Author Note: 11397 words for this chapter. I have mentioned this earlier that this is my favourite story. That's why I take some time to write it. I know that a lot of things happen in this chapter, but I hope you will like it.
Please tell me in the review section if you enjoyed this. Your words are my motivation.
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Curse of Hatred
I am Naruto Uzumaki.
I was born on the 29th of February, three years after the Third Great Shinobi War, in the Village Hidden in the Leaves. My father, Minato Namikaze, was a young and rising elite Jōnin, while my mother, Kushina Uzumaki, was the Jinchuriki of the Nine-Tails—a reserved warrior with a strength that could shake mountains. I am not a bastard, no. My mother hailed from the ancient and revered Uzumaki clan, known for their longevity and mastery of sealing techniques. My father, however, was an orphan, given the name 'Namikaze' by his academy teacher. Thus, I became Naruto Uzumaki, not Naruto Namikaze—a name that carries the legacy of an entire clan on my small shoulders.
In those early years, life was good, blissfully unaware of the shadows creeping at the edges of our world. I spent my days fooling around, drawing on scrolls with clumsy hands, and exploring the corners of our small home with the curiosity only a toddler possesses. War may have loomed over the village like a dark cloud, but within the walls of our home, my parents always made time for me.
I remember the days when my father would come home early from his missions, his blond hair tousled and his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. He would scoop me up into his arms, spinning me around until the world became a blur of colours, and my tiny giggles echoed through the house. "Look at you, Naruto!" he would say, grinning as he ruffled my hair. "Growing stronger every day, just like your old man!"
"Minato, don't make him dizzy," my mother would chide, though there was a smile on her face. She'd join us soon enough, her long red hair cascading around her like a fiery waterfall as she pretended to chase after us. "Gotcha, 'ttebane!" she'd exclaim, capturing me in a warm embrace that smelled of spices and safety.
Sometimes, on quiet evenings, we would sit together on the porch. My father would hold me on his lap, pointing out the constellations in the night sky. "See that one, Naruto? That's the Hokage's star. It shines the brightest because it watches over the village, just like I watch over you." I'd stare up at the sky, eyes wide with wonder, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my back.
My mother would often sing to me, her voice gentle and soothing, as she rocked me to sleep. Even as a child who could barely talk, I understood that her lullabies were more than just songs—they were promises, woven into the fabric of our lives, binding us together with a love stronger than steel.
There were other people in my life too—interesting, vibrant characters who would flit in and out of our home like butterflies. Jiraiya, my father's teacher and my godfather, was one of them. He was a giant of a man, with a booming laugh and a twinkle in his eye that promised adventure. "Hey, squirt!" he'd call out whenever he visited, lifting me high into the air as if I weighed nothing at all. "One day, you'll be even stronger than your old man! Just wait and see!"
Jiraiya's visits were always full of noise and chaos, but there was a warmth to his presence that made me feel safe. He'd tell me stories—tales of heroes and monsters, of battles fought and won, filling my young mind with dreams of glory.
Then there were my father's students—Kakashi, Obito, and Rin. They were like older siblings to me, each with their own quirks. Kakashi was cold and aloof, his face hidden behind a mask even back then, but I could tell he cared in his own way. He'd watch over me with a detached sort of affection, occasionally patting my head or tossing me a toy when he thought no one was looking.
Rin, on the other hand, was all warmth and kindness. She adored me, often cradling me in her arms and whispering sweet words that I didn't fully understand but loved all the same. "You're going to grow up to be a great ninja, Naruto," she'd tell me, her eyes full of gentle encouragement. "Just like your father."
Obito was more of a mystery. He didn't express his emotions as openly as the others, but I could sense his affection for me in the small things—the way he'd bring me candy, or the times he'd sit with me in silence, simply keeping me company. I think, in his own quiet way, he was trying to show me that I wasn't alone.
Life was good. I used to play all day, eat candies and ramen—oh, how I loved ramen!—and get cuddled by everyone around me. The world outside might have been embroiled in conflict, but for me, those early years were filled with nothing but warmth and love.
Of course, being a time of war, my parents often had to leave for missions. They would be gone for a day, a week, or sometimes a month at most. I would wait for them at the doorstep, small and hopeful, my heart leaping with joy whenever they returned. In their absence, someone always looked after me—often Mikoto Uchiha, who was on maternity leave at the time. She was like a second mother to me, her calm and graceful presence a comforting constant when my parents were away.
Sometimes, Mikoto would take me to the Uchiha district to play. I remember Shisui, a bright and energetic kid, who would run circles around me, making me laugh with his antics. There was also Mami, an orphan who had become a close playmate. We would spend hours together, lost in the innocent games of childhood, oblivious to the tensions that simmered just beneath the surface of our world.
It was a nice time. A really nice time.
And now, as I sit here, alone with my thoughts, I miss every bit of it.
Because all that happiness…
It evaporated one fateful day when my parents returned home.
Not as smiling, loving people.
oOo
A four-year-old me was playing with a two-year-old Itachi Uchiha—Auntie Mikoto's son. The air was thick with the sounds of our carefree laughter, the kind of laughter only children who know nothing of the world's darkness can produce. It was a warm day in the Uchiha courtyard, the kind of day where the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground, painting a picture of serenity. The garden was meticulously maintained, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers, mingling with the faint hint of incense that drifted from inside the house. But none of this mattered to us; our world was filled only with the joy of play.
Itachi, though only two, was already showing signs of the prodigy he would become. His small hands clumsily tried to mimic my movements as I jumped and spun around him. He followed me with wide, curious eyes, his little brow furrowing in concentration as he attempted to copy my every move.
"Look, 'Tachi!" I shouted with exuberance, my voice echoing in the courtyard. I leaped from a low stone ledge with the boundless energy only a child possesses, my feet barely touching the ground before I tumbled forward. I landed awkwardly, but instead of crying, I burst into a fit of giggles, the sound pure and innocent. Itachi, determined to follow, toddled up to the ledge, his tiny legs wobbling as he prepared to jump.
He stumbled as he landed, his small frame barely managing to stay upright. For a moment, he looked as if he might fall, but he steadied himself, a look of triumph crossing his face as he turned to me, expecting praise. I grinned at him, giving a playful clap, and he returned my smile, his dark eyes lighting up with happiness. In that moment, we were just two children, lost in our own little world, blissfully unaware of the shadows creeping ever closer to our innocence.
