Beyond the limits of mortal perception, beyond time, beyond fate, there was a throne.
A realm untouched by the struggles of lesser beings.
Here, the Otsutsuki King resided.
Above the ascended Otsutsuki, above the architects of fate who toyed with lower realms, above even the concept of reality itself.
A being whose form was beyond definition—his crown forged from a collapsing universe, his body an endless stretch of galaxies and nebulae, shifting, expanding, contracting, existing in infinite forms yet remaining one.
Even the most ascended of his kin could only glimpse fragments of his true self, a shape dictated by their limited perception. To some, he was a celestial monarch; to others, an abyss.
But today…
Today, he was simply a father.
Seated in an ethereal garden, surrounded by cosmic trees whose leaves were nebulae and whose roots were tangled through the fabric of dimensions, he watched his sons at play.
Nyarlathotep.
Azathoth.
Names that inspired madness and awe, whispered in fear across the lower realms.
They sat on opposite sides of an unfathomable game board.
Their toy?
Darkseid.
A immortal in his own right. An emperor, a tyrant, an embodiment of domination.
And yet, here, he was nothing more than a piece in their game.
Nyarlathotep flicked a delicate hand, shifting Darkseid's destiny—his rise, his fall, his wars against Krypton, his endless quest for the Anti-Life Equation.
Azathoth chuckled, his mere amusement unraveling entire galaxies elsewhere.
"He struggles so valiantly."
"Indeed," Nyarlathotep mused, his golden eyes glinting. "But what is struggle without suffering?"
With the slightest movement, he cast Darkseid into a new fate—a reality where Superman had never existed.
The result?
A universe consumed in absolute conquest.
"An unchallenged immortal is a dull one."
Azathoth sighed, lazily undoing the change with a single thought.
"I prefer to watch him despair rather than rule. Let him taste the heavens, let him grasp for them—then let them slip away."
And so, their game continued.
Moving the pieces, rewriting history, reshaping Darkseid's ambitions and failures on a whim.
Their amusement at his suffering was not cruel in their eyes.
It was simply… natural.
Like children toying with insects, unaware—or uncaring—of the weight their actions held for those below.
The Otsutsuki King observed in silence.
He had no need to interfere.
His sons, like all Otsutsuki, had inherited this impulse—the desire to manipulate, to shape, to play.
It was their nature.
A gift from him.
Darkseid was many things.
A tyrant. A immortal. A conqueror.
But above all else, he was not a fool.
For eons, he had waged war across the cosmos, subjugating pantheons, annihilating civilizations, and bending reality itself in pursuit of the Anti-Life Equation.
Yet, there was one battle he had always avoided.
The Otsutsuki.
He had seen what they did to those who dared challenge them.
He had watched as they rewrote fates, erased entire bloodlines from history, and turned would-be immortals into footnotes in their grand games.
Darkseid had no intention of being their next amusement.
So, he remained distant.
He did not seek them.
He did not provoke them.
He ignored them.
But the Otsutsuki King and his sons had grown bored.
And boredom, for beings of their stature, was dangerous.
They wanted chaos.
They wanted reaction.
They wanted to see what the Dark Immortal would do when his hand was forced.
And so, they wrote a new tale.
A paradox. A war that should never have been.
Somewhere in the distant future, the Emperor of Mankind—the being who reigned over the grand empire—was planning something audacious.
He sought to make Darkseid his weapon.
To force the New immortal into an inevitable clash against the Otsutsuki.
But such a move required preparation.
Manipulation.
So, the King and his sons reached forward in time, twisting the threads of fate before the Emperor could even enact his plan.
"Shall we assist the Emperor, Father?" Nyarlathotep whispered, his voice echoing across dimensions.
"Shall we give Darkseid a reason to fight?" Azathoth mused, grinning.
"Yes," the Otsutsuki King decreed, his voice shaking the foundations of reality.
And so, they created a stage.
A single Otsutsuki of immense power descended into Darkseid's domain.
An interloper.
An invader.
A problem.
