Chapter 27: Of Dragons and Devouring Beasts
Nathaniel Essex did not stop smiling.
If anything, his expression grew sharper, more reverent, as the experiment progressed beyond anything he had previously achieved in this world.
He had altered the variables.
That was the secret.
Not patience. Not restraint. But escalation.
Where the earlier subjects had received fragments of Juubi chakra—raw, unstable, diluted by fear and weak resolve—this one was different. This time, Sinister fed the subject everything that had been left behind.
Residual Juubi chakra harvested from the dead.
Echoes of failed transformations.
Lingering fragments of violent will and broken ambition.
Ten lives worth of devouring power, condensed into one vessel.
"Ten times the burden," Sinister murmured softly, hands glowing with restrained crimson bio-energy. "Ten times the truth."
The man on the table did not scream immediately.
That alone made Sinister pause.
Most subjects howled. Begged. Collapsed inward long before the transformation truly began.
But this man—
He endured.
Sinister narrowed his eyes.
A jōnin.
Not merely that—a special guard.
One of the Tsuchikage's shadows, a man entrusted to keep even a Daimyō in line should politics sour.
Loyal. Disciplined. Hardened.
And most dangerously of all—
Certain of who he was.
The Juubi chakra surged into him like a tidal wave meant to erase identity, to overwrite self with hunger and instinct. The lab trembled as the energy poured in, seals cracking, stone walls groaning under the pressure.
And still—
The man resisted.
Sinister felt it.
A clash—not of strength, but of will.
"Tch," Sinister muttered, increasing his psychic pressure. Veins of thought wrapped tighter around the man's mind, forcing obedience. "You shinobi are endlessly troublesome."
The stronger the subject, the harder they were to dominate. Their training made them resilient not only in body, but in spirit. This one fought the transformation, fought Sinister's control, fought the Juubi itself—
—and yet did not break.
Instead, something extraordinary happened.
The Juubi chakra adapted.
It stopped trying to consume him and instead began to shape itself around his resolve.
Sinister's breath caught.
"Oh…" he whispered, delighted. "You're not being devoured."
The transformation demanded more.
More chakra.
More life force.
More fuel to complete what it had begun.
Sinister supplied it without hesitation, drawing on his own reserves, bio-energy flaring as he compensated for the deficit. Even so, he felt it—this was not enough for perfection.
Not yet.
Still, the change surged forward.
Bones restructured with a sound like stone grinding against steel. Musculature elongated and refined rather than bloated. The man grew taller, leaner, stronger—his form becoming efficient, predatory in its elegance.
Then the eyes opened.
Not Sharingan.
Not Byakugan.
Rinnegan.
Sinister inhaled sharply.
"So it is possible," he murmured, awe creeping into his voice despite himself.
The energy release shredded the man's clothing, chakra rippling outward in a violent pulse that rattled every tool in the lab. When it settled, the subject stood naked amidst fading light, perfectly balanced, terrifyingly calm.
He looked at Sinister.
And bowed.
"Elder," the man said respectfully, voice deep and steady.
Sinister froze.
Recognition.
Not fear.
Not madness.
Reverence.
The creature—no, the being—before him had sensed it. The Juubi-derived power within Sinister himself, refined, controlled, elevated beyond crude infection.
"Yes," Sinister thought with fierce satisfaction. "You understand."
As Sinister had improved his subjects, he had not neglected himself. He had absorbed the finest aspects of each transformation—resilience, concealment, adaptability—refining his own genetic structure with every iteration.
Now, his presence was thinner than ever.
Slipperier.
Naruto Uzumaki would not find him easily again.
Sinister gestured casually, and crimson energy wrapped around the transformed man, weaving fabric from chakra and intent. A tailored black suit formed seamlessly over his body—sharp, formal, dignified.
The man straightened, examining himself briefly before meeting Sinister's gaze again.
"What is your name?" Sinister asked, voice smooth, almost indulgent.
