Arinori's Death

Tekkotsu folds his arms, Arinori taking it upon himself to not take a seat. Smart.
"You, take out the scroll and start writing."
Tekkotsu commands the male, his attention still directed towards Arinori. His hand moves to the male's shoulder before pressing down on him.

"Kneel, face the male." Tekkotsu looks up, studying his character. He seemed angry, though Tekkotsu didn't know why. Was he close to Gishirama? "Write down everything that happens in this room, from when we first entered."
Arinori kneeled down and face the man. Oh god. What kind of sick, twisted, sadistic shit was in line for him now?
Kurosaki, Yashiro unclips a scroll that dangles by the side of his shoulder, supported only by a short string. A pen is unsealed, then he jots something down, obviously attentive.
Tekkotsu continues to press onto Arinori's shoulder, the male now kneeling on the ground and facing Yashiro. "If you want to cry for Gishirama's death, cry now."
Kurosaki, Yashiro shakes his head, scribbling something. A simple no without the need for words.
The male found himself on the ground with pressure being applied to his shoulders. It was pathetic for a full grown man to cry. Crying was for women, but he couldn't really stop now. It didn't matter how much he hated Gishirama, or the fact that Gishirama had this coming to him. All that mattered is that he persoanlly lowered the number of a clan that now faced extinction. The clan that he had promised to help rebuild after returning home.

A few tears fell, but not many. The boy didn't waver as much as before. He had his wits reclaimed to an extent. This was all a matter of cause and effect. He'd fallen the victim. The original cause was a senju impossibly deciding to marry an Uchiha.
(Arinori)
As he begins to sob, Arinori's body is forced to the ground. He'd feel as though the very earth is against him, the male unable to move even a little bit. His knees would press into his stomach, causing pain--though nothing was fatal. Nothing at all.

The tiles around him would bend as if a larger creature had once stood on them and left his imprint. Tekkotsu glares at the male with the scroll before leaning closer to Arinori, his hand still on his kin. "Don't cry. If you felt remorse you wouldn't have killed him."
(Tekkotsu)
Kurosaki, Yashiro writes down the happenings on his parchment, the glare from the Senju not being something that afflicts him in the slightest. As a matter of fact, his own glare is sent to the black-haired one, pacifism and teachings being erased for this moment. No..it was something else, it was something that couldn't be helped - a man that killed endlessly, and attempts manipulation through tears.
That.. is what the blond viewed things as, not someone crying just because he was sorry.
The male's entire body gained an impossible amount of mass. It felt as though the gravitational force of the earth had been multiplied by one hundred. The male fell face first into the ground in response to the added weight.

He barely cried at that, but he did feel remorse. The end of that man's life was only carried out to put an end to the cycle. If he hadn't done so; the man would simply attack him after he recovered from the time before. The boy repented for his sins, but it didn't matter what the gods above thought. The only person in control of his destiney were the two currently present.

It took two days to pretty much fuck everything up in his life. He'd went from an easy going jokster to a cold blooded murderer in the eyes of those around him. He knew they'd never look at him in the same light. He knew some would probably plot to kill him in secrecy. The days of not constantly look at his shoulder were sure to come to an end once more; just as it had been before their bounty was removed. The boy spoke in his defense in a weakened tone, the pain threatening to penetrate even  his own frame,

"He doesn't have my sympathy, but he has my regret. I tried to walk away. I tried to be the bigger man. He chased me. He backed me into a corner. I told him there'd be no going back if he continued. He called me the scum of this world. He called me worse than an Uchiha and went forth with his assault. In the end I wasn't able to stop myself from ending his life. That is my own failure."

The boy was willing to accept where he had failed, but he didn't shoulder the burden of all the blame. Everything could have easily been avoided if handled in a different manner. Though now it seemed like none of it even mattered. He was getting his.
(Arinori)
As his chakra flowed throughout the body of the male, Tekkotsu's memories of the family as they had just started out began to play throughout his mind. He and his brother, Masato; Sanshirama and his brother, Hinatarama; Jitsuko; Spooky's dead Senju whose name I never knew because they died so quickly; Seiichima. Things were so much easier back then, or was it just because they were kids?

When Baratoge died, everything went south. He was a terrible leader, but leaving the clan to children didn't end too well either. Masato, then Imada.. both eras for the Senju were grim, but prosperous in their own ways. Masato brought structure and expansion while Imada brought pride and fear throughout the lands.

