The electronic squeal of the alarm clock drilled into my consciousness like a sadistic dentist deciding to start a root canal at seven in the morning. The sound was hideous—a piercing, rhythmic cacophony resembling the dying scream of a goblin who just got kicked in the family jewels with a steel-toed boot. I wanted to hurl the gadget against the wall, but my body, shackled by the leaden weight of sleep deprivation, refused to obey. I had to settle for a weak slap on the snooze button.
Blessed silence blanketed the room. Pure bliss. I could have slipped back into the limbo of dreams, but my brain had already latched onto a disturbing thought.
Yesterday evening. That strange dizziness. And that blue screen before my eyes… It felt like the delirium of an overworked mind, a hallucination born from endless MMO grinding and liters of cheap energy drinks. I had almost convinced myself of that. Almost.
Until my eyes snapped open.
It hung right under the ceiling, ignoring the laws of physics and common sense. A semi-transparent interface window shimmering with soft neon light. Not a projection, not a dream, but damn augmented reality stitched right into my optic nerve. The text on the panel was crisp, mockingly cheerful, as if written for a slow child.
[Daily Quest: "Rise and Shine!"]
[Description: Start the day as befits a true Hero! Your body is a temple, but right now it looks more like ruins. A workout will invigorate your flabby muscles, and ice-cold water will wash away the remnants of shameful weakness.]
My gaze slid lower to the list of objectives.
[Objectives:]
[ ] Do a workout (15 minutes) — (0/1)
[ ] Take morning hydro-procedures — (0/1)
[Reward:]
+5 EXP
+1 Endurance (Temporary Effect: 2 hours)
[Penalty for Failure:]
Debuff "Sleepy Fly" (Agility = 1, Reaction = 1) until next morning.
With a sharp jerk, my body shot into a sitting position. The laugh that escaped my throat sounded raspy and slightly hysterical. People go crazy differently. Quietly, unnoticed, whispering to shadows in the corners of a room. This… this was too structured. Digitized.
"So, a System…" my voice sounded alien in the morning silence.
My eyes locked onto the penalty line again. "Sleepy Fly." Sounded harmless, but the numbers said otherwise. Reducing stats to one would turn a human into a vegetable unable to dodge a pillow thrown at his face. The threat looked convincing. Far more convincing than lectures from parents or teachers.
"Fine, you faceless developers of my fate," I muttered, stretching until my spine fired off a burst of cracks. "Challenge accepted. Let's see what kind of patch you've rolled out onto this reality."
Crawling out of the warm cocoon of blankets into the cool room was an act of violence against myself. But the timer in my head was already ticking. Fifteen minutes. Just a quarter-hour of shame in my underwear for the sake of stat points.
It began.
Bending. Squats. A pathetic semblance of push-ups. My organism, accustomed to a sedentary lifestyle and keyboard marathons, protested. Muscles whined, breath was short by the second minute, and my heart hammered somewhere in my throat, reminding me of its hard lot. A couple of times, during a particularly deep bend, my vestibular system glitched, and the floor dangerously tilted toward my face. But the moment I thought about taking a break, the penalty line started pulsing before my eyes.
Hell no. Better to die on the yoga mat than live a day in "slow-mo" mode.
Fifteen minutes dragged on for an eternity. Time seemed frozen in a thick jelly of sweat and shortness of breath. But finally, the timer beeped. Something chimed sweetly in the interface, and the first checkbox turned gold.
[Objective Complete: Do a workout (15 minutes) — (1/1)]
"Contact confirmed…" I exhaled, leaning my hands on my knees and trying to calm my frantic heartbeat. Sweat poured down my back, my t-shirt stuck to my body, but inside, through the fatigue, a strange, long-forgotten feeling of satisfaction broke through. The feeling of a completed quest. A small victory over the chaos of existence.
The bathroom greeted me with the cool of tiles and harsh lamp light. A familiar, slightly crumpled teenage face looked back from the mirror, but strange sparks now danced in the depths of the eyes. Reflection of the interface, maybe?
Cold water seared my skin, forcing me to wake up completely. The second objective counted instantly as soon as the toothbrush touched my enamel.
[Quest Complete!]
[Received: +5 EXP]
[Activated Buff: +1 Endurance]
My body suddenly filled with a light vibration. The post-workout fatigue receded, replaced by a pleasant springiness in my muscles. Breathing became easier, the world around me a little sharper. A temporary buff. It works. It actually works.
Terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
Sounds were already drifting from the kitchen, bringing me back to earth: the sizzling of oil in a pan and the muffled mumbling of the TV. The real world hadn't gone anywhere; it had just acquired new textures. And there, in the kitchen, the first Boss of the day awaited me. Not as scary as a raid monster, but far more annoying.
The kitchen greeted me with a wave of warmth and smells capable of breaking the will of any ascetic. The air was thick with the sweet aroma of vanilla and fried dough—an unmistakable sign that Mom had decided to throw a gastronomic feast. But cutting through this symphony of coziness were alarming notes: squeaky voices from the TV and the clinking of a spoon against porcelain.
The main morning boss had already taken up a strategic position.
At the table, with the air of a queen in exile, sat Kate. A ten-year-old natural disaster with pigtails was methodically destroying a stack of pancakes, eyes glued to the screen where some pink-hued psychedelic chaos was unfolding.
"Good morning, Great Overlord," my sister's snide voice cut through the noise of the boiling kettle. She didn't even turn around. "Your loyal subjects prepared an offering, but you're late."
My gaze fell on the plate. The mountain of pancakes had indeed noticeably shrunk.
"I see the throne has been usurped and the treasury looted," I parried, pulling out a chair with a nasty screech. "And why is this hoofed propaganda on air again? Where are the reports from the front lines? The exchange rates? I need to know what world I woke up in."
"Dad already watched the news. Now it's my airtime," Kate demonstratively stuck out a tongue smeared with sour cream. "And it's not propaganda. They teach the magic of friendship!"
"Friendship is taught in the trenches, covering your comrade's back, or in boss raids when the healer pulls the tank back from the other side," I grumbled, pouring tea. The dark liquid swirled in the mug. "This is just a tutorial for aspiring diabetics."
Mom, working her magic at the stove, just sighed heavily, habitually ignoring the start of the daily civil war. Dad, already in full parade uniform—suit, tie, the scent of expensive cologne—walked out of the living room, adjusting his watch on the go.
"Alex, stop grumbling like an old man. Let your sister watch," his voice was soft but held those command notes that brooked no objection.
He gave Mom a quick peck on the cheek.
"I have to go. I'll be late tonight, meeting with the boss. Kate, behave yourself. Alex, you're in charge. The responsibility is on you."
"Yes, sir, Commander!" A hand clutching a rolled-up pancake snapped to a temple in a mock salute.
The front door slammed. The click of the lock sounded like a gong signal. Round two.
My attention refocused on my sister and, more importantly, on the remote lying on the edge of the table. It wasn't just a piece of plastic. It was the Scepter of Power. The symbol of dominance in the living room. Changing the channel now was a matter of principle. A battle of ideologies. The informational chaos of the news versus the sugary utopia of the pony apocalypse.
My hand began a slow, almost imperceptible movement toward the coveted device. Kate tensed up, stopped chewing. The air crackled with electricity.
And then reality blinked again.
Right over my sister's disgruntled face, a new semi-transparent window unfolded. The text in it pulsed with a golden glow, distinct from the usual blue frames.
[Hidden Quest Detected: "Family Ties"]
[Description: Your junior ally from the "Family" faction is in need of leniency. The true strength of a leader lies not in suppression, but in magnanimity. Yield in the small to win in the big.]
[Objective:]
[ ] Allow sister to finish watching the cartoon without objections or attempts to seize the remote.
[Reward:]
+50 EXP
+5 Reputation (Faction: The Miller Family)
Unique Consumable: "Mom's Pancake with Double Syrup" (Effect: Instant Mood Restoration)
My hand froze a centimeter from the remote. My jaw nearly met the tabletop.
Fifty experience points?! Just for doing nothing? I got a measly five for the morning workout that cost me seven sweats and a micro-stroke! And here—a fortune for passivity. My inner toad, nurtured by years of MMORPG grinding, croaked contentedly and began rubbing its paws. Reputation with the faction wouldn't hurt either—it could unlock access to pocket money or a curfew extension.
Principles are principles, but loot is sacred.
I slowly, with a theatrical sigh of a martyr, leaned back in my chair, withdrawing my hand from the remote.
"Fine. You win, squirt," my voice sounded with a tinge of cosmic weariness and nobility. "Watch your colored mutants. Today is a day of unprecedented generosity."