For a moment, the man was silent.
Then he shook his head once.
"My mortal name no longer has meaning," he said evenly. "That life is gone."
He lifted his chin, eyes burning with quiet certainty.
"Call me Ryu."
Sinister smiled slowly, a predator savoring the birth of something magnificent.
"A dragon," he said approvingly. "Yes… that will do nicely."
-------------------------------
Nathaniel Essex allowed himself a rare indulgence.
Conversation.
The laboratory—if it could still be called that, after its walls had been reforged by will and chakra rather than mortar—was quiet save for the low hum of living energy. Tubes pulsed faintly. Seals glimmered. Somewhere beneath it all, the world went on blissfully unaware.
Ryu stood at the center of the chamber like a statue carved from intent rather than stone.
He did not fidget.
He did not look around.
He did not wonder.
He waited.
Sinister circled him slowly, hands clasped behind his back, eyes gleaming with scientific reverence. The contrast between them was striking—Sinister animated, expressive, delight dancing behind his sharp features, while Ryu remained utterly still, a blade sheathed in human form.
"You are… remarkably intact," Sinister said at last. "No screaming. No delusions of godhood. No desire to tear the world apart immediately."
Ryu inclined his head slightly. "Those things would be inefficient, Elder."
Ah.
There it was.
Sinister's smile widened.
Ryu spoke in a monotone, each word measured, respectful, stripped of unnecessary emotion. He referred to Sinister only as Elder, not from fear, but from recognition—of lineage, of hierarchy, of shared essence.
"I seek only to complete my purpose," Ryu continued calmly. "Nothing else is relevant."
Sinister stopped pacing.
"And what," he asked pleasantly, "do you believe that purpose to be?"
Ryu looked at him, genuinely puzzled.
"To help the Juubi devour this world," he answered plainly. "That is the natural conclusion."
Sinister raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Oh? And how do you intend to manage that?"
For the first time, Ryu hesitated—not from doubt, but from confusion.
"By devouring an Ōtsutsuki," he said. "The energy would be sufficient to cultivate the God Tree. Once rooted, the world follows."
He paused, then added with quiet certainty, "Surely you already knew this, Elder."
Sinister laughed softly.
A genuine laugh.
"Yes," he admitted, waving a hand. "Of course I knew. I was merely… verifying completeness."
Ryu's head tilted a fraction. "Completeness?"
Sinister's expression darkened, satisfaction giving way to clinical honesty.
"I am not simply creating Juubi vessels," he said. "I am creating children of the Juubi. And children, as you may imagine, are not always… successful."
Images flickered briefly across the lab's surfaces—failed subjects, twisted forms, creatures reduced to instinct and hunger.
"Wild beasts," Sinister continued lightly. "Powerful, yes. But useless."
Ryu studied the images without reaction.
"I see," he said. "Then I am… acceptable."
"Oh, my dear Ryu," Sinister replied warmly, placing a hand over his heart. "You are magnificent."
Ryu nodded once, accepting the assessment as one might accept the weather.
"Do you require my assistance," he asked, "in increasing our brethren?"
Sinister's smile sharpened into something predatory.
"Yes," he said simply.
As if summoned by the word itself, the shadows at the far end of the chamber shifted. A second Sinister stepped forward—his clone—escorted by something vast.
Heavy.
Stone scraped against reinforced flooring.
The figure was enormous, hunched slightly to fit within the chamber, its body composed of living rock veined with sickly, violent energy. Cracks glowed faintly with crimson-purple light, as though something inside was trying to claw its way out.
Sinister's breath caught.
"Oh," he whispered reverently. "Oh, what a subject."
Ryu's eyes narrowed—not in fear, but in assessment.
"This one is… different," he observed.
"Indeed," Sinister said, barely containing his excitement. "An outsider. A being already altered by cosmic forces. His name—on another world—was Ben Grimm."
The Thing.
