Naruto: The Viking Thorfin Becomes a Inuzuka In The World of Shinobi

The Next Day

East Konoha Section C Inuzuka Compound

The morning air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood.

Whispers slithered through the Inuzuka compound, hushed voices murmuring about the horror that had unfolded overnight. Entire families—ten chunin, ten genin—wiped out in their homes. Not a single child recovered. Only the parents' bodies had been found, torn apart with eerie precision, their homes set ablaze. But the fires weren't linked. The locations were scattered, separate. Deliberate.

Inside the clan leader's hall, Raiga Inuzuka sat with his arms crossed, his face carved from stone. Across from him, Tsume stood rigid, fists clenched at her sides.

"I'm not stupid, Father." Her voice was low, almost a growl. "This wasn't some random attack. The fires—those houses weren't even close to each other. Someone made a point of taking them out."

Raiga didn't respond immediately. He let her words hang in the air, let the weight of them sink into the room. Then, he exhaled slowly.

"There's a reason," he said at last, "why the Inuzuka follow orders."

Tsume's teeth bared. "So that's it? We just… accept this? Let them take our own and kill off those who resist?"

Raiga's eyes flickered.

"Mind your tone, girl."

But Tsume didn't back down. "This is wrong. We're shinobi, not livestock to be culled!"

A chill settled over the room.

Then, without warning, Raiga's killing intent flooded the space.

The air grew suffocating, pressing down like the weight of a predator's jaws. Tsume's breath hitched. Her legs locked up. Her instincts screamed at her to submit, to lower her head, to not challenge the alpha standing before her.

Her father.

Her leader.

Her pack's executioner.

Her eyes widened in horror as she realized—Raiga wasn't just strong. He was terrifying. A force of nature she had never truly grasped until now.

"You need to get stronger," he said flatly.

Tsume fought to stay upright, her nails biting into her palms.

"You're just a chunin," Raiga continued. "And a chunin has no right to question orders."

Tsume clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. The killing intent finally withdrew, but the weight in the air remained. Her father's message was clear.

Strength was all that mattered.

And right now, she wasn't strong enough to change a damn thing.

-------------------------------

The door to his room slammed open. His body reacted instinctively, but it was too late.

Punch

His face was punched, breaking his nose, blood flowed like a faucet on a summer day. He hadn't even had the chance to fully come to his senses before the next attack struck him. The world spun as his body was hit by a barrage of rapid strikes, his muscles seizing under the sudden force, every part of him still half-asleep.

The cold, damp air bit at his exposed skin as he struggled to sit up, his body aching from the brutal training of the previous day. His mind was clouded with the fog of exhaustion and residual grief, but there was no room for weakness here. Root wasn't a place where you were allowed to remain vulnerable for long.

Thorfin's movements were sluggish as he tried to stand, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish, still trying to make sense of what was happening. The attack had been swift, calculated—just enough to make sure his body was moving on instinct before his mind could catch up.

But others weren't so lucky as he heard the screams of the children around him. Some had more than a broken nose.

Ribs

ankles

One boy got chopped in his neck, killing him instantly.

The voice of the masked agent rang through the room, cutting through the haze in his head.

"You will wake when the door opens. Not a second later."

The agent's words echoed in his mind, a reminder of the cruel precision of Root's training methods.

Thorfin's body was forced into motion, his muscles protesting with every step. Around him, the other children were already up, some barely able to keep their eyes open. Their faces were pale and drawn, the toll of endless fatigue and emotional strain weighing them down. Some of them looked like they might collapse at any moment, but no one dared to make a sound.

In the corner, a small child, no older than six, began to cry quietly. His sobs rang out in the silence, filled with raw fear. Another child tried to comfort him, but a kick from one of the agent's in the room made sure no one dared to show weakness. The children were already broken, and there was no sympathy here.

'Yeah no thank you.' He thought

Thorfin couldn't even bring himself to look at the crying child. Instead, he focused on controlling his breath, trying to ignore the dull ache in his chest that had little to do with the physical pain. His eyes flicked up toward the door as the same masked agent entered the room, his eyes empty, devoid of empathy.

"Up. Now." The agent's voice was like ice, sending a shiver down Thorfin's spine, but he immediately stood, as did the others.

The agent's presence was suffocating, a constant reminder of the power they held over their lives.

The day began as it always did—grueling physical training that tore into their already exhausted bodies. Thorfin was forced to run laps carrying weights far too heavy for his small frame. The younger children, already struggling to keep up, were often left behind, but no one cared. The goal wasn't to train them into soldiers—it was to break them into something obedient.

