It was a giant tunnel.

Winding around like some massive serpent, the tunnel kept twisting and turning in random directions, branching away over and over, only to reforge into large trunks that seemed to go nowhere. The floor was inundated with a sinister green water that reeked of death, smoke and decay. An eerie luminescence kept the path aglow, a strange corrosive haze permeating the entire arena that burned through skin and bone.

Orochimaru exhaled.

“The mighty Eight-Trigrams seal, empowered by the Shiki Fujin.” He scrunched his nose. “I would’ve imagined it to be a little cleaner. Sanitation clearly isn’t the Shinigami’s forte.”

But this place seemed to do its job well despite its shortcomings. Too well, in fact.

This vast maze of tunnels was a manifestation of the seal itself, imprisoning the tailed beast within while also warding away any external influences that tried to break in.

Influences like himself.

But that didn’t stop him. He had finally managed to get around it.

The bite on the boy’s neck was more than a transfer of bodily fluids. The transfusion acted as a binding agent for his Living Corpse Reincarnation technique, which would allow him, a soul, to consume the boy’s own soul and take over his body.

And most importantly, it would allow him to do so in a way that fooled the seal into believing him to be the real Naruto Namikaze.

Orochimaru smiled. It was not everyday that you outwitted a god.

It had been difficult, but completely worth it.

Between his horde of knowledge, the Kyuubi’s unending reserves, and the Ryujin adding chakra natures to the body, Orochimaru would be able to transcend.

He would become a God.

And that was just the beginning.

Unfortunately, instead of entering the kid’s psyche directly, he had been drawn here, into the Eight-Trigrams seal— the domain of the Kyuubi-no-kitsune. He didn’t expect to end up here so early, before he was in a position to readily assimilate it.

Orochimaru’s lips thinned.

Even time felt strange in the seal. There were moments when the water felt as hard as solid rock— unmoving, uncaring, static. Other times, it would gush around with the sort of turbulence that could make even a Kiri shinobi gulp in fear.

More importantly, how did he still have a body? This was hardly the first time he had performed this soul-devouring ritual, but it had always been the consumption of souls before waking up in the victim’s body. But to be flesh and blood, with chakra flowing through him, inside this dirty chamber of all things…

It was weird and unnerving.

Even for him.

And yet, the scientist in him couldn’t help but linger. He stood there, undecided on what course of action to take.

Finally, he sighed.

“When life throws lemons at you…” he muttered, wading his way even deeper through the stinking waters despite all of his instincts screaming at him that it was a terrible idea. Slowly, the layer of chakra he shielded his body with was eroded by the corrosive haze. He needed to get out of there before he ran out of chakra entirely.

And yet, no matter how much distance he covered, the tunnel seemed to go on for just a bit longer. It was almost like—

Orochimaru face-palmed.

“I’m such a fool.”

He had assumed the Eight-Trigrams seal was a wall. Walls kept intruders out, so it was just a matter of finding a way in.

He was wrong.

“This isn’t meant to keep people out,” he realized with a frown. “It’s supposed to keep them in.”

“Impressive. You figured that out rather quickly, Orochimaru.”

The snake-summoner spun around at the strangely familiar voice. Bright yellow hair underneath the straps of a Konoha headband, a dazzling white, short-sleeved haori adorned with orange flames, a practiced smile resting on an angular face. Orochimaru’s slit-like pupils dilated at the familiar sight, his gaze squarely matched by calm, electric-blue eyes.

“....Minato?”

“Naruto…”

The word pierced through the haze of pain clouding Tayuya’s mind, bringing her back to the land of the living. Opening her eyes, she found herself suspended in mid-air like a prisoner, her hands and feet tightly wound by manacles connected to crystalline chains jutting out from the ground and ceiling. Her flute was missing from her person and, judging by the state of her undress, someone had taken all of her other weapons too.

At least, that better have been the reason. Otherwise, she was going to cut a bitch.

Tayuya wrinkled her nose at the nauseating stench of blood. She looked around at the large, stony walls enclosing a circular room with a bowl-like floor structure. Sevel tall podiums jutted out from the walls while the rocky floor was littered with pits and broken fragments of rock and amputated body parts.

