding another bar to frequent. But Kiri had other ideas. All the shinobi were being led to one of the many islands belonging to Kiri. Some festival they were holding apparently. Great. Now Kotsuzui had to participate in a festival likely celebrating their success in the first joint Chuunin exams to have all four major villages participating in. Or so he thought. The fact only shinobi were being sent to this island left the Kaguya second guessing himself. Time would tell.

Dressed in his all white clothing with a white cloak draped over it all, Kotsuzui flipped his hood on to shield him from the downpour. The weather forced the Kaguya to wear common shoes. They felt unnatural to the Kaguya who spent the majority of his time bare foot. Tilting his head back the Kaguya looked up into the sky as the rain clattered against his face, reminding him of the weather on the day Kiri attacked. The day he faced off against Xyxer. The day he lost to him and his life changed. He returned his gaze back down to those around him, his eyes landing upon the Mizukage himself as he approached a familiar figure. Kotsuzui squinted his eyes as he observed the figure from afar, recognizing. His build, size, face, armor, and most of all his sword. "The Raikage's bodyguard?" Kotsuzui said to himself bewildered as to why the bodyguard was here, in Kiri. What had the Mizukage done to pull him in as well? Or had he always belonged to Kiri? The thoughts running through Kotsuzui mind forced a sly grin to find its way upon his face. The man looked to be formidable and Kotsuzui couldn't wait to find out.

He turned his attention back to the Mizukage has he began speaking, everyone around kneeling. The thought of kneeling sent a surge through his body like he had just been punched in the gut. So he didn't just make those he conquered kneel, but even his own shinobi. Kotsuzui followed suit as he too took a knee in the muddied ground. The mans words brought no clarification to what this festival was. Only that there would be some form of combat, or so he thought. Following the lead of those more accustomed to this tradition, Kotsuzui got in line with the other shinobi. Was this to be a brawl? Unlikely. That would do very little in riding one of their own ego. The thought itself made Kotsuzui realize that his loss to Xyxer had already done the very thing this festival was meant for. Kotsuzui was the very definition of egotistical. It was one of the reasons he had gone for Xyxer, among other reason. That fight alone opened his eyes. It left him wondering, was there any more left in him to get rid of?

He turned to the shinobi positioned beside him, asking what this whole thing was about. The Kiri nin quickly recognized Kotsuzui was a foreigner and explained the basis of this festival. The Gauntlet. He looked around at all the smiling people, his first thought thinking that they were crazy. But his initial reaction was a poor one. One without much thought behind it. The more Kotsuzui thought about it the more he saw the reasoning behind it. It was without a doubt a brutal tradition but one that had its benefits. His eyes veered down the beginning of the line spotting the former Kumo bodyguard. So he was to be the first one. Was this his own doing or had he been told? The thought made Kotsuzui think as to when would he be the one to go. It was clear everyone here would be participating. He smirked once more as his hands curled up into fists. This would be a good opportunity to see if the man was as tough as he looked. This was a good opportunity to see if Kotsuzui could survive this festival.

I hate this dumb festival, Tatsuo thought to himself as he made his way through the crowded streets of Kirigakure. It’s just senseless violence for the sake of violence. Sure, the professed idea behind the festival was to purify Kiri shinobi of their pride and weakness and to strengthen their bodies. That was all well and good in theory. In practice, however, The Gauntlet was simply a way for people to beat the crap out of each other and prove they were tough enough to take it in return. That was just stupid to Tatsuo.
 
He adjusted the glove on his right hand as he listened to the Mizukage’s short speech. Obviously he would never go so far as to bad mouth the traditions of his home, but sometimes the young shinobi felt as though the village placed too much emphasis on brute force. Strength was merely a tool in an intelligent shinobi’s arsenal, but it was hardly the most effective one. Cunning, finesse, knowledge. These were all often more useful, yet this festival ignored all of them. Had he mentioned yet how much he hated it?
 
