Naruto Uzumaki's lifeless form hit the ground with a sickening *thud*. Blood oozed from the Sixth Hokage's shattered chest. Madara Uchiha broke into an ecstatic laugh.

"I've finally killed him!" the immortal declared to the ruined mountain range that had been their battlefield. "I am God! No one can oppose me now! The others were worthless, mere pawns! I, Madara Uchiha, shall raise an even greater army, an invincible army, and rule this world! I…am…the—"

Madara's tirade would've continued, if not for Naruto's final jutsu. One hundred rasenshurikens materialized around Madara, and as Naruto's voice echoed from the sky, commanding "Wind Style: Spiral Ragnarok," the wind stars converged on Madara in a shrieking barrage, eviscerating and obliterating the body of the last Uchiha. He hadn't even had the chakra to make himself intangible.

The wind stars then exploded, completely destroying Naruto's body as well, and carving a massive crater where they landed.

When the Allied Shinobi Forces arrived at the crater, a reading of chakra signatures revealed what had happened. The newly named Rokudaime had engaged Madara Uchiha, the last of the Akatsuki. Seeing the trademark signs of a very, very large Rasenshuriken, (or several normal ones) and noting the lack of any scent trail from Uchiha, and the fading signature, it became apparent that neither Naruto nor Madara would return.

As Konoha shinobi broke down in collective grief and anger at the unjust end their hero had come to, the shinobi of other nations looked on in quiet sympathy, showing respect for the most powerful, inspiring, and moral ninja of the age.

Blinded by her tears, a pale girl with dark blue hair and pupil less eyes let out a final message to her boyfriend of only a month. There was no hint of a stutter as she said "Kami keep you, Naruto-kun. You were always too good for this world." The young woman broke into heavy sobs again and her cousin, a slightly older, but still young, man with brown hair and the same eyes, wrapped his arms around her and held her to him, letting her vent her sorrow on his shoulder. He looked up in response to a hand on his shoulder to see his wife, her trademark hair buns undone, tears in her eyes.

It was obvious to all that Naruto died the noblest of deaths. He sacrificed his own life, knowing that a delayed-time effect justu would ensure that his final strike did its job. He lived selflessly, thinking always of his fellows before himself. Naruto lived humbly, was frugal with his money, and regularly donated to orphanages and other charities. He was always willing to forgive and forget, something that led to his making many friends. He lived a moral life, calling right and wrong as he saw it, and never seeing from a "certain perspective." He remained cheerful and playful for the benefit of those around him, despite having endured horrendous disrespect and abuse from his own countrymen, which forced him to be, in fact, far more mature than his age. Without any hesitation, he upheld his duty as a ninja, a kage, and a man by giving himself to certain death and destruction for the protection and benefit of others, and his soul ascends now, pure, untouched by hatred and cruelty; for despite the fact that they surrounded him, he refused to let them corrupt him.

All of these admirable qualities and deeds add up. To what, you ask? The answer is an epiphany: a revelation that seems glaringly obvious once presented. Naruto Uzumaki did not deserve death, yet he is dead. He is dead of his own choice: to save others by his passing.

When a person dies, and they deserve a second chance, they may in fact get it. Kami is not unmerciful.

Kami had, in fact, heard Hinata's final plea, and she knew love when she saw it. She took a small bit of time evaluating the child's life; his sacrifices, achievements, childhood, relationships, and concluded that he had, indeed, been too good for the world he came from. The goddess known as Kami to some, God to others, Allah, Jehovah, and many other names, a delicate girl swathed in a thin white robe embroidered with designs of suns and moons, stood up from her bed, and walked, with the most serene grace, across empty space. She dipped one translucent hand into a pool of shimmering liquid in the corner of her bedchamber, and withdrew one of many, very pretty, very delicate, shining objects. Smiling, she held the object to her chest briefly, before calling for her elder brother.

