Quote:
"To mend the mind, one must face the fractures and understand the pain that made them."
—Unknown
Fragments of thy Self
Lucius sat cross-legged in the clearing; his breathing measured but the storm inside his mind unrelenting. The forest whispered around him, the hum of nature stark against the deafening silence within. His fractured psyche weighed on him like an anchor, the collision of three lives—each distinct, each unresolved—leaving no clear path forward.
As his focus deepened, his surroundings faded into nothingness, replaced by a mental landscape of shattered stone and pulsating light. The jagged terrain extended endlessly, with flickers of memories floating like shattered glass in the void. Each shard reflected moments of pain, triumph, and regret. The scene was chaotic, yet eerily beautiful—a mirror to his inner turmoil.
Ahead, three figures emerged, stark against the broken horizon:
Younger Lucius, no older than seven, clutching a constellation primer, his small hands trembling.
Sasuke Uchiha, his crimson Sharingan spinning lazily, his posture rigid, and his presence brimming with cold determination.
The Shadowed Figure, indistinct and flickering, its form unstable, representing the fractured foreknowledge of the reincarnator.
Lucius hesitated, his gaze lingering on each figure. The sheer weight of their presence threatened to drown him. His younger self was the closest, staring intently at a projection—a memory replaying like a ghostly mirage.
A Father's Neglect
In the grand library of the Animusphere estate, a seven-year-old Lucius stood dwarfed by towering shelves of books. The scent of aged parchment and mana-infused bindings filled the air. His small hands clutched a well-worn constellation primer, the edges frayed from weeks of study.
"Father," he called out, his voice tentative and hopeful. He stepped closer to Marisbury Animusphere, who was engrossed in a glowing holographic projection of Chaldea's systems. The soft hum of the display was the only acknowledgment of his presence.
"I've been practicing the constellation alignment ritual," Lucius continued, his words trembling under the weight of his father's indifference. "I think I've made progress."
Marisbury's fingers moved deftly over the interface, his attention unwavering. "Later," he said curtly, his tone as cold as the room.
"But—" Lucius began again, only to be interrupted by his father's sharper reply.
"Later, Lucius. I'm busy."
The memory burned. The boy in the mental landscape clutched the book tighter, his knuckles white, his eyes filled with unshed tears. "I wasn't enough," he whispered bitterly, his voice trembling with sorrow and anger.
Moving On
The older Lucius stepped closer, his movements careful and deliberate. His gaze softened as he watched the memory replay. His younger self's anguish was a knife to his heart. But Sasuke's memories tempered the rawness, offering a new perspective.
It wasn't just rejection—it was a failure of connection. Sasuke's bitterness toward Itachi had consumed him for years, only for the truth to reveal the fragility of duty, love, and expectation.
"You weren't the problem," Lucius said, kneeling before his younger self. The boy flinched but didn't look away. "He was too caught up in his own world to see you. But that doesn't mean you weren't enough."
The boy's grip on the book loosened, his shoulders trembling. "I… I just wanted him to notice me," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief.
Lucius nodded, his voice gentle. "I know. But holding onto that pain won't change anything. It won't bring him back, and it won't heal you."
The memory began to shift, the jagged edges of the library softening, the harsh shadows giving way to a faint, golden light. The boy's figure became less rigid, his expression softening. But as Lucius stood, he felt the ache in his chest remain. A faint pulse rippled through the mental landscape—a fracture in his psyche mending, but only slightly.
"You're not useless," Lucius said softly, his voice steady despite the emotions churning within. "And neither am I. But knowing isn't enough. We both need to accept it."
The boy looked up at him, his eyes filled with hope and pain. "Will you come back?" he asked, his voice small.
Lucius hesitated, then nodded. "I will. But I need time."
The boy's form shimmered as the mental landscape began to recede, leaving Lucius with one undeniable truth: healing wasn't about words—it was about action. Telling himself he was enough wasn't the same as believing it. He would need to confront each fragment of his soul and piece himself back together.