But then, something shifted in the air—a presence, familiar yet strange in its timing. The sound of footsteps, so familiar to me, echoed through the courtyard. I paused, my playfulness fading as I turned towards the entrance, expecting to see someone from the Uchiha clan, perhaps Fugaku or another relative. But as the figure stepped into view, my heart leaped with unexpected joy.
It was Auntie Tsunade.
Her golden hair, usually so vibrant and full of life, seemed muted under the grey sky that had slowly begun to cloak the afternoon in an ominous shroud. She was a rare sight in the village, her duties often taking her far away, so seeing her now filled me with a burst of excitement. I quickly ran towards her, my small feet pattering against the cool stone, the sound of my sandals echoing in the quiet courtyard.
"Auntie Tsunade!" I called out, my voice high with joy as I began to circle around her like a tiny whirlwind of energy. My smile was wide, my eyes sparkling with delight at her unexpected visit. But as I looked up at her, something in her expression stopped me in my tracks. Auntie Tsunade wasn't smiling.
There was a deep sadness in her eyes, a sorrow so profound that it felt as though it was pulling her down into the very earth beneath her feet. Even at my young age, I could sense that something was terribly wrong. The usual warmth and strength that radiated from her seemed to have dimmed, replaced by a cold, heavy weight that made my stomach twist uncomfortably.
"Na-Naruto…" she whispered, her voice soft and tinged with a sadness that made my heart ache. She knelt down, her strong hands—hands that had healed so many—reached out to me, and gently, almost hesitantly, she scooped me into her arms. Usually, she would toss me into the air, making me laugh with her playful strength, but today there was no such joy. Today, she just held me close, her hand gently stroking my unruly red hair as if trying to comfort herself as much as me. I could feel her heart beating against mine, faster than usual, and I frowned, confused and worried.
"Auntie, are you sad?" I asked, tilting my head to look up at her, my innocent eyes searching her face for answers. My question, spoken with all the sincerity of a child, seemed to break something inside her. Her eyes, always so strong, filled with tears, and a single tear slipped down her cheek, glittering in the dim light like a tiny crystal.
Before I could reach out to wipe it away, another figure appeared in the courtyard—Auntie Mikoto. She moved with the grace of a kunoichi, her presence gentle yet commanding. Mikoto greeted Tsunade with a soft, concerned smile, her dark eyes filled with understanding that I couldn't grasp.
"Tsunade-sama?" Mikoto's voice was gentle, yet there was an undercurrent of concern, as if she already knew what was troubling Tsunade but didn't want to believe it. Her gaze flickered to me, and her smile faltered.
But Tsunade didn't respond immediately. She just stared at Mikoto, and in that long, tense silence, something unspoken passed between them. The air around us grew thick, almost suffocating, pressing down on me with a weight I didn't understand. I shifted uncomfortably in Tsunade's arms, feeling the tension like a storm on the horizon, threatening to break.
"Both?" Mikoto finally asked, her voice steady, eyes narrowing as they shifted into the Sharingan. The blood-red hue of her eyes always fascinated me, but now, they seemed ominous, as if they were seeing something far beyond what was in front of them.
Tsunade nodded, her face pale and drawn, as if the very act of speaking was too much for her. "Both," she confirmed, her voice carrying the weight of something terrible, something that made my heart beat faster with fear, though I didn't understand why.
I was too young to grasp the meaning behind their words, but the heaviness in the air, the sorrow in their voices—it frightened me. "What's wrong?" I asked, looking between them, my small voice filled with confusion and growing anxiety. But neither of them answered.
Instead, Mikoto stepped forward, gently taking me from Tsunade's arms. Her movements were slow and deliberate, as if she were handling something incredibly fragile. I could see the sadness in her eyes too, but there was something else there—something that looked almost like resignation.
Once inside the Uchiha compound, Mikoto led me to a small room. The walls were adorned with simple yet elegant decorations, and the light was soft, almost dim. She opened a wooden chest and pulled out a small black kimono, the fabric smooth and cool to the touch.
"Let's get you dressed, Naruto," she said softly, kneeling beside me. Her hands were gentle as she helped me out of my play clothes and into the kimono. The fabric felt strange against my skin, stiff and uncomfortable, nothing like the soft clothes I was used to wearing.
"Wow! I look like a prince!" I exclaimed, my voice filled with childlike wonder as I admired myself in the mirror. But Mikoto's smile didn't reach her eyes. She nodded, but there was a deep sadness in her gaze that made me feel uneasy. She didn't say anything, just took my hand and led me back outside, where Tsunade was waiting silently by the door.
The walk through the village felt different this time. The streets, usually filled with the sounds of life—laughter, conversation, the clatter of daily activities—were strangely quiet. People were staring at us as we passed, their eyes filled with something I couldn't recognize—pity, perhaps, or maybe sorrow. But I didn't understand. I was too innocent, too naive.
Instead of feeling scared or worried, I grinned at them, waving as if we were on some grand adventure. Maybe they were jealous because I was being carried by the legendary Tsunade. That had to be it, right? After all, Auntie Tsunade was a hero, someone everyone looked up to. Surely, that's why they were staring.
But as we continued to walk, that sense of unease in my stomach only grew. The sky had turned a dark grey, clouds gathering ominously overhead, casting the village in a somber, muted light. The air felt heavy, thick with something I couldn't name, but it made my small heart race with fear.
Finally, we reached our destination, a place I had never been before. It was strange and unsettling, with tall, cold stone pillars standing in neat rows, like silent sentinels guarding something sacred. The air was thick, almost suffocating, and the sky above was a heavy grey, as if the heavens themselves were in mourning. The ground beneath my feet felt cold, even through my sandals, and a shiver ran down my spine as I looked around, trying to make sense of where we were.
There were people gathered there—shinobi, villagers, people I recognized but couldn't name. They stood in small groups, speaking in hushed tones, their faces pale and drawn, all of them were wearing black clothes. I saw Uncle Teuchi, the ramen guy, but he wasn't smiling like he usually did. Instead, he was crying, his shoulders shaking as he wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. Why was he crying? Ramen was supposed to make people happy, not sad.
They were all standing in front of five wooden boxes, lined up side by side. They were large and made of dark wood, each with its lid slightly open. My small mind couldn't grasp what these boxes were for, but something about them made my heart race with fear. They stood there in a silent row, ominous and foreboding, as if they were sentinels guarding a secret too dreadful for my young mind to comprehend. The air was thick with an oppressive stillness, a kind of quiet that only the deepest sorrow could bring. Even at that tender age, I could sense that something was terribly wrong, but I couldn't quite place what it was. I felt a tightening in my chest, an instinctive urge to run away, but my curiosity kept me rooted to the spot.
