The rain swallows the city whole. Sheets of water hammer down from the sky, drowning every whisper, every footstep, until the world is just noise and storm.
I stand there in the alley, staring at the empty sky where she vanished. Konan. She just… dissolved into paper, a thousand fluttering wings scattering into the storm like she was never real to begin with.
Gone.
The silence she left behind is louder than the rain.
I look down. There, bobbing weakly in a puddle at my feet, is the paper shuriken I made. My paper shuriken. The edges are softening, soggy, melting into pulp. And for some reason, that makes me want to laugh and cry all at once.
I crouch down, staring at it. Then at my hands. They're still trembling, twitching like they don't belong to me anymore.
"What… what the hell was that?" I whisper, voice drowned by the storm. "How did I…?"
I turn my palms over, expecting to see some hidden mark, some trick, some logical explanation. But it's just skin. My skin. Wet, pale, shaking.
No chakra. No hand seals. No training. And yet—I glance back at the puddle. That thing came from me. Out of nothing.
I squeeze my fists tight, nails biting into flesh. My stomach twists."I shouldn't be able to do that. Nobody should."
The thought worms its way in, ugly and terrifying: Did I just break the rules of this world? Not bend them, not cheat them—break them?
For a second, I imagine the universe noticing me. Some cosmic referee leaning down, blowing the whistle. "Flag on the play, dipshit. You're not supposed to exist here."
And I almost laugh. Almost. But the sound catches in my throat, choking me. Because the truth slams in just as hard: if Konan saw, then Nagato will know.
And if Nagato knows…
My hands start shaking harder.
"God damn it," I mutter, wiping rain out of my eyes, though it doesn't matter. "I'm so screwed."
The storm doesn't answer. It just keeps falling, drowning Ame in noise while I stand there in the alley, staring at my traitorous hands like they're loaded guns I don't remember picking up.
The tower looms like a black needle through the heart of Ame, its spire lost somewhere in the storm clouds. Inside, the rain is muffled, but the silence here is heavier, more suffocating than the storm outside.
Konan kneels. Paper wings curl back into her body, sheets dissolving into her cloak until she is only a woman again — a woman before a god. Her hair clings to her cheeks, rainwater dripping onto the stone floor, each drop echoing in the hollow chamber.
Nagato sits high in the shadows, iron rods pinning him to his throne of pain, tubes writhing from his wasted body. His breath rattles — shallow, labored — but his eyes never waver. Twin rings of violet burn in the dimness, patient, eternal.
"Speak," he commands. His voice isn't loud, but it fills the room, steady and absolute.
Konan lowers her head. "I saw a man."
Nagato's gaze sharpens. "A man?"
"Not a shinobi. Not anyone I've seen within Ame." She pauses, steadying herself. Even she feels uneasy describing it. "He conjured a paper shuriken. Out of nothing."
The silence stretches, brittle. The only sound is the slow hiss of Nagato's respirator.
"No chakra," Konan continues. "No seals. He just… created it. As I do."
Nagato's eyes narrow. One word slips from his lips, heavy as stone: "Impossible."
Konan meets his gaze, unflinching but grave. "I watched him. It was no illusion. Not a coincidence."
The storm crashes outside. Thunder growls across Ame like an answer.
Nagato leans back in his chair, the faintest flicker of unease crossing his pale features. "Then either he is a liar…" His voice grows quieter, darker. "…or the rules of this world are not as absolute as I believed."
Konan's lips press into a thin line. She does not speak.
At last, Nagato shifts, the mechanical limbs at his back groaning with the movement. His breath catches, ragged, before he exhales. "This cannot be ignored."
He closes his eyes. When they open again, they are not his alone — but the Rinnegan, burning like a curse.
"I will go myself."
The streets blur past me in streaks of rain and shadow. My lungs burn, each gasp a knife in my ribs, but I don't stop running. Can't stop.
Every splash of my footsteps feels too loud, too obvious, like a beacon for whatever's hunting me. And I know — I know what's coming next. If Konan was just the appetizer, then Pain's the main course.
And I'm not on the menu.
"Nope. Nope nope nope." My voice cracks in the storm, half laugh, half sob. "I'm done. I'm tapping out. Somebody else can play shinobi bingo with gods, I'm—" My breath hitches as my foot slips on the slick cobblestone, nearly sending me sprawling. I catch myself on the wall, shoulder slamming into wet stone. "—I'm so fucking done."
My chest tightens, not from the sprint, but from the realization clawing its way into my head: I don't want to die here. Not in this rain-soaked graveyard of a city, not skewered by black rods or blown apart by some cosmic force I can't even understand.