Kate narrowed her eyes suspiciously, looking for a catch. In her world view, her brother never surrendered without a fight. But finding no signs of sarcasm, she just shrugged and returned to the screen.
Mom, watching the scene from the corner of her eye, beamed.
"See, you can be a good brother when you want to."
She placed a plate in front of me. On it lay The One. The largest, golden, perfectly fried pancake, literally drowning in a lake of maple syrup.
[Ding!]
[Quest "Family Ties" Complete!]
[Received: +50 EXP]
[Reputation with "The Miller Family" faction increased!]
Biting into the sweet flesh of the reward, I involuntarily smirked. The System knows a thing or two about motivation. It hits the most primitive but effective points. Pavlov would be thrilled: do a good deed, get sugar.
If this keeps up, the thought raced through my mind as syrup flowed over my tongue, I'll either become a saint or a diabetic. But I'll power-level like crazy.
Finishing my trophy, I slung my backpack over my shoulder. Leaving the house felt like transitioning from a safe zone into the open world. The street greeted me with a chill, and the walk to school became a familiar "level loading screen," during which I tuned myself for the upcoming battles.
The school met me with the usual hum, resembling the buzzing of a disturbed hive. Hundreds of voices merged into a single background noise, saturated with the smell of cheap chalk, dusty rags, and the elusive aroma of cafeteria pastries that always had more dough than filling.
This temple of knowledge seemed especially ominous today. The path lay to the third floor, to the math room, where "Double Geometry" loomed blackly on the schedule. A double period. Two hours of torture by axioms and theorems. A trial capable of breaking the will of even rote-learning veterans. But today, there was no fear. In the upper right corner of my field of vision, if I squinted, hung a tiny icon: [Endurance +1]. My little secret. My doping.
A crowd was already gathering by the classroom.
"Yo, Overlord!" a broad hand slapped my shoulder.
Sam. My faithful comrade of the back row, keeper of my secrets, and the only person capable of tolerating my quirks.
"Ready for an audience with the Queen of Sciences?" he nodded at the closed door. "Insiders report there's a new topic. Vectors. Sounds like the name of a disease."
"Vectors?" my lips stretched into a grin on their own. "You're thinking too narrowly, my young Padawan. Vectors are the foundation of spatial magic. Directing the flow of power, setting the trajectory of a fireball… Pff, that's peanuts for me."
Sam rolled his eyes so hard I feared for his vision.
"Yeah, right. Just make sure your vector doesn't point to the Principal's office. Did you do the homework, Great Mage?"
A pause hung in the air. Homework. Those cursed problems about medians, blissfully forgotten yesterday for the sake of reading a new chapter of a manhwa about being reincarnated as a slime. A classic time-management failure. Or… a strategic move?
"A true master never does the dirty work in advance," I declared pompously, raising a finger. "He improvises on the battlefield!"
"Got it. Can I copy it?" the friend's tone didn't change an iota. He knew me too well.
"Only if you bend the knee before my genius."
"Alex, stop stalling, the bell's in a minute. Notebook. Now."
I had to capitulate before the brute persistence of reality. The notebook migrated to my friend's hands (of course I did it; "Chuunibyou" is a lifestyle, not a diagnosis of idiocy).
The bell rang like a gong announcing the start of a deathmatch.
Mrs. Vance entered the classroom. A woman made of flint. Strict, fair, and terrifying like a raid boss with a hidden enrage phase. She began explaining the topic, drawing arrows and lines on the board. The chalk tapped like a machine gun. The class fell into a comatose state, but my brain, spurred by the morning success, worked surprisingly clearly. I imagined these lines filling with light, vectors turning into energy arrows piercing space.
And then, as if responding to my fantasies, the interface came alive.
[Tutorial Quest Received: "Fundamentals of Vector Magic"]
[Description: The great sorcerers of the past didn't know math; they felt the flows of energy. Vectors are the physical embodiment of directional magic. Master the basics to control reality!]
[Objective:]
[ ] Volunteer and solve the problem at the board.
[Reward:]
+100 EXP
+1 Intelligence (PERMANENT)
New Skill: "Spatial Reasoning (Passive) Lvl. 1"
My breath hitched. One hundred points? A new passive? And most importantly—a PERMANENT plus to Intelligence? This was a jackpot. For such a prize, I was ready not just to solve the problem, but to dance with a protractor.
My hand shot up before my brain could process the command. Sam next to me flinched in surprise.