Tsunade set me down gently, her hands lingering on my shoulders for a moment, as if reluctant to let me go. I didn't notice the way her fingers trembled slightly as she did so, or how her eyes were red-rimmed from barely suppressed tears. My attention was fixed entirely on the strange, foreboding scene before me.
The people gathered there—shinobi and villagers alike—were not their usual selves. They stood in solemn clusters, their faces pale and drawn, their eyes filled with a sorrow that made the air feel heavy and difficult to breathe. I recognized some of them, people I'd seen around the village, but today they looked like strangers to me, their expressions foreign and unsettling. It was like a dream, one where everything looked the same but felt terribly wrong.
Despite the strange atmosphere, my innocent mind could not fully grasp the gravity of what was happening. I still believed that if I smiled and greeted them as I always did, things would return to normal. After all, I was the son of the Yellow Flash and Red Hot-Habanero! I was being carried by Auntie Tsunade, the legendary sannin! Surely, nothing could be wrong if she was here with me.
"Hey, Uncle Teuchi!" I called out, my voice bright and carefree as I spotted the familiar figure of the ramen shop owner. His back was turned to me, his shoulders hunched in a way that seemed unnatural for the man who always greeted me with a wide smile and a bowl of my favourite noodles. "Why is everyone so sad? Did someone drop their ramen?" I joked, trying to bring a bit of lightness to the situation.
But Uncle Teuchi didn't respond. When he turned to face me, I saw that his eyes were swollen and red, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. He quickly looked away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, as if ashamed to let me see him cry. My heart lurched in my chest, confusion swirling within me. I had never seen Uncle Teuchi cry before. Ramen was supposed to make people happy, wasn't it?
Before I could ask him again, I noticed Jiraiya standing nearby, his usual boisterous presence strangely subdued. He was watching me with an expression I had never seen on his face before, a mix of pain and something else—something I couldn't quite identify. His eyes, normally so full of life and mischief, were dull and filled with an unspeakable sorrow.
"Uncle Jiraiya, what's going on?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly as I looked up at him. There was a knot forming in my stomach, a tight ball of fear and confusion that was slowly spreading through my entire body. "Why is everyone crying?"
Jiraiya's gaze flicked to Tsunade, who was standing a few steps behind me, her face pale and drawn. His lips parted as if to say something, but he hesitated, glancing back at me with a look of profound regret. "You didn't… Did you?" he asked Tsunade, his voice thick with emotion, his words laced with an unspoken dread.
Tsunade didn't answer right away. She averted her gaze, her golden hair falling like a curtain over her face, hiding the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, strained and broken. "I couldn't…" she murmured, her words carrying a weight that made the air around us feel even heavier.
I looked up at them, my heart pounding in my chest as my confusion turned into something darker, something more terrifying. "What's going on? Why won't anyone tell me what's happening?" I demanded, my voice rising with a mix of fear and frustration.
But no one answered me. The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, pressing down on me until it felt like I couldn't breathe. My gaze drifted back to the wooden boxes, those strange, ominous boxes that everyone seemed to be avoiding. Something deep inside me told me that whatever was in those boxes was the key to understanding all of this. But another part of me, the part that still clung to the innocence of childhood, wanted nothing more than to run away from them, to pretend they didn't exist.
But I couldn't stop myself. My small legs carried me forward, closer and closer to the first box. My heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it was going to burst out of my chest, but I kept moving, driven by a need to understand, to see what was inside.
With trembling hands, I reached up and lifted the lid of the first box. My breath caught in my throat, my heart skipping a beat as I looked inside.
Lying there, still and silent, was Obito. His face, once so full of life and energy, was now pale and unmoving. His eyes were covered with a white cloth, and his hands, which had always been so animated, were now resting quietly at his sides. He looked like he was just sleeping, but something deep inside me knew that wasn't the case.
"Obito-nii, wake up!" I called out, my voice trembling as I reached out to shake him. "You're sleeping in the middle of the day, silly! Wake up!"
But he didn't move.
A cold wave of fear washed over me, chilling me to the bone. I backed away from the box, my small body trembling with the realization that something was very, very wrong. But even then, I couldn't fully grasp what I was seeing. I didn't want to. I refused to believe that the boy who had always been so full of life could be gone.
With trembling legs, I moved to the next box. My hands felt like they were made of lead as I lifted the lid, my heart pounding in my chest.
Inside was Rin. Her face was peaceful, but there was something unnatural about the stillness of her body, something that made my stomach twist with fear. Her lips, usually curled into a gentle smile, were now motionless, and her skin was pale and cold to the touch.
"Rin-nee, come on! Get up! This isn't funny!" I pleaded, shaking her a little harder, my voice rising in pitch as the panic began to set in. But she remained motionless, her chest not rising or falling. The reality of what I was seeing began to press down on me, but I still couldn't understand. I didn't want to understand.
My legs felt heavy as I moved to the next box. The world around me was fading, the people, the sky, everything, dimming until all that was left were these boxes, these horrifying boxes.
I reached the third one, my hands trembling violently as I lifted the lid.
Kakashi was there… but it wasn't all of him. Just his head. His usually masked face was exposed, pale and lifeless, his eyes closed forever. The shock of seeing him like that was too much, and a scream tore from my throat before I could stop it.
"Kakashi-nii!" I screamed, my voice breaking as I gripped the edge of the box, my small body trembling with the force of my fear and grief. "I see your face now! You can wake up! Please, Kakashi-nii!"
But there was no response, only silence.
Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled to the fourth box. My entire body was shaking now, my mind screaming at me to stop, to turn away, but I couldn't. I had to see. I had to know.
I reached out with trembling hands, and lifted the lid of the fourth box.
Inside was my mother, lying so still, so cold. Her beautiful red hair, the same shade as mine, was spread out like a halo around her head. Her face, always so full of warmth and love, was now pale, her skin as cold as ice.
"Mama…" I whispered, reaching out to touch her cold hand, the realization finally starting to dawn on me. "Please wake up, Mama… I need you…"
But she didn't move. She didn't open her eyes. She didn't say anything.
And then, the last box.