"I'm sorry, okay?" The words spill out, choking, desperate. "Forget the cloaks, forget the cool points, forget the anime dream. I don't care anymore."
A broken laugh rattles in my throat. "I want to live. Please, God, Buddha, Ramen Guy, whoever's listening—just let me live."
The rain doesn't care. It just keeps falling, soaking through my clothes, stinging my eyes. My feet pound against the stones, carrying me toward the outskirts, toward some impossible hope that maybe if I just keep running, if I vanish into the storm, they'll let me go.
But I know better. Deep down, I know. You don't just brush against divinity and walk away.
Still… I run.
The alley bends left, narrow and slick with rain. I take it at full speed, shoes splashing through puddles, lungs screaming for mercy. For a half-second, I let myself believe I might actually make it out—
—and then I see them.
I skid to a halt so hard my legs nearly give out.
They're already there.
Six figures step from the storm, silent, deliberate, each one draped in black cloaks patterned with blood-red clouds. Their eyes—those impossible, rippling eyes—glow in the rain like lanterns of doom.
The Six Paths of Pain.
They fan out in the street, closing the space, cutting off every exit. Black rods glint in their hands, faint light catching on wet iron. Behind them, the storm crashes heavier, thunder rolling like drums of war.
And above… Konan hovers, wings of paper spread wide, haloed in the stormlight. Sheets of parchment spiral around her like an angel made of knives.
I freeze. Completely. Every nerve in my body locks up, screaming in terror.
My thoughts come in broken pieces: This is it. This is real. They're not in a manga panel. Not on a screen. They're here, and I'm standing in front of them. Gods. Actual gods.
The weight of their presence presses down on me, heavier than the storm, heavier than gravity. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts. My heart's a drumline of panic.
And all I can think, all I can whisper, is: "Oh… shit."
I take a stumbling step back, rain plastering my hair to my face, my clothes to my skin. The alley behind me feels a mile long, but I know—I know—there's no running anymore.
Trapped.
A rat in the rain.
And the gods have come to collect.
The rain falls heavier, pounding against stone, rattling down the gutters, filling the silence no one else dares to break.
Six pairs of eyes lock onto me. Six identical ripples of violet staring, unblinking, like I'm an insect pinned under glass.
Then one of them steps forward. Taller than the rest. Orange hair plastered to his face, piercings glinting in the stormlight. Yahiko's body. The "God" himself.
My stomach drops into my shoes.
His voice cuts through the storm — deep, final, like a verdict handed down from the heavens."Who are you?"
It's not even a shout. But it echoes in my skull, reverberates through my ribs like thunder.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. My throat locks, as if the words know speaking them might get me killed faster.
His eyes narrow."Speak."
I flinch, like the word itself slapped me. My lips stumble into sound."I—uh—look, I'm nobody. Alright? Just… just a guy."
The words fall apart in the rain, useless, pathetic.
I force a weak laugh because if I don't, I'll cry. "Seriously, you've got the wrong guy. I'm not—I don't even go here. Okay? I'll leave. I'll go. Right now. I swear."
The Six don't move. Not a twitch. Just those eyes, boring into me, stripping me bare.
"I'm just a guy!" My voice cracks. "Just a drunk idiot who wandered into the wrong damn anime! You don't need me. You don't want me. I'm leaving, I'm—"
The words choke out, thinner, weaker. My chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself. Because even as I say it, I know it doesn't matter. They're not here for explanations. They're here for judgment.
The silence stretches again. My pulse is so loud in my ears I almost miss the way Yahiko's head tilts, the faintest movement, like he's already decided something about me.
And all I can think is: Please. Please believe me. Please let me go.
But gods don't let rats go.
The rain hammers down, cold and merciless. My words hang in the storm like scraps of paper, shredded the second they leave my mouth.
Yahiko Pain doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Just stares at me with those endless rings, measuring me against infinity.
When he finally speaks, it's softer than before, but somehow worse."You waste my time."
The other Paths shift closer, boots splashing in the water, black rods gleaming like executioners ' blades.
Panic spikes in my throat. "No, no, wait—wait—"
Pain raises a hand, silencing me without sound. His gaze pierces through me, unyielding."If you will not answer truthfully, you will die here."
The words are flat. Not a threat. Not anger. Just a fact.
Every drop of rain feels sharper, colder, like needles sinking into my skin. My knees nearly buckle.
"I—no, I am telling the truth!" My voice cracks, desperate, shrill. "I'm nobody! You think I'd lie to you? To this?" I gesture weakly at the six of them, the wings above, the storm that feels like it's bending to his will. "I'm not that stupid!"
