I do not own Naruto.

My community C2: Rikudou Naruto.

Author: Rikudou Naruto.

Beta - Reading: Arcross.

Sentence of the chapter.

In the presence of fools and madmen, there is only one way to show our intelligence: do not talk to them - Arthur Schopenhauer.

First chapter. V2


Destination—the force that moves our lives for a purpose. But, does fate really exist? There is only one way we settle for waiting for something. So, is fate forged by forces beyond our understanding, or ourselves?

Senju Hashirama, Shodaime Hokage.


Limbo.

A trapped void that knew no bounds; refuge to the failures of ascendance. Here they wandered, lingered, waited in the silent vacuum of space; they could do nothing, merely existing in the dark crawls of infinity, but to await a pending judgment. If it ever came.

He was different, however.

God among men, veteran of the clan wars, founding forefather. Yet among that famed glory, betrayed—by his own flesh and blood. His supposedly proud and loyal kinsmen took up arms against him; they were content with existing on the sidelines, all in service to his old rival. Did they not understand?

Their beliefs, those ideals, that fighting spirit… they called it Hi no Ishi.

How absurd.

Unlike his false brethren, he stayed true to his ancestors before him; he fought for his name's sake—for the clan's sake.

They—he and his all too familiar adversary—had clashed until they tore the earth beneath them asunder. Their display of combat had reshaped the land around them, transforming once-lush forestry into a forsaken wasteland built upon hate and despair.

In the end, the heavens wept for the world's loss. His loss.

He had been angry at first—furious even—at his own failure, but that hatred had shortly dissolved into emptiness. He had soon realized that he died with regrets; to have not been courted by a fair and worthy maiden; to not have fathered any prodigious children or grandchildren; to have not mentored any promising disciples or apprentices to carry on his will.

Uchiha Madara would be nothing more than some transient and fleeting memory, for little would remember his deeds in life. They called it not being… Immortalized.

He mulled those thoughts over like a broken record; all in mono.


The Shinigami was absolutely livid as it watched the events that had recently unfolded before the world. The deity was not angry that its most recent payment was half of the chakra belonging to an almighty bijū, nor was it the little extra tip that came in the form of the one who had last beseeched its services. What it was furious about instead was the receiver at the end of the bargain.

The Shinigami and Kami had bestowed their blessings long ago to one individual with the power to reshape the fate of the world. As of recently, that individual was now poisoned with the ultimate burden—to imprison a bijū. The Shinigami cursed at the contract it was bound to, the same contract that forced it to seal the final half of the bijū into the chosen one. That complicated many things for the two deities; no, it changed everything.

It now condemned the chosen one to live a pitiful excuse of an existence, fated to meet a grisly end at the hands of his so-called comrades—to die alone and cold in a puddle that once coursed through his veins. But before that: societal isolation, prolonged suffering and then countless betrayals.

The Shinigami's features dripped into a ghastly scowl as it was given brief visions of the chosen one's future. The deity refused to allow it and Kami's efforts be for naught, something had to be done. The death god could not directly intervene with the turn of events, but fortunately, nothing dictated that others couldn't. But, who would be fitting for the role?

…Uchiha Madara. Yes, that was the man's name; the Shinigami had nearly forgotten it with the countless dead in limbo. Had it not been for the forefather's deep regrets during his time in purgatory, the death god would have not paid it the time of day to even consider learning his name.

Flashes of clan lord's possible influence upon the chosen one's path were observed and taken into consideration. The following were among his greatest and strongest desires—to bear a family to call his own; to raise a heir from start to finish; to leave some sort of mark to be remembered by; a second chance.

Such conviction in this one! It seemed to almost rival the chosen one's even after the sudden change of fate. How could the death god deny the opportunity?

And thus was decided...

Uchiha Madara would definitely play as the Shinigami's and Kami's wild card.


Falling.

He had once been afloat, frozen in stagnancy for what felt like an eternity. But now…

Down, down…

He could see his steady descent to the unknown—below was still pitch-black, but it was indiscernibly the floor of whatever spatial dimension of the afterlife he was in. Madara's spectral, free-falling form avoided the sky-scraping onyx pillars that formed what seemed to be a narrow hallway, as grey walls that once took the form of the dark void slowly blurred into existence. Slowly but gradually, the veil of null that once plagued his visual senses dissolved into nothingness.

