Chapter One - Fires of the Darkness
"Some legends are born in fire, others in the darkness between dreams and destruction."
Summary: A more rational Danzo takes on Team 7 to inherit his own Will of Fire. The world changes accordingly.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters within, and too many will likely make a mockery of them. To those easily offended, or disturbed. Turn back. To those with an open mind and eyes that can look past differences, welcome and enjoy.
The Hokage Tower cast long shadows across Konoha as dusk painted the sky in deep purples and fading oranges. Ancient stone walls, weathered by decades of vigilant service, stood as silent sentinels to the countless decisions that had shaped the village's destiny. Within these hallowed corridors, where the weight of history pressed against worn wooden floors, Shimura Danzo's measured footsteps echoed with deliberate purpose.
The bandaged elder paused before the distinctive doors of the Hokage's office, his single visible eye taking in the grain of the wood, the subtle variations that spoke of countless repairs and reinforcements over the years. Each mark, each imperfection, told the story of a village that had endured through strength and sacrifice. His grip tightened imperceptibly on his cane as he noted the ANBU chakra signatures concealed in the shadows – Dragon's distinctive lightning affinity, Bear's earth-nature presence, both carefully masked but clear as daylight to one who had commanded their predecessors.
"Enter," Hiruzen's voice carried through the door, as steady and immovable as the great stone faces that watched over their village.
Danzo stepped into the office, the dying sunlight streaming through the windows casting stark shadows across the room. Papers lay scattered across the Hokage's desk – mission reports, diplomatic correspondence, and beneath them all, a familiar scroll bearing the seal of the Academy.
"The Mizuki incident has been resolved," Danzo stated, his voice carrying the weight of decades spent in service to the shadow's necessity. "Though perhaps not in the manner you anticipated, old friend."
Hiruzen's pipe smoke curled through the air between them, a physical manifestation of the tension that had defined their relationship since their youth. "You orchestrated this, didn't you? The theft, Mizuki's betrayal, Naruto's involvement – all of it carefully arranged like pieces on a shogi board."
"And what if I did?" Danzo moved to stand before the window, gazing out at the village they had both sworn to protect. "A traitor exposed, a valuable technique passed to our Jinchūriki, and a deeper truth revealed about the potential that lies dormant in Team 7."
"Team 7?" Hiruzen's eyes narrowed, the ember in his pipe flaring briefly. "What game are you playing, Danzo?"
Danzo turned, meeting his old rival's gaze with unwavering intensity. "No game, Hiruzen. A necessity. You've seen the reports from the Academy, read between the lines of what isn't being said. Uchiha Sasuke, isolated and burning with a revenge that will consume him. Uzumaki Naruto, bearing powers we barely understand and wounds we've allowed to fester. And Haruno Sakura, a mind sharp enough to cut through steel, left to waste away chasing childhood infatuations."
"And you propose to take them under your wing? Turn them into weapons for your arsenal?" There was a dangerous edge to Hiruzen's voice now, one that had made lesser shinobi tremble.
"No." Danzo's response carried absolute conviction. "I propose to teach them as Lord Tobirama taught us – to understand the fire that burns in dark places, the strength that protects when all else fails. Not as Root operatives, but as true inheritors of the Will of Fire."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken history, with memories of battles fought together and apart, of ideals that had diverged and yet remained fundamentally intertwined. Hiruzen's gaze drifted to the portraits of his predecessors, lingering on Tobirama's stern visage.
"And what of Hatake Kakashi?" Hiruzen asked, though the slight tension in his shoulders suggested he already anticipated Danzo's response.
"A skilled shinobi, without question." Danzo's words carried the precision of a surgeon's blade. "But as a teacher?" He shifted his weight, the cane's tip pressing into the wooden floor with measured pressure. "Consider his history, Hiruzen. A prodigy who has never had to struggle with the fundamentals, trying to guide a student who has been systematically denied basic instruction. A man who buries his trauma beneath false cheer and tardiness, attempting to mentor a child consumed by the massacre of his entire clan."
