What's this? A single continuous narrative with no cuts? From me?

It really is the End Times.

Lol. I jest. This is longer than the paper I should have been writing. I commissioned artwork of Kyou. It's on my Tumblr at exhausted-dog-mom, tagged with Shinobi Isekai, and on AO3 in a work titled Shinobi Isekai: Artwork. Let me know what you think!

Kyou ran the comb through her mother's hair, the pin straight locks soft and silky in her hands. The woman didn't move or acknowledge her, staring straight ahead as she always did. At a solid three years old—though she loudly proclaimed it was three and a half to anyone who asked—Kyou was finally dexterous enough to help care for the woman who'd brought her into this strange new world, and she did so without complaint. Uchiha Hitomi was a frail woman, with long, slender fingers and equally long limbs. When she could be coaxed into standing, she was actually taller than her husband, something Kyou got a kick out of and privately prayed she would inherit. Her hair was as dark as everyone else's, but lacked the signature fluffiness that all the other Uchiha sported with pride. Instead, it fell loosely around a rather long, expressionless face. She had a sharp widow's peak—a trait Kyou shared—and long, luxurious eyelashes. Her skin was a shade or two darker than everyone's, even despite living exclusively indoors, and Kyou had a hunch her mother wasn't a purebred Uchiha.

Good. That meant Kyou was the healthiest little Uchiha, as well as the smartest.

She didn't know what was wrong with her mother—the one time she'd asked, Satan had kicked her so hard she'd broken a rib—but she had her theories. Hitomi would move and eat when pressed, but otherwise didn't react to outside stimuli, never speaking or looking at anything beyond the middle distance. A stroke? Intense depression? A neurological condition or injury?

Too bad they were in the middle ages and the only people with medical magic were their sworn enemies.

Her mother's catatonia also raised horrifying questions about how Kyou had been conceived. Hitomi was in no state to give consent to anything, let alone pregnancy. According to the whispers among the gossips, she'd been that way for years and suffered through several other pregnancies—none of the children lived, of course—and literally no one saw anything wrong with that.

It was becoming clear that Satan was both inherently evil and a product of his environment. Of all the times for nature and nurture to set aside their differences.

A Demon King born to a Demon Clan.

"Kyou-chan, here. Use this to pull it out of her face."

The old woman who'd cared for Kyou as a baby—and her mother all the rest of the time—was actually her grandmother, Shuji's mother. She was a small, hunchbacked caricature of an Asian old lady. Her soft voice and blank eyes in the face of her son's wrath told of a life filled with such men, and Kyou sympathized with her. Being a woman among the Uchiha was not an easy fate. Kyou didn't even know her name, since Satan called her mother and everyone else called her "Shuji's mother". Her entire identity had been erased.

Kyou liked to think that was why she hadn't told anyone about their family secret. Saving her grandchild from the clutches of chauvinism was a much better reason than giving in to a temperamental manchild.

Kyou pulled her mother's hair up high on her head, twisting it into a bun and using the pin her grandmother had given her to hold it in place. It was a little lopsided, but she blamed that on her three year old baby hands and a lifetime of pixie cuts and mohawks.

"Tada!"

Her grandmother chuckled. "Very good, Kyou-chan. Now, come here. It's your turn."

Kyou's hair fell to her mid back and was as straight as her mother's, making it a bit of a hassle to style. Her mother's would stay in place all day because she never moved, but Kyou was a ninja in training, so whatever her grandmother did to it would likely be undone in under an hour. Honestly, she really missed elastic hair ties, even though her hair was never long enough to need them.

She sat on the edge of the bed and kicked her feet as her grandmother gathered her hair up into a high ponytail, shorter strands escaping her grasp and falling around her face and neck. She was so tempted to just cut it all off, but the loving way the old woman wound a strip of leather around the black locks had her reconsidering. Long hair was a status symbol for shinobi, a sign that they didn't fear their enemies using it against them. For women, it was a symbol of beauty. By keeping her hair long, Kyou killed two birds with one stone, broadcasting her strength and clinging to the one vestige of femininity her father would allow.