Anyone with two brain cells could tell where she was.

The dungeon.

The irony is killing me more than this goddamn headache.

And above her, on top of the tallest podium, stood Guren.

With Kidomaru and Jirobo slightly behind her.

Meanwhile, she was dangling a dozen feet above the center of the large arena, with hundreds of Orochimaru’s prisoners surrounding her in all directions— their arms and neck shackled, grunting and hawing like the dogs they were.

“Welcome back,” she heard Guren’s nasty voice drawl. “Some time ago, you foolishly challenged me, the warden of this prison, to a fight. So drunk off of faith in that degenerate summon of yours, you were, that you dared think yourself my better.”

She smirked.

“And now look at you. A fettered, beaten cur ready to face your punishment.”

Tayuya struggled in place, pulling at the chains. They rattled, but not a single link managed to budge. Incapacitated, she looked up at Guren, a sneer on her face.

“You’re experienced for a bitch,” she growled, glaring at the warden who crossed her arms. “Even more than me.”

“Tayuya praising someone?” Jirobo chortled, slapping his rotund belly. “You ever remember her doing that before, Kidomaru?”

The spider-freak shook his head. “She knows when she’s beaten.”

Guren, though, had an inscrutable look on her face.

“But,” Tayuya continued, ignoring their ramblings, “even though you’re such a blowhard, you’re still just a one-trick pony.”

Seeing the smirk vanish off of Guren’s face was a sweet reward in and of itself.

“Is that so?” the crystal-release user coldly retorted, uncrossing her arms and reaching into her pouch. “A one-trick pony, am I? What about you then? What are you without… this?”

She held up a long, lilac flute.

Her flute.

And then she snapped it in two. And again. And again.

Tayuya stared at her stonily, suppressing the urge to snort. It wasn’t like that flute was particularly special or anything. She’d just reform it again.

“What?” the warden yelled. “Nothing to say? What can you do now that your flute is gone?

“Why don’t you free me and find out for yourself?” Tayuya’s lips twisted into a dark smile. “Bitch.”

“Scum like you need to be tau—” Kidomaru interrupted Guren’s words, gripping her shoulder with his hand. “Don’t. She's trying to trick you.”

“She has nothing on her, Kidomaru,” Jirobo muttered in his loud, baritone voice.

“Are you crazy? That’s Tayuya you dimwit—”

Tayuya chuckled at their antics, a proud smirk on her face. “Look at you morons. I’m all tied up, injured, unarmed, and surrounded by your army of wankers. And even now, you cunts fear me.”

Another chuckle.

“I like that.” Tayuya licked her lips. “Fear is good. It tells me you’re weak. Pussies.”

Her skin’s hue slowly began to darken and sounds of bells began ringing in her ears once more.

“A little rest has made you cocky,” Kidomaru replied, his arms on his waist. “I liked you better when you were down on the ground, groaning in pain.”

“Free me and find out,” Tayuya repeated, tossing a glance at the broken shards of her flute cluttering the floor.

The tolling sounds increased in intensity.

“Fine!” Guren hissed. She gestured towards the army of prisoners around them. “If you really want to die that badly, fight through this herd, and I’ll let you see what this one-trick pony can do again.”

Her lips thinned. “I’ll drag you by your hair, kicking and screaming all the way to the top floor, and bathe you in your precious beloved’s blood. Then, and only then, do you have my permission to die.”

Tayuya grit her teeth. “Naruto is not dead.”

“She still believes that?” Jirobo snorted.

“Let her,” Guren drawled. “It will only be that much more satisfying to see her break.”

“I won’t break,” Tayuya promised, rattling the chains once more. “I’ll never give up.” She kicked her legs out again, and surprisingly enough, the shackles binding her arms and legs turned to dust, dropping her unceremoniously onto the ground. She was aching, tired, and covered in blood— her palm oozing blood from being shot with an arrow earlier as well as Zaraba’s grey matter coating her from head to toe.

