Rain lashed the steel tower of Amegakure, its high platform a shadowed refuge against the storm outside. Within, the air grew heavy as Naruto, Orochimaru, and Konan materialized from a buzz of Flying Thunder God, their boots echoing on the slick metal floor. Nagato's frail form stirred atop his launcher, Rinnegan glinting as he regarded them, voice rasping with faint surprise. "Back in half a day? The trip went smoothly, it seems."
Orochimaru's golden eyes gleamed, a smirk curling his lips. "Naruto-kun's plans are meticulous—and with Flying Thunder God, speed's a given."
Konan drifted to Nagato's side, her presence a quiet pillar as Naruto released his shadow clone. A flood of memories hit him—conversations between the clone and Nagato, tales of Jiraiya's gruff kindness in Konoha, his training of a brash young Naruto, and Nagato's own recollections of their shared master. Stories Naruto's past life had never touched—Jiraiya's laughter under Amegakure's rain, his lessons of hope amid war. Nagato had opened up, his voice steady with nostalgia, and the clone had listened, weaving a bridge between their pasts.
Naruto met Nagato's gaze, a warm smile breaking through the tension. Nagato mirrored it, a flicker of the man he'd been before madness—before Pain—shining through. Shisui's Distinguished Heavenly Gods had peeled back the chaos, revealing a heart still yearning for peace, for Jiraiya's dream of mutual understanding. Naruto's resolve hardened; this Nagato, his brother-in-arms, was worth every risk.
He turned, clapping his hands with a grin. "Alright, Uncle Snake—time for your divine performance!"
Orochimaru rolled his eyes, a dry huff escaping as he stepped forward, shedding Naruto's theatrics. A serpent slithered from his sleeve, coiling around the Shinigami mask he drew from his waist. He pressed it to his face, and the chamber dimmed, the air chilling as he began to sway—a low, guttural hum rising from his throat. "Uh… uh…" His arms spread wide, body arching into a stark silhouette against the flickering lights.
A buzz rippled through the room, and behind him materialized the Shinigami—a towering spectre draped in white, its long hair flowing like mist, red horns jutting from its skull. Golden eyes glowed above a maw of jagged black fangs, a dagger clenched between them. The temperature plunged, frost creeping along the steel walls. Konan's breath hitched, her wings rustling as she edged behind Nagato, unease shadowing her stoic face. Nagato, though, leaned forward, curiosity alight in his Rinnegan. "Shinigami…" he murmured, voice trailing. "Could Yahiko…?"
Naruto caught the longing, the unspoken wish, and offered a gentle smile. "Patience, Nagato. Trust me—we'll get there." Nagato nodded, a spark of hope kindling in his gaze, trusting Naruto's unspoken promise.
The Shinigami's hand rose, seizing the dagger and slicing its own belly open with a wet shrrk. Souls burst forth—five shimmering orbs spiraling into the air. Orochimaru groaned, a gash mirroring the Shinigami's splitting his stomach, blood pooling at his feet. One soul darted downward, drawn to him, sinking into his arms. His severed hands reformed, pale flesh knitting seamlessly, and he rasped with triumph, "They're back!"
Naruto's eyes flicked to the remaining four souls, hovering like lanterns—Hashirama, Tobirama, Hiruzen, and Minato, the Konoha F4. His chest tightened, Minato's golden light tugging at him. Not yet, Dad—forgive me. He drew a pre-prepared scroll, hands flashing through seals. "Spiritual Sealing Jutsu!" Chakra tendrils erupted from the parchment, snaring the souls in a swift, unyielding grip. "Seal!" he barked, and with a whoosh, they vanished into the scroll. He rolled it tight, sealing it with a final pulse of chakra, and tucked it away. The time for reunion would come—later.
Orochimaru clutched his bleeding stomach, mask slipping as he snarled, "Naruto-kun!" Pain laced his voice, but Naruto was already moving, unsealing the White Zetsu he'd brought. He pried open its mouth, shouting, "Now, Uncle Snake—go!" Orochimaru's jaw unhinged, a grotesque serpent—human-faced, sinuous—surging from his throat. It coiled in the air, then dove into the White Zetsu's maw. The plant-like body shuddered, reshaping, until Orochimaru's form emerged anew, whole and unbloodied.
Nagato stared, slack-jawed. As an Uzumaki, he knew sealing arts—Ghoul Sealing demanded a life for a life, a caster's sacrifice. Yet Orochimaru had danced with Shinigami and walked away, defying death's toll. "Incredible…" he breathed, awe threading his voice.
Naruto hauled Orochimaru to his feet, grin wide. "Hard work paid off, Uncle Snake! Hands back, power restored—congrats!" Orochimaru flexed his fingers, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his serpentine mask. The loss of his hands had been a torment—simple acts denied, strength curtailed. Now, he was whole again, and the relief was palpable.
"What's next, Naruto-kun?" Orochimaru asked, golden eyes glinting with anticipation.
Naruto's tone softened, deliberate. "No rush. I've got some loose ends to tie up first—then I'll need your help."
Orochimaru's "Oh?" was a low, thoughtful hiss, excitement flickering beneath it. Naruto's relentless drive—one calculated step after another—stoked his own curiosity. This wasn't just a boy with dreams; this was a force, a windmill spinning toward a new world, and Orochimaru was hooked.
The tower's chill lingered, but the mood shifted—triumph settling over them like the rain outside. Konan's unease faded, her trust in Naruto reaffirmed. Nagato's hope grew, tethered to a future Naruto hinted at but didn't yet reveal. Orochimaru, hands restored, stood as Heaven's newest pillar, his genius poised to unravel the mysteries Naruto craved. The scroll of souls rested heavy in Naruto's cloak, a silent promise to his father and the past, as the ninja world braced for the storm he was forging.
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