Naruto: Bored God

A long time ago...

The Progenitor sat atop a roughly hewn stone, his broad, calloused hands gesturing slowly and deliberately as he tried, for what felt like the millionth time, to convey a simple concept.

His dark eyes, sharp with intelligence that didn't belong in this age, scanned the blank, slack-jawed faces of the cavemen gathered around him.

Their heavy brows hung low, their expressions a mix of confusion and vacant curiosity.

The group—if it could even be called that—resembled beasts more than men.

Their shoulders hunched forward, torsos broad, limbs thick and knotted with raw strength that had yet to find purpose.

Language, as he had painstakingly created, was still in its infancy here.

Every guttural sound and broken syllable was a struggle.

"Wood," he began, pointing to a sturdy branch he'd pulled from the forest, his voice slow, clear, and deliberate. "Wuh-uhh-duh. Wood."

A chorus of grunts answered him. One man, likely proud of himself, attempted to mimic, "Wugghhh..." before breaking into a throaty growl and chewing on his fist.

The Progenitor pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. Patience.

He'd been here for decades—perhaps longer—teaching, building, guiding these poor fools toward some semblance of progress.

It was like trying to explain geometry to dogs.

"Listen!" he barked suddenly, his voice sharp as a flint blade striking rock.

The cavemen froze, wide-eyed, like startled deer.

A few dropped the tools he'd forced them to craft, staring at him in stunned awe.

Good.

At least he had their attention.

With deliberate movements, he knelt down and picked up the branch again. "Wood," he repeated, slower now, his voice softer but firm.

He slammed the branch against a stone, demonstrating its strength. Thunk.

It vibrated in his hand. "Strong. Understand? Strong." He pounded his chest to emphasize, showing power. "Use. Build."

He turned and pointed to the rough framework of a primitive shelter behind him.

It wasn't much—just three branches leaned together in a crude triangular form—but it was something. And that something, in his eyes, was the future.

The cavemen watched with wide, uncomprehending eyes, their knuckles dragging as they shifted forward to inspect the structure.

One man poked at it cautiously, as if the branches might bite.

The Progenitor stood tall and straight, his figure impossibly different from theirs.

Where they slouched, he stood upright.

Where they communicated in howls and growls, he spoke in structured syllables—concepts they barely grasped.

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Here I am, he thought bitterly, the greatest mind in a world of beasts.

Yet despite their ignorance, he refused to give up.

To demonstrate further, he grabbed two branches and lashed them together with crude twine he'd fashioned from vines.

He held up the result—a simple crossbeam. "Two. Together. Stronger."

He pointed at two of the cavemen. "You. You." He handed each of them a branch, then gestured for them to mimic his actions.

The pair grunted, confused. One held the branch as if it were a club, eyeing the other suspiciously.

The Progenitor sighed.

This is hopeless, he thought.

But no—no, he had to persist. One day, they would understand.

"Work. Together." He brought his hands together to emphasize unity. "Not hit. Build."

The cavemen stared at him, dumbfounded, but there was a flicker—just the smallest flicker—of understanding in one of them.

A female, smaller and sharper-eyed than the rest, tilted her head.

She took the two branches from her counterparts and awkwardly began lashing them together.

Her fingers fumbled, her brow furrowed, but she managed to form something vaguely resembling the Progenitor's example.

He smiled faintly, a surge of satisfaction rising in his chest. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes. That's it."

The others gathered around her, poking and prodding the rudimentary construction.

The female grunted triumphantly, raising it over her head like a trophy.

The others erupted in guttural cheers, thumping their chests and stomping the ground.

The Progenitor ran a hand through his hair and chuckled dryly. "Close enough," he muttered to himself. It's a start.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting shadows over the crude encampment, he sat back on his stone perch and watched them.

They were still little more than animals—violent, impulsive, dim—but something deep in his soul told him it would all be worth it.

One day, he thought, they will build cities.

They will speak in poetry and carve their stories into stone.

They will rise.

They will stand tall.

And when that day came, maybe—just maybe—he wouldn't feel so alone.

---

The Progenitor stirred, his gaze distant as the colors of the Pure Land swirled around him.

The eternal realm—so pristine and surreal—held an unnatural stillness, as if even time itself dared not move without his permission.

He lay back on an ornate throne of his own creation, the lines between thought and reality always blurred here.

And yet, something shifted.

A faint, whispering tremor ran through his mind—a crack in the perpetual stillness.

Slowly, his eyes opened, glowing faintly in the pale light as fragments of memories seeped back into his thoughts like ink bleeding into water.

A faint, knowing smile crept onto his lips, curling like a secret he'd just recalled.

Ah… those times.

Back when the world was a primal place, a whisper of humanity clawing its way from the dirt.

Back when he was mortal—fragile, human, and struggling against a chaotic, incomprehensible reality.

He could see it all so vividly.

The crude shelters, the thick, animalistic grunts of cavemen trying to mimic his guidance, their brows furrowed in confusion.

The smell of earth, fire, and rain in a time before civilization had taken its first true breath.

He hadn't known then.

The thought made him chuckle under his breath—a soft, nostalgic chuckle.

