Time had lost all meaning.
There were no sunrises here. No ticking clocks. No seasons or stars to guide the mind. In the void, there was only the silence. The stillness. The soft hum of existence without life.
John no longer tried to keep count. Whether it had been months or millennia, he couldn't say.
But something had changed.
His mindscape—once a quiet sanctuary of replays and elemental fields—had evolved.
Where once he trained alone, striking conjured dummies and resetting trees with each shattering blow, now he stood before a pantheon of legends. Not real beings. Not even echoes of souls. But carefully, painstakingly reconstructed manifestations from the deepest parts of his memory and imagination.
His sentinels.
"I know none of you are real," John said, his voice echoing through the vast halls of his mental sanctum. "But... I like to think of you as my defenses. My guards. My guardians."
They didn't move. Not yet.
They sat cross-legged in meditation, silent and unmoving like statues carved from will.
Jiraiya.
The first.
John had brought him into being not for battle, but out of love—for the old sage's wisdom, humor, and strength. His flowing white hair, red markings, and massive scroll on his back were perfect. He even chuckled when he realized he had instinctively given Jiraiya that same goofy grin.
At first, the Toad Sage simply sat there—just another detail in John's growing world.
But something had caught John's attention.
When Jiraiya meditated, the void outside the mindscape reacted.
Or rather... connected.
It wasn't visible at first. But when John observed closely—when he really focused—he noticed a faint thread of dark, swirling mist coiling near Jiraiya's form, being gently absorbed into his body like a quiet tide washing over the sand.
It felt familiar.
Not ominous. Not evil. Just... infinite. Ancient. Like the space outside his mind was starting to respond. And somehow, Jiraiya was the key that unlocked it.
Curious, John meditated too.
He'd done it a thousand times before. But this time, something was different.
As he sat cross-legged across from the sage, breathing calmly with his eyes closed, the void welcomed him.
It wasn't cold. It wasn't empty.
It was warm.
Inviting.
Like coming home.
John smiled softly. He let go. The stress faded. The numbness faded. Even the emptiness of emotion began to flicker with distant echoes—peace, awe, curiosity.
He drifted in that state for what felt like hours. Or maybe centuries.
When he opened his eyes again, the void had grown quieter, if that was possible. Like it, too, was meditating with him.
He stood up with a newfound calm.
"Time to do more than sit around," he said with a faint smirk, his voice carrying purpose now.
John extended a hand, and Jiraiya's eyes opened.
No words were spoken. None were needed.
The old man stood, cracked his neck, and smiled that same laid-back grin. The way he moved, the way his chakra flared faintly, it all mirrored what John had seen countless times in Naruto.
This was no illusion.
This was replication.
John walked beside him into the sparring ground, his heart pounding—not from fear, but excitement. For the first time since his death, he wasn't alone in his training.
"I've studied you," he said, facing the sage across the arena. "Every move. Every technique. But studying isn't living. I need to feel it. Understand it in motion."
Jiraiya simply raised his hand, two fingers pointed up.
Challenge accepted.
The first clash wasn't perfect. John was fast—he'd trained endlessly—but Jiraiya was faster. He struck with grace, with technique woven into instinct. Every motion had weight. Every feint had purpose.
John was hit. Knocked back. Redirected.
And he loved it.
He felt the difference instantly—between training forms and true combat flow. He absorbed every movement. Every parry. Every shift in stance. And when they broke apart, John's mind burned with possibilities.
"That's it," he whispered, eyes glowing. "That's what I was missing."
Jiraiya nodded, as if approving of his student's realization.
John grinned and adjusted his stance. "Alright, sensei. Round two."
They clashed again.
And again.
And again.
Sparks flew, not from real energy, but from the clash of purpose and imagination. This wasn't a game anymore. This was learning.
Over time—how much, he could never tell—John mastered every style Jiraiya had ever shown in the anime. Taijutsu, evasive dodging, his grapples and spins, even his signature stance. John absorbed it all into his growing arsenal.
But he wasn't done.
Not even close.
He returned to the sanctuary of his mind and looked upon the others.
The Akatsuki.
Naruto and Sasuke.
Madara in his battle armor. Hashirama with his serene yet monstrous power.
All meditating. All absorbing that same void-like energy. Silent sentinels.
"I created you as guards for my mind," John whispered, eyes sharp with purpose. "But now... you're going to be my teachers."
One by one, he would spar with them.
He would learn their every move, understand their fighting philosophies, and dissect their styles.
