Kakashi: Godless Ascension

Kakashi's consciousness, a vast and silent radar sweeping across the continent, pinpointed the unique signature he sought.

It was like finding a single, perfectly sharpened senbon in a field of wheat, a chakra that resonated with crisp, organized intelligence, the faint rustle of paper, and a core of steel forged in shadow. It was also pulsing with intense, focused combat energy.

He didn't hesitate. Space folded around him, compressing hundreds of miles into a single step.

He reappeared high in the air, the wind whipping silently past him as he hovered, concealed by a simple light-bending refraction. Below him stretched the jagged, rain-eroded badlands of a minor nation's border region, a maze of canyons and mesas painted in hues of rust and ochre. And in the heart of a broad, dusty basin, the fight was already a foregone conclusion.

Ameha moved with a fluid, brutal economy that was all her own. She wore practical, dark travel clothes, a long grey coat flaring behind her as she danced around her opponent. Her silver hair, a shade darker than Raiden's and pulled into a severe, efficient ponytail, flashed in the harsh sunlight.

Her opponent was a mountain of a man, grotesquely muscular, his skin a mottled purple-grey. Boro of Kara. He fought with berserk strength, swinging fists that cratered the earth and spewing vile, corrosive mist from ports on his body. But against Ameha, it was like watching a bull charge a matador who had already decided the bull's fate.

She was dismantling him. Not with overwhelming force, but with surgical precision. She slipped inside his wild swings, her hands glowing with precise medical ninjutsu reversed into nerve-severing strikes.

She deflected sprays of acid with small, perfectly angled Wind Release barriers. Kunai, tagged with explosive tags, found the joints of his artificial limbs, detonating with concussive thumps that staggered him. For origınal chapters go to Nove1Fire.net

But the core. A pulsating, dark orb is embedded in the center of Boro's chest that moves whenever Ameha attacks it. And every time Ameha delivered what should have been a crippling or fatal blow, a severed tendon, a crushed lung, a bisection, the vile flesh would writhe and stitch itself back together in seconds, fueled by the core's regenerative power. Boro would laugh, a wet, gurgling sound.

"You can't kill me, little girl! I am eternal! I am- urgh!"

Ameha's foot slammed into his jaw, shattering bone that began to immediately re-knit. She didn't speak. Her expression, visible in profile to Kakashi, was one of profound, icy annoyance. The kind of look one gives a persistently buzzing insect during a complex calculation.

She had clearly been analyzing, testing limits, and gathering data. But Boro's ceaseless regeneration and his grating, arrogant monologues were wearing thin. Kakashi could see the exact moment her patience, always a finite resource, expired.

She disengaged with a graceful backflip, landing twenty meters away as Bero lumbered after her, his body still reforming from her last series of strikes.

"Enough," she said, her voice cool and flat, carrying easily across the basin. "This is inefficient."

Her eyes changed.

The familiar, dark irises swirled and bled into a deep, bloody crimson. A complex, elegant pattern unfolded within them, not Kakashi's original pinwheel, but a unique design she had manifested upon awakening her birthright, a pattern resembling interlocking shuriken encircling a tiny, perfect dot, like a period at the end of a sentence. The Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan.

The air around her warped. A skeleton of dark red, crystalline chakra erupted from her form, layering muscle, then armor, in the blink of an eye. A towering, humanoid specter of pure power, her Susanoo. It stood fifty feet tall, a samurai-warrior clad in plates of crimson energy, and blazing eyes in its helmeted face.

Boro's regenerating laughter died in his throat. His own monstrous bravado evaporated, replaced by primal, gibbering terror. The sheer, oppressive weight of the chakra emanating from the construct pressed down on the very landscape, silencing the wind.

"N-no… you can't… that's…" he stammered, backpedaling, his earlier confidence revealed as the hollow bluff it was.

The Susanoo moved. It wasn't a blur, it was a deliberate, world-shifting step that shook the ground. It raised one massive, armored hand, not to crush, but to corral. Walls of crimson chakra erupted from the earth in a circle around Boro, cutting off every avenue of escape. He was trapped in a coliseum of her will.

Then, the Susanoo began to grow.

The armor thickened, becoming more ornate, covered in swirling, Uchiha-like patterns. Wings of chakra, vast and semi-transparent, unfurled from its back with a sound like tearing silk.

A flowing, spectral cloak materialized. In moments, the initial form was gone, replaced by the majestic, terrifying, and complete Perfect Susanoo. It stood like a god of war carved from blood and shadow, dwarfing the mesas, its single eye casting a baleful red light over the entire badlands.

High above, Kakashi felt a swell of pure, paternal pride. 'Her control is flawless. No strain, no hesitation. She inherited the eyes, but she mastered them herself.'

