The forest was silent, save for the ragged sound of breathing and the occasional rustle of leaves disturbed by bodies too weak to move. The ground bore the stains of blood—dark, sticky patches of crimson marking every step Kaito and Soka had taken to get here. They collapsed beneath the shade of towering trees, the smell of damp earth mixing with the coppery scent of spilled blood.
Soka knelt beside Kaito, her hands trembling. His body lay limp against the roots of an ancient oak, skin pale as moonlight, his red hair matted with sweat and blood. His chest rose shallowly, each breath a weak gasp that made her stomach clench in fear. She pressed her fingers to his neck—his pulse was faint, thready, as if slipping further from her with each passing second.
"No… no, you can't die now," she whispered, her voice breaking as she forced chakra into her palms. Her greenish-blue chakra glowed weakly at first, flickering like a dying flame. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing herself to focus. The jutsu stabilized, and her hands glowed brighter as she pressed them against the deep gash across Kaito's torso.
The wound hissed as the tissue began knitting together, the edges of torn flesh trembling under her chakra's push. The smell of iron and burning filled the air as blood vessels reconnected, the skin tightening painfully under her control. She was far from a master healer; every stitch of chakra was like forcing two broken puzzle pieces together with sheer will. Sweat poured down her forehead, dripping onto Kaito's wound.
Kaito groaned, his head rolling weakly to the side, but he didn't wake.
"Stay with me, idiot… you always say you hate weakness—don't you dare be weak now." Her voice cracked, but her hands didn't stop moving. She closed the gash layer by layer, veins reconnecting, muscle strands weaving together, skin crawling shut. By the time the wound was sealed, Soka was trembling violently, her vision blurry, her chakra dangerously low.
She checked his face—pale. Too pale. The bleeding had stopped, but the blood he'd already lost was critical. His lips were dry, cracked. She pressed her forehead against his for a moment, tears staining his skin.
"I can't lose you… not after everything."
Her own injuries screamed for attention—gashes across her shoulder and thigh, cuts along her arms—but she ignored them until Kaito's wounds were dealt with. Only then did she place her hands over her own body, slowly mending torn flesh, though each pulse of chakra sent a wave of exhaustion crashing into her.
When she finished, her entire body sagged. She lay beside Kaito, chest heaving, vision swimming. She wanted to collapse, to sleep for days—but instinct screamed at her. They weren't safe here. Not in the open.
"…Tch. Always making me do the hard work, Kaito." She forced herself to her feet, legs trembling as if weighted with stone. With the faint glow of chakra scalpel still clinging to her fingers, she cut down branches and small trees, one by one. The sharp hum of her chakra blade against wood was all that echoed in the lonely forest.
By dusk, a crude hut stood against the trees. Nothing more than logs stacked and lashed together, a roof patched with leaves, but it was shelter. She dragged Kaito inside, covering him with furs torn from animals she had hunted in a frenzy, blood staining her hands raw as she skinned them for warmth and cooked their meat over a flickering fire.
The smell of roasting meat filled the hut. Her stomach growled, but she forced herself to feed Kaito first, dripping broth past his lips even though he barely swallowed. Only after that did she eat, hands trembling, before curling beside him, her eyes never leaving his pale face.
Days passed.
Soka became a machine of survival. Every dawn, she checked Kaito's pulse, fed him water, tended his wounds, then left the hut to hunt. She carved traps with chakra scalpels, skinned deer and wolves, sewed crude clothes from their hides. Her hands grew calloused, her movements sharp and efficient. The once-lively girl was silent now, eyes sharp as she patrolled the area for threats.
And each night, she sat by Kaito's side, talking to him despite the silence.
"You know, you'd probably laugh at me right now," she whispered once, sewing together a fur blanket under the glow of firelight. "I've killed more deer than shinobi this week. You'd call it weakness." She gave a bitter smile, eyes glistening. "But I don't care. You need me. And I'll be here."
Meanwhile, far from the forest, the world trembled.
In the Hokage's office, the report landed on Hiruzen Sarutobi's desk like a blade. Survivors from the massacre—Hyūgas and Uchihas—knelt before him, faces pale with horror.
"They're just… children," one Hyūga said, his voice shaking. "Children, but monsters. Two red-haired demons. They cut through our forces like paper. Jonin fell… Chunin fell… even my Byakugan saw no opening."
