Naruto sat alone in his small, dimly lit apartment, his blue eyes focused on the enormous weapon propped up in the corner. The Kabutowari was almost as tall as he was, its dark, aged metal gleaming faintly in the low light. It had been five years since Hiruzen had brought it to him, explaining it was his father's last gift, a weapon that was his by right.
But Naruto had no idea how he was supposed to use it. At eight years old, he'd grown strong enough to lift the weapon, but not by much. He trained his body daily, performing endless sets of push-ups, squats, and other exercises he'd taught himself. The Kabutowari was a symbol of his father's legacy, yet every time he tried to swing it, the weapon's sheer weight seemed to overwhelm him, its massive axe and hammer swaying wildly in his grip.
Still, he kept it close. It was a constant, silent reminder of his father, of the family he'd never known. Sometimes, in the dark hours of the night, Naruto would stare at the weapon and feel a rush of energy in his veins, a sensation that grew louder and more insistent with every year. He'd heard whispers from villagers—rumors of his father's heritage, that his clan had been "monsters." He didn't understand what that meant, but he knew one thing: the villagers didn't like him, and the whispers always grew louder when he walked by.
Naruto avoided crowds whenever he could. Whenever he stepped outside, he could feel their eyes on him, filled with disdain and suspicion. He hated the way they looked at him, the way they whispered, as if he were some creature instead of a person. Every day, he reminded himself to stay calm, to breathe deeply, and to keep his distance. He didn't want to hurt anyone. The thought terrified him.
But the hate they had for him simmered, growing in his chest every day like a ticking time bomb.
Today, Naruto had ventured out to grab some food from a nearby stand. As he walked down the narrow streets of Konoha, villagers stepped aside, casting disgusted looks his way. He tried to ignore them, but the whispers started up again, louder this time, and more pointed.
"There he is, the monster boy…"
"Look at his eyes. He's just like his father, that beast."
"Better stay away; you never know when he'll snap."
Naruto clenched his fists, his small frame trembling as he forced himself to keep walking. Stop looking at me, he thought, his breathing becoming uneven. Just… stop looking.
But the whispers grew, like a thousand needles pricking his skin, and the hateful stares dug into him. He quickened his pace, trying to escape, but the pressure only built inside him, boiling over until his hands shook.
"Stop looking at me!" Naruto yelled, his voice cracking. But the villagers didn't stop—they only moved back, fear and disgust in their eyes.
The rage and frustration bubbled over, and suddenly, he felt it—that pull, that primal energy inside him snapping free like a trap released. His vision blurred, the world tilting as raw chakra began to course through his veins, making his skin feel hot and alive.
Without warning, dark markings began to spread across Naruto's skin, his eyes turning a wild shade of yellow, his pupils narrowing into thin slits. The hate, the whispers, the disgust—they all faded, leaving nothing but a primal urge to destroy, to unleash the force building within him.
The transformation took hold as a horn sprouted from his forehead, and his body grew larger, pulsing with chakra and raw nature energy. He let out a guttural roar, a sound that echoed through the village, startling the nearby shinobi and villagers alike. Suddenly, Naruto's small frame was gone, replaced by a hulking, monstrous figure. In this state, he couldn't recognize anyone; all he saw were the faces of those who despised him, twisting in terror.
A Chunin appeared, his headband glinting in the sunlight as he tried to hold Naruto back. "Naruto, calm down!" he shouted, reaching for him. But Naruto could only see the man's hostile face, could only hear the hate-filled whispers.
With a furious swipe, Naruto sent the Chunin flying back. Two more appeared, flanking him, weapons drawn as they tried to subdue him. Naruto let out another roar, lashing out wildly as they dodged his strikes, each movement creating gusts of wind that cracked the ground beneath him.
"Stand down, Naruto!" shouted one of the Chunin. But he was too far gone, lost to the anger that had consumed him. His fists slammed against the ground, sending shockwaves that knocked the Chunin off balance.
The three of them circled him, moving carefully, waiting for the right moment. With each step they took, Naruto swung with even more force, his monstrous form thrashing wildly, scattering debris with each blow. Finally, the Chunin synchronized their attacks, one of them grabbing him from behind as the other two worked to contain him with chakra-enhanced ropes.
Naruto struggled, his monstrous strength overpowering even their combined effort. But slowly, the energy that fueled him began to wane. His muscles grew tired, the marks on his skin started to fade, and his vision blurred once more. He collapsed to the ground, his body returning to its smaller, frail form. His breathing was ragged, his head pounding as he felt the sharp pains of exhaustion settle over him.
As Naruto lay there, his body weak and trembling, he felt the heavy weight of shame sink into his chest. Around him, villagers had gathered at a distance, watching with fear and disgust. He saw their faces—the fear, the hatred—and he felt the hot sting of tears pricking his eyes.
One of the Chunin knelt beside him, his voice gruff but concerned. "Naruto… what was that?"
Naruto's voice came out in a whisper, barely audible. "I… I didn't mean to. I don't want to hurt anyone."
The Chunin's expression softened, but the fear in his eyes remained. "Stay out of trouble, kid," he muttered before signaling to the others to clear the area. The villagers dispersed, though Naruto could feel their lingering stares as he stumbled back to his apartment, his body sore and his heart heavy.
When he got home, he looked again at the Kabutowari in the corner. The massive axe and hammer, bound together by the sturdy leather rope, loomed over him like a specter of the power he had yet to control. He wanted to be strong enough to wield it, to protect himself and others—but each time he tried, he felt like he was just inches away from losing himself.
Naruto sat on the floor, staring at the weapon through a haze of exhaustion. He knew he had inherited something powerful from his father, but he feared it as much as he longed to master it. The desire to prove himself clashed with the fear of his own strength, a constant struggle he had yet to resolve.
One day, he vowed, he would be strong enough to wield the Kabutowari with purpose and control. But for now, all he could do was try—try to resist the whispers, try to control the rage, and try to live up to the legacy his father had left him.