"Fang Chen, hand over the Heavenly Demon Scripture and I might grant you a swift end!"
"Cease your resistance, you old bastard! The righteous sects have united; this mountain is sealed tighter than Heaven's net. Your death is inevitable!"
"Three centuries ago, you defiled my honor and slaughtered my kin! Today, I will feast on your flesh and drink your blood!"
Fang Chen stood amidst the carnage, his emerald robes reduced to bloody tatters that snapped like war banners in the gale. Deep, jagged wounds covered his body, and the ground beneath him was slick with a growing pool of gore. He was surrounded, trapped with no retreat, yet his expression remained as tranquil as an ancient well—dark, still, and bottomless.
The "righteous" coalition, a sea of venerable patriarchs and young heroes, tightened their circle. Despite their taunts, they moved with agonizing caution, paralyzed by the dread of a cornered demon's final gambit.
As the sunset set the peaks ablaze in wildfire hues, Fang Chen finally moved. A hundred warriors recoiled in unison.
"Green mountains fade at dusk," he murmured, his pallid face bathed in the dying light. "Spring winds carry the autumn moon. Hair like black silk at dawn turns to snow by twilight; victory and loss, all eventually fade into nothing."
Memories of a past life on Earth—a student in China—washed over him. Six hundred years of struggle and domination in this world had vanished like morning mist.
So, it ends in failure, he mused, devoid of regret. The demonic path rejects virtue; it makes the world your enemy. I knew this end was possible since the first step.
A cold, wild laughter erupted from his chest. "If my Abyssal Rebirth Art works... I shall walk the demon's path once more!"
"Why do you laugh, Ancient Demon?!"
"Brace yourselves! He's going to self-detonate!"
"Yield the scripture!!"
As the tide of enemies surged, Fang Chen detonated his essence in a cataclysmic roar of light.
------------------------------
Spring rain whispered across Konoha Village.
Inside a cramped, dim kitchen, a young boy sat hunched over a bowl of instant ramen. Suddenly, a searing pain spiked through his skull. He clutched his head, gasping, until five minutes later, his face settled into a mask of eerie indifference.
The Abyssal Rebirth Art succeeded, Fang Chen thought, his new eyes scanning the unfamiliar room. It seems I have reincarnated into a world far beyond the Azure Sky Domain.
He sat in silence, sifting through the fragmented memories of the child whose body he now inhabited. The boy, Naruto, knew little of the world's true nature, possessing only the shallow recollections of an outcast. Fang Chen took a long, steady breath, his gaze hardening with a familiar, cold ambition.
"It does not matter where I am," he whispered to the empty room. "My goal has never changed: I will achieve Eternal Life."
He looked at his small, trembling hands and smiled—a thin, predatory curve.
"Even if I fail again and lose everything, even if my previous life was a grand delusion... so what? This is the only way I choose to live."
Fang Chen assumed the Lotus Position, his breath slowing until it synchronized with the pulse of the world. He cast his divine sense inward, searching for the familiar resonance of Qi.
To his shock, the moment he began the circulation of the Abyssal Rebirth Art, a violent, scorched torrent of energy roared through his meridians. His eyes snapped open, glowing with a cold, predatory light.
"Preposterous," he hissed, his voice a low rasp. "How can a mere fledgling harbor such a titanic reservoir of malicious essence? It is chaotic, filthy—a primal 'Qi' saturated with hatred."
He realized this body wasn't normal; it was a prison for a demonic beast. In the Azure Sky Domain, such energy would be considered a "Cursed Spirit," but to a Demon of his caliber, it was the ultimate windfall.
"If I refine this demonic qi, purging the dross to store the pure essence within my Dantian... I can reclaim a significant portion of my former power"
His lips curled into a thin, dangerous smile. He calculated his trajectory: In a single night of brutal refinement, he could tear through the initial bottlenecks that took others decades to breach.
He closed his eyes once more, ready to shatter the realms of Body Refinement, surge through Qi Condensation, solidify his Foundation Establishment, and perhaps even touch the threshold of Core Formation.
The room temperature plummeted as Fang Chen sank into a deep meditative trance. He didn't just "breathe" the energy; he invaded it.
Inside the mental landscape of the seal, the Nine-Tails loomed behind the bars, its crimson slit-eyes burning with ancient malice. It sensed the change immediately—the weak, sobbing soul of the boy had been replaced by a cold, abyssal presence that smelled of a thousand slaughters.
