Chapter 1: A New, Bloody Dawn
The first sensation was the overwhelming, cloying scent of iron. Then came the pain – a dull, throbbing ache that resonated from every fibre of his being. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like lead weights. Slowly, painstakingly, he managed a slit, the dim, flickering light of a sparsely furnished room assaulting his senses.
He wasn't supposed to be feeling anything. He remembered the void, the satisfying emptiness after… after.
Where am I? The thought was surprisingly clear amidst the fog of discomfort.
He forced his eyes open wider, taking in the rough wooden ceiling, the thin, scratchy blanket covering him, the unfamiliar chill in the air. This wasn't his penthouse. This wasn't any place he recognized.
A wave of memories, not his own, yet undeniably his, crashed into his consciousness. A child's life, mundane and short, lived in a village called Konohagakure. Parents he barely recalled, lost to some unnamed conflict. An orphanage, bland and forgettable. And a name… Kenji.
Kenji. He tasted the unfamiliar syllables in his mind.
But alongside these new, implanted memories were his own. His real memories. Of a life lived on the razor's edge, a life of meticulous planning, of delightful, crimson-stained successes. A life where sentimentality was a fatal flaw and caution was the highest virtue. A life of a… collector. A connoisseur of unique talents, one might say.
And then, the most crucial, earth-shattering recollection: the entirety of a sprawling, fantastical epic. A story of ninjas, tailed beasts, and endless, bloody wars. The story of Naruto.
A slow, chilling smile stretched his new, youthful lips. Reincarnation? How delightfully unexpected.
He sat up, wincing as his small, undernourished body protested. He looked down at his hands – small, slender, and utterly unremarkable. A commoner. No prestigious clan, no inherent, flashy abilities. Perfect.
The knowledge of the future, of the players and their powers, was an advantage beyond measure. But it was his other gift, the one that had defined his previous existence and, apparently, followed him into this new one, that truly made his smile widen.
He'd always been able to… appreciate the departed. To break them down to their very essence, to understand the intricate tapestry of their being. And sometimes, if their essence was particularly… exquisite, he could make it his own. Bloodlines, they called them here. Kekkei Genkai.
The thought sent a shiver of anticipation, almost sensual in its intensity, down his spine. So many fascinating specimens would walk these lands. So many opportunities.
But caution, as always, was paramount. This world was brimming with individuals who could snuff out a careless life with a flick of their wrist. He was weak, a nobody. For now.
His immediate priority was information and inconspicuousness. He needed to ascertain his current timeline, his exact age, and blend seamlessly into the background. Any display of his true intellect, his… proclivities, or his unique ability would be disastrous. Witnesses were liabilities, and loose ends were anathema.
A sharp pang of hunger interrupted his thoughts. The orphanage, he recalled from Kenji's memories, wasn't known for its generosity. He needed to be self-sufficient, and quickly.
He swung his legs over the edge of the cot, his bare feet meeting the cold, wooden floor. The room was small, shared with three other empty cots. Early morning, then. The other children were likely already up and about, performing chores or desperately trying to scrounge for scraps.
He moved silently, a habit ingrained from a lifetime of stealth. He found a small, cracked mirror shard tucked away on a dusty shelf. The face that stared back was unfamiliar – a boy of perhaps six or seven, with dull brown hair and equally unremarkable brown eyes. There was a gauntness to his features, a hollowness around the eyes that spoke of hardship. He could work with this. This face screamed 'forgettable.'
His attention was drawn to a faint, almost imperceptible scent beneath the lingering iron. Rot. Subtle, but definitely present. It was coming from outside the small, grimy window.
Curiosity, carefully leashed, tugged at him.
He padded to the window, peering out. The orphanage backed onto a dense section of woods, often used as an unofficial dumping ground. And there, partially hidden beneath a tangle of overgrown bushes, was a small, still form. A dog, by the looks of it. Recently deceased.
A spark ignited in his eyes, cold and calculating. An experiment. A test to see if his 'gift' had truly accompanied him.
He scanned his surroundings. The orphanage yard was deserted. The early morning mist still clung to the trees, providing ample cover. The risk was minimal.
Slipping out of the room was child's play. The orphanage was old, its hinges creaky, its floorboards groaning, but to his practiced senses, it was an open book. He avoided the squeaky spots, his movements fluid and economical.
He reached the edge of the woods, the scent of decay stronger now. He located the dog's corpse. It was a scrawny mutt, its fur matted with dirt and what looked like dried blood. Its neck was bent at an unnatural angle.
Kenji knelt, his expression unreadable. He reached out a hesitant hand, then paused. No witnesses. He glanced around again, his senses stretching, listening for the tell-tale sounds of an approaching person. Nothing.
He touched the animal's fur. And then, he focused.
It wasn't a conscious thought, not a spell or a technique he'd learned. It was instinct, a deep-seated part of his new, yet old, soul. He willed the body to… unravel.
A strange sensation prickled at his fingertips. The dog's form seemed to waver, ever so slightly. He pushed harder with his intent, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the fur began to lose its cohesion. Then the skin. It wasn't messy, not a gory explosion. It was more like… a controlled disintegration. The tissues unmade themselves, separating into their base components, a faint, almost invisible shimmer hanging in the air around the rapidly diminishing corpse.
Within minutes, all that remained was a small pile of dust and a few surprisingly clean bones.
Kenji stared, his breath catching in his throat. It worked. It worked.
But that was only the first part.
He focused again, this time on the lingering shimmer, the essence of the creature. There was nothing special there, no unique bloodline, just the raw life force, now untethered. He probed it gently with his mind, then with a deeper, more primal part of his being, he drew.
The shimmer flowed towards him, not into his mouth or nose, but seemingly directly into his skin, into his very core. It was a faint sensation, like a cool drink on a parched day, barely noticeable. He wouldn't gain any dog-like abilities from this, he knew. The creature had possessed no unique genetic traits worth integrating. This was merely a test of the absorption.
And then, the final step: purification and integration. In his previous life, this had been crucial. Taking in raw, unfiltered essence could be… problematic. His body, even this new, young one, seemed to instinctively know the process. He felt a subtle internal filtering, a discarding of the unnecessary, the dross, before the refined essence settled within him, a minuscule, almost undetectable spark of added vitality.
Perfect.
He carefully scattered the dust and bones, ensuring nothing looked out of place. No trace. No evidence.
A new, bloody dawn indeed. And he, Kenji, would be its most silent, most patient harbinger.
A bell chimed in the distance – the orphanage's call for the morning gruel. He schooled his features back into the mask of a nondescript child, a flicker of his true, chilling nature carefully concealed deep within his unremarkable brown eyes.
As he walked back towards the main building, another memory surfaced: the Konoha Ninja Academy. He was due to start soon, if he wasn't already enrolled. That was where the real game would begin. That was where he'd meet them. The future powerhouses. The future Sannin.
Tsunade Senju. Granddaughter of the First Hokage, wielder of monstrous strength and medical prowess. A princess of the most powerful clan.
A genuine, almost predatory smile touched Kenji's lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. Interesting. A powerful bloodline, a significant political piece, and, if the stories were to be believed, a fiery personality.
He would be in her class. He would watch. He would learn. And when the time was right, he would collect.
But for now, he was just Kenji, an orphan. Hungry, quiet, and utterly invisible.
And that suited him perfectly.