The words twisted the air in the room. Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, pipe clenched between his teeth. The Hokage's normally calm face was drawn, shadowed by worry.
"Seven hundred killed," another survivor added. "Elite troops. Dozens of Jonin. And we… we barely lived to report it."
Silence filled the room. Then, with a heavy sigh, Hiruzen stood. His eyes, once warm, hardened like steel.
"If they continue unchecked, they will destabilize everything. Konoha cannot ignore this."
That day, Hiruzen signed the decree: 27 million ryō for the head of each Uzumaki child. Dead or alive.
In Kumogakure, the thunder echoed with fury. The Third Raikage slammed his massive fist into his desk, splitting the wood with a crack that reverberated across the chamber. His chest heaved, muscles taut with rage.
"Hundreds of my men! Wiped out by brats!" His voice boomed like thunder. "I'll march myself to Amegakure and crush them with my hands!"
"Raikage-sama!" his secretary interjected, bowing low. "You mustn't. The village needs its Raikage. If you fall, Kumogakure will collapse."
Her words clawed at his pride, but reason forced itself into his storming heart. He growled, nostrils flaring, then barked orders.
"Fine. Then I'll send the best. A hundred Chunin elites, thirty Tokubetsu Jonin, twenty Jonin, three Jonin elites. If those children survive that…" He clenched his fist, eyes blazing. "Then I'll tear them apart myself."
In Iwagakure, Onoki sat with arms crossed, his frail frame floating above the council chamber, his sharp eyes half-hidden behind his beard.
"Two children causing this much chaos?" he mused softly, though his voice carried weight. "Hmph. Let the fools of Konoha and Kumo throw themselves into the fire. We'll watch. And when both sides are exhausted… we'll strike where it hurts most."
Cold calculation, nothing more. Onoki would not waste troops on emotion.
In Amegakure, Hanzo the Salamander heard the reports and narrowed his eyes. His mask hid his expression, but his mind raced.
"Two Uzumaki… survivors, killers…" He recalled sending shinobi years ago to deal with rumored Uzumaki children. Clearly, they had failed. Hanzo's gut twisted. If these two came seeking revenge, even his iron grip over Ame could be threatened.
He summoned his advisors, already laying contingency plans.
Elsewhere, Jiraiya and Minato trained in the fields. When the messenger arrived, Jiraiya read the report with a heavy scowl.
"Two Uzumaki children," he muttered. "Strong enough to slaughter entire battalions."
Minato, however, read silently, then smiled faintly. "If they survived… maybe Kushina won't be so alone anymore." His tone was gentle, almost hopeful.
Jiraiya didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, worry gnawing at his gut.
And in Konoha, Kushina Uzumaki stood under the sun, her hair gleaming like fire. When the rumors reached her, she froze.
"Other Uzumaki…?" Her heart leapt with joy. Then the next words cut her down. "…But they're enemies."
Her fists clenched. Confusion, sorrow, and longing warred inside her. Were they family? Or foes?
Back in the forest, Kaito stirred. His eyelids fluttered, but he didn't wake fully. Instead, his mind slipped—falling into darkness.
The world around him dissolved.
He floated. No ground beneath his feet. No sky above. Just an endless red mist, thick and pulsating like veins alive. Each tendril of fog throbbed, glowing faintly, as if blood itself flowed through the air.
His breath caught—though here, in this void, he didn't need to breathe. The mist pressed against his skin, warm, almost alive.
"…This place again." His voice echoed faintly, swallowed by the endless crimson.
Two years ago, after unlocking his Adamantine Chains, he had glimpsed this void for the first time. Now it returned, stronger, heavier, as if calling him deeper.
The mist pulsed in rhythm, like the beating of a colossal heart.
And Kaito realized—whatever power lurked here, it wasn't done with him yet.
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This is the final chapter for today, but it could change if you give a review or power stones, I already made 4 extra chapters because there were 3 power stones and a review, give reviews or power stones if you want more chapters for today
I saw that most of the votes were for Kaito to be a villain and to explore the world or form his organization, so I'll do that. I'll see if he will form his organization or not depending on your votes.
If you review or give a Power Stone, I'll give you an extra chapter.
A Power Stone: an extra chapter.
A positive review: an extra chapter.
This would help me a lot and would also attract more people, so I'd make more chapters per day.