[attr="class","APP3"]The breath that was forced between his clenched teeth misted, doing so at every strike he'd unfurl forth. It was a noxious sound, the cringing rip of something tearing filled the silent space with a cacophony of noise as frost was unsettled from branches and fell to the decayed dearth beneath his bare, calloused feet with a heavy thud. CRACK! Then another. CRACK! And another one. In the distance, as the snapping of fibers roared through the air and went on endlessly in the open air, it all sound akin to the crash of thunder as it tore the air asunder with its hellish heat and whipped the earth with its deadly, ruining kiss. Married to the noise was the tearing of the dense tree fibers as they slumped over and crashed on the earth below, the avian life disturbed and roused to caw their protest as the shinobi returned to his training, unrelenting.
There had been many a word of the mountain man, of a humongous shinobi seldom found in the village 'lest the Raikage summoned him or a squad had been assigned to him. A venerable Goliath, Seiichi had begun his career with the same path-clearing punches he practices to this day, years invested in honing his strikes. Many could not keep up with him, but what one could witness from him was an unrelenting determination. With the same hunger and focus, even those in disciplines unrelated to his own could emerge stronger from there time spent with Seiichi.
There were also stories about him, frightening and mostly untrue tales. Not the ones about fighting bears and wearing their pelts, though. A man had to eat. Also dress himself, after all. Following your ears was all it took to find him, for it could be said he'd spend the day taking out trees or carving into a mountain. His hands, hideously scarred and heavily calloused, struck endlessly like mallet as he chipped away at nature, every little bit broken off of it making him stronger.
Last Edit: Sept 20, 2021 5:04:40 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]Like a fire unwilling to yield, he continued to wage a war against his oncoming attrition despite the the aches and throbs in his core that begged for inactivity and respite. He stood strong in the face of exhaustion, combating the adversity that was the undertow of his overexertion, prepared to trample the shinobi and swallow him whole. He subjected himself to the experience of the burning that roared beneath his flesh and the fire that waged in his lungs, forced to to endure the brutish tenor he exposed himself to as every breath and every punch was a commitment to the next. A guarantee, he told himself. Despite the outward explosiveness of Seiichi's technique, much more had been performed behind the scenes: each breath taken was metered and thoughtful, the air taken in to stoke the dregs that quaked in his core to as to reignite them with life, if only for that passing moment before he was required to do the same once more. It was in practicing this more principled method that he could continue to nurture his improvement, despite the great strides he'd already commanded in speed and power, that backed his martial art.
Seiichi Koji paid little attention to time and Her consequences, his resolve nigh unshakable as every fist forward cut through the air perceivably faster than the last, breath forced sharply beneath his teeth as he exhaled and then inhaled in a quick motion. His mighty frame beaded with sweat, the clothing he wore on the precipice of being drenched with it. A pool had collected beneath his feet, encircling him in a ring of sweat as its creation came at the cost of measurable hours in this wilderness he called home. Tireless he went on, striking with enough restraint to practice his technique: come the impact of his punch, would Seiichi rely on a tightening of his muscles to improve the conclusiveness of his blows, developing the practice so far that it was clear that the intent behind each punch was to break bones. What good was a threat if he rendered it immobile with a precise and unforgiving strike? How could on respond reasonably to their shins splitting beneath their knees or the arms attached to the cuffs of their shoulders made limp by a crippling blow?
Though, after sometime, Seiichi changed gears. He parted from his place before a stone he had been practicing on, each punch unfurled by his tenured arms and experienced fists aimed to smooth it. It was a marvel to behold, really, as such was the control of his flow that he made nature bend before him, smoothing the natural planes of a rock with his hands alone as it soon took on a more unnatural shape. Despite his progress, however, even the Jounin realized there was a way to go. How could confront this limiter? Through meditation, of course. It was his job to focus on the internal art and develop it further, perhaps awakening something greater in his progress. His goal was to retune him in this process, to restore a greater portion of his vitality with a more indebted thoughtfulness to his breathing. Seiichi aimed to harmonize the 'emptiness' he brought into him, improving his 'inner alchemy' as masters had explained it to him before.
There was a silence that enveloped him, but not an element of this tranquility was possessive as a deafening quality. In the practice of improving this internal martial art, Seiichi reaped from it numerous rewards as his understanding moved beyond natural plateaus. To a degree he could feel the flow of his blood and, in the process, the jounin of kumogakure felt nerves that were terse by activity unwind and free themselves of duress. It was that flow of power and, within his own person, he directed it. He came to feel more connected to extremities, all weapons that were extensions of himself. The more gentile among the animal kingdom would come approach him, regarding him inanimate as not a hair on his neck rose or a muscle on his well hewn form twitched. Birds abandoned their perches to settle upon himw with curiosity, small beaks interested on what secrets resided in the fur of the pelt he wore over his shoulders. Then, in time, the saltiness of his flesh was sampled by the bravest of fawn and doe.