Back then, he had no idea he was in the world of Naruto.

"Hah… how absurd."

The smile grew wider as he leaned back against the throne, one hand supporting his head as he gazed up at the endless sky of the realm.

"I was out there, with my 'wisdom,' teaching cavemen how to build sticks and smash rocks into something useful. And all this time… I was laying the groundwork for what would become the hidden villages....I was out there acting like some savior, while the Otsutsuki were probably floating around somewhere, doing alien god nonsense. If only I'd known earlier."

His laughter grew quiet then, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel it—the strange mixture of sadness and amusement.

There was an innocence in those early years, even when everything felt harsh and endless back then.

Before he understood what he had become.

And now?

He waw The Progenitor.

Eternal, untouchable, watching the world move like a child shaking an ant farm.

His own nature working against him, a silent and invisible burden.

But those memories—those moments—still lingered, and they brought him a sense of comfort from the never ending boredom...

A time before he was a god.

Before his name was lost to history, and his actions became legend.

"I really was a fool back then," he murmured, though his tone held no malice, only a faint fondness.

"But maybe… it was better that way."

The smile on his lips softened as his thoughts turned back to the cavemen who had grunted and stumbled their way into understanding.

The tiny spark of humanity that he'd fanned into a fire—one that would burn across generations.

"And to think," he mused to himself, "it all started with a stick and a dream to get back my beloved video games..."

A low chuckle escaped him again, but it faded quickly into silence.

And yet… that smile remained.

The Progenitor shook his head violently, snapping out of his nostalgic musings. His gaze darkened, his previous fond smile deflating like a scolded puppy.

"Ugh. Enough of those sappy thoughts. What am I, a sentimental old man? Disgusting."

He slouched against his throne, limbs sprawled lazily, his eyes glinting mischievously as a thought struck him—a wicked, beautiful thought. An idea.

"What if I… made a blessings system?"

His lips curled into a devilish grin, the kind that would make even gods pause in discomfort.

Like those Sacred Gears in DxD… but instead of shiny toys, I'll make it random—abilities instead of treasures. And ohhh, the conditions I'll attach… truly diabolical.

A heavenly ....restriction, per se. Heh.

The more he thought about it, the more the plan refined itself in his mind, gleaming like the perfectly cut edge of a blade.

Yes… yes. A system of 'blessings' for random mortals, gifted with powers that come at a cruel, ironic cost.

Perrrrfect.

He tilted his head, catching sight of movement in the distance.

Through the veil of realms, he saw the vibrant red hair of a little girl—a chil on her journey to Konoha.

The Progenitor's golden eyes glimmered with intrigue as he peered closer.

Kushina Uzumaki.

"Oh-ho?" he muttered, his voice dripping with amusement. He leaned forward, a fox-like grin plastered across his face. "Look at you, little Jinchūriki-to-be. Spirited, stubborn, and full of potential. The humans will call you the Red Hot-Blooded Habanero, but let's see how hot-blooded you stay after I'm done."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, the seed of an idea already sprouting into something fiendish. "An ability… let's take some inspiration.... from that Touma ...Imagine Breaker. What was it? Ah, yes. Nullifying all supernatural abilities. In this world… that means chakra."

With a snap of his fingers, reality shuddered slightly—an unseen ripple through the physical world.

A blessing was born, tethered to Kushina like a silent brand.

She now has the ability to nullify all chakra-based damage to her body. No ninjutsu, no genjutsu, no elemental chakra can harm her, he mused, lounging back and savoring the thought.

But his grin widened into something darker as he added, "But oh, little girl, there's a catch."

He chuckled, eyes glittering as his voice dropped to a sinister whisper.

"Bad luck."

Extreme bad luck in achieving something most desirable to her.

He pictured it vividly:

If she desperately wanted to eat ramen after a long day, her stomach would twist into a painful ache just before reaching the stand.

Or the shop would inexplicably catch fire.

Or lightning—why not?—lightning would strike and destroy the stand outright.

"And imagine!" he continued, a manic glee in his tone. "Her heart set on something small but precious, only for the cruel hand of fate to slap her across the face. She slips, she trips, earthquakes destroy her path, her ramen—her dreams—crumbled like ash before her."

He wiped a fake tear from his eye, the act dripping with sarcasm. "It'll be truly beautiful. A tragedy wrapped in the guise of a gift."

The Progenitor sighed dramatically, as though patting himself on the back for his creative genius. "Ahhh, This is true art."

He waved his hand lazily, the details settling into reality with a silent thrum.

Oh, and let's make her own ninjutsu a bit weaker. Can't have her throwing big flashy techniques now, can we? Defense maxed out, offense… eh, let's say reduced by twenty percent. That should keep things interesting.

He tilted his head again, watching Kushina wander obliviously down her path, unaware of the cur—blessing—now woven into her fate.

The Progenitor leaned back, satisfied. "Let's see how you play your little life now, girl. If nothing else, watching you suffer beautifully will stave off my boredom for a while."

His laughter echoed across the Pure Land, a mix of amusement and malevolence as he whispered one last time to himself:

"Good luck, Habanero. You'll need it."

=========================

Stones and Reviews please