Below, Boro was beyond fear, he was in a state of utter, dumbfounded disbelief. He stared up at the celestial warrior, his regenerative core pulsing frantically. "Oh my god," he whispered, the words barely a breath. "Are you so serious?!"

This wasn't a fight. This was an extermination. He had been irritating a scientist who had simply decided to switch from a scalpel to a tectonic plate. Profound, soul-crushing regret washed over him. He should have fled the moment he sensed her. He should never have taken this mission. He should have-

His thoughts were cut short.

The Perfect Susanoo's hand closed around him.

There was no dramatic crunch. There was a wet, comprehensive smearing sound, like a giant fist closing over overripe fruit. The immense pressure liquefied Boro's enhanced body instantly.

The regenerative core, a thing of remarkable Otsutsuki-derived bio-technology, flickered wildly under the absolute chakra compression and then shattered into inert, black fragments, dissolving into dust.

What was left, a pulpy, formless mass of what had been Boro, was held in the Susanoo's grasp for a moment. Without the core, the biomass lost cohesion, trying to revert to some monstrous, unstable base form, sprouting random teeth and eyes. The Susanoo's fist clenched once, slightly.

Squelch.

It was over. The Susanoo opened its hand, letting a patina of grey ash and unrecognizable slurry drift to the canyon floor. Then, with a thought from Ameha, the colossal construct dissolved from the feet up, streaming back into her eyes in ribbons of crimson light until only she remained, standing untouched in the center of the devastation.

Kakashi descended, his feet touching the dusty ground silently behind her.

Ameha sensed him immediately. The tension left her shoulders. She turned, her Eternal Mangekyō reverting to her normal, sharp dark eyes. Seeing her father, a flicker of pure joy lit her face, followed swiftly by a wave of chagrin.

She lowered her head, her silver ponytail swaying. His presence here, now, was a verdict. She had been caught overworking again, pushing herself to the point where her own brother had felt compelled to send for their father.

Kakashi didn't scold. He simply closed the distance and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a firm hug. He rested his chin on top of her head, his hand coming up to stroke her hair.

"You need to take breaks sometimes, Ameha," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble. "The world won't fall apart if you sleep for eight hours."

Pressed against his chest, Ameha let out a muffled, "Yes, Father." Her own arms came up to hug him back tightly, clinging for a moment with a vulnerability she never showed to anyone else. She was the master spy, the relentless analyst, the heir to a god's shadow legacy. But here, she was just his daughter, caught staying out too late.

Kakashi smiled, feeling her relax. He pulled back slightly, looking down at her. "Let's go home. I'll make you something to eat, alright?"

At that, Ameha's face truly brightened, the professional mask completely gone, replaced by the unguarded delight of the little girl who had always believed her father's cooking was magic. "Okay," she said, nodding eagerly.

He put an arm around her shoulders. The badlands vanished.

...

Minutes after the space they occupied settled back into emptiness, the air a hundred yards away rippled like disturbed water. A black, rectangular portal, stark and wrong against the natural light, irised open.

A man stepped out. He was of average height, dressed in simple, dark robes. His head was bald, marked with strange, grid-like patterns. This was the vessel, Jigen.

But the eyes that scanned the scene, cratered basin, the lingering, ozone-tinged scent of annihilated Susanoo chakra, the pathetic smear that was all that remained of Boro, held an intelligence infinitely older and colder.

Ishiki Ōtsutsuki.

His face, usually a mask of impassive calculation, twisted into something ugly. It wasn't grief for the lost subordinate. Boro was a tool, and a flawed one at that. No, this was frustration, a deep-seated, simmering rage that had been building for years.

Since Hatake Kakashi had ascended, nothing had gone according to plan. The careful, millennia-long cultivation of the planet for harvest had been thrown into chaos. The chakra ecosystem was stable, guarded, and managed.

And Kaguya… that foolish, emotional woman. She hadn't just been defeated; she had been seduced. Married. She had borne a child with that lower-dimensional being, diluting the sacred Ōtsutsuki lineage with mortal dross. The insult was profound.

He looked at Boro's remains, a symbol of his current impotence. A mere child of that Kakshi had just casually obliterated one of his pieces with a power that should have been the province of gods. The girl had the Sharingan. Wood Release. The resources and backing of the new order.

With a disgusted flick of his wrist, a swarm of microscopic black rods erupted from his palm, reducing Boro's remains to sub-atomic particles, erasing even the evidence of the failure. There was no point in recovery or analysis.

He stood for a moment longer in the silent basin, the wind beginning to stir the dust over the freshly cleaned slate. His plans needed to accelerate. New vessels, new strategies. The garden was infested with vigilant, powerful weeds.

Without a word, he turned and stepped back into the black portal, which sealed behind him, leaving the badlands once again alone under the vast, uncaring sky.