It had happened through radio communication. Seven o'clock at night, still darkness overtook the Mizukage. The shadowy leader of the Mist Village - one of the most brutal and hardened shinobi villages to the date. Night time had taken over the skies, calling in the thick fog which came with every night. A blaze of lights boomed from the village's innards, suggesting the potent array of night life which displayed itself each and every passing night. Strobe lights and search lights alike splattered themselves against the thick wall of haze. He just stood there, looking out of the massive window which covered the entirety of his office's backside. The lights were too his left; what lay before him, however, was much more awe inspiring. A steep, dead drop off of a cliff. Pounding waves crushed their liquid bodies onto the stone wall below, causing foam and mist to spray forth. It was impossible to enter from that side of the bay. Even if a ship was somehow able to maneuver in those rigged waters, it would be unable to reach up to the Mizukage's office with any weapons. Beyond that, numerous clusters of friendly recon units were scattered about, with heavy fortification making a net formation in and under the water's reaches. The cliff itself was built into, actually making the majority of his tower's walls, and thus carved with the hundreds of windows and door spaces. Entire tunnel like caves, carved into the side of the massive rock, serving as useable and functioning operation hallways.

"Kffttt... Mizukage-sama, we've picked activity along our perimeter in section one. Target in question appears to be alone. Currently he's marked at 6.43 kilometers from our main gate. Awaiting orders, sir."

The voice came from a small device in his desk. It rang clearly through the musty silence, thick with powerful thought and intense emotion. At first Inoshi did not respond, enthused by the news. A thin, snake like smile spread across his lips as he considered the fun of toying with some unsuspecting visitor. The smile continued to grow. Ice blue eyes stared through the window pane, shifting as he began to turn towards his desk. His blonde hair hung about his head like blades, perfectly styled into order, yet made to look almost messy. The razor edge of his jawline matched his other acute features, looking as if he was carved from a statue of gold, created from the hands of something beyond human itself. Even his skin held this look, untouched by aging or blemishes. He looked young, yet matured. Broad shoulders served his clothing perfectly, allowing the thick purple garments to hang over him with a sense of taste and grace. Everything about him appeared to be royal. That of nobility. His robes looked as if made of silk, formed into a flowing garment not too far from what most kage shinobi wore. The only difference was that he looked like a king, while others looked like soldiers.

Fingers pressing down against the intercom switch, Inoshi let full, shapely lips make speech. "Continue to monitor his location. I'll be there soon. I've been looking for an excuse to get out of the office. Why not play meet'n'greet?" He sounded like a predator. A wild animal in need of taming, yet without the ability to dull himself down. Brushing past his desk, the Mizukage heard the short, one worded response from the intercom, letting Inoshi knew his orders had gone through. Sir! His smile resumed its game, intrigued by those submissive shinobi, bent to taking orders and hammered into thinking only what Inoshi wanted them to think. Bound by a loyalty which would animate them to kill themselves at the mere mention of their Mizukage. Their leader.

Winding through the numerous hallways and rooms of the tower, he made haste to exit. Each face he passed looked stressed and made to look proper in his presence. Each body became rigid as he passed by, struck with a wave of utmost respect and mystification. Each pair of eyes that fell onto him peeled apart; or at least tried. Each individual trying to grab at his layers, and see what lay beyond the silent and deadly approach he took. What was he really, and who was he to become in their history. Each was but a mule, doing the work which was provided to them. Each living the false hood of importance, and thinking themselves to be accomplished shinobi. Working directly under, and in immediate contact with their illusive Mizukage. They were the only ones who were able to see him, hear him, take orders from him directly. They were the ones who were most under the illusion of his acting. His fake manners, mask of professional kindness. None of them held a candle to what was really important for the Mizukage. He cared about none of their lives, only about protecting them as his objects. Part of his collection. Only he would be able to destroy their futures - he raised them, brought them into fruition, and gave the village life.

Everything had been a puppet game to him. Everything still was a puppet game to him, actually. Nothing but a minor riddle for him to solve, or a question in need of answering - with the only person being able to answer being himself. He had brought himself from a mere child, a useless boy, to the head of his clan. But this had not been enough for him. He had not yet become content with that life, and never wanted to. He pushed himself further, securing himself as a major politician and acting shinobi at a young age. A very young age. Even so, he wanted more. His thirst was hardly even quenched from the title of Mizukage, so he took more. Always took more. Striking down the Daimyo, he had named himself the Emperor of Water; the one ruler of his nation. A man who answered to no one. However, even this would not satisfy him. No. He always wanted more. He could not be content leading one of five shinobi villages, and their homeland nations. He needed everything, like that of a god. It was only fair.

