A Tale of Two Transmigrants
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of its characters.
Author's Notes: To all new readers, this is a revision of my previous work, Asura's Transmigrant. It aims to be an improvement in format and style, held together by a strong central theme. I hope you'll enjoy it.
Prologue: Once-Returner
Senju Clan Compound
Torches set on the walls cast a flickering light throughout the room, illuminating the bed on which the Shodai Hokage lay. The glow emanated by the flames mimicked that of Hashirama's life and weakened as the night went on.
In his final days, a sudden illness had gripped him. All his life, the First had relied on his cells' ability to divide beyond the Hayflick limit in order to regenerate quickly. His healing factor came at a cost however: his lifespan was shortened tremendously—though in his youth, a time of constant strife and violence, this seemed trivial.
Besides, he had already done all that he had set out to do, and a man as great as he did not see the necessity in living longer for he was assured that his Will of Fire had been passed on safely, entrusted to the capable hands of his brother.
A sage educated in the doctrines of non-attachment, Hashirama could sense that his time was near, and was prepared to part with his life for the next.
"It's almost time… Mito," said Hashirama. The red-haired woman sitting next to his bed placed a finger to his lips, silencing him. Her eyebrows were knitted with worry.
"You should rest, Hashirama," replied the Uzumaki. In spite of what she said, as a skilled sensor, she could also feel her husband's life force slipping away, and no amount of resting would prevent death. He was right.
A nostalgic smile formed on his lips as memories of his life crossed his mind. Of course, what primarily occupied his mind was his friendship and rivalry with Uchiha Madara.
There was no relationship quite like theirs. In youth, they were the closest of friends; in adulthood, the fiercest of enemies. Despite how things played out eventually, it seemed that they were fated to meet and leave irreparable marks on each other's lives.
Damn you, Madara… of all the things I'm thinking about before I leave this place.
The last rays of light reached his eyes, and the torches on the walls went out together with Hashirama's life. Mito placed a hand on his head and gently closed his eyelids, trying her best to hold herself together.
A grand funeral would be held.
In an almost dream-like sequence, spots of golden light materialised around him. The visions intensified rapidly, expanding and multiplying until they blotted out the void of darkness, and coalesced into a hundred indiscernible shapes of myriad colours.
"Once-returner," echoed a voice through the light.
And all of a sudden, there was clarity. The apparitions dissolved into the expanse of his field of vision, which now stretched infinitely in all directions, and for a moment he wondered how he was able to comprehend all of this without blowing his mortal mind.
I have died, thought Hashirama, and craving is all that's left.
With this thought, the world around him warped into something more recognisable, albeit surreal. He looked down, seeing a bright red cord around his thumb, and from it a thread which extended towards a cave in the distance.
On the other end, it was bound to the little finger of a haggard old man with long, white hair, seated on a throne of stone. He should have been dead, but those locks and eyes were unmistakable.
"Madara?"
The Uchiha looked up, and lunged towards him with great ferocity. As the distance between them shrunk, blue pigment began to form around his eyes and his hair turned brown. He had become a man Hashirama no longer recognised.
"Asura!" screamed the man. The landscape transformed from a cave to an open field, and the man was shrouded in a purple Susanoo which resembled nothing Madara had ever spawned with his chakra.
This is… ani-ue! Hashirama blinked at the thought of his own words, momentarily confused as to how he knew.
That's right… I was Ōtsutsuki Asura! But the red thread… As soon as he came to this realisation, the man vanished from view, and his world returned to a void of emptiness.
Brother, we have to end this in our next lives. We have allowed this senseless feud to persist for far too long, and it has hurt too many of the people around us. I promise… I'll change you, and bring you back to us.
With this determination, the seeds of karma were sown and the five aggregates of clinging arose once more. A lone lotus bud ascended through the murky depths of the realm of desire, shedding the mud off its petals as it broke through the surface.
For the final time, Asura's transmigrant was born.
Author's Notes: As a retrospective observation, I'm aware that Chapter 1 is really short, so I'd like to take the time to reassure new readers that future chapters will certainly increase in length to an average of 5–7k words per chapter. If you already feel overwhelmed by the Buddhist overtones of this story, don't worry as this will subside and only resurface much later in the work. Future chapters will get easier to read as the Buddhist concepts explored in this work won't be mired in too much depth; instead, the focus of this story is on the conflict between the Will of Fire and the Curse of Hatred, with Buddhism and transmigration serving as its foundation. As for the confusing description of the rebirth sequence, it can be best likened to the scene in which Doctor Strange was flung through the multiverse by the Ancient One in both colour and psychedelic quality. Thank you for taking your time to read this far, I hope you'll enjoy what's in store!