A cloud of black smoke materialized next the Goddess, before fading away to reveal a young man in a cloak made up of a starry sky, bright spots brightening the otherwise pitch-dark garment. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his hair was black like a raven's feathers, with streaks of silvery-white running through it. He was tall and thin, with a thin jaw and high cheekbones. He had dark shadows under his eyes. He seemed, at first glance, a malnourished, sleep-deprived, delicate teenage male. His gentle expression, however, and the kind twinkle in his eyes, full of wisdom and experience, betrayed the existence of an energy and warmth belying his appearance.

A scythe with a pure white haft of bone and a blood-red blade hung on his back. The mysterious brother approached and knelt at the feet of the Goddess.

"You called for me, sister mistress." It was a statement, not a question.

The girl's eyes twinkled with amusement as she shook her head. "Please, brother, sister is plenty enough. You know that I do not like being formal with family."

The brother stood, his face bearing respect and seriousness. "And, as always, I must insist on addressing Your Majesty with the proper respect and dutifulness. You are Queen of the many planes of existence, and I am but a humble death god in your exalted service. However, when we are simply being us," he said, advancing with a sudden smile and wrapping the girl in a gentle hug, "you'll just be my baby sister."

She couldn't resist, she giggled a bit and gave in to his affectionate embrace. When her brother set her down on the nonexistent floor, she showed him the soul she had been holding in her small, but omnipotent hands.

"I need this soul to be taken to a plane of existence, and not the one it came from." She touched the shimmering sphere lightly, and smiled. "I rarely see ones such as he; a second chance has been earned." Her expression saddened and her eyes grew wet. "Please, take him somewhere loving and good, but somewhere that he will always have a purpose and people to protect."

Seeing her sadness, the death god, both reaper and savior of souls, brushed the tears from his sister's face ever-so-gently, and said with the greatest possible reassurance and conviction, "Your Majesty the Queen of all, gracious mistress, and loving sister, I shall deliver this soul to a worthy realm." His sense of duty in full force, he bowed to his sister, before kissing the top of her head affectionately and vanishing in a cloud of smoke.

The Goddess smiled, then kissed the soul in her hands and blew lightly; moments later, the death god re-formed and it came into existence on his shoulder. He was now in a completely different section of reality than the goddess' bedchamber. He was between the many planes, where space and time stand still.

The space here was misty green in color, an eerie, fogged atmosphere where even those who visit it regularly struggle to decipher what from what. It had been that way since the beginning of things; a place with infinite pathways and possibilities is never clear. This obscurement was, in fact, so potent that is blocked the practiced vision of a deity's minds-eye.

The death-god whipped his scythe above his head once, then slashed it down, obliterating the oppressive airspace. With the planes clear to his mind's-eye's view, he set to work.

He mentally viewed the realms him, and narrowed his options down to two, based on a place of purpose, and protection. It was clear that this soul craved both challenge and duty. After some consideration, he rejected one because of its overwhelming violence and corruption. The world of hollows and shinigami (not even proper death gods, in his opinion) would not house a soul so pure. A soul much like it was already there, and fought daily against corruption and depression.

The death god would choose a place for Naruto's soul with similar elements to those in his previous life, and with an abundance of family and love.

He chose the realm of mages, spirits, and dragons: Earthland.

Having made his choice, the death god took the soul in his hand, and he gazed at it with some curiosity and sympathy.

He spoke softly. "I can tell by looking at you that you are unique. I have seen perhaps two souls in all of my hundred millennia as death god with quality akin to yours. My sister seems to adore you, and you intrigue me. Know that this is a second chance completely separate from your first. You will remember nothing, and retain no powers aside from those your soul possesses inherently. Your new life will shape your memories and personality, but the purest form of life," he touched the soul gently with his forefinger, "you, will remain untouched and unchanged. Go with the love of the heavens, and be fortunate."

With that, as his sister had done, the death god breathed upon the soul, as if blowing a kiss, and watched it pass through a portal into a realm of space and time: a plane of existence, and a new home.

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