"A forest of hands, as usual," Mrs. Vance muttered, scanning the class over her glasses. Her gaze, capable of freezing nitrogen, stopped on me. "Well then, Mr. Miller. Surprise me. Or make me laugh."
Surprising her was my sacred duty.
The walk to the board felt like entering the Colosseum arena. The piece of chalk fit comfortably in my palm, like the hilt of a wand. Vector addition problem. Banality for mortals, but a canvas for a Player.
"So, esteemed colleagues," my voice sounded a bit louder than necessary, with theatrical notes. "We have two conflicting flows of power. Vector a and vector b. Chaos and Order. Our task is to unite them, synthesizing a new, more powerful construct—vector c! For this, we shall apply the ancient technique of the 'Parallelogram'!"
The chalk screeched across the slate surface. I drew lines sharply, confidently, commenting on every action as if performing a demon summoning ritual.
"Closing the circuit! Directing energy from source to outlet! Fusion!"
Stifled giggles came from behind. Sam, judging by the sounds, had buried his face in his desk, trying not to laugh out loud and burning with secondhand embarrassment. Even the corners of Mrs. Vance's lips twitched, cracking her stone mask. But the main thing—the drawing was perfect. The formulas—flawless.
"Your explanation, Miller, is extremely… extravagant," the teacher summarized as I dramatically blew chalk dust from my fingers. "But mathematically absolutely correct. Sit down. A plus."
My triumphant return to the desk was accompanied by Sam's quiet whisper: "You're a psycho, bro. A real psycho." But I barely heard him. A phantasmagoria of system notifications was unfolding before my eyes.
[Quest "Fundamentals of Vector Magic" Complete!]
[Received: +100 EXP]
And following it—a flash of golden light that only I saw.
[Your Intelligence has increased: 8 → 9]
[You have learned a new skill: "Spatial Reasoning (Pass.) Lvl.1"]
The world… changed. It was as if someone tweaked the graphics settings from "Medium" to "High." The lines of the desks became sharper. The corners of the room acquired perfect geometric completeness. I glanced at the drawing on the board and instantly, effortlessly, saw it in a 3D projection, rotating it in my mind at any angle. It was an intoxicating feeling of clarity.
And then, the final chord:
[Congratulations! You have leveled up!]
[Level 1 → Level 2]
[Received 5 Stat Points (SP) to distribute!]
My heart skipped a beat. A level! A real level-up! I could barely sit still, mentally summoning the status window. Five precious points. Where to? Into Strength, to smash enemies' faces? Into Charisma, to become the king of the school? Or into Intelligence, to become a genius?
The choice tormented and beckoned simultaneously. This day had stopped being a boring gray Tuesday. It had become the beginning of a legend.
The rest of the school day flew by in fast-forward. I mechanically took notes in biology and history, but my thoughts were far away—in the stats window, which I kept summoning with a mental effort, admiring the numbers. Teachers turned into NPCs giving out world lore, and classmates into background extras.
When the long-awaited bell rang for the end of the last period, heralding freedom, I flew out of the class among the first.
"Hey, Flash, slow down!" Sam caught up with me at the school gates. "Are you on speed today or did you actually huff some magic?"
We headed to our usual checkpoint—a small convenience store around the corner. It was an unbreakable ritual: after six periods of survival, the organism demanded glucose and cold.
Buying a bottle of iced tea each, we leisurely wandered down the alley.
"You're kinda… charged up today," my friend noted, cracking the cap open.
The fizz of the soda sounded like a healing spell.
"Usually after double geometry you look like a zombie from 'Resident Evil', but right now you're shining like a polished penny."
"I have known Zen, my friend!" I took a big gulp, feeling the cold liquid spread through my body, restoring my stamina bar. "My consciousness has expanded. Vectors revealed the truth to me. Now, nothing is impossible for me!"
"Yeah, sure, Great Archmage," Sam snorted, nearly choking on his tea. "Try using the power of your expanded mind to make that pigeon dance the Lezginka then. Or at least do a backflip."
He pointed at a fat, arrogant bird that was selflessly picking at a dirty puddle, completely ignoring our existence.
I stopped and measured the feathered creature with a piercing gaze, trying to awaken hidden druid powers. Come on, System, let's go! A quest for animal control!
A window popped up instantly:
[Generating request for quest creation: "The Pigeon Dance"]
[Analyzing... ]
[Error! Denied.]
[Reason: Quest holds no practical value for Player development. Violates laws of physics, biology, and common sense.]