My father was there, his face calm and serene, just like I remembered. He looked like he was just sleeping, like he could wake up at any moment and smile at me, tell me everything was going to be okay.
"Papa…" I whimpered, my small hands shaking as I reached out to him. "Please wake up, Papa! I need you! Please!" I shook him harder and harder, my desperation growing with every passing second, but he remained still, his body cold and lifeless.
They were all gone.
The world around me began to close in, the weight of the truth crashing down on me like a tidal wave. "Wake up!" I yelled. "Wake up, dattebaya,"I beat my fists against the wooden boxes, screaming for them to wake up, to come back to me. But they were gone. And there was nothing I could do to bring them back.
A man with bandages wrapped around his face stepped forward, his voice cold and emotionless. "They are dead, my boy," he said, his words slicing through the air like a knife. "Killed by Iwa, Kumo, and Kiri. They are never coming back."
"Kill?"
"They are dead, killed."
The man's words cut through me like a blade, sharp and unyielding, their meaning settling deep into my chest. Dead. Killed. Never coming back. These words swirled around in my young mind, each one hitting me like a hammer, driving the cold, hard truth into my heart.
Dead? No. No, that couldn't be right. They were just sleeping. They had to be. People wake up from sleep. They come back. They always do. But the man's voice was so certain, so final, that it shook the very foundation of my understanding. My small mind grappled with the concept of death, a dark, terrifying reality that I had never before been forced to confront. And in that moment, the world around me seemed to tilt, spinning out of control as I stood there, a helpless child, in front of those cold, unfeeling boxes.
Jiraiya, who had been standing nearby, took a step forward, his face etched with grief. He looked at me with eyes full of sorrow and regret, his usual playful demeanor completely stripped away. For a moment, it seemed like he might reach out to me, to offer some kind of comfort, but then he hesitated, his hand faltering in the air as if he didn't know how to help.
"Tsunade…" he began, his voice thick with emotion, but she didn't respond. She stood there, her head bowed, her shoulders trembling slightly. The strong, fearless Tsunade who I had always admired now looked small and broken, a shell of the person I thought I knew.
The man with the bandages—someone I would later come to know as Danzo—stepped closer, his cold gaze fixed on me. His presence was suffocating, his words even more so. "Do you understand, boy? Do you understand what has been taken from you?" he asked, his tone devoid of any warmth or compassion.
I didn't respond. I couldn't. My throat was tight, my chest heaving as I tried to make sense of everything. My parents, my friends—they were all gone. Taken from me. Stolen by people I had never met, for reasons I couldn't begin to comprehend. The world that had once been so bright and full of life now felt empty, dark, and terrifying.
Jiraiya's eyes widened as he realised something. "Danzo! Stop this! Get away from him!"
"Don't you want vengeance?" Danzo finished, ignoring Jiraiya.
And then, something inside me snapped. The grief, the confusion, the helplessness—it all began to churn inside me, growing and twisting until it became something else entirely. A dark, seething anger welled up from deep within me, a rage that was too big, too powerful for my small body to contain.
"Kill… kill… kill them all!" The words erupted from me in a frenzied chant, my voice rising to a frantic pitch as I gave in to the storm of emotions swirling inside me. It was all too much—the sorrow, the pain, the loss. I didn't know how to deal with it, didn't know how to process it. All I knew was that I wanted it to stop. I wanted to make the people who did this suffer, to make them feel the same pain that was tearing me apart.
Golden chains, forged from pure chakra, burst from my body, thrashing wildly in all directions. They crackled with a terrifying energy, glowing with a golden hue that pulsed with my rage. The chakra surrounding me—usually calm and controlled—had turned into a violent, swirling storm of grey energy, lashing out at anything within its reach.
The people around me recoiled in fear, their expressions shifting from sorrow to alarm. I could hear their panicked voices, but they sounded distant, like echoes in a tunnel. All I could focus on was the raw, burning anger that was consuming me from the inside out.
Tsunade's voice cut through the chaos, filled with a desperation I had never heard from her before. "Naruto, stop! Please, stop!" she pleaded, her hands reaching out towards me, but I was beyond hearing, beyond reason. The darkness had taken hold, and it was driving me to a place I didn't know how to escape.
Jiraiya moved quickly, stepping in front of Tsunade, his hands forming rapid seals as he prepared to subdue me. "We have to stop him before he kills himself!" he shouted, his voice tense with urgency.
But even as he moved to restrain me, I felt something deep within me stirring, responding to my pain and anger. The world around me seemed to shift, the air growing thick with a malevolent energy. The chakra chains lashed out, striking the ground with such force that the earth beneath me cracked and splintered.
But amidst the chaos, a faint, distant voice called out to me. It was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to make me pause, to make me hesitate.
"Na… ru… to…" The voice was familiar, comforting, and it tugged at something deep inside me, something that still clung to the light, that still remembered the love and warmth I had once known.
For a moment, the rage faltered, the chakra chains slowing their wild thrashing as I strained to hear the voice, to hold onto it.
"Please… don't… go…"
And then, just as quickly as it had come, the darkness began to recede, the malevolent energy dissipating as the voice grew stronger, more insistent.
"Hold on, Naruto… Don't let it take you…"
The chakra chains retracted, slowly fading back into my body as the storm of energy around me began to calm. My breathing was ragged, my body trembling with exhaustion.
When the last of the chakra chains had disappeared, I collapsed to my knees, the weight of everything that had happened crashing down on me. Tears streamed down my face, hot and unchecked, as the reality of my loss finally sank in.
They were gone. My parents, my friends—they were gone. And no amount of anger, no amount of power, could bring them back.
Tsunade was beside me in an instant, pulling me into her arms, her embrace tight and comforting. I could feel her tears on my skin, hear her soft sobs as she held me close. "I'm so sorry, Naruto… I'm so sorry…" she whispered, her voice choked with grief.
Jiraiya knelt beside us, his face etched with sorrow. He placed a hand on my head, his touch gentle, and for the first time, I saw tears in his eyes. "We'll get through this, kid… somehow, we'll get through this," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
But even in that moment, I continued to chant. "I'll destroy them all…"
I can never forgive those who took away my precious people. Danzo was successful. He had effectively cultivated a monster that would annihilate everything.
oOo
After that day, the sun never quite shone the same way for me. It wasn't that the world had darkened; rather, it was as if the light had dimmed within me, swallowed by the abyss that had taken root in my heart. From that moment forward, there was only one goal, one driving force that pushed me forward through the haze of my existence: vengeance.