A living monument to endurance.
And now—
"He is infected," Sinister continued, voice trembling with delight, "extremely heavily by Juubi chakra remnants. Far more than any subject I've encountered here."
The Thing groaned faintly, unconscious, the Juubi's influence pulsing through him like a second heartbeat.
Sinister clasped his hands together.
"Strength. Resilience. Identity forged through suffering," he murmured. "If even half of that survives the transformation…"
He turned to Ryu, eyes alight.
"My dragon," he said softly, "let us see what happens when a mountain learns to devour."
And deep within the laboratory, the Juubi stirred—as if amused by the thought.
----------------------------
Tsunade:
Konoha had not known quiet like this in days.
The village still bustled, of course—healers arriving and departing in waves, scrolls flying between departments, messengers sprinting across rooftops—but beneath it all, there was a fragile sense of stability. The worst had passed. The bleeding had slowed.
And that was precisely when Tsunade decided she had had enough.
Naruto Uzumaki was sitting on the floor of the Hokage Tower, staring intently at a wall that did not exist.
"…that clone still hasn't reported back," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Or maybe it did. Or maybe that was the one from the river town—no, wait, that was yesterday—"
He blinked.
The wall rippled.
Sakura's heart dropped.
"Naruto," she said carefully, kneeling in front of him. "How many clones do you have active right now?"
Naruto frowned, genuinely trying to count. "A few hundred—no, a thousand—no, wait, some of them split again because the healer teams needed—"
His words slurred together.
Behind Sakura, Tsunade's jaw tightened.
Four days.
Four days of barely three hours of sleep. Four days of keeping thousands of shadow clones active—each one observing, healing, transporting, shielding, reporting. Naruto had turned his own mind into a battlefield of overlapping memories, emotions, pain, and fear.
It was a miracle he was still standing.
It was a tragedy that he thought he should be.
Naruto suddenly looked up, eyes unfocused. "Sakura… did we already save the boy with the blue scarf, or is he—"
He swayed.
Sakura didn't hesitate.
Crack.
The back of her knuckles met his temple with practiced precision.
Naruto collapsed mid-sentence, slumping forward like a marionette whose strings had finally been cut.
The room went utterly silent.
Shizune gasped. Kakashi stiffened. Even Tsunade closed her eyes for a brief second—not in regret, but relief.
Sakura caught Naruto before he hit the floor, holding him there, her hands trembling now that the crisis had passed.
"I'm sorry," she whispered fiercely, even though she knew it had been necessary. "You idiot… you absolute idiot…"
Tsunade exhaled slowly.
"Good," she said. "If he'd stayed awake another hour, he would've fractured his psyche beyond what even I could stitch back together."
Naruto was moved to a sealed medical chamber, layers of protective barriers humming softly around him. His golden chakra cloak flickered once… twice… and finally faded.
For the first time in days, Naruto slept.
Outside, the world continued to turn.
Thousands of healers—now carrying Tsunade's knowledge in their own minds—moved across the continent. Villages that had been on the brink began to breathe again.
Tsunade turned to her final task.
"Ino."
Ino Yamanaka straightened instantly, exhaustion etched into her face—but determination burning behind her eyes.
"Yes, Lady Hokage."
Naruto lay motionless on the bed, his brow furrowed even in sleep. Faint tremors ran through his chakra network as memories clashed—thousands of lives, thousands of moments trying to occupy the same space.
"He's not dreaming," Tsunade said quietly. "He's sorting. And it's tearing him apart."
Ino swallowed.
"I can help," she said. "But… this isn't just untangling memories. This is Naruto."
Tsunade's gaze softened—just a fraction.
"I know," she replied. "That's why I trust you."
Ino placed her hands gently against Naruto's temples, closed her eyes, and reached inward.
The moment her consciousness touched his, she staggered.
So much.
Voices. Pain. Gratitude. Fear. Cities. Faces. Lives saved and lost—all overlapping, crashing like waves.