Reflections
When Lucius opened his eyes, the forest seemed brighter, though the weight in his chest remained. The mindscape had shown him the depth of his fractured self, but it had also given him clarity. He wasn't whole, not yet, but he had taken the first step.
"I'll come back," he whispered, echoing his promise. The journey to mend his soul would be long, but for the first time, he felt the faintest glimmer of hope.
Forging A New Path
The air in the clearing grew tense, the faint rustling of leaves overhead drowned out by the weight of anticipation. Lucius gripped the Kusanagi blade tightly, his eyes glowing red as the Sharingan activated, its three tomoe spinning lazily. Across from him, his shadow clone stood with a matching smirk, the blade in its hand mirroring his own stance.
"You're getting better," the clone taunted, the tone laced with mock amusement. "But are you ready for this?"
Lucius didn't answer. Instead, he lunged forward, the world slowing as his Sharingan honed in on every detail of the clone's movements. His blade sliced through the air in a calculated arc, aimed at the clone's midsection. The clone stepped back, its own blade raised to deflect. Sparks erupted as steel met steel, the sharp clang echoing through the clearing.
The clone grinned, stepping into the counter. Its blade came down in a quick, diagonal slash aimed at Lucius's exposed side. But Lucius had already seen it—his Sharingan catching the faint tightening of the clone's grip and the subtle angle of its stance. He pivoted sharply, dodging the strike by mere inches and retaliating with a sweeping arc toward the clone's legs.
The clone leapt backward, its feet barely brushing the ground before it flipped into a defensive stance. Predictable, it thought, a smug grin spreading across its face. "You'll have to do better."
Lucius narrowed his eyes, his focus unwavering.
The clone's fingers blurred through a rapid series of hand seals, fire erupting from its mouth in a wide arc. The heat warped the air, the roar of the flames breaking the clearing's stillness.
Lucius reacted instantly. His core surged with energy as he thrust his free hand forward, releasing a concentrated pulse of mana-infused wind. The gust collided with the flames, scattering embers harmlessly into the air.
Good reaction, the clone thought, dashing through the remnants of the embers. Its blade lashed out in quick, precise strikes, testing Lucius's guard. Each movement flowed effortlessly into the next, the faint glow of the Sharingan reflecting its intent.
Lucius parried, his strikes growing sharper with each clash. But the clone was relentless, pressing him into a defensive rhythm. As the gap between them closed, Lucius's mind raced. His Sharingan tracked the clone's subtle shifts, searching for an opening.
Lucius's hand moved almost on instinct, tracing a glowing rune in the air with swift precision. The script hung for a brief moment before shattering into a burst of searing light.
The clone flinched, its vision overwhelmed by the flash. Damn it, it cursed inwardly, its movements faltering as it tried to recover.
Lucius didn't waste the opportunity. His free hand wove quick seals, a fireball roaring to life in his palm before hurtling toward the disoriented clone.
But the clone was already moving, its instincts sharp despite its temporary blindness. It darted to the side, the fireball missing by a narrow margin. Lucius clicked his tongue, releasing a sharp burst of wind to redirect the attack.
The fireball curved mid-flight, exploding near the clone's blind spot. Smoke billowed across the clearing, masking Lucius's movements.
The clone surged through the smoke, its blade gleaming in the faint light. Its strikes came faster now, the Sharingan glowing as it pushed Lucius to the edge.
Lucius's mind raced. He caught the tremble in the clone's wrist, the faint shift in its stance as it prepared its next attack. It's overextending, he realized, stepping into the clone's strike.
He parried with precision, countering with a lightning-infused slash that sent sparks dancing along the blade's edge. The clone staggered, its footing slipping as Lucius pressed forward.
The clearing grew quiet, save for the laboured breaths of both combatants. Lucius's muscles ached, each movement feeling heavier than the last. But the clone wasn't done yet. It dropped low, slamming its palm into the ground as the earth beneath Lucius shifted violently.