"There you go," her grandmother said with a smile and a pat on Kyou's head. "Off you go, then. Put those boys in their place."

Fuck yeah, grandma!

"I will!"

She ran out into the growing morning light, rushing through the eerily still predawn village. Gathered in the small training ground near the gates were a handful of children around her age. Looming over them was one of the village elders, Junsuke, his face set in that perpetual frown all Uchiha men seemed to wear and his arm tucked inside his kimono like a world weary samurai brooding before battle. His expression brightened fractionally as she joined the group.

"Ah, Kyou. I was wondering if you would be joining us."

The other kids snickered and whispered among themselves, throwing glares at her like they thought she wouldn't notice.

"Sorry, Junsuke-jii-sama," she said with a smile. "At least I'm not late?"

The old man snorted—the only expression of amusement he ever made. "Indeed. Now," he turned his attention to the whole group, most of which were appalled at her lack of punishment. Hah! "As you all know, you will join your kinsmen on the battlefield once you reach five years of age. For many of you, that day is quickly approaching. While felling the enemy is important, so is returning alive. With this in mind, you will be practicing the substitution technique, also called kawarimi, until noon. Do not hesitate to ask me or your peers for assistance. The Clan supports its own. Now, begin!"

The children splintered off into their respective friend groups, chatting quietly. Kyou stayed where she was, alone. The kawarimi technique involved switching places with an object, typically a log, imbued with the shinobi's chakra. Satan had already shown her how to insert her chakra into things, and she'd gotten pretty good at switching them around with each other. The first time she managed to switch places with something herself, he'd actually acted like a father, treating her to a red bean desert she hadn't had since. That was almost a year ago. Kawarimi was old hat to her now, and the idea of sitting around doing something so simple over and over again was gross.

She approached Junsuke, tugging on his dark blue kimono. "Jii-sama?"

He looked down at her. "Hmm? What is it Kyou? Would you like a more difficult jutsu to practice?"

Ah, the wonders of being a genius.

She shook her head. "I had a question." At his prompting, she began to explain a theory she'd had since her weeaboo days. "Is it possible to kawarimi with another person? Like, if you're facing an enemy your friend would be better at fighting, so you switch!"

Junsuke's dark eyes sparkled with interest. "That is an interesting concept, Kyou. Certainly, that would be a great advantage in combat. Why do you think no one has done it, yet?"

Ugh. He was treating her like a child. That tone~, eugh, it was so condescending.

"Well, obviously it's because of the chakra problem. Imbuing your chakra into an object is one thing, but doing it to a living being is a lot harder. But," she widened her eyes, making herself as cute and guileless as possible. "What if the other ninja was wearing something imbued with chakra? Then, you could kawarimi over to your friend!"

Junsuke stroked his chin in consideration. "You could, yes. That might prove a little inconvenient for your friend, though."

"But—!"

He placed a hand on her head, loosening the already slipping ponytail as he ruffled her hair. "I'll think about it, Kyou. In the meantime, why don't you practice your Fireball?"

Uh, because she's a water type? Sure, her sharingan let her memorize jutsus and immediately incorporate them into her own arsenal, but that didn't mean she, as a three year old suiton user, could automatically use a fire type technique. She was a genius, not a God. Ugh, all her loser cousins were going to pick on her for not getting it right away.

She should have just practiced the kawarimi.

She ran through the hand signs slowly, one at a time, her chakra answering her call as she tried to force it into a shape it refused to wear. Water was formless, but chakra was stubborn. All that came out of her mouth was a puff of smoke.

Her audience snickered.

"Jii-sama," she asked in a theatrically miserable voice. "Can I go practice at the river? I promise I won't go anywhere else."

"Now, Kyou—."

"Please?"

He sighed and she knew she'd won. The glares of her shithead cousins filled her with joy as she left the village. Ah, the perks of being the favorite.