Ino gritted her teeth.
"Honestly," she muttered, forcing a shaky smile, "he really doesn't know how to do anything halfway, does he?"
Carefully—so carefully—she began to separate the strands. Memories folded away. Clones dismissed, their experiences sorted and stored instead of colliding.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
Sweat dripped down Ino's temple, but slowly, Naruto's breathing evened out. The storm inside him quieted—not erased, but ordered.
When Ino finally pulled back, she nearly collapsed into a chair.
"…He'll be okay," she said softly. "But if he does this again, I'm charging him emotionally."
Tsunade allowed herself a tired smile.
"Fair."
Naruto slept on, unaware of the hands that had caught him—again—before he shattered himself for the world.
And for the first time since the war ended, Konoha stood watch over its greatest hero…
instead of the other way around.
--------------------------
Peter:
If invention had a smell, the Research and Development Department of Konoha would have been the place to bottle it.
Oil, ozone, hot metal, fresh ink, steamed tea, and something faintly explosive hung in the air, blending into a scent that made Susan Storm wrinkle her nose politely and made Peter Parker grin like he'd just walked into heaven.
"This," Peter said, spinning slowly in place as he took in the cluttered workshop, "is beautiful chaos."
Katasuke Tōno beamed.
His goggles were perched crookedly on his forehead, his lab coat stained with scorch marks and grease, and his desk—if it could still be called that—was buried under scrolls, blueprints, half-assembled engines, and something that looked suspiciously like it might crawl away if ignored long enough.
"I try to keep things organized," Katasuke said cheerfully, nudging a steaming device aside with his elbow so it wouldn't fall over. "But ideas don't like standing in neat lines."
Peter laughed. "You have no idea how validating that is."
Susan smiled faintly as she walked past a partially assembled steam locomotive. "You built this?"
"Oh yes! It ran beautifully," Katasuke said. "Until it exploded. But only once!"
Peter winced in sympathy. "That's still better than my average."
They had arrived expecting to guide the project, to translate advanced aeronautical concepts into something this world could understand.
Instead, within the first hour, they realized something important.
They weren't teaching.
They were collaborating.
Katasuke studied Peter's blueprint with intense focus, his fingers hovering just above the paper as though touching it might interrupt the thought forming in his mind.
"So," he murmured, "lift is generated not by pushing air down, but by pressure differentials across the wing…"
"Yes!" Peter said instantly. "Exactly! The curve—"
"—creates faster airflow on top," Katasuke finished, eyes lighting up. "Lower pressure. Upward force."
Peter froze.
Then he pointed at Katasuke like he'd just discovered a long-lost twin.
"You get it."
Katasuke laughed, delighted. "Of course! It's just another way of persuading nature to cooperate."
Susan leaned in, intrigued. "You've built aircraft before?"
"Primitive ones," Katasuke admitted. "Propeller fighters. Loud. Inefficient. Mostly terrifying. But this—" He tapped the blueprint. "This is elegant."
They began to trade knowledge in earnest.
Peter and Susan explained aerodynamics, materials stress, redundancy systems, and passenger safety. In return, Katasuke opened the doors to Konoha's technological soul.
Electricity existed here, yes—but it shared space with steam engines, chakra-powered turbines, and fuinjutsu-enhanced systems that blurred the line between engineering and magic.
"Our engines don't burn fuel," Katasuke explained, gesturing toward a cylindrical core etched with glowing seals. "They convert chakra directly into rotational force. But efficiency is… lacking."
Peter's eyes widened. "Wait—you're telling me your biggest problem is optimization, not energy scarcity?"
Susan blinked. "That's… not fair."
Katasuke shrugged apologetically. "Chakra storage seals are very advanced. Chakra stones too. Much more stable than raw energy cells."
Susan exchanged a look with Peter.
"That alone," she said slowly, "solves three problems we'd normally spend years on."