The sudden tremor forced Lucius to leap back, the uneven terrain threatening to topple him. The clone grinned, forming another set of seals as it prepared a follow-up attack.
Lucius inhaled sharply, steadying his core. His Sharingan flared, the world slowing once more. Fire and lightning surged to life in his hands, the energies harmonizing in a crackling blaze.
The clone lunged; its blade aimed for Lucius's midsection. Lucius waited, the attack coming closer, closer—until he unleashed the energy in a blinding burst. The lightning-infused flames exploded outward, consuming the clone in a wave of raw power.
As the smoke cleared, the clone flickered, its form destabilizing before dissolving into a wisp of chakra.
The clearing stood in stark silence. The faint crackle of lingering embers and the acrid scent of smoke hung in the air.
Deep gouges marred the earth where the two had clashed, blackened scorch marks marking the paths of fire and lightning. A tree trunk bore the brunt of a lightning slash, its bark charred and peeling.
Lucius stood at the centre of the destruction, his chest heaving as he fought to steady his breath. His hands trembled faintly, the toll of the fight weighing on him.
Despite the exhaustion, there was a faint satisfaction in his eyes. Each failure, every misstep, had led to this moment—a small but hard-earned victory.
"Step by step," he murmured, his voice steady despite the strain. "I'll get there."
The Hunt
The moon hung high in the sky, casting pale light over the forest. Lucius moved swiftly but silently along the dirt road, the Kusanagi blade strapped securely at his side. His thoughts churned with the day's trials, his body still aching from the earlier sparring match. Each step was a reminder of how far he'd come—and how far he still had to go.
Then he felt it—a shift in the air.
The sensation was faint, barely perceptible, but it made his Sharingan flare instinctively. He turned his head sharply, his gaze locking onto the distant glow of flames and the black smoke curling into the sky. The faint sound of screaming reached his ears, carried on the night wind.
His body moved before his mind could settle. Suppressing his presence to a near-imperceptible level, Lucius sprinted toward the disturbance.
The village was a scene of devastation. Fire consumed wooden homes, casting flickering shadows across the bloodstained ground. The stench of burning wood and flesh filled the air, mixing with the acrid tang of blood.
Lucius crouched low behind the charred remnants of a cart, his Sharingan scanning the scene with sharp precision. Dead bodies littered the streets, their lifeless forms twisted in grotesque angles.
In the centre of the chaos, a towering Dead Apostle stood tall, its gaunt frame illuminated by the firelight. Its pale skin gleamed unnaturally, and its sharp fangs glinted as it grinned, mocking the Enforcers who encircled it.
Lucius's gaze darted to the Enforcers. Their magical projectiles were relentless but ineffective, either deflected or absorbed by the Apostle's fluid movements.
"Is this all the famed Enforcers can muster?" the Apostle sneered, its voice dripping with mockery. "No wonder humanity is doomed."
Lucius's jaw tightened. He despised the Moonlight World and its machinations, but watching the villagers' lives reduced to rubble and ash stoked a fire in his chest. I won't let them all die.
Suppressing his presence further, he moved through the shadows, circling behind the Apostle.
The Apostle smirked as it toyed with the Enforcers, swatting away their attacks with an almost bored expression.
"Pathetic," it said, its voice low and amused. "Perhaps I should leave a survivor to spread the tale of how—"
A concentrated fireball shot toward its back, the heat searing its skin even as it twisted to dodge. The flames barely grazed its shoulder, but the force made it stumble.
The Apostle turned sharply, its glowing red eyes narrowing on the new arrival. A young man stepped into the firelight, his green eyes glowing faintly as he raised the Kusanagi blade.
"A mage?" the Apostle said, its lips curling into a grin. "No… not just a mage. Those eyes. Fascinating."
The Enforcers faltered, their attention briefly shifting to the newcomer. Lucius ignored their stares, his focus solely on the Apostle.
