UZUMAKI GENESIS

skepsis66

Disclaimer: Naruto and all associated characters, apart from occasional OCs, belong to Masashi Kishimoto.

Summary: "And Kushina is horrified to find herself resisting the urge to squeeze... since sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind and what would the world do to a mute jinchuuriki?" In one breath, the world of Naruto is irrevocably changed. Come, it's a journey of a lifetime...

= Prologue: Shatter =

"Uzumaki-san! Uzumaki-san! Can you hear me Uzumaki-san?"

She hears urgent cries of her name. They're so loud, right next to her ears – how can she not hear their bellowing? Irritation threads through her – she wants them all to disappear. Vanish with a Shunshin and a swirl of leaves. It's easy, isn't it? They're shinobi, aren't they? Mission over heart – god knows she shouldn't be a priority on this day with Death scorching a path to Konoha's front gates. Hands, clammy and grabbing, appear in her vision. Annoying voices from jostling figures. She thinks she hallucinates Takeshi, the foul-mouthed brat. What's he doing here? She swats at reaching hands ineffectually. A feeble effort – ignored. Couldn't they just leave her be?

"Hold on, Kushina-sensei! You there, girl – get me some anaesthesia!"

Muscles spasm, contorting, twisting with strain. Then, the pain. Oh God, the pain. She grits her teeth, grinds them as if she's turning rock to dust. A helpless growl escapes regardless, curling into the air before she can swallow it. An upward twitch of her lips – she must look a vision of beauty. She hates it. She hates this. She hates everyone, and every noise, and every detail and colour and thing under the Sun. Just – a moment of madness, temporary (perfect) insanity to deal with the stress. She hopes it's curable.

"No more? What do you mean there's no more?! But it's only… God, this is… Okay. You know what? Fine. Fucking fox comes along and everything goes to hell in a hand-basket. Do what you –"

"– will. You'll pull through this, you hear me, Uzumaki? You're one tough bitch. Don't quit –"

"– now? Of course right now, what else do you think I… oh, shit. If it's not one problem with you it's another. Heartbeat's starting to go real crazy and she's losing a lotta blood! Oi - some warm water and clean towels, on the double! Yeah, that's – "

"– it, Uzumaki-san. Keep pushing… very good. Hush,Takeshi-san, and watch your language. Now hand me that towel. Uzumaki-san, please continue pushing. We'll be helping you in every way that we can. There's still a ways to –"

"– go! Hurry up. She's losing blood too fast! I can't, we can't let her die. They'll have our fucking heads. Dammit sensei! You, not another word – there ain't nothing wrong with my language. Don't tell me to –"

"– breathe, Uzumaki. I know you'll feel stupid if you die 'cause you forgot you had lungs. Still, you're doing pretty damn–"

"– great. Just what I fucking need. Can't you see I'm busy trying to save Kushina? I said get some more water, quick! You incompetent – "

"– woman. You're so brave. Takeshi-san, relax, you're disturbing Uzumaki-san. Plus, that poor girl over there looks like she's about to burst into tears. Be a little more considerate, won't you?"

Words bleeding into the next. Paltry reassurance on top of worthless attempts at comfort. People say the same things every time, don't they? At least Takeshi's not so bad – his swearing puts her more at ease than anything else. Her violent, skinny, little student. A medic of all things. She's inordinately proud, though he deserves a cuff over the ears for making that girl cry. She can almost taste his frenzied desperation and guilt washes over her as he clamps his hand over hers. She gives it a squeeze – the best she can do now. The potent mix of light-headedness and pain robs her of speech.

She's not gone enough to mistake the gruffness that is Ibiki. She almost barks a laugh. He has the oddest sense of timing for team bonding. They're a half of a whole, cranking the rusty machine. The third wheel's long gone (streaked red and dead and six feet under). With effort, she manages to recall a boyish figure and serious brown eyes, but the name escapes her. Akio-sensei's been fried to a crisp last she'd heard. Somehow, she gets the feeling that the demon wouldn't care either way. Straining, she turns her head to Ibiki. He's sad behind that tough interrogator face and she's too tired to dredge up a smile for the soon to be last-one-left. He understands though, because he's Ibiki and she's Kushina and they're a half of a whole.