Tekkotsu and Sanshirama grew up together, as their brothers did as well. As children, they practiced bending Earth, slept in the trees, and paraded about doing miscellaneous missions for the clan. Could he have killed him, his own kind? Tekkotsu shook his head, applying much more pressure on Arinori than before. As he spoke, Tekkotsu's dissatisfaction grew. "Killing your kin is intolerable. I'm sorry."

It may be a bit hypocritical of him to say, seeing as Tekkotsu had killed Sanshirama's brother, though the circumstances were much different. Maybe opportunities to spare Gishirama and his wife were presented, yet none were taken. Mitsui wasn't like the other Uchiha and, while not welcomed in the Village, she wasn't to be slain by purely instinctive action." The male who wrote this all wouldn't know the inner workings of his mind, the thoughts that flowed, or the stories the Senju had with one another. Gishirama, too, was just another lost soul--though unlike Hinatarama, the clan was able to get to him and bring him back.

"How many years has it been since one of us has died?" He questions himself aloud, the male foritifying the pressure he left on Arinori if he decided to answer the rhetorical question. "We've gone so long without a death in the family.. Where did I go wrong? I've done all I could, I even gave Sanshirama the leading position so relations would be much better between the other clans and villages.."

His composure was the same as always, and though he was fuming it wouldn't be indicated by erratic breathing or a harsher tone. He spoke as he did usually, though the words he chose would hint at the aggression. "Ten years of war just to have a Senju spill their own blood.." He pauses, his eyes closing as he inhales deeply. His vacant hand is brought to the hilt of the Wakizashi he has stationed neatly above his backpouch.

As he opens his eyes, Rohan being attacked by Hinatarama flashes before him. He embeds the Wakizashi in Arinori's side, puncturing the lung as it fit neatly between his ribs. "I was given the choice to kill Gishirama a few years ago. Instead I knocked him out and took him to a temple to rehabilitate him." Arinori's lungs would fill with blood, the male feeling much more pain from his internal wound than from the pressure from Keijugan. "Just like you, I aimed for his neck. He's not the smartest, and while powerful, his battle sense is lacking."

Tekkotsu plucks the Wakizashi out swiftly at the end of his sentence, stabbing it between another two ribs and tearing yet another hole into his lungs. More pain, much more pain.

His hands were dirtied once more by Senju blood.

Though he didn't care for Gishirama as he did Sanshirama, the male held respect and love for all in his clan. Unconditional, just like family should be. Even with Hinatarama, he begged for him to change his ways and tried to reason with Imada to allow him to come back to the village.

"I won't allow slaughter amongst family." He plucks the Wakizashi out once more. "Please forgive me, Masato." The apology is meant for his brother looking down on him rather than Arinori, the male disgusted with himself for taking the life of yet another Senju.. his brother wouldn't have liked it. If he were still alive, maybe things would have been different--maybe Hinatarama, Gishirama, and Arinori would still be alive.
(Tekkotsu)
The male couldn't blame Tekkotsu for his actions. The blood of family was much thicker than water. No matter how much he hated Gishirama; he knew somewhere he regretted his actions. It was all a big cluster fuck of stupidity. If the boy was granted a time machine; he'd use it, but that simply wasn't possible. He'd only ever wanted to protect those precious to him. He only ever wanted to be strong enough to be respected. He wanted attention. He wanted love. He wanted comradery.

He failed.

No matter how hard he tried he always fell short. His village fell in his absense, and he was forced to remove the brand of his family from his name. He did it just to survive. He couldn't be as proud as anyone else. From the start he was simply less of a man than anyone that he'd surrounded himself with. The only person he saw as lower than him in the family was ultimately Gishirama. This was all the effects of him marrying and having a kid with an Uchiha.

The physical pain being applied to the boy's body was great. Too great even. The chances of him being able to get out of this one were slim to zero. Hell. They were zero. The boy would die with a trump card he never got to use. Hell, he honestly felt cheated within his heart. The world he lived in was simply unforgiving. War changes people. They gradually become desensitized to death. The moment that happens the question comes forth; are they even human anymore, or are they beasts? What can really be said for someone in that state? Not much.

