Chapter Thirty-Five ــ Well then, let's enter
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"Interesting. It seems he's refining his ability."
The thought drifted through (Thomas Andre)'s mind like a lazy wisp of smoke. He felt it again—a slight, subtle shift in the oppressive, foreign aura clinging to the Japanese hunter seated beside him in the passenger seat. It was a minute fluctuation, a hair's breadth difference in the density of that strange, chakra-based power. Not weaker, necessarily. Just… different. More focused? Less volatile? He cataloged the sensation with the detached interest of a collector examining a new bug. It wasn't anything concrete yet, just a data point.
After corralling the brooding ninja into his obnoxiously large, custom-built SUV—a vehicle that growled like a caged beast and smelled faintly of leather, gun oil, and expensive cologne—(Andre) had peeled out of the hotel's pristine driveway. The tires gave a satisfying SCREECH on the asphalt, a sound of pure, unadulterated departure.
Now, a mere half-hour later, they had stopped. The engine cut with a deep, metallic chug-chug-silence.
They stood before a strange gate. Not just strange in the way all magic portals are strange, but strange in its placement. This gate existed in a locale that would be utterly bizarre to the average person, assuming they ever knew about it. Because this wasn't some forgotten temple or a crack in a desolate cliffside.
It was in a warehouse. A sprawling, decaying industrial warehouse on the wrong side of the city's tracks. The air was thick, not with mana, but with the reek of rust, stagnant water, and decades of industrial neglect. Piles of discarded scrap metal formed jagged, shadowy mountains. Broken pallets were strewn about like the bones of long-dead giants. A fine layer of gritty dust covered everything, and the only light seeped in through grime-caked windows high above, creating thick, tangible beams in the murk.
Scritch-scratch.
A rat,bold and fat, skittered from behind a corroded drum, its tiny claws making frantic, scraping sounds before it vanished into a hole in the wall.
(Uchiha Sasuke) stood amidst the refuse, his pristine, dark clothes a stark, almost offensive contrast to the surrounding decay. He didn't look impressed. His gaze slid from the grimy, oil-stained concrete floor to the towering piles of junk, then finally settled on (Thomas Andre). His obsidian eyes held a silent, heavy question. He said nothing. The only sound was the distant, rhythmic drip… drip… of water from a leaking pipe.
(Thomas Andre) moved, his heavy boots CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCHING decisively over gravel, shattered glass, and other unidentifiable debris. He didn't look back, knowing the ninja would follow. The two of them navigated the maze of waste until they reached the gate's precise location.
It wasn't imposing. It wasn't grand. It was a tear. A shimmering, vertical rip in the very fabric of the air, hovering about a meter above a particularly nasty-looking oil slick. It was roughly the size of a basketball—a pulsing, unstable hole that glowed with a sickly, internal light. It didn't hum with power so much as it whispered, a faint, unsettling ssssssss like air escaping a tire.
"This is the gate I was talking to you about,"
(Thomas Andre)announced, his voice echoing slightly in the vast, empty space. He pointed a thick, calloused finger towards the anomaly. It was undeniably, unnervingly there—a wound in reality itself, festering in a dump.
(Uchiha Sasuke) didn't respond with words. He simply activated his Rinnegan. The concentric circles in his left eye pulsed to life with a faint, violet hum, a sound felt more in the teeth than heard with the ears. He stared at the spatial distortion, his dojutsu dissecting its composition, its anchor points, its energy signature. The analysis took him only a moment, but in that moment, the atmosphere grew colder. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, gravelly, and carried the weight of genuine scrutiny.
"This gate is different from all the gates I've seen since I arrived. How do you know of its existence? Furthermore, why do you want me to come with you?"
Each word was deliberate, a stone dropped into a still pond.
(Thomas Andre) laughed. It wasn't a boisterous, belly-shaking laugh. It was a quiet, dry huff of air through his nose, a sound that held more amusement than mirth. He could sense the sharp, lethal intent simmering just beneath the surface of (Uchiha Sasuke)—a predator's patience stretched thin. But (Andre) didn't feel fear. Instead, a deep, almost lazy relaxation settled over him. Not because he arrogantly believed he could walk away from a fight with this man unscathed (though the thought was entertaining), but because the sheer absurdity of the situation—the most dangerous being he'd ever encountered, standing in a trash heap, interrogating him about a magic pothole—was profoundly enjoyable.
He looked at the gate, and his gaze took on a distant, almost nostalgic quality.
"I've been hiding this thing for a long time,"
he said,his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. "This gate was one of the reasons I became a National Rank hunter."
He then began to speak of his memories. His tone was wistful, as if recalling fond, golden-hour moments. But the images flashing behind his own ice-blue eyes were anything but beautiful: hordes of grotesque monsters pouring forth, streets painted in terror, the cacophony of human screams rending the air. He remembered watching it all unfold not with heroism, but with a chilling, analytical calm. He seemed then, as he did now, like a man fundamentally unconcerned with anything beyond the scope of his own will and capability. His personal philosophy was brutally simple, a mantra carved into his soul: If I can do something, I'll do it. And I'll do it, no matter the consequences. It was the path the man had always walked, leaving craters and legends in his wake.
