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

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, casting a dim, sterile glow over the small dormitory room. Thorfinn sat on the bottom bunk, sharpening a kunai with slow, methodical strokes. Across from him, his roommate—Taro—leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a contemplative look on his face.

"So," Taro started, breaking the silence, "we gotta pick out a gift for each other, huh?"

Thorfinn snorted. "Yeah. Except we can't just ask what the other one wants. We have to figure it out like some kind of test." He tossed the kunai aside and leaned back on his hands. "What would you want if you could actually choose?"

Taro smirked, rubbing his chin dramatically. "Well, if I say it outright, doesn't that ruin the fun?"

"Oh, screw you. Give me a hint at least."

Taro sighed, thinking for a moment before answering, "Something that'll remind me of home. Not in an obvious way, though. Just… something to hold onto."

Thorfinn furrowed his brows, rolling the words over in his head. He didn't know much about Taro's life before Root—none of them did. That was the point. But Taro had a quiet appreciation for old things, things that had history. He'd caught the guy reading whatever scraps of literature they could get their hands on, always drawn to the kind of stories that lingered.

"And you?" Taro asked, turning the question back on him.

Thorfinn hesitated, then shrugged. "Something that reminds me of who I used to be."

Taro raised a brow at that, but he didn't ask for more. He just nodded.

A few days later, there was a knock at the door.

The Root instructor, clad in the same blank mask as always, handed them each a wrapped package. "Exchange them," he instructed, voice devoid of warmth or familiarity. "Then report to training. Your final test is soon."

They nodded, waiting until the door shut before looking at each other.

Taro held his package out first. "Guess I'll go first." He took a deep breath, and for the first time since they'd met, his voice carried something genuine—something real. "This past year's been hell, but at least I had you to go through it with. You're an asshole, but you're my asshole. My best friend." He handed Thorfinn the package with a rare, small smile.

Thorfinn blinked, caught off guard. He swallowed, taking the package and unwrapping it carefully.

Inside was a dagger—a beautifully crafted, ornamental Viking dagger with a scabbard. His breath hitched as he traced his fingers over the intricate designs. It wasn't just a weapon. It was a piece of him, something that reached beyond the cold walls of Root and back to whoever he had been before.

For a moment, he didn't know what to say. Then, he clenched his fist around the scabbard and gave a short nod. "I'll treasure it." His voice was hoarse, but he meant every word.

He shoved his own package toward Taro, clearing his throat. "Your turn."

Taro opened it and stared at the book inside—Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier. He ran his fingers over the cover, flipping through the pages with something between surprise and amusement.

"You got me a book?"

"Yeah," Thorfinn muttered. "It's about a guy who goes through hell and just wants to get home. Figured you'd get something out of it."

Taro was silent for a moment before he laughed—a real, genuine laugh. "You know, I think I will."

For the first time since joining Root, they weren't just trainees. They weren't just soldiers. They were kids, giving each other gifts in a place where sentiment had no place.

And somehow, that made it mean even more.

Thorfinn flicked the dagger between his fingers, testing its weight before flipping it into a reverse grip. The cold steel rested perfectly against his palm, its balance immaculate. He'd been using it in every sparring session since receiving it, and so far, he hadn't lost a single match.

The other trainees in Root had taken notice.

"Again?" one of them grumbled, picking himself up off the training mat, rubbing his ribs where Thorfinn had slammed the hilt into him. "You always win with that damn thing."

Thorfinn just twirled the blade lazily, smirking. "I told you—perfect weapon, perfect warrior." He gave the dagger a flourish before tucking it back into its scabbard.

Taro, sitting cross-legged on the sidelines with his nose buried in Cold Mountain, snorted. "It's not the dagger winning, dumbass. He's just that stubborn."

Thorfinn pointed at him. "Exactly. The blade and I are one."

The other trainee groaned, stalking off to nurse his bruises, while Taro shook his head and turned a page.

Break time at the Root base was rare. When they weren't training, they were studying jutsu theory, conditioning, or in absolute silence under orders not to speak. But in their dorm room, behind closed doors, there was a different kind of routine.

Thorfinn sat on his bunk, dragging a whetstone across the edge of his dagger in slow, deliberate strokes. The rhythmic sound of metal sharpening against stone filled the room, a steady hum that had become part of their background noise.

