In the scorching heat of the desert, the world felt as though it was on fire. The sun hung mercilessly in the cloudless sky, an unblinking eye pouring down waves of suffocating heat with no sign of relief, no breeze, no mercy. The sand beneath shimmered, distorted by heat haze, stretching endlessly in every direction like a golden ocean.
There lay a man with long black hair spread across the sand like spilled ink. His eyes were fixed on the vast blue sky above, narrowed against the blinding light. Sweat rolled down his forehead in slow trails, stinging as it reached his eyes. His chest rose and fell steadily as he breathed in hot, dry air that burned his lungs with every inhale.
"Where the hell am I?" he thought, his voice echoing in his own mind as he slowly forced himself upright.
As he sat up, metal clinked softly. His armor rattled with a heavy, familiar weight—solid, battle-worn, real.
He wore dark red, traditional samurai-style armor layered over a black undergarment. Thick chest and waist plates overlapped with deliberate precision, etched with subtle wear from countless battles. Arm guards hugged his forearms, while reinforced shin guards protected his legs, each piece crafted not only for war but to command fear and respect. Even here, alone in a foreign desert, he carried the unmistakable presence of a warlord—regal, oppressive, and dominant.
His long hair was riddled with sand, grains clinging stubbornly to the strands and scratching against his neck. Normally, such a thing would have infuriated him. But right now, it barely registered. Confusion and disbelief drowned out any concern for appearances.
Then—without warning—a faint shimmer appeared in the air before him.
A piece of paper materialized out of thin air and fluttered downward, twisting lazily before landing directly in front of him. He stared at it for a moment, unmoving, before reaching out and grabbing it. The texture felt real. Too real.
He unfolded it and began to read.
『I dropped you in Alabasta. Have fun, darling! Not too much fun, of course… or you might die.』
His lips twitched.
' I wonder why the Goddess likes me,' he thought dryly, folding the paper as if it were nothing more than a casual note.
Only then did the weight of reality truly sink in.
This man was Madara Uchiha—at least in physical form. The legendary body, the overwhelming presence, the unmistakable face. But inside, beneath the armor and behind those infamous eyes, was a young man from Earth. A man who had died… and somehow awakened like this.
How did it happen? Why him? And why here?
As the desert wind finally stirred, lifting sand into the air around him, his gaze sharpened—no longer confused, but calculating.
Well… it all started a few hours ago.
.....
A man died after a fatal car accident.
But instead of drifting into darkness or finding rest, consciousness returned—sharp and sudden. He awakened in an entirely new dimension, one untouched by time or space, where silence felt vast and heavy, like the pause between heartbeats.
Before him stood a beautiful Goddess.
Her name was Eiralyth.
"Hello. My name is Merril, and welcome to my dimension," she greeted, her voice cold yet strangely comforting, like frost layered over silk.
She was a pale, ethereal woman with silver-white hair that flowed as if moved by an unseen tide. Her calm, distant eyes reflected no single emotion, yet seemed to see straight through him. Flowing white robes draped her slender form, glowing softly against the endless darkness around them. Her presence was serene yet overwhelming—like moonlight given form. Beautiful. Cold. Quietly divine.
Yet the man didn't react to her beauty.
His attention was fixed on himself.
Where his body should have been, there was nothing—only a bright white light floating in the air. No limbs. No weight. No heartbeat. Just existence, suspended and aware.
' What did she say her name was?' he thought, glancing around the empty void.
"Eiralyth," she corrected calmly. "Welcome. You're probably wondering why I've brought you here. I'm sure you already have an idea. You've read about these kinds of occurrences back on Earth, am I correct?"
He nodded—internally, at least. He had no head to move.
"Yes," he replied. He had no mouth, yet his words carried clearly, resonating through the space as if spoken aloud.
"Good," she said. "But instead of wishes, you'll be spinning a wheel. It's something I just came up with to make things interesting." She let out a soft giggle, light and almost playful.
He hesitated, still trying to process everything. "I'm having a hard time believing all of this… but I understand. How do we start?"
Eiralyth smiled.
In the blink of an eye, a massive wheel appeared before him, materializing from nothing. It towered in the void, radiating faint light. Names were etched across its surface—countless, overlapping, impossible to fully read at once.
Some stood out clearly:
■ Sun Jin Woo
■ Yoriichi Tsugikuni
■ Rimuru Tempest
■ Luke Skywalker
...
"This is the Wheel of Characters," Eiralyth explained. "You died and were shed of your mortal body. Now, you'll be granted the body of the person the arrow lands on."
He understood immediately. There was no need for further explanation.
With a simple flick of her wrist, the wheel began to spin.
Faster.
Faster still—until the names blurred together into streaks of light, unreadable. The sound of the spinning echoed endlessly, filling the void. As it spun, his attention drifted back to the Goddess.
' Wow… she's really beautiful now that I get a better look at her, ' he thought.' Will this be like those fanfics where I get the Goddess?'
A snicker escaped Eiralyth's lips, sharp and amused.
The reminder hit him instantly—she could read his thoughts.
' Guess I just lost my chances,' he thought grimly.
"Well, you're wrong about that," she said casually.
If he'd had a body, he would've smiled wide.