"You want a real fight?" Lucius muttered, stepping forward. "Here it is."
The Apostle moved first, its speed blinding as it lunged for Lucius with clawed hands. He barely managed to dodge, rolling to the side as the ground where he'd stood cracked under the force of the attack.
Lucius countered with a lightning-infused slash from the Kusanagi blade, the edge crackling with energy as it arced toward the Apostle's chest. The Apostle deflected the attack with ease, its grin widening.
"You've got skill," it said, mock admiration lacing its tone. "But let's see how you handle this."
The Apostle wove intricate gestures with its long, pale fingers. Black spikes of shadowy energy erupted from the ground, racing toward Lucius like a tide of spears.
The Sharingan burned in his eyes as Lucius tracked the spikes' trajectory. He leapt, weaving through the assault with sharp movements before retaliating with a wind-enhanced fireball. The explosion that followed sent a shockwave rippling through the clearing, but the Apostle emerged unscathed, its grin still intact.
From behind the rubble of a collapsed building, one of the Enforcers—her robes singed and blood staining her cheek—watched the scene unfold in disbelief.
"Who is this?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "And why is he fighting like that?"
The Enforcer next to her shook his head, his gaze locked on Lucius as the young mage dodged another wave of attacks. "I don't know. But whoever he is, he's not ordinary."
The Apostle's attacks grew more relentless, its movements faster, as if spurred on by the challenge. Lucius dodged narrowly, his Sharingan tracking every motion. But the strain was beginning to show in his laboured breathing and the slight tremor in his hands.
Lucius's thoughts raced as he blocked another strike. This thing's fast and durable. Too durable.
The Apostle unleashed another wave of jagged spikes, and this time, Lucius's Sharingan caught the intricate structure of the spell. His hands moved instinctively, weaving the same seals as the Apostle, and unleashed a mirrored attack.
The Apostle's eyes widened in shock as its own spikes hurtled toward it. Though it dodged, its grin faded.
"So," it hissed. "Those eyes aren't just decorative. Fascinating. Perhaps I'll claim them as my own."
Lucius smirked despite the pounding in his chest. "Try it."
The fight surged on. Lucius used a rune-based flashbang to disorient the Apostle before following with a lightning-enhanced strike from the Kusanagi blade. The Apostle retaliated with a blast of shadow magic, forcing Lucius back as the energy shattered nearby debris.
The tide shifted when Lucius trapped the Apostle in a fire-ball laced with a genjutsu. The illusion caught the creature off guard, its hesitation costing it precious seconds. Lucius closed the distance, his blade flashing as he severed the Apostle's head in a final, decisive strike.
The Apostle crumpled; its body consumed by flames as the fire spread to the remaining debris.
The Enforcers stared at the scene in stunned silence.
"Is it… dead?" one of them asked, her voice barely audible.
Another nodded slowly. "Yes. But who—"
They turned toward the stranger, only to find the space empty.
Lucius was already gone, his presence suppressed as he vanished into the shadows of the forest.
3rd POV Aftermath
The clearing bore the scars of the battle. The scorched earth was marred by deep gouges, and blackened spikes of shadow energy jutted from the ground like dark monuments. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, the fires casting eerie shadows across the ruined village.
The Enforcers moved cautiously among the wreckage, their gazes lingering on the burned remains of the Dead Apostle.
"Whoever he was," one said quietly, "he was stronger than all of us combined."
Ripples in the World
The grand hall of the Barthomeloi Department was a place of order, precision, and ruthless efficiency. The air was thick with the weight of authority, and every step echoed with purpose. Seated at the head of the table was Lorelei Barthomeloi, her sharp features etched in stone as she reviewed the projected visuals before her.
On the crystalline screen, the fragmented memories of the Enforcers replayed, captured through magically enhanced artifacts embedded in their uniforms. The chaos of the village was laid bare: the Dead Apostle's towering form, the Enforcers' desperate struggle, and the sudden appearance of the stranger who turned the tide.