On the other side of the room, Taro lay on his back, flipping through Cold Mountain. He had a pencil in hand, underlining passages, occasionally tapping his chin when he found something he liked.

"You'd like Inman," Taro muttered after a while.

Thorfinn glanced up. "Who?"

"The main guy. He's this wandering ninja who gets tired of the war and just decides, 'Screw this, I'm going home.'" He flipped a page. "Everyone tells him he won't make it, that he's got no place to go back to, but he does it anyway."

Thorfinn considered that, running the whetstone over his dagger again. "Sounds like a fool."

Taro smirked. "Yeah. That's why I like him."

Thorfinn snorted but didn't argue.

They fell into an easy silence again, each lost in their own world—one sharpening a blade, the other absorbing words. In Root, attachments were a liability. Friendships were discouraged.

But in this moment, with a dagger in one hand and a book in the other, they were just two kids enjoying their gifts.

And for now, that was enough.

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

Konoha- Yakiniku Q

The restaurant is large with wide windows, multiple green-seated booths, though some tables allow customers to sit down on the floor with green cushions as their seats, and menus plastered on the walls. Each table has a charcoal brazier built in the centre and is equipped with tongs for customers to cook for themselves after ordering.

The low hum of conversation filled the small, dimly lit room in the heart of the Hidden Leaf's village. Thick wooden beams lined the ceiling, and the scent of aged paper and earthy spices lingered in the air, a far cry from the bloodied and bustling streets outside.

Torifu Akimichi poured himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the light as it swirled in his cup. His large frame barely fit in the seat, but that was nothing new. His presence filled the room more than his words did, though today, he was quieter than usual.

Takahana Yamanaka, sitting across from him, studied her nails with an air of detached calm. Her sharp eyes, always alert, shifted to the door now and then, almost as if expecting someone to walk in with news. She had the look of a woman who had seen too many battles to bother hiding her disdain for the politics of it all.

Shikadi Nara, leaning back with one arm draped across the back of his chair, seemed half-distracted. His hands, long and nimble, moved absently as he adjusted his glasses and took in the room's heavy atmosphere. He could feel the tension creeping in even as his fingers drummed lightly against the surface of the table.

Torifu took a long sip and set his glass down with a heavy sigh. "Taki and Kusa... again." His voice rumbled low, but there was an edge to it. "Just when we thought things were settling down."

Takahana's eyes flashed as she glanced up, the intensity in her gaze unmistakable. "Kusa's always been a problem. They were a loose cannon ever since their country was on the brink of collapse. But they only have themselves to blame for trying to sell information to everyone and not making their stance clear. They don't know what to do with themselves anymore. They're desperate, and desperation makes for unpredictable neighbors."

Shikadi adjusted his glasses, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. "You think it's just about territory? Or are there other players involved?"

Torifu rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Could be both. But something's off about this one. Taki's been unusually quiet for the past year—until now."

Takahana leaned forward slightly. "And don't forget the minor skirmishes popping up at the border near the Land of Hot Water. The Hidden cloud has been sending scouts too close for comfort, and every time we try to push back, they claim it's just 'border patrol.' They're testing our resolve, and it's getting old."

Shikadi clicked his tongue. "Wouldn't surprise me if they're laying the groundwork for something bigger. Pressure's mounting everywhere." He paused, considering. "Even the Land of Water has been making some noise. They've been more aggressive in their dealings with the Tea Country."

"People think the smaller nations won't make waves," Takahana added, "but when they band together, it's not something to ignore. The Chūnin exams this year... I've heard rumors about some unusual alliances forming behind the scenes. Small villages trading weapons, sometimes even mercenaries."

Torifu chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair. "Great. A covert war brewing on all sides. Just what we needed."

Shikadi shifted slightly, his voice taking on a more measured tone. "You're missing the point, Torifu. It's not just about small skirmishes and border clashes. Look at the bigger picture. The Hokage's office is being pulled in multiple directions. There's a lot of waiting happening—waiting for the right moment to strike, to make a move. The timing is everything."

Takahana's lips curled into a wry smile. "And that's where we come in, isn't it? Keeping the peace while everyone else is too busy looking over their shoulders."

Torifu grinned, the weight of the moment lifting for just a second. "You could say that. If we're lucky, the war won't start until after the next round of barbecues."