Slivers of pain slice through her and she feels weak, weak, weak. She cannot stop the trembling, the knee-jerk reactions, is no longer the master of her own body. It's terrifying. She doesn't want to be here where her hands shred stained sheets in lieu of white throats. It's unnatural.

Stupid medics. Stupid hospital. She thinks she hears a laugh in the back of her head.

She has a death grip on Takeshi's hand. Her eyes are fixed on Ibiki's hunched figure. She hates it that they have to see her like this, gasping for breath and half-delirious with pain. She hates the expressions on their faces. And in a flurry of senselessness, she wants so many things – to hold them tight and never let go, to speak with them one last time, to cry, to yell at them to get their butt-ugly heads out of her sight because she doesn't need reminders of what she is leaving behind. But such words never came easily to her and genuine demonstrations of affection had always left her feeling awkward. Her pride refuses her tears and she is afraid that if she opens her mouth, only screams will erupt from her throat.

Uzumaki Kushina would sooner tear out her own throat than let any person hear her scream.

My, my, what violence. Amusement abound. Delirium is unexpectedly articulate.

Shut up! Scathing rejoinders are too hard to think of. And no, she did not just retort to a voice in her head.

She arches her back and pushes, body cresting another wave of agony. And if this isn't torture she doesn't know what is. There's a terrible clawing at her insides, as if a rabid tiger is ripping and slashing its way out of her. Imagine: tendons snapping, flesh tearing as she heaves and sweats and swears six ways to Sunday. Madness lazes beside her, flicking at her shell-shocked senses. Kushina's all long-limbed craziness and her mind feels like it's flittering on/off on/off. And there's Insanity waving at her from a smiling face, gleaming and bright and oh so welcoming…

x x x

– An Excusable Interlude –

Crackling. A polite hem-hem of a cough. Then, a voice (like the one in her head, just a minute/second/hour ago).

"Greetings from the staff of the Madness Express, customised, as we are sure you know, for one Uzumaki Kushina. Gender: Female. Occupation: Shinobi. Age: Does it matter? Destination: Insanity, Oblivion, or whatever else you want to call it."

The shuffling of paper. A clearing of a throat in preparation of a routine recital.

"Although it may have escaped your notice, it has been a smooth ride so far, with the train steadily gaining momentum the closer we get to our destination. However, we have run into an unexpected obstacle are sincerely sorry to inform you that this train has just been derailed. We extend our heartfelt apologies to you for any confusion this event may have caused. However, we are in no way confessing our culpability in regards to this, admittedly, rather common occurrence. It is, after all, the passenger who determines the fate of their train and humans tend to change their minds quite a lot, we've noticed."

The voice is unexpectedly cheerful and she knows she's going (gone) mad.

"Well, as you may have finally gathered, Insanity does not seem to be your cup of tea any longer. What a dreadful shame. But it isn't something to throw a tantrum over – we always say that derailment is just another road to Damascus. There's more than one way to Eden and it always helps to remember that 'X' marks the spot. Better get going then – lots more passengers to send on their way. Business is really booming in your Village at the moment. Perhaps we'll see you some other time. Until then,"

Static…

x x x

Reality wavers, then snaps back into motion. The infernal train is gone.

Colours swirl beneath her eyelids, replacing the grey. Kushina feels crazed, thrown for a loop. The thought teases a gurgle of humour from her mouth. She's still mad, mad, mad.

An insistent nudge from inside her reminds her where she is. It almost has her howling before she squashes the urge. Not so weak yet that she would forsake her pride. A mantra (block it all out, just concentrate): ignore the pain, ignore the pain, ignore the goddamn pain! Squeezing her eyes shut, Kushina braces herself and pushes.

"That's it! You're almost there!"

She gulps in air, scrabbling for fleeing shreds of strength. Why does everyone have to sound so encouraging? She doesn't need their cheering. Takashi and Ibiki are absent – gone between her bouts of delirium. Necessary foxy cannon fodder, she assumes. Her heart hurts. Blasé just doesn't seem to cut it these days. They're sadistic bastards, leaving her here. Ibiki with his fucked up mind games, Takeshi the Irritable with his liberal paranoia. How did she ever get lumped in with those two? Burdens, both of them. She doesn't give a damn. Not even if they get fried into crisps like Akio-sensei.

