Menma Uzumaki

The screeching sound of tires skidding on asphalt echoed in his ears, accompanied by the deafening crash of metal against metal. Pain blossomed through his body—a brutal, searing agony that faded as darkness consumed him. The last thing he remembered was the driver's enraged face, shouting something incoherent before the collision.

It was ironic, really. He'd spent weeks perfecting his cosplay of Menma Uzumaki for the convention, painstakingly crafting every detail of the black cloak and mask. He wanted to impress the judges. Now, all that effort ended in a mangled wreck.

So this is it, he thought as his consciousness ebbed. What a lame way to go.

But then… he woke up.

He blinked, expecting to see the fluorescent lights of a hospital or perhaps the eternal void of nothingness. Instead, water flowed gently in front of him, its surface glistening under the dim light of an unfamiliar sky. The air was cool, damp, and filled with the scent of moss and earth. The sound of running water surrounded him, and he could feel the rough texture of stone beneath his hands.

What the hell?

His body felt... strange. Stronger, lighter, almost buzzing with energy. He looked down at himself and froze. The black cloak he'd worn for the convention was still on him, but it looked different. It wasn't the cheap fabric he'd stitched together; this was real. The edges of the cloak fluttered slightly, as though alive with latent energy.

His hands trembled as he reached up, feeling the mask strapped to his face. Pulling it off, he caught his reflection in the water—and nearly fell back in shock.

The face staring at him wasn't his own.

Pale skin, sharp features, dark eyes with a crimson tinge—the unmistakable face of Menma Uzumaki stared back at him. His heart raced as his mind tried to piece together the impossibility of it all.

"This... this isn't real," he muttered, his voice deeper and colder than he remembered. The voice wasn't his either; it carried a calm, commanding tone that sent a shiver down his spine.

The reality of his situation began to sink in as he looked around. He was in a rocky gorge, water streaming through a narrow riverbed that twisted out of sight. The terrain was unlike anything he'd seen before—rugged, untamed, and almost otherworldly.

Suddenly, a sharp, pulsating energy coursed through him. He stumbled back, clutching his stomach as the sensation grew stronger. Instinctively, he raised a hand—and dark chakra spiraled into existence, forming a sphere of swirling black energy.

The realization hit him like a lightning bolt.

I'm not just wearing Menma's outfit. I am Menma.

His breath quickened as he stared at the orb of dark chakra in his hand. He could feel its power, raw and unyielding, as if it were an extension of his own body. The thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

"I need to figure out where I am," he whispered, his voice steady despite the chaos in his mind.

Testing his newfound strength, he scaled the rocky walls of the gorge with ease, his body responding fluidly to his commands. Each movement felt natural, as if he'd done this a thousand times before. When he reached the top, he took in the sprawling landscape before him.

A dense forest stretched as far as the eye could see, with towering trees that seemed almost alive, their branches swaying even in the absence of wind. In the distance, he could make out the faint silhouette of a village—its distinct architecture sparking a jolt of recognition.

His mind raced as memories—no, Menma's memories—began to surface. They were fragmented, like pieces of a shattered mirror, but they painted a clear picture. He remembered the alternate world, the Black Nine-Tails, the devastation he had wrought.

As the realization fully hit him, a sinister grin crept across his face before he caught himself. The grin wasn't his. It was Menma's.

"No," he said aloud, clenching his fists. "I'm not going to lose myself. I don't care if I look like Menma or have his power. I'm still me."

But even as he said the words, he couldn't deny the temptation that lingered at the edges of his mind. The power he now held was intoxicating, and for the first time, he understood why Menma had been so ruthless.

Shaking off the thought, he turned his gaze back to the distant village. Through the gaps in the trees, he could see the faint outlines of a village in the distance. Unlike Konoha's vibrant, bustling streets, this village was darker, quieter, and shrouded in mist. The tall, spire-like structures and eerie silence sent a chill down his spine.

"Otogakure," he muttered, recognizing the Village Hidden in the Sound from Menma's fragmented memories.

The village of Orochimaru.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He wasn't just in some cosplay dream. This was the real Naruto world, and he was standing in enemy territory.

"I need to figure out just how much of Menma's power I can control."he muttered

With that, he descended into the forest, the sounds of the running water fading behind him. As he was walking, a sharp rustling sound drew his attention. He turned just in time to see three shinobi leap out from the trees, their headbands bearing the symbol of Otogakure. Their faces were obscured by masks, but their weapons were drawn, and their killing intent was palpable.

"Who are you?" one of them demanded, his voice cold and wary.

Menma's instincts kicked in before he could stop them. His hand shot up, and dark chakra spiraled into existence, forming a black Rasengan that hummed with violent energy. The shinobi froze, their eyes widening in shock.

"Stand down," Menma's voice growled, though the words didn't feel like his own. The power in his hand felt intoxicating, overwhelming, as if it were begging to be unleashed.

The shinobi hesitated, glancing at one another. "That jutsu...?"

For a moment, he didn't know how to answer. Was he still himself, or was he truly Menma Uzumaki now? The power coursing through his veins told him he was no ordinary man anymore.

"I'm not your enemy," he said finally, lowering the Rasengan but keeping it active. "But I'm not someone you want to mess with."

The lead shinobi narrowed his eyes. "You're coming with us. Lord Otokage will decide what to do with you."