The dying sunlight caught the edge of a photograph on Hiruzen's desk – Team Minato in happier days. Danzo's eye lingered on it for a meaningful moment. "And what of young Obito? Did Kakashi's leadership serve him well? Or did his rigid adherence to rules, even after claiming to have learned better, contribute to that tragedy?"
"You tread dangerous ground, old friend." Hiruzen's voice carried a warning, but also the faintest trace of uncertainty.
"I tread the ground of truth, however uncomfortable it may be." Danzo moved closer to the desk, his presence carrying the weight of decades of hard decisions. "The Uchiha boy needs structure, not empty platitudes about teamwork from someone who arrives hours late to every meeting. Uzumaki requires fundamental instruction in chakra control and basic techniques, not advanced jutsu thrown at him in hopes something will stick. And the Haruno girl..." He paused, allowing the silence to emphasize his next words. "She possesses an analytical mind that could rival Tsunade's, yet you would leave her development to a man who can barely maintain his own psychological stability?"
The silence that followed was broken only by the distant sounds of the village preparing for nightfall. Merchants closing their stalls, children being called home, the changing of the guard at the village gates – the rhythm of life they had both sworn to protect.
"Your methods..." Hiruzen began.
"Will be appropriate for genin instruction," Danzo interrupted firmly. "I am not proposing to create Root operatives, Hiruzen. I propose to forge a team that can stand against the storms we both know are coming. The Will of Fire burns brightest when it's tempered by understanding of the darkness it must illuminate."
Hiruzen's fingers traced the edge of the Academy scroll, his expression distant. "And the Mizuki incident? Was that your test of their potential?"
"It was a necessary revelation." Danzo's voice softened almost imperceptibly. "The boy needed to understand that strength comes from protecting others, not just from mastering techniques. That lesson will serve as the foundation for everything that follows."
The last rays of sunlight faded from the office, leaving them in the gathering dusk. In the shadows, two old warriors who had watched the village grow from saplings to mighty trees, who had buried friends and rivals alike, regarded each other with the weight of their shared history.
Finally, Hiruzen reached for a blank scroll, his brush moving with decisive strokes. "Very well, Danzo. Team 7 will be yours to guide. But remember this – they are not weapons to be forged in darkness. They are the future of this village, and they must learn to stand in the light."
"The strongest trees," Danzo replied, accepting the scroll with a slight bow, "grow in both sun and shadow, Hiruzen. They will understand both, and be stronger for it."
As he turned to leave, the ANBU shadows shifted slightly, acknowledging his passage. In his mind, he could already see the path ahead – three young souls who would learn to burn with the fire that protected Konoha's heart, even in its darkest hours.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving only the whisper of possibility in its wake.
The Academy classroom buzzed with an electric tension that morning, the air thick with anticipation and unspoken dreams. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across worn desks that had witnessed countless aspirants before them. For Naruto, perched unusually early in his seat, the familiar space felt different today – transformed by the weight of expectations and the gleam of his newly acquired headband.
His fingers traced the metal plate absently, mind drifting to the events that had earned him this symbol of achievement. The shadow clone technique, Mizuki's betrayal, Iruka's faith – each memory a stepping stone that had led him to this moment. Yet beneath his characteristic grin, an undercurrent of uncertainty churned.
The classroom gradually filled with his peers, their chatter a symphony of excitement and nervous energy. Inuzuka Kiba's voice cut through the din, sharp with accusation. "Oi, Naruto! Don't tell me you stole that headband! Everyone knows you failed!"
Naruto's spine stiffened, his response rising from a place of hard-won pride rather than his usual bluster. "Shows what you know, dog-breath! I earned this from Iruka-sensei himself! Already completed my first mission too!" The words tasted different now, weighted with the reality of what that "mission" had truly entailed.