Yes! he cheered internally.
Suddenly, the wheel slowed.
The blur of names sharpened. One by one, they passed the arrow until the wheel finally stopped with a decisive click.
■ Madara Uchiha
"The Ghost of the Uchiha…" he thought.
"Cool."
With a snap of her fingers, reality bent.
Light erupted around him—brilliant, blinding—and for a brief moment, sensation vanished entirely. Then weight returned. Gravity. Balance. The feel of solid ground beneath his feet. When the light faded, he was standing there, whole once more, clad in iconic crimson armor that felt as natural as skin. The layered plates rested comfortably on his frame, familiar yet newly his.
He lifted a hand slowly, flexing his fingers. They obeyed instantly.
"You could modify your appearance a bit if you want," Eiralyth said casually, as if offering a change of clothes.
His lips curled into a grin. "For real? Well, I'd be happy if you made me taller." He paused, then added with a smirk, "And bigger, down below—if you get me."
Eiralyth burst into laughter, the sound echoing warmly through the empty dimension. "I understand," she said, eyes glinting. "I think I understand very well."
She winked.
The change was subtle but unmistakable. His body stretched, muscles settling into a more powerful frame. He felt the shift instinctively, his center of gravity adjusting smoothly.
He was taller now—190 centimeters. Solid. Imposing.
He didn't bother checking below. That would've been embarrassing, even here. Besides, he trusted her judgment.
"So," he said, rolling his shoulders and testing his stance, "what now?"
Eiralyth waved a hand, and the previous wheel dissolved into particles of light. Almost immediately, another wheel emerged from nothingness—larger, heavier in presence.
"Well now," she said, "you choose which world you'll be heading to. Pray it isn't Dragon Ball or something far too powerful for you."
With a flick of her wrist, the wheel spun violently, names flashing past too fast to read. As it turned, he stretched again, getting used to his body—its strength, its balance. Power lay coiled deep within him, dense and overwhelming, like a dormant storm waiting to be unleashed.
It felt… intoxicating.
"Yes, the Nine-Tails," Eiralyth said suddenly, answering the question he hadn't yet voiced. "He was known to take control of the beast. So why not give you access to it?"
His eyes sharpened. "Oh? How does that work? Is it sealed like Naruto?"
"No," she replied smoothly. "You'll get to know him when you arrive in the world you're being sent to."
That answer alone told him enough.
The wheel slowed.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
"One Piece," he read aloud.
He let out a breath and chuckled. "That's not bad. Could've been One Punch Man or something ridiculous. Cool."
"Yes," Eiralyth said. "You got lucky. You should probably get used to your body before you leave. Test your powers. I could give you every Uchiha ability if you want."
He shook his head. "Just give me Sasuke's Mangekyō abilities. That's all."
She paused, then smiled. "Granted. By the way… I don't do this for everyone." A faint blush touched her cheeks.
He turned back to her, smiling genuinely this time. "That makes it feel more special."
Then he turned away, raising his hands again, feeling chakra stir, beginning to truly acclimate to the body he now possessed.
Behind him, Eiralyth watched quietly—smiling.
....
A few hours passed.
By then, he had fully adapted to his new body.
Movement felt natural—no hesitation, no stiffness. Each step carried weight and authority, every breath steady and controlled. He tested jutsu one after another, watching chakra obey him as if it had always been his. Fire roared at his command. Earth shifted. Illusions bent reality with a glance. His Sharingan spun effortlessly, perception sharpening until the world itself felt slower.
He pushed further.
A Rasengan formed in his palm, dense and violently contained. He stared at it for a moment, mildly impressed. The knowledge had carried over cleanly—muscle memory born from understanding rather than practice. Moments later, wind screamed as he shaped a Rasenshuriken, its edges howling like a living thing before he dispelled it with a thought.
' I feel like I'm ready to move on,' he thought. ' Funny how I still hear my old voice inside my head.'
He exhaled softly.
"Yet when I speak," he muttered aloud, "I sound like some wise old man ready to ask a simple yet annoying riddle."
His voice was deep, calm, authoritative—nothing like the one he remembered from Earth.
Eiralyth appeared beside him without warning, her presence announced only by a faint shimmer in the air.
"You really do," she said, amusement lacing her tone. "Want me to change that?"
He shook his head. "No. I prefer this one when I speak. So… how does this work?"
"Well, it's pretty simple." She raised a finger. "I snap my fingers and you're gone. But before that—"
She leaned in.
Her lips brushed against his cheek, soft and warm despite her divine cold. The gesture was brief, deliberate.
"Requirements met," she whispered. "Bye, Madara."
She snapped her fingers.
The world vanished.
---
Now that we're all caught up!
Sand pressed beneath his feet as he reappeared in the desert, the harsh sun glaring down without mercy. He stood there for a moment, the note still in his hand, before folding it and slipping it away. Then he straightened and stretched, rolling his shoulders, testing his limbs as if waking from a long sleep.
His gaze swept the horizon.
Nothing.
No structures. No people. No shade
Just endless dunes stretching for kilometers in every direction, heat warping the air into wavering mirages.
"Yeah," he muttered dryly, squinting beneath the sun. "This isn't going to be a fun experience."
TO BE CONTINUED