Prologue: The Empty Swing
The swing creaked, a lonely sound in the dusk-shrouded park. On it sat an eight-year-old boy, a splash of sunset orange against the encroaching gray. His name was Naruto Uzumaki, a name whispered with scorn and spat with fear by the very villagers he yearned to have look at him, just once, with something other than hate. The swings were always empty when he was here. The sandbox was a barren wasteland. He was an island of ostracization in a sea of village life.
He didn't notice the man until a shadow fell over him, eclipsing the last rays of the setting sun. The man was tall and gaunt, dressed in simple, dark clerical robes. His face was a mask of placid indifference.ĺ Cracks, like fine porcelain fissures, spiderwebbed from the brand on his chin.
"You are Naruto Uzumaki," the man said. It wasn't a question. His voice was a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in Naruto's very bones.
Naruto flinched, expecting an insult or a thrown stone. He slid off the swing, ready to run. "What's it to ya?" he challenged, his voice a shield of bravado.
"I have been watching you," the man continued, ignoring the boy's defensive posture. "They hate you. They curse the day you were born. Do you know why?"
The question hit Naruto harder than any punch. It was the one question that haunted his every waking moment and tormented his dreams. He shook his head, his lower lip trembling. "No…"
"Because you are a cage," the man said simply. "And they hate the beast inside. They fear it. But in their fear, they have become blind. They look at the cage and see only the monster. They don't see the boy."
The man knelt, bringing himself to Naruto's level. For the first time, someone was looking at him, not through him. "I see the boy. I see the descendant of a noble clan, the son of a hero they once celebrated. They owe you everything, yet they give you nothing but their contempt. They have lied to you. The Third Hokage, the man you look up to, has lied to you most of all."
Each word was a key, unlocking doors in Naruto's mind he never knew were there. The man, who called himself Jigen, told him everything. He spoke of the Nine-Tailed Fox, Kurama, sealed within him on the night of his birth. He spoke of his parents: Minato Namikaze, the Fourth Hokage, the Yellow Flash of the Leaf; and Kushina Uzumaki, the previous vessel of the Fox, a woman of fearsome power and boundless love. He explained that Hiruzen, in an effort to maintain peace, had hidden this truth, allowing the village's hatred to fester and fall squarely upon an innocent child.
The world Naruto knew shattered. The desperation for acknowledgement curdled into a cold, hard stone of resentment in his gut. The faces of the villagers, the whispers, the glares—it all clicked into place. It wasn't just random cruelty. It was a calculated betrayal.
"They are not worthy of your power, Naruto," Jigen said, his voice soft, almost kind. "They are insects, squabbling over a leaf while a star hangs overhead. Come with me. I will teach you what you are. I will give you the strength to rise above them, to make them irrelevant."
He extended a hand. That night, Naruto Uzumaki did not go home to his empty apartment. He took the hand of the strange, decaying man and vanished from the Village Hidden in the Leaves without a trace.
For years, Jigen became his world. He was a harsh master, but never a cruel one. He was one of few to call Naruto by his name without a sneer, to give him food without looking away in disgust. This calculated "kindness" was a far stronger chain than any physical abuse could have been.
Jigen—or rather, the entity named Isshiki that wore his body like a suit—trained the boy relentlessly. He broke down Naruto's clumsy brawling and rebuilt it into a fluid, lethal form of taijutsu. He placed a simple black staff, a bō, in Naruto's hands and taught him to wield it as an extension of his own body. Most importantly, he taught Naruto about the black diamond marking on his palm—the Karma.
"This is our bond," Isshiki explained through Jigen's mouth. "It is a gift. The ninjutsu of these mortals is a parlor trick. Absorb it. Devour their chakra. Make their power your own."
Naruto learned. He felt the exhilarating rush as he absorbed a fireball Jigen threw at him, the energy swirling into his own system. He learned the Will of the Otsutsuki: that lesser beings exist to be consumed, to fuel the evolution of a higher existence. He learned to see Konoha not as a home he lost, but as a nursery of weak-willed fools he would one day transcend. He grew to resent the people he once craved approval from and learned to love the man who gave him a purpose born of that resentment.
But Jigen's body was failing. The cracks grew wider, the coughs more frequent. One day, as Naruto tended to him, the man collapsed. Isshiki's immense power was burning the vessel out from the inside.
Lying on his deathbed, Jigen looked at the boy, now a hardened young warrior with cold blue eyes. Naruto, for all his newfound strength and instilled ideology, was crying. The only father figure he had ever known was leaving him.
"Do not worry, Naruto," Isshiki's voice rasped from Jigen's throat. "This body is merely a shell, and it has served its purpose. As long as you bear the Karma, we are connected. We are one. My death is not an end. It is a beginning. Now… your real training can start."
With a final, shuddering breath, the body of Jigen went still. Naruto was alone again, but this time, he was not empty. He was a vessel, waiting to be filled.
Chapter 1: The Mask of the Knucklehead
Darkness. Then, a voice.
"Open your eyes, Naruto."
The voice was no longer filtered through a dying man's vocal cords. It was pure, deep, and impossibly ancient. It resonated not in his ears, but in the core of his being. Naruto opened his eyes and found himself standing in a vast, desolate mindscape. The familiar sewer and grated cage of the Nine-Tails was gone, replaced by a gray, cratered landscape under a roiling purple sky.
Before him floated a being of terrifying majesty. He was colossal, radiating a pressure that made reality itself seem to bend. Pale-skinned, with a single curved horn that sprouted from his left brow, snaked around the back of his skull, and jutted outward from his right temple like a regal crown. His right eye was an intricate Kokugan—black and concentric, holding endless secrets—while his left eye was a Byakugan glowing with omniscience.
