Momo's POV:
I tried to make sense of the chaos that had unfolded. How did everything escalate so quickly? Raiden didn't do anything wrong—he hadn't even thrown a single punch! All he did was dodge those boys' attacks until they exhausted themselves.
Yet here we were, surrounded by accusations and misunderstandings.
I watched how calm Raiden had been during the skirmish. It was like he wasn't even trying. He moved like water around their clumsy attacks, completely unbothered.
Impressive.
Even now, as High Rider—Endeavor's sidekick—approached him, Raiden's stance shifted. He went from looking bored to alert and... excited? The change was instant, like flipping a switch.
I couldn't look away.
Worry gnawed at my insides though. I didn't want him getting into more trouble. My own indecisiveness left me rooted to the spot, unsure how to intervene.
Raiden must have sensed my anxiety because he turned and gave me a confident smile that said, Don't worry, I've got this.
It helped, but the pit in my stomach remained.
"Let's dance," Raiden said to the hero, his tone light yet challenging. No malice, just a simple invitation.
High Rider introduced himself formally, voice heavy with authority as he announced his affiliation with Endeavor agency. Raiden, still calm, asked if there was a peaceful way to resolve this misunderstanding.
The hero ignored him. Completely bought into Lickter and his lackeys' fabricated story.
Raiden sighs.
High Rider's fingers grasped at empty air where Raiden's kimono collar had been a split second before. Raiden pivoted on his heel, his body flowing like water around the hero's outstretched arm. The hero lunged again—a swipe to the left, a grab to the right—only to clutch nothing but the space Raiden had just vacated. With each miss, High Rider's jaw clenched tighter, a vein pulsing at his temple, his composed demeanor fracturing beneath the weight of his mounting failures.
"Hold still, you brat!" High Rider shouted.
"I'd rather not," Raiden replied as he slid under the hero's arm.
The commotion attracted the entire party. People gathered to watch, some recording on their phones, excited by the unexpected entertainment. Lickter and his friends egged the hero on from the sidelines, earlier humiliation forgotten.
"What kind of hero are you if you can't catch one kid?" they jeered.
The taunts got to High Rider, who finally snapped. "Special Move: low-power heat shot!" he announced, adjusting his visor to unleash a flame burst at Raiden.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
I felt my stomach drop. Using a quirk against a child? What kind of hero does that?
The flame streaked through the air, but Raiden didn't flinch. His eyes narrowed with focus as he charged directly toward the heat. My breath caught in my throat as he suddenly dropped, his knees skimming across the polished floor. The fire crackled harmlessly above him while he slid beneath its orange glow like a baseball player stealing home. In one fluid motion, he coiled and launched himself upward, his body twisting through the air. The party lights glinted off his determined face as his foot arced toward High Rider's head, a perfect spinning front kick materializing where there should have been only fear.
The movement was so fast I almost missed it—a blur that defied what I thought possible for someone his age.
The hero's arm shot up to intercept, his smirk visible on his exposed lips—certain no child could penetrate his defense. But Raiden's foot sliced through the air with unexpected force, smashing past the outstretched limb and cracking against High Rider's temple. The impact sent vibrations through the floor as the pro hero crumpled to one knee, his confidence shattered in an instant.
Raiden landed behind him, not a hair out of place.
High Rider quickly swung a powerful wide punch, but Raiden saw it coming. He spun beneath the attack, closing the distance with frightening precision.
With precise strikes—two hit to the hero's armpit and a palm strike to the jaw—High Rider's arm dangled uselessly at his side, while his chin jerked upward from the palm strike, eyes now fixed helplessly on the ceiling.
twelve seconds, tops.
Raiden moved like a dancer, every step deliberate, every strike efficient. His eyes calculated yet still held that spark of excitement. A trained pro hero sidekick, taken down by a child. The fluidity of his movements made it look effortless, but the precision hinted at immense skill far beyond his years.
Far beyond what any child should possess.
The crowd went silent, stunned. Some faces showed shock, others admiration, and a few—like Lickter's—displayed pure rage.
I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Maybe it was finally over. Maybe we could clear this up now.
Hah. No such luck.
"Luchador special move: Luchador light tackle!" came a booming voice that cut through the silence.
A hero in a red cape and luchador mask soared through the air, aiming a surprise attack at Raiden from behind. My heart sank. I wanted to scream a warning—Raiden couldn't possibly see him.
My heart nearly stopped as the luchador hurtled through the air toward Raiden's back. But then—as if sensing the danger through some sixth sense—Raiden's body twisted upward, his feet leaving the ground in a perfect arc that carried him over the incoming attack. The masked hero crashed into empty space, tumbling into a recovery roll.
When Raiden's feet touched down, not a single movement wasted, his knees bent slightly, arms positioned with practiced precision. The gleam in his eyes had changed—no longer calculating, but alive with something that looked almost like... enjoyment?
The crowd erupted into cheers, tension broken by this new development. The masked hero basked in the applause, striking a pose to show off his muscles.
