An Odd Way Of Leaving

Zachariah looked around himself. His black hair was still tied up in dreads, with the metal spokes going through it, holding it in the shape it hel currently. His black suit, heavily worn, with spots of wear and tear, still managed to look good on him. His black eyes shone a little as his black plastic goggles hung loosely on his forehead, but tight enough to hang on.

He caught glimpses of the village in which he lived. Well, who could honestly call a place like this a village? He had heard stories of the vast cities of the Lost Land, each torn apart by the constant warfare. They had sprawling streets, wide enough to vit vast markets, carts lining either side. Great flying machines, powered by the steam of his ancestors, flew the land. Gigantic ships made the seas a sight to see. At least, until the war started. The flying machines grew bigger, and began dropping things. Large things. They exploded when they hit the ground. The large boats became a constant means of ocean warfare. Similar metal things were launched from them. However, these were long and thin, while the ones the flying machines dropped were short and fat. They tore apart the land, ravishing it. The cities crumbled, the castles at their centers toppled. War waged between the sides. Only a few got away, a small collection of people reached a small vessel and traveled across the seas, arriving at this new land. Dozens upon dozens of generation later, Zachariah hung from a tree, only his feet holding him to the branch, the mysterious blue energy found within all humans the cause.

He hung on a tree in the park. It was one of the few places that was not developed. Almost all other spots in the village were taken over by sprawling buildings. The closer you were to the center, the taller they got. On the edge, two and three story buildings abounded, with one stories houses peppered throughout. Around this middle of the city, twenty story buildings were the normal height. However, even here, buildings of lesser heights existed, even those of a single level. Go much past this point, and you reach the true goliaths. Buildings of fifty, sixty, even seventy stories tall. Then, you would come across the increase in height. Each building was taller then the last. Eighty stories. Ninety stories. One hundred stories! And yet, still they grew taller. Then came the tallest tower of them all. The tower who's height was so immense, even the clouds looked up to it. Could a place of such splendor really be called a village? And yet, this new land new of nothing else. They were not developed like the old world had been. They had no such flying machines. They had no boats faster than sails. They had some advanced technologies, admittedly, but their technological expansion seemed out of place. Not even a train, and they can devices that took and displayed inputs and outputs, receptively, using mathematics and sciences so few had the slightest inkling of understanding. Only one things was known to Zachariah; it used one's and zero's.

Zachariah let himself drop from the tree and started walking through this village, for he had grown up calling it such, and would continue to call it such. Looking around, he thought of what he had heard before. Another of the village, one of the truly great ones, as they were called, had recently been attacked. However, instead of large, destructive metal objects, the power of the mysterious blue energy had been used. With it, people covered their bodies in coats of lightning, and surrounded themselves in impervious spheres. Some used it to control other's bodies as their own went momentarily lifeless. Zachariah had heard of this destruction. It had been an unfortunate event. However, it had ended in a day, with not too much civilian death. After the standard period of feeling sorry for those people, life returned to normal. Now, however, he walked by a news stand. “Hear me, hear me, read all about it! Village destroyed in minutes! Leader killed! Massive damage! Little survival! Massive civilian death! Read all about it!'

'What? No, it couldn't be. Not again,' he thought, going directly to buy a newspaper from the person. He read. It was true. A second major village, completely decimated. Done by the hands of few. Each had a mastery level of control over this mysterious blue energy, the energy Zachariah tried to control within himself, which he sought to also have a mastery over. He was close, and yet still so far. These people had used their mastery for evil purposes. No. No more. No more would Zachariah just shrug off things like this. It was obvious no one was doing anything large enough, and he thought he knew why. These people who did this attack, they had broken all ties with their village. They had gone missing. Yet, all who hunted them belonged to a village. They were restricted by societal laws. They could not go the the extremes needed of them. No, they were not week. They were restricted. Zachariah was going to change that. Yet, he could not simply leave his village. He had to come up with some way to keep his ties, keep his identity. Zachariah Zarakami Delamoure would not become a name that brought shame to his village. Hie headband, with the picture of a skyline carved into it, would not gain a long slash through it. No, he must invent a new identity. He already knew how to change his physical appearance. This was simplistic, however. If Zachariah grrew weak, or lost his concentration, it would fade. Even if neither of these could happen, a skilled enough person could see through it. No, this technique was not enough. It was far form enough.

Zachariah secluded himself in the basement of his house. The first thing he did was create a plausible excuse for being down here. He made a small metal rat. It moved around, following a complex set of instructions the person could define beforehand. He had made things like this several times before, and was proficient with it. However, no one knew just how easy it was for him. He had this completed in just a day. On the next, he remained secluded. His mother brought him meals, which he thanked her for. When not eating, Zachariah worked on altering himself. He enhanced what he already knew. He began by simply using the technique he already knew, changing the physical appearance of his body into another. Then, he began improving it. He soon was changing his whole physical body, instead of just part. Then he started working on smaller things. His eye color. He could now maintain that past the loss of concentration. Hair color, complexion, lip color. He soon was able to change those with no effort, and maintain them with no effort. Within the day, he was doing this with his entire body.

