Chapter Twenty-eight: The Seeds of Fire
Hina stepped from him like a shadow given flesh, the sheen of her form dripping from his body as though reality had only barely agreed to house them both. Naruto's voice carried the calm of command.
"Take care of them while I handle something else."
The armor stood where once a man had lived. Naruto was that armor now. A shell forged of will and ash, empty yet filled. He could slip into Hina or any vessel, twisting strength from the merger. But not today. Better they walk separate roads, for his path led into blood and memory.
Hina inclined her head, voice warm as summer rain against steel. "Be careful. Come back soon."
"I will." His reply was soft, almost human, almost. The grin etched beneath the helm was unseen, but it lived in the weight of his words. With a beat of air and will, he rose skyward. Black steel against blue heaven, vanishing toward Cocoyashi.
He fell upon the village like a storm uncalled, his arrival marked by the whip of wind and the shiver of the air itself. Villagers froze mid-step, tools clattering to the earth. Their eyes widened, mouths slack as the armored figure scanned them, gaze as sharp and merciless as any blade.
Purpose sat heavy upon him: conquest, expansion, preparation. Every step was a stone in the road toward war.
The house waited at the edge of the fields—simple walls, humble roof. Home to Bell, and to the two girls who wore their youth like fragile armor. Nami. Nojiko. Innocence standing in a world that would grind it to dust.
Naruto stood apart at first, watching. Bell drove the girls through drills, wooden swords flashing, sweat marking them as disciples of survival. Determination lived in their eyes, though their bodies were not yet worthy of it.
He moved closer, the weight of him bending the air. Training faltered, and then stopped.
Nami ran first, joy blazing across her face, legs pumping with the wild abandon only children allow themselves. Nojiko followed, laughter breaking free from her. They struck him like arrows of light, their arms wrapping cold steel.
"Papa, you're late!" Nami accused, pouting with mock anger.
Over weeks her love had clung to him like ivy, wrapping even the dead. He fed it with gifts, with words soft enough to forget the truth. Even the dead can be fathers, if the lie is worn well.
He bent to her, helm meeting the brightness of her eyes. His voice softened, a man's warmth leaking from a corpse's shell.
"I had work, little one. But I'm here now. And this time, I'm not leaving. I've come to take you with me."
Bell lingered, arms crossed, caution sharpening her tone. "I thought you said you were too busy." The words were steel wrapped in care, worry hidden in the folds.
Naruto turned his helm toward her, the glow of his eyes unblinking. "The East Blue is mine now. Marines, pirates, monsters—none dare swim here. You need not fear what cannot reach you."
Her shoulders eased, though the shadow in her gaze did not vanish. A woman who had seen too much to trust words, yet too bound by hope not to try.
Then Nami's tug pulled his attention down. She looked up, eyes wide and searching, voice trembling with honesty too sharp for her years.
"Papa, why don't you take off the armor? I don't like it. It's… scary. Like it's alive."
A sigh hissed within him, unseen but heard by himself. "Sharp eyes, little one," he murmured, stroking her hair with an armored gauntlet. "I can't take it off. It isn't something I wear. It is me."
Confusion clouded the girls, brows furrowing. Nojiko's question came hesitant, fragile. "What do you mean?"
Bell's gasp came first. Realization struck like a blade to the gut. Her hand rose to her lips, tears burning the edges of her sight.
Naruto lowered himself, crouching to bring his helm nearer the children's faces. His voice was grave, tender with cruelty.
"I am dead, little ones. My body was turned to ash long ago. This armor is what remains. But don't weep. It is not forever. The treasure I seek can grant me flesh anew. When I claim it, we'll play without this iron between us."
The words hammered down upon them. Innocence cracked. Nami and Nojiko broke together, sobs wrenching from their small throats as they buried themselves against his cold embrace.
Naruto wrapped them in his steel arms, holding their grief as though it were his own. He let them shatter against him, let their cries echo until they were spent. He was the grave, and they the mourners, and together they made a family bound by truth too cruel for children to bear.
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The sky still held the ghosts of their crying. Grief clung, stubborn as ash in the throat, even as the girls' tears ran dry. Naruto gathered their meager belongings, the air shivering around him as his will made the world obey. Threads unseen but felt lifted the bundles, then the girls themselves—like dolls suspended on invisible strings. Their bodies rose, hesitant, and the ground gave them up.
They smiled, those girls. Even with eyes red and faces raw, they smiled. Because flight, however born, is a freedom no child forgets. The world beneath them shrank to a map of rivers and stone, and for a heartbeat sorrow bent its knee to wonder.