"You dare... little insect?" the Fox roared, its voice vibrating through the sewer-like corridors of the mind. It began to leak its corrosive, red chakra, intending to drown the intruder in madness.
Fang Chen didn't flinch. In his mind's eye, he stood before the beast, his spectral form clad in the tattered emerald robes of the Ancient Demon.
"A mere beast," Fang Chen's voice echoed, devoid of heat. "Abyssal Rebirth Art: Seventh Gate—The Devouring Void!"
The refinement began. It wasn't a gentle process; it was alchemical warfare. Fang Chen used his soul as a furnace, dragging the raw, hateful chakra of the Nine-Tails through his newly formed meridians.
The First Two Hours: Body Refinement & Qi Condensation
The physical body of Naruto began to smoke. Blood seeped from his pores as the "impurities"—the weaknesses of a mortal child—were burned away. Fang Chen used the Fox's vitality to rebuild his bones into Jade-Shattering Marrow. By the second hour, his skin took on a faint, metallic sheen. He had bypassed Body Refinement and forced his way into Qi Condensation, his internal energy spinning like a hurricane.
The Third Hour: Foundation Establishment
The Nine-Tails began to panic. It felt its essence being stripped away, not leaked, but systematically harvested. "Stop it! You are destroying the seal! We will both perish!" the Fox bellowed, its massive paws clawing at the gates.
Fang Chen ignored the screams. He was busy forging a Perfect Foundation. In his Dantian, the chaotic red chakra was being crushed and filtered until it turned into a serene, crystalline liquid. The foundation of his new life was being built on the literal life-force of a imortal-like entity.
The Fifth Hour: The Push for Core Formation
The sun began to crest over the Konoha horizon, but inside the apartment, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and scorched earth. Fang Chen was pushing for the Core Formation realm—a feat that usually takes centuries.
He gripped the remaining chakra like a vice. The Nine-Tails, now visibly smaller and exhausted, was trembling. For the first time in its millennia of existence, it felt predated upon.
"Please..." the Fox whimpered, its head bowed against the floor of the cage, its pride shattered. "Enough... you will hollow me out... I will fade... Stop! I beg of you!"
Fang Chen's internal sea roared. A golden-black sphere began to coalesce in his Dantian—the Demon Core.
Suddenly, Fang Chen's eyes snapped open. He coughed up a mouthful of black, viscid blood. He stopped. Not because of mercy, but because the of Naruto's 12-year-old body was cracking. Web-like fractures of glowing energy traced his skin.
"Tch. Fragile," Fang Chen hissed, wiping the blood from his lip.
He had done it. In six hours, using roughly half of the Nine-Tails' total reserves, he had reached early stage Core Formation.
In the back of his mind, he could hear the Nine-Tails sobbing in the dark, huddled in the furthest corner of its cage, terrified to even look at the "monster" that now occupied Naruto body.
Fang Chen stood up, his movements fluid and silent. He looked in the cracked mirror. The blue eyes were now a deep, unsettling violet-grey.
"Half the beast remains," he whispered, a shadow of a smile playing on his expresionless face. "A decent start."
Fang Chen stepped into the small washroom, the water rinsing away the black, foul-smelling sludge of his forced Body Refinement. As the steam cleared, he pulled open the wardrobe, only to recoil.
"Tch. This child had no aesthetic sense at all," he hissed, eyeing the pile of neon orange fabric. To a master of the demonic Path, such a color was a beacon for death, a loud cry of incompetence.
With no other choice, he threw on the gaudy tracksuit and stepped out into the morning air of Konoha. His destination was the Academy—not for the trite lessons of "friendship" or "will," but to harvest intelligence. Naruto's memories were a shallow pool of playground slights and ramen flavors; Fang Chen required a map of the world's power structures, its forbidden zones, and its "Heavenly Treasures."
Halfway there, the visual offense of the orange sleeves became intolerable. He veered into a local clothier's shop.
The elderly shopkeeper looked up, his face instantly curdling into a mask of prejudice at the sight of the "Demon Brat." But before the man could bark an insult, the air in the shop turned sub-zero. Fang Chen's gaze locked onto his—a bottomless, violet-grey void saturated with three centuries of slaughter.
The shopkeeper's breath hitched, his lungs seizing as if crushed by an invisible hand. He stood paralyzed, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream.
"Hmph. Mere ants," Fang Chen murmured, brushing past the man. He felt no urge to kill; a demon does not deviate from his path to crush every beetle underfoot unless there is merit in their deaths. To kill without objective was a waste of focus.
