CHAPTER 2

So I had a lot of fun with chapter 1. It was a little slow at times, a little weak at others, but I heard a lot of wonderful things about it. Hopefully you guys and gals will like this one just as much, if not a little more.

I do not own Naruto. If I did, it would be a mess. A consistent mess, but still a mess. None of that Uchiha nonsense though so… Improvement?

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As the rippling pool of silver engulfed them, their bodies were wreathed in white fire that stripped away their physical forms. Each of them carried certain things into the afterlife -temporary gifts from a grateful deity- now those gifts would have to be returned.

She felt her body fizzle away, as a ticklish tingle raced through her blood. It was like her entire body was carbonated, lifting away in a delightful swarm of colors and experiences. Every faded bruise a memory, every off-white scar a story.

Where are you going? She tried to ask as they fluttered away like so many bubbly butterflies. Only to find her lips were gone, and before she could decide how she felt about that, the last of her fleshy form had vanished.

You were a good body. I will miss you. She tried to say the words, but it was oddly difficult to talk when you were just a floating aura. Her spirit was a bit like a cloud, a shimmering patch of glowing goodness, just barely see-through.

She couldn't see, and yet the world seemed clear. There was nothing and still, she felt everything. Countless memories and feelings, hopes and dreams. Each a tangible object in her new way of looking.

It is all so beautiful. If only I could stay here.

"Indeed it is. Many have tried. But this is a place where the physical things we hold on to are left. Those precious moments that matter the most to us. Some have gone mad, just trying to hold on forever… Then eventually they move on. They forget, bit by bit. Until only their desire chains them to this realm. Even that vanishes eventually. It can be so easy to loose yourself in old memories, until you forget that new memories are just around the corner."

Amaterasu shook her head slowly, a sad smile playing at her lips. "Oh, but I did not mean to keep you. The other Gods and I were just giving your friends some parting words of wisdom."

Thank you. How odd. She did not feel so intimidated before Amaterasu. If anything, the godly aura around her felt almost… Mundane. So much less than the countless hopes and feelings she could see. Like a gray blot on a field of summer flowers.

"Not inaccurate, if a bit brash. We Gods live forever, and so we seem so very dim, here in the world of human connections. When you have all the time in the world, dreams are less Important. Hope is often a forgotten memory to one who knows fate. Or, at least, an array of likely destinies."

She would have blushed, if she still could. Mocking a goddess? What was she thinking! Oh this was Sasuke all over again!

"Fear not Ino, I took no offense. In fact, this Is why I came to speak with you in particular. You are unique among your friends."

I am not. I was not even the most impressive member of my team! Why would a goddess be interested in anything that had to do with me? I'm just… I'm just Ino. And that's all I will ever be.

"Oh Ino… You were never JUST anything. I always saw greatness in you, though you were waylaid for many years. You could be anything you ever wanted to be."

And yet… I was so mediocre! You saw that room of people, all of those powerful ninja. They barely even noticed me. Sakura didn't even notice me. Shikamaru and Choji, my teammates, didn't notice me.

I'll always be a wallflower.

The fingertips of a goddess graced the edge of her "body". Warmth driving away the cruel thoughts. "Do you know why I have come here Ino? Why I came to speak with you, out of all the ten? It was to warn you, but it was also… Well, why did you come?"

Why did I? I don't know. These people are my friends. I couldn't leave them. My teammates. Sakura. I will miss my family but- I'm not sure I ever really belonged with them. I was a failure.

"No Ino. You were lazy. You spent your youth chasing a heart that was already cold and black. Seeking love from one who could never feel it, neglecting everything that could have made you unique. That is why you came along. Because despite yourself, and your fears, and your failings. You want to try it all again."

I guess that does sound kind of nice. To start over fresh. To show my friends that I can be just as great as they are! To thrive in a new world with new dreams and new goals and do some good in the world! I want to leave my mark forever, so that everyone will always know INO WAS HERE. And when they see it, they'll sigh and wish they could do that. They will wish they could be like me.

"A grand dream Ino. But be careful. You had the least amount of combat experience before you died. When you are reborn you will have a new life. A new body. Perhaps even a new race… But no matter what, you can be great if you put your mind to it. I know you can."

The goddess leaned in, and her lips touched the elegant cloud of Ino's soul. The touch was fiery, beautiful and bright. Amaterasu blew gently, and for a bare instant Ino could see it.

A world overflowing with verdant green. A tapestry of life spread across the globe, with no ninja to trouble anyone. A world of peace, ruled by the sun and the moon that cycled endlessly, and the shimmering crown of gilding around it, the realm of the gods. In an instant, the breath ended, and the vision disappeared.

Ino could feel herself floating away, off to be reborn in a new body. Strangely, she felt no fear. Instead, she looked back towards the Goddess.

I thought you said that deity's didn't dream?

Amaterasu chuckled, a smile that carried all across her face. "Ino, you will be far away from your friends. Lost in a new land, in a new place. With new abilities. But I know that you can be great. You will make a great queen. Never lose what makes you special."

Then the world went white, and she knew no more.