The Six don't flinch. They don't even breathe. Just eyes. Only eyes.
My throat runs dry. I swallow, but it feels like swallowing knives.
Konan's voice drifts down from above, cool and cutting. "He's afraid. That much is clear."
Pain doesn't look at her. His gaze never leaves me."Fear does not absolve lies."
And in that instant, I know. He's done waiting.
The storm shifts. The air itself bends. And my heart drops into my stomach as his hand begins to rise.
The silence holds for one more heartbeat. Just one. Then Yahiko Pain lowers his hand ever so slightly, tilts his head, and says two words that freeze my blood solid:
"So be it."
The world bends.
His arm rises — slow, deliberate, inevitable. His palm faces me, fingers spread like he's reaching for my soul. The air around me tightens, pulling, humming with invisible weight.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. My body already knows what's coming.
"Shinra Tensei."
The voice is thunder, final and absolute.
And then the world explodes.
The air itself turns into a hammer. A tidal wave of invisible force slams into me, stealing the breath from my lungs before I even scream. My chest caves under the pressure, ribs shrieking, muscles tearing.
The ground rips out from under me. I'm weightless, then flying, then smashing into stone. The wall cracks with the impact, spiderweb fractures racing out from my body. Pain — real pain — detonates through me, sharp and electric.
I collapse to the ground in a heap, coughing, choking. Blood splatters the puddles at my knees. My ears ring so loud the storm feels a mile away.
Through the haze, I force my eyes up.
They're already closing in.
Six silhouettes, black rods gleaming. Their steps are slow, deliberate, the kind of march you don't run from — you just wait for it to end. The rain slides down their faces, but their eyes… their eyes don't blink. Rinnegan rings bore into me, stripping me bare, demanding submission.
My hands tremble against the broken stone. Every nerve screams to curl up, to quit, to beg. And I almost do.
But then something in me whispers: He didn't kill you. Not yet. He wants you to talk.
My lungs heave. My heart pounds. My body's wrecked.
And all I can think is: What the hell do I say to gods who've already decided I'm lying?
The world's a blur of ringing in my ears and fire in my ribs. Every breath is a knife. Every movement feels like it might split me apart.
But I see them.
Through the haze, the shapes step forward. Six figures, six gods, moving as one. Water ripples at their feet, disturbed only by the storm and the inevitability of their march. The black rods catch the faint light of Ame's storm lamps, cruel glimmers of steel in the rain.
Above, Konan hovers, paper wings spread wide. Thousands of sheets spiral around her, catching the stormlight like shards of glass. She doesn't move. She just watches, silent, merciless, like a vulture waiting for the last breath.
And me? I'm on my knees. Soaked, broken, bleeding. A rat is at the bottom of the food chain.
My mind races, spinning out in jagged thoughts. This is it. This is where I die. Killed in a back alley like some throwaway side character. No epic music. No plot armor. Just me, face-down in the mud while the gods keep walking.
A pathetic laugh rattles in my chest, immediately breaking into a cough. Blood splatters my hand."God… damn it." My voice is hoarse, shaking. "Of all the ways to go… it had to be this?"
I press a palm against the ground, trying to push myself up, but my arms are jelly. My whole body screams to just stay down, curl up, let it be over.
The Six don't stop. They don't slow down. Just eyes. Endless rings, pulling me in, drowning me.
My heart slams in my chest. Panic swells up my throat, burning, choking. I can't run. I can't fight. I can't…
I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate for something — anything.Somebody save me. Please. Anyone. God, Buddha, Chuck Norris, I don't care. Just—
The sound of their boots slapping through water is closer now. Too close.
And I know it — there's no one coming. No cavalry. No miracle. It's me. Just me.
The rain drums against the broken street, a thousand hammers pounding my skull. My breath comes ragged, broken. The taste of iron coats my tongue.
And still they come.
The circle tightens, slow and inevitable. Six shadows, six pairs of Rinnegan eyes burning through the storm.
One of them breaks from the line — Yahiko's body. The Deva Path. He moves with terrible patience, each step deliberate, as if the world itself parts to make way for him. The black piercings in his face glisten like wet nails. His hand lowers, and in it, a rod gleams. Executioner's steel.
I can't move. My legs won't listen. My ribs scream every time I try to breathe. My hands tremble uselessly in the puddles at my sides.
This is it. This is the end. No witty last words. No clever escape. Just a broken nobody on his knees, waiting for the gods to snuff him out.
