Hollow Allegory
Posts : 14 Join date : 2011-05-28 Age : 28 Location : Hillbilly Hell
| Subject: Makai, Havoc -WiP- Wed Aug 10, 2011 10:06 pm | |
| "Konohagakure" Shinobi |Basics| Name: Havoc Makai Nickname/Aliases: Devil's Ambrosia Age:Physical Age: 27 Mental Age: Varies
Gender: Male ||Appearance| General Appearance: Havoc has a very unusual appearance, compared to the rest of the world, especially the shinobi world. This is mostly in his attire though, more so than his actual looks. First things first. Havoc is a rather sturdy looking man, tall, decently built, with a few ab and bicep muscles, but nothing too impressive. Basically, he is healthy, even though he doesn't really look it. His skin is white, very white, ghostly even. It gives him the appearance of being sickly, but really, he is not. It is his natural skin color, and it cannot be tanned, due to his genetic engineering. In order to bring out the Amatsugan within him, all the other clan traits had to be enhanced, which made his skin permanently white. His complexion is also perfect, making his skin look smooth and soft, but it is actually somewhat rough. Another aspect of his clan is the long black hair, which he very much has. His hair is as dark as the night, and goes down between his shoulder blades. It is naturally wavy, but because of its increased length, it usually appears decently straight, but it can be seen curling a bit at the end, especially when it blows in the wind. His bangs are, of course, not quite as long. When swept to one side, it is long enough to cover one eye, which it usually does, but also still keeps the rest of his forehead moderately concealed, making it a good look. It turns out that his clan does not actually have a standard eye color, and so, he has a rather average one, which is brown. Despite this normal color, it actually stands out a lot, because the rest of his body is either black or white for the most part, and the sudden appearance of his brown eyes looks just out of place as say purple eyes on a regular person. They are extremely noticeable, and even tend to confuse people sometimes. He is strangely handsome, strangely meaning that he looks very abnormal, yet at the same time he manages to look good, or pleasant to look at. Unfortunately, his looks are not enough to save most potential audiences. His actual "look" is something that can discourage many people from approaching him. He keeps a constant stern look, very cold and unforgiving. It makes him look as though he does not enjoy many things in life, and has a very strict idea on it. It makes him look as though he would be cruel, but in a strangely fair way, civil. It is simply a part of him however, because it is evident almost all the time, like he is looking at everything very intensely, observing, watching, but in an overly skeptical way almost. As for his actual attire, this is where things get even stranger. He does not dress like a regular shinobi, and being a Jounin, he doesn't even wear the flack jacket most of the time. In the past, his clan has been called necromancers. Long story short, he dresses in a way that would make most people believe that claim further. On his chest he wears a long sleeve black shirt that extends down to cover half of each hand. Over this, he wears what looks like a chest plate that covers his torso. Wrapped around his rib cage are what look like skeletal fingers, three on each side. Further up he has an extensive shoulder guard cover his left shoulder. This shoulder guard extends down to cover his heart with a morphed looking skull. Covering his shoulder itself is a real looking skull, protecting it from harm. On both arms he has a black bandage wrapped tight around his wrist and up the length of most of his forearm, making the length of the shirt shorter so that it ends at his wrist, rather than going over his hands. His hands themselves are bare. His pants are long and black, going down his ankles. These are very basic, and look like leather in a way, but actually are not. They are not so tight that they outline his legs, but they are not so baggy that they are obvious. Instead, they have a way of making his legs look big and strong, adding to his intimidating character. What is seen of his pants however do not go all the way down to his ankles, for he wears simple looking combat boots, black, which go about about three inches of his legs, the pants going into them, rather than over. Finally, he almost always wears a cloak. This cloak is wrapped around his upper torso, covering his neck and mouth, and going down diagonally to cover his right shoulder, but leaving his left shoulder exposed. This cloak goes down to his ankles, and is also black. It is torn at the bottom, making it look slightly tattered, as though it had been through plenty of battles. This is the final touch to complete his "necromancer" look. Height: 6"0 Weight: 150 lbs. Eye Color: Brown Hair Color & Style: Black, long and wavy
Gallery:- Spoiler:
Place Images here
||Rank Information| Letter Rank: A Ninja Rank: Jounin ||Skill Information| Elemental Affinity:Dominant: Lightning Recessive: Water
Skill SpecialtyDominant: Puppetry Recessive: Ninjutsu
Distribution Points:Strength: Dexterity: Speed: Stamina: Total:Special Characteristics:- Spoiler:
Name: Masochist Rank: N/A Type: Mental Description: For one reason or another, the character is a masochist. They take immense pleasure from pain and being hurt, almost if not up to a degree of sexual ecstasy. Every hit, cut, scrape, and wound they receive will only pleasure them further. Because of this, they will not be hindered by experiencing pain or being hurt, but rather be fueled more and more, craving to be hurt more and more. This is dangerous, as it easily encourages self harm, and deliberately being put in harms way. These characters must be extremely careful and have incredible self control, lest they find themselves an early grave. Open: Yes
||Personality| Overall Personality:Favorite Quote/Saying: Hobby: Tending graveyards, looking after children, especially orphaned children. Favorite Color: Green Fears: Accidentally losing control of his sanity in a public place and harming an innocent. Goals: To destroy his "Father", after which is undetermined.