But she wasn’t worried— she knew he’d come back to life eventually. Resurrection of accursed spirits was the Demon’s forte.

It was only a matter of time.

She walked up to the broken pieces of her flute on the ground.

“For all your skill and power, you just don’t understand, do you bitch?” she snarled. “What I have isn’t some two-bit ninjutsu, genjutsu, or taijutsu. This is the providence of a God.”

The little shards shot into the air, melding together to form larger and larger pieces until it was all one whole object, identical to the flute before it was shattered. Tayuya caught it deftly in her hands and brought it to her lips.

A strange calmness exuded her with the familiar object in her possession once more. “There’s no question what’s about to happen. We will fight, and you will die. So come.”

The prisoners attacked all at once.

Tayuya didn’t care. She had the flute to her lips and a melody ready in her mind.

One that would bring forth the dance of death.

Zaraba was an unstoppable juggernaut in a straight fight. A warrior of old, unparalleled in the art of the sword and cursed to become one of the Demon’s Oni. But to face the army around her, Tayuya needed someone else.

Someone skilled in fighting multiple opponents.

The pillager.

The barbarian.

Her lips moved all on their own, uttering a strange set of monosyllabic sounds that culminated into a single name.

“Nnnniinnnnyabbbiiiii!!!”

The melody ebbed into the air as the very atmosphere around her churned, forming an ethereal shape.

And there he was.

Clad in a dark red loincloth that barely covered his thighs, the emaciated blue figure had dirty-brown hair tied in a knot above his head, his ponytail reaching all the way below his waist. In each hand rested a long nodachi with strange symbols carved into them, shining malevolently in the dim light of the dungeon.

Ninabi let out a battle cry, raising both swords into the air as he vanished with a loud crack.

And all around her, the army began to die.

Orochimaru couldn’t believe his eyes. This was… he was…

“...Minato Namikaze.”

“This is a little embarrassing, Orochimaru,” Minato chuckled, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I certainly didn’t think I’d find you of all people trying to break into the seal.”

Orochimaru scowled. What did he think he was? An idiot? “Give me some credit, Namikaze. I know better than to hammer my way through the handiwork of a divine entity. I was trying to enter into his psyche, though in hindsight, it makes sense why my efforts brought me here instead.”

Minato grinned. “There’s no point in creating an impenetrable defense around the Kyuubi’s seal if it leaves my son open to an attack.”

“You didn’t apply the Shiki Fujin on the seal. You placed it on the boy himself. Nothing gets in, or out.”

Minato’s eyes glinted.

“It seems like I underestimated you, Namikaze,” Orochimaru professed, keenly aware that a direct confrontation with the man was imminent. All that remained to be seen was when, and in what setting. “That said, seeing you here is a tad surprising.”

“When I sealed the Kyuubi into my child, I used your Soul Transference technique to place a portion of my own soul into the seal, before the rest of me was taken by the Shinigami.”

“In other words, you stole my technique,” Orochimaru all but snarled.

“Correction, I used your idea.” Minato’s words and tone were surprisingly genuine. “Your work on impure reincarnation techniques did not go unseen or unacknowledged, Orochimaru of the Sannin.”

The snake-summoner faltered at that. He and Namikaze had a long history of arguing over the ethics of his research, with the other man halting most of his funds claiming it was too dangerous to society. To see the hypocritical bastard using his technique to survive—

He really hated this man.

“You double-faced hypocritical swine….” Orochimaru hissed.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Minato mocked, “after spending years harvesting Hashirama Senju’s cells to extend your own lifespan.”

“You don’t get to say that to me, Namikaze!” He was practically frothing at the mouth now, his ever-calm and composed demeanor crumbling to dust. All he could feel was a mad haze of anger and hatred and—

Wait.

Why am I getting so angry? After I stole his child and—

Orochimaru faltered, and the sudden burst of fear and anger vanished instantly.

“...What the hell was that?”

Minato grinned. “Passive effect of the Kyuubi’s chakra.”

Orochimaru blinked.

Then blinked again.

