The first time that he summoned the Kokuryuu, it was a moment that he knew he would never forget, if only for the fact that his mind would reel for days after, and his arm would never recover. There would be the winding mark of a beast curling its way up his limb, sending shock waves of pain coursing through his being at all the wrong moments.
The speed with which it ripped through the air and rushed toward Zeru was startling, even to the master of the beast. He kept his expression calm, refusing to let anything show on his countenance; it was surprising enough that the Dragon had come forth at his command. He didn't need the rest of the world to see that he was as shocked as he was; it would be a doorway to weakness, and that could never happen.
The ache lingered with him for countless minutes, endless seconds, and even more threatening, days. It felt as though he would never be able to use his right arm again, and if that was the case, then whatever future he may have had may as well have ended. What good was his life if he couldn't carry on with the one thing he had learned to exist for? Bloodshed and death had been his reality for so long, and to have to deviate from that would be unbearable.
But after a few choice words with Kurama and an age long session on his knees, cursing his fate, he realized that it was quite possible to go on otherwise. And so he carried on, pounding his wounded hand into every tree trunk he could find, killing off nature along with his pains and agonies.
And just when half the forest was destroyed, he was ready to take on the next task.
Kuro Momotaro wanted to see the beast first hand, and yet he was reluctant to show it. The injury had yet to hide itself from the world, and everyone at the tournament knew it; it seemed all the more a better reason to nag about it, knowing that the three-eyed demon always rose to the bait.
Still, in the end he did, though unconventionally. Again, he disguised his astonishment in what he was able to do as the dragon curled through the blade of his broken sword and channeled itself, navigating directly toward the enemy – and another was down.
Drilling should have been done, should have occupied all the time he had on his hands, yet it didn't. Something about the freedom of two days seemed to encourage the viewing of others, the absorbing of fate versus the chance of survival in the end. And so he waited, neglecting to show the world that he was confident in his skills beyond the cocky grins and self-assured posture as he walked, arms crossed over his chest.
Death seemed to be something that the opponent begged for; he chose Bui as his next target, and the masked warrior quickly voiced his want to see the Kokuryuu unleashed. And of course, as was established ritual by this point in time, it happened; the only thing that was not quite expected was the turning of the Dragon. Whose right was it to sway the course of the unstoppable beast? he thought to himself.
And he was consumed.
The battle was unlike anything that he had ever dealt with before, yet it was what he had waited for so long to tolerate. It was the only way for it to fully be controlled, after all, and if that was destined to be, it had to happen. He wrestled the demons, forcing them to lie in bay as he consumed them in their gruesome entirety.
When he reappeared in the ring, body in tact and power levels sky rocketing, there was a collective shock about the place. More so was the feeling of horror and revulsion when it was proved that the Kokuryuu was mastered, and that there would be now no redemption for the weak-minded and ill-willed that dare mock it.
Far more bewildering than this was the fact that he was still able to call forth the creature, when it had been done before that day and he had just been on the receiving end on such a blow. Though when Bui was devoured by the ever opened jaws of the black flames, all thoughts of commenting were thrown wayside; that was the end of that.
The toll was being taken on him, however little of it he would show to the world. It was clearly witnessed, nevertheless, when immediately afterwards he passed out with a final command of the Reikai Tantei.
Kurama had told him to be careful when he used the master of all demonic techniques; he had listened – but only vaguely. It seemed to him that during his time in the Makai, most specifically in Mukuro's pit, it was the only thing that he could do to survive; and therefore he relied overly much on the Dragon.
For six months, he suffered the thought that it would come to be too much for him; it almost was at one point in time, and the A-class demons of the shadows would very well have taken him over during his time of recuperation had he not been so ready to call on the black wisps of deadly flame.
He knew in the back of his mind that he was abusing the power that had been granted to him in a time when they should have stripped him of life – and yet he called for the beast every more.
His hands were held out before him, and the dragon coiled around his arms as it was wont to do, and had on so many occasions before. Mukuro was poised before him, blocked only by her defensive shield of sorts that prevented any movement from being made; it had nothing to do with what would happen. And so the demon's most feared weapon was released, double-handedly, and charged at the woman.
And was warded off.
As her shackles fell to the ground, he knew he was virtually done. The dragon that was so heavily relied upon for so long would have its rest for a long enough time to keep the spirits it fed off of happy. There would be reprieve from the toils; there would be rest from the next morning's suffering; there would be respite from the dangers.
Mukuro was free – and so was he.