Eh, you're boring, System, I thought with annoyance, but outwardly kept a poker face.
"That is beneath my dignity," I stated imperturbably, adjusting my backpack strap. "Great mages don't waste mana on circus tricks with urban fauna. I have more important matters: saving worlds, grinding stats... well, you know."
We laughed, and that laughter echoed off the walls of the houses. Everything was so… normal. So good.
At the intersection, our paths diverged.
"Later, Overlord! Don't cast fireballs indoors!" Sam waved, turning toward his house.
"And you stay healthy, mortal!" I saluted with the bottle.
Left alone, I turned into my courtyard. It was quiet here. The noise of the avenue faded, giving way to the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of cars. Old apartment blocks drowned in greenery, the sun pleasantly warming my back through the poplar crowns. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and heated asphalt.
A perfect moment of tranquility. A moment when you feel like life is good.
And precisely in that second, the idyll was shattered by a quiet, pitiful crying.
I froze. The sound was coming from deep in the yard, from an old spreading apple tree. My internal radar immediately switched to combat mode. Getting closer, I saw her.
A little girl, about six years old, in a bright dress and with two funny pigtails, stood under the tree, smearing tears across her cheeks. She was looking up with such hopelessness that something clenched inside me.
My inner Paladin, dormant until now, raised its head. Walk past? No, that is not the way of the Hero.
"Hey, kiddo," I called out to her, trying to keep my voice soft. "Why the waterworks? Dropped your ice cream? Or realized Santa Claus isn't real?"
The girl sniffled in fright, looked at me with huge wet eyes, and poked a trembling finger at the dense foliage above.
"My… my Mittens… he climbed up there… and he's scared to come down! He's crying!"
I craned my neck. High up, three or four meters above the ground, a ginger fluffy ball was pressed against the bark on a thick branch. The cat meowed pitifully, looking down with eyes wide with terror. A genre classic.
In that same second, the world habitually blinked, and a scroll of a new quest unrolled before my eyes. But this time, the text burned with an alarming red color.
[URGENT Quest Received: "Saving Private Mittens"]
[Description: A defenseless creature in trouble! A true Hero does not walk past tears. Prove that your agility is worthy of legends, and your heart—of nobility.]
[Objective:]
[ ] Get the cat off the tree and return it to the owner safe and sound.
[Reward:]
+75 EXP
+10 Reputation with faction "Neighborhood Residents"
+1 Agility (PERMANENT)
[Penalty for Refusal:]
Debuff "Coward" (Charisma = 2 for 24 hours)
Constant feeling of shame.
My eyes widened. A permanent buff to Agility! First Intelligence, now Agility? This was a veritable feast of generosity! Fate was literally shoving me up the ladder of power.
"Don't cry," I pulled my most confident smile onto my face, imitating All Might. "Your fluffy paratrooper will be delivered to the ground in no time. The Lord of Singularity does not abandon civilians in trouble!"
The girl stopped crying, looking up at me with hope.
I dumped my backpack in the grass. The tree was old, knotty, with convenient bark ridges—a perfect ladder for parkour. I have plenty of agility as it is, but for a free stat point, I'd climb Everest, ran through my head.
A lunge. A pull-up. The sole of my sneaker found purchase. I climbed quickly, feeling the pleasant tension in my muscles. The buff from the morning workout had already faded, but adrenaline worked just as well.
"Coming to the rescue, furry friend!" I wheezed, reaching the target branch.
The height was decent—second story, no less. The ground below looked distant and hard.
The cat, however, did not appreciate my heroic mood. Seeing the approaching face, he hissed, arched his back, and flattened his ears. Panic and a readiness to kill were readable in his green eyes.
"Easy, easy, Mittens… or whatever your name is… Whiskers?" I tried to engage diplomacy. "I'm a friendly. I'm saving you. Don't be stupid."
I cautiously reached out my hand, intending to grab him by the scruff. And that became my fatal mistake. Stupid. How stupid. I forgot the main rule of working with animal mobs: they don't have gratitude scripts.
The terrified beast acted on instinct. A clawed paw, looking more like a fan of blades, flashed forward like lightning.
Pain flared instantly—sharp, burning. A dozen needles slashed across my face, from cheekbone right to the eye.
"Argh!" I instinctively jerked back, trying to protect my face with my hands.