“Tailed-beast chakra is corrosive,” Minato clarified, as if the two shinobi weren’t at each other's throats a mere moment ago. “While you’re in here, it will have an effect on your emotions, amplifying negative thoughts like rage and bloodlust.”

That, Orochimaru admitted to himself, made a lot of sense.

He looked down at the water flowing around him.

Is this sewage water the unfiltered Kyuubi chakra then?

He looked back at Minato as he re-evaluated his situation. It was a no-brainer that Namikaze would resist his efforts to consume the boy’s spiritual essence. And as much as it pained him to admit it, the Fourth Hokage was the deadlier shinobi between the two of them.

But he was Orochimaru. Soul and all. Minato was, at best, a soul shard residing in a Shadow Clone. Even in a worst-case scenario, his regeneration should help survive Minato’s Hiraishin. That said—

I’m a soul. So is he. Yet, here we are, flesh and blood. Can he— can I even die here?

Somehow, he doubted the lack of information would sway Minato from the unavoidable confrontation that was waiting to happen. Unless the possibility of a civilized conversation was on the table?

“If you knew what my research was capable of, why did you stop my funding?”

“I had issues with your methods, not the goal.”

“The ends justify the means,” the snake-summoner retorted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the tunnel wall. For a moment, it was almost like he was back in the Hokage’s office, trading arguments and thinly veiled barbs with the other man.

“Like you did with my child? Stealing his childhood from him, and now his body, justifies your purpose?”

Orochimaru stopped short. Did that mean Minato had been aware of everything happening to the kid over the last decade? Or was it… sooner? Just how much did he know? More time would indicate greater familiarity with the environment, which meant a greater advantage.

“Your child was a dead man walking the moment you made him a jinchuuriki, Namikaze,” Orochimaru whispered, his voice cold and sharp, like a barbed knife. “Hiruzen would have coddled him to the point of incompetence while Danzo ensured he’d be hated in hopes of creating a mindless acolyte.”

Orochimaru took a step forward, pointing an accusatory finger at his contemporary. “You claim I took away his childhood when in reality, I gave him thirteen years of a happy, civilian life. I gave him over a decade of normalcy in a world where he’d be used by friend and foe alike. I allowed him to live a life with no knowledge of the curse placed on him by his own father.”

Minato placidly watched in silence.

It irked him. The inability to discern Minato’s period of awareness here inside the Seal could be a troubling factor.

“I raised him. I ensured he was taught. I ensured he had friends. I ensured he had a satisfactory life for all this time. In a world where being a shinobi is synonymous to wading a life of death, I gave him thirteen years of sound sleep.”

Orochimaru wore a wry smirk. “You call it stealing his childhood, I call it mercy!”

“Thirteen years of normalcy to replace a life of growth and suffering,” Minato muttered. “It seems very magnanimous when you put it that way,...”

His eyes suddenly hardened.

“But what of everything else?”

Orochimaru cocked his head.

“My son’s life may not have been a bed of roses, but he’d be in Konoha. He’d have his godfather. He’d have friends, real friends. He’d grow up and go to school and live the shinobi life like his parents did.”

Minato met his gaze. “You took that away from him. You imprisoned him. Made him grow up as a captive.”

That… rankled. Minato’s words could be loosely interpreted as his observations since Orochimaru entered the Seal. It was a common knowledge that he experimented on his prisoners, and even if he had—

He sighed. There was no point in playing this ridiculous game. Besides, Minato was starting to annoy him.

All these years of working in solitude over Minato’s unfinished legacy, he had often imagined a confrontation between himself and the man. To admit that he had been wrong about Minato and to start over. In fact, his other research, the mythical Edo Tensei, had been started with the aim of bringing Minato back to life.

But now? Now as he faced the fourth Hokage, all of a sudden, it all came back. The hostility that the man had for his experiments. His self-righteousness. His arrogance. His vindictiveness. His hypocrisy over painting Orochimaru as a heartless psychopathic bastard while he himself claimed the Hokage’s hat, sitting on a throne built of a thousand dead Iwa shinobi…

“—shattered my son’s innocence by making him commit murder, right before your attempted to devour his consciousness.”

