Naruto: Eternal

The meeting had concluded.

The verdict was final: the Third Ninja War could not be avoided.

The ninja clans had been relentless in their thirst for conflict, pushing humanity toward the inevitable brink of war.

The room, once filled with tense debates and whispers of compromise, was now silent as the Daimyo of each land absorbed the outcome.

Their faces were pale, slightly shaken—not just from the looming war but from what came next.

Their feet tread heavily on the path to the throne room, where the current Eienno Clan Leader awaited.

Before crossing its threshold, they blindfolded themselves, the intricate seals woven into the fabric protecting their eyes.

A necessary precaution.

To look upon the Clan Leader without preparation was to invite death—instant, overwhelming, and absolute.

The great doors groaned open, echoing through the vast hall.

The Daimyo entered cautiously, steps hesitant, their breaths held as they faced the unknown.

Seated on the throne, its back still turned, was the Clan Leader.

The air thickened as his presence alone pressed against the fragile boundaries of reality.

For a moment, there was silence—heavy and expectant.

Then he spoke.

"Explain."

The single word rippled outward, his voice not one, but many—like countless echoes speaking in perfect harmony.

The weight of it sent chills down the spines of the Daimyo, who now struggled to find their voices.

Finally, the Daimyo of the Land of Earth spoke, trembling as he delivered the news.

"The war… cannot be avoided, my Lord. The ninja clans push too far. Too deep. They hunger for bloodshed."

For a moment, nothing.

Then reality fractured.

The throne room warped like glass struck by a hammer, cracks spiderwebbing across the air itself.

The floor trembled, and the blindfolded Daimyo flinched as they felt the world itself rejecting their presence.

The Clan Leader's displeasure manifested not as rage but as something far more primal—his very existence unsettled the fabric of the universe.

"How many lifetimes will it take?" the Clan Leader's voice reverberated, cold and displeased.

"In my tenure alone, blood has stained this earth beyond reckoning. Do they forget what was given to them? What was sacrificed?"

His words were not shouted, yet they shook the room.

The blindfolded men fell to their knees, hands pressed to the cold, trembling ground, powerless before the entity's fury.

"Humanity's stagnation—again and again. Like children, they play at war instead of walking toward progress. The Progenitor's vision burns brighter than ever, yet they spit upon it!"

Reality groaned as it twisted further, the cracks growing jagged and violent.

It felt as though the air would collapse upon itself, snuffing out the Daimyo where they knelt.

But suddenly—it stopped.

The cracks sealed, the pressure eased.

And then, a voice. Quiet, amused, yet unmistakable. It echoed within the Clan Leader's mind, bypassing all barriers of thought.

The Progenitor.

"You've grown agitated....Relax."

The Clan Leader froze.

The voice was calm, almost playful, and yet it carried the immeasurable weight of eternity. It was rare—unheard of, even—for the Progenitor to speak.

Most Clan Leaders lived and died without ever hearing him.

"Leave the humans be," the Progenitor continued, his tone almost dismissive. "Let them stumble. Let them bleed. A catalyst for progress will emerge in time, born from their own chaos. A few thousand deaths—insignificant."

The Clan Leader, for all his might, remained silent, processing the words. It was not a request.

The Progenitor had spoken, and his decree was absolute.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the echo of the Progenitor's voice, lingering like the distant hum of the cosmos.

Then the Clan Leader exhaled slowly, the tension in the room dissipating as reality mended itself fully.

"Go," he said, the single word resonating through the hall.

The Daimyo did not need to be told twice.

Blindfolds still secure, they rose and stumbled out of the throne room, the weight of what they had witnessed pressing upon their shoulders.

As the great doors closed behind them, the Clan Leader sat still, his form shrouded in shadow, fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest of the throne.

"The catalyst, hmm?" he murmured softly to himself, his countless voices now subdued.

For the first time in centuries lomg life which will come to an end in half a year, the Clan Leader felt curious.

The Progenitor was rarely wrong.

Whatever humanity would unleash upon itself next—it would be worth watching even if he won't be there for it.

---

Pov Progenitor

Good day, gals and girls.

This is your incredibly bored eternal existence, who has been deluding himself for centuries to avoid succumbing to the absolute void of monotony.

The Progenitor lay sprawled on a grand stone platform, surrounded by an endless, dreamlike expanse of the Pure Land.

Its skies pulsed with muted colors, shimmering like oil on water, a fitting canvas for his idle thoughts.

Two different beautiful women—artful illusions of his own making—sat beside him, one lazily feeding him grapes while the other clung to his arm.

He barely acknowledged them.

What am I doing? Seriously. How many years has it been now? A million? Two? Who's counting?

His gaze drifted skyward, though he wasn't looking at anything.

Maybe I should stop playing with conjured toys and start using real lives to fill this existential boredom.

A glimmer of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as an idea popped into his head.

What if I find the Shinigami i made years ago—one of those grim-reaper types—and genderbend it? Turn it into some dark, brooding beauty, and then—

He paused, tilting his head slightly as his grin widened.

—and then seduce it. You know, for science. For the arts. To see what kind of chaos that sets off. Nah…

The thought lingered for a moment too long before he waved it away lazily, raising his arm like he were swatting at a fly.

That might be too weird for the PR image I've been cultivating. Or would it? I mean, 'mysterious godlike eternal entity partaking in ethically and sexually questionable relationships' sounds like it could sell pretty well in some universes.

The women beside him froze mid-action, almost glitching as his idle musings warped the very reality they occupied.

The one holding the grapes flickered like a broken screen, her expression freezing in a porcelain smile before her entire form shattered into motes of light.

Whoops. There goes another one. I'm really bad at this.

The other woman, unbothered or perhaps unable to react, clung to his arm still, leaning closer and kissing his lips.

The Progenitor barely noticed, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

Honestly, it's embarrassing. I have all the power in existence—enough to unravel reality with a breath—and here I am, making up fake people to talk to. You'd think I'd come up with something better by now.

He ran a hand lazily through his hair, grinning to himself like a maniac.

The Pure Land pulsed around him as though understanding him, the sky briefly splitting and swirling like a whirlpool before settling back into its surreal calm.

With a long sigh, he tilted his head back against the stone platform and stared into the not-quite-sky, his voice muttering in his mind.

It's not like they'd even know what hit them if I started playing with their little lives. What's a war? A plague? A cataclysm? It's all just content for my eternal downtime.

The Progenitor flexed his fingers absently, and for the briefest of moments, universes trembled.

Ah, but I'm too lazy to start now. Maybe later.

A wicked thought flickered in his mind, unbidden, as he smirked to himself.

Still… that Shinigami idea? It's really starting to grow on me....

For now, though, he lay still, closing his eyes as another conjured illusion leaned close, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

The Progenitor grinned faintly, already forgetting her existence.

I'll think about it tomorrow.

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Stones and Reviews please