He moved with predatory grace through the aisles until he found it: a high-collared black robe, simple and elegant, reminiscent of the inner-sect disciples of the Azure Sky Domain. He donned it, the dark fabric finally matching the gravity of his soul.
At the counter, he tossed a handful of Ryō. The shopkeeper, trembling so violently his teeth rattled, pushed the money back with a shaking hand.
"Y-young man... please. It's on the house. Just... just take it," the man stammered, his eyes darting toward the door in a desperate plea for Fang Chen to leave.
Fang Chen's lip curled in a cold, mocking sneer. Typical. The weak are governed by fear; they despise the beggar but worship the butcher.
"I have no need for the 'charity' of a mortal," Fang Chen said, his voice a low, resonant vibration. He left the bills on the scarred wood and turned, his new robes snapping like a crow's wing in the breeze. "I take what I desire, and I pay what I owe. Your goodwill is a burden I do not care to carry."
He stepped back into the sunlight, a shadow amidst the vibrant village.
Fang Chen glided toward the Academy, his new black robes swallowing the morning light. He could feel it—the thick, greasy film of animosity radiating from the villagers. Their glares were jagged shards of resentment, hushed whispers following him like carrion flies.
His consciousness flickered inward, piercing the veil of the seal.
"The reason these ants tremble and loathe this vessel... it concerns you, does it not?" Fang Chen's voice echoed through the damp corridors of the mindscape, cold and sharp as a guillotine blade.
The Nine-Tails recoiled into the shadows of its cage, its massive tails tucking inward. "W-what do you want? Stay back, monster!"
"I shall not ask a third time," Fang Chen replied, his tone dropping to a sub-zero rasp. "Why does this village harbor such hatred for this boy?"
The fox shivered, its pride reduced to ash by the abyssal pressure. "Hmph... these humans are parasites," it growled feebly. "The First Hokage stripped me of my freedom, shackling me into human vessels they call Jinchuriki. Twelve years ago, an Uchiha manipulated me with his cursed eyes, forcing me to raze this village. The Fourth Hokage... he 'saved' them by sealing my essence into his own newborn son. The boy whose corpse you now inhabit."
Fang Chen processed the revelation with clinical detachment. "Intriguing. The sire sacrifices his own flesh to shield the hive, yet the hive spits upon the sacrifice? As expected... mortals are but cowardly insects terrified of the unknown."
He cast the thought aside as quickly as he had summoned it. The boy's tragic past was a ghost, and Fang Chen did not commune with ghosts.
What does the history of this brat matter to me? he mused, his eyes narrowing as the Academy gates came into view. As long as these ants do not obstruct my path, I shall permit their pathetic existence. But if they dare to block my horizon... painting this village into a mountain of blood would be a trivial diversion.
The Academy loomed in the distance, but a sharp, familiar scent caught Fang Chen's senses—the fermented sting of grain. In his six centuries of life, sake had been his only lingering tether to humanity. He did not eat; a cultivator of his high attainment had no need for food. But sake... sake was the elixir of poets and tyrants alike.
He drifted into a local liquor haunt. The barmaid looked up, her brow furrowing. "Hey, kid! You've got the wrong door. This place is forbidden to minors."
Fang Chen didn't break his stride. He leaned over the counter, his violet-grey eyes flaring with a predatory shimmer for a heartbeat. The woman's pupils dilated, her consciousness dissolving into a vacant fog.
"Welcome, honored customer," she droned, her voice hollow. "What is your desire?"
"A bottle of your finest sake," Fang Chen commanded.
He took the vessel, its weight comforting in his small palm, and vanished back into the street.
When he finally pushed open the classroom door, the air inside was thick with the scent of chalk. Iruka-sensei turned, a lecture already forming on his lips for the "eternal delinquent." But as his eyes landed on the figure in the doorway, the words died in his throat.
This was not the orange-clad clown who shouted for attention. This was a silhouette in black, moving with the terrifying elegance of a high-tier cultivator. Fang Chen offered a shallow, aristocratic tilt of his head a gesture of "respect" for the one man who had shown the original boy a flicker of warmth and glided toward his seat.
Iruka stood frozen. He wanted to demand an explanation for the tardiness, the clothes, the eerie, expressionless face Naruto wore, but a primal instinct screamed at him to stay silent.
"Hinata's face turned bright red the moment she saw Naruto's new look. 'He looks so cool,' she thought to herself."