"And that's before the materials," Peter added.
Katasuke nodded eagerly and clapped his hands.
"Oh! Yes! I was saving that."
He disappeared into a side room and returned carrying a metal ingot that shimmered faintly blue, as though light itself had been folded into solid form.
"This is light-blue chakra metal," Katasuke announced proudly. "Ranked for speed and reduced mass."
Susan accepted it carefully, her force-field instinctively wrapping around her hand.
"…This is lighter than aluminum," she murmured. "And stronger."
Peter tapped it. "And it's humming."
"That's the chakra lattice," Katasuke said. "The color determines specialty. Red for durability. Black for absorption. Gold for resonance."
Peter stared.
"…You have an entire periodic table of magic metal."
Katasuke blinked. "Is that unusual?"
Peter laughed helplessly. "Buddy, if I took this back home, half the planet would lose its mind."
Within hours, the workshop transformed.
Seals were etched. Frames assembled. Engines redesigned. Susan reinforced structures with invisible fields while Peter recalculated stress tolerances at superhuman speed, occasionally stopping to marvel at how chakra metal simply accepted improvements rather than resisting them.
And Katasuke—Katasuke stood at the center of it all, laughing, scribbling, inventing.
"This world really does fly," he said softly at one point, watching the prototype fuselage take shape. "It just never realized it before."
Peter wiped sweat from his brow and grinned.
"Give it a runway," he said. "We'll take care of the rest."
Somewhere beyond the workshop walls, the world was still healing.
But here—amid sparks, laughter, and impossible ideas—the future was quietly learning how to grow wings.
--------------------------
Shikamaru:
The meeting room was quiet in the way only serious thinking could make it quiet.
Not the awkward silence of strangers.
Not the tense silence before battle.
This was the heavy, thoughtful kind—the sort that creaked under the weight of the future.
Shikamaru sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled, eyes half-lidded in his usual expression of mild irritation with the universe. To his left sat Shino, perfectly straight-backed, hands folded, his insects resting in unnatural stillness. To his right was Sai, smiling faintly in a way that suggested he was trying very hard to look human today.
Neji's seat was empty, a dear friend that died too soon.
Shikamaru didn't look at it. He didn't have to.
"Alright," Shikamaru said at last, exhaling slowly. "This is a pain. But if we don't do it now, it'll be a bigger pain later."
Sai nodded. "Thinking ahead reduces emotional distress. Naruto experiences emotional distress when surprised."
Shikamaru gave him a sideways look. "That's… disturbingly accurate."
Shino adjusted his glasses. "Proactive strategy is the logical response to an unstable world system."
"See?" Shikamaru muttered. "This is why I called you two."
He tapped the table once, hard enough to echo.
"First problem. The big one."
Both men answered at the same time.
"The Otsutsuki."
Shikamaru grimaced. "Yeah. Figures."
Shino spoke calmly, as if discussing a weather pattern instead of godlike parasites. "They represent an existential threat beyond current shinobi doctrine. Naruto alone cannot be the sole countermeasure."
Sai tilted his head. "But Naruto must remain the strongest."
Shikamaru nodded immediately. "Absolutely."
Shino agreed without hesitation. "A single apex stabilizes the system. If multiple entities rival Naruto's power, conflict becomes inevitable."
Sai smiled. "Naruto at the top makes him feel useful. And safe."
Shikamaru paused, then sighed. "And there it is. Logic and emotional stability. Neji would've liked that."
A brief silence passed.
"Still," Shikamaru continued, "Naruto can't be the only pillar. We need layers. People strong enough to delay, restrain, or survive until he arrives."
"Distributed strength," Shino said. "Not centralized dependency."
"Exactly."
Shikamaru made a mark on the scroll.
---
"Second problem," he said. "Politics."
Sai's smile vanished.
"I do not trust the Raikage."
Shikamaru snorted. "Join the club."