Across the room, Haruno Sakura entered with her usual grace, pink hair catching the morning light. Naruto watched her, noting how she carried herself – shoulders back, chin high, every movement a careful balance between the kunoichi she aspired to be and the civilian girl she'd been raised as. His heart performed its familiar skip, though something felt off, as if the events of recent days had shifted his perception ever so slightly.
When Uchiha Sasuke arrived, the energy in the room transformed. Girls clustered closer to his chosen seat, their admiration a palpable force. Naruto observed the last Uchiha with new eyes, seeing past the carefully constructed facade of indifference to glimpse something darker, more complex. Their gazes met briefly, a momentary acknowledgment of change before both looked away.
Iruka's entrance brought order to the chaos, though Naruto couldn't help but notice the fresh bandages peeking from beneath his flak jacket. Each movement of his former teacher spoke of recent combat, adding gravity to what might otherwise have been a purely ceremonial occasion.
"Quiet down and take your seats!" Iruka's voice carried its usual authority, tempered now with something deeper. "As of today, you are no longer students but full-fledged shinobi of Konohagakure. Though you're still genin, the lowest rank, you've taken your first steps on a path that will challenge everything you think you know about yourselves and the world."
The team assignments began, each announcement reshaping the future of young lives. Naruto's attention sharpened as Iruka reached Team Seven. "Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke," – a squeal of delight from Sakura, a dismissive grunt from Sasuke – "and Uzumaki Naruto." A pause, heavy with significance. "Your sensei will be Shimura Danzo."
The name fell like a stone in still water, ripples of whispered reaction spreading through the classroom. Naruto caught fragments of conversation – "The war hawk?" "Isn't he some kind of shadow leader?" "I heard he..." – each whisper adding to the growing knot in his stomach.
Later, as their classmates dispersed for lunch, Naruto gathered his courage. "Hey, Sakura-chan!" His voice carried across the emptying room. "Since we're teammates now, maybe we could get ramen together?" The hope in his voice was painfully evident, even to his own ears.
Sakura turned, her expression a complex mix of emotions. "As if, Naruto! Just because we're on the same team doesn't mean..." She trailed off, something in his expression giving her pause. For a moment, the facade cracked, revealing a glimpse of the uncertainty they both shared about what lay ahead.
"I just thought... you know, as teammates..." Naruto's voice grew quieter, the words falling away as Sakura shook her head and hurried after Sasuke's retreating form.
Left alone in the classroom, Naruto felt the weight of change pressing down upon him. The familiar space suddenly seemed foreign, as if the simple act of receiving his assignment had transformed not just his status but the very world around him. The shadows lengthened across his desk, and for the first time, he wondered if becoming a shinobi would mean more than just earning the village's recognition.
His hand found the headband again, fingers tracing the leaf symbol as if seeking answers in its worn grooves. Outside, the village continued its daily rhythm, unaware that within the Academy's walls, the pieces of a destiny that would reshape their world were quietly falling into place.
The warm aroma of Ichiraku's ramen beckoned like a siren's call, but Naruto's feet carried him past the familiar stand. A hollow ache gnawed at his stomach, yet it wasn't entirely from hunger. The rejection still stung, Sakura's dismissal echoing in his mind like a poorly thrown kunai, glancing off its target only to strike something more vulnerable.
'Teammates,'* he thought, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. *'We're supposed to be teammates now.'* The streets of Konoha bustled around him, civilians and shinobi alike going about their daily routines, unaware of the subtle shift in the village's fabric as a new generation of ninja took their first steps into service.
He found himself at the Academy's swing, the worn rope creaking softly as he settled into its familiar embrace. From here, he could see the classroom windows where just hours ago, Iruka-sensei had announced their teams. Other genin squads had already departed with their senseis – he'd watched Team 8 leave with the red-eyed kunoichi, Team 10 following the bearded Sarutobi.