I sought out Jiraiya, the man who had been appointed by the village elders as my mentor, though it was clear that he accepted this role with great reluctance. The day I approached him, my eyes burning with a fury that belied my youth, I made my intentions brutally clear.
"Teach me everything you know," I demanded, my voice steady and cold, a voice that no child should possess. It was the voice of someone who had already seen too much, suffered too much.
Jiraiya looked at me, his gaze heavy with sadness and something else—perhaps it was fear, perhaps pity. "And what will you do with this knowledge?" he asked, though I could tell he already knew the answer.
I didn't hesitate. "I will kill them all."
There was a moment of silence, a long, unbearable pause where the weight of my words hung in the air like a death sentence. Jiraiya sighed deeply, as though the very act of breathing had become a burden, and though his expression betrayed his reluctance, he could not deny me. The village elders had seen to that. And so, despite his reservations, he agreed to teach me. The knowledge he imparted was vast, covering every aspect of the shinobi arts, from ninjutsu to taijutsu, from sealing techniques to the arcane mysteries of the Sage Arts.
But I was impatient. I was relentless. I needed more, faster, better. That's when I discovered the power of the Shadow Clones, a technique that allowed me to train a thousand times over, the experiences and memories of each clone returning to me upon their dispelling. For seven years, I trained with a thousand clones every day, each day becoming seven thousand days, each year stretching into the equivalent of centuries of experience. By the time I was eleven, I had amassed more knowledge, more skill, and more power than the legendary Sannin combined.
Yet it still wasn't enough.
How could it be enough when my goal was to bring entire nations to their knees? The hunger for power gnawed at me, an insatiable beast that refused to be sated. Even as I surpassed my mentors, even as I mastered the highest levels of the Sage Arts, there was always a whisper in the back of my mind, a dark voice reminding me that I was not yet strong enough.
The war dragged on for five years after my parents' deaths, and in the end, Konoha was left broken, crippled by debt, and gripped by famine. I watched as the village crumbled, as the proud shinobi who once protected it became nothing more than hollow shells of their former selves. And yet, none of it mattered to me. My heart had already turned to stone.
I sought out more power, more techniques, more ways to destroy those who had taken everything from me. The Sage Arts were not enough—Jiraiya's teachings were not enough. I left for Mount Myoboku, the sacred land of the toads, where I trained under Fukasaku, the wise and ancient sage. But even there, I could not be satisfied with the traditional pace of learning. I created more clones, thousands of them, each one undergoing the same rigorous training, each one contributing to my ever-growing reservoir of strength. By the time I returned from Mount Myoboku, I had accumulated a thousand years of training in the Sage Arts.
Jiraiya tried to counsel me during those years, speaking of the emptiness that revenge would bring, of the hollowness that would consume me once my enemies lay dead at my feet. I never paid him any heed. His words were meaningless to me, hollow echoes in the vast chasm of my soul. My purpose was singular, my path unwavering.
As I grew stronger, I became more withdrawn, more isolated from the world around me. By the age of thirteen, I had already surpassed the Third Hokage, but still, it wasn't enough. I delved into the Sealing Arts, mastering every nuance that Jiraiya had to offer. With that knowledge, I eventually cracked the secret of my father's Hiraishin formula, the Flying Thunder God technique that had made him a legend. But even that accomplishment brought me no joy, only a grim satisfaction that I was one step closer to my goal.
My interactions with others dwindled to almost nothing. Mikoto Uchiha, my mother's old friend, would sometimes come to my home, cooking meals for me out of a sense of duty or perhaps pity. She would sit with me, her presence warm and comforting, but I never reciprocated. I would eat in silence, my mind elsewhere, focused solely on the training that awaited me. Mikoto would occasionally try to engage me in conversation, her voice gentle and filled with concern.
"Naruto," she would say softly, watching me with those kind, dark eyes, "you can't keep going on like this. You need to rest, to take care of yourself."
But her words fell on deaf ears. I would nod absently, barely acknowledging her presence before retreating back into the darkness of my mind. The world outside, the people around me, all of it had become irrelevant, mere distractions from my ultimate purpose.
By the time I was fifteen, I had surpassed even my father in speed, the Hiraishin technique flowing through me as naturally as breathing. But still, it wasn't enough. The chakra chains, a legacy from my mother, were the last barrier between me and the full realization of my power. I had no one to teach me how to control them, no one who understood their full potential. And so, I taught myself, through relentless trial and error, through pain and blood and sheer force of will.
Shisui Uchiha, my childhood friend, would sometimes visit me, though our friendship had long since withered away. Now, he was little more than a sparring partner, someone to test my ever-growing strength against. Itachi, too, would come by on occasion, his eyes filled with a mixture of respect and wariness. He admired my power, but he could never understand my ambitions, my burning need for vengeance.
It was around this time that the village began to whisper, to acknowledge the truth that had become undeniable: I was the strongest human alive. My power had surpassed all others, eclipsing even the most revered legends of my time. Yet there was no fanfare, no celebration of my achievements. The villagers looked at me with a mixture of awe and fear, and they knew better than to try and stop me when, one day, I simply left.
I was never an official ninja. The village had never branded me with the headband or bound me with the chains of loyalty. I had been an orphan, a pariah, and now, I was something else entirely—a force of nature, a storm that could not be contained. And so, when I walked out of Konoha's gates, no one dared to follow.
They all knew what was coming.
I was about to annihilate the elemental nations.
oOo
It was a sunny autumn day in Iwa, the kind of day that makes you forget the darkness that once stained the world. The leaves were just beginning to turn, their edges tinged with the colours of fire—reds, oranges, and golds—that danced in the gentle breeze. The streets were alive with the laughter of children and the warm chatter of merchants as they peddled their wares. Life was good for the people of Iwa; it was good for everyone, really. The last war had ended in their favour, and Konoha, once the strongest of the Five Great Shinobi Nations, had suffered a crushing defeat. Many of Konoha's powerful shinobi had fallen, and the village, once a mighty force, was now a shadow of its former self. Years had passed since then, and the memory of bloodshed had faded, replaced by a tenuous peace that everyone was eager to believe would last forever.
Little Kiko, a girl of no more than seven, was oblivious to the shadows that lurked beneath the surface of that peace. Her world was small, confined to the streets and fields of Iwa, where she spent her days playing and exploring, her imagination transforming every nook and cranny into a new adventure. She was a lively child, her dark hair always tangled from the wind, her cheeks flushed with the joy of running free.