The students whispered, their eyes darting. Kiba, leaning back with a feral grin, barked out, "Yo, Naruto! What's with the get-up? Trying to act tough now?"
Fang Chen sat down, his gaze fixed on the horizon outside the window. He didn't dignify the remark with a glance. Why should a dragon explain himself to a barking cur?
Insulted, Kiba snarled and began to rise, his hands curling into claws. "You ignoring me, brat?!"
"Kiba, sit down!" Iruka snapped, his voice trembling slightly. "The graduation exam is in two days. Instead of playing the fool, practice your Clone Jutsu!"
Kiba slumped back, shooting a venomous glare at Fang Chen. Fang Chen didn't blink. The beast-boy is fortunate, he mused, the Demon Core in his chest pulsing. If that mortal teacher hadn't intervened, this 'Kiba' would have spent the next two months reassembling his shattered meridians in a hospital bed.
Shikamaru leaned back, exhaling a long, weary breath. "What a drag... what's gotten into Naruto?"
"Maybe he ate something rotten," Choji mumbled through a mouthful of snacks. Nearby, Sakura and Ino had paused their shrill bickering over Sasuke's attention, drawn by the sudden coldness radiating from the back of the room.
"What's with these idiots?" Ino wondered aloud. Sakura tossed her pink hair with a sniff. "Hmph, don't give them the satisfaction. They're just desperate for attention."
But Sasuke Uchiha didn't look away. His dark eyes remained fixed on the figure in black. For a split second... I felt a surge of killing intent in his gaze, Sasuke thought, his pulse quickening. That 'death-last'... what is he planning?
Iruka's voice cut through the murmurs like a gavel. "Today, we will conduct practical field tests. We're heading to the training grounds for Taijutsu sparring. Everyone, follow me!"
The class erupted in excitement, students scrambling to prove their worth. Fang Chen rose slowly, his expression one of profound boredom. From Naruto's fragmented memories, he knew these 'sparring sessions' were child's play lower even than the Outer Disciples who swept the latrines of the Azure demonic Sky sect.
Once they reached the dirt-packed arena, Iruka unfurled a scroll and began calling names.
"Choji Akimichi vs. Shikamaru Nara!"
Shikamaru stepped forward instantly, his hand raised in a lazy wave. "I forfeit. It's a drag." Choji, who had been opening his mouth to say the exact same thing, slumped in defeat Shikamaru had out-lazied him.
"You two..." Iruka groaned, rubbing his temples at the lack of 'Will of Fire.' "Fine. Both of you stay after class for extra conditioning!"
"Why, Sensei?" Shikamaru complained, loathing the idea of sacrificing his nap time.
"You have the nerve to ask?!" Iruka's fist trembled with suppressed annoyance. Shikamaru quickly bowed his head, accepting his fate before the teacher truly lost his temper. As they shuffled back, Choji ripped open a new bag of chips, the loud crunch acting like salt on Iruka's wounded patience.
Iruka sighed, adjusting his vest, and looked back at the list. His voice took on a sharper edge.
"Alright. Next match: Naruto Uzumaki vs. Sasuke Uchiha!"
The courtyard went silent. The "Dead Last" against the "Prodigy." Fang Chen stepped into the ring, his black robes fluttering. He didn't take a stance; he simply stood there, hands tucked into his wide sleeves, looking at Sasuke as if he were a particularly uninteresting pebble.
"The Uchiha boy," Fang Chen mused. "A descendant of the one who enslaved the fox twelve years ago. Let us see if his bloodline holds even a drop of the power he claims." Sasuke stepped forward, his eyes narrowing; for the first time, he sensed a flicker of danger while looking at Naruto.
The sun hung high over the Konoha training grounds, casting long, sharp shadows across the dirt. As Iruka announced the pairing, a wave of derisive laughter rippled through the gathered students.
"Is this a joke, Sensei?" Kiba barked, leaning against a wooden post with a smirk. "The Dead Last against the Top Student? Sasuke's going to put him in the hospital before the starting whistle even stops ringing."
"Naruto, just give up now," Ino called out, her voice dripping with mock pity. "Don't ruin Sasuke-kun's clean clothes with your pathetic flailing."
Sakura crossed her arms, nodding vigorously.
Fang Chen stood in the center of the ring, his hands tucked into his wide sleeves. He didn't look at them. To a cultivator who had seen empires crumble and star-systems fade, the chirping of children was less than the buzzing of summer flies. He didn't feel anger; he felt a profound, chilling indifference.