The base rose ahead, cold and solid, a fortress carved into the bones of the land. Naruto lowered them with care, as if the weight of their fragility might crack the stone. Hina was there, waiting—watchful, cautious, her gaze heavy with the things she didn't say.
"See to them," Naruto told her, his voice flat with command. "Help them settle. Begin their training."
She nodded. A quick flicker of eyes toward him, sharp with worry, before she ushered the girls inside. She knew. They all did. That he bore a burden bigger than any man should cradle, and that he had chosen to cradle it anyway.
When the others had gone, Naruto turned to Bell. He gestured, and she followed, silent, steps small against the weight of the air around him. They walked until only stone and shadow shared their company.
"You have something to tell me." His words didn't question. They pulled.
Bell faltered, her hands restless, tangling fingers against fingers as though she might weave her courage from the knots. When her eyes found his, they trembled with a secret begging release.
"I'm pregnant," she said, the syllables breaking like glass.
The world seemed to pause with him. His eyes, already bright, burned fiercer, catching the moment like steel catches flame. For a heartbeat he was unreadable—a storm withheld. Then his voice came, not the hard edge of command, but something warmer, rarer, alive.
"That's wonderful."
He set his hands upon her shoulders, steady as iron but warmer than she'd ever felt him. "I have a child now. Did you think I wouldn't be happy?"
Her face crumpled, relief spilling over in wet trails. She pressed herself against him, burying fear and joy alike into his chest. Her words came muffled, desperate: "I didn't know what you'd say… but hearing you… immortals, it makes me so happy. Promise me you'll stay with us. Promise me, even if it means like this."
Naruto lifted his hand, and with it, threads unseen—spirit, power, self—brushed her cheek like the whisper of a ghost. The armor of him softened, if only for her.
"You have my word," he said. "No more reckless chances. No more gambles. The board is mine now, and I'll bend it until it breaks. I'll make this world perfect, Bell. Perfect—for our child."
His words were promise and prophecy both. And somewhere deep within the stone walls, the world shifted, as though it knew it had been claimed.
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The night took him. Or perhaps he took the night. Naruto cut through the sky, a shadow crowned in steel, the world beneath him shrinking into silence. Dawn came slow, but he was faster. Faster than thought, faster than consequence. Goa lay ahead, its kingdom fat on decadence, a throne built on rot.
He landed in the castle gardens, the dew still fresh on the grass, the sentries blind to the ghost in their midst. Stone walls and iron gates meant nothing to him; he walked through shadows like a man through tall grass. The king slept, bloated and oblivious, surrounded by men who mistook power for the stink of wine and silk.
Naruto reached with threads unseen. Webs of spirit and will, barbed and fine as a spider's lie. They slipped into skulls, through dreams, embedding themselves deep. Minds bent, wills broke, and the rot became his. Puppets now. Men of gold and crown, thinking themselves kings, no more than dolls dancing on his string.
This kingdom is mine, he thought, the steel of him humming with certainty. Its problems silenced. Its eyes turned from the marines. Garp's gaze will never reach here. Not yet. Not until I will it.
Satisfied, he left as he had come. Silent. Untouched. A whisper fading from the stone.
Dawn Island greeted him with its old silence, the kind that presses heavy, the kind that makes children dream of running. His armor dimmed, a predator in plain sight. He came for blood's legacy—for the grandson of the man he loathed. Monkey D. Garp's bloodline. A boy named Luffy.
He found him at play. The forest edge, where laughter carried brighter than birdsong. Three boys. Three sparks. Sabo, golden-haired, aristocracy staining his stance. Ace, sharp-edged, freckled, his anger a shield and his hunger a sword. And Luffy—the fool's grin, the fearless heart, the boy who would never bend.
Naruto descended, and the air grew thick. Shadows bent toward him. His voice broke the morning's back, smooth, carrying weight enough to tilt the world.
"Hello, little ones."
They froze. Three pairs of eyes lifted to the sky and found him waiting there, a man made armor, a god in steel.
"You're flying!" Luffy shouted, wonder outweighing fear. "Are you a pirate?"
Naruto laughed, soft, like a knife pulled free. "Something like that. But more. I am Naruto—the immortal sage. I've come to offer you what no other can: power enough to burn the world, if that's what you choose."
Sabo stepped forward, his caution wrapped tight around him like a coat too heavy for summer. "What's the catch? No one gives something like that for free."
Naruto's eyes glowed, threads coiling in their depths. His words fell slow, measured, heavy. "The cost is loyalty. You will be mine. You will bleed for me, fight beside me, carry my war into the bones of the world. In return, I will make you gods among men. You will fly. You will strike without touch. You will heal wounds that should end you."
Luffy's laughter came bright, reckless, hungry. "I can be the strongest pirate ever?!"