The river had quickly proven one of her favorite places. It was a little out of the way, taking her a few hours of normal walking to reach on a good day. She still hadn't gotten the hang of ninja super speed, but she was definitely faster than the average toddler, so she made it to the river by…around 9? Ish? Measuring time was a little iffy, without watches. She could make a sundial, she supposed, but she was too lazy. Besides, losing track of time was a much more valid excuse when no one was tracking it in the first place.

The river ran swift and clean, carving a path through the forest. Sometimes she wondered if it was the same river Madara was supposed to meet Hashirama on. That was supposed to be happening soon, right? She couldn't remember how old he was in the manga, but it had to be soon. Not that it mattered to her. She was gonna ditch the Uchiha the first chance she got. The moment she was strong enough to avoid capture poof! She'd be gone. No Clan bullshit for her, no siree!

The best part of the river—aside from its distance from the clan and the abundance of water she could use in training—was something she'd added herself. Humming happily, she followed the riverbank until she came upon her secret stash. She discarded her sandals and pushed into the reeds where, nestled between two conveniently large rocks, was a watermelon patch.

Plucking one after careful selection, she hoisted it aloft and cried, "Tonight we shall feast!"

"W-what?"

Oh shit!

She whirled, clutching her precious watermelon to her chest as she stared across the river in shock. It was a kid. A little boy with tan skin, swollen eyes, and black and white hair.

What the fuck?

Madara was the one with the Romeo and Juliet backstory, not her!

Discount Todoroki rubbed at his eyes, hiccoughing in a vain attempt to stop his tears. Oh, no. No! She hated crying children. Unless she was the one who made them cry, of course, but that was different. If he was some random stranger, she could have left him alone. Alas, she knew all about his tragic death.

Ngyeurgh~.

"Hey, you!" She shouted across the water. "You want some watermelon?"

Curses. Stupid mouth, running ahead of brain. Now she'd have to share.

"Hu-huh?"

Kyou raised the watermelon. "This! Do you want some?"

He just stood there, wiping furiously at his eyes without responding, so Kyou took the initiative—egad! She crossed the river slowly, lovingly cradling her watermelon as she stepped on the water. It was weird, standing on the river and not getting wet, but her chakra repelled the water. The boy was watching her warily—understandable, as she was clearly a strange ninja—and she put extra effort into looking cute as she extended her mode prized possession.

"Watermelon?"

He sniffed. Still not an answer, dude.

Whatever. He definitely wanted watermelon. No doubt about it. Who wouldn't? Watermelon was one of the few sweet things kids in this world could get their hands on, and she only had it because her asshole cousins had given her a piece filled with seeds last summer when one of the adults brought a big one back from wherever he'd been for a mission. She plopped down on the grass next to Hashirama's brother, settling the melon between her splayed legs with a 'humph'.

"Do you have a kunai?" She asked. "I forgot mine." Oops.

The older boy—or was he just taller?—wiped at his eyes one last time and produced a blade as if from nowhere. She took it with quiet thanks and cut her watermelon in half. Ish. It was more of a 6/4 ratio, if she was honest. After an agonizing moment of deliberation, she held out the larger half.

"Here you go!"

She had a whole patch of them, after all. She could be nice just this once.

He took it.

"A-ah, thank you."

Then he stared at it.

"You're supposed to eat it," she provided cheekily, taking full advantage of her toddlerness to poke fun at him. "Like this!" She took a monstrous, nostril filling bite out of her half of the watermelon, chomping sloppily as juice dribbled down her chin. Ah, it was a sweet one!

He huffed a little laugh and took a—much smaller, the coward—bite of his own.

"Is it yummy?" He nodded gently and she grinned, turning back to her own juicy snack.

"U-um, who are you?"

"I'm Kyou!" No last names. Everyone knew that. Uchiha kids didn't even wear the family crest until they came of age at 15—if they came of age. Theoretically, she was perfectly safe. "And you?"

"Ah, I'm Itama."

Right. That was his name.

"It's nice to meet you," she said honestly around a mouthful of melon. "I've never seen you around here before. You haven't been stealing my watermelons, have you?"