Of course not. 'Cause denial's the most attractive thing since Kyuubi, right? Snickers.

Is it unhealthy to want to beat yourself into a pulp?

Yep!

Shut. UP! Nobody's asking you! Creativity is too taxing. At least there's no train to accompany the voice this time.

Fucking persistent baby.

The squirming sends her into another haze of pain. She swears vengeance on Minato for doing this to her. Kushina vows to rain down hell on that stupid, handsome face of his the moment he steps back through the doorway (and he would, he has to). That is, if her teeth aren't fused together before then. Body convulsing, breath rattling like brittle skeletons in a cage. There's not enough pain relieving drugs for Mrs Preggers here. She needs enough to sink a battleship.

Why, why did she let Minato talk her into this? The tiny bugger's fighting his way out into the world two weeks too early and fuck if it isn't the worst timing ever. She already knows, fondness blooming, that he's going to be a little rascal. She can almost see it, the foxy smiles and tongue-in-cheek attitude. Strong; he's been nothing if not persistent so far, struggling for his first lungful of ashen air. Still, never again – unless it's ten years down the track and she's armed with a bucket full of drugs.

"Uzumaki-san! The head's out, and now the shoulders too. Just a little more and you'll be done. Come on – heave ho!"

Heave… ho? She would have busted her guts any other day. What fantasy pirate world does that medic live in? Nevertheless, she curses and gives forth one last titanic effort. Blood roaring in her ears. Eyes seeing stars. Limbs shaking, hair prickling and teeth gnawing through her lips. She heaves. A sunburst of blinding pain pain pain before –

- The hospital ceiling swims into vision.

She must have blacked out for a moment. Even now, she can hardly keep her eyes open. Still, she knows that she's been out a moment too long. She doesn't need her eyes to know that something is wrong.

Because Kushina has never experienced a silence so menacing.

There is no crying. There is no wailing, howling proof of existence, and yet it is so far from peaceful. She hazily scans the faces of the medic nins. They're grim and worried. Sad. Is that pity she sees? She glances past the dyed red sheets, her blood-smeared body, and there he is. A wiggling bundle of blanket-swaddled pink. Waving arms and kicking legs all in fine order. So small… awe infuses her being. He's hers (as much as she's his – there is no hesitation, no uncertainty). She brushes her fears aside and for a single, perfect, moment everything is right in the world.

Then, his tiny face turns towards her, just for a fraction of a second, and Kushina recognizes the sound of her heart breaking. Fragility is excruciating (where a second feels like a year feels like eternity). She would have wept if she was that sort of person.

Because there is crying. Eyes screwed shut, face scrunched and that mouth, opened as wide as the ocean, but issuing no sound. Screaming, crying out nothing – and, it's deafening.

Defective… her mind whispers.

She slaps the thought away, snarling. No child of hers was defective. But the not-mother part of her (ninja, weapon of war, hard and cruel and full of implacable logic) could not deny the truth of the thought. And she is too tired to dwell in denial. Too tired of this – of blurry sad/happy faces, of the baby, of waiting for Minato even though she knows he will not come. The room dives in and out of focus.

Defective…

Kushina has never felt so vulnerable in her life. Where is she? The tough little girl with the baggy boy-pants and flame-red hair and a flash-bang laugh. Ill-content in peace. Too obvious to be a ninja.

Defective…

But she proved them wrong, didn't she? The Red Death. Ranked borderline S-Class in the Bingo Book. Respected jounin of Konohagakure. Wife to Namikaze Minato. Proud mother to…

She numbly registers a medic placing the baby in her arms. Solid warmth against her cold pallor. Curious sky blue drinking in her face. Fists hungrily grabbing, mouth stretching in a yawn. A racing little heart beats against her erratic one.

Strong.

Amazing.

And Kushina is horrified to find herself resisting the urge to squeeze (so easily is another life erased) since sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind and what would the world do to a mute jinchuuriki?

Her eyes burn.

Damn you Minato.

Blackness is creeping across her vision and Kushina is desperate. But Death has come to collect and will not leave empty-handed.

A brush of lips across a forehead.

"Naruto… Uzumaki Naruto. Live fierce and proud, my son."

A rush of ferocious, consuming feeling.

Her son. Naruto.