And still he remained, stalwart and unwavering like the finest ramparts roused for war.
Last Edit: Sept 16, 2021 11:37:20 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]It was in these moments of refining the lighter arts that one could forge forward and more powerfully with the rougher arts. It was a balance often left unstruck, by sheer ignorance or natural inability when faced with something so new and foreign. While the concept itself could be learned by a master, simply absorbing such information made you no better. That was his practice now, focusing on the air that he took in and then where the blood moved in his form. It was in this mastery of cultivating physical stillness that allowed for the utilization of advanced breathing techniques. It all came to the head of marrying this coordination, concentration and plentiful skill that one could then move onto practicing the next echelon of their internal martial arts. This had not been Seiichi's first attempt in furthering this harmonization of his physical and his mental form, but he had gained advantages in this time of it as he found himself with bounds of stamina and the fortitude to withstand greater blows while delivering his own great and mighty blows.
It was for sometime that he sat there, visualizing the flow of this power. It was a focus that involved him to concentrate on the area more than just the sensation where he felt a presence. It was expanding into his muscles that he needed to focus on, breeching the bounds of what mortal physicality allowed to ascend to another step of power. Despite no physical exertion, the concertation itself was taxing as he sat there and sweat. It was an inner harmony he longed to achieve and for it he would pay whatever price he could find. It was no longer about lamenting about the things that he did not have or could not achieve, but instead it was about confronting the truth about it and persevering above those bounds set by another.
He creaked awake, moving as joints cracked. The animals that had come to set upon him fled, soon abandoning him as they returned to the foliage and the perches that granted them safety. He awoke like a sleeping golem, tearing themselves from a rest that had spanned centuries. Seiichi moved slowly at first, pushing himself off the ground in due time. He gave himself a good stretch when he rose and from him came a mighty yawn, his jaw to almost unhinged as the motion was seen all the way through. He had spent enough time focusing on that, meditating on what he had felt and where he could not feel. It was something that had been incorporated into his daily training, refining his abilities even further now that he practiced the foundation of his movements.
It wasn't before long that he turned to his workouts. Seiichi eventually found a boulder, after searching for sometime. It was a massive and heavy rock, but no indominable task and he lurched forward and picked it up. He heaved it above himself and took to a squat. It was here that he would work his core, the core held perfectly still as he silently counted the repetitions. Counting. Counting. Counting. Just as he had before, the Shinobi had already begun to sweat quite profusely for the strain his frame soon warred against, his resolve tested again as that searing sensation of how flesh begged he stop and consider rest. Yet, all he knew to do was grit his teeth. They grinded as he continued, Seiichi eventually straining to lift the rock as he form called for rest. Yet, he still neglected it as he dug deep. He shouted, grunting louder as he summoned everything he had forth. He lifted that heavy boulder quicker and quicker, a second wind in effect as he powered through the pain he felt.
He pressed forward with this second wind, a desire to tap into new found powers far greater than any cry for rest.
Last Edit: Sept 18, 2021 15:06:56 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]And so the man continued, a venerable behemoth as he steamed away in the cool of Kumo, the wind whipping around his form was the only respite he'd dare endure for he feared a simple moment of rest would subdue him. He had trained various ways: calisthenics, lifting, striking and even refining his kata as he struck those ageless postures with ease and perfection, guiding himself through the flow of combat established by masters long past. There was not a moment wasted, not a breath spared as he focused on his breathing all the way. There were few things that the jounin excelled in, but the art of the physical form had been a mastery he never neglected. This was his calling, his destined path as he strove to push himself beyond that pinnacles had been dreamt. Seiichi Koji aimed to become something greater than aspiration or dreams.
----
He returned to the practice of his striking. Instead, however, relying on a fist to punch he worked a different strategy. Just as he would with a punch, with his fingers fully extended, Seiichi would dare stab into the trunk of a tree with all digits of his hand erect. It was a tireless action, withdrawing his hands and breathing in sharply as his brow twisted into a hideous and tight furrow, his teeth gritted and bared as he would stab into those trees again. His punch was powerful, well trained, masterful after having been etched into his mind over his long life. However, to reduce the surface area so dramatically and the base of which the impact would bottom out was a grueling measure, if not cruel. Instead of his hardened first, akin to the end of a warhammer, it would be the tips of his fingers that stabbed through the trunk of a tree. It was a difficult task, regardless of how powerful the man had been, to keep his hand so stern despite the clear pain he even felt.
