Blink. Blink.
The boy's eyelids fluttered open, his vision swimming in a haze of blurred shapes and muted colors. A dull ache pulsed behind his temples as his mind clawed through the fog of confusion. Where am I? he thought, panic threading through his veins. Why can't I see anything?
Then, slowly, the world sharpened before him—like ink bleeding into clarity.
And what he saw froze the breath in his lungs.
A man stood in the distance, his back turned, long crimson hair cascading like a waterfall of blood. From his body erupted golden chains—not rigid, but alive, serpentine, lashing through the air with a will of their own. They struck with brutal precision, slamming into masked figures clad in black, sending them crashing to the ground. So chains pierced straight through flesh, their spear-like tips glinting wetly under an unseen light.
The boy's stomach twisted. This wasn't a fight—it was a slaughter.
Then, movent. A masked figure flickered behind the red-haired man, blade raised. The chains reacted instantly, whipping back like striking vipers—impaling the attacker in a spray of crimson. But not before the assassin's own blade found its mark, sinking deep into the man's side.
A choked gasp escaped the boy's lips.
This man wasn't just fighting.
He was trading life for life.
The boy's mind raced as he took in his surroundings. Where the hell have I co to? Just last night, he had been playing a ga—then everything went black. Had he passed out? Was this so kind of elaborate prank? But who would go to such lengths for a nobody like him?
Then, like a bolt of lightning, another thought struck him. Did I… get transmigrated to another world?
Before he could dwell on it further, a sharp cry shattered the air. A man with fiery red hair crumpled to the ground, a blade buried in his chest. Anguished shouts erupted around him.
"No! Uncle Tatsuya!"
"I'll kill those bastards for this!"
Tatsuya? The na sent a jolt through him. Suddenly, his skull throbbed—white-hot pain lancing through his temples. Visions flooded his mind, fragnted but vivid—mories that weren't his. Scenes of battles, faces of strangers, whispered words in a language he sohow understood.
When the agony finally faded, the truth crashed over him.
He wasn't just in another world.
He was soone else.
This wasn't just any world—it was the world of Naruto, one of the most legendary ani from his past life. And as the mories settled in his mind, the reality of his new existence sharpened into focus.
His na was Shanks Uzumaki, a prodigy of the fad Uzumaki Clan. At only sixteen, he had already reached the rank of Jonin, a testant to his monstrous talent. His mastery over the clan's forbidden sealing techniques was unparalleled, marking him as one of the most formidable shinobi of his bloodline.
But none of that mattered now.
Five days ago, the Land of Whirlpools had been drowned in blood. Kirigakure and Kumogakure—two of the Five Great Villages—had launched a coordinated assault, tearing through Uzushiogakure's defences like paper. The Uzumaki had called upon their oldest allies, Konohagakure, for aid.
They never ca.
No reinforcents. No ssages. Just silence.
Whether it was hesitation, betrayal, or so twisted political manoeuvre, it didn't matter. The result was the sa. The Uzumaki had been left to die.
The Uzumaki Clan fought desperately against the combined forces of Kirigakure and Kumogakure, their legendary fuinjutsu barriers and fierce resistance holding back the invaders—but not for long. Outnumbered and overwheld, they faced an impossible choice: annihilation or escape.
In the end, the decision was made. The surviving mbers would flee, carrying with them the scattered remnants of their clan's heritage. To ensure that at least so would survive, they split into multiple teams, each taking a different route into the unknown. No team knew the path of another—secrecy was their only shield. If they were intercepted along the way, then fate had deed it their end.
The routes were chosen by the Uzumaki Clan's leader, an elder who refused to leave his holand. Many begged him to join them, to lead them to safety, but he refused.
"I am old," he said, his voice steady despite the grief in his eyes. "I would only slow you down. But here, in the ruins of our ho, I can still fight. I will make sure these invaders pay for every step they take—and buy you the ti you need."
And so, only the young were sent away—those under forty, the last hope of the Uzumaki na. The rest remained: warriors, scholars, elders, and parents, all standing firm against the tide of enemies. They fought not for victory, but for the seconds, the minutes, the hours that would let their children live.
It was not a battle for glory. It was sacrifice, pure and unyielding—a final act of love for the future they would never see.
After the decision was made, Shanks departed with his father, Uzumaki Tatsuya, and the remaining mbers of their clan. Their escape was anything but smooth—ambushed ti and again by Kirigakure's relentless shinobi. Battle after battle followed, each one bloodier than the last. Many of the adults perished, sacrificing themselves so the younger ones could flee.
In one of these brutal clashes, Shanks lost his left arm. The pain was overwhelming, and darkness quickly claid him.
The original Shanks from the Naruto world had died, and an Earthling's soul had taken his place.
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