The world lay in ruins. Once-thriving cities had been reduced to rubble, forests burned, and rivers ran red with the scars of war. The conflict that had engulfed the continent was nearing its climax, and the two titanic forces that had shaped its trajectory were now locked in their final confrontation. The outcome of this battle would decide the fate of the world.
High above the shattered landscape, Naruto Uzumaki stood within the radiant form of his Kurama Avatar. The golden construct of chakra glimmered like a beacon amidst the storm of destruction surrounding them. His expression was a mix of determination and sorrow as he gazed at the figure before him—his once-best friend, now his greatest adversary.
"Sasuke, don't do this!" Naruto's voice echoed through the battlefield, desperate yet firm. "Stop! I don't want to hurt you!"
Perched atop his mighty, dark-armored Susanoo, Sasuke Uchiha sneered, his crimson Sharingan and Rinnegan glowing ominously. His voice dripped with cold resolve. "It's too late for that, Naruto. You're the last obstacle in my way. For my dreams to come true, you must die!"
Without hesitation, Sasuke unleashed his strongest attack, a devastating surge of chakra imbued with the combined power of the nine Bijuu he had forcibly taken. The heavens seemed to split as a massive black lightning bolt, entwined with a blazing vortex of flames, surged toward Naruto.
Naruto's eyes narrowed as he braced for the attack. "If that's how it has to be, then so be it," he whispered to himself. Drawing upon the power of nature itself, he channeled the energy of the planet—the wind, the earth, and the life force of every living thing—into his counterattack. His Kurama Avatar roared, its golden claws extending as he launched a titanic Rasenshuriken infused with natural energy to intercept Sasuke's onslaught.
The clash of their attacks was cataclysmic. The collision ripped through the fabric of reality itself, tearing open a rift in space. The battlefield was consumed by a swirling maelstrom of light and darkness, pulling everything within its reach toward oblivion.
Naruto gritted his teeth, fighting against the pull of the void. He glanced toward Sasuke, who was struggling to maintain control of his disintegrating Susanoo. The rift was expanding rapidly, and Sasuke was teetering on the edge of being consumed.
In that instant, Naruto made his choice. With a desperate cry, he extended a chakra arm from his Kurama Avatar, pushing Sasuke away from the rift with all his strength. The effort left him vulnerable, and the explosive backlash of their clashing powers struck him full force. His Kurama Avatar shattered, and he was hurled into the gaping void.
Sasuke's Susanoo crumbled as he plummeted from the sky, his body battered and bloodied. He crashed into the scorched earth below, the impact throwing up a cloud of dust and debris. Weakly, he dragged himself to his feet, surveying the aftermath. The rift in the sky had begun to close, sealing away the chaotic energies that had nearly destroyed them both.
Sasuke's lips curled into a bitter smile as he collapsed onto his knees, his vision swimming. "You fool," he murmured, his voice filled with conflicting emotions. "Always so selfless… Thank you, Naruto. The world will remember you as the hero who saved it. Rest in peace, my friend."
Exhausted and broken, Sasuke lowered his head, the weight of his victory pressing down on him like a curse. Above him, the stars shone faintly through the dissipating storm clouds, their light cold and distant. Somewhere beyond the veil of reality, Naruto Uzumaki had vanished, leaving behind only the echoes of his unyielding will and the hope he had fought so hard to protect.
It might boggle the mind of mortals, but even immortal beings of unfathomable might and age often acted in ways that could only be described as childish. While many humans wished such behavior to be a mere fantasy, the truth was not far removed from the absurd legends they had recorded. Despite countless millennia of existence, wisdom seemed to elude even the mightiest, for stupidity and paranoia are difficult to cure, no matter the being's stature.
Once again, the Olympians, immortals of old, stood poised to ignite a conflict that could unravel the very fabric of an age. Their actions, rooted in fear and mistrust, carried the seeds of destruction.
It was a tranquil night, stars glittering above the silent desert, when a sudden ripple tore through the sky. A portal, glowing with chaotic energy, yawned open, and from its depths, a body plummeted to the sands below. The impact sent shockwaves across the land, stirring supernatural forces far and wide.
The power emanating from the fallen figure was immense—raw and overwhelming. It reached every corner of the supernatural world, an irresistible beacon to all beings attuned to such energies. Among them, none reacted more swiftly than Zeus, King of the Olympians. The immortal, ever paranoid and wary of threats to his dominion, felt a sense of profound insignificance under the weight of the power. That feeling alone was enough to stoke his ire.
He appeared at the crash site in an instant, lightning crackling in the air as his presence distorted the space around him. Before him lay the body of a child—small, seemingly fragile, yet exuding an aura so vast and unyielding that it dwarfed even his own.
Moments later, other Olympians arrived: Hera, his queen; Athena, immortal of wisdom; Artemis, immortal of the hunt; and Apollo, immortal of the sun. Each was drawn to the spectacle, their expressions shifting as they gazed upon the fallen child.
"What is it, Zeus?" Hera asked, her tone a mixture of curiosity and concern. Her sharp eyes studied the child closely, as though sensing something beneath the surface.