The Sannin had enough. “I taught him what it meant to be a shinobi. His coming-of-age, as Hiruzen would have phrased it.”

“Oh, and I assume it has absolutely nothing to do with throwing his mind into disarray to facilitate your own entrance?”

Orochimaru chortled. “Don’t play coy with me, Namikaze. We’re shinobi. Killers. Everything we do has multiple layers of meaning. Jinchuuriki do not live long, and attempting to shape him into my own school of thought would take decades— decades that could be spent furthering other research. Instead, I took the most efficient route possible.”

“Taking over Naruto’s body,” Minato all but growled.

“No, setting him free.”

Frankly, Orochimaru was surprised that Namikaze was able to suppress his hostility thus far, especially since they were on the topic of his imprisoned and experimented son. Perhaps the man was indeed aware for long, and had simply grown accustomed to the Kyuubi’s chakra after being here for so long?

Yeah. Let’s go with that.

“I completed your legacy, Namikaze. With the Kyuubi trapped by the power of your Shiki Fujin and my new masterpiece, this body would be worthy of a God. Think about it. With that much power in my hands, I could bring the other villages to their knees. Konoha would reign supreme.”

“And with you on top.”

Orochimaru smiled. “A throne demands a ruler.”

“At the cost of my son’s life.”

“Shinobi are sacrificed every day, and jinchuuriki even more so. You guaranteed the demise of that babe when you sealed the tailed beast within him— he’s a ticking time-bomb. On the other hand, thousands of shinobi have been dying year after year because of the constant wars between the Elemental Nations.”

“You are seeing phantoms, Orochimaru,” Minato retorted sternly. “The world is peaceful.”

“It’s unbecoming of you to confuse peace with quiet,” the Sannin snarled. “Do not insult my intelligence, Namikaze. Kumo has been attempting to overthrow Konoha’s power for years now. Suna has been plotting behind our backs, sheltering terrorists and making deals with other villages. Iwa hates us on principle thanks to you. Kiri remains a bloody battleground. Where is your vaunted peace, Lord Fourth?”

Namikaze remained silent for a moment. Then, he spoke.

“But war isn’t a solution.”

“I never said it would be a war,” Orochimaru whispered. “War implies the other side has a chance of winning.”

Slowly, he raised himself to his fullest height. “The turmoil between nations can be curb-stomped by Power. Real Power, the kind that Naruto will become with our creations combined and powered by the greatest tailed beast in the world. Thousands can be saved. No one life, innocent or not, is worth more than that.”

Minato merely smiled.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Where you’ve always been wrong. You’ve actually got it backward.”

The snake-summoner narrowed his eyes.

“No life is worth more, you say? No, Orochimaru. No life is worth less.”

Orochimaru let every shred of emotion drain from his expression. His body began to release tiny bits of chakra in all directions, cloaking himself into a chakra-cocoon to defend against physical attacks. He was no Namikaze, but he wasn’t exactly easy to take down.

“There is no escape,” Minato intoned, as if reading his mind. “This seal is empowered by the Shinigami. Once you enter his domain, there is no going back.”

He raised a kunai.

Orochimaru raised his own in response, before hissing out in response.

“May the most devious one win.”

And sparks flew as metal clashed with metal.

For ten long years, Guren committed unspeakable crimes in the name of her Lord and Master.

She had walked into unsuspecting villages solely to capture those with a modicum of talent for her Lord’s research and to unleash carnage on the rest. She had overseen the island-laboratory and ensured the prisoners never mustered the courage to stage an insurrection. She had immediately ended the lives of those that raised a voice against her Lord. And once she killed any prisoners with her bare hands, she then waded into the sea to wash off her sins.

No blood, no sin.

Faulty logic, perhaps, but it was simple. She liked simple.

And thus, she had never hated herself.

Until now.

“Why doesn’t that thing just die already?” she heard Kidomaru yell in anger. He sent a flurry of poison-tipped arrows at the attacker, but they were intercepted and cut into pieces before coming anywhere close to the Oni.

