The rain fell in endless sheets, cold and unrelenting, turning the world into a gray, formless haze. Amatsu's eyes fluttered open, the chill of the rain slicing through his senses. His first conscious thought was hunger. Not the dull ache of discomfort, but a sharp, ravenous pain that twisted through his stomach, consuming him from within.
He lay there, motionless, his frail body sprawled on the damp stone. The ground beneath him was uneven, cold, and slick with water. He blinked, his vision blurry, as the rain continued to strike his face. Slowly, his fingers twitched, thin and skeletal, barely able to grasp at the ground.
The hunger grew sharper, more insistent. His body—small, frail, and weak—felt utterly alien to him. Every breath came as a struggle, his lungs wheezing faintly as they drew in the damp, metallic air. It was as though he were trapped in a dying shell, abandoned and forgotten.
Amatsu forced himself to sit up, every motion slow and deliberate. His thin arms trembled beneath his weight, threatening to collapse at any moment. Rain dripped from his dark, matted hair, clinging to his face in tangled strands. For a moment, he simply sat there, hunched over, his breath shallow and uneven.
It was then that the realization struck him.
"This… isn't my body," he murmured, his voice hoarse and faint, barely audible over the sound of the rain.
His gaze drifted down to his hands—pale, bony, and caked in grime. His nails were ragged and broken, his fingers trembling from weakness. The rest of his body fared no better. His ribs pressed sharply against his skin, his clothes little more than tattered rags hanging loosely from his skeletal frame.
The memories came slowly, fragmented and raw, like pieces of a shattered mirror. This body had belonged to a boy—an orphan who had known nothing but hunger, rain, and despair. The boy had lived and died on these streets, his life ending in this very alley, where his frail body had finally succumbed to starvation.
Amatsu's lips curled faintly, not in pity, but in grim understanding.
"So, this is how it begins again," he muttered, his tone devoid of emotion. "A broken vessel in a broken world."
There was no sorrow for the boy whose body he now inhabited. The soul that had once resided here was gone, extinguished. Amatsu had no use for sentimentality. The weak perished, and the strong survived. That was the law of existence, a truth he had learned in every life he had lived.
His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "Then I'll make this body strong."
A faint shimmer flickered in the corner of his vision, pulling his attention. Amatsu's smile widened slightly as familiar lines of text began to materialize before his eyes.
---
[System Active]
[Debuffs Active:]
- Starvation (Critical)
- Fatigue (Severe)
- Weakness (Extreme)
---
The System. His constant companion. His eternal gift. Even now, in this strange new world, it remained by his side. Its cold, mechanical presence was as absolute as ever.
Amatsu's dark eyes scanned the list of debuffs. Starvation, fatigue, weakness—all of them reflected the pitiful state of this body. But against the power of the System, they were nothing more than inconveniences.
With a single thought, he focused on Starvation. The text flickered, and the sharp, agonizing hunger in his stomach vanished instantly, replaced by calm emptiness.
---
[Debuff Removed: Starvation.]
Hunger Eliminated.
---
Amatsu exhaled softly, the faintest trace of satisfaction crossing his face. He turned his attention next to Fatigue, erasing it with the same ease.
---
[Debuff Removed: Fatigue.]
Energy Restored.
[Debuff Removed: Weakness.]
Muscle Function Restored to Normal Levels.
---
Strength returned to his limbs, the trembling subsiding as his body began to obey him fully. Slowly, Amatsu rose to his feet, his movements steady and deliberate. The rain continued to pour, soaking his tattered clothes, but he paid it no mind.
He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers experimentally. They were still small and frail in appearance, but the strength behind them was undeniable. This body was far from perfect, but it was a start.
Amatsu crouched down, staring at his reflection in a shallow puddle. Dark, wild hair framed a gaunt face, his sunken eyes burning with quiet intensity.
"Eleven years old," he estimated, his gaze narrowing. "A body shaped by suffering… but malleable. I'll make it stronger."
The memories of the boy's life flickered in his mind. An orphan. A scavenger. A life spent fighting for scraps in the shadows of the Rain Village. His death had been slow, unnoticed by anyone.
Amatsu's expression darkened. "Weakness is punished. That much hasn't changed."
---
He stepped out of the alley, the streets of the Rain Village stretching out before him. The air was heavy with despair, the kind that seeped into the bones of those who lived here. Children huddled in corners, their hollow eyes watching him silently. Adults bickered in doorways, their voices sharp with anger and desperation.
The rain was endless, soaking the village in misery. It masked the sound of distant fighting, but Amatsu could feel the tension in the air. This was a world on the brink, torn apart by war and suffering.
Amatsu walked with measured steps, his dark eyes scanning his surroundings. Memories of his past lives flickered in his mind—palaces, armies, and the warmth of Kaguya's smile. How far he had fallen.
"This world is chaos," he thought. "Its people are weak, clinging to survival like insects in a storm. Strength rules. Weakness is punished. And those who cannot fight are trampled underfoot."
Chakra. He could sense faint traces of it lingering in the air, emanating from the people around him like dying embers. The energy was weak, scattered, and unfocused, but it was unmistakable.
"Chakra," he murmured, his lips curling faintly. "So, this is what remains."
There was no Divine Tree. No Kaguya. Only this strange, fractured world, drowning in rain. He wondered briefly how much time had passed since his death.
A flicker of memory surfaced—Kaguya's serene smile, the warmth of her presence, and the weight of the future they had once planned together. His chest tightened as he recalled his unborn child. For a moment, the rain felt heavier, as if mourning alongside him. But he pushed the thought aside, his gaze hardening. There was no room for such weakness now.