The images played in flickers, punctuated by gaps and distortions. But one thing was clear—the Dead Apostle had not been slain by the Enforcers.
The Enforcers' Report
"That's where he appeared," said one of the attending Enforcers, gesturing toward the screen. The memory showed the stranger—a dark-haired figure wielding an unfamiliar sword—launching an ambush that drew the Apostle's attention.
Another mage frowned. "His spells. They're strong, but... odd. The fireball he used was devastating, yet his control was sloppy. Did you see the explosion? He nearly caught himself in it."
Lorelei's piercing gaze flicked toward the mage. "Explain."
The mage adjusted their stance, clearly uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "It's as though his techniques are mismatched. The output suggests someone highly capable, but the execution… lacks refinement. His movements during the fight also indicate a lack of significant combat experience."
"And yet," another mage interjected, "he copied the Apostle's shadow spikes almost perfectly. That's not something a novice can do."
The room fell silent as the memory replayed the moment: the shadow spikes conjured by the Apostle and then mirrored almost seamlessly by the stranger.
One of the senior Enforcers leaned forward. "He didn't just mimic the spell. His version was faster and hit harder. And yet, we didn't detect any signs of magecraft tracing—the copying was immediate, almost instinctive."
Another mage frowned. "The Enforcers didn't notice him casting with any discernible incantation. And yet, there's no sign of magecraft that bypasses normal laws. His technique... whatever it is, it's something else entirely."
Lorelei's sharp voice cut through the speculation. "No one saw his eyes?"
A hesitant murmur spread through the group.
"No, Lady Barthomeloi," the lead Enforcer admitted. "We didn't get a clear view of his face after the initial ambush. By the time we recovered, he was gone."
Lorelei's Perspective
Lorelei's gaze remained fixed on the image of the stranger, her mind churning with analysis. His performance had been far from flawless—his movements lacked the precision of an experienced fighter, and his control over his spells was inconsistent.
Yet despite these flaws, he had managed to defeat a Dead Apostle that had nearly wiped out an entire Enforcer squad. Alone.
An unknown figure wielding such power was an unacceptable variable. Worse, the recording showed evidence of adaptability—he had improved over the course of the fight, exploiting weaknesses in the Apostle's defences.
The thought was both troubling and intriguing.
"If we find him again," Lorelei said coldly, her tone leaving no room for argument, "I will see him myself."
The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air.
Zelretch's Perspective: The Intrusion Reconsidered
In his domain of shimmering timelines and infinite possibilities, Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, the Wizard Marshall and master of the Second Magic, observed the ripples in reality with sharp, calculating eyes. Among the countless threads of existence, one anomaly stood out—its presence radiating a peculiar energy that defied categorization.
The spike had originated from a young man. At first glance, he appeared mundane, but the magical core within him pulsed with an unprecedented duality—a fusion of energies that shouldn't coexist. It was this core that intrigued Zelretch, beckoning him to investigate further.
He reached out with the full force of the Kaleidoscope, peeling back the layers of the timeline that surrounded the anomaly.
The first layers fell away easily, revealing fragmented glimpses of the young man. A dark-haired figure with sharp, determined eyes. A strange combination of magic and techniques unfamiliar even to Zelretch. The ripples he caused weren't grand—at least, not yet—but their frequency and intensity hinted at a potential that could grow dangerously large.
"Interesting," Zelretch murmured, leaning closer to the threads.
But as he probed deeper, seeking the source of the anomaly, something pushed back.
At first, it was faint—a gentle resistance, as if the timeline itself hesitated to yield its secrets. Zelretch pressed harder, his power carving through the obstruction like a knife through cloth. Then, without warning, a force surged against him, solid and immovable.
From the depths of the timeline, a figure emerged.
The being stood tall, its presence vast and commanding, like a mountain silhouetted against the void. Its form was indistinct, veiled in shimmering light, but two features were unmistakable: ringed purple eyes, their concentric patterns rippling with latent power, and a sense of authority that transcended the boundaries of this universe.