My center of gravity shifted. My foot, resting on a moss-damp knot, treacherously slipped. My hand frantically clawed the air, finding no support.
In that moment, time, like in a cheap action movie, slowed down. My new passive skill "Spatial Reasoning" played a cruel joke on me. It obligingly, with mathematical precision, drew a falling trajectory in my brain. A red arc leading the back of my head straight to a curb protruding from the ground.
Probability of successful landing: 0%.
The world flipped over. The green crown, the frightened face of the girl, the blue sky with indifferent clouds—everything mixed into a mad kaleidoscope.
Impact.
There was no pain. Just a sound—a disgusting, wet crunch, like someone crushed a ripe watermelon. And immediately after it—darkness. Absolute, thick, shutting off consciousness like a breaker switch.
Silence.
Neither cold nor warmth. Neither body nor breath. Only naked consciousness hanging in a black void.
Did I die? the thought sounded without emotion, simply as a statement of fact.
Seems so.
How stupid. Not saving a schoolgirl from Truck-kun. Not in an epic battle with the Demon King. I died falling from a tree because of a cat. The Darwin Award awaits its laureate. If I had lips, I would have laughed nervously.
How long have I been here? An hour? An eternity?
And when the fear of final oblivion began to rise like an icy lump, the familiar Blue Screen flared up before me, right in this blackness.
[Attention! Biological death of host detected.]
[Cause: Traumatic brain injury incompatible with life.]
[Quest "Saving Private Mittens"... FAILED.]
[Initializing protocol "Second Chance"...]
[Searching for available realities for soul reincarnation...]
I (or what was left of me) stared at the text. Reincarnation? So this wasn't a game? This was preparation?
Lists began to cascade like a waterfall:
[World of Might and Magic]
[Cultivation World (Xianxia)]
[Cyberpunk 2077]
[Anime World: ONE PIECE]
[Anime World: BLEACH]
[Anime World: NARUTO]
A heart that didn't exist beat in a phantom rhythm. God, this is a buffet for any otaku! I began to feverishly analyze. "One Piece"? Too much water, risk of drowning. "Bleach"? Solid spirits and risk of becoming a Hollow.
My gaze latched onto the line [NARUTO].
That's it. Perfect.
First, Chakra. Universal energy allowing you to do anything: from walking on water to creating meteorites.
Second, I know the canon by heart. I know every filler, every plot twist, every weakness of Madara and Obito. This isn't just a new life—it's "New Game+" with a full walkthrough guide!
I will become the god of this world, I thought, feeling a rush of euphoria. I will save everyone who needs saving, and kill everyone who gets in the way.
I mentally, with all my might, pressed on the line.
[Selection Confirmed: World "Naruto".]
[Loading Character Editor...]
[Please select clan/character:]
Icons floated before my vision. Uchiha (Sharingan!), Hyuga (Byakugan!), Nara (Shadows and Intellect!). I was already reaching for the Uchiha icon, anticipating the power of the eyes...
Suddenly the blue screen twitched. The text rippled like a bad signal. The color changed to an alarming crimson.
[WARNING! CrItIcAl SyStEm ErRoR...]
[SeLeCtIoN PrOtOcOl FaIlUrE...]
[Access Error... %$#@!...]
[Activated Mode: "Random Selection with Aggravating Circumstances"]
What?! No, wait!
[Character Selected: Naruto Uzumaki.]
[Status: Jinchuriki of the Nine-Tails.]
[Karma: TERRIFYING (Hatred of the entire village).]
[Immediate transfer commencing...]
Not him! panic covered me like a tsunami. Be an outcast? Eat expired ramen? Be Akatsuki's target? System, cancel! CANCEL!
[Good luck, Player!]
The void collapsed. I was yanked out of non-existence and hurled into hell.
Light. Blinding, cutting the eyes.
Sound. Monstrous, primal roaring that made the very fabric of space tremble, and the screams of thousands of people filled with terror.
Smell. Burning, blood, and ozone.
I tried to jump up, scream, weave hand signs—but my body didn't obey. I was small. Tiny. And I was lying in some swaddling clothes, looking up at the night sky painted with a crimson glow.
And above me, blocking out the moon, towered a colossal hulk made of pure, seething hatred. Nine tails lashed at the burning houses of Konoha. The Fox. Kurama. He was here. And he was looking right at me.
I'm screwed, flashed the first and only thought in my new brain, not yet capable of speech. I'm in the deepest ass-end of the Shinobi world.