"Villain, you may have defeated one of my colleagues, but you won't get past me! You're facing the Masked Luchador now!" he proclaimed, voice dripping with theatrical bravado.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I wanted to scream, to make all this chaos stop. I wanted to explain that Raiden wasn't a villain, that this whole situation was based on a lie, that heroes shouldn't be attacking children.
But I couldn't—not with the crowd drowning everything out, caught up in the spectacle.
Then, cutting through the noise, Raiden's calm voice reached me like a beacon.
"So... you wish to dance as well?" he said, tone calm yet brimming with excitement.
His confident eyes and smile made me pause. Despite everything, he seemed entirely in control, almost enjoying himself. That smile... it wasn't the smile of someone in trouble.
It was the smile of someone completely in their element.
Raiden POV:
I took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the situation that had unfolded. What had started as helping Momo out of an awkward situation had somehow led to this confrontation. One minute I was dealing with some older boys who thought they could intimidate me, the next I was facing off against a pro hero. Beating him hadn't been difficult - his movements were predictable, almost amateur.
Now I was staring down a half-naked man in a luchador mask. Inconvenient to downright ridiculous.
Despite the absurdity, I couldn't deny the excitement building within me. Each stronger opponent sent my blood pumping faster, a familiar sensation that both concerned and intrigued me. The Uchiha blood was responding to the challenge, awakening something primal with each clash.
Interesting. The stronger my opponents became, the more my instincts sharpened.
"Hmm," I muttered, noting how naturally combat came to me. "The Uchiha blood is certainly making itself known."
I… was enjoying this? No, worse—was I becoming a battle maniac, just like my ancestors? The thrill coursing through my veins with each exchange of blows, the way my senses heightened and time seemed to slow during combat—it was disturbingly familiar. The histories of my clan flashed through my mind: Uchihas driven by the intoxication of battle, consumed by their own power until nothing else mattered.
"Oh, God," I muttered under my breath, a cold realization settling in my stomach. "Am I turning into another Madara?"
As if summoned by my thoughts, I could've sworn I heard a deep voice grumble, Brat, followed by Hashirama's booming laughter echoing in the distance. The sensation was so vivid that I actually paused for a fraction of a second, my eyes darting to the periphery of my vision. The ancestral memory felt almost tangible, as though the founders of Konoha were watching this display with amusement.
I shook my head, dismissing it as my imagination running wild at the worst possible moment.
Focus.
There were more pressing matters at hand than phantom voices and uncomfortable self-reflection. The luchador was still coming at me, his transformed body moving with newfound purpose. I refocused on the fight ahead, pushing away the distracting thoughts. This wasn't the time for idle contemplation about my psychological state or family legacy.
I had an opponent to deal with, and Momo was watching.
The luchador hero was massive - a wall of fat with strategic muscle placement that suggested a wrestling-based fighting style. His shadow fell over me as he positioned himself, feet planted firmly on the ground.
He charged with the confidence of someone who believed size guaranteed victory. His footsteps thundered across the pavement.
I slipped past his strikes easily, weaving around his blows with a combination of Taijutsu and fluid bending movements. My body responded automatically, years of training making each dodge effortless.
His attacks lacked refinement - wild, slow, and relying purely on strength rather than technique. His massive fists cut through empty air where I'd been moments before.
Frustration became evident in his increasingly erratic movements.
"Special Move: Luchador Boost!" he called out, voice echoing through the area.
His body transformed before my eyes. Fat melted away, replaced by dense muscle. His arms bulged, chest expanded, and his stance shifted to something more balanced and dangerous. His speed and strength visibly increased.
"Interesting," I noted simply, adjusting my stance.
We engaged again. His movements were sharper now, faster. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he launched forward.
I channeled chakra through my limbs, feeling the warm flow strengthen my muscles and heighten my reflexes. Our strikes and counters became more intense. His punches carried tremendous force while my movements remained precise and fluid.
"Impressive," I said, sidestepping a punch that left a small crater in the ground. "How many times can you boost yourself like that?"
"Ten times," he replied with a visible grin. "But there's a limit. Once I hit my max, I'll turn into a skinny, fragile man."
"And you're okay with that?" I asked, dodging another strike.
"It's the price of greatness!" he bellowed.
"Sounds fun," I replied, ducking under his swing.
"What's your quirk, kid?" he asked, circling me carefully.
I shrugged. "Who knows?"
My uncle's lessons echoed in my mind: Information is key. Show your opponent only what you want them to see.
The Luchador called out, "Boost times three!"
His body swelled further, veins bulging beneath his skin. His frame grew to an almost inhuman size. His fighting style evolved - now combining a boxer's precision with a kickboxer's ferocity.
The battle tempo changed. I found myself on the defensive. My chakra-enhanced body barely kept pace with his new speed.
I blocked a vicious strike that sent shockwaves up my arms, sliding back several feet. Rather than falter, I embraced the challenge, drawing more deeply on my training.
By the time we reached a stalemate, the Luchador showed signs of fatigue. Bruises formed on his exposed skin. I remained unscathed. My breathing was slightly heavy but controlled.
Before we could continue, another figure entered the scene.
