Naruto: Creating from the Ashes

The endless cycle of death, murder, and suffering has finally come to an end. The Age of Fire has concluded, and darkness has descended upon the world, but a day will come when sparks will once again dance and ignite a new flame, but that is a completely… different story.

The Nameless Chosen Undead has found their peace. They had no regrets, fear, or confusion as their consciousness faded and their body ceased to feel as such. They had felt this sensation countless times before. Ashen ones could not die due to a curse that gradually turns them into empty husks of their former selves, leaving nothing but the pitiful instincts of a mindless monster. However, since the Chosen were 'Chosen,' death did not drive them mad completely. They were firmly aware of their purpose.

To return the Lords of Cinder to their rightful thrones and to ignite the First Flame, thus continuing the cycle as all before him.

But soon he realized that this had led to absolutely no changes. After igniting the flame, he once again started everything anew, except that everything he gained from the 'previous cycle' remained with him. He used this to revel in his power. He invaded the worlds of others like him, ashen ones who, like him, had succumbed to madness and reveled in bloody combat. Because it was in battle that these 'monsters' truly felt alive. One of the ashen ones helped him rethink his life. To look at it from the outside, to understand that it had all gone too far. He realized that he was tired of it all and fed up. He wanted to be free from all of it. To find his peace.

"What if it's all a lie? What if there is no such thing as 'peace' for him?" Hogward had said countless times, "We, the Ashen, are the most insignificant. We can't even die." But it was after this thought that he… woke up. Again. This time not in his familiar grave, but in the midst of a devastated caravan. His throat burned and stung with pain. His fingertips touched it and felt the still warm and sticky sensation of blood. However, there was no mortal wound anymore. It seemed to have healed when he regained consciousness.

Voices sounded nearby. They chatted, buzzed, and sometimes laughed. Somewhere a woman screamed and begged them to stop. She pleaded and cried. They surrounded her and used her for their amusement.

When the Nameless One managed to firmly stand on his feet, he realized that he had broken free from his vicious circle and now found himself… somewhere. However, the circumstances of his awakening were slightly unfavorable. Fortunately, they were too busy with the girl and did not particularly notice what was happening around them.

"Even here I can't live in peace, can I?" he said quietly. It was not a question, but an obvious fact. Next to him lay, apparently, his "father". Memories painfully echoed in his temple. He had tried to negotiate with the bandits, but it hadn't worked. The bandits didn't care about deals or proposals. They wanted to take Everything and get rid of unnecessary witnesses. Behind his belt, he found a dagger. Old, but still sharp, a double-edged blade.

"This will do for a start," he voiced his thought aloud.

He was a master of all types of weapons and had experience in thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands of battles, but judging by how young his body was, experience only gave him an advantage over enemies, but not an easy victory. He had two choices: to flee from the devastated caravan, or to stand his ground and… take revenge? The pain in his temple intensified, and memories spent with "his" father, frame by frame, appeared before his eyes. The Nameless One realized that, apparently, when he appeared here, he might have accidentally, or perhaps not, absorbed the soul of this twelve-year-old boy.

"I understand... I will do what you ask, now stop exhausting me with your memories."

He was not accustomed to the pain or suffering of others, but the fact that this soul could capriciously influence his mind slightly troubled him. Maybe it was all about his age and current strength? Speaking of strength. Did he have the Power of Fire, and what would happen if he died here? Something told him that it was better not to die here. If he was given a second chance in a world without the horrors he had experienced, why not take advantage of it?

His hand comfortably gripped the dagger, and his eyes carefully scanned the surroundings and opponents.

Six bandits in the center of the road were amusing themselves with a girl. Among them was the leader, who seemed to be taking the main part in the group assault. The road was too open, and there was no good cover. So he decided to start the fight himself.

He burst from his hiding place behind a wagon, sprinted to the back of the leader, and with a powerful thrust of the dagger into the back of his head, up to the hilt, he finished him off, adding a kick to his back.

The dead body fell onto the girl, and a white, translucent mist absorbed into the chest of the ashen one.

The bandits were clearly shocked. They hadn't expected something like this and froze for a couple of seconds. This gave him the advantage, and he quickly drew the leader's sword from the scabbard and struck another with a wide swing. Unfortunately, the sword was too heavy for him, resulting in a less than impressive wound on the enemy's chest.

"Damn... kid!" — a retaliatory kick to the chest sent him tumbling. He needed to change the plan. The enemies were stronger and more numerous. Tumbling, he quickly ran back toward the wagon.

"You said you killed him, Kageyama?! Because of you, our boss is now dead by the hands of some snot-nosed brat! Catch him quickly!"

When you are pursued by many opponents, they sometimes forget about caution and become predictable. Some foolish bandit was rushing ahead of the others toward the Nameless. He parried the criminal's sword thrust with his hand, not even injuring himself, and delivered a powerful dagger thrust right into the heart. Four more, but there were only three pursuers. It seemed that the one who had shouted decided to stay in his place.

"This kid is not simple... Kageyama, what the hell?!"

"I swear! I swear I slit his throat!"

