Year 1008 B.W.—Before the War of Worlds.
"Patience, Sonny. Aura Channeling is a delicate art. Too much, or too little, and your jutsu will falter," the towering man instructed, his voice a low rumble, both stern and patient. A black scarf, the mark of a Dragonian Shadow Warrior, masked the lower half of his face, leaving only his piercing, crimson eyes visible. He wore a reinforced, sleeveless leather vest over a mesh shirt, revealing arms corded with muscle and etched with the scars of countless battles.
Black, fingerless gloves adorned his hands, and dark, combat-grade cargo pants completed his utilitarian attire. A young teenage monkey boy, standing as tall as the man, stood in a low, practiced stance. He wore a black, high-collared jacket, emblazoned with red, stylized star emblems—the mark of a Dragonian initiate.
Sunlight dripped through the dense canopy above, dappling the mossy forest floor, illuminating swirling motes of dust. The air hummed with the latent chakra of the ancient forest, a palpable energy that thrummed with untamed power. The young monkey's hands moved with a fluid grace, weaving through a complex series of hand seals, his brow furrowed in concentration.With a fierce cry, he shouted, "Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu! (Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!)" He slammed his palm onto the earth, channeling his burgeoning aura into the jutsu.
The ground beneath his hand erupted, not with a controlled fireball, but with a chaotic surge of raw, untamed energy.Flames roared to life, spiraling outwards in a raging inferno, a miniature sun unleashed. The fire, fueled by his excessive aura, shot skyward, licking at the ancient trees, casting a hellish, flickering orange glow across the darkened forest. The sheer force of the uncontrolled jutsu hurled the young monkey backward, sending him crashing into a thicket of thorny bushes.
"As I said, you overdid it," the tall man, Lin, remarked with a wry chuckle, his voice echoing through the now smoke-filled air. The young monkey, Sonny, emerged from the bushes, singed and covered in leaves, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and determination. He spat out a few stray leaves and brushed off his clothes with more force than necessary.
"Master Lin, I've been at this for days! This damn technique eludes me!" he exclaimed, his voice thick with exasperation. It was clear the weight of his perceived failure pressed heavily upon him.Lin, a veteran of countless battles, a master of the Dragonian arts, placed a heavy hand on Sonny's head, his touch surprisingly gentle.
"Sonny, your progress is remarkable. Faster than many. But haste makes waste, especially in the way of the shinobi. Soon, you will enter the Genin Trials at the Academy. You will be tested, forged into a team, and sent on missions that will determine your worth. You must demonstrate not just power, but control. Show them you are not merely good, but the best. Prove you are worthy of the title of shinobi.
"Sonny's expression soured. "Nobody even likes me, Master Lin. They whisper behind my back, call me a freak, an outcast. What's the point? Can't I just do these missions solo? I'm strong enough." He kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the forest floor.The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of blood orange and bruised purple. Long shadows stretched across the forest floor, twisting familiar shapes into monstrous visages. Lin shook his head, his crimson eyes hardening.
"No, Sonny. Teamwork is paramount. It is the bedrock of the Dragonian Empire. Our unity, our ability to fight as one, has been the cornerstone of our dominance for centuries. You must learn to rely on others, and they on you. This is the way of the shinobi. To be a lone wolf is to invite death."A sudden, high-pitched chirp, like the cry of a metallic bird, sliced through the forest's stillness. Lin's hand moved with lightning speed, tapping a small, bio-neural comm device nestled within his ear.
"Lin here. Report," he barked, his voice instantly hardening into that of a seasoned commander. A terse, male voice, crackling with static, replied, "Emergency summons. Headmaster Raidon. High priority. All senior operatives to report immediately."Lin's fingers brushed the comm, severing the connection. He turned to Sonny, his eyes softening with a hint of regret. "My time here is done for now, Sonny. Duty calls." He reached into a pouch at his belt, intricately embroidered with scenes of ancient battles, and withdrew three gleaming silver coins, each stamped with the Dragonian seal.
He tossed them to Sonny, a rare smile touching his lips. "Go. Indulge yourself. Master Ken's stall should still be open. His bao is a balm for the soul, even a troubled one like yours."With a series of rapid hand seals, Lin murmured, "Shunshin no Jutsu! (Body Flicker Technique!)" His form blurred, then dissolved into a whirlwind of leaves, vanishing without a trace. "Later... I guess," Sonny mumbled, shrugging, a flicker of loneliness in his eyes. He idly flipped one of the silver coins, catching it with a practiced flick of his wrist.As Sonny walked towards the city, the ancient forest gradually gave way to the sprawling, neon-drenched metropolis. The setting sun cast a lurid, almost apocalyptic glow over the towering structures, their surfaces a chaotic tapestry of flickering holographic advertisements and pulsating neon signs.