Today, she was playing a game of chase with her grandfather, a kindly old man whose back had grown stooped with age but whose spirit remained as youthful as ever. He was her favourite playmate, always ready to indulge her whims, whether it was pretending to be a fierce monster or a gallant knight.
"Grandpa, you can't catch me!" Kiko giggled, her laughter a bright, tinkling sound that echoed through the quiet streets. She darted around a corner, her small feet barely touching the ground, and glanced back to see her grandfather shuffling after her, his face creased with a smile.
"Oh, you think so, do you?" he called out, his voice wheezing slightly but full of affection. "Just you wait, little Kiko, I'll catch you yet!"
Kiko squealed with delight and ran faster, her heart pounding with the thrill of the chase. She was sure she could outrun him—after all, she was young and fast, and he was old and slow. But the old man was cunning; he knew the streets better than anyone, and he took a shortcut through an alley, emerging just in front of her.
"Gotcha!" he exclaimed, sweeping her up into his arms as she shrieked with laughter.
"Grandpa, no fair!" Kiko protested, though she was grinning from ear to ear. She wriggled in his grasp, trying to escape, but he held her tight, his laughter mingling with hers.
"All's fair in love and war, little one," he said, setting her down gently. His eyes twinkled with mischief, but there was also a deep, abiding love in his gaze as he looked at her, this precious grandchild who had brought so much light into his life.
Kiko was about to suggest another game when a low, rumbling sound interrupted her thoughts. It was faint at first, just a distant murmur, but it grew louder with each passing second, until it became impossible to ignore. The sound seemed to resonate through the air, vibrating in her chest, filling her with a strange, unexplainable dread.
The old man's smile faltered, and he slowly lowered Kiko to the ground, his eyes narrowing as he listened. He knew that sound all too well. It was the summons—an urgent call that no shinobi could ignore.
"Kiko, stay here," he said, his voice suddenly serious, all traces of playfulness gone. "I have to go."
"Grandpa?" Kiko looked up at him, her heart squeezing in her chest. She didn't understand what was happening, but she could feel the fear creeping into her bones, the same fear that now clouded her grandfather's eyes. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"
The old man didn't answer her. He couldn't. His mind was racing, a thousand terrible possibilities flashing through his thoughts. Without another word, he turned and hurried towards the centre of the village, where he knew the other shinobi would be gathering. Kiko stood frozen for a moment, watching him go, her small hands clenched into fists at her sides. She didn't know what to do—she wanted to follow him, but she was too afraid. And yet, the thought of staying behind, alone, was even more terrifying.
So, she did the only thing she could think of: she ran after him.
Kiko's legs pumped furiously as she chased after her grandfather, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She followed him through the winding streets, past familiar shops and homes, until they reached the small shop owned by her father, a civilian who had never known the life of a shinobi. Her grandfather was already inside, talking to her father in hushed, hurried tones. Kiko hesitated at the door, peeking inside, her heart thudding in her chest.
"What's going on, Father?" her father was saying, his voice tense. "Why have all the shinobi been called back so suddenly?"
The old man looked around the shop as if the very walls might be listening before he answered, his voice low and grim. "There's been an invasion."
"An invasion?" her father repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion. "But… how? Who would dare attack us now, after all these years of peace?"
The old man's face darkened, and he glanced down at the floor, his hands trembling slightly. "It's not an army," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's only one man."
Her father stared at him, incredulous. "One man? And you're all this afraid? If it's just one man, how dangerous can he be?"
The old man looked up sharply, his eyes flashing with a fear that Kiko had never seen before. "You don't understand," he said, his voice cracking with the weight of his words. "This man… he's not like anything we've ever faced. He's an Uzumaki."
Kiko's breath caught in her throat at the name. She didn't know much about the Uzumaki clan, but she had heard the stories, the whispers that passed between the adults when they thought she wasn't listening. The Uzumaki were known for their incredible chakra reserves and their mastery of sealing techniques, but there was something else about them, something dark and terrible that no one ever spoke of directly. The very mention of the name seemed to send a chill through the room.
"An Uzumaki?" her father repeated, his voice now tinged with unease. "But… what could one Uzumaki do that would have you all so terrified?"
The old man swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "He destroyed Kumo," he said, his voice hollow with disbelief. "Alone. He laid waste to the entire village. It took him three days—three days of nonstop fighting. And when it was over… there was nothing left."
Her father's face paled, the colour draining from his cheeks as the gravity of his father's words sank in. "But… Kumo is a powerful village," he stammered, his voice trembling. "They're not weaklings. How could one man…?"
"He did it," the old man said, his voice growing more frantic as he spoke. "He gouged out the eyes of every Kumo shinobi. Every single one. They say it was revenge for something that happened during the last war, something to do with an Uchiha friend of his. He crippled the entire Lightning Country, and he levelled Kiri in a single day. He beheaded everyone—shinobi, civilians, it didn't matter to him. All for revenge."
Kiko's small hands trembled as she clung to the doorframe, her eyes wide with terror. She couldn't comprehend the full horror of what her grandfather was saying, but she could feel it in the pit of her stomach, a sick, twisting fear that made her want to run and hide.
"And now…" the old man's voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes haunted as he looked at his son. "Now, his next target is Iwa."
A heavy silence fell over the room, the air thick with dread. Kiko's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of it all. Iwa? Why would anyone want to attack their village? It didn't make any sense… unless…
"Why would he come here?" her father asked, his voice hoarse with fear. "What reason could he possibly have?"
"There's a rumour," the old man said, his voice trembling, "that Iwa shinobi were the ones who killed his father and mother. So now… he's coming for us."
Kiko's breath hitched in her throat, her eyes wide with terror. The thought of this man, this monster, coming to their village filled her with a fear so deep and primal that she could barely breathe. Her legs felt like they were made of lead, rooted to the spot as the full weight of what her grandfather was saying crashed down on her.
Her father's face was ashen, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Father… what do we do? We can't fight someone like that… we'll be slaughtered."
The old man's voice trembled as he continued, "We have to run, now, before it's too late. There's no other choice. We can't face him—we'd be throwing our lives away if we tried."
Kiko's father looked around the small shop that had been in their family for generations. The shelves were lined with goods that he and his wife had spent years collecting, each item carefully chosen, each one representing a piece of their life. To leave it all behind, to run like cowards—it felt like abandoning everything they'd worked for, everything they'd believed in. But the fear in his father's eyes was undeniable, and deep down, he knew that this was no ordinary threat.