||History| Birthplace: Otogakure Previous Residence: N/A Clan: Makai Family: Momohime Makai (Mother - Deceased) Seymour Tachi (Father - Unknown) History:- Spoiler:
She faintly stirred, a hardly noticeable action. The gentle movements of her body awaking from a rest could barely be seen, for they were so slight it was almost as though they did not even happen in the first place, but rather were a trick of the light. But stir she did, as consciousness actually returned to her for what felt like the first time ever. Slowly, ever so slowly, her eyes opened to release her from the dark abyss that was her slumber for as long as she could remember. The only thing she knew upon doing so was that she was weak, very very weak. The act of opening her eyes as she had was exhausting in itself, and to do anything more than blink and slowly move her head from side to side to look around was far beyond impossible. She couldn't even lift a finger, which she tried. She was looking straight up, and saw a ceiling made of stone, the color she could not determine just yet, as everything was rather blurry. She faintly wondered where she was, which was a question that had two answers. Rather than turning her head to the side, it actually fell, looking to the left. She saw a wall that looked exactly like the ceiling, only now she was able to determine a color. It was some form of orange it looked like, with markings all over it in black. Upon observation, she noticed that the markings were more like indentions in the wall rather than say paint, making them look black. With herculian effort, she picked her head back up to look straight up again, and then let it fall once more to the right, to see what was in that direction. What she found was exactly the same, which made her swallow nervous. Once again she sacrificed every ounce of strength she could must to bring her head to look straight up, and she tried to look down as best she can, at her feet. She couldn't look directly down her, so she did not see her own body, but she saw the wall, which was exactly the same. She thought she might have seen something that resembled a door, but she simply could not tell. She then tried to look above her, over her head, and she saw another wall, but much closer, meaning she was very near it. She also saw things of silver, tables and some form of medical equipment. Something there was giving off a sort of orangish glow, which was, she noticed, the only source of light anywhere. Looking at that, she noticed that there wasn't much light in the room. No, it was draped in darkness, and every single corner was lost in it. She thought she saw something odd near the far wall, and looked again. There seemed to be some kind of...mound near the corner, but she couldn't make any of it out.
Upon seeing this mound, a terrible stench blew through her nostrils, which made her cough suddenly, the effort it caused her body tearing her apart. She laid down again and closed her eyes, thinking. So, the question was, where was she? She had two answers. The first, she was basically in a box. The second answer was more to the question of where this box was, which she had no idea of. She had no recollection of anything before this moment, this wakening. She didn't even know her own name, what she looked like, or that she was even female. All she had was her thoughts, which were actually rather literate. She also had reasoning, logic. She was able to piece together the fact that, considering all these things she could do, she must just not be able to remember anything. So, where was she? Laying on some type of bed? It looked that way, because she wasn't on the ground. She was in the middle of thoughts, trying to piece all of this together, when she felt something move inside of her. She gasped and looked down and saw a bulge in her stomach, just on the bottom of her vision. Her eyes went wide in surprise. What was it? She couldn't tell at all, had no idea, but something was inside of her, and that was wear it was resting. She laid back down again and stared at the ceiling, trying desperately not to go crazy. She had to keep her head, something was going on here, she just didn't know what.