Takahana's eyes glinted. "You're not wrong. But with things as tense as they are, the next fight might be a bigger one than any of us expect."

The room grew quiet, each clan head lost in their thoughts. The taste of alcohol lingered, but it did little to ease the unease that was settling over them. Outside their quiet sanctuary, the world was shifting, and soon enough, they would have to make a choice—stand still, or move with the tide.

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

Konoha- Danzo's Root Research Scientist Lab

The air was thick with the scent of sterile chemicals, a faint metallic tang that clung to the skin. Rows of children—fifty of them in total—stood in neat, silent lines, their bodies trembling but too broken to make a sound. They were dressed in standard Root uniforms, their faces pale and drawn from days of relentless testing, exhaustion weighing on them like a curse.

No one spoke. There was no need. They all knew what was coming.

A Root scientist stood at the front of the room, clipboard in hand, a faceless mask covering his expression. Behind him, the harsh buzz of machinery filled the air as metal doors slid open, revealing the cold, clinical laboratory where the experiments would take place.

"Prepare them for the injections," the scientist commanded, and his voice was devoid of emotion—cold, robotic.

One by one, the children were ushered forward. The needles glinted under the harsh fluorescent lights as they were plunged into the veins of each child. Thorfinn was among them, his heart racing, but his body betrayed him. The injection was quick, too quick to scream—he barely felt the needle before the cold liquid spread through his veins.

It burned.

A cry of agony echoed across the room as one of the younger children collapsed to their knees, clutching their arm where the needle had gone in. The pain was unbearable. Their body shook, muscles spasming as the strange concoction spread through their system.

"Hold him down," a scientist barked, his voice sharp.

The other children cried out, each one writhing in pain as the chemicals ravaged their bodies. They screamed, their voices muffled by the glass tubes they were soon shoved into. Thorfinn's legs were weak, his head spinning as the liquid coursed through his bloodstream. He could feel it—his skin was burning, every nerve on fire as the foreign substance worked its way into his system.

The pain intensified, a crushing weight that made his vision blur. He staggered forward, unable to stop himself, and collapsed into one of the large glass tubes. His body was suspended, weightless, the glass cool against his skin as the green liquid began to fill the tube around him.

One by one, the other children followed, each of them trapped in the cylindrical prisons. The glass tubes lined up in perfect rows, containing the screaming, writhing bodies of the kids as the liquid continued to rise, submerging them up to their necks.

The sound of glass cracking echoed in the room as another child's body convulsed violently before falling limp, their screams cut short. The scientists watched with clinical indifference, their faces hidden behind their masks.

From the shadows, Orochimaru appeared. His cold, calculating gaze swept over the children, taking in the results of the experiment with a twisted satisfaction.

"Well?" he asked, his voice smooth and patient.

The lead scientist adjusted his glasses, his voice tense. "We're seeing the effects of the modified DNA serum combined with the chakra-receptive compound. The children's bodies are rejecting it at a higher rate than anticipated, but the ones that remain… they're showing signs of accelerated healing and enhanced chakra production."

Orochimaru's lips curled into a faint smile, though there was no warmth behind it. "Good. This was always about finding the limits of their endurance. But we need more—much more. We're going to push them until they break. Only then will we know how far we can take them."

He turned to the other scientist, who was monitoring the children's vitals. "And what of the pain? Are they responding to the stimulus as expected?"

The scientist nodded grimly. "Yes. The neural synapses are firing irregularly, indicating severe neurological stress. The pain is… overwhelming. But some of them are managing to retain control. It's fascinating."

Orochimaru stepped closer to one of the tubes, looking at a girl who had stopped moving. Her face was pale, eyes wide open, staring blankly ahead. He stared at her for a long moment, his lips curling into a smile that was far from comforting. "Soon, they'll be more than human. A new generation of shinobi. Stronger, faster, and above all, obedient."

One of the children in the tubes convulsed again, thrashing violently as the liquid inside the tube rippled. The air in the lab seemed to grow colder, the screams of the children echoing in their glass prisons. Thorfinn's body trembled violently as the liquid crept higher, the burn in his veins only worsening. His thoughts became disjointed, lost in the haze of pain.

Through the blur of agony, he could barely hear Orochimaru's cold words.

"Soon, all of you will be mine."