One that Darkseid could not ignore.
This being did not come to bargain.
He came to conquer.
Planets in Darkseid's grasp were obliterated in an instant, entire legions of his forces turned to dust with a mere thought.
Darkseid watched as Apokolips burned.
Watched as his own world was desecrated—not by an army, not by a immortal, but by one being.
One of the lower Otsutsuki.
The message was clear.
Ignore us, and we will not ignore you.
Darkseid, the ever-cunning warlord, the ruler of Apokolips, the dark tyrant, now faced a choice.
Would he continue his silent avoidance?
Or would he finally rise to battle that which lurked above the immortals?
The Otsutsuki King and his sons smiled.
No matter his decision, the game had begun.
Naruto's eyes snapped open.
He was back.
The dark dimension around him was silent, still pulsing with the strange energy of his meditation. The chaotic aura of the demon-infested world still clung to him, but something had changed.
His hands were trembling.
His breath came in uneven gasps.
The weight of what had just happened crushed down on his chest like an iron vice.
Featherine…
The memory of her presence still lingered, an unnatural afterimage burned into his mind. She had toyed with his reality. Not just by bending space or rewriting moments in time—no, she had changed his past as though it were a story in a book.
She had decided how his life had played out.
She had rewritten who he was.
And he had never even noticed.
His teeth clenched. That was the part that truly shook him.
Because if Featherine had done it once…
If she had already rewritten his path before…
How many times had it happened?
How many times had he thought he was making his own choices, when in reality, it was never his will at all?
His breathing quickened.
Naruto gripped the ground beneath him, trying to anchor himself. His vision blurred as the horrifying realization continued to sink in.
What if I'm not even real?
What if everything I've ever done was something they just wrote for their own amusement?
What if my bonds, my friends, my family—what if all of them are just pieces on a game board?
He had thought he was fighting for his world.
That if he grew strong enough, if he pushed forward, he could make a difference.
That he could stand against the Otsutsuki and protect what mattered.
But Featherine—no, the Otsutsuki at the top—were beyond anything he had imagined.
They were immortals among immortals.
And the worst part?
They weren't even trying.
To them, this wasn't a war.
It wasn't a battle of ideals or a struggle for survival.
It was a game.
And he was just a character in their story.
His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as a cold sweat dripped down his forehead.
The only thing keeping him from breaking…
The only thing stopping him from drowning in the abyss of despair…
Was the fact that they were not the creators.
Featherine had admitted it.
She was an Otsutsuki. She was powerful beyond measure, capable of rewriting existence with a whim—but she was not the creator.
There was something above them.
And if there was something greater than them…
Then his reality was still real.
His soul was still real.
And as long as he was real, he had a chance.
A shaky breath left his lips. He slowly unclenched his fists, flexing his fingers as he steadied himself. His heartbeat was still pounding in his ears, but he forced himself to breathe.
He was afraid.
More than ever before.
He wasn't fearless. He never had been.
But courage wasn't about being fearless.
Courage was about standing up despite the fear.
And he would stand.
For his family.
For his friends.
For the world.
Kurama stirred.
Inside the vast, golden expanse of Naruto's inner world, the great Nine-Tailed Fox shifted, his massive eyes narrowing as he felt something off.
Naruto was back from his meditation, yet something had changed.
His presence… felt unstable.
Kurama could feel it in his soul. A disturbance that hadn't been there before—like an unseen weight pressing down on Naruto's very existence.
For years, Kurama had been a part of Naruto. He had seen him in his darkest moments, witnessed his struggles, his pain, his fears. He had seen Naruto break down, only to rise again, stronger than before.
But this?
This was different.
The boy who had faced down immortals…
Who had fought against impossible odds…
Who had laughed in the face of death itself…
Now trembled.
His spirit wavered.
His very essence shook.
Kurama's deep, rumbling voice broke the silence.
"Naruto… what happened?"
Naruto flinched.
He didn't answer right away.
For a moment, he just sat there—shoulders tense, hands curled into fists, his breathing controlled but uneven.