The sun climbed higher, shadows shortening beneath his dangling feet. One hour stretched into two, then three. The gentle swaying did little to calm his growing unease. *'Maybe I missed something? Some instruction I didn't hear?'* But he'd been paying attention, more than usual even. Shimura Danzo – their assigned sensei – was supposed to find them.
Anxiety churned in his gut, transforming anticipation into something darker. He'd searched the Academy grounds twice, checked the classroom three times, even circled the building's perimeter looking for his teammates. Sasuke had vanished like smoke after lunch, and Sakura... well, she'd made it clear she didn't want his company.
The afternoon light began to soften, taking on the golden hues of approaching evening. A fresh wave of determination surged through him. *'Jiji will know what's happening.'* The thought of the Hokage, with his kind eyes and ever-present pipe, sparked a glimmer of hope in Naruto's chest.
Rising from the swing, he took to the rooftops, his movements driven by a desperate need for answers. The Hokage Tower stood sentinel against the darkening sky, its windows reflecting the day's dying light. As he approached, his heart thundered with increasing urgency, each beat a reminder of time slipping away, of promises unfulfilled, of a future suddenly uncertain.
'Something's wrong,'* the thought crystallized as he landed on the tower's exterior walkway. *'This isn't how it's supposed to be.'* With characteristic impulsiveness but uncharacteristic trepidation, he moved toward the Hokage's office, unaware that each step carried him closer to a nightmare carefully crafted to break him apart.
The corridor stretched before him, oddly empty of the usual ANBU presence he pretended not to notice. The air felt thick, resistant, as if reality itself was trying to warn him away. But Naruto had never been one to heed such warnings, and so he pressed forward, hand reaching for the door that would change everything.
In that moment, suspended between one heartbeat and the next, the last traces of childhood innocence clung to him like morning dew – fragile, fleeting, and destined to evaporate in the harsh light of what was to come.
The descent into nightmare began subtly, reality shifting like sand beneath Naruto's feet. The familiar contours of the Hokage's office remained unchanged, but something in the air felt different – heavier, charged with an electricity that made his skin prickle. The afternoon light streaming through the windows seemed to bend oddly, casting shadows that moved against the natural flow of time.
His entrance had been typical – bursting through the door with his usual lack of ceremony – but the scene that greeted him froze the very breath in his lungs. The Sandaime wasn't alone. Standing before the desk was a figure that radiated raw power, diminutive in stature but overwhelming in presence. Onoki, the Tsuchikage, his weathered face a mask of barely contained fury.
"This is the respect I receive here, Hiruzen? A mere genin dares to interrupt a meeting between Kage?" Onoki's voice carried the weight of mountains, each word a boulder crushing the air from the room. But it was his eyes that truly captured Naruto's attention – ancient, hard, and filled with a recognition that made Naruto's blood run cold.
The moment stretched, reality warping around the edges as Onoki's gaze narrowed. "Uzumaki... yes, I see it now. Kushina's face, but his coloring." The temperature in the room plummeted. "You parade their legacy before me, Hiruzen? The child of our greatest shame?"
Naruto's heart thundered in his chest, each beat a desperate question. Kushina? His? What does he mean? But before he could voice his confusion, the tension snapped like a bowstring drawn too tight.
The Hokage's office seemed to shrink beneath the weight of clashing wills, two titans of the shinobi world locked in a deadly dance of words and implications. Afternoon light filtered through the windows, casting long shadows that writhed like living things across the polished floors. The air grew thick with chakra – Onoki's heavy and dense as the earth he commanded, Hiruzen's warm yet sharp like embers threatening to ignite.
"You test the bounds of our accord, Hiruzen," Onoki's voice carried the weight of mountains, each syllable carefully measured. His diminutive stature belied the presence that filled the room, years of warfare and leadership crystallized into pure authority. "First, you invite me here under the pretense of peace talks, then you parade this... living reminder before me?"