Her beautiful, beautiful child.

Sky blue swallows her world.

Here: this is the meaning of love.

x x x

It is said that before the Sundering, there came a great manifestation of fire. Wreathed in the flames of hell, the mightiest of the Nine appeared upon the land's surface once more. Its shadow stretched far and wide; where once stood great nations, there were only ashes were remaining in the wake of its furious rampage. It's very presence spelled travesty and sorrow. Pure in its own corrupt manner, the Kyuubi was born and bred for the single purpose of chaos. It possessed a rage that would never be quelled and a thirst for destruction that would never be quenched. Not even by the life blood of a million million people.

A seemingly unstoppable entity, a single swing of the Kyuubi's tails could topple mountains and birth tsunamis. One breath could scorch a nation. The earth and sky trembled with each leap it took. It was a being of enormous stature and never-ending strength. The people called the Kyuubi a herald of woe and so it was. Its chakra spoke of annihilation, sung stories of fierce immolation. It had existed far before the evidence of documented ninja history and would exist for eons more after its fall. But after each of its natural appearances, great turmoil would envelop the Elemental Countries and the Shinigami would reap the souls of millions.

It was not until the time of the Shodaime Hokage that the Kyuubi, King of the Bijuu, could be controlled… to a certain extent.

x x x

Vivid red splays across septic white. So pretty and pale and limp on the hospital bed. Was it not for the litres of blood splattering around her form, it almost looks as if Kushina has simply fallen asleep. There is a peaceful expression on her face which he only recalls seeing a precious few times before. Honest faces like that do not belong on ninjas. Her hair is stark against her skin and though her eyes are closed, Minato's heart still skips a beat from imagining wild forest green. Kushina looks as beautiful now as she did the first time he saw her. Loud and proud and laughing gleefully at furious, paint-covered ninjas. He clenches his hands. He is too late the one time it matters.

Whether it was due to the awful stress of Kyuubi's materialisation or simply the result of misfortune, Kushina had gone into labour a month earlier than expected. Never had he thought that one month could make such a difference. Minato has never put faith in the belief that a life for a life is a fair exchange. Sacrifice is a most despicable word. Unavoidable with the violence in which ninjas dwell every day, teammates for days or months or years are ripped away in a single instant of carelessness. Boys and girls, men and women with families or without; they're all teammates to die for you ("S-sensei, I… Obito… He, he's…"). It had not taken long for him to see the truth – that sacrifice is synonymous with mountains of guilt and a lifetime of regrets.

Kushina's sacrifice is of a different kind. Devoid of gleaming steel and flashing fire, but as bloody as the expected scene of her death. And that is what pains him the most. He had expected her to live through her pregnancy, to raise her son from birth to adulthood, to die in a blaze of frenzied fighting, not to have her life seep out of her while thrashing helplessly on a metal bed. He feels barely capable of looking at her without crumbling to pieces at the foot of her bed. He feels the urge to run, to flee and leave everything behind, to throw himself into a ravine somewhere or dash his head against some rocks if only to forget that this day had ever happened.

A tentative medic places warmth in his arms even as he reaches out a hand to his dead wife. His heart falters, stuttering to a halt as he watches the bundle in his arms. Because Kushina had left him one last gift before her death. Small hands, pudgy in infancy, emerge from the blankets. He hardly dares to breathe as a small face peeks out from the bundle of soft fabric. He feels his arms trembling as he stares at a miniature replica of his own face. The baby wriggles and squirms, burrowing further into him as he stands stunned.

"His name is Naruto."

The medic's voice brings him back.

"U-Uzumaki-san named him before she…"

Something strange takes hold of him then. A bubble of something, welling and boiling up through him. His pulse quickens. His breaths come in gasps, hitching and shuddering, and when he cannot hold it back any longer, he lets the sudden, hysterical laughter rupture forth from his throat. It starts off a raspy noise, then louder and louder and louder until his ears ring from the sound. Head bowed, tears leaking. His whole body shakes from laughing and he is bending in double. He faintly registers the medic-nins standing stiffly at the back of the room, no doubt despairing for his sanity. They are all but screaming concern, projecting their worry through their wringing hands and wide eyes. His sides are aching, yet still, he laughs, lungs wheezing their protest as an unsettling feeling balls ever tighter in his chest. And when the laughter finally dies, he strides out into the corridor, baby in his arms.