He couldn't risk being taken to the snake sannin—not when he was still trying to figure out what was happening to him.

"Sorry," he said, his voice steady. "That's not happening."

Before they could react, he surged forward, faster than he thought possible. The Rasengan collided with the ground in front of them, sending a shockwave that knocked the shinobi off their feet. In the chaos, he vanished into the forest, his newfound speed carrying him deeper into the shadows.

When he finally stopped, his head heaved with mental exertion. He leaned against a tree, his mind racing.

He was in the Naruto world, in Otogakure, with Menma Uzumaki's body and power. If Orochimaru was here, it was only a matter of time before the sannin caught wind of him.

"I need to figure out what's going on," he muttered. "And I need to control this power before it controls me."

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The forest was eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint rustling of leaves as he crouched in the shadows. Every instinct screamed at him to keep moving, to avoid staying in one place for too long. He could still feel the rush of power from the dark chakra that had erupted so effortlessly from his hand. It was as if Menma's body acted on its own, independent of his thoughts, guided by instincts he had yet to understand.

He tightened his grip on the tree trunk, his breathing steadying. The encounter with the Otogakure shinobi had been a close call. If they had been even a little more coordinated, or if he had hesitated for a second longer, he might already be on his way to Orochimaru's lair.

"Focus," he told himself, pressing his hand against his temple. "I can't let panic take over."

But deep down, a part of him relished the thrill. The power he had wielded against the shinobi was intoxicating. He could still feel it surging through him, waiting to be unleashed.

"Menma's body... his memories… this chakra. If I can control it, I can survive here."

Suddenly, a faint memory surfaced again—Menma's memory. He saw flashes of the Black Nine-Tails, its massive, snarling form brimming with dark energy. The creature's roar echoed in his mind, and he could feel its presence deep within him, like a sleeping giant.

The Black Nine-Tails… it's still inside me.

He clenched his fists, the weight of his situation sinking in further. This wasn't just cosplay come to life. He had inherited everything about Menma—his power, his memories, and the dark entity sealed within him.

He didn't have long to dwell on the implications. The sharp snap of a twig broke the silence, and his head shot up. His eyes scanned the dense foliage, catching the faint shimmer of movement in the distance. Someone was following him.

Not just someone. He could feel their chakra signature—several, actually. Small but precise, like needles threading through the air. Whoever they were, they were skilled at hiding their presence.

He closed his eyes, letting Menma's instincts guide him. The dark chakra stirred within him, sharpening his senses. Suddenly, he could feel the exact positions of his pursuers, their signatures pulsing faintly in his mind.

Three of them. Moving in a spread formation.

Without hesitation, he leaped into the trees, his movements swift and silent. He perched on a high branch, watching as the first shinobi came into view below him. The figure moved cautiously, scanning the forest floor with sharp eyes.

He waited until they passed directly beneath him. Then, he dropped.

Before the shinobi could react, his hand shot out, wrapping around their throat. He slammed them into the ground with enough force to crack the earth, dark chakra rippling from his palm. The shinobi let out a choked gasp before falling limp.

The other two weren't far behind.

"Spread out!" one of them barked, their voice tense.

But it was too late. He was already behind the second shinobi, moving faster than they could track. With a swift motion, he struck the back of their neck, sending them crumpling to the ground.

The third shinobi managed to react, spinning around with a kunai in hand. Their movements were sharp, precise—far more skilled than the other two. They lunged at him, aiming for his throat.

He sidestepped effortlessly, the kunai grazing past him. Dark chakra flared around his arm as he caught the shinobi by the wrist, twisting it with inhuman strength. The kunai clattered to the ground, and he raised his other hand, a dark Rasengan forming in his palm.

"Wait!" the shinobi shouted, their voice laced with desperation. "I'm not here to fight you!"

He paused, narrowing his eyes. The Rasengan hummed ominously in his hand, its energy crackling like static. "Then why are you following me?"

The shinobi hesitated, their gaze flickering to the unconscious bodies of their comrades. "We were sent to investigate the disturbance near the gorge. You—your chakra—it's not normal."

"That doesn't explain why you attacked me," he growled.

"You're an unknown variable," they said quickly, wincing as his grip on their wrist tightened. "We can't ignore someone with that kind of power roaming this close to Otogakure. If Lord Otokage finds out—"

"That's enough," he interrupted, releasing the shinobi abruptly. They stumbled back, clutching their wrist and staring at him warily.

He extinguished the Rasengan, the dark chakra dissipating into the air. "I don't care about your orders. Tell him to stay out of my way."

The shinobi's eyes widened. "You're not seriously thinking you can go unnoticed, are you? He'll find you. It's only a matter of time."

"Let him try," he said coldly, turning away. "But next time, I won't hold back."

As he disappeared deeper into the forest, the shinobi stumbled to their feet, their expression conflicted. They looked at their fallen comrades, then back in the direction he had gone.

They didn't pursue. Instead, they reached into their pouch, pulling out a small communicator.

"This is Unit Four," they said, their voice low. "We have a situation."

On the other end, a voice crackled to life. "Report."

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Deeper in the forest, he slowed his pace, finally allowing himself to breathe. The encounter had rattled him more than he wanted to admit.

"I need to be more careful," he muttered. "If Orochimaru's people are already on my trail, I don't have much time."