Fuck! Now he knew there were more!

He shook his head emphatically. "No! I haven't, I promise! I was just…" He trailed off.

Drat. Her oh so clever plan to get some exposition backfired.

"You don't have to tell me," she said as she pat him on the shoulder. "I don't need to know."

He smiled grimly. "Thanks. It's just…My brother died."

Yeah. She figured that was it. She pat him again.

"I'm sorry to hear that. He must have been a great brother, if you cried so hard."

He stiffened under her hand. Ah, she fucked up.

"I-I wasn't crying!" He took an indignant bite of his watermelon. "Ninja's don't cry!"

Hoo, boy. Of all the things to be a constant across universes, it had to be toxic masculinity—toxic shinobilinity? Ninjalinity? Hrm.

"But it's good to cry," she began, drawing on her father's—her actual father, not Satan—explanation from when she was really a child. "Do you know why we cry, Itama-san? It's because," she barreled right over his reply. "Emotions are chemicals."

"Huh?"

Oh. Right. Middle ages. Huh.

"Ah, chemicals are the things inside medicines which make them effective, ok? Just bear with me. So, when making medicine you need to make sure you have the right amount of every ingredient or it might not work, or it could make everything worse! It's the same thing with emotions. If you have too much of one emotion, it throws off the balance of your mind, so your body has to get rid of the extra chemicals. Crying is the only way to do that. So, if you think about it, crying is a good thing, because it helps your mind reclaim its equilibrium."

Itama stared at her, jaw hanging in shock. "Um…what?"

Ugh. Whatever. She hadn't really expected him to understand, anyway. Wait. Weren't Senju the medicine people? He should have understood a little bit, right?

"Look. You've got too much sadness in your body and if you don't let it out it'll stick and fester for forever. Just cry, my dude. I'm the only one here and I don't care." She took a big bite of watermelon to emphasize her point.

His gaze shifted from her to his watermelon. Then, he started to cry.

Poor watermelon, all covered in tears. It rolled off of the table, when somebody sneezed.

Kyou busied herself with eating her watermelon down to the rind, letting the boy beside her cry himself out. She tossed the hollow remains of her snack to the side and leaned back on her hands, looking up at the sky. Hm. She'd have to get home soon. Wouldn't want to have a search party find her secret treasure.

Or her new friend.

She turned to Itama to say goodbye, but froze when she met someone else's gaze entirely. Sharp red eyes glared at her from over Itama's shoulder, white skin and whiter hair practically glowing in the summer sun. The White Devil of the Senju, Uchiha's Bane, had come to pick up his brother. Who was crying. Into a watermelon.

Well, fuck.

She raised her hand in a wave. "Yo."

Itama startled and looked over his shoulder. "Aniki, wh-what are you doing here?"

Tobirama's scowl deepened, red eyes never leaving her face. "Father sent me to get you. What are you doing here with…this?"

This? This? What the fuck? Just call her a Mudblood why don't ya?

She leveled her most unimpressed expression on him, channeling her uncle Tajima directly. "Wow. Worked real hard on that, did you?"

"Tobi, please," Itama interjected, waving his hand in a placating motion. "Kyou-kun's really nice. See? He gave me a watermelon!"

Ugh. Kun. Even with her hair falling loose around her shoulders, leather band long lost to the wilds, she was still called a boy. Was it Izuna's hand-me-down kimono? Her ninja training? The way she spoke?

The one time she'd used watashi as a joke, she'd ended up with a concussion. It was ore or nothing in her house.

At lease Baa-chan called her chan. Baa-chans could call anyone chan.

She smiled at the older—definitely older, this time—boy. "Do you want some? I don't usually like sharing, but Itama-san was sad. You're probably sad, too, right? I can go grab a melon for you—."

"Not necessary."

Uh, rude?

"Uh, rude?"

It was a good thought, a valid one, and it deserved to be voiced.

His face twisted in shock. Had anyone ever called him out on his behavior before? Unlikely, given his place as Hashirama's brother.