The city throbbed with a frenetic energy, a cacophony of sounds, smells, and auras, both human and otherwise. Citizens, a mix of humans and other, more exotic species, hurried through the crowded streets, their faces illuminated by the flickering lights, their conversations a mix of excitement, anxiety, and the everyday struggles of life in a city that never slept. The aroma of exotic spices, sizzling meats, and sweet, fermented drinks hung heavy in the air, a tempting invitation to indulge.Driven by hunger and the promise of a treat, Sonny quickened his pace, the silver coins a comforting weight in his pocket.
The city's temptations beckoned. He expertly weaved his way through the throng of people, heading towards the familiar aroma that always made his stomach rumble.Sonny navigated the labyrinthine streets with the ease of a seasoned native. The aroma of steamed buns, seasoned with exotic spices, grew stronger, guiding him towards Master Ken's renowned stall. It stood out amidst the urban chaos, a beacon of warmth and deliciousness. A bright, crimson lantern, emblazoned with the Dragonian symbol, illuminated a hand-painted sign that proudly proclaimed, "Master Ken's Steam Bao - A Taste of Heaven.""Two pork baos, old timer," Sonny called out, his voice barely a whisper amidst the city's din. Master Ken, a wizened, hunched figure with surprisingly quick hands, his face a roadmap of wrinkles, peered at him from beneath his black, oversized toque. He deftly reached into a massive, steaming bamboo steamer, extracting two plump, white buns that radiated heat. The scent, a heady mix of savory pork, ginger, and secret spices, made Sonny's mouth water uncontrollably.
"One coin, kid. Save the rest for another time," the old man rasped, his eyes, though ancient, twinkling with an uncanny sharpness, a hint of knowing amusement. "You sure, Master Ken? These are worth more than that," Sonny replied, already tearing into the first bao with gusto, the savory filling exploding on his tongue. With a knowing chuckle, the old man snatched the proffered silver coin, his gaze lingering on Sonny for a moment longer than necessary, before turning back to his steaming wares, leaving the young monkey to his feast.
Most of the city's inhabitants were aware of Sonny, his simian features a stark contrast to the predominantly human population. Some regarded him with a primal fear, their eyes lingering a little too long, their whispers a little too loud. Others, the more jaded or perhaps more open-minded, were simply intrigued by his exotic presence, their gazes filled with a detached curiosity. Sonny, for his part, remained largely indifferent, his focus narrowed to a razor's edge, honed by years of grueling training. His driving ambition was singular: to become the most formidable shinobi the world had ever witnessed, a living weapon in service to the Dragonian Empire.
Throughout his short life, a cadre of elite masters, each a specialist in their deadly art, had taken turns molding Sonny into a weapon. He had been subjected to trials by fire, forced to endure torturous physical and mental conditioning that would have broken lesser beings. He had sparred with hardened killers, his small body a blur of motion, learning to anticipate, to react, to kill without hesitation.
The children his own age, with their childish games and naive dreams, saw him as an anomaly, a dangerous outsider who did not belong. They had tried to bully him, to break his spirit, but they soon learned that he was not to be trifled with. His fists were like iron, his reflexes lightning-fast, his pain tolerance honed to an unnatural degree. He was a whirlwind of controlled fury, a tiny engine of destruction.
Their childish taunts and cruel games eventually gave way to vandalism, a safer outlet for their fear and resentment. His modest apartment, a sanctuary he rarely inhabited, often bore the brunt of their cowardly attacks, the words "Monkey," "Ape," and "Freak" scrawled across his windows in dripping, phosphorescent paint—a testament to their ignorance and hate.Entering his small, sparsely furnished apartment, Sonny knelt on the worn, tatami mat floor, his movements precise and economical.
He took a slow, deep breath, centering himself, pushing aside the gnawing emptiness that always seemed to lurk within him. With his eyes closed, he allowed the familiar ache of loneliness to wash over him, a cold wave that threatened to drown him. He embraced it, acknowledged it, and then, with the discipline of a seasoned warrior, he pushed it down, burying it beneath layers of rigorous training and unwavering resolve.
He settled into the seiza position, the formal kneeling posture, his spine ramrod straight, his small hands resting on his thighs. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the room, transforming familiar objects into grotesque shapes.
As he inhaled, drawing the stale air deep into his lungs, he felt it—the subtle hum of his own chakra, a radiant energy that thrummed beneath his fur, casting a faint, golden aura around his small form."Code 1, never betray the Empire," Sonny whispered, his voice a low, guttural rasp, barely audible in the suffocating silence.
"Code 2, to die in battle for the Empire's greater cause is no shameful defeat. Code 3, never leave an ally behind. Code 4, we don't exist."These were the tenets of the Dragonian Empire, the precepts that had been drilled into him since he was a foundling, shaping him, body and soul, into the perfect weapon.
They were his mantra, his creed, his reason for being. Each code was a shackle, binding him to a life of servitude, but also a source of strength, a framework upon which he built his identity.His humble abode, though spartan, was a shrine to his devotion. Scrolls, filled with esoteric knowledge and forbidden jutsu, hung on the walls, their edges frayed and stained with age and, in some cases, blood.