But, what was the advantage gained if he focused on nothing? With a deep breath drawn, his lungs filled with the fresh air that surrounded him, he cleared his mind. His focus was on nothing more than the action itself, the mechanics of its and what was required to drive it forth. He explored the muscle control in his hand, the constricting and squeeze of various groups to empower the thrust as it ran forth like a devil's lance. Still, despite his striking power, his break through the tree trunk was not complete -- it was not powerful enough. In response, his focused evolved. His thoughts expanded, moving beyond the physical benefits of his form and instead explored his very own chakra points. Seiichi imagined them, thought of them, breathed chakra in and out of them as he worked it within his own breaths.
It was through this that he found his revelation, that he found power. With the control of chakra expanded, the jounin moved onto to perform far greater tasks with his hand as his focus was reinvested and reinvigorate, set ablaze like a roaring flame in a loathsome wood. He would layer this on. Focus. Focus. Focus. He could feel the power that surged into his hands as he thought of the moment in which he would impact, visualizing the exact second before his calloused pads collided with the bark of the tree. It was there that he would blend the tightening, that hard constriction, of his fingers and then awake that point along the hand. It was here where he would persevere, it was here where he would succeed. No longer was he burdened by the angst and trouble of not performing the technique correctly for the first time.
It was here that the Devil's Lance was born.
Last Edit: Sept 21, 2021 5:13:25 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]The day would come to dawn with Seiichi already hard work beneath a diffused sky. It had already been hours that he was hard into his work, always taking the opportunity to practice and further improve his craft. He had been working on grip strength, now. It was a grueling exercise and a far worse experience. Without jugs and sand available, the shinobi instead went for great rocks which he groped from above. Unnatural as their shape was and unfit for the purpose they were, they soon were forced into a role by Seiichi Koji as his unrelenting spirit warred through the attrition found in their initial handling. Like jugs for of sand he lifted them, swinging them to-and-fro in his grip while his core remained stationary. The weight of those ill-suited rocks was not undeniable, the strain felt after a length of time as the shinobi continue his use of them, borrowing them from the earth just a little so he could become stronger.
Despite the wear he felt and the moments he could not will vitality any longer into his arms, Seiichi did not despair. Keep an internal clock on just how long he had held it one time over the other, he'd reset and keep count. Each opportunity of failure was seized and repurposed as a way to continue his forward development, to continue forward with a goal in mind and a note on every step taken to get there. It was than that he soon settled into heiko dachi, the parallel stance, and would repurpose those rocks he clenched so tightly into weights to practice strength training the way one would use a ishihisashi. It was from that stance that he coordinated his breaths, lowering the great rock with an exhalation as he'd lift with the other on an inhalation. It was the practice of that hard and soft technique, where the breathing was hard and exhalation was gentle. He would raise them high, then above his own chest, and soon into the sky where he held it suspended for a short duration. The same was done for his other arm. Like all other forms of his training, this was something which Seiichi continued. He worked beyond his exhaustion at every opportunity, the man a heaving pile of sweat as it eventually built around him, standing in his own puddle as his forehead gleamed beneath the rays of the sunlight.
And then he moved on from the training with his improvised ishihashisashi's, setting them aside as his intention matured. Seiichi would sacrafice a portion of the day, unfrotunately, but it was not in vein as he found what he sought: a giant rock. With consideration of his strikes, as well as a meter to the strength he supplied with every blow, the Shinobi soon punched into the rock. From its surface he would beat away mass, shaping it to his desire. He struck with precision and expertise that left the surface smooth and unexpectedly clean, as if carved beneath suiton and pressurized water. Even to this age, with as great as his age had been becoming, he improved. It was a large boulder, as tall as he was and even wider. To cut it down to side, where he sought to make it more narrow than his own form, would take considerable time as every strike required a consistent level of scrutiny. There was no lessening his blow, there was no empowering it. Having developed a form and a method to this strike training, Seiichi continued upon this and seized yet another opportunity for his improvement. It would take time, but with her perseverance, he would shape his own crude kogoken.
Having shaped a tube of earth, only achieved by the control of his strikes, Seiichi was not able to move on with his training further. He would lower his stance, making his legs strong as his back remained upright. With the kogoken sitting on its flat edge, he'd roll it to one side and cross his arms, then rolling it back. He continued this, the flower of weight and power transitioned between both ends as his forearms and shoulders soon experienced a strain and tension. He didn't stop, but instead sped up. Faster and faster this motion would go, flowing the roll into another, and then out and onto the otherside. It was as he played his own game of ball, passing it back and forth and worked all the muscles involved with such a manner along the way. Seiichi continued this, growing powerful still as his muscles were wrought with pain and turgid as a corpse, stiff and frozen.
And yet he continued, breaking through a ceiling.
Last Edit: Sept 22, 2021 11:49:44 GMT by Seiichi Koji