Ace frowned, his arms crossing, suspicion warring with hunger. "Why us? Why not anyone else?"
Naruto's gaze darkened, though his voice came softer, carrying the truth like a poisoned chalice. "Because I see you. I know what you are—the will that fights when the world says yield. I offer you the chance to rise above the filth. To change this rotten place. I see myself in you."
Their hearts, still young, still wet clay, bent beneath his words. Dreams sharper than fear. Doubt dulled by promise. Slowly, inevitably, they nodded.
Naruto turned his hand toward their den-mother. Curly Dadan—fierce, crude, quick to temper. A flame snuffed by his threads before she even drew breath to protest. He wove her mind, hollowed her resistance, bent her memories into the shape of his design. A puppet made of flesh and bluster.
"If Garp comes looking," Naruto muttered, fingers tightening her strings, "he'll find a lie worth believing. Caesar Clown. Lineage factors. Enough truth to swallow, enough shadow to choke on."
When he was done, he gathered the boys. They carried nothing but their fire, their dreams stitched too close to their hearts. Naruto took them into the sky, laughter trailing from their throats, shrill and bright against the weight of his silence.
Children's joy. His weapons now. His seeds of fire.
And the world below did not yet know it was burning.
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The Baratie floated proud upon the waves, a gaudy restaurant dressed as a ship, smoke curling skyward like prayers never meant to be answered. Its windows gleamed with morning light, the clatter of pots and chatter of diners a song of fragile peace.
That peace ended when Naruto landed.
Steel and blood-red light announced him. His armor drank the sun, his shadow bent across the deck, and silence bled into the room like ink spilling across parchment. The diners froze, spoons mid-air, laughter strangled in their throats. Every gaze turned, caught in the gravity of his presence.
He moved through them without care. Each step measured, deliberate, as though the world had been laid out just for him to walk upon. His eyes sought, and found.
A boy. Blond, broom in hand, sweeping with the scowl of one too proud for the work forced upon him. The lean lines of him carried defiance, his jaw tight, his eyes sharp. Naruto felt the tug of fate—thin but unyielding. A spark, hidden under ashes.
"Child," Naruto said, his voice low, carrying command as natural as breath. "Would you like to come with me?"
The broom froze mid-sweep. Blue eyes lifted, narrowed. The boy's reply came hard, quick, edged like broken glass.
"I'm not interested, old man. If you're not here to eat, then get lost."
Naruto laughed, soft, cold, like stone striking steel. "I'm not here to trouble you. I'm here to offer you more. To rise beyond this place. Train under me, and you'll be more than a boy sweeping floors. You'll be something greater than you've dreamed."
The boy's grip tightened, knuckles pale on the broomstick. His face twisted, memory cutting deep. "I've heard that before," he spat. "From my father. I'm not some tool for you to use."
Naruto's helm inclined, a gesture too calm for the weight of his words. "Not a tool, child. A weapon, yes—but one honed by your own hand. A warrior. A craftsman. The master of your own hunger. I see potential in you, and I do not waste what I see."
The moment stretched. Then broke.
"Oi! Let the boy be!"
The voice came heavy with age and authority, carrying the clatter of kitchens and a thousand storms weathered. Zeff stepped into the hall—broad, scarred, the sea written into his body, his peg leg striking the floor like a drumbeat. His glare could have withered stone.
Naruto turned to face him. "Zeff. I'm here for you as well. I require your craft, and you will serve me. Refuse, and I'll not be as kind."
The old chef's eyes hardened, his lip curling. "Over my dead body."
The kick came swift—peg leg turned cannon, the strike that had crushed lesser men. Naruto caught it without a flinch. His armored hand closed, wood splintering with a scream. The leg snapped like kindling. Zeff stumbled, forced to balance on one good foot, rage replacing pain.
Naruto's voice dropped, cold as iron drawn from a grave. "I am not here to negotiate. This sea belongs to me now. And so do those upon it."
Sanji shouted, a boy's fury breaking free of fear. "Let him go!" He charged, broom forgotten, fists clenched, too small to matter but brave enough to try.
Naruto's hand closed around his head. Effortless. Crushing. The boy dangled like a doll caught mid-rebellion.
Zeff staggered forward, teeth bared. "If you let him go, I'll do it. I'll follow. Just—let him go!"
Naruto's helm tilted, red eyes burning faintly. A mockery of mercy. "You mistake me, old man. I don't compromise. You will both serve. And you will find it no curse—your lives will go on, your restaurant will stand, and you will gain more than you lose."
