018 - The Final Exam {PT. II}

KONOHA

A Month Later…

The crowd was absolutely rabid as we and the other qualifying candidates made our way towards the centre of the arena. Names were chanted and provocative jabs were hurled from above. We let our lips curl into a smile—Sharingan flickering into existence—as we waved at the mindless rabble in the audience seats. A primal roar of exhilaration ripped through the crowd in response and suddenly the name Uchiha was uttered by seemingly every soul in attendance.

As it should be, of course.

“Show off,” we heard Kiba mutter in response. The boy sank of envy.

“Stop fidgeting,” ordered Genma, the proctor for this exam. Being the target of the rebuttal, Hinata froze in response. “Stand still and face forward, towards the guests. You are all the stars of these finals, so act like it!”

We sent a thumbs up the Hyuga heiress’s way and, to our amusement, she shrivelled up further in response. Our attention flickered back towards the seats above, panning around until it slowly came to rest at the location of the seat of honour. Sharingan still active we could make out the wrinkles on the Hokage’s face despite the distance. The doddery fool leaned to the side, muttering something to the Kazehage by his side and the other Kage’s predatory gaze turned to regard us. We held the veiled man’s gaze for a moment before looking, letting our Sharingan fade back into the black.

“Ahem!” came the Hokage’s voice via loudspeaker as he addressed the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen! Esteemed guests! Welcome, and a heartfelt thanks for gathering here in the Village-Hidden-in-the-Leaves for the Chunin selection examinations! We will now begin the matches of the final rounds between the twelve qualifying candidates. Please sit back and enjoy!”

The crowd roared once more in anticipation. It was tiring, to be honest; the pleasure humans found in exhibitions of senseless violence. Still, we smiled and waved, goading them on like the mindless lemmings they were.

“Listen up, all of you,” Genma said. “This is the last exam. The terrain is different, and so are the rules. You fight until one f you dies or admits defeat. Or unless I determine that a clear winner has already been decided, in which case I will stop the match before anyone is killed. Understand? All right then … Match one! Lee versus Gaara! You two stay down here, the rest of you. The rest of you proceed to the waiting room outside the arena.”

***

What is the meaning of meaning? What does it mean for something to mean something? Human language—words—in its most reductive state was a coalescence of unintelligible noises that, on their own held no meaning, but when pieced together, incomprehensibly found meaning. The tone; the pauses; the little lilts in words give further meaning to this… meaning.

Colours on their own had no meaning, but the mortal mind always finds a way to inexplicably assign meaning to them. Red; rage. Green; envy, disgust. Black; solitude. White; purity. It always does. It always will.

Of course, in our highest state, we found no use for meaning. For something to mean something, it must be explainable. Understandable. Comprehensible! ... For something to be comprehensible, is for it to be named. When you know something’s True Name—not just a descriptive term for it, but an accurate, all-encapsulating term—you can control it. A name is a symbol that allows you to reduce the thing and reference it simply. It allows you to capture the identity of something much larger in just a few syllables. To describe something in words is to give it a name—to encapsulate it, make it small…

To give yourself some power over it.

“...There is no language for such abysms of shrieking and immemorial lunacy, such eldritch contradictions of all matter, force, and cosmic order. A mountain walked or stumbled. God! … The Thing of the idols, the green, sticky spawn of the stars, had awaked to claim his own.”

These were the words of an enlightened mortal, one whose work we had the pleasure of perusing earlier in this life. In a way, it was the most beautiful thing the mortal world ever offered us. Like looking at one’s reflection on the surface of a turbulent, murky lake illuminated only by the dim rays of the moon peeking out from behind the cloud cover.

Vague and indecipherable, yet the closest thing to a portrait of our true self we would ever find.

What is the mortal mind to do when it perceives an entity that defies its capacity for understanding? A name falls short; a description shorter still. It is… the Ineffable. The thing which cannot be named. The Unnamable. The indescribable.

The incomprehensible.

When words fail, the mortal mind seeks out other means. Thoughts about divinity. Infinity. Experiences so strange they cannot be related; emotions so poignant they cannot be meaningfully expressed. What does it do with these things? If not with language, how does it describe it? Something the rational mind, eager to describe—and thus, understand—strains against.

In light of these thoughts, one could say, our existence is a demonstration of the climax of mortal limitations.

Our gaze returns to the arena to regard the lesser thing below toying with its meal. A creature of sand and hatred, not much unlike the little fox. The taste of blood in its chakra was sickeningly sweet, yet it could not crave it more. Consume and destroy, that was the code carved into its grains. It sought to verify its existence through the suffering of others. To find meaning through violence…

To define itself.

Our lips curled in disdain as the proctor called the match. Gaara flickered out of the arena, his bloodshot eyes radiating bloodlust as they turned to face us.

“Truly,” we think, “an inferior existence.”