Shino added, "Historical patterns indicate that fear of Naruto's power will lead to covert opposition rather than open hostility."
"Yeah," Shikamaru said darkly. "Nobody's dumb enough to challenge him head-on. That's what worries me."
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"Someone's already thinking about balance. About counters. About insurance."
Sai folded his hands. "People act selfishly when afraid. That is consistent behavior."
"And dangerous," Shikamaru replied. "Especially when fear wears a Kage hat."
---
"Third problem," Shikamaru went on, voice quieter now. "Leadership."
Both of the others looked at him.
"The world can't just… orbit Naruto forever," Shikamaru said. "Even if he could handle it, he wouldn't want to."
Sai shook his head gently. "Naruto does not desire rulership beyond Hokage."
"Right," Shikamaru said. "And even Hokage's just a stepping stone for him. He wants peace, not control."
Shino's voice was thoughtful. "A unified direction requires structure. Ideals alone are insufficient."
"So who leads?" Shikamaru asked. "A council? An alliance? A rotating system? And how do we make sure everyone's actually walking the same path instead of smiling and sharpening knives behind their backs?"
Sai blinked. "Naruto could inspire compliance."
Shikamaru gave a tired smile. "Inspiration fades. Systems last."
He wrote another line.
---
"Fourth problem," Shikamaru said, rubbing his temple. "Nathaniel Essex."
Shino stiffened slightly. "An unknown variable. High adaptability. Scientific curiosity without ethical restraint."
Sai nodded. "Similar to Orochimaru. But less emotionally attached to his creations."
Shikamaru grimaced. "Which somehow makes him worse."
He stared at the scroll.
"A man who can change faces, bodies, identities. Who experiments during a global crisis. Who helped someone survive the Juubi infection."
Sai spoke softly. "He is not acting randomly."
"No," Shikamaru agreed. "He's preparing."
---
Shikamaru paused, then added more, his voice slower now.
"Fifth problem. Belief."
Sai tilted his head. "Clarify."
"People are starting to see Naruto as something other than human," Shikamaru said. "Hero, savior, guardian… those words slide real easy into god if no one's careful."
Shino nodded. "Faith alters social behavior unpredictably."
"And puts pressure on Naruto he doesn't need," Sai added. "He already believes everything is his responsibility."
Shikamaru closed his eyes briefly.
"Exactly."
---
He exhaled and leaned forward again.
"And sixth," he said quietly. "The one nobody likes talking about."
Neither interrupted.
"What happens," Shikamaru asked, "if Naruto breaks?"
Sai's smile was gone now. Completely.
Shino's insects stirred.
"If exhaustion, guilt, or manipulation compromise him," Shino said, "the system collapses."
Sai spoke carefully. "Naruto hides pain to protect others. That increases risk."
Shikamaru nodded.
"Which means," he said, "our job isn't just planning wars and threats. It's making sure Naruto never has to carry this alone again."
He looked at both of them.
"That means stronger allies. Smarter systems. Fewer surprises."
"And trust," Sai added. "Real trust."
Shino adjusted his glasses. "And vigilance."
Shikamaru smirked faintly. "Troublesome as hell… but yeah."
He rolled up the scroll.
"Alright. We've got a list."
He stood, hands in his pockets, gaze firm.
"Now we figure out how to beat every single one of these problems—before they become disasters."
Somewhere in Konoha, Naruto slept.
And for the first time, the world's future was being shaped not by his fists— but by the quiet, relentless minds of those determined to keep him standing.
-------------------------
A.N Ryu is Shinki's Juubi clone from Boruto. I will be using things from Boruto and write them in the way I prefer. The story's power structure will move towards universal and multiversal power in the end since the enemies are fifth dimensional beings. This is from Boruto. The top Otstusuki are fifth dimensional. I highly doubt the manga will touch upon it more than just a lore drop but this story completely focuses on the Otsutsuki as the ultimate enemy.