Naruto's unpredictable combat and shadow clones.
Sasuke's cold, calculated precision.
Madara's devastating power and battlefield control.
Hashirama's endurance and wild, relentless flow.
He would master them all.
Not to mimic.
But to evolve.
His own style. Forged from pieces of the best, refined through endless time, shaped by meditation and war within the silence of his own mind.
The arena was only the beginning.
————————
Time continued to pass.
Or maybe it didn't.
In the void, such things didn't matter.
But John had changed. That much was certain.
He stood now at the center of his arena, the air heavy with calm power, and looked up at the infinite sky of nothingness that blanketed his mindscape. The training field was quiet—scarred with past battles, reformed by will, and marked by growth.
He rolled his shoulders, a faint sigh escaping him as he spoke aloud—not to anyone, but more like a journal entry carved into existence by thought.
"I've fought them all. Every sentinel I created."
He smiled slightly.
"Jiraiya... Naruto... Sasuke... Madara... even Hashirama. Each one pushed me to my limits. Each one forced me to break past another wall I didn't know I had. There were times during those fights when pain would rise—not physical pain, not really. Mental pain. Buried memories, emotions I thought were gone... would just erupt."
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"Loneliness. Regret. Anger. They surfaced in those fights like ghosts clawing at my mind... but they never stayed long. They came. They screamed. And then they vanished. Like they'd been acknowledged and released."
He opened his eyes again, calm.
"I realized I wasn't just fighting them. I was fighting myself. Every punch was a declaration: I will grow. I will overcome. I am still here."
He turned and looked to the outskirts of his domain, where more meditation platforms now floated—each holding a figure from across universes.
"I didn't stop with Naruto."
He chuckled faintly.
"I brought in others. Goku. Vegeta. Piccolo. Kirito. Asuna. Zoro. Sanji. And of course... Luffy."
His grin widened at the memory.
"Luffy was my favorite to spar with. His fighting style was insane—completely unpredictable, full of momentum, rubber-based physics, and just weird. At times, it was even more versatile than Naruto's. His unpredictability forced me to stop relying on rehearsed counters. I had to feel the rhythm of the fight."
He looked down at his hands.
"It's funny... I thought I'd have issues. I wasn't commanding them. I didn't program behavior or script their moves. But when the fight starts, they move. They act. Like they're aware. And that helps me so much more than I expected."
He stepped forward and extended a hand, summoning a short projection of his past self clashing with Luffy in full Gear Second. Fists blurred. Air cracked.
"It's because they fight on their own that I can fully focus. Analyze. Learn. Absorb their skills during active combat. Not from a list, not from a book—real combat."
He dismissed the illusion with a flick.
"And through all that... I discovered something about myself. I prefer fighting with my hands."
A laugh escaped him—short, but genuine.
"Yeah, I trained with weapons. Scythes. Chains. Daggers. Kratos' blades. I mastered them for long-range or midrange combat. And they work. But when it comes down to it... I like being up close. Direct. Fist to fist. That's when I feel most alive. Like I'm actually in motion—not just swinging a tool, but me."
He looked up, thoughts drifting.
"Over time... I started to imagine more than just fighters. I started creating creatures. Some based on Pokémon. Others from my own imagination."
He gestured outward, and the void shimmered.
Massive beasts stalked through distant forests. Winged serpents curled lazily in the sky. Hulking golems wandered the earth below the floating islands of his dream. A fox-like creature with six tails lazed near a shimmering lake.
"It was relaxing. Just... creating. Watching them move."
But then he noticed something.
"I started sensing it again."
He raised a hand, watching as a slow, dark mist coiled around his fingers—not threatening, not cold. Just present. Natural.
"The same void energy that surrounds my sentinels—it's in them too. All my creatures. Everything I've created. I don't know how or why... but it's there."
And more importantly...
"I'm absorbing it."
He clenched his fist gently.
"It's not something I try to do. It just... happens. Constantly. Like breathing. Like it's meant to be. The longer I stay here, the more of it flows into me. Through me."
He paused. The wind shifted—an illusion, perhaps, but one he welcomed.
"I don't know what it means yet. Maybe this energy is the void. Maybe I'm part of it now. Or maybe..."
He looked at his open palm again.
"Maybe it's part of me."
He turned back toward the arena, where Jiraiya now stood once again, awaiting the next round.
John grinned.
"I've got more to learn. And a lot more to fight."
And so, with the weight of a thousand lifetimes behind each step, he walked forward again into the silence.