Making his exit from the tall tower, Inoshi leapt into action, his body speeding through the night. The mist made roof tops slick, his feet flinging over the watered down tiles and pushing him faster, faster, and faster still. He dug a hole into the black night's veil. Lights began to speed by him like those visible to a moving train's passenger. His clothing billowed behind him, launching himself over the populated streets and through the most deserted ally ways, he crossed the large channel of his village in an effort to pass the main gate's location. From the outside, the entirety of the nation would look like nothing more than a large rock formation, built into the side of an uneven terrain. The blankets of mist would render even that disguise perfect, shielding any of the village's lights from coming out, and blocking the eyes of those who would try and peer through the tireless water vapors. Entire scenes played out below him as he shot through the air in a blur. His face was covered in a hood, casting his face into shadow, and hiding himself from those would would otherwise stop in their tracks and stare in misty eye'd wonder. Each moment, he pushed himself to move faster. Be faster. Become someone of a higher level, push past any barriers he had previously set for himself, and evolve into his next form. That was always his goal. Always. Metamorphosis into something greater; something that became harder and harder with each passing bound.

His feet began to break the tiles as he pushed himself to move faster and faster, his chakra swelling in his body, each meridian pumping with his malevolent and potent energy. He felt himself continue to accelerate. The mist flew past him, his vision hardly enough to see what was in front of him. Leaping from building to building, the man continued to move. Each obstacle was neatly dodged and countered with grace, throwing his body through endless routine in order to become physically perfect. Whipping around chimneys and bulbous additions to housing, he was able to remain nimble. Even the wet roof tops proved to be nothing but a petty annoyance to the Yamanaka. It was easy enough to stabilize himself.

His approach was different, however. Always had been. While his body was able to maintain and endure the ruthless training required to accomplish such speed, he thought of such methods as primitive. Unneeded, and slow. Hardly his way of doing things. Instead, he turned to chakra. The natural energy which made shinobi different from those without the heaping mass of translucent energy. Having become beyond masterful with this abundant source, he had learned to create more beneficial routes to gain what most were unable to do. With the increased speed of one's chakra flow, so too would their body's abilities increase, and dramatically become more active. Every function of the body would begin to work harder, move faster. Movement was no different. While most conditioned their bodies to run with muscle mass, and strict life styles, he had gone above and beyond. Mastering the mind. The energy which made him into what he was. It was a route which others, in most cases, could not take. And even those who could often turned to the more traditional improvement methods. Inoshi looked down upon it. There were limitations which came with running one's body into the earth. Serious side effects which he would never encounter. His abilities were stable, ageless, and incredible.

He had always been faster than his peers. Always quicker in both his mind and body. Of course, he too had started with the basic approach. Run for hours, build stamina, become stronger and stronger. However, such an approach had its limits, and became more and more clumsy as you progressed. His body seemed to move in a blurring bullet fashion, legs pushing off of each surface with immense strength and repeated swiftness. He was superior. Always had been, and he knew it. Lived on it. Governed himself based on that. But there was more to speed than, well, speed. The ability to correct one's movement, change the flow of movement. Become graceful, and adjust movement. It was an art form - the mastering of one's body. One that he had all but mastered, but was always becoming stronger and stronger in. Leaping as if containing no bones, his body whipped around as if in a dance, always finding a way to land and do so gracefully. Like a snake being tossed through the air, only to fall in a perfect coil and launch itself into a strike.

Arriving at the gate only minutes later, he landed before the massive structures. Already made aware of Inoshi's orders, the men controlling the gate's movement started to unfold their large panels. Slowly, he began to walk forward, watching the massive doors open before him, like the mountain itself was opening to let him inside. He looked serious. Dangerous. Without a fear in the world, and determined - through the source of his determination could not be detected from an outsider. And then he was off again, like the shot from a gun, himself as the bullet, he accelerated forward, no longer protected by the village's location and fortification. Pressing his finger to his ear, he activated a small walki-talki-like-radio. "I am on location. Where is the target now?" The response came quick. None could hide from the Kirigakure ninja, their forces specializing in tracking, and lining the walls of The Death Trap; in fact, this was the Death Traps primary purpose, to detect incoming personnel with sensory abilities, and alert the village's defenses. It worked perfectly, stunting any kind of surprise attack that would otherwise cause a problem in the powerful village.