It wasn’t as though he couldn’t take a hit. He just hated doing it. Why stand there and take an attack head on? He knew most of these thoughts would be seen as whining and unworthy of a Kiri shinobi, the very purpose, in fact, of going through The Gauntlet. In fact, they sounded whiny even to him. He took a deep breath as he joined the line that formed closest to him, making sure that he stood a little ways in front of the back of the line. If he was at the very back, he’d be seen as weak or a coward and they would beat him harder when it was his turn. If he was at the front, however, everyone would be well rested and bloodthirsty. Placing himself here, Tatsuo hoped that most of the crowd would be tired and bored by the time he went. As shouts and jeers began to drift from the front of the lines, Tatsuo realized that the first unlucky soul had started. He clenched his fists as he waited. I just hope I don’t mess up my gloves too much.

Oriton had just gotten back from Konoha. The first thing that he had done was greet his mother and father. After setting his stuff down, he changed into a black t-shirt and gray sweat pants, throwing all of his shinobi stuff to the side. He took a deep breath and tried to catch up with all of his thoughts. The Chuunin Exams were a flunk, being beat in the first match, and with one move. His opponent then forfeited the next event, making him feel even worse than he already had been feeling. To throw some icing on the cake, he met with the Mizukage and who almost tossed off the Hokage Mountain, which would've indeed ended his life.

It was a trip with emotions, failure, and redemption. With all of this, Oriton knew he had to become stronger. Not just for him, but his village. A fire ignited in his heart. Next time at the Chuunin Exams, he wouldn't lose in the first math, nor with one hit. He would win the whole thing and become strong like Hayate and Nero. He was proud of them for making Chuunin. The question was, would they still allow him to hang around even though they were higher ranked now?

Oriton would find out soon. He began to head to the event, the Kirigakure Mosh Pit. It was like a fight, but at the same time it wasn't, and nobody would die because of it. There were no weapons, no jutsu, and pray to god no death since Xyxer would be standing in the middle. As the name passed through his head, he wondered if he would be able to get a few hits in on him? He shuddered at the thought of even engaging in a fight with him; his iron claw grip left bruises on his hands and wrist for a bit.

Before he knew it, lost in his mind, he had made it to the festival. There his Mizukage stood, deliviering a speech to fire them up. Well, more like giving a reason to the violence. The boy nodded at his words of choice though; egos could be a defining characteristic of a person. An ego that could either make or break them depending on how they viewed themselves. He moved to the side with everyone else, eager to see who came up first.

He caught a glimpse of Nero, but he was too far away for him to call out to, it would be awkward to yell through the rain with all of these other shinobi surrounding them. The first man that walked through the middle was huge. His armor fell to the floor revealing scars; his face was hard and stern, and the blade he left behind left Oriton frightened. It seemed as this man was a professional in their career of being a ninja. As he looked at the man, he wondered if he would ever be able to look like that once all matured.

Oriton waited, not willing to end his life so quickly. The man could kill him within a blink.

Scabbard and sword clanked quietly as they landed flat on Hayate's armor, which in turn rested on the damp grass of the island. His pile grew with his pouch and other tools, in unison with so many others, as Kiri ninja shed themselves of all tools of the trade.

The blonde newly minted chuunin then stood next to his pile, scanning the assembly of ninja as they began to form a line. He was down to his headband, loose combat pants, and tight compression shirt/half mask, which highlighted the muscular build the average height 15 year old genin had been developing. This last year had been a whirlwind of development in many ways. But Hayate wasn't looking for anything that had been part of this past year.

He first found the skinnier man from the ship, the one he hadn't seen since the boarded the ship together, taking his place after another experienced Kiri ninja told him something and pointed to the line. And there was the large man who had brushed him off at the docks, paradoxically seeming even larger without his gear, receiving words from Xyxer, but not yet forming in the line. It became clear what the Mizukage had imparted when the man walked not to the rear of the gauntlet, but to the front.

Hayate had a decision to make, which one to stake a spot near, which one to watch. In this festival that seemed dirt simple, one could learn a lot. It was where his gear in the ironworks of Kiri ideals he espoused to fukuro in Konoha had come from, it was where his resolve had come from in the exams. No one was above getting beaten by the whole of Kiri. No strength or resilience, no matter how far above the next ninja, could come out unscathed from the assembly before him now. And no one could claim victory over another in this mandated process. But you could still tell a lot just from how one participated. Were they looking at the target, or the other ninja in line? Were they merciful, or punishing but fair, or merciless? Did they hope to trade reprieve or take revenge? Hayate wasn't the deepest philospher, but he did want to see how the big man performed. He took a spot way in the back, so that the big man would form up either behind or opposite him once his turn was done. He made sure to be on the left, so his bandaged left hand was away from the participants, even if it meant striking with his off hand.