From his fingers, threads of light unspooled, fine as silk, sharp as razors. They coiled around Sanji and Zeff, biting deep where flesh met spirit. The air crackled, the smell of ozone sharp as blood. The two froze. Bodies rigid. Their wills, plucked like harp strings, stilled and silent beneath his hand.
Their eyes burned with their own fire still—but that fire belonged to him now.
Naruto's grip loosened, and the boy dropped to his knees, breath shuddering. The threads held, unseen but absolute.
He turned, cloak stirring, the hall still drowning in silence. "This place is mine," he said, to no one and to all.
And not a soul dared answer.
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The Baratie kept its masks well. Plates clattered, knives scraped, and laughter found its way back into throats that had been frozen by fear minutes before. Strings made puppets smile convincingly. Naruto wove them well—so well that even those bound danced their parts with no suspicion of the chains dug into their souls.
Sanji swept. Zeff barked orders. Patrons ate.
And every heartbeat of the place belonged to him.
When Naruto lifted the boy and his old master from their stage, none raised alarm. The threads had written silence into them all.
His return to base was quiet, the wind carrying him faster than thought, Zeff and Sanji in tow, limp in body though not in spirit. The fortress rose from the ground like a scar being carved deeper each day—stone, steel, and sweat bent into his vision. The training grounds stretched wide and raw, their surface broken by the clash of steel, the cries of men, and the breath of those who wished to rise.
He set Zeff and Sanji down before Tashigi. Her salute was crisp, her eyes bright with the fever of obedience.
"They are yours," he said. His voice was iron beneath velvet. "Make them fit."
"Understood, Master."
Naruto turned, his gaze sliding over the grounds. A hundred stories bled into one—the clang of swords, the rasp of lungs dragging in air that burned, the thud of fists against flesh. All of it was his symphony. Each soldier carved from dust, each thread bound tighter with every drop of sweat spilled. His dominion wasn't a crown—it was a blade pressed against the throat of the world.
Smoke drifted across his shoulder, bitter and heavy. Smoker stepped into place, lowering himself onto the wall beside him, his cigars two red eyes burning in the mist.
"What comes next?" Smoker's voice was stone dragged across gravel.
Naruto leaned back, arms folded, as though the weight of his empire were nothing but a cloak about his shoulders. "Next? We sharpen the edge. A handful here can cut. The rest are still blunted. East Blue is weak. A quiet cradle where I can temper them without the world's eyes prying. We stay. We build."
His voice carried calm, but beneath it lay a hunger.
"And in the dark," he went on, "I pull the strings tighter. Kings. Lords. Names that think themselves unclaimed. I'll have them all."
Smoker drew on his cigar, smoke curling out in long sighs. His brow furrowed, shadows deep in the lines of his face. "You take too much on your back. You've been carrying the whole damn weight since you clawed your way back into this world. We're here. Use us. Don't grind yourself to dust trying to lift it alone."
Naruto turned, the faintest curve tugging at his mouth beneath the helm. A smile made brittle by truths unspoken. "I know. But subtlety is a blade best wielded by one hand. The fewer who move in shadows, the fewer who cast a telltale shadow. I'll not be careless."
The marine's frown didn't ease. "Just don't stretch yourself thin. I've seen men burn out long before the fire caught the world."
Naruto rose, gauntlets brushing against themselves, the sound sharp as a promise. "Wise words. I'll keep them." He looked toward the horizon, crimson light glinting in his eyes. "But pirates rot these waters, and I'll use their rot for kindling. Blood feeds me. Their grudges fatten me. I'll grow stronger with every cut."
Smoker exhaled smoke, the ghost of a grin on his lips. "Sounds like something a marine ought to stop. But knowing the kind of scum you'll be thinning… I'll save my outrage for later."
Naruto chuckled, the sound more steel than mirth. "Keep them driving forward. When I return, I expect them broken past their limits."
And with that he stepped from the wall, the air catching him, threads of red light stirring dust into a storm. He lifted, a specter in armor, a blade carried by the wind.
Smoker watched, eyes narrowed against the rising dust. "Don't lose yourself," he muttered into the smoke. "Not yet."
But Naruto was gone.
Above the waves he flew, the East Blue stretched wide beneath him—placid waters hiding the rot of men who preyed upon the weak. He opened himself, senses spilling outward like a net cast over the sea. Ships moved—merchants, innocents, cargo weighed down with hopes and coin. Harmless.
And there—further south—a foul pulse. Ships clustered like wolves around a carcass. Greed, malice, hunger steeped into the air. Pirates.
A smile cut his face, sharp and cold.
"The hunt begins."
He fell upon them like a shadow given form, armor flaring, eyes aglow. By the time they raised their heads, by the time the first cry of alarm clawed into the air, it was already far too late.