Chapter 1: Awakening
Pain.
It came first—sharp, overwhelming, and absolute.
It felt like his skull was being split open from the inside, like something foreign was forcing its way into his mind. His entire body trembled as consciousness slowly returned, dragging him out of darkness against his will.
"…Ugh…"
A low groan escaped his lips as he tried to open his eyes.
Everything was blurry.
Unstable.
Wrong.
Then—
Memories flooded in.
Not his own.
A small house.
Warm light.
Two figures.
Red hair.
Smiling.
Then—
War.
Fear.
Running.
Hiding.
Then—
Blood.
Screams.
Death.
The images came faster, sharper, more violent. It was like watching a movie on fast forward—but he wasn't just watching.
He was feeling everything.
The love.
The fear.
The grief.
"Stop…!"
He clutched his head, his fingers digging into his scalp as if he could physically push the memories out.
But they didn't stop.
A child.
Hiding.
Trembling.
Watching.
Two shinobi.
Leaf headbands.
Weapons drawn.
"No… please…"
A flash of movement.
A scream.
Silence.
Something broke.
The perspective shifted.
He wasn't watching anymore.
He was there.
He stood frozen.
Small.
Weak.
Helpless.
His parents lay on the ground.
Lifeless.
Blood pooling beneath them.
Something inside him snapped.
The world distorted.
Sound vanished.
Time slowed.
Then—
A presence awakened.
A power so vast, so overwhelming, it felt like reality itself bent around it.
The shinobi turned—
Too late.
Invisible force erupted.
Violent.
Uncontrolled.
Bodies slammed.
Walls cracked.
Blood splattered.
Silence.
The memories stopped.
He gasped sharply and sat up, his chest heaving as if he had just been drowning.
"What… the hell… was that…?"
His vision slowly cleared.
The room came into focus.
Broken furniture.
Cracked walls.
Blood.
Everywhere.
A metallic scent filled the air.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
He looked down.
His hands—
Covered in blood.
His breath hitched.
"No…"
Panic surged instantly.
He scrambled backward, his heart pounding violently in his chest. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
"This… this isn't real…"
But it was.
His eyes moved slowly.
Then they saw them.
Four bodies.
Two with red hair.
Two in shinobi uniforms.
His heart stopped.
"No… no… no…"
And then—
The memories aligned.
Everything clicked into place.
"This… isn't me…"
His voice trembled.
"…This is…"
He forced himself to stand and stumbled toward a nearby mirror.
Each step felt heavy.
Unreal.
He looked up.
A stranger stared back.
Red hair.
Pale skin.
Purple eyes.
No.
Not purple.
Rings.
Concentric circles.
His breath caught in his throat.
"…Rinnegan."
The word escaped before he could stop it.
A name surfaced in his mind.
Clear.
Unavoidable.
Nagato Uzumaki.
From Naruto Shippuden.
"…You've got to be kidding me…"
He stumbled back, nearly losing his balance.
His mind struggled to process it.
Reincarnation?
Possession?
A dream?
"…No."
He clenched his fists.
"This is real."
He looked at the bodies again.
At the blood.
At the silence.
"…Too real."
His gaze slowly shifted toward the two red-haired figures.
His chest tightened painfully.
"My… parents…"
The words felt foreign.
Yet familiar.
His vision blurred.
Tears began to form.
"No… they're not…"
He shook his head.
"They're not mine…"
But his body disagreed.
His heart disagreed.
Memories surged again.
Not violent this time.
Soft.
Warm.
A mother smiling.
A father teaching.
Gentle hands.
Kind voices.
"…Damn it…"
Tears fell freely now.
"They didn't deserve this…"
His fists clenched tightly, nails digging into his palms.
"They were healers…"
"They helped people…"
His breathing became uneven.
Anger began to rise.
Hot.
Sharp.
Uncontrollable.
"And they just… killed them…?"
The air around him trembled.
A strange pressure filled the room.
His emotions surged—
Grief.
Rage.
Helplessness.
Then—
It exploded.
BOOM.
An invisible force burst outward from his body, sending the corpses of the two shinobi flying across the room. One slammed into the wall with a sickening crack.
Silence followed.
Nagato froze.
"…What… was that…?"
But deep down—
He already knew.
The Rinnegan.
He looked at his hands again.
Still shaking.
Still stained.
"…Power…"
The word felt heavy.
Dangerous.
He took a slow breath.
Then another.
Forcing himself to calm down.
"Panicking won't help…"
He closed his eyes briefly.
Centered himself.
When he opened them again—
They were calmer.
Sharper.
"…First things first."
He stepped forward.
Toward the bodies.
It wasn't easy.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
But he didn't stop.
He knelt beside his parents.
Looked at them one last time.
"…I don't know if I'm your son…"
His voice was quiet.
"…But I'll at least give you a proper goodbye."
He stood up slowly.
The work began.
Outside, the rain fell steadily as he dug graves behind the house.
The ground was soft, making it easier—but that didn't make it less painful.
When he finished, he carried their bodies carefully.
Gently.
Respectfully.
He placed them in the ground.
Paused.
"…Rest peacefully."
Then he covered them.
The rain washed over everything.
He turned back toward the house.
The two shinobi remained.
He hesitated.
"They killed them…"
His fists clenched.
"They don't deserve respect."
But something stopped him.
He searched their bodies.
Weapons.
Scrolls.
Money.
Then—
Photos.
Families.
One of them had a small child.
A daughter.
No older than three.
"…Tch."
He clicked his tongue in frustration.
"…War."
That was the real enemy.
After a moment of silence—
He dug two more graves.
"…No one deserves to rot like this."
He buried them beside his parents.
Not out of forgiveness.
But out of principle.
When it was done—
He stood there quietly.
Rain falling over four graves.
"…This world…"
He turned and walked back inside.
There was still work to do.
He cleaned the house.
Washed away the blood.
Scrubbed the floor.
By the time he was done—
He was exhausted.
He filled a tub and stepped inside.
The water turned red instantly.
He stared at his reflection.
Nagato.
A child.
A weapon.
A future destroyer.
"…What kind of life is this…"
Then—
A thought crossed his mind.
Uzumaki bloodline.
Immense chakra.
Strong life force.
And—
The Rinnegan.
The strongest dojutsu.
A faint smile formed on his lips.
"…Maybe…"
"…this isn't so bad."
Then reality hit again.
"I'm nine."
He leaned back and sighed.
"…Yeah."
"Long way to go."
But his eyes sharpened slightly.
"…And a lot to change."
That night, as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling—
Another memory surfaced.
His previous life.
School.
Friends.
A road trip.
Laughter.
Then—
An accident.
Darkness.
"…Heh."
"What a cliché way to die…"
He closed his eyes slowly.
"At least it didn't hurt."
Silence filled the room.
"…Second chance, huh…"
A faint smile appeared.
"…Then I'll use it properly."
Outside—
The rain continued to fall.
And somewhere in the darkness—
Fate had already begun moving.