"Kfftt... We have eyes on you, sir. Target is close by. Current marking is 21.34 meters ahead of you."

Inoshi's body relaxed, looking forward by instinct, as if he could actually see through the thick mist. Though, his vision was much attuned to the mist's blinding effect now, having lived his entire life within the musty aroma of Bloody Mist. Continuing to walk forward, Inoshi waited until his "target" would be within easy hearing distance to his voice, calculating it so that they would fall at about seven meters apart. "Ever considered traveling with a lighter step, hm?" Inoshi said, his rich voice positively dripping with a cleansing tone. Low and deep, yet filled with wonder and arrogance. It would seem to come from no where, and everywhere at once, his body completely hidden in the thick mist.

Inoshi's face fell into a sarcastic expression, looking at the male as if to challenge his words. The opposing shinobi walked through the mist, into Inoshi's line of vision. Instantly, his mouth lost any of the previously shown enthusiasm. It was a younger male, wearing the signs of a waterfall ninja - a smaller and lesser known village; a village that only had a very small amount of its ninjas entered in the bingo books as any kind of real threat. That said, there were always exceptions. The other man's voice sounded low, confident and cold. Inoshi's lips curled at the tips, lingering about his face as nothing but the shadow of a smile.


That did it. The full smile came, snaking over his skin with a cruel, a dark tinge. Each feature he owned became completely lethal. Toxic, even. His mood began to rise, and the energy around him did the same. Without moving, he allowed himself to grow taller, adjusting his stance. A slow, rumbling laughter came from the Yamanaka before he spoke in reply. "You make such an invasion sound so easy, Takigakure shinobi." Taking a quick step forward, he let his hand raise, extending it out to the side. "My name is Inoshi. Current head of the Yamanaka Clan, and Sandaime Mizukage." His chakra rose from within him, challenging the boy opposite him. Rinsing off of his body in thin, almost translucent purple waves. Like a heavy aura which gave the air a weighted feeling, as if it were heavy. The mist began to get pushed aside by the chakra. The boy started to speak again, but Inoshi cut him off, his own voice dominating the space with superior volume and presence.

"Prey tell me, Mokuzai from the Hidden Waterfall, what was it which broke your bond to such a village? Was it their over sweetened ways? The stench of dead dreams, lacking goals, and a boxed in environment? What was it which snapped your loyalty, boy?" As Inoshi spoke, he began a predatory walk around the boy. His aura started to become more and more intense as his emotions boiled into play through his energetic fields. Purple, lengthy waves of dark chakra whipped off of him in a maddening storm of weighted power. The mist began to clear as it was pushed off from the deadly Mizukage. It was said that when two ninja of the kage's level fought, the combined auras could kill inexperienced shinobi, and overwhelm them with a sense of intimidation.

Even the clashing auras of powerful enough jounin could be enough to drive someone without proper experience over the edge. But Inoshi was different. Almost over powering, in a subtle way. Seductive and addicting, yet toxic and filled with a deadly allure. He was the snake of shinobi, and the god of men. The energetic waves washed through the area, glowing and penetrating the mist with its colors. It was impossible to name it one color, however, changing from numerous shades within even a single second, and blasting across the color spectrum; though, most of the time, it came back around to the dark purple river of shade, littered with specs and bits of other blues and greens. It was beautiful, as well as ensnaring.

If the boy had done any of his research, he would have known about the Mizukage - and that was just it. Almost nothing was known about him. He was a man of complete mystery, even to his own village. His sightings were kept low, and his public participation in the shinobi village was low. He kept everything lively, and stoked, but rarely made public outings. He was a man that kept to himself, though was revered as someone of legend among the Kirigakure ninja. Said to be the most successful and powerful Mizukage in their short history, Inoshi was named as the boy prodigy from a young age. It was always said that he was the only shinobi to have mastered every element as well as every style of fighting - the rumors spread through loosely told, and exaggerated stories. They were the rumors which Inoshi had planted the seeds for; such a burning manipulation pumping from his visible chakra like a potent and dangerous drug, sticking to the rogue male.