"Pack what you can carry," the old man said, urgency tightening his voice. "We need to leave before nightfall."
Kiko, who had been standing in the doorway, felt her world spinning out of control. She didn't fully understand what was happening, but she could sense the terror that gripped the adults. Her grandfather, who was always strong and unshakable, was scared—truly scared—and that frightened her more than anything.
"Grandpa?" she whispered, her voice small and quivering. "What's going to happen to us?"
The old man turned to her, his face softening as he saw the fear in her wide eyes. He knelt down and took her small hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. "Kiko, my sweet girl," he began, his voice heavy with sorrow, "we're going on a little trip, okay? Somewhere safe. But we need to go quickly, and you need to be very brave for me."
Kiko nodded, though tears were already welling up in her eyes. She didn't want to go anywhere—she wanted to stay in her home, with her friends, with everything she knew. But the look in her grandfather's eyes told her that there was no choice. Something terrible was coming, something that even grown-ups were afraid of.
Before anyone could say another word, a sharp, piercing sound rang out, splitting the air like a knife. Kiko jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. It was the siren—the one that signaled the village was under attack. The sound was so loud, so shrill, that it seemed to shake the very ground beneath her feet.
"Listen, citizens of Iwa!" a voice boomed from the village walls, echoing through the streets. Kiko and her family instinctively looked up, their eyes drawn to the towering barrier that surrounded their village, the last line of defense between them and whatever lay beyond. The voice continued, growing more frantic, more desperate with each passing second. "The Red Reaper is here! Please head to—"
The voice was abruptly cut off, as if snatched away by an unseen force. Kiko's breath caught in her throat as a deathly silence fell over the village, the siren's wail lingering in the air like the last cry of a dying man. Her small hands clenched tighter around her grandfather's, seeking comfort, seeking reassurance that everything would be okay. But no one moved. No one spoke. They were all frozen, paralyzed by fear.
Then, out of the stillness, something shifted—a flash of red, so quick and so sudden that Kiko almost thought she'd imagined it. But the way her grandfather stiffened beside her, the way his grip tightened around her hand, told her that it was real. Terrifyingly real.
Kiko's eyes widened as she watched in horror. The gatekeeper, who had stood watch over the village for as long as she could remember, suddenly lurched forward, his body convulsing as a spray of blood erupted from his throat. He gasped, a wet, choking sound that made Kiko's stomach turn. And then, just as suddenly, he fell—tumbling from the high wall to the ground below with a sickening thud.
The village erupted into chaos.
People screamed, mothers clutching their children to their chests as they ran for cover. Shinobi, once the proud defenders of Iwa, now scrambled in every direction, their faces twisted in terror. And standing above it all, perched atop the wall like a vengeful specter, was the man they all feared—the Red Reaper.
Kiko had never seen anything like him. He was tall and lean, his body draped in a long, crimson cloak that billowed around him like a cloud of blood. His hair, a shocking red, cascaded down his back in wild, unruly waves, catching the light in a way that made it seem to glow. But it was his eyes that truly terrified her—cold, lifeless orbs that seemed to bore into her soul, promising nothing but death.
The Red Reaper moved with a grace that belied his lethal intent, jumping from the wall and landing silently on the ground below. In his hand, he held a weapon—no, not a weapon, Kiko realized with growing horror—but several small objects that gleamed ominously in the sunlight.
Before anyone could react, he flung them into the crowd.
For a split second, there was only silence, the calm before the storm. And then, as if on cue, the objects exploded in a brilliant flash of red, followed by the unmistakable roar of a thousand screams. Bodies flew through the air, disintegrating into nothing but ash and blood, the ground itself shaking with the force of the blasts.
"Rasengan," the Red Reaper whispered, his voice cold and detached, as if he were merely commenting on the weather.
Kiko watched, rooted to the spot, as the world around her descended into madness. The once peaceful streets were now awash with blood, the air thick with the acrid stench of burning flesh. People were running, falling, dying, their screams of agony filling her ears, drowning out every other sound.
Her grip tightened on her grandfather's hand, her mind screaming at her to move, to run, to do something—anything—but her body refused to obey. She could only watch as the Red Reaper moved closer, his eyes scanning the carnage with a cold, emotionless gaze.
"Grandpa! Dad! Let's—" Kiko's voice was a desperate plea, barely more than a whisper, but it was lost in the chaos around her.
And then, just as she turned to look at them, her heart nearly stopped in her chest. Her father and grandfather, who had stood beside her moments ago, were no longer there. Instead, she saw them slumped to the ground, their bodies still, unmoving.
Kiko's breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened in disbelief. It couldn't be—this couldn't be real. But there, in their chests, were two gaping, ragged holes where their hearts should have been, blood pouring out in thick, dark rivers.
Her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground, her small hands clutching at the dirt as her vision blurred with tears. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think—the only thing she could feel was the icy grip of terror closing around her heart, squeezing tighter and tighter until it threatened to crush her completely.
"No…" she whispered, her voice choked with grief, with fear, with the overwhelming weight of everything she had just witnessed. "No… no… no…"
But the Red Reaper didn't care. He stepped over the bodies as if they were nothing more than obstacles in his path, his cold eyes never once leaving his true target—the heart of Iwa, where he would bring his vengeance down upon them all.
Kiko's world spun around her, the sounds of death and destruction fading into the background as the truth settled in. She was alone. Completely— utterly alone.
And the Red Reaper was coming for them all.
But she didn't feel fear. She was panicking, true.
But…
She was angry.
oOo
Naruto stood atop the highest peak overlooking Iwa, his breath coming in ragged gasps, though it wasn't from exhaustion. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning flesh and the sickly-sweet scent of blood. The village, once bustling with life, now lay in ruins—a desolate wasteland littered with the mangled remains of its people. The earth itself seemed to weep, the crimson rivers of blood winding their way through the shattered remnants of homes and lives.
His red hair, wild and untamed, clung to his sweat-slicked skin as the wind howled around him, carrying with it the echoes of the dying. It was a sound he had grown accustomed to over these past days, yet it still gnawed at the edges of his sanity. He could feel it—something deep inside him, twisting and coiling like a serpent, hissing venomous words that urged him to continue, to destroy, to obliterate every last shred of life that dared to defy him.