Zeus did not turn to her. His face was a mask of disdain and unease. "A being that cannot be allowed to exist," he declared, his words deliberate and heavy. "Fortunately, it is already dead. The wretched signature of its energy disgusts me."
Hera frowned at his declaration, her instincts telling her otherwise. The aura of the child spoke to her in a way she couldn't explain—a whisper of loyalty, pure love, and potential that struck a chord deep within her.
"How should we deal with the body?" she pressed. "He might revive. And I wonder, Zeus, if we should be deciding this without giving the person a chance to prove themselves."
"There is no need for debate," Zeus replied sharply, his voice brimming with finality. "We cannot take the risk. If it revives, it could bring ruin upon us all. To ensure its power is never a threat, we will divide it. Even if it returns, it will be powerless."
Hera opened her mouth to protest, but Zeus's lightning-charged glare silenced her. Reluctantly, the others nodded. Even if they did not agree, none dared challenge the king's decree—not in this moment.
The earth itself seemed to sense the significance of the fallen child. The sand shifted, reaching upward as if to cradle the body and pull it into the embrace of the land. Zeus, however, would not allow it. With a flick of his hand, the sand scattered, and he lifted the body effortlessly.
Despite his bravado, a flicker of doubt crossed Zeus's mind as he looked down at the child. The aura, while oppressive, bore an unsettling purity—an echo of something ancient and uncorrupted. But his fear outweighed his curiosity.
"Let us begin," he commanded, turning to his fellow immortals. "The power will be scattered among us and sealed away. This creature's existence ends here, now, forever."
Hera's gaze lingered on the child as Zeus prepared the ritual, a quiet sorrow blooming in her heart. Deep down, she felt they were making a terrible mistake.
On Mount Olympus, Zeus materialized in a flash of crackling lightning, his regal presence commanding attention. The air around him shimmered with power, but his face was tense, his jaw clenched in frustration. Behind him, his entourage—Hera, Athena, Apollo, Artemis, Poseidon, and others—followed, their expressions reflecting a mixture of curiosity and unease.
Before them lay the source of their concern: the lifeless body of the mysterious entity. Despite its inert state, it emanated a raw, oppressive energy that made the Olympians feel small in comparison, a sensation none of them welcomed.
Zeus stepped forward, his golden eyes narrowing as he raised his hand to interact with the body. Yet, even in his full, unleashed form, the power resisted his command. It was as if the energy within the corpse recognized him and outright rejected his authority.
"It truly is an existence that cannot be allowed to remain," Zeus muttered through gritted teeth, his frustration palpable. His hand trembled as he attempted to manipulate the energy, only for it to flare wildly, resisting his every attempt.
The other Olympians exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of the situation dawning on them. Even Zeus, in his immortally might, could not subdue this entity's residual power.
"Assist me," Zeus barked, his tone brooking no argument.
The other immortals nodded in consent, stepping forward to lend their power. Each one extended their divine essence toward the corpse, weaving their might together to contain the energy that threatened to spiral out of control. But even as they worked in unison, the power resisted them, growing more unstable by the moment. The very air around them trembled, cracks forming in the marble floor of the throne room.
"What is this thing?" Athena muttered, her voice tinged with a rare note of fear as she struggled to maintain her focus.
"An abomination," Zeus spat, his tone venomous. "A monster that dares to challenge the natural order."
Despite their combined efforts, the energy's instability grew, its chaotic nature threatening to explode. The Olympians could feel the strain, their divine forms faltering under the sheer magnitude of the force they faced.
"Damn monster!" Zeus cursed, summoning even more power. The room blazed with divine light as he called upon the full council of Olympians. One by one, the remaining immortals arrived, their expressions grim as they joined the effort.
After what felt like an eternity, their combined might finally began to suppress the energy. Slowly, painstakingly, they divided the power into ten distinct fragments. Each fragment shimmered with an intensity that rivaled the sun, its sheer potency undeniable.
Zeus, panting slightly from the exertion, turned to Hephaestus. The blacksmith immortal stood silently, his face as stoic as ever, though his sharp eyes betrayed his awe at the task before him.
"You will forge these fragments into artifacts," Zeus commanded, his voice cold and authoritative. "Each one must be worthy of the effort we've expended here. These artifacts will be entrusted to our chosen, to ensure this power can never be reunited."
Hephaestus gave a single nod, his mind already racing with ideas. "It will be done, Father. The artifacts will reflect the strength of what we've divided."
Zeus stepped closer, his piercing gaze locking onto Hephaestus. "See that it is done to perfection. There will be no room for error. Do not fail me in this."
Without another word, Zeus turned on his heel and strode away, his steps echoing through the hall. The other immortals followed suit, leaving Hephaestus alone with the ten fragments of unimaginable power.
As the fires of his forge roared to life, Hephaestus muttered under his breath, "Worthy artifacts, indeed. But this power... it's more than any mortal or immortal should wield."
And so, the fragments were entrusted to his skill, their fate tied to the will of the Olympians—yet the lingering energy from the corpse seemed almost to pulse with defiance, as though it would not accept its fate so easily.