The wakizashi impossibly pierces the boy's skin. Something triggers within his mind. His primal senses came to life in an attempt to save his own skin, but he knew all was for not. This was going to be his final struggle; the last of his torment. He'd leave his brother alone in the world just as he'd left Gishirama's child.

In a fruitless attempt to hold on, the boy went as far as he could with his breathing techniques. The blood coursing through his veins with at a vastly increased rate carrying a larger amount of oxygen caused a blue aura to escape his figure. His hair rose, breaking the clip that once held it and flowed freely around his head. His skin was blood red now, and his body began to deconstruct itself as if Tekkotsu's blows weren't enough.

This replaced the piercing pain of the blows with a different kind of pain. A pain that spread throughout his entire body. A pain he had been accustomed to. A pain that allowed him to escape his own mind. He blamed himself the most in the end. He acted too much on a whim, and Gishirama was simply a scapegoat. It was funny how they'd both end up dying on this day,

"It's...only fair...isn't it...."

The boy spoke in a shakey tone, his face now covered in a thin envelop of water. It was unclear if the strain on his body caused sweat to cover his face, or if the once kind hearted lad was truly crying. This was a fact that he'd have to take to the grave.

A few more moments passed, Tekkotsu spoke of the past. The days he had missed during his travels. The days that he had always secretly wished he could go back to. The days where his mind was plagued by the thought of what could had been if he were there when the Uchiha attacked. If he would have been strong enough to make a difference. If he could have prevented all of this by acting then rather than now. It was all a mystery that was impossible to solve; however, and the boy simply had to accept his fate,

"Damnet...if only I had been there...sooner. When you...needed me....it's funny how that works, right Tekkotsu? You never realize...what you missed until...there is no more time to realize these things. It all flows...like a river that has just busted through a dam.  I am simply the valley beneath...being overflowed with water. I...do not...condem you actions...you are justified."

The boy's final words  before his eyes finally closed; his skin returning back to it's original shade and the aura fading. Life was gone as quickly as it had been created. Every muscle in his body was torn from struggling to get up along with whatever damage had been inflicted by the Wakizashi. Impossibly the boy repeated the final words,

"You...were....justified."
(Arinori)
Kurosaki, Yashiro 's digits dance along the parchment, marking that which presents itself in the soon to be bloodied room. Frustration, anger and hatred - a combination Yashiro rarely found himself to be burdened with. Emotions that he swore to prevent from overcoming him. Slowly as it is, his pen stops moving, eyes widening at the sight of a wakizashi to execute a slow and painful death.
It's as if instead of feeling bad for yet another being to leave their plane, the Fuuinjutsuist feels some sort of mixed grief and cleansing of hatred - slightly comparable to exacting revenge.

There's a shake in his fingers, albeit not one to be considered full of fear. Blood spills from Arinori's figure, tainting the floors of Sanshirama's office red. A heavy huff leaves the blond's nostrils, sapphire eyes coming to a close. A scrunch, teeth being grit together in a show of contemplation.
"..It came to this..." the pacifist mutters, simply standing still there with thoughts racing across his mind much akin to a speedy, modern train.

"..Damn it all."

If only he was there to stop the first victim.. Perhaps, things wouldn't be this way today.
The incisions made to Arinori's self are precise and neat, the male's blood spilling and collecting just under him. It's not a mess, but the floorboards would have to be replaced.

As the male's body burns red, blue, green and whatever other assortment of colors, Tekkotsu stays calm and places the blade back within its confines. It's rarely used, only for special occassions. The male continues to burn bright as his body deteriorates, Tekkotsu's incisions only being further amplified by the fact and his lungs caving in at a much quicker pace. "Hm.. maybe, Arinori."

His words seemed genuine, but he couldn't believe it himself. The world was unjust, though he could only see growth. "..maybe if we weren't born so early." After all the bloodshed and wars, Tekkotsu wasn't 'desensitized' of death, but rather merely accepted it. It was, to him, the most natural thing in the world. With life came death, some sooner for others.

"I'm sorry you had to die to another Senju and not in war. But I hope you mourn for Gishirama in the afterlife. Don't forget your deeds, and if you're reborn, I hope it's in a much more peaceful time." Tekkotsu continues to keep him still until he finally loses conciousness, his body perpetually changed by the nature of the technique used by the male. Red skin? Who would have thought. He glances at the male with the pen and scroll, though no words were said. A simple gaze wondering if what had transpired was written.
(Tekkotsu)