His descent had come to an abrupt halt just mere feet away from the manifested ground before he was promptly drawn forcibly forward. Additional darkness melted back into the crevices beyond him and before he knew it, Uchiha Madara was standing face-to-face with the entity that defined death itself—the Shinigami.

The grim deity was robed in a white, ruined regalia that shrouded the majority of its vast and ghastly form, except its pale face and sickeningly long digits bearing stiletto-like claws. Two curved horns protruded from its forehead, preventing the tattered hood from masking its petrifying gaze. The death god's powerful aura was spine-chilling at minimal; had Madara had been alive at this very moment, he would've felt the goosebumps of blood-gone-cold that threatened to overwhelm his flesh.

"Do you know who I am, Uchiha Madara?" the Shinigami's grim and disembodied voice beckoned.

Madara, who had not trusted his voice in the very presence of death itself, nodded once shakily in confirmation. There was no other divine being that lingered in the realm of the dead, anyway.

"Good… you have been called for judgment," the deity stated. The clan lord would have held his breath if he could; the word of the Shinigami was final. There was no way to sway the divine being's ultimate decision. Right now, his fate would be decided once and for all, this moment was what countless souls before him were waiting for.

"I, the Shinigami, hereby send you… a blessing—your greatest desires have been answered."

Madara's facial expression was instantly riddled in both shock and disbelief at the decision. Had the death god really done that for him? He really was going to get a second chance? The Shinigami decided it time to answer his growing curiosity.

"I bestow upon you a worthy heir. But for the time being, it does not belong to you. Yet." The great apparition's wicked hand reached out to firmly grasp the top of Madara's head. "First, you need to hear, listen and understand…"

Several visions of the living flooded the clan lord's mind randomly, but became more direct and focused as the death god spoke.

"Uchiha Madara—your imposter, liberator of the Kyuubi…"

"Namikaze Minato—the Yondaime Hokage, imprisoner of the Kyūbi…"

"Uzumaki Kushina—wife of the Yondaime, former jinchūriki of the Kyūbi…"

"Your heir—son of the Yondaime, current jinchūriki of the Kyūbi…"

Madara was quickly briefed upon the recent events; he even got a look at his would-be heir, who was only born hours ago in the living world.

"Product of the Yondaime's decision—fate of the heir… without your intervention," the Shinigami chillingly declared as it pressed foresight of the child's would-be experiences into the forefather's mind.

Pain. Suffering. Hatred. Sollitude. Neglect. Betrayal.

Madara went through a series of mixed expressions through it all. First was hatred and disgust for the Yondaime Hokage, but that had mellowed out to pity and sympathy as he mulled over the earlier visions. He did however, scowl at the last of the intrusive imagery invading his head; scenes of betrayal and underhanded trickery. For a village built upon his late rival's Hi no Ishi…

How absurd.

If this child was to be his heir at the end of this, then he was not going to just sit and watch and waste his second chance. He would be the family that the child so desperately craved for; he would be the one to raise and nurture him in his times of need.

The Shinigami still had not released him from its grasp as it spoke again. "You have heard, listened and understood. Now…"

Two long and bony fingers—nails like kunai—slowly plunged into the receptacles of where his eyeballs would be. It almost felt ironic.

"From you—blood of the Uchiha; your Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan…"

Madara's vision blurred as a surge of power tapped into his skull. But as quickly as his sight deteriorated, it was restored to full clarity; the Shinigami had withdrew its talons.

"And from the mother—recessive genes of the Senju; creation of the Rinnegan…"

The deity seemed to grin wickedly in an amused manner. "As for you…"

The clan lord felt himself slipping away as the Shinigami continued to speak; it felt like he was dying all over again. But instead of resisting as he had done in life before, he willingly allowed the darkness overtake him. Again.

"Live on within your heir—guide him… set your mark upon the living, Uchiha Madara…"


End of chapter.

Naruto is really strong.

Naruto will have the same personality Madara.

Last sentence of the chapter. Two phrases.

Each will be much more sociable the poorer in spirit, and in general, most vulgar (which makes the gregarious man is precisely the inner poverty). For in the world, do not have much beyond the choice between loneliness and vulgarity - Arthur Schopenhauer.

Instead of being always and exclusively occupied with plans for the future and care, or to surrender to the nostalgia of the past, we should never forget that only the present is real and true, the future, by contrast, has almost always different from what we thought - Arthur Schopenhauer.