"The reason I brought you to this place," (Andre) continued, dragging his focus back to the present, "is because they want to speak with you. It seems they are interested in you. So they asked me to do this."
These words caused (Sasuke)'s eyes to narrow into dangerous, obsidian slits. His posture didn't change, but the air around him seemed to grow heavier, as if gravity had increased locally. He searched (Thomas Andre)'s aura, his expression, for any hint of immediate, treacherous malice. He found none—just that infuriating, relaxed amusement. So, he chose to wait, letting the American hunter finish his spiel.
(Thomas Andre), for his part, really didn't stop. He launched into an explanation, his words flowing with the smooth, rehearsed cadence of a story told many times, but devoid of any real conviction.
For example, he said this gate was a direct link between Earth and another world. That world was the domain of sublime beings called the Rulers. The Rulers were ancient, powerful entities who had, out of benevolence, helped him ascend to the rank of National Level Hunter. Their goal? To protect Earth from the ceaseless threat of monsters and the encroaching Monarchs…
Every word (Thomas) spoke was grammatically correct, logically sequential, and completely empty of gratitude or reverence. On the contrary, his delivery was flat, almost sarcastic—as if he were reciting a particularly absurd fairy tale. He seemed utterly unconvinced by the narrative spilling from his own lips, yet compelled to voice it, as if bound by some unseen contract or geas. A faint, almost imperceptible tension corded the muscles in his jaw as he spoke, the only physical sign of his internal contradiction.
Of course, (Uchiha Sasuke)'s lifetime of experience—a life spent navigating lies, half-truths, and village politics far more convoluted than this—and his innate intelligence allowed him to see past the words. He heard the hollow tone, recognized the dissonance between the grandiose claims and the speaker's palpable lack of belief.
Therefore, strange, critical questions began to crystallize in his mind, cold and sharp.
(Why is this man reciting this script? Is he being compelled? And these 'Rulers'… are they a faction distinct from the 'Monarchs' I sensed, or merely two sides of the same decaying coin? No matter. Speculation is pointless. They wish an audience. Very well. Let us begin.)
"Therefore—" (Thomas Andre) began, ready to launch into another paragraph of canned mythology.
But before the next word could leave his mouth, (Uchiha Sasuke) acted. His hand came up in a sharp, cutting motion.
Snap.
The sound was crisp and final in the dusty silence,a physical punctuation mark.
He leveled his dark, impatient gaze at (Thomas).
"I'm not interested in this foolish talk.Let's just go there."
His voice was calm,a flat lake of disinterest, but it carried an undeniable edge of command.
The American hunter's reaction was immediate. He let out a short, sharp laugh—a Ha! that was muffled but brimming with genuine, dark-hearted delight. His grin widened, showing a flash of white teeth.
"As expected.I knew you were interesting. Since you love excitement, who am I to stop you?"
And so, without further preamble, (Thomas Andre) raised his right hand. The air around it shimmered, not with the dark, chaotic energy (Sasuke) was familiar with, but with a brilliant, concentrated gold. Mana gathered in his palm, coalescing into a sphere of radiant, golden light that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Thrum… thrum…
He didn't thrust or throw it. He simply extended his hand, bringing the orb of light into gentle contact with the basketball-sized rift.
The effect was instantaneous and dramatic.
VWOOOOM-MMMM…
The rift didn't just expand; it unfurled. Reality itself seemed to peel back like the layers of a grotesque, glowing onion, the edges of the tear stretching, warping, and reforming. The sickly whisper became a deep, resonant HUM that vibrated the dust on the floor. In seconds, the tiny tear had transformed into a towering, archway-sized gate. It stood before them, majestic and utterly out of place, its frame etched with faint, glowing runes that pulsed with the same golden energy.
"Well then, let's enter,"
(Sasuke)stated, his curiosity now overriding his contempt for the theater. He didn't spare a glance for (Andre), didn't check for traps a second time. He simply strode forward, his form passing through the shimmering energy field of the gate and vanishing without a sound, swallowed by the light.
Behind him, (Thomas Andre) watched the spot where the ninja had disappeared. His amused grin softened into something more pensive, more calculating. His thoughts were a silent monologue in the now-quiet warehouse.
(He's right, of course. He doesn't seem like he's from this world at all. His brand of danger… it's different. Alien. But these Rulers… they're definitely hiding chapters of the story from me. No, not just chapters—whole volumes. But this guy… he's a wild card, a catalyst. I'm sure I'll discover what they're burying through him.)
A soft,knowing chuckle escaped his lips—a dry huh of confirmation. He then squared his shoulders, cracked his neck with a loud pop, and followed (Sasuke) through the luminous threshold.