Then she heard footsteps, echoing from somewhere outside the room, the box. Suddenly she got tense, but she didn't really know why. She watched what she thought was the door with anxiety, and suddenly it opened, and there stood a man. He was draped in a white coat, glasses, and he looked bald. She saw his face, and suddenly a plethora of memories came flooding back into her mind, and she freaked out. She had visions of this man doing things to her with a sick grin on his face. So many instances, never an explanation, few words, day in and day out. She remembered it all, all upon seeing his face. She found an untapped reserve of strength and tried to run away, only to find that she was strapped to the table she had woken up on. She looked down at herself in fear to see herself tied down, chained down, wrapped, all of it. Suddenly, her body exploded with pain. It was all throughout her, and she screamed, for it was too much to bear. She realized this pain had been constant, it had been there since before she even awoke, she was just numb to it, until now, because she knew what it was. She looked at the man again, and knew there was nothing she could do to stop him, to get away, so she could only hope that whatever he was about to do would be the last time he ever did it.
He slowly approached her, and placed his cold hand on her stomach while looking at her slyly. She heard his voice echo through the box. "Looks like its time again. Maybe we'll get lucky this time." His voice was filled with venom and vile deviousness, like he was toying with her, that she was nothing but a toy or a test subject. He clapped his hands together, and suddenly things started happening. More pain explodedd within her, and she was screaming, wanting to grasp something, but finding nothing to hold. She felt something leaving her, exiting her body, and she knew, it was the thing that was inside her stomach. It took a long time, but finally, the pain was over, and she laid back, exhausted on the table. The man stood at the foot of the table, and in his hand, a bloody mass that was gasping for air, a baby. He looked at it coldly, unfeeling. Once it started breathing, he took out a syringe from his pocket, and heartlessly injected it into its arm. He stood there staring at the baby as if expecting something, and there was a flicker in its eyes, glowing green for a few minutes before disappearing. For a moment the man looked hopeful, but then he was just upset when it appeared as though whatever he had hoped for would not come. Suddenly, he shouted "Pathetic!" and tossed the baby into the mound that had been positioned in the corner, causing whatever it was made up of to come rolling into the room. She looked up to see what they were, skeletons. Baby skeletons, there had to be at least 50 of them. What had happened her was all too obvious.
The man turned to leave and called over his shoulder while he did so, "Another failure. Well, I'll be back tomorrow to make another. I suppose I can wait another 8 months. Don't disappoint me next time!" And with that, the door closed, and he was gone. The baby, still bloody, was left alone on the ground, and she was still strapped to the table, unable to help it. It would clearly die which, as she realized, had already happened so many times before. All the baby skeletons, they were her children, children she never had. But why? Why was he doing this? What was he looking for in her offspring? She found herself crying and laying down again, and soon, passed out. As it turned out, she would not live to reach the next day. She would die over night from starvation, leaving the baby the only thing left of her. The next day, the man entered the room and was extremely upset, until he saw the baby, barely alive itself on the floor after being left there all night. He looked at it and picked it up a second time. He stared at it with fury and displeasure, and spat venom. "You will have to do." And so, he left the room with the baby in hand, leaving the woman dead on the table.