They hesitated, and tensely holding their swords in front of them, stood a few meters from him. The Nameless said nothing. He just curiously found another dagger at the belt of the second corpse. His cold and emotionless gaze met that of Kageyama. Smiling, he spread his arms as if inviting them. One of them could not withstand the provocation. He dodged the attack using a technique called "Quick Step," which allowed him to slide into the flank and plunge the dagger up to the hilt into the side.

"Argh! Hold... still!" — the blow was too slow and imprecise due to the injury, which allowed him another step, a strike from behind, to penetrate his skull. The second stood slightly nervously in stance, while the third, Kageyama, just trembled slightly and did not even hold his sword in front of him.

"Kageyama! Damn it, get a grip! It's just a kid!"

Despite these words, they did not instill any confidence. This kid was a true experienced killer! It took him just a few seconds of battle to dispose of each of them. The Nameless analyzed his opponents and with a new, light smirk, simply... walked toward them?!

"What are you planning?!"

It was abnormal, insane, and terrifying. It was as if they faced someone who feared death not at all. And so, when the distance between them was just about a meter or so, the first bandit couldn't hold back and struck along with the second. He sidestepped the attack with a sliding motion, leaving a cut on one bandit's leg and a slash on another's arm. After half a minute of this deadly dance, the Nameless, thanks to his battle experience, was able to literally read their movements and strike back without consequences for himself.

It ended when he lightly threw his dagger, piercing one bandit's head, and then struck Kageyama in the groin.

The body bent slightly, allowing him to effortlessly perform a horizontal swipe, leaving a gash across Kageyama's neck. Kageyama frantically tried to stop the bleeding with his hands, gasping and choking on his own blood. The Nameless felt a small sense of satisfaction from this scene. Pulling the dagger from the bandit's head, he was immediately hit by a crossbow bolt in the shoulder. He had completely forgotten about the last one...

"Damn... missed," the remaining bandit muttered nervously, reloading the crossbow with another bolt. It seemed he was aiming for the head. Slightly angrily pulling the bolt from his shoulder, he zigzagged toward his opponent. There was no shield, but even without it, he managed to cover his face with his free hand to protect it from a fatal head wound. He saw the crossbow bolt flying toward his head but did not rush to dodge for two reasons: his body was still unable to evade projectiles fired from three meters away at such speed, and second, he couldn't afford to slow down because the opponent seemed to be the smartest and most experienced after their boss. The crossbow bolt pierced his left hand and got stuck in it. His face twisted slightly in a grimace of pain. His right hand thrust the dagger, but it missed. The opponent dodged. The crossbow was thrown aside, and now the last bandit drew his sword from its sheath.

"I don't know who or what you are, but you're clearly not an ordinary kid. What if I offered you a place in my gang?"

Silence was his response. He didn't like to talk to his opponents. Exceptions existed, but he wasn't one of them. There was no honor, no strength, nothing to be interested in. He merely disdainfully pointed a finger at the ground.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

Since his opponent was on guard, he needed to catch him off guard or lure him into a trap. The dagger swings required little effort, which allowed him to execute a series of strikes that were blocked by the bandit's sword. When the bandit seemed to think he was exhausted, he delivered a sword strike. He couldn't parry due to the inability to use his free hand, but who said he needed to parry? The blow landed on his side. He had deliberately exposed himself to the attack, calculating it so that it wouldn't hit any vital organs. The dagger struck his side, then again, and again, until the opponent fell to his knees and dropped his sword.

"Stop... I—"

The blade smoothly cut across his neck, and his head finally stopped hurting. Throwing the dagger aside, he hissed angrily as he pulled the sword from the bandit's body and used his teeth to extract the crossbow bolt from his palm, spitting it onto the ground.

"Need to deal with the trash and the dead," he said to the void, "but first, I need to find something to heal my body."

In the wrecked cart, he found clean bandages among the food and antiques. He was the son of a merchant, and he and his father had led a nomadic life in the shinobi world. Despite having guards, they lost and were killed. The guards had been only two ordinary people. Not shinobi. Apparently, that was why they had no chance against the bandits' numerical superiority.

The woman being raped was his mother. A quick glance revealed that her throat had been cut by the "crossbowman" while he was fighting the bandits. Even after the rape and death, she hadn't lost her beauty. Her body still had a white, glowing round spot. He absorbed her soul and made it his own.

"Don't bother me with your memories."

He also found a shovel in the cart. He didn't want to leave the bodies of his "former" parents lying and rotting here by the road, so he made two small graves for them near an inconspicuous tree. He then dragged the bandits' and his guards' bodies into a pile. He poured all the available transport oil on them and struck a match. He watched the flame with a sort of trance-like fascination before throwing it onto the pile. The fire flared up and consumed the bodies. He sat next to the burning pile, just as he had done countless times with his own fire.

"And what should I do now?" he asked the emptiness as the fire turned the bodies into burning remains. He didn't expect an immediate answer.

"You'd better tell us who you are and what you're doing here before we decide what to do with you..."

There were three of them, and they were much more dangerous than the bandits. They looked like typical "ninjas," their faces hidden behind white masks with animal patterns. To start with, he hadn't sensed them at all.

"I have no name."