Naruto… it is such a ridiculous name for a child. It has Kushina's signature scrawled all over it – perhaps her only claim to her son now since his image is a carbon-copy of Minato. It's strange – the stolen, infantile face gazing into his. He takes an unsteady breath as he realises what he must do – it is the reason for which he retrieved Naruto, after all. The resolution numbs his bones. His heart throbs big, bursting beats like the pounding of war drums. Child not hours old cradled against his chest, sweat-slicked hair coarse against his skin, feet weighing like lead against the ground. Because Namikaze Minato is Hokage first, is – was – husband second and father third. Sky blue mirrors his eyes, and shame embraces him, refusing to leave.

There isn't enough time. There's never enough. He knows that it is very unlikely that any other infants born on this day are still alive. Half of the hospital is rubble – reduced to cracked cement and shattered glass with a swipe of Kyuubi's tails. The only reason why Naruto was not crushed was due to Kushina refusing to retreat to the hospital until she could no longer stand, injured and in labour, on the battlefield. Ironic that she died anyway. And as Hokage, the strongest ninja in the village, he had done nothing, could have done nothing to prevent it. The Will of Fire has never burned so brutally – his wife is dead and his child is as good as.

His manic, fragmented genius had birthed the Shiki Fuuin – perfection and desolation and sacrifice. It's an accomplishment to dwarf all others, a masterpiece of sealing. The Sandaime, the Professor, God of Shinobi he may be, cannot trump this; the culmination of desperation lashing his back and the grains of time snaking away through the cracking hourglass. An ache nurses his head as the remembrance of the Sandaime's frantic words sear into him. Understanding would take too long (nightmarish details twisting and spiralling) and the risk of error is too high. Devastation would be the only result.

He isn't naïve, blind belief obliterated by stained hands in fields of slaughter. Iwa choked any tattered shreds of naivety out of him. Minato knows how the seeds of massacre are sown. He knows he's planting enough to strangle the minds of every person who survives the devastation of Konohagakure. But better to condemn a single person (his child, his own beloved child) than the potential thousands. And although his heart roars its rebellion, he is bound with the inescapable shackles of duty.

There can be no replacement for Namikaze Minato.

The Yondaime takes up his banner of war.

x x x

"He's here! The Yondaime!"

Tired cheers filter though his ears.

"Yondaime-sama!"

"He's here to save us from the Kyuubi!"

"Just hold out until Yondaime-sama heads into combat!"

They breathe his name like a prayer.

He is the Kiroii no Senko. Slayer of foes. Man of unfathomable might.

Untouchable.

He cannot let anyone know that he is a second away from collapsing into a puddle of uselessness. His composure gives life to their struggles and hope to the weary. He wonders when he ceased to be Minato and became their God of War. Even his bratty little students view him with some degree of awe – seeing stoic, silver-haired Kakashi with that expression on his face for the first time made his guts churn. Kill one man, and you are a murderer; kill a million, you are a conqueror; kill them all… and you are a God. The world is a twisted place. Iwagakure gave rise to the genesis of his legend but such unquestionable reverence was not meant to be bestowed upon a single man.

His sandals tread red. Blood rains like water. Who knew Konoha could resonate Mizu so imperfectly? Bodies hit the Earth in a ritual ballet of death. His hands form seals instinctually. A lifetime of practice; a bare-fisted, jutsu-armed, weapon-lined dealer of death. One second, two, then –

"Gaki."

Billows of acrid smoke. Wary eyes survey the surroundings before nearly popping out at the sight.

A twist of his mouth.

"Yo Bunta. How are you?"

The toad gapes, spluttering.

"You summon me in the middle of Konoha with a gigantic fox kicking the shit out of all your ninjas and you ask me how I'm doing? You're mad. Gaki – wipe that smile off your face!"

Because, yes, that is a smile stretching his mouth. The impossibility of it all makes Minato dizzy. His body still remembers conditioned reactions even as the world immolates around him. He reiterates himself simply for the sake of it.

"So, Bunta, how are you?"

An incredulous glare. Then, a huff.

"Gaki."