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Inside the gate, (Uchiha Sasuke)'s senses were immediately assaulted—not by threat, but by surrealism. He had already reactivated his Sharingan the moment he passed through, the crimson pattern spinning defensively, scanning for traps, ambushes, or hostile chakra signatures.
He found none.
The atmosphere was one of sterile, overwhelming peace. The first thing he noticed was the sound, or rather, the lack of it. The HUM of the gate vanished, replaced by a profound, cushioning silence, broken only by a faint, ethereal swish… swish… like the sound of a gentle breeze through endless fields of tall grass, but softer.
Then, the ground. It was solid, yet it gave ever so slightly under his sandals, with a faint, springy poof. He wasn't standing on stone or earth. He was standing on cloud. Actual, condensed, walkable cloud that stretched out in every direction in a pristine, white plain. The "sky" above was not blue but a dome of shifting, luminous gold and white clouds, radiating a soft, diffuse, shadowless light that made everything glow from within. There was no sun, no source, just omnipresent, golden illumination.
But the surreal lobby wasn't the main event. In the distance, perhaps a hundred meters away across the cloud-field, was a structure. It resembled a gargantuan conference table, hewn from what looked like polished, pearlescent moonstone. And around it, on thrones that seemed grown from the same substance, sat six figures.
(Uchiha Sasuke) began walking toward them, his footsteps making no sound on the soft clouds. As he drew closer, his Sharingan and his own refined sensory abilities assessed the beings before him.
The aura they emitted was, to him, profoundly different from the raw, hungry, destructive presence of the Monarchs he had sensed in the volcanic dungeon. That had been power steeped in chaos and consumption. This… this was different. Their auras felt refined, ancient, and strangely detached—immense power wielded with a cold, bureaucratic precision. They didn't feel like creatures of flesh and blood, or even of elemental fury. They felt more like…
"Invisible spirits given manifest will,"
he coined the term in his mind,the closest approximation his shinobi lexicon could provide. It was the type of feeling they projected—presences that were more like solidified concepts or laws of nature than living beings.
Of course, the moment (Uchiha Sasuke) entered their domain and began his approach, all six beings turned their heads in unison. Not with a jerk, but with a smooth, seamless motion that was unnervingly synchronized. Six pairs of eyes, glowing with soft, inner light in various shades of gold and white, fixed upon him.
There was no killing intent. No hostility. Their gaze was one of pure, unblinking assessment. It was as if they were perceiving layers of his existence—his chakra network, the structure of his soul, the scars on his past—that no one else could see. The scrutiny was so intense, so layered, that for a few seconds, their eyes flickered minutely between one another. A silent, high-speed conversation passed between them in that glance, a dialogue of light and intent utterly invisible and incomprehensible to any outsider.
(Uchiha Sasuke) came to a halt directly before the immense table, close enough to see the flawless, mirror-like surface reflecting the golden sky. He was dwarfed by the scale of the furniture and its occupants, yet he stood with an imperiousness that made him seem the center of the realm.
He spoke first, his voice cutting through the holy silence, laced with the arrogance of one who had challenged gods and found their worship lacking.
"You beings,devoid of tangible spirit. I want to know what made you bold enough to contact me."
The words were haughty,dismissive, as if he were the one granting an audience. But behind the facade, his own onyx eyes were hyper-alert, sharply focused, missing no detail of the six majestic forms. He was acutely, physically aware of the type of energy radiating from their bodies—dense, old, and vast. It wasn't significantly less than the apocalyptic pressure he had felt from that Monarch in the volcanic prison.
Of course, that comparison didn't instill fear in him. Fear was an old, useless acquaintance. On the contrary, the confirmation sent a cold, anticipatory thrill through him. It meant he was on the right path. Each encounter with these transcendent-level beings was another step, another piece of the puzzle, another measure of the power he needed to understand and ultimately surpass. It was a grim validation that he was getting closer—not just to answers in this strange world, but to the pinnacle he sought, the final resolution that waited for him in a different life, with a different rival.
It felt like he was drawing closer to the road that would lead him to his final battle with (Naruto).
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End of Chapter.
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Well, the gang's all here!
Sasuke's gone from a five-star hotel to a garbage dump to a cloud-based corporate boardroom to meet what are essentially the celestial HR department. The Rulers are giving off major "ancient, dispassionate bureaucrats of cosmic power" vibes, Thomas Andre is enjoying the show like it's pay-per-view, and Sasuke is, as always, profoundly unimpressed. This should be a very polite and productive meeting.
What do you think the Rulers really want with Sasuke? Are they going to offer him a job? Warn him off? Try to recruit him for their side in the Monarch war? And what bombshell are they hiding that even Thomas Andre suspects?
Let me know your theories in the comments below! The plot is thickening faster than Thomas Andre's wallet, and your guesses are the best part.