The Sandaime's pipe lay forgotten on his desk, wisps of smoke curling between the two Kage like the ghosts of old grievances. "The boy's presence is unfortunate, but hardly a calculated insult, Onoki-dono. Surely you don't suggest that a genin's poor timing warrants—"
"Don't play the fool, Hiruzen!" Onoki's fist struck the desk, the impact sending tremors through the wooden surface. "That face – do you think I don't see it? The golden hair, those eyes... You've hidden the Yellow Flash's legacy all these years, letting us believe that bloodline ended with him!"
Naruto stood frozen in the doorway, his presence almost forgotten as the tension mounted. The name struck something deep within him, a chord of recognition he couldn't quite place. But the killing intent radiating from the two Kage kept him rooted, barely breathing.
Hiruzen's response came slow, measured, each word carrying the weight of carefully guarded secrets. "What you suggest borders on paranoia, old friend. The boy is an orphan of the Kyuubi attack, nothing more."
"An orphan?" Onoki's laugh held no warmth. "Yes, I suppose he is – after what your precious Yondaime did to our forces. How many children did he orphan in the last war? How many Iwa shinobi still wake screaming from memories of yellow flashes and scattered kunai?"
The air grew heavier, chakra pressuring building like the moments before a storm. Hiruzen rose slowly, his robes settling around him like armor. "Choose your next words carefully, Tsuchikage-dono. We've maintained peace these many years—"
"Peace?" Onoki spat the word like poison. "We've endured peace because we believed the Namikaze bloodline died with him. Because we thought your greatest weapon was buried with your precious Yellow Flash. But this..." His eyes fixed on Naruto with the intensity of a predator sighting prey. "This is a declaration of intent. You've been raising his heir in secret, preparing to unleash another monster upon us."
"If you truly believe that," Hiruzen's voice had grown soft, dangerous, "then you never understood the Will of Fire at all."
"The Will of Fire?" Onoki's chakra flared, making the very air tremble. "Your precious philosophy burns others to ash while you warm your hands on the flames! No, Hiruzen. This deception ends today." He turned toward the window, his back a statement of finality. "Iwa will not stand idle while you forge another blade to hold at our throats. When next we meet, it will be on the battlefield."
The declaration hung in the air like a death knell, each word another nail in the coffin of peace. As Onoki took to the air, his departure marked by a swirl of dust and chakra, Hiruzen's shoulders sagged with the weight of what was to come.
Only then did both Kage seem to remember Naruto's presence, their gazes falling upon him with the heavy knowledge of what his simple intrusion had set in motion. In that moment, standing beneath the crushing weight of their attention, Naruto felt smaller than he ever had before – a pebble that had inadvertently started an avalanche.
The future crystallized in that instant, though none present could fully grasp the horror of what was to come. The wheels of war had begun to turn, their grinding momentum unstoppable, all because of a door opened at precisely the wrong moment.
The transformation of Konoha from village to war machine happened in subtle increments, like shadows lengthening across a sundial. First came the increased patrols, then the fortification of walls, and finally the steady stream of missives carried by hawks with ruffled feathers and urgent eyes. The Academy closed its civilian classes, transforming overnight into a staging ground for tactical operations.
Training ground seven, once a place of tentative beginnings, became a crucible of desperate preparation. Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura moved through their drills like automatons, their movements precise but hollow. Their sensei's presence was sporadic at best, appearing like a ghost to deliver cryptic instructions before vanishing again into the machinery of war.
"The leaf that bends survives the storm," he would say, or "Strength lies not in the blade, but in knowing where to strike." Then he would fade away, leaving them to decipher meaning from riddles while reports of border skirmishes grew more frequent, more brutal.
Their missions escalated from C-rank to B-rank with alarming speed, each one carrying them closer to the edge of their capabilities. They fought together yet apart, three separate entities moving in coordination but never truly connecting. Sasuke's Sharingan spun faster, darker with each engagement. Sakura's hands grew callused from kunai and medical scrolls, her eyes harder with each comrade she couldn't save. And Naruto... Naruto felt himself hollowing out, each mission another piece of his dream of acknowledgment crumbling away.