---
"Hey, you!"
Amatsu stopped mid-step, his head tilting slightly as the voice cut through the sound of falling rain. Slowly, he turned, his dark eyes locking onto the source of the noise.
A group of boys stood at the end of the street, their features sharp with hunger, their movements predatory. They were older than him, their clothes equally tattered, their frames slightly larger but just as thin. Scavengers.
The largest boy stepped forward, his crooked smile showing yellowed teeth. "You've got something, don't you?" His voice was rough, hoarse from shouting or perhaps the same gnawing starvation that plagued this village. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of desperation and arrogance. "Hand it over."
Amatsu said nothing. He simply stood there, his small frame soaked through by the unrelenting rain. His expression betrayed no fear, no emotion at all. He watched as the boys spread out, slowly fanning out to circle him like wolves closing in on their prey.
They thought he was easy. His size, his thin body, his ragged clothes—all of it screamed weakness to them. And in this village, weakness was merely an invitation to be devoured.
The leader, emboldened by Amatsu's silence, lunged forward. His dirty hands reached out, eager to grab whatever meager belongings Amatsu might have been carrying.
Amatsu's body moved with precision. A slight twist of his frame sent him effortlessly out of the boy's reach, the scavenger's hands grasping at nothing but air. The momentum sent the boy stumbling forward, his feet splashing in the muddy street as he tried to regain his balance.
Another boy, younger but just as desperate, didn't wait. A rusted knife appeared in his hand, the dull blade flashing as he swung it toward Amatsu's ribs.
Amatsu's eyes flicked to the blade, his mind already calculating. The knife cut through the air, slicing dangerously close, but Amatsu's hand shot out, his fingers clamping down on the boy's wrist like iron.
The boy froze, his eyes widening as he realized he was caught.
---
[Debuff Detected: Pain (Minor)]
[System Adjustment Applied: Pain Debuff Duration Reduced to 0.]
---
The jagged edge of the knife grazed Amatsu's hand, but the pain vanished almost as quickly as it came. The System's intervention ensured his body remained unaffected by such trivial wounds.
Amatsu tightened his grip on the boy's wrist, his strength far exceeding what his small frame should have allowed. The boy let out a strangled cry as his arm was twisted at an unnatural angle.
"Pathetic," Amatsu muttered, his voice barely audible over the rain.
With a sharp twist, the sound of bone snapping echoed through the narrow street. The boy collapsed to his knees, clutching his broken arm as the knife fell from his hand, clattering uselessly to the ground.
The leader cursed, regaining his footing. "You little—!"
He lunged again, this time with more fury, his fists swinging wildly. But Amatsu was already moving. His body seemed to flow like water, each movement efficient and deliberate. He sidestepped the attack with ease, his foot shooting out to sweep the boy's legs out from under him.
The leader fell hard, his body slamming into the muddy ground with a splash. He groaned, struggling to push himself up, but Amatsu was already there, his foot pressing down on the back of the boy's head, forcing his face into the mud.
"Do you see now?" Amatsu said, his voice cold and emotionless. "You don't fight to survive. You fight to win."
The remaining boys hesitated, their confidence shattered. The sight of their leader groveling in the mud, the sound of their companion's pained cries—it was enough to strip away their bravado. Without another word, they turned and fled, dragging the injured boy with them as they disappeared into the rain.
Amatsu watched them go, his expression unchanged. The rain continued to fall, soaking his hair and clothes, but he paid it no mind. These scavengers were nothing more than insects—weak, desperate, and blind to the true nature of power.
He lifted his hand, examining the faint scratch left by the knife. The wound was shallow, barely enough to draw blood. Still, the System had acted immediately, erasing the pain before it could become a distraction.
---
[Status Check: Body State Optimal.]
---
Amatsu flexed his fingers, the cold rain washing away the faint traces of blood. "They're no different from this village," he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. "Broken. Weak. Aimless."
But unlike those scavengers, Amatsu had a purpose. He turned away, stepping deeper into the shadows of the alley. The encounter had been little more than an annoyance, a brief test of his current strength. Yet it served as a reminder of the law that governed this world—strength ruled, and weakness was punished.
There was no pride in defeating scavengers. No satisfaction in establishing dominance over the weak. Such victories were hollow, meaningless. His true goal lay far beyond these filthy streets, beyond the broken ruins of this village.
As he walked, his mind turned inward. The memories of his past lives flickered through his thoughts like fragments of a shattered dream. He had once believed in ideals—justice, loyalty, hope. He had fought for others, built kingdoms for others, because he had believed they deserved saving.
But that life was gone.
He had been betrayed, abandoned by those he had trusted most. His ideals had been shattered, ground into dust by the weight of reality. Strength was all that mattered. Power was the only truth.
---
He climbed to the rooftop of an abandoned building, the rain falling harder as he surveyed the village below. The chaos of the streets played out beneath him—the struggles of the weak, the desperation of the strong.
"This world is no different from the last," he thought, his dark eyes narrowing. "Strength rules. Weakness is punished. And I am no savior."
The memories of his second life burned in his mind—the betrayal of his kingdom, the loss of Kaguya. His fist clenched as he gazed down at the fractured world beneath him.
"This time," he murmured, his voice steady and cold, "I won't waste my efforts on others. I'll build a kingdom for myself—one where no betrayal can reach me, and no gods can meddle."
The rain fell heavier, the storm raging as Amatsu turned and disappeared into the shadows, his resolve unshakable.