Irritated fondness. Minato's eyes crinkle before seriousness overtakes his expression. His arms clutch Naruto tighter. The toad takes notice, eyes bulging at the blanket-swathed baby. A tiny, precious bundle, burgeoning with life. The child is calm in the middle of a storm, breathing in blood and ashes as if he was born to do so. Chaos is home and fire teases Minato's vision. He is trusting because his heart has not yet been betrayed. Recognizing the warmth of family and the feeling of safety, Naruto believes. It is instinct.

Minato has never felt sadder in his life.

Gamabunta takes one last puff on his pipe before reluctantly putting it away. The air is leaden as Minato lays one hand against his summon's front leg. It's like a pillar, cool beneath his fingers. Strong. He presses his forehead to the leathery skin and tries to will some of that strength into his being. He's cracking under the guilt and has drowned in the waters of grief. So he just wants a moment to piece all the fragments back together and to find himself again and to stop moping and not be afraid and there is so much to do and so little time and he really just needs to have a moment. Pause. Put the world on hold.

Invincibility is a mask he dons and it's getting harder to repair with every use.

He inhales, infusing his blood with courage. With (tainted) love and the Will of Fire. Because he is the Yondaime Hokage (not Namikaze Minato) and in his palms rest the fates of a thousand thousand people.

The cloak of burden weighs heavy on his shoulders. He cannot let them down. He will not, even if he must kill his heart to do it. Minato raises his head, determination etching lines onto the surface of his face. Failure is not an option, no matter what happens. His mind whispers of the fate of his sunshine child, bleak and terrible, but he shuts that thought away.

No matter what…

He looks up, eyes set. A sense of finality settles upon him.

"One last time, Bunta?"

Gamabunta's solemn gaze meets his own.

"Yeah. One last time."

Mianto vaults up his back, chakra releasing in clinging spurts, white cloak billowing. One last stand, like the heroes of old, stuffed full of drama and grandioso. It's not how he wants to be remembered. His dread builds as Gamabunta turns towards the tailed beast; the living, breathing manifestation of fire. The Kyuubi is as magnificent as it is destructive and Minato believes that Armegeddon has turned its restless gaze upon his village. His eyes are seared by the fiery, roaring rage of the fox and he wonders at the bravery (idiocy) of the ninja flinging themselves into the inferno, certain of their deaths.

"Oi, you have a plan Gaki?"

He laughs humourlessly. A plan?

"Of course – I'm not stupid. Just get me as close as you can to the Kyuubi. I'll do the rest."

"Be careful."

"I will."

Gamabunta's powerful muscles tense, bunching for a soaring leap towards Konoha's front gates. The wind stings his eyes and whips his hair. He hugs Naruto closer to his chest, infusing himself with sunlight and soul, shielding the fragile body with his own. A father now, pride bursting from the seams, about to leave his son an orphan. He doesn't believe he'll ever be forgiven for this. But it's worth it (it has to be) if it means bargaining a life for his son. No matter how tragic a life it will be.

The world has taken on a surrealistic cast. Bunta's massive sword cleaving through air and ash and fur as the Kyuubi howls its rage. Snarling, it swipes its tail, fire roaring into existence, barrelling towards the toad. Leaping aside, Bunta sends gouts of water at the fox, only for it to hiss into hot steam upon contact. Wickedly sharp claws gouge rifts into the Earth as the two titans battle at the gates of Konohagakure. Minato can only think of less than a dozen techniques that could do any significant damage to the vast being that is Kyuubi. Its healing factor alone would cancel out almost all the techniques in his arsenal – it had already healed the gaping wound from Bunta's sword.

The Kyuubi shrugs off the combined attack of a wind-fuelled typhoon of water with a hefty grunt of effort. It careens off to the side and tears fifty miles into the surrounding forest, uprooting trees and animals and humans. Fur standing on end, bone-white teeth gleaming, it leers at the human who dares to stand in its way.

"A PATHETIC EFFORT, HUMAN! DO YOU THINK THAT SUCH A WEAK ATTACK COULD STOP ME?"

It laughs. The malicious sound shaking Minato's bones. The weight of the Kyuubi's chakra presses in on his ribs, smothering and suffocating. It illuminates the spectre of the nine-tailed fox in a terrifying red glow as it deals death and destruction. Shouts echo distantly in his ears. Collateral damage, he thinks mechanically.