Still, however, this was not enough. Zachariah was doing so much. He collapsed into the chair out of sheer exhaustion. In the morning, he found himself still in the chair, but with a blanket draped over him, and a small plate of waffles besides him. He ate quickly, before returning to his work. He began getting smaller. He could stabilize his whole body, but a person of enough tricks could still identify him. Soon, his DNA was altering itself. He knew little on how it worked, but he knew that it could be used to trace him. With a little journey into his soul via meditation, he was able to push his chakra into his individual dells, altering them only enough to individualize his new body.

Then, however, would be the hardest part. Everyone on the planet has a unique frequency given off by their body. This frequency is known as their chakra signature. It is a manifestation of the mysterious blue energy within a person. Zachariah tried pulsing his chakra throughout his body. He tried to get it in sync with his true rhythm. Maybe if he could, it would allow him to change it. The pulsing continued, growing faster and faster. Soon, it was pulsing energy through his body so fast, he could feel the strain. Still, it had not reached his frequency. Zachariah strained his chakra system to continue, to push through the torture. Then, all of the sudden, the pain stopped. His chakra was still pulsing, but it was no longer a physical pain. It was relaxing. He realized what he had achieved. He had achieved perfect harmony. Now Zachariah had to change it. He slowly stepped it up, waiting for the pain to subside before he went up more. He was able to alter his chakra frequency, his chakra signature, in this way. He was truly a new person. Yet, he still took forever to preform this whole transformation, in excess of thirty minutes. That might work, but it was an incredible annoyance. So, Zachariah worked on shortening the time. He transformed back into his normal self. Now, he preformed the transformation again. His hair grew shorter, and became a dull greyish brown. The dreads disappeared, replaced by a more spiky hair style. The metal that once held the dreads in place became a top hat. His suit became not a suit, but a stark, white, slightly wrinkled shirt, and a brown vest. The rest of the suit became a pair of gloves. The once black goggles became a combination of yellow and red. His face became sharper, the bones more distinct. He did not look thinner, but he looked leaner. He was a new person, in every sense of the word. He could even feel his personality a little different. He was more adventurous, less reserved. Less restricted. His headband. It had changed as well. Originally a grey strap with the skyline carved into a small metal plate, it was now a blood red fabric, a picture of a cartoon skull on it. He snuck out the low window that let barely any light into the small building. His home was one of the three story ones, out on the edge of the village of skyscrapers. In his new form, he snuck away from the village. Into the wilderness he ran. He felt truly free, free to do anything he wanted, free to deal with those who did evil any way he chose, and all because of that boy at the news stand yelling the day's headlines. Zachariah would make people pay for what they had caused; all the pain and torment. All the sorrow and all the loss would be avenged, one way or the other.

He was out in the open now. Now what? The plan had been perfect. Then he realized there was really nothing to do. How would he stop the forces of death and destruction if he could not find them? Zachariah.. no, Joseph. Yes, that is it. A new body required a new identity. Joseph... Joseph what? Joseph Langston? No. Joseph Landers. Yes, Zachariah could picture it. “Hello, my name is Joseph Langston” he would say with a bow, putting his left foot in front of his right and pulling the top hat in extravagant manner, ending with it near his shoulder. Then, standing up, putting the top hat back on, he would go “I have been sent here to kill you” before flooding the place with steam and running up to the person, killing them quickly and efficiently. Zachariah, no, Joseph laughed. This would be fun, killing evil through evil. Joseph packed up and moved into the first village he saw.

It was a small place. The people seemed nice enough. Joseph kept his headband hidden, not wanting to attract attention. At least, not more then his style of dress would. Moments after entering the village, doors and windows slammed shut. Joseph was confused, until several people came in. Each held a sword, each rode a horse. They were yelling and shouting. The largest one, who was at the front of the five of them, kicked in a door to a bar. He walked in, and, placing his sword on the counter, said “Beers for the gang. Now. You don't want something to happen, do you?” With that, one of the others snapped his fingers. A small piece of flame grew from his finger. Joseph looked in. This would be a great place to start. Hand seals were completed as the room misted over, became hotter. The bandits, at least some of which were missing nin, started to sweat, and look about in confusion. Joseph looked in at them. He laughed a deep, hard laugh. The steam near his mouth condensed. Some went into his throat. His voice was much deeper, much more menacing. “You seem to be some roughnecks. Now, beating me to the punch? Not nice. How bouts you lot and I settle this somewhere... private?”

The leader looked to the voice. “Hey man, if you got a death wish, me and the gang are more than willing to comply.” Joseph made a single clone and stepped behind the broken door as he said this. The steam in the bar would slightly clear out and flow outside. Joseph had never made this much steam before. It was most certainly a strain on his body. Even so, he had done it, and the men were going outside, following his clone running far away, not even noticing the boy in the steam. As the last one left, Joseph grabbed him. In less then two seconds, he was in a joint lock and, with a bit of applied force, his bone snapped. His left arm was now a worthless lump of hanging flesh. His scream of pain alerted the others to the deception. Joseph's clone faded, and he ran into the midst of the others, pulling his goggles on. He switched there mode, looking for spots with a lack of heat as the steam once again filled the area. Joseph strained to make more as the bandits tried punching him. They were met with elegant swirls from him, followed by water spheres for them, as they found Joseph's back to theirs. Joseph had no plan of releasing the five, who had so quickly succumb to such a simple attack. No, he left them their, in the spheres of water, with no air, and moved on to the next place.

2433 words.
Straining chakra/other types of chakra training mentioned throughout
KKG Mastered (1000+1200 for last two levels)

Approved, 12 chakra, 12 JP