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It was a time of Prophets and Omens. The chaos moon Morrsleib was at it's fullest, and the armies of chaos wantonly struck the lands of men. A thousand tribes were already seeking combat, dying with their Gods name on their tongues and powers untold in their veins.

Never before had so great a horde marched forth. The promise of glorious warfare, and the rewards that came with, drew countless thousands to the banner of the great warriors.

No less than a million barbarians marched towards the frontline. They had sat idle too long. The lands of men were too weak to stop this horde. Fear had kept them from joining the fight when the call first went out. Now that plunder seemed inevitable, every tribe was emptied. Every warrior of slight reknown. Every youth who hoped to earn a mutation. Every child who could lift a sword.

A swarm of carrion birds, sent to pick the lands of men apart. Their bodies decorated with bone chip-piercings and fetal-blood tattoos. On they came.

Only the weakest of women and the few elderly remained. Any man who stayed behind was one who damned their lineage forever. Some had to crawl out of their villages, slowed by broken legs or bloody wounds that refused to heal.

One million barbarian warriors surged forth to devour the world, but fewer than a thousand would reach the battlefield.

The chaos wastes are not a land for the weak. They are a place of fiery winds and biting sandstorms. Where water is worth more than gold and magic flows in the earth itself. There is no land more difficult to endure. No terrain harder to survive in. The barbarian tribes had evolved to survive as they did, carving out a pitiful existence of moss and rotting meat. They ate what they had too. They drank what they had too. They died as children, the weak and small to the gods, the hungry and sick to the elements. They died as men, fighting the beasts that called the chaos wastes their homes, fighting the other tribes that warred over every stretch of livable land. Dozens died for every palm of water.

When the armies marched, the great beasts fell silent. They hid within the caves and beneath the sands. Waiting for something they knew all too well.

The drum of feet.

The whisper of voices.

The iron tang of blood.

As the biting sandstorms stripped flesh from bone, and the barbarians were eaten by the wind, they pushed on. Admirably stubborn became Idiotically stupid as one after another lost their way, destined to become bleached bones littering the sands for future beings to find.

Kra'Shna was just one of the many barbarians. Wearing a necklace of human collarbones, and a loincloth made from tanned human flesh, he was one of the wealthiest members of the tribe. As a boy, his battle prowess was rewarded with a great blessing, and now he clutched it tight to his chest, praying that Khorne would see them out of this storm.

His left hand curled and slid open, moving like the rippling skin of a snake. Its surface was mottled with hard red bone, forming jagged clumping spikes that hung to his knees. In battle they drank down his enemies blood, growing larger with every shriveled corpse they left behind. A great blessing. The greatest of blessings. Even when they were small, weak weapons of no use in battle, they had earned him much favor. The finest clothes of wizard-hide. Slaanesh, to bless him in the bedroom. The finest ornaments of war-bones. Skulls belonged to Khorne, but the collars of enemy warriors were no less prestigious. Women. All the woman he could want… And his wants knew few limits.

So why had he left all of that behind for a chance at glory?

Kra'Shna blinked his eyes, fighting through the storm as a vicious wind ripped his forehead so violently that gleaming bone could be seen through the blood. Many of his tribe members had already fallen to the winds, and the few that remained fought for every foot. With grim determination he bit his cheek until salty iron blood filled his mouth, and Kra'Shna sucked it down hungrily.

They paused to decapitate a weakened warrior, now only 13 left of two-dozen. His skull was skinned, the muscles pulled away and eaten, the brains scattered in the sands. In the end, only a bloody skull remained, full of yellowed, misshapen teeth. They left it in the sand, carving the corpse into pieces for all. The man had a son, and the son ate his heart in three huge bites, barely pausing to chew.

Then they were off, their offering to Khorne made.

For hours they wandered the wastelands, sustained by the blood and meat of their clansman. But there was no safety in sight. All were praying to Khorne. Begging their god for salvation from the wind that would surely devour them all. They were the warriors of the war god! To die without ever seeing the greatest of battlefields would be a horrible fate for all.

As their prayers reached their zenith, and two more men were sacrificed, Kra'Shna spotted it. A hint of gray, far to the right. Gone so quickly he almost assumed it was just a desert hallucination. Barking an order the others barely heard, he led the eleven remaining men towards the one dash of color in an endless sandy wasteland.

Then they reached a mighty stone hill, with a single cavernous opening along the side. All cried out in rejoice at the sight. Khorne's name was on every tongue, and they built a pile of bones outside the cave, each man slicing his hand to add his own blood to the monument. Then they entered the cave, setting a cover of stiffened animal skins across the opening. The skins were cracked and scraped by the winds, each a mix of scales, feathers, fur and pustules. Nothing survived the wastelands without changing.

Someone made a fire, and began roasting the meat they still carried. More bones were piled for Khorne. More blood was spilt, and for the first time in days the barbarians began to boast again. Acts of devotion were performed, and the blood frenzy grew in every eye.