“Attack the other one first, this one’s too fast,” Jirobo yelled, stomping on the ground and raising a large mud wall. It was shattered to nothingness before it was even half-raised.

Tayuya hadn’t summoned just a single Oni this time.

She summoned two.

The first was the one with the pair of nodachi and lighting on his heels. The barbarian had long, iron shackles on his ankles with chains extending out of them. When he ran, lightning oozed from the chains, decapitating and dismembering whatever came into contact as the man-sized monster kicked and slashed and tore through the prisoners like a tiger in a field of sheep.

This was no war. It was a slaughter.

And that was without considering the other one.

This Oni looked much more humane than the other one, both in build and movement. She had a lithe figure that reeked of femininity and flexibility, with full armor protecting her upper half and a weasel-shaped mask covering her face. Her hair was tied into a bun and held in place with a single senbon, reminding her of the kunoichi of the olden days.

She wielded a pair of elegantly curved blades, ones that fused at will to form a bow that shot thin arrows of water— whenever something entered its proximity, the creature would deconstruct the bow and decapitate it, before reforming it once more.

Guren had seen it happen six times already. That was when it hit her.

First fire. Then lightning. And now this? Does she have an Oni for every damn element?

“All of you, deal with this bitch!” Guren snapped out. “Kidomaru and I will take care of...” she spared a glance at the lightning wielder, “that one.”

SLASH!

Five more heads rolled across the floor, blood trailing its path.

Guren gulped.

Easier said than done.

She pressed her palms against the floor, seeking aid from the very walls of the castle where her crystals lay dormant, ready to grow at a moment’s notice and follow her commands.

‘The God’s Crossing.’

And the crystals answered, shooting out of the ground like coffins jumping out of a graveyard. Chunks of crystal, each a different shape and size— blocks, blades, boulders, daggers —emerged, jutting out in an attempt to hinder the ‘Ninabi’ creature as he rushed towards her.

Faster than her eyes could follow, one of his nodachi fell towards her neck, aiming to separate it from the rest of her body. A blade of crystal quickly intercepted the attack, only to disintegrate into dust as lightning coursed through it, fracturing its lattices.

It was an acute vulnerability in her chakra release— because of the rapid bonding between crystal molecules, lattices were almost never in perfect symmetry, with structural imperfections in several places. When inundated with lightning, these imperfections shuddered to the point of deconstruction, and the unreal momentum from the Oni’s attack only aided their destruction.

Cursing, Guren threw herself back as the nodachi tore through the space where her neck had been a mere moment ago, the tip flying so close that she could have sworn she felt a jolt of shock in her throat, jumping from the metal and into her skin. Spinning to avoid losing her footing, Guren materialized half a dozen crystal blades and sent them flying at the Ninabi’s groin.

They were blown away like petals in a storm.

Instead, she found herself hammered by a pair of steel blades as a follow-up attack. She desperately conjured more blades, but nothing seemed to deter the fury of slashing steel raining down upon her. Slowly overwhelmed, she dug her knee down into the ground, spitting blood.

The pillager swung his blade downwards in a killing blow.

And was sent flying as a truck-sized boulder smashed into him, flinging him away several feet.

“Did it work?” she heard Jirobo yell.

“Somewhat,” she coughed.

“We need to stop this one first,” the earth-style user mumbled, launching more rocks at the other Oni, who swayed, ducked and sidestepped with ease while raining showers of water-arrows at everyone.

And Tayuya?

She was nowhere to be seen.

“Damn it!” Guren cursed. “Where did she—”

The rest of her thoughts died as a pair of steel blades smashed against her. Again. Crystals immediately encased her arms as she held them to shield herself from the oncoming blow.

But it wasn’t enough.

The nodachi slowly cut through her crystal with unreal force, pushing forward inches at a time. She kept summoning new layers of crystal to replace the old ones, but the swords didn’t let up for a second, pushing down harder and harder.

Eventually, it shattered.

Two arms fell upon the stone floor, their severed ends spurting out warm, crimson blood.

Guren screamed.

Naruto blearily opened his eyes, freezing at the unfamiliar sight.