His presence was not merely alien; it was divine. Tattoos marked his chest and back in vertical columns—six tomoe and black mallet-like symbols that pulsed faintly with power. His coat, a long white tailcoat with maroon cuffs and inner lining, flared like a banner of conquest. Patterns matching his markings adorned its sleeves and back, eight magatama cascading down like a record of godhood, one replaced by that black mallet sigil. Beneath it, his muscular torso was bare, unashamed. He wore loose black pants that almost swallowed his bare feet, as if grounded in nothing. His pale blue hair, styled in sharp zigzag layers, glinted under the roiling purple sky—his goatee and eyebrow trimmed to match. Even his nails, painted a deep void black, seemed calculated.
This was Isshiki Ōtsutsuki in his true form. Not a man. Not even a god. Something beyond.
"This is who I am," Isshiki's voice echoed in the mindscape. "The man you knew as Jigen was merely the last gasp of a failing vessel. But you… you are different. You are perfect."
Isshiki explained the true nature of the Karma. It was not just a weapon. It was a backup, a genetic rewriting that was slowly, inexorably transforming Naruto's very DNA.
"You will become an Otsutsuki, my boy," Isshiki explained, a hint of pride in his tone. "Every ounce of my power, my knowledge, my techniques… they will all become yours. You will inherit my legacy. Everything, except my Byakugan. That, it seems, is a flaw in the vessel process. But the Kokugan in my right eye, and all the power it holds… that will be your birthright."
And so the training began anew. Years passed in the outside world, but within the timeless space of Naruto's mind, he spent eons under Isshiki's direct tutelage. He mastered Sukunahikona, learning to shrink himself to evade and non-living objects to use as weapons. He learned to access Daikokuten, the pocket dimension where he could store his shrunken arsenal and unleash it in a blink. He learned to feel the life force of the world around him, and to see it as Isshiki did: as fuel.
Throughout it all, Isshiki's affection for the boy grew. It was a twisted, possessive fondness, like a master artisan for his magnum opus. He still intended to take the boy's body for his own resurrection, but he was in no hurry. He was willing to wait, to let his vessel grow, to let him experience the world one last time before his consciousness was erased.
"It is time," Isshiki declared one day. "Return to Konoha."
Naruto recoiled at the thought. "Why? Why would I return to that trash heap?"
"Because they are a tool, and you must learn to use them," Isshiki replied. "They believe you are a weak, loud-mouthed fool. You will give them that fool. Hide your power behind a mask of idiocy. Gather their secrets. Understand their strengths. When the time is right, you will dismantle their world from the inside out. Go. Show me you have learned the art of deception."
The command was absolute.
Izumo and Kotetsu were bored. Gate duty was always a drag. They were swapping stories when a figure appeared on the road, walking toward the main gate with a casual gait. He wore a garish orange jumpsuit, a sight they hadn't seen in years.
"No way…" Izumo muttered, squinting.
"Is that…?" Kotetsu trailed off, his eyes wide.
It was. Older, taller, but unmistakably him. Naruto Uzumaki.
"Yo!" Naruto shouted, waving a hand with a massive, goofy grin plastered on his face. "Long time no see! Is the old man Hokage around? I gotta report in!"
Izumo and Kotetsu exchanged a baffled look. They immediately flanked him, their hands near their kunai pouches.
"Naruto? Where have you been? You've been a missing for years!" Izumo demanded.
Naruto rubbed the back of his head, laughing sheepishly. "Ah, it's a long story! Some crazy old man found me, felt sorry for me 'cause of how everyone treated me, ya know? Said he'd make me super strong so no one could push me around again! He taught me all kinda cool stuff!"
The story was flimsy, childish. But it was delivered with such authentic, knuckleheaded bravado that it was, paradoxically, believable coming from him. They escorted the returned Jinchuriki through the village, drawing stunned stares from everyone they passed. Naruto kept his grin firmly in place, but his eyes, cold and analytical, scanned everything. He saw the villagers' shock and disdain. He felt nothing but a cool, detached contempt for these insignificant creatures.
They arrived at the Hokage Tower and were immediately ushered into the office. Hiruzen Sarutobi dropped his pipe, its contents spilling across his desk. He stared, his old heart pounding with a mixture of shock, guilt, and overwhelming relief.
"Naruto… is it truly you?"
"You bet, old man!" Naruto said, propping his hands on his hips.
Hiruzen stood, walking around his desk to look at the boy who had haunted his conscience for so long. He looked healthy, strong. Too strong. There was an edge to him, a confidence that went beyond simple arrogance.
"Where were you, Naruto? Who was this man?" Hiruzen asked, his voice gentle but firm.
Naruto waved a dismissive hand, repeating his cover story about the sympathetic old man. He then puffed out his chest, pointing a thumb at himself.
"He trained me real good, old man! I've gotten incredibly strong! Believe it!" He leaned forward, his blue eyes glinting with a light Hiruzen had never seen before. "I'm probably strong enough to take that hat and be Hokage right now!"
A moment of tense silence filled the room. Hiruzen looked at the boy's earnest, boastful face and the familiar orange jumpsuit. The tension broke, and the Third Hokage let out a warm, relieved chuckle.
"Hahaha! It's good to have you back, Naruto. It's good to have you back."
Naruto's grin widened, but his eyes remained as cold and vast as the space between stars. The Hokage's chuckle was the sound of a man completely oblivious to the fact that his village's greatest threat was not at its gates, but had just been welcomed warmly into his office.