The news came on a Tuesday, delivered by a chunin with haunted eyes and bandaged hands. Naruto was at Ichiraku's, not eating – he hadn't truly enjoyed ramen since the war began – when the messenger found him. The words fell like stones into still water: "Umino Iruka encountered an Iwa advance force... held position while his students retreated... body not recovered."
The bowl before him grew cold, noodles softening into an unrecognizable mass as the information seeped into his consciousness. Around him, the village continued its wartime rhythm – shinobi darting across rooftops, civilians hurrying to finish their business before curfew, the distant sound of steel meeting steel as endless drills continued.
That evening's training session felt like moving through deep water. Sasuke's fire techniques burned hotter than usual, scorching patterns into the earth that looked like accusations. Sakura's chakra control, normally precise as a surgeon's blade, wavered with unspoken emotion. Their sensei appeared briefly, noted their performance with cold efficiency, and left them with another enigmatic message: "The roots that grow in darkness still reach for light."
Naruto wanted to scream, to demand real answers, to ask why they were being fed philosophy when what they needed was guidance. But the words stuck in his throat, trapped behind the growing certainty that this was all his fault – every mission, every casualty, every moment of this war could be traced back to that one careless entrance into the Hokage's office.
Later, alone in his apartment, he stared at the plant on his windowsill – the one Iruka had given him after he'd graduated. Its leaves drooped slightly, neglected in the chaos of war preparations. With trembling hands, he watered it, each drop falling like the tears he couldn't bring himself to shed.
"I'm sorry, Iruka-sensei," he whispered to the empty room. "I never meant for any of this to happen."
Outside, the night air carried the metallic tang of weapon oil and soldier pills, the new perfume of a village at war. In the distance, another messenger hawk took flight, its wings cutting through the darkness like a promise of more bad news to come.
The mission had gone wrong so quickly. One moment they were executing a standard reconnaissance pattern, the next – chaos erupted as Iwa's elite struck from carefully concealed positions. Sakura's voice cut through the initial confusion, sharp and clear as she called out formations they'd drilled a thousand times but never quite mastered. Her hands flew through seals with practiced precision, earth techniques creating barriers to funnel their attackers into choke points.
But they were outmatched, overwhelmed by superior numbers and experience. The sound of Sakura's final scream – not of pain or fear, but of desperate warning – shattered something fundamental in Naruto's psyche. He watched, helpless, as multiple earth spears pierced through her makeshift defenses, her body crumpling like a puppet with cut strings.
The world turned red.
It wasn't a gradual transformation – one moment Naruto was there, the next something else wore his skin. Chakra erupted from his form in violent waves, crimson and caustic, burning the very air. The seal on his stomach twisted and writhed, black lines spreading across his skin like living ink. His consciousness submerged beneath an ocean of rage and ancient hatred.
The Kyuubi's chakra turned the battlefield into an inferno. Friend and foe alike fell before claws of pure chakra, their screams lost in the roar of primal fury. Trees withered and died, their life force sapped by the mere presence of the tainted energy. The ground itself blackened and cracked, unable to withstand the corrosive nature of the Nine-Tails' power.
Through the haze of red, faces blurred – Iwa-nin became Academy instructors became villagers who had scorned him became Sakura's lifeless form, an endless cycle of targets for his rage. Each swing of chakra-cloaked arms left devastation in its wake, each roar shattered earth and resolve alike.
Then – a flash of red, different from the bloody miasma surrounding him. Sasuke's Sharingan had evolved, its pattern strange and hypnotic. Three tomoe had transformed into something more complex, more powerful, born from the desperation of watching another teammate fall. The pattern spun, cutting through the fog of hatred and bloodlust.
Reality crashed back like a physical blow.
The battlefield... no, the graveyard stretched out before him. Bodies lay strewn across scorched earth, some wearing Konoha headbands, others from Iwa, all equally still. The air reeked of burned flesh and spilled blood, metallic and sweet and horrifically familiar. Chakra residue had crystallized the ground in places, creating grotesque sculptures of the moment life had fled from their victims.