Zelretch narrowed his eyes, his mind racing. The Rinnegan his clairvoyance responded. He had never seen such a phenomenon in their world, yet its power was undeniable.
"A divine spirit?" he muttered, though doubt laced his tone. The figure's aura was unlike any divine spirit he'd encountered—its roots were alien, its essence hollow yet unyielding.
As he considered pushing further, he felt it—a faint, overwhelming presence brushing against his awareness.
This presence wasn't like the figure with the Rinnegan. It was something far more incomprehensible, vast beyond the scope of anything Zelretch had encountered in his centuries of existence. It didn't project malice or hostility, but its sheer weight felt as if it could crush the entire fabric of reality on a whim.
Zelretch's smirk faltered. He recognized the danger.
Something beyond even the Rinnegan-wielding figure is here.
He stepped back, letting the anomaly slip from his grasp. To push further might not only draw the attention of the being with the Rinnegan but risk awakening this other, far greater presence.
Theories and Caution
For a moment, Zelretch stared at the timeline, his thoughts racing. The boy's magical core, his unfamiliar techniques—everything pointed to a force that defied the natural order of their world. And whatever power was shielding him, it wasn't something to trifle with.
"If it gave him those abilities…" Zelretch muttered, his thoughts trailing off. The boy's abilities and the figure with the Rinnegan suggested a deliberate interference, but the second presence—this incomprehensible entity—added layers of complexity. What could it want?
Still, the boy wasn't destabilizing the timeline—at least not yet. For now, Zelretch would observe, letting the threads of fate unfold naturally.
His lips curled into a small, wry smile. "Let's see what you'll do, boy. The world may yet surprise me."
With that, Zelretch shifted his focus, the kaleidoscopic threads shimmering faintly as the anomaly settled into its course.
Author's Notes
Fractured Psyche and Memory Integration:
This chapter delves into Lucius's efforts to mend his fragmented mind, reflecting on how Sasuke's memories and his own past intersect. The process of facing and understanding his pain leads to the first steps toward emotional healing.
Combat Evolution:
Lucius's fight with his shadow clone demonstrates his struggle to harmonize Sasuke's techniques with his own. His creative use of genjutsu, elemental magic, and runes showcases his ingenuity while highlighting the raw potential of his abilities, even as they remain unrefined.
The Hunt:
The Dead Apostle encounter serves to emphasize Lucius's ingenuity, the danger of his inexperience, and the deadly stakes of his journey. His ability to copy spells and adapt in the heat of battle illustrates both the power and limits of the Sharingan in this world.
Lorelei and Zelretch's Perspectives:
These viewpoints expand the story's scope. Lorelei Barthomeloi views Lucius as an unknown variable, a potential threat whose power and adaptability demand further investigation. Zelretch's cautious observation of Lucius adds layers of intrigue, framing him as an enigma even for a wielder of the Second Magic.
Hagoromo's and ROB's Presence:
Zelretch's probing revealed the presence of two powerful entities—one, a figure with Rinnegan eyes, whose hollow but commanding aura suggests a being from a different universe. Zelretch interprets this figure (Hagoromo) as the source of Lucius's abilities, mistakenly attributing the anomaly to Hagoromo's intervention.
Additionally, Zelretch briefly sensed a faint trace of another presence, one far beyond even the Rinnegan-wielding figure. Though fleeting, this presence was so vast and incomprehensible that Zelretch decided not to risk further probing, fearing it could invite interference from a being of overwhelming power.
Themes of Growth and Intrigue:
Lucius's journey of growth through struggle, coupled with the lingering mysteries of his origin, forms the backbone of this chapter. The presence of entities like Hagoromo and the ROB hints at larger forces at play, adding a sense of cosmic tension to the narrative.
This chapter is a turning point for both Lucius and the larger world, weaving introspection, action, and the machinations of powerful forces into a cohesive narrative.