Thorfin couldn't help but glance at the struggling children. His fists clenched tightly, nails biting into his palms, but he kept his anger in check. He wouldn't let them see him falter. He couldn't afford to.

Then, during one of the laps, a boy around eleven collapsed under the weight of the dumbbells he was carrying. He gasped for breath, his body trembling from the strain, but the agent didn't hesitate. Without a second's thought, the agent kicked the boy hard in the ribs, sending him sprawling to the ground with a sickening crack.

"Get up. Now." The agent's command was simple, cold.

The boy didn't respond, too broken to move. His labored breathing was all that could be heard in the silence. But the agent wasn't done. He bent down, grabbing the boy by his collar and lifting him off the ground like a ragdoll.

"You're worthless." The agent snarled, his voice thick with disdain. "Get up and finish the drill. If you can't, you die."

The boy's tears were the only thing that showed the pain he was in, but there was no mercy here. The agent's eyes narrowed, then with one movement

Slash

The boys neck was cut with a kunai. In less than thirty seconds he was dead. The root agent and then threw the limp body back into the line of children with a vicious throw. The boy's bones crunched painfully as he hit the floor.

"If you can't keep up, you're useless to Root. Understand?" The agent's voice was a low growl, filled with contempt.

The children all nodded quickly, their faces pale and fear-stricken. They had learned what it meant to defy the system.

By lunchtime, Thorfin could barely keep his eyes open. His body ached with exhaustion, his stomach gnawing at him in hunger. The food was sparse—a small bowl of rice and a few meager slices of meat, tough and tasteless. But the agents didn't care about hunger. They cared about obedience.

Around him, the younger children struggled to eat, trembling with exhaustion. The soft sounds of sniffles filled the room, but no one dared to speak. There was no comfort to be had here.

One girl, too slow in eating, caught the agent's attention. He towered over her, his voice dripping with malice.

"Not hungry?"

The girl flinched, too scared to speak. The agent sneered and slapped the food out of her hands. The rice scattered across the floor, and the girl's eyes welled with tears.

"Clean it up." The agent's voice was cold, devoid of humanity. "You wasted food. Do you know what happens to those who waste food in Root?"

The girl hesitated before shakily reaching for the rice, but the agent wasn't done. He grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully, before slamming her to the floor. There was a sickening crack as her arm broke under the force.

The girl screamed in pain, her body writhing in agony, but no one moved to help her. Thorfin's fists clenched tighter, his knuckles turning white. But he didn't act. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

He wouldn't break.

The rest of the day was a blur of pain and exhaustion—combat training, more laps, more fighting, more relentless punishment. Thorfin was paired with another boy for the fight training. The boy was tall, nervous, his eyes darting around as he raised his fists. He was scared—Thorfin could see it in his stance.

They fought. Thorfin moved swiftly, dodging a wild swing before landing a sharp punch to the boy's midsection. The boy gasped, stumbling back, but Thorfin pressed forward, delivering a punishing strike to the boy's jaw. The boy hit the ground hard.

The agent overseeing the fight wasn't satisfied. "Get up," he barked. "You're not done until I say you're done."

The boy trembled as he tried to get up, but his body refused to cooperate. He collapsed again, a sob escaping his lips.

"Weak." The agent's voice was thick with contempt as he kicked the boy in the ribs. "Stay down."

Thorfin's blood boiled, but he kept it contained. He wouldn't let them break him. He couldn't. Even as they were taken to a lab and given some liquid from a green vile. He wouldn't become just another tool for their experiments.

When the evening came and the children were finally forced into their cots, Thorfin stayed awake. His body was covered in bruises, his skin slick with sweat and dirt. The pain was a constant, but it was nothing compared to the rage burning in his chest.

Tomorrow, the cycle would start again. But tonight, Thorfin swore to himself, he would hold onto who he was. No matter what they did to him, no matter how much they pushed him.

Thorfin then takes a moment to look at the room he was in, minus one boy.

Yea, no I can survive here if this is my competition.

After all its nothing but a bunch of dick-sniffers and butt-munchers in this room.

and yes lady's your the dick-sniffers in this case.

I mean I guess guys could sniff dick but those type of guys don't last long.

what was I thinking about again? Oh right surviving and killing that one eyed virgin.

Obito? No not him the other one.

the 60 year old virgin.

No not Madara ya dingus.

Danzo!

Wow a lot of the people who are obsessed with world domination sure need to get laid right?

Maybe their dick is acting up. Bet it is, I bet it looks like a pigs dick, unfuckable fucks.