Naruto looked down at his hands. The chakra cloak had receded, but its effects remained. Blood had baked onto his skin in layers, creating a macabre pattern of overlapping stains. Under his fingernails, mixed with dirt and flesh, more blood had collected – never to wash clean, a permanent reminder of what he'd become.
"Naruto." Sasuke's voice came from behind him, strained and hollow. "We need to move. More will come."
But Naruto couldn't move, couldn't tear his eyes away from the evidence of his failure. Sakura's body lay at the epicenter of the destruction, her pink hair darkened with dust and blood, her face frozen in that final moment of warning. Around her, in an ever-widening circle, lay the results of his loss of control – shinobi from both sides, their bodies twisted and broken by chakra too potent for human flesh to endure.
The sun began to set, casting long shadows across the ruined landscape. In the dying light, the scorched earth looked almost beautiful, like abstract patterns painted in ash and blood – a monument to the day Uzumaki Naruto learned that the monster the villagers had always feared lived up to their darkest expectations.
The missions blurred together like watercolors in the rain, each deployment a new shade of crimson added to the canvas of his existence. Naruto no longer moved like a shinobi – gone were the calculated steps, the strategic positioning, the careful conservation of chakra. Instead, he became a vessel, a container of devastation to be unleashed at precise coordinates behind enemy lines.
Sasuke remained his only constant, a dark shadow wielding those hypnotic eyes. Each time, the ritual was the same: a moment of eye contact, the world spinning like a kaleidoscope of tortured memories, and then – Sakura's final warning, her body crumpling, the world drowning in red. The Kyuubi's chakra would surge forth, ancient and malevolent, burning through his coils like liquid fire.
He never remembered the battles themselves anymore. Only the aftermath remained – the scorched earth, the lingering scent of charred flesh, and Sasuke's Sharingan cutting through the haze of bestial rage. Sometimes, in the brief moments of lucidity between missions, Naruto caught glimpses of fear in the eyes of their own forces. They called him and Sasuke "The Last Resort" – the team dispatched when victory seemed impossible, when acceptable losses became a meaningless phrase.
Until the final deployment.
The battle began like all the others – Sasuke's eyes spinning, the familiar pain of failure ripping through Naruto's consciousness. But this time, something was different. The Kyuubi's chakra felt stronger, more primal, as if it had been waiting for this moment. When consciousness returned, there was no Sharingan to pierce the veil of hatred.
The battlefield stretched before him, a testament to unchecked devastation. Bodies of Iwa-nin lay scattered like broken dolls, their forms twisted by chakra too potent for human flesh to endure. But among them, a familiar figure lay still – Sasuke, his last teammate, the final thread connecting him to humanity. The Sharingan in his remaining eye had evolved one last time, a beautiful and terrible pattern now frozen forever in death.
Naruto's legs gave out, his body finally succumbing to the accumulated trauma of countless transformations. His chakra pathways felt like shattered glass, each pulse of energy sending shards of agony through his system. The ground beneath him was still warm from the Kyuubi's chakra, the earth itself bearing witness to his final failure.
As consciousness began to fade, memories flickered through his mind – not of battles or glory, but of simpler times. Iruka treating him to ramen, Sakura's rare genuine smiles, Sasuke's subtle nods of acknowledgment. All gone now, sacrificed on the altar of his carelessness, his inadequacy.
He didn't fight the encroaching darkness. Instead, Naruto welcomed it, letting his eyes close on a world he had helped break. The wind carried the scent of ash and regret, a final lullaby for a weapon that had outlived its purpose.
The sun set on the battlefield, casting long shadows across the form of a boy who had dreamed of becoming Hokage, and instead became a cautionary tale of power unchecked and dreams undone.