(strength 90, punch to gut (below ribs), off hand so tempered in impact a bit, pulled so as to not cause permanent damage, but never pulled so much as to not cause a bruise)

The rain ominously descended upon the gathering of shinobi with the stern giant standing tall and unwavering at their head. His hard face turned into a frown as he viciously exhaled from his curled nose and flexed his pecks and arms, mentally and physically readying himself for the onslaught he was about to endure. Nobunaga had pride in the fact that he was built stronger than most, that he was more resilient than the average person. He physically put himself through hell in order to toughen his body, teach his mind to ignore the pain, train his flesh to reject the agony inflicted upon it. Now it was time to see just how much of a tank he truly was. Getting into a crouched stance and raising his bent arms up to his chest as if ready to engage in a fight, Nobunaga stepped into The Gauntlet with a shout. "Bring it!"

Protected from the rain under his white cloak, Kotsuzui looked down the line as he watched the former Kumo bodyguard get into a preparatory stance at the head of the line. His eyes remained focused on the giant brute as he gave out a shout signifying his departure down the Gauntlet. As the Hiyu made his way down the line taking hits from each and every shinobi, Kotsuzui's eyes darted to each one as they participated watching to see where they were striking. Wondering if they were striking in strategic points to break the man or simply swinging for the fences. Many of the strikes seemed to have no lasting effects on the the man proving to Kotsuzui that he lived up his initial views. That being said, did Kotsuzui even posses the strength needed to put a dent in the man? The thought filled his mind as he watched Nobunaga make his way past the Kaguya. As he did so the Kaguya threw a quick, hard and well timed jab into the side of the man just below the ribs hoping it was enough strength that the Hiyu at least felt it (90strength).

His eyes followed the back of Nobunaga as he continued down the line, taking hit after hit. Eventually he reached the end, the brutality of it stopping for just a moment. A moment for the next person to decide if they were to go next or not. Kotsuzui could not deny that he felt some sort of pressure to go next. He saw this as being a form of initiation and the former Kumo nin had just taken his. It only made sense he go now, right? He could almost feel the pressure of Xyxer watching him, expecting him to go next even though he had no idea whether the Kage was looking at him or not. Not wanting it to seem like he was getting cold feet, Kotsuzui slowly stepped back out of the line and began the trek down to the head. He kept his gaze out in front of him not making eye contact with anyone. As he made it to the head of the line he turned to get a proper view. It wasn't until he stood here that he truly got a sense of how long the line really was, of the beating he was about to get.

Something began to brew inside the gut of the Kaguya, a sensation he had yet to experience. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was but the answer soon became obvious to him. He was nervous for the first time. Perhaps it was good that he was nervous. It meant that he was aware he would likely not come out of this unscathed, bound to reach the end of the line with bruises and potentially even sustaining broken bones. He took one long deep breath before letting it all out while pulling the hood of his cloak back off his head. He took one long look down the line, waiting for the go to be given.

At one end of the living corridor stood the formidable figure that was Nobunaga Hiyu, defiant in the words he spoke. The former bastion of Kumogakure was to walk through a mauling from Kirigakure, a test that he doubted he would have experienced throughout his life, even in the decrepit ranks of Kumogakure. A dead village for the feeble. A country that lacked the fundamental understanding of just why strength was the most valuable asset. One day he would impart that sacred knowledge upon them in a swarm of frenzy and massacre; a dance that would echo throughout history.

For now, Xyxer stood in line with those who had temporarily became his equals, bandages wrapped tightly around his hands and wrists to support his punches. Flexing his fingers before he balled them into fists once more, he waited for Nobunaga to advance down the line while he was taking the hits from everyone else. He hadn't fallen yet, which was commendable for someone that was new to the festival. Once the defender stood before him, Xyxer threw a light jab towards the nose of the giant, yet that was merely for the surprise factor. He twisted on the balls of his feet while the jab pierced the rain and his right hand swung in a hook towards the back of Nobunaga, intending to hit him with a kidney punch. Once he'd inflicted his dosage of humbling on the moving warrior, he turned his attention back towards the start of the line where a pink haired individual stood, ready to receive his own welcoming to the ranks of Kirigakure.