Havoc was born in Otogakure, tucked away underground from the rest of the world with nobody to know he existed. His mother died shortly after his birth from malnutrition, and his father was the one responsible for her death. This man Seymoure Tachi, was a desciple of sorts to Orochimaru. While he was alive, he glorified the Sanin and what he did. Experimentations, alterations, everything like that. His glorification only went that far however. He did not share any visions of the future that Orochimaru did, but rather, idolized the way he experimented on others to create enhanced beings. He was dillusional, obviously, and refused to believe that Orochimaru had died, but rather had only disappeared. He believed he had told him to continue experimenting in his stead until he would one day return, and so he had spent his entire existance doing just this. This went on for years until he learned about a clan of necromancers, and how they could create powerful, often twisted "undead" creatures. Seymoure saw a horizon of oppertunity with this clan, but he was disappointed to learn that it was almost extinct. He wanted to capture a clan member and shape them and what creatures they made in his own image. He was distraught until he learned of Havoc's mother, Momohime, one of the last remaining clan members. As far as he knew, she had no children, no husband, no anything. It was easy to kidnap her, but he was angered from what he learned. She was old, and her powers with the Amatsugan were weak. He could not use her for what he wanted. At first, he thought all was lost, but then a sick idea entered his mind. He kept her tied up in a room, and tried time and time again to have her give birth to a child with superior Amatsugan abilities. The genetics were extremely recessive, so it was almost impossible for this to happen. In the end, Havoc was born, but he did not have the Amatsugan, and he was discarded, until his mother died. At that point, the angered Seymoure decided to take what he had, and raised Havoc while experimenting on him constantly in order to unlock the Amatsugan within him, and in the process, give him the creatures he had wanted for so many years. Havoc himself, of course, was raised without knowing anything about this. Seymoure was his biological father, and he did raise him, but of course it was a twisted relationship. He tought Havoc how to fight like a shinobi, but it turned out there wasn't much he could do. Luckily for Seymoure, Havoc did have a natural affinity for puppetry, which made the Amatsugan that much easier to obtain. He was also skilled in Ninjutsu, something he was able to use. Seymoure did not bother teaching him much Ninjutu, because he knew after he was done with him, he would not be able to do such things. Havoc was something that was to be seen and not heard though. He was not allowed to speak unless addressed, and he was abused rather often. As a child he would cry, which only aggravated the twisted scientist even more, and he would scream in pain during the experiments. - Spoiler:
The boy sat, legs crossed, in the middle of a large room, completely square. It was dark, but they were underground, so it was understandable. The only light coming from large torches, one on each wall. They made it light enough to see, but there was still darkness in every corner, and darkness all around. The boy had white skin and rather dark brown hair. His skin was not ghostly white, but simple white as though he hadn't gotten much sunlight lately, if any at all, and his hair almost looked black in the darkness, but inspection would show that it was actually brown. He was alone in this room, nobody else near by, and his eyes were closed, looking at the ground, almost as though he were meditating. But this was not true, he was actually waiting, like he did every day. His head was bowed as though he were sitting before a powerful authority figure, and he looked calm in such a way he looked insignificant, like he accepted the fact that he was a worm or pawn to be used by a higher power. It made him look somewhat religious, or at least extremely focused in what he was doing. But he did not look peaceful, not at all, he looked disturbed, and he was shaking just a little bit, all over his body. It made him look cold, and maybe he was, considering his was dressed in tattered rags that were filled with stains, some of them blood.
In the dull light, you could barely see the wounds all over his body. His arms were bare and exposed, as was his neck and face, and his lower legs. All over these exposed body parts were bruises, wounds, cuts, scrapes. Some of the bruises were beginning to look green, infected, untreated. You could tell just by looking at the way his body shivered that it hurt to even move, like a soreness within the body that never went away. The boy, who looked to be no more than eight years old, was waiting for someone anxiously, and it was assumed that these wounds were probably from the person he was waiting for now. You couldn't even hear him breathing in the otherwise completely silent room, as though he was afraid to make any sound whatsoever. His chest barely went up and down to show that he was, making it look as though he was afraid to move without permission either. He looked weak, skinny, scampish. He looked like he could barely stand and hadn't had much to eat in the past few weeks. All of these things made it obvious that he had not had an easy life so far, that things were very hard for him. Constantly living in fear of moving, making a sound, maybe even opening your eyes.
Suddenly the boy twitched, but he did not open his eyes, did not move his body. Standing in front of him was a man in a labcoat with glasses and dark hair, arms folded, looking down at him as though he was sickened to be in the same room as him. "Rise." He said with such discontempt. The boy quickly got to his feet, but he did not scramble. It was completely uniform and robotic, as though he had been trained on how to stand correctly, and his speed made it obvious that he had mastered the art. The man continued to frown though, as though even that upset him. The boy was still shaking, as if anticipating something painful, but he looked straight up at him, eyes still closed. There was silence for a long time as they both stood there, and the boy slowly started to open his eyes, to look at the man. Just a sliver of his brown eyes were revealed behind the eyelids before he was slapped to the ground. "You are not permitted to open your eyes! They are imperfect, and I will not have them gazing upon the world!" The boy simply picked himself up off the ground without even touching the wound on his cheek, and kept his eyes closed. They continued to stand like that for awhile, the boy trying as hard as possible to not shake, but it was extremely difficult.