Naruto had unleashed hell upon Kumo, an army of his shadow clones in Sage Mode descending like locusts upon the village. The Kumo-nin were formidable—Killer Bee and Ay, their most powerful warriors, had fought valiantly. Even Darui, with his calm precision, had proven a worthy adversary. But they were nothing against Naruto's unyielding fury. He had torn through their ranks with a single-minded determination, gouging out their eyes one by one, relishing the feel of their life force ebbing away beneath his hands. It had taken three days—three long, agonizing days of relentless battle, but in the end, every last one of them was dead. Twenty-five thousand shinobi and fifty thousand civilians—all reduced to corpses, their eyes blank and lifeless, just as they had left Obito.
From Kumo, he had moved on to Kiri, slaughtering without pause, without mercy. The memory of Kakashi's beheading had fueled his rage, and he had repaid the Mist with the same cruel fate. He beheaded them all—men, women, children. The blood ran in rivers, staining the land, turning the once proud Hidden Mist Village into a charnel house. It took him a day. Just one day to wipe Kiri off the map, to extinguish every last ember of life within its borders.
Now, he stood in the ruins of Iwa, the last of the great nations that had wronged him, that had taken everything from him. The Earth Daimyo had been the first to fall, his life snuffed out as easily as a candle in the wind. Naruto had left a trail of destruction in his wake, carving a path through the country, through the very heart of Iwa itself. There had been no challenge, no resistance that could slow him, let alone stop him.
His Rasengan had torn through their defenses, reducing walls and bodies alike to nothing but dust and ash. The Hiraishin, perfected through years of obsessive training, allowed him to strike with blinding speed, a red flash that heralded death. He was everywhere and nowhere, a vengeful god come to punish those who had dared to hurt him.
The battle had lasted five minutes—just five minutes to kill thousands, to turn a serene village into a barren wasteland. The screams of the dying had faded to a dull roar in his ears, drowned out by the pounding of his own heart, by the overwhelming rage that consumed him.
But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
Onoki, the old Tsuchikage, had been the last to stand against him. The ancient shinobi's eyes had burned with a mix of fear and defiance as he faced the monster that Naruto had become. The Dust Release, a fearsome technique that could disintegrate anything it touched, had been Onoki's final gambit. But Naruto was faster, stronger, more ruthless. He had dodged every attack, his movements a blur of red and gold.
"You… you bastard," Onoki had rasped, his voice cracking with age and the strain of battle. "You've destroyed everything… everything! My village… my people… Why? Why would you do this?"
Naruto's eyes had been cold, devoid of any emotion as he struck, driving a Rasengan into Onoki's chest, feeling the old man's ribcage shatter beneath the force of his attack. The Tsuchikage's eyes had widened in pain and disbelief, the breath leaving his lungs in a ragged gasp as he collapsed to the ground, his life ebbing away.
"You took my family," Naruto had whispered, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. "You took everything from me. This… this is justice."
Onoki had died with a curse on his lips, his last breath a whisper of hatred and regret. But Naruto hadn't cared. He had stood over the body of the fallen Kage, his heart a hollow, aching void. There was no satisfaction, no peace—only the endless, gnawing hunger for more destruction, more death.
He had scanned the wasteland, his eyes searching for any sign of life, for any straggler who might have escaped his wrath. But there was nothing—only the dead and dying, the broken remnants of a once proud nation. It should have been enough. It should have been over.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it—a small movement, a flicker of life amidst the carnage. He turned, his hand already moving to form a Rasengan, ready to snuff out the last vestige of resistance.
A pebble, small and insignificant, came hurtling towards him. Naruto caught it effortlessly, his eyes narrowing as he looked for the source. And there she was—a little girl, her brown hair matted with dirt and blood, her eyes wide with rage and hatred. She was trembling, her small hands clenched into fists as she glared at him with a fury that belied her fragile frame.
Naruto threw a kunai at her, landing it on her chest, making her fall on the ground with a small thud.
"I'll… k-kill you…" she tried to stand, throwing another pebble at him.
Naruto frowned, his hand tightening around the pebble as he prepared to finish her off. She was nothing—a mere child, a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. But her eyes… those eyes.
"I'll… k-kill you…" the girl whispered, her voice trembling with fear and anger. She stumbled forward, her legs barely holding her weight, but she kept her gaze fixed on him, defiant to the end.
Naruto hesitated, his hand faltering as he took in her words. It was absurd—she was dying, bleeding out from a wound that she couldn't possibly survive. And yet, she still clung to that impossible hope, that belief that she could somehow hurt him, stop him, kill him.
He raised his kunai, ready to put her out of her misery. It would be a mercy, a kindness that she didn't deserve, but he would give it to her anyway. But then, as he looked into her eyes, he saw something that made his blood run cold.
"I'll kill… you…" she repeated, her voice growing weaker with each word. "I'll… kill… you…"
It wasn't the words that stopped him—it was the look in her eyes. The pure, unbridled rage, the burning desire for vengeance. It was a look he knew all too well, a look he had seen every day in the mirror. The hatred, the fury, the need to make those who had wronged him suffer. It was the same, the exact same as his own.
Naruto's breath hitched in his throat, his vision swimming as the world seemed to tilt around him. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like the tolling of a death knell. The kunai slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground with a dull thud.
No. No, this couldn't be happening. This wasn't right. He was the one who was wronged. He was the one who had suffered, who had lost everything. He was the one who was supposed to make them pay. But as he looked at the girl, as he saw the hatred in her eyes, he realized with a sickening lurch that he had become the very thing he had sworn to destroy.
The world spun around him, the ground seemed to heave beneath his feet. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his chest tightening with a panic that he hadn't felt in years. His vision blurred, the image of the girl, of the dead, of the ruined village merging into one nightmarish blur. His hands trembled, his fingers curling into fists as he tried to steady himself, to hold on to the last shreds of his sanity.
But it was no use. The walls were closing in around him, the weight of his actions crashing down on him with unbearable force. He could feel it—the crushing guilt, the overwhelming horror of what he had done. He had killed them all. He had destroyed everything.
Naruto's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his hands clawing at the earth as he tried to breathe, tried to think, but couldn't. He had killed more than two hundred thousand people…
"Ghughhhh..!"
With a sickening yell, he disappeared in a flash of red.
Kiko would never know this, but her actions had rewritten the fate of the Shinobi world.
"I'll…kill you…" Kiko whispered into the air as the remaining embers of her life faded.
TBC
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