Four days passed in silence, broken only by the rhythm of sweat, steel, and the crash of chakra-laden strikes echoing through the secluded forest. To the world outside, those days were not silence at all—they were whispers spreading like wildfire, rumors that grew with each retelling, painting two nameless children into figures of fear.
At first, they had been nobodies. Just survivors of a dead clan. Children wandering the ruins of a world that wanted nothing from them but their blood. But in less than two weeks, their names—Kaito and Soka—had become synonymous with dread. To hear "the red-haired demons" was enough to make seasoned shinobi clench their fists, to make villagers whisper and close their shutters. Shinobi who had trained their entire lives to be predators now trembled at the thought of becoming prey.
And still, in the heart of the forest, those two "demons" were only children, panting, drenched in sweat, and pushing their bodies to collapse.
Kaito's tanto whistled through the air, his chakra burning raw in its edge. His muscles screamed, his bandages long since discarded, revealing scars that had yet to fully fade. He felt his breath drag like fire in his chest, his body close to breaking, but he refused to stop. Across from him, Soka stood with her chakra scalpels humming, cutting through the air like pale blue wings. Her movements were sharp, but fatigue weighed on her legs; she stumbled, caught herself, and launched forward again.
Neither said a word. Neither needed to. The forest floor was littered with broken trees, scorched earth, puddles of water evaporating under stray sparks. Their training had consumed everything around them.
Four days of endless repetition. Four days of pushing their limits until they collapsed, only to wake and do it again.
But they weren't training in isolation. Shadows moved within the forest. Always watching. Always circling.
The first ambush had come two nights ago, when a group of bounty hunters tried to surround their makeshift camp. They were veterans of wars past, greedy men drawn by the promise of twenty-seven million ryō on each head. But they were nothing. Kaito's chains tore through their formation in an instant, and Soka's chakra scalpels cut the throats of those who tried to flee. By dawn, only silence remained.
The second ambush had come at midday, while they sparred. A dozen more, half from rogue shinobi clans, half mercenaries. They thought the children were weakened, distracted. Instead, the clearing became a slaughterhouse, the blood soaking into roots that had already tasted too much.
By the third and fourth ambushes, Kaito didn't even flinch anymore. His tanto and chains shredded through enemies like paper. Soka carved precision strikes through muscles and tendons, her eyes unblinking, her hands steady.
They weren't threats anymore. They were gnats. Flies buzzing around the flame of power, drawn by greed and dying in the blaze. Kaito didn't even feel satisfaction in killing them anymore—only irritation.
One evening, as the fire crackled and the scent of roasted rabbit filled the camp, Soka muttered without lifting her gaze, "More will come."
Kaito smirked bitterly. "Let them. If they want to feed us free training, I won't complain."
But beneath his words, there was unease. Because training against weaklings wasn't enough. He needed more. Much more.
That night, while Soka slept, Kaito sat alone in the clearing. His mind drifted toward the thing that haunted him: Sage Mode.
He had tried again earlier, sitting cross-legged and attempting to pull natural energy into himself. The first touch was intoxicating, like a river of infinite power brushing against his skin. But every attempt ended the same way: rejection. His body convulsed, his vision blurred, and his skin hardened like stone. Soka had stopped him from going too far twice already.
But each time, he felt closer. Closer to balance. Closer to that razor's edge where body, mind, and nature fused.
It's slow. Too slow.
He grit his teeth. His muscles were strong, his chakra vast, but natural energy was another beast entirely. It required harmony. Patience. And his blood… the Uzumaki blood that surged through him was anything but patient. It devoured, it burned, it wanted everything now.
I'll bend it. Even if it rejects me, I'll bend it. I'll make a Sage Mode of my own, one that accepts me as I am. No, one that is mine alone. Not Myōboku's, not Ryūchi Cave's. Mine.
He didn't have a name for it yet, but he would. When the time came, the name would reveal itself, born from the very power he forged.
By dawn, Soka woke to find him slumped against the trunk of a tree, drenched in sweat, his hands trembling. She sighed, kneeling beside him, and without a word pressed glowing palms to his chest, stabilizing his heartbeat.
"You'll kill yourself before you master it," she whispered, her tone scolding but her eyes soft.
"Then I'll come back stronger from death," he muttered hoarsely, half-conscious.
She shook her head, but the ghost of a smile touched her lips. He was insane, but he was hers.
Far away, the world stirred.
In Konoha, Hiruzen Sarutobi sat in his office, pipe smoke curling around him. His ANBU knelt before him, silent, ashamed. Another week, another report. No trace. No hint of the children's location. They might as well have vanished into thin air.
Hiruzen's face darkened. Every hour they remained free, the legend grew. And legends, once grown, were harder to kill than any shinobi.
"Konoha cannot afford for them to live unchecked," he murmured, his voice heavy. "If the Uzumaki demons rise, they will be a storm we cannot contain."
In Kumogakure, the Third Raikage slammed his fist into the stone table, cracking it down the center. Reports of failed bounty hunters piled high before him. Weaklings, wasting time and resources. His village demanded blood, demanded retribution, but not even his most elite trackers could pin down the demons' movements.
"They mock us," he growled. "Children mock us."
His secretary's hand on his shoulder was the only thing that kept him from storming out personally. But the rage in his eyes promised he would not be restrained forever.
In Iwagakure, Ōnoki hovered above his desk, arms crossed. His stone heart was calm, yet calculating. He saw opportunity where others saw fear. Let Konoha and Kumo waste themselves chasing the children. He would wait, as always, for the moment the scales tipped—and then he would strike.
And in the shadows of Amegakure, Hanzō of the Salamander listened to whispers of mercenaries returning in pieces, if they returned at all. He smiled faintly. He had underestimated the children. He would not do so again.
The world was watching. Waiting.
Back in the forest, Kaito and Soka sat together on the crude sofa they had built from chopped logs and animal pelts. It wasn't comfortable, but it was theirs. The firelight danced across their faces, casting long shadows on the wooden walls of the shelter they had carved from trees.
Kaito leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his mind restless. "We're not moving fast enough."
Soka tilted her head, studying him. "You're already killing yourself training. What more do you want?"
"Fights," he said flatly. His voice was low, dangerous. "Real fights. Training only gets us so far. Battle… that's where true power comes out. That's where you awaken what you didn't even know you had."
Soka's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "So you want to use the world as our training ground."
Kaito met her gaze. "If we stay hidden, we rot. If we fight, we grow. And if they call us demons… then let's show them what demons really are."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Only the crackle of fire filled the air. Then Soka leaned back, her smile widening, a spark of excitement in her eyes.
"Fine," she whispered. "Then let the Demon Children be reborn tonight."
Kaito chuckled, low and sharp, and together they sat in the firelight, two silhouettes against the blaze—two children no longer, but something far more terrifying, ready to carve their legend into the bones of the world.
And outside, in the dark woods, more shadows moved. More hunters. More gnats buzzing toward the flame. They had no idea what awaited them.
The rebirth of demons had begun.
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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.