Gone was the stone-walled mansion, the tabletop on which the Master had bound and incapacitated him. Gone were the spasming bodies of the shinobi that he was forced to kill with his own two hands. Instead, he was standing in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but dark crimson as far as the eye could see.

An ocean of blood.

The liquid stuck to his naked torso, in what seemed to be a desperate attempt to stay latched on and not be driven away by the turbulent flow. There were no walls, no skies— just an alien crimson hue above his head where the ceiling should have been, and a large prison several feet ahead.

Sitting inside the prison, on a small rock bed, was a young woman with long hair as crimson as the blood he was immersed in. Her features looked deliriously soft and feminine, with bright hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and plushy lips.

He had never seen this person before. Not in the castle, not among the workers that served the Master. Not even in his wildest dreams.

And yet, she somehow felt strangely familiar.

“You’ve come at last,” she finally spoke. No, not spoke, for her lips had not moved.. It was more like she was… thinking at him.

“Who are you?” he ventured.

“Me? Do you really not know? This is a surprise.” Her voice was enchanting, honey to his ears. Her lips quivered into a smile. “Come closer and I’ll tell you.”

Naruto was no shinobi, but even he knew better than to take a stranger’s word for it.

“Why are you just standing there?” The woman lifted her chin, beckoning him with a tempting finger. “Come closer.”

His feet started moving forward, but he paused immediately. “No, I won’t.”

The mysterious woman arched an eyebrow.

“If you have a prison keeping you inside this place, there has to be a reason for it. I won’t come any closer. Not until I know who you are.”

“Look at you, acting like a big bad shinobi,” the woman cooed. “It’s cute.”

Naruto narrowed his eyes, deciding to go with the blunt approach first.

“Who are you?”

The woman sighed, before tilting her head in interest. “You really don’t recognize this face, do you, boy?”

“N— no,” Naruto frowned, a strange icy fear spreading from his chest to the rest of his body. “Have we met before?”

“Give me your name, boy.”

“Naruto. Naruto Namikaze.”

That sparked a reaction. Her bright blue pupils cracked right down the middle, revealing a dark crimson slit. It made her look inhuman.

Alien.

And dangerous beyond comprehension.

Naruto was never trained as a sensor, but just his gut instinct was enough to tell him he stood in front of a being that could tear him to pieces with nary a thought. And yet, she didn’t. Whatever the prison was, it somehow kept her from getting close to him.

“Namikaze. You are of his blood, then.” She sniffed, like a predator taking note of its prey. “Ah, yes. You have the same scent as that treacherous, backstabbing Uzumaki and that man. You even look a lot like him. You’re their son, aren’t you?”

“I— I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Naruto half-stated, half-asked. It was clear this being somehow knew both of his parents, and as curious as he was to ask more, he had a strange inkling that this woman didn’t exactly get along with them.

The strange woman stared at him in confusion. Then, she began to smile as her eyes widened, a certain light spreading across her slitted pupils.

“Tell me boy, does the term jinchuuriki mean anything to you?”

He paused. Of course it did. The jinchuuriki were always the highlights in his history books. Whenever one of them acted out, landscapes were changed and maps had to be redrawn. But the question wasn’t if he knew about them. No, the question was if being a jinchuuriki meant something to him. In particular.

He tilted his head. “Should it?”

The woman threw her head back and laughed.

Laughed and laughed and laughed. It was the laugh of a person who had finally gotten a joke after hearing it for an eternity. Of someone who suddenly gained a gift she didn’t know she wanted but was all the gladder for it.

“Why are you laughing?” Naruto asked, clutching his stomach from the growing pit of unease within.

It only made her laugh harder.

“Stop laughing at me!” he finally yelled.

That seemed to get her attention. An amused smirk adorning her graceful features, the woman regarded him once more in earnest.

“Why were you laughing at me?”

“That’s… something to be discussed at a later date. For now, come closer.”

Naruto stood still, arms crossed over his chest. “We’ve been over this already. Why should I?”

“Because if you don’t,” she spoke, cruelty dripping from every word as thin fangs poked out from the edges of her lips, “you are going to die.”