But Kha'Shna did not relax. He did not join the others in their joy. He did not cut his flesh alongside them, calling out in praise. He did not feast as they did. No. The blessed of Khorne sat in the deep shadows alongside the cavern walls, tapping the bony red spikes of his right hand along the wall. Drumming his misshapen fingers in a sensation he did not understand.

Something was bothering him. Something that could not be punched, stabbed, or eaten. This alone was strange.

Kha'Shna had survived for many seasons, fighting with every strange beast under the sun. He knew all of the cavern-dwelling beasts, and had sacrificed dozens.

Or so he thought. But these were not the beasts of his boyhood caverns. These were different lands, and each land had it's own uniquely horrible beasts.

The first set of twinkling teeth found his blessed hand, severing it at the wrist. The bony spikes crackled as they were eaten. A dozen more tore through his body before he could even draw his weapon.

Kha'Shna lay on the ground, feeling the phantom sensation of fist-sized chunks of his flesh vanishing as if they were happening to someone else. His eyes watched as the cavern shadows became countless small beasts, each with gaping maws of glittering teeth the size of fingers. He saw his men, devoured where they stood, too drunk off their war frenzy to run away. There were no sacrifices to be made. No grand battle to be fought.

A set of teeth took his left eye, and in a moment of complete apathy, Kha'Shna closed his remaining eye. Let the creatures feast upon him. There was only one thought he wanted as the life was torn from his body.

The thought of the woman he loved, now heavy with his child. Vulaxes, the star of his dreams. The blood in his veins.

As his thoughts turned to her, miles and miles and miles away, the battle for Praag was being lost. Arek Demonclaw was decapitated, his army scattering on the four winds to be slaughtered within days. The countless barbarians who left their homes in a desperate chase for glory, left for nothing. They would arrive, tattered, weary, and broken, just in time for the Kislev forces to close the pass into the chaos wastes, guarding it with hundreds of cavalry armed with short bows. One by one the tribes entered the fertile, life-giving lands. And like clockwork they charged, desperate for battle. The bows tore them down, and no matter their numbers, they could not catch horsemen. The demon blessed, the frenzied, even those wielding sorcerous powers, none of them survived. They died in droves, their bodies left to litter the fertile green lands. To survive hell unscathed, and be cut down in an instant by some jackass on a horse. Truly the chaos gods had a grand laugh on that day.

But that was not the only significant event of this moment. In this very instant, Vulaxes, the first wife of Kha'shna "Bloodclaw" died giving birth to a healthy young son.

A son who looked at the world around him with bright blue eyes.

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Around the world, Nine children opened their eyes. Nine children born at the exact same time, each in a different corner of the planet. Nine children with eyes full of life, and some would even say… Awareness.

Nine children. And only nine children. For even the plans of gods are not infallible, and sometimes dark magic draws fate of course. A single soul was lost, vanishing in the stormy spells of an ancient evil. An event that would shape the future forever.

The Gods of Order took note of these strange events, and knew that now was the time to act.

The Gods of Chaos took notice of nothing, as Arek Demonclaw's death and the loss of his army destroyed the power balance of the four, and three turned on the fourth in an instant. Tzeentch was without a champion, and had lost many ancient artifacts when Demonclaw's army was slaughtered.

Khorne had lost hundreds of thousands of barbarians, having sent many to the battlefield in a shrewd attempt to wrest victory from the jaws of Tzeentch. Now he was forced to pretend that all was as it had been before, when his true force had been hacked down to a sliver of what it was before.

So as Nurgle and Slaanesh devoured chunk after chunk of Tzeentch lands, Khorne was forced to marshal all the troops remaining in a shallow attempt to pretend the god of war was still at full fighting force. Naturally spearheading the attack on Tzeentch, Khorne absorbed more land than either of the others, pushing Tzeentch back in a series of brutal assaults lasting five years. Both sides suffered horrific losses, and many of the Khorne elite Chaos Warriors were killed in battle.

The war ended only when Nurgle and Slaanesh, jealously watching Khorne take the lions share of the profits, sprung their own trap. Simultaneous attacks were launched on Khorne, absorbing massive tracks of land in the space of a few months. Settling in to digest their new lands, Tzeentch took the chance to strike at the reeling Khorne, stealing back most of the land Khorne had originally stolen.

It was the largest inter-chaos war in the last thousand years, and the Chaos lords would not fully recover for many years.

END OF CHAPTER 2

So this was the end, shorter than the first, but heck! I like it. So I think we all know who the baby was, but can you guess which soul went missing? Doesn't matter! Next chapter you'll see!

This story will of course, focus on Naruto, but as you can tell, I will not be forgetting the other Shinobi! They're all important after all.

If there's something you want to see, let me know! If you don't like how I did something, say whatever it is, I'm always happy to see lore-based criticism! (Provided it's a valid comment based on the actual lore -pre age of sigmar because I cannot stand that noise-)

Also, for those of you who love the lore, and want to know when all this is happening, this takes place during the Gotrek and Felix novel "Demonslayer" by William King. This is one of my favorite Warhammer novels, and anything William King writes shall always be canon in my eyes! (This is where Arek Demonclaw comes from.)