My mind races, searching, clawing for anything. And then—The shuriken.
I see it again in my head. That soggy, half-melted scrap of paper floating in the puddle. My paper shuriken. Mine. From nothing. No chakra. No seals. Just me.
My heart lurches. I did that. Me. I don't know how, but I did.
If I made that… could I make something else?
Another memory slams into me: Konan dissolving into wings, Nagato's eyes, the way the air bent when he spoke those words—
Almighty Push.
The Deva Path stops a few feet away. He tilts his head, rain sliding down his face, eyes unblinking. The rod in his hand rises, point leveled at my chest.
Panic detonates in my brain. My lips move before I even realize it."Wait—wait, wait, wait!"
He doesn't stop. Doesn't flinch.
My hands fly up, shaking, bloody, pathetic. My voice breaks, desperate, a half-sob."Come on… come on, think… if I can make a shuriken, maybe… maybe I can—"
The thought is insane. Impossible. But it's all I've got.
I suck in a breath so sharp it stabs my ribs. My heart hammers against my skull. My mind clings to two words like they're the only thing in the universe:
Almighty Push.
I force my arm up, muscles screaming, blood slick on my palm. I spread my fingers, hand trembling, and hold it out the way he did — the way Pain did — iron-straight, commanding, absolute.
I try to make my voice match his. Deep. Final."Almighty Push."
The word echoes off the walls. The rain swallows it whole.
Nothing.
No air bending. No shockwave. No miracle. Just me, standing in the storm like an idiot, hand outstretched, talking to the rain.
The Deva Path doesn't stop. His boots splash through puddles, steady, closer, closer. The rod in his hand gleams. Those impossible eyes bore into me, and I feel smaller than ever — a child pretending to be a god.
Panic slams into my chest. My throat tightens. My heart kicks into overdrive. No, no, n,o no, no—it worked before, it has to work, come on—
I grit my teeth, my voice breaking into a plea."Almighty Push!"
Still nothing.
The storm mocks me. The Six Paths close in, unhurried. The circle is nearly shut.
My breath comes too fast, ragged, frantic. My hand shakes harder, but I keep it raised, keep forcing the words out, louder, more desperate, as if I scream hard enough, the universe will finally listen.
"Almighty Push! Almighty Push, Almighty Push, Almighty Push—"
The Deva Path looms over me now, so close I can see the rivulets of rain sliding down the black metal in his face. His shadow swallows me whole.
The rod rises, glinting in the stormlight.
My voice cracks into a scream."ALMIGHTY PUSH, DAMN IT—PLEASE!"
The words tear out of me, raw and desperate, as if my life depends on them. And it does.
But still… nothing.
Only the storm. Only those eyes. Only death is drawing closer, step by step.
The circle closes.
Six shadows moving in, black rods glinting like fangs in the storm. Each step splashes louder, heavier, until I can't tell if it's the rain or my own heartbeat trying to drown me.
I keep my hand raised, shaking, useless. My throat burns, my voice shredded raw from begging. Nothing works. Nothing—
I'm going to die.
The thought slams through me, brutal, final. This is it. No second chances. No wake-up. No respawn. Just blood on stone and silence in the storm.
Something inside me snaps.
My eyes fly open, wide, furious, wild. The fear twists into something sharper, uglier, hotter. My chest heaves, my body shakes, and the words rip out of me like a grenade going off in my throat:
"ALL MIGHTY—FUCKING—PUSH!"
The world tears itself apart.
The air detonates in every direction, a shockwave of raw force screaming outward. Rain vanishes midair, shredded into mist. Puddles explode, water shearing off the ground as if gravity forgot itself.
The Six Paths are hurled backwards, bodies slamming into walls, smashing through stone, cracking the street under their weight. Black rods scatter like broken spears.
Konan reels in the air, wings scattering into paper fragments, sheets torn and whipped into the storm as she shields herself from the blast.
Windows shatter. Walls crack. The street itself splits, jagged fissures racing out from where I stand like veins of destruction. The storm itself seems to hesitate, as if even Ame is stunned.
And me—
I'm still standing. My arm outstretched, fingers trembling, breath ragged. My whole body shakes like I might collapse at any second.
But the truth slams into me harder than the shockwave:
I did it.
I actually did it.
I just stole a god's voice.
My hand drops, heavy as lead. My knees buckle, nearly giving out. My heart's still racing, my lungs still clawing for air, but my eyes—my eyes won't stop staring at my hands.
"What… what the fuck did I just do?" I whisper.
The rain begins to fall again, slow, cautious, as if even the storm is afraid of me now.