A small, wooden shrine, polished to a high sheen, stood in one corner, holding offerings of incense and dried fruit—a silent tribute to the spirits of fallen warriors, the ancestors he had never known. It was a place of solitude, a refuge from the prying eyes of the city, where he could hone his skills and commune with the ghosts of the past.Lin, moving with a grace that belied his size, strode down the dimly lit, opulent hallway.
Ancient tapestries, depicting scenes of glorious battles and mythical beasts, hung on the walls, their vibrant colors muted by the shadows. Gilded embellishments, tarnished with age, lined the corridor, reflecting the faint light of flickering gas lamps. Each footfall echoed against the cold, polished stone floor, a stark reminder of the heavy silence that permeated this wing of the Academy.
The air itself seemed to crackle with barely contained power.He approached the imposing, double doors of the Headmaster's office, intricately carved with scenes of ancient Dragonian warriors locked in eternal combat. He could sense the potent chakra signature of Raidon emanating from within, a palpable force that pressed against his senses.Without hesitation, Lin pushed open the heavy doors, their ancient hinges groaning in protest, a sound that echoed the weight of centuries.
"My, my, you don't even knock," Raidon remarked, his voice a low purr, a wry smile playing on his lips. He sat ensconced in his high-backed, leather chair, a throne from which he ruled his domain. A half-empty bottle of amber liquid, labeled "Dragon's Breath Whiskey - Aged 50 Years," sat on the polished mahogany desk before him, beside two crystal tumblers, catching the light of the numerous candles that illuminated the room, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls."My apologies, Headmaster," Lin replied, his tone formal, but his eyes betraying the long-standing camaraderie between the two men.
Raidon chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to fill the room. "Sit, old friend. How have you been?" he inquired, gesturing towards one of the chairs with a hand that had dealt death more times than he could count. He poured a generous measure of the fiery liquid into each tumbler."Busy. Training Sonny takes up most of my time. But well, all things considered," Lin responded, accepting the offered glass. He took a slow sip, letting the potent whiskey burn its way down his throat, a familiar warmth spreading through his chest. "And you summoned me for more than just a social call, I presume?" Lin inquired, cutting straight to the heart of the matter."Can't an old friend share a drink without an ulterior motive?" Raidon countered, a playful glint in his one good eye.
"I may be Headmaster, but some things never change." He took a long, slow sip of his whiskey, savoring the complex flavors. "Ah, that hits the spot. Vintage, you know. A gift from the Emperor himself.""If you insist on pleasantries, then yes, it's exquisite," Lin said, humoring him before steering the conversation back on track. "Now, what did you need to discuss that couldn't wait?"Raidon's smile faded, replaced by a grim seriousness.
"Sonny. I want a full progress report," he stated, his voice hardening. Lin hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "His progress is… extraordinary. He's far surpassed any cadet his age, even those from the elite clans. His mastery of Katon (Fire Release) jutsu is already at a Chunin level, and his taijutsu… it's frankly astonishing. His natural strength and speed are off the charts.
It's hard to believe it has already been 16 years since we found him." Lin's voice was filled with a mixture of pride and a hint of something darker, something akin to apprehension."Excellent news," Raidon murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I miss that little scamp. Why doesn't he ever come to visit his old Headmaster?" he asked, a genuine note of sadness in his voice. Lin sighed, the lines on his face deepening.
"He… isolates himself. Social interaction is… difficult for him. He barely speaks to me, and when he does, it's usually clipped and formal. He is getting better, but he pours all his energy into training, into perfecting his skills. He's driven by a need to prove himself, to serve the Empire.""Yes, it's a heavy burden for one so young," Raidon said, his voice heavy with regret.
"I wish there was more we could do. But these orders… they come from the very top. Even my authority has its limits." He shook his head, his expression bleak. "He's a good kid, underneath it all. But the Empire… it demands obedience. It demands sacrifice. It's slowly turning him into a weapon.
"Lin had always harbored a deep resentment towards the Empire's claim over Sonny, a claim that had been asserted the very day they had brought the infant monkey back from that ill-fated mission. The Emperor's decree had been absolute: Sonny was to be raised and trained by the Academy, his life dedicated to the Empire's service.
Lin and Raidon, bound by duty and oath, could only obey. The directive forbade any displays of affection, any hint of parental love, lest it weaken the boy's resolve. And with Raidon's promotion to Headmaster, the burden of Sonny's training had fallen squarely on Lin's shoulders. He had become the boy's teacher, mentor, and jailor, all rolled into one."Agreed," Lin said, his voice low and bitter. He swirled the remaining whiskey in his glass, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid. "But perhaps," Raidon began, a flicker of hope in his eye, "with the right team, the right comrades, he might find something... more. Something beyond duty and bloodshed." The future was a path shrouded in darkness, but both men knew they would walk it alongside Sonny, guiding him, protecting him, as best they could, even from the Empire itself. They were, after all, shinobi of Dragonia. And even in the deepest darkness, a spark of loyalty, of hope, could still endure.