Narutoverse
Sasuke lay sprawled across the bed, his body slick with sweat. His chest rose and fell sharply, one trembling hand clutching at it as if trying to hold something inside from breaking free.
His breath hitched. Then, in a flash, his eyes snapped open.
"Stop it!" he gasped.
The room was silent again, save for the sound of his ragged breathing. It took him a few seconds to realise it had only been a dream. Just another one.
Another night in hell.
He dragged a shaky hand down his face, forcing his lungs to slow down, but the tightness in his chest refused to ease. This wasn't the first time, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. Every night, he woke up drenched in sweat, screaming the same name.
Itachi.
The night of the massacre never left him. It haunted him, a looping nightmare that replayed every detail with cruel precision. He could still see the compound lit by moonlight, the air thick with the smell of blood and burning wood. He could still see the lifeless bodies of his clansmen scattered like broken dolls.
And at the centre of it all were his parents.
Their faces were frozen in shock, their blood pooling beneath them, painting the wooden floor crimson. And standing over them, his sword dripping with their blood, was him.
His brother. The one he once admired more than anyone else.
"Foolish little brother," the voice echoed in his head. "If you wish to kill me, hate me, detest me. And yet survive in an unsightly way. Run, run, and cling to life."
Every word burned like a curse carved into his mind. Every night, the same scene repeated until he could almost smell the iron in the air and feel the weight of his own helplessness again.
Sasuke clenched his fists under the sheets, nails biting into his palms.
He hated it.
He hated himself for surviving.
He hated that he hadn't regained his memories before the atrocity, like some cruel timing had handed him choices only after the fact.
It felt like a curse, being given more options once the moment for decision had already passed.
"I'll make you pay for this, Itachi," he whispered, each word low and steady, a promise carved in ice. "It doesn't matter how much you loved me. It doesn't matter what sacrifices you made. Every action will have a consequence."
He swallowed the last, darker line—the one about making Itachi watch Konoha burn—because he knew eyes were on him. Still, that didn't stop the childish part of him from snarling curses at his brother in the dark.
He knew he wasn't entirely responsible for the genocide. There were others like Obito, Hiruzen, and Danzo. Forgiveness wasn't for him. He wasn't some wandering idealist like Naruto. He was Sasuke Uchiha, the former second son of the clan leader, and he owed the clan more than quiet regret.
Vengeance settled over him like a pledge. He would make them pay. He would turn that hatred into purpose and make the destruction of his family mean something.
"Calm down," he muttered, forcing every negative thought crawling through his head to fade, just like he did every time. He knew he had patience. Konoha was far more dangerous than it looked.
It would take more than brute strength to fight against combatants like Jiraiya. He would need plans, counter-strategies, and the means to break through every layer of defence the village had built.
Years of experiments and legacy should not be underestimated, especially when past figures could still be summoned to fight against him.
"Tch." Sasuke clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. If only I had something that could strike the soul itself, destroy it completely.
Something from Bleach would be perfect.
Thinking that, he pulled up the familiar system interface hovering in front of him.
[Points: 30]
A month had passed since his last gacha spin. In that time, he had grown accustomed to his new identity as Cid Kagenou. His movements were smoother, his control over mana sharper. But most importantly, he had killed for the first time.
At first, he had expected guilt, nausea, or hesitation. But when the body hit the ground, he felt nothing. No remorse, no disgust, just the faint hum of excitement and a quiet hunger for more.
"Let's see what you've got for me this time," he muttered, initiating the spin. The counter dropped, and the interface burst into motion, cycling through countless images before slowing to a stop.
Kayden (Eleceed)
Kisuke Urahara's Hat (Bleach)
Oathkeeper (Game of Thrones)
Peter Griffin's Filthy Underwear (Family Guy)
Choco Chips ×20 (Shinchan)
Baruka's Dagger (Solo Leveling)
Imbue Card ×1
Phoenix Feather (Harry Potter)
Murata-tou (Highschool of the Dead)
Attaché Case (James Bond)
Sasuke's gaze immediately locked onto the first item, the only character card on the list.
"Kayden," he murmured, his interest sharpening.
He didn't remember every detail, but the name triggered flashes. Eleceed. The man was absurdly strong, capable of creating defensive fields, a powerhouse who had trained the protagonist. Everything about him matched Gojo Satoru, except for the ability itself.
His superpower was Electrokinesis.
Sasuke forced his expression to remain neutral, fighting the urge to grin.
Lightning had always been his strongest element, his natural affinity. And now, fate had practically handed him a card that resonated perfectly with it.
He could already feel anticipation bubbling inside him. If his guess was right, once he used this template assimilation, his combat power would jump straight to Kage level—or at least close enough to stand toe-to-toe with one.
Without wasting another second, Sasuke slotted the card into the Assimilation Slot.
He exhaled slowly, grounding the rising power, then turned his attention to the other rewards. One card in particular caught his eye.
[Imbue Card] — Allows the user to grant a selected Template to another individual/body.
Sasuke leaned back slightly, thoughtful. "That's… unexpectedly useful."
Still, a small frown creased his brow. Not that I have anyone to use it on right now.
His crimson eyes narrowed, a trace of calculation flickering behind them. As much as he preferred relying on his own strength, he wasn't naive enough to think he could handle everything alone. There would come a time maybe soon when an ally, or at least a capable subordinate, would make the difference between survival and death.
"I'll need someone," he murmured under his breath, "but not just anyone."
He wasn't interested in weaklings or tagalongs. Whoever stood beside him would have to be someone with potential, someone worth investing in, capable of growing strong enough to stand not just behind him, but perhaps beside him.