Sasuke stepped forward, his face a mask of cool arrogance. "Hey death last You've changed your look," he said, his voice low and sharp. "But clothes don't make a ninja. You're still the same talentless loser who couldn't even make a basic clone."
Fang Chen finally raised his gaze. His violet-grey eyes met Sasuke's dark ones, and for a heartbeat, the Uchiha felt a cold shiver trace his spine. "You speak much for one so hollow," Fang Chen replied, his voice a calm, melodic rasp. "In my world, those who bark the loudest are usually the first to be fed to the furnace. Come on kid! Show me this 'talent' you prize so highly."
"You asked for it," Sasuke hissed.
He moved. It was a blur of high-level Taijutsu the Uchiha Intercepting Fist. He launched a high kick aimed at Fang Chen's temple, followed instantly by a palm strike to the solar plexus. The crowd cheered, expecting the 'Dead Last' to be sent flying.
Instead, Fang Chen drifted.
With a movement so fluid it seemed as if the wind itself were carrying him, he stepped a mere inch to the left. The kick whistled past his ear. The palm strike hit nothing but empty air. Sasuke growled, spinning into a rapid-fire combination of strikes. For 30 minutes, the "prodigy" became a whirlwind of violence, his fists and feet cutting the air with lethal intent.
Yet, Fang Chen remained untouchable. He moved with a terrifying, ghostly grace, his hands still tucked within his sleeves. He didn't block; he didn't parry. He simply wasn't where the blow landed.
"Is this the limit of your 'genius'?" Fang Chen asked, his voice steady even as he glided through Sasuke's frantic assault. "Your movements are riddled with openings. Your intent is shallow."
"Shut up!" Sasuke roared, his lungs beginning to burn. His strikes became wilder, his precision slipping as exhaustion took root. He swung a heavy roundhouse, but his legs felt like lead. He stumbled, gasping for air, and collapsed onto one knee, the dirt staining his pristine shorts.
The courtyard went dead silent. The mocking laughter of the students had been replaced by a suffocating, bewildered dread. Sakura's mouth hung open; Kiba's smirk had vanished.
Fang Chen stepped forward. The air around him seemed to thicken, the temperature dropping as if a shadow had eclipsed the sun. He reached down and gripped Sasuke's throat, hoisting the boy upward until their faces were inches apart.
"You have a pretty special physiqu," Fang Chen whispered, his gaze boring into Sasuke's wide, trembling pupils. "I can smell the lingering scent of a Cursed Eye within your lineage. But it sleeps. It is dormant, hidden behind your cowardice and your weakness."
Sasuke clawed at the iron-tight grip, his feet dangling. "Don't.touch.let me go!.." he wheezed.
"You are so weak..Killing you is a waste of my essence," Fang Chen replied, his smile thin and predatory. "But If you want me to let you go. Reveal the Sharingan!
"Naruto, stop!" Sakura screamed, her voice cracking with terror. "You're going to kill him! Let him go!"
"That's enough!" Iruka shouted, finally snapping out of his shock and rushing forward.
Fang Chen felt the teacher's presence and, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed Sasuke aside. The boy tumbled across the ground, coughing and gasping for breath. Fang Chen smoothed his black robes, his expression returning to that of an ancient, bottomless well.
"A disappointment," he murmured to the unconscious sky. "It seems this world's 'geniuses' are merely bigger ants."
Fang Chen stepped in front of Iruka, who was about to carry Sasuke to the infirmary. "Naruto, what are you doing? I'm warning you, don't do anything stupid!" Iruka barked.
Ignoring the warning, Fang Chen placed his hand on the chest of the unconscious Sasuke, who was suffocating. A wisp of Qi flowed from Naruto's hand into Sasuke, and he gasped awake instantly. Seeing that Naruto had healed him, Iruka calmed down. Although he was burning with curiosity about how the boy knew Medical Jutsu, he set his questions aside; Sasuke's condition was the priority.
"Sasuke, are you alright?" Iruka asked.
Still dazed and held up by Iruka, Sasuke's eyes snapped to Naruto standing beside him. He shoved Iruka away and scrambled to his feet. "I don't accept this! Dead last, we fight again!"
The moment they heard that, Sakura and Ino rushed over to stop him. "Sasuke, stop! You're hurt!" Sakura cried, grabbing his arm.
"Yeah, Sasuke, listen to her!" Ino added, grabbing the other.
"Hmp. You crazy women, let go of me!" Sasuke snapped, shaking them off. He turned back to face Naruto. But Naruto was already gone.