Eventually, the man spoke again. "We will begin. Try to hit me with projectiles," he said, taking a few steps backwards. The boy started moving slightly, but not out of his spot, as if looking for something to even throw at him, because he was naked. Before he had a chance to bend down and search the floor however, his arms and legs were all simultanously pierced by kunai and shuriken, and he gasped in pain, trying not to make a sound. "Use those!" he said. The boy, still not trying to make a sound, slowly reached with his right arm to extract a kunai from his shoulder. When he did so, he reached to extract the next one, only to be pierced in the shoulder by another kunai, the man screaming at him "One at a time!" The boy moved, but it was obvious he did so gingerly as not to hurt himself too much by moving. He flicked the kunai at the man with surprising accuracy, but he simply moved out of the way. This process continued for awhile, but the boy threw every projectile he had been pierced with without hitting the man, and when he ran out, he was simply loaded up with more. Eventually he managed to hit the man, and a look of rage overcame him. He threw the kunai out of his shoulder, rushed towards the boy, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed him to the ground, causing him to cough in pain, another thing he was chastised for.
The boy still had a few kunai and shuriken lodged inside of him, but the man said it was time for the next experiment. When the boy started following him nervously out of the room, he began to extract the remaining projectiles, but he was simply slapped to the ground again and told to leave them in, that they would be removed when he said they could be. The boy followed him out of this large room and down a hallway into another smaller, more familiar one. A few minutes later, the hallway was aglow, and the sound of machines began buzzing, followed by an ear piercing scream of agony that persisted for many more hours.
Eventually, Seymoure would grow to be far too exhausted of the boy's screaming. Every day all he would do is scream or wince in pain, even if he told him not to, even if he tried to make him. And rather than doing things that eased the pain, he took a different route. Seymoure took a break from his engineering of the boy's dormant Doujutsu in order to undertake a new idea. He used his knowledge of the human brain, which was actually quite extensive, and configured Havoc's brain structure to register pain as an enjoyable thing, of pleasure. In essence, he turned Havoc into a masochist, and after this happened, he was practically begging Seymoure to experiment on him, to cut into him, because it felt so good to him. The problem was, at that point, Seymoure could no longer use pain as something to keep the boy in check, because he did everything he could to get hurt. Instead he had to threaten the boy with promises to NOT hurt him, which was a cruel twist of fate, but it worked, and the disturbed scientist enjoyed it. This would go on for many years, and Havoc would grow to become basically addicted to pain. It was ecstasy to him, it was like sex, only it was something he could get any time he wanted. He soon became covered in cuts and scars done by himself, but you could tell his health was beginning to dwindle. Obviously he had not been taken care of too well, but for the time being, this was not an issue. After it was deemed that he was a good enough shinobi, knowing the basics and how to fight relatively well, all time was devoted to awakening the Amatsugan. By this time of course, Havoc had already been turned into the masochist he is today, and he happened to like the experiments very much. It had started out that the boy despised Seymoure for being so cruel and harsh to him, to the point he thought about escaping. But now, all of a sudden, he loved the man in a twisted way because he gave him pain every day, which was like his drug, his addiction. It was truly a disgusting relationship, but Havoc did not know any better, did not know any different, for he had never even seen the outside world. After a few more years, at the age of thirteen, the Amatsugan was finally awakened within Havoc. It was a time of great excitement for both Havoc and Seymoure, but Havoc was actually slightly disappointed. Now that he had the Amatsugan, he knew that Seymoure wouldn't be cutting into him anymore, wouldn't be experimenting anymore. He had grown older now though, and he had learned to hold his tongue, and never said anything about his desires, instead inflicting pain on himself more times than not. But at any rate, the training of the Amatsugan began. Seymoure was actually a very good teacher, because he had spent years before and after Havoc was born researching the clan and how it worked. In order to produce the necessary dead bodies, he would usually go out and kidnap people, forcing Havoc to kill them himself. |
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