In fact, the best candidate that came to mind was Naruto Uzumaki. With his Uzumaki bloodline and the Nine-Tails sealed within him, his potential was terrifying—enough to reach, and possibly surpass, even the level of a peak Kage.
Still, Sasuke couldn't help the mix of emotions that stirred whenever he thought about him. Naruto's loud proclamations of becoming Hokage, his endless optimism, his stubborn drive—it was admirable, yet somehow infuriating.
Monitored by ANBU twenty-four hours a day, treated worse than an animal by his own village, and still dreaming of protecting them. Sasuke's lips curved into a bitter smirk. I don't know whether to pity him or to be disgusted by his foolishness.
He let out a quiet sigh, pushing the thoughts aside. There was no point in dwelling on it now. The time for all that sentimentality would come later.
For now, he had work to do.
Sliding out of bed, Sasuke stretched, his muscles flexing lightly as the morning air brushed against his skin. Without wasting another second, he reached for his practice sword and stepped toward the open courtyard.
"Let's begin," he murmured.
It was time for his daily kenjutsu practice, followed as usual by sending a clone to attend the academy in his place. There was no need to waste his time there when his shadow could handle the façade for him.
---
The Eminence in shadow
"How much do you think the church will pay us for this?"
A rough voice broke the still night. The man's gloved fingers tightened around the coarse sack he was carrying. It squirmed faintly, whatever was inside still alive.
"Who knows," another replied, lazily resting his sword against his shoulder. "As long as they pay in gold, I couldn't care less what they do with it."
The third one chuckled and spat to the side. "Relax. The church hates their kind more than God himself. They'll pay us plenty. Maybe we'll even—"
Shkk.
His words died with the faint whistle of a blade. The sound was almost too soft, like silk tearing.
A wet thud followed.
The first man's head rolled across the dirt, eyes wide, mouth frozen mid-word. Blood sprayed upward in a crimson arc, painting the sack and the boots of his companions.
For a second, no one moved.
Then panic set in.
"What the hell...?" One of them drew his sword, eyes darting around. "Who's there?"
But the shadows gave no answer.
Something blurred past his vision, and his words choked in his throat as his body split diagonally from shoulder to waist. Blood gushed from the wound, hissing as it hit the cold ground.
The remaining men screamed and swung wildly, their blades slicing nothing but air.
The figure among them moved like smoke, silent, graceful, merciless. Each step was measured. Each swing precise. A faint gleam of metal flickered through the darkness, followed by another spray of blood.
What they thought was a sword began to writhe and twist, its blade splintering into black tendrils that lashed outward, piercing through flesh and armour alike. The tendrils punched clean holes through their chests, the sound of ripping muscle and crunching bone filling the night.
They dropped one by one, choking and coughing blood, clutching at wounds that would never close.
The survivors tried to run.
They did not make it far.
This time, the attack came not from the blade but from the figure's clothes. Shadows unfurled like living serpents, dozens of tendrils bursting forth to skewer bodies mid-motion, lifting them off their feet before tossing them aside like broken dolls.
Blood rained in thin, glittering arcs, catching the moonlight as it fell. The ground turned slick, crimson pooling around corpses that twitched once and then went still.
Silence returned.
Only the faint drip of blood echoed in the night, rhythmic and almost gentle.
And from the centre of that carnage, a single figure stood.
His clothes shifted slightly, shadows receding back into place as if they had never moved at all.
Anyone from the Baron's household would have recognised that face. It was none other than the Baron's disowned son, the one expelled only a month ago.
Cid Kagenou, or rather, Sasuke Uchiha.
For the past several nights, he had turned these forests into his hunting grounds. Bandits unfortunate enough to cross his path became prey. It was not morality that drove him, nor vengeance. It was practice.
He hunted to sharpen his instincts, to refine his killing precision, and to claim whatever spoils his victims carried.
He sheathed his sword, brushing a streak of blood off his cheek with a gloved hand. The ground around him was littered with bodies—some missing limbs, others reduced to crimson heaps. None of it bothered him. His gaze drifted to the small sack lying nearby.
It moved.
Barely. A faint, twitching motion; something inside was alive.
"Hmm." His voice was quiet, almost bored.
With a flick of his wrist, his blade flashed once more, slicing the rope cleanly. The sack's cloth fell away, revealing what was inside.
A dark red mass pulsed faintly beneath the moonlight, flesh twisted and swollen, veins glowing dimly like molten lines under the skin. It was vaguely human in shape, yet grotesquely misshapen—a body warped beyond recognition.
Sasuke crouched down, eyes narrowing.
"A possession, huh…" he muttered. The word left his lips with mild curiosity rather than disgust.
He could leave it here. The Church would likely find it soon enough and purge it without hesitation. That was their way: burn the vessel, praise the gods, and move on.
But as he stared at the trembling creature, another thought crept into his mind.
Should I keep it?
If mana corruption could twist a person this far, perhaps it could also teach him something—about control, resistance, and the limits of the human vessel. He needed test subjects anyway.
"It might be useful," he murmured, standing up. "A little experiment won't hurt."
He pulled the sack back over the creature's body and slung it over his shoulder. The thing inside gave a weak, muffled sound, not quite human anymore.
"Let's see how useful you can be," he said softly, his tone devoid of warmth.
Then, without another glance at the corpses scattered behind him, Sasuke vanished into the darkness. The faint rustle of his coat was the only sign he had ever been there.
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Word count 2180
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How much magic is developed/ present in eminence in shadow LN/WN ?