"The Kyuubi's not a walk in the park Minato! I can't keep this up for much – "

Gamabunta is cut off. He flings himself to the side and barely avoids a lightning fast claw – stepping straight into the path of a fiery tail. He yowls in agony as it carves through an eye, leaving an oozing mess behind. The fox roars its triumph, fire dancing around its form.

"IS THAT THE BEST THAT YOU CAN DO?!"

Minato crouches, heart in his throat.

"Not close enough Bunta! I need to be within a certain distance to – "

The toad snarls angrily, but obliges him. He leaps, charging in a frontal attack. The Kyuubi watches them gleefully.

"At this rate we're going to get ourselves killed, Gaki!"

"And here I was thinking I would die from drinking you under the table."

A bellow of laughter. "Smart-arse!"

And suddenly they are close enough. Minato can feel his skin burning from lashes of red chakra. He is swallowing lungfuls of burning breath, listening to the blood-thirsty growls coming from Kyuubi's chest. Fingers flying into the seals that are, by now, engraved into his mind. Brow furrowing in concentration. Sweat dripping. Every nerve inside of him aching for reprieve as all his chakra is drained into one single technique. A single technique that would save all of Konoha in exchange for his pitiful life… and his son's. He barely registers the crunch of Bunta's blade biting into Kyuubi's shoulder and the cheering of his shinobi as he slams his fingers into his son's tattooed stomach.

"SHIKI FUUIN!"

His body convulses as the immense stores of chakra he had gathered rushes out of him. His hand is blazing and a chill settles over his skin. He can feel the vast void behind him as surely as the light is draining out of his eyes. The presence of nothing announces itself as clearly as anything he has ever felt. Minato knows that it's the Shinigami standing at his back, called here by his technique, to fulfil this contract. A grin flickers across his face as the Kyuubi freezes in place, horrified realization dawning on the creature as to what the puny human has just accomplished.

"YOU IMPUDENT HUMAN – DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!"

The Kyuubi is boiling with anger. It roars its discontent to the sky, chakra overflowing with hate and resistance. It refuses to live out the rest of its days in confinement! It had heard of its brethren, trapped with seals of mortal make – forever doomed to exist in vessels far inferior to their full manifestations. Never did the fox believe that such a fate would befall it. The greatest of the nine, defeated by a mere human? Impossible! But with a last, earth-shattering howl of fury, the King of the Bijuu vanishes into the seal. For even the might of demons cannot compare to the Shinigami's power.

In the wake of Kyuubi's fall, he is gently lowered onto the ground by Gamabunta's webbed hand. The toad gives him a final salute before disappearing back to the summons' realm. Konohagakure's greatest victory is Minato's greatest defeat. Naruto is still clutched tightly to his chest. He gazes at his only son, beloved for but a scant few hours. It is done – Naruto is the jinchuuriki of the most powerful Bijuu to have ever existed. There's a divide between them now, birthed by duty and circumstance. He cannot look at his son without choking with guilt. He thinks it is strange how silent the child has been throughout the harrowing ordeal, but he can barely keep his eyes open, let alone think. The icy hands of the Shinigami are reaching through his chest to grasp his soul.

He feels alone. Hokage and hero, prestige and power – he is so far above the rest that his dreams are of mediocrity. A view from a splintered mirror: once you walk down that path of sweat, blood, tears and sacrifice, there is no going back. Minato is too broken (heart screaming Kushina Naruto Kushina) to be bitter and regrets belong to those without conviction. And though he is drowning in despair and being chased by shame, he cannot pretend to be surprised. Because disillusionment came long ago (father slain and mother ripped to pieces) and really, how could he have ever believed that his end would be anything but this?

Minato smiles.

This is the way the world ends:

Not with a bang but a whimper.

A/N: Just to acknowledge some of the wonderful quotes I used in this chapter.

"Kill a man, one is a murderer; kill a million, a conqueror; kill them all, a God." – Jean Rostand

"This is the way the world ends/ Not with a bang but a whimper." – T. S. Eliot

Prologue complete! Good, bad? Hopefully not too melodramatic lol. Reviews are abundantly appreciated, as is constructive criticism!

I'm crossing my fingers that this will turn out to be a multi-chaptered fic. Wish me luck!