"Hmph," she turned her head away from him in a display of bratty insolence. "I didn't want to share with you, anyway."

Haha, she could hear him seething. Glorious.

She stood and made a deliberate show of stretching. No fear here, nope! Then, she stepped out onto the water, crossing back to her side of the river. The brothers began speaking in hushed tones, words too low and fast for her to hear as she carefully managed her chakra. They were still arguing—it sounded like they were, anyway—when she pulled another, smaller, watermelon from her patch.

"Hey, sourpuss!"

"Excuse me?" He sputtered.

"Catch!"

The watermelon soared across the river and landed in Tobirama's arms easily, his red eyes wide with surprise.

"You can share that with anyone else who's sad," she shouted over to him. "I have to go home now, before my asshole cousins come looking for me and find my melons! You better not tell anyone where they are! I'll know if you do!" She pointed to her eyes and then at the Senju brothers, her cute little face scrunched up in overdone menace. Then, she smiled widely and waved. "Bye! See you next time!"

Tobirama's "There won't be a next time!" followed her as she ran through the forest, a big smile on her face.

Ah~ ! Tobirama was so cute! She had a feeling, if she ever saw him again, he'd be super fun to mess with. That pale skin flushed so easily! Haha!

"Kyou."

Fuck.

Not even ten minutes from the gates of the village, Satan called her name. She sighed inwardly for not leaving when she should have and turned to greet him.

"Hello, father."

He looked her up and down. "Where have you been?"

"At the river."

"What were you doing there?"

"Training."

"Really?"

No. "Yes, father."

"Then," he squat down to her level, smirking as he ran a thumb over her sticky cheek. "What's all this?"

Shit! The watermelon!

He must have seen the panic in her eyes because he started laughing. The sadist. She jumped on the opportunity presented by his good mood.

"Please, father," she begged, wrapping both her tiny hands around one of his. "Please don't tell on me. I don't want to share!"

You see, kids, the key to charming Shuji is to act as selfish and unfriendly as possible. Her asshole cousins? Unworthy of the melon.

"I grew them all by myself! Why should they get any?"

Throw in some boasting and unwillingness to share—both glory and melons—and voila! The Demon King is temporarily tamed!

Temporarily.

Shuji smirked down at her, clearly pleased by her disregard for her kinsmen. "Of course, they shouldn't. But you'll need to cover your tracks if you don't want to lose what you've gained."

What? Like him and his not-son? He was lucky his mother loved him, or they'd all be dead.

He wiped at her face roughly, scrubbing it clean of watermelon innards like some kind of parent. When he was done, he smiled down at her. "Have you managed the Fireball, yet?"

She shook her head, hands twisting nervously. "All that comes out it smoke." It wasn't like she hadn't tried. She understood the concept—both with the sharingan and without—but her chakra just wouldn't cooperate.

Satan nodded grimly, ruffling her hair with what anyone else might have called fondness. "I understand. It is especially difficult for you. Don't worry, Madara didn't manage it until he was five."

Ah, Madara, the paragon against which she was always compared. Honestly, Shuji was lucky she wasn't really a child or she'd have ended up with a complex by now. Plus, Madara was literally the sweetest thing. The nicest of boys. The only cousin who wasn't an asshole.

And by that she meant he was generally polite and didn't go out of his way to piss her off—he did it plenty of times by accident, though. Such low standards this life has forced upon her.

"I don't understand." She really didn't, this time, she wasn't playing cute. "Why can't I just make it a Waterball? Or an Iceball? Why does it have to be fire?"

Satan sighed, looking for all the world an exasperated parent. "I understand your frustration, Kyou, but the Fireball is a right of passage for the Uchiha. Everyone must know how to use it."

"Even if water beats fire?"

"Yes, eve—."

His black eyes bored into hers, expression suddenly taut and anxious. Then, he grinned, the expression pulling at his scar until his face morphed into something less than human.

"On second thought," the Demon King crooned. "An Iceball sounds like a great idea. Let's work on that, shall we?"

Fuck.