Kurama narrowed his eyes further. This wasn't normal hesitation. This wasn't the same as Naruto needing time to gather his thoughts.
This was fear.
A fear so deep it had shaken him to his core.
Kurama let out a low growl.
"Talk to me, brat."
"Whatever it is, you're not carrying this alone."
Naruto swallowed hard.
He wanted to keep this to himself.
He wanted to bear this burden alone, just like he had always done.
But…
Could he?
Could he really stand against beings who could rewrite his existence on a whim and expect to do it alone?
He had never been alone.
And he wouldn't start now.
So, after a long, shaky breath—he told Kurama everything.
About Featherine.
About how she had rewritten his past.
About how she and the higher Otsutsuki treated reality as nothing more than a game.
About how they could reshape the very fabric of his existence without him even realizing it.
And most of all—he told Kurama about the fear.
The soul-crushing, mind-breaking realization that he had never once been in control.
That everything he had ever done, every fight, every victory…
Could have been decided for him.
By them.
By beings who saw him as nothing more than a fleeting amusement.
By immortals who didn't even have to try.
By the true rulers of fate.
Kurama was silent for a long time.
He had expected something bad.
But not this.
He had felt Naruto go through pain before.
Through loss. Through despair.
But this wasn't just pain.
This was doubt.
Naruto—the one who always fought forward no matter what—was doubting himself.
That alone made Kurama's blood boil.
No one—no one—had the right to shake Naruto like this.
With a low, rumbling growl, Kurama leaned forward.
He needed Naruto to understand.
To accept.
The fox's crimson eyes locked onto Naruto's, unwavering.
"Brat, you're wasting your time thinking about what's real and what's fake."
Naruto's breath hitched, but he listened.
"Does it change anything?" Kurama continued. "If they rewrote your past, if they shifted things around, if they played with your memories like a damn storybook—does that change who you are now?"
Naruto opened his mouth… but no words came out.
Because Kurama was right.
What did it change?
His fists clenched.
Featherine had rewritten his past. She had altered his memories, twisting his very existence into a puzzle of what was real and what wasn't.
But at the end of the day—did that matter?
"Think about it, Naruto." Kurama's deep voice filled the space. "If you spend your whole life wondering whether you're real or not, whether your memories are yours or something written into you—what does that actually do for you?"
Naruto's heartbeat pounded in his ears.
"Does it make you stronger?"
No.
"Does it protect the people you love?"
No.
"Does it stop you from moving forward?"
Naruto swallowed hard.
Yes.
"Then forget about it."
Naruto's eyes widened.
Kurama grinned, showing sharp fangs.
"Forget about whether it's real or fake. Because the only thing that matters is what you believe."
"If you believe it's real, then it's real."
"If you believe you're here, then you're here."
"If you believe your love for your family is real— then it's real."
The words hit him.
Like a weight suddenly lifted off his shoulders, like a fog clearing from his mind.
Naruto had been spiraling—falling into the horror of the unknown, into the terrifying realization that his past, his choices, his very life, could be rewritten at a whim.
But that didn't change who he was now.
It didn't change the fact that he chose to love his family.
It didn't change the fact that he chose to fight for the world.
It didn't change the fact that he chose to stand up, even when everything told him to stay down.
Naruto exhaled.
Slowly, his body stopped shaking.
The fear didn't vanish completely—it was still there, deep inside.
But now?
Now he could move forward.
Naruto raised his gaze to Kurama, a small, genuine smile forming on his lips.
"You always know what to say, huh, Kurama?"
The fox let out a snort.
"Tch. I'm stuck in your head, brat. I have to listen to all your dumb thoughts, so I might as well be useful."
Naruto laughed softly, rubbing the back of his head.
Then, with a deep breath, he straightened his stance.
His path hadn't changed.
His resolve hadn't wavered.
The Otsutsuki might be able to rewrite him, reshape him, play with him like a character in their grand game.
But in the end…
Naruto Uzumaki was the one who decided what was real to him.
And that was more than enough.