Consciousness returned like a kunai to the gut – sharp, sudden, and searingly painful. The genjutsu's release left Naruto gasping, his body instinctively curling inward as reality reasserted itself with brutal efficiency. Every nerve ending screamed, his chakra pathways burning as if he'd actually lived through years of the Kyuubi's corrosive power.
The room materialized around him in fragments: cold stone walls that seemed to absorb what little light filtered through narrow ventilation slits, the antiseptic smell of an underground facility mixing with the metallic tang of chakra-conductive materials. His hands clutched at rough fabric – a training mat, he realized distantly – as his stomach heaved with phantom memories of blood and ash.
A figure stood before him, one arm concealed within traditional robes, the other gripping a cane with calculated precision. Even through the haze of residual genjutsu, the bandages covering one eye and much of his face couldn't mask the intensity of Shimura Danzo's presence.
"Today was to be your team formation," Danzo's voice cut through the chaos of Naruto's thoughts, each word measured and deliberate. "Everything you have witnessed was an illusion. A future that awaits should you continue as you are." He paused, his single visible eye studying Naruto with the careful attention of a surgeon examining a wound. "This is not a future I desire for Konoha."
Naruto's throat constricted, the taste of phantom copper still coating his tongue. His hands trembled as they moved to his stomach, expecting to feel the rough edges of chakra-scorched skin. Instead, they met only the familiar texture of his jumpsuit. Real. Present. *Not yet.*
The room seemed to pulse with residual chakra, the walls lined with seals that glowed faintly – containment arrays, suppression matrices, barriers designed to handle the worst-case scenarios of what he now understood he could become. The implications hit him like a physical blow: this place had been prepared specifically for him, for the monster he carried.
"If you have strength remaining," Danzo continued, moving closer with measured steps that echoed off the stone walls, "I would help you ensure such a fate never comes to pass."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with promise and threat in equal measure. Naruto's mind raced, still trying to separate illusion from reality, memory from possibility. The weight of Sakura's death, Sasuke's sacrifice, Iruka's loss – all potential futures now seared into his consciousness with the precision of a master's blade.
"Who..." Naruto's voice cracked, foreign to his own ears. "Who are you?"
"I am Shimura Danzo," the response came without hesitation or warmth. "Your Jonin Sensei."
In that moment, surrounded by the cold efficiency of an ANBU facility and the even colder gaze of his new teacher, Naruto felt the last vestiges of his childhood crumble away. The future he'd been shown wasn't just a nightmare – it was a warning, a promise of what awaited if he didn't change, if he didn't grow beyond the loud-mouthed prankster playing at being a shinobi.
The shadows in the room seemed to deepen, as if responding to the gravity of the moment. This, Naruto realized with crystal clarity, was where his real journey began.
AN: It's a Re-Write folks. Long have I been unhappy with how in my inexperience I rushed the original, pushed too many ideas too fast. But in my heart I always knew I would return. For those that haven't read the original you have no obligation too, in fact I'd almost prefer you wait until this one has been completed before looking back on what was. If you are a returning fan, I hope I can bring to you something more than that first clumsy attempt.
A fair warning to those unfamiliar, there will be major LGBT themes in this story. Characters will be different, some will change as the story progresses some will simply be. Well I know I will alienate and turn away some readers by saying this, and invite some amount of hate to my inbox I myself am a trans woman, I've been in every sort of relationship, and undergone a variety and depth of experiences and traumas that will carry into this story. They won't always serve a plot point, some things happen, some people or characters simply feel or do things because that's what they want or what they feel is right. There's not always an agenda, I'm not trying to ruin your Naruto-verse, I'm just telling a story. I have others that won't offend you in the same ways, or there are hundreds of thousands of others by a plethora of talented writers for you to spend your time with.
For those that aren't offended by the experience of someone who's lived life differently, and especially for those that will feel things within themselves as they read…. Thank you for your time, I hope you enjoy my work, and should you feel up to it. I'd love to hear what you think in the comments or a PM.
Happy New Year everyone. Let's fucking do this.