"I am... Emotion Man!" announced a newcomer in a gaudy costume of clashing neon colors and star-shaped sunglasses.
"Hmm. Another one," I observed, assessing the newcomer. "This complicates things."
The two heroes exchanged nods before coordinating against me. Emotion Man took a support position, firing energy beams that radiated raw emotions - sadness, exhaustion, anger - each attempting to impair my combat ability.
I weaved between emotional attacks while keeping the Luchador engaged in close combat. The dynamic had shifted significantly.
"Playing dirty, huh?" I called out, twisting midair as energy beams passed beneath me.
My foot connected with the Luchador's chest with a solid thud. His enhanced muscles absorbed much of the impact, but I noticed his flinch even beneath the mask.
Time to end this charade. My foot shot up between his legs with precise force. His eyes bulged behind his mask, a strangled gasp escaping his throat.
Seriously? No protection? Amateur mistake.
The Luchador's knees buckled momentarily before a purple beam struck his back. The energy rippled across his form, and I watched his posture straighten as if pulled by invisible strings. His eyes, watering with pain seconds ago, now burned with renewed purpose.
"Boost times ten!" he roared.
His body transformed into a mountain of pure muscle, easily twice his original size. Veins bulged across his form like ropes. The ground cracked beneath his weight.
His massive hands clamped down on me before I could react, pinning my arms to my chest. He lifted me effortlessly, his grip constricting around my torso.
I struggled against his hold, but his enhanced strength was overwhelming.
"Finish it!" he shouted to his partner. Sweat poured down his face as his muscles trembled with effort. "I can't hold this form for long!"
Emotion Man charged his attack, body glowing with purple light as energy gathered between his palms.
"Nightmare Beam!" he shouted, releasing a concentrated blast directly at me.
I tried channeling fire bending to escape, feeling heat building in my core. The beam hit me before I could release it - a wave of dark energy filled with intense negative emotions. Fear froze my blood. Despair crushed my spirit. Fatigue seeped into every cell.
Pain seared through my body like thousands of needles. My vision blurred as consciousness began slipping away. My body went limp in the Luchador's grasp.
The last image before darkness claimed me was Momo's face in the crowd, tears streaming down her cheeks, hand outstretched toward me. I wanted to reassure her that I would be fine.
Her image, beautiful even in distress, followed me into unconsciousness.
Darkness.
It wasn't the comforting kind you'd find in a peaceful night or the gentle embrace of sleep. No, this darkness was alive. It was suffocating, crawling over everything I loved with malicious intent. I felt its pull even as my body lay limp, consciousness slipping from my grasp like water through desperate fingers. The cold void seemed to whisper with a thousand hungry mouths, promising only oblivion.
Then came the nightmare.
My home—our sanctuary—stood before me, but it was no longer safe. The grand Japanese mansion, once brimming with life and warmth, was crumbling. Shadows spread like ink across the floors and walls, swallowing the intricate woodwork, the lush gardens, and the laughter that had made the house a home. The koi pond where I'd spent countless afternoons meditating with Uncle Iroh turned black, the fish disappearing beneath the surface with silent screams.
I tried to move, to fight, but something held me back. Black chains coiled around my body, heavy and cold. They pinned me in place, forcing me to watch as the darkness consumed everything. Each link burned against my skin like frozen metal, tightening with every struggle.
"No!" I screamed, thrashing against the restraints until my muscles burned with exhaustion. "Leave them alone! Take me instead!"
The void answered with silence, a mocking emptiness that amplified my desperation.
One by one, the people I cared for vanished. The homunculi maids were the first to go, their serene faces etched with fear as the shadows devoured them. Their pale hands reached out toward me, fingers dissolving into nothingness before they could touch me. Tamayo's clinic and Uncle Iroh's tea shop were next, the memories of their aromas—herbs and oolong—fading into nothingness. The sound of grinding pestle and mortar, the gentle clink of teacups, silenced forever.
I sobbed, struggling harder, but the chains only tightened, biting deeper into my skin. Blood trickled down my arms, warm against the freezing metal.
Then, they came.
The ANBU and the White Lotus arrived, their weapons gleaming with resolve. Animal masks caught what little light remained, porcelain faces expressionless but determined. They stood firm, forming a line of defense against the encroaching darkness. I watched, heart pounding, as jutsu and bending arts lit up the void in bursts of light. Earth walls rose and crumbled, water whips slashed through shadow tendrils, and fire illuminated grotesque shapes lurking within the darkness. The clash of power was breathtaking, but it wasn't enough.
The darkness retaliated with relentless tendrils, consuming them one by one. Their screams echoed, searing themselves into my mind as they disappeared into nothingness. I watched as masks cracked and fell away, revealing terrified faces beneath—human, vulnerable, gone in an instant.
"Stop it!" I begged, tears streaming down my face, throat raw from screaming. "They've done nothing to you!"
And then there was only one left.
Uncle Iroh stood alone, his flames burning bright against the shadows. He moved with the grace of a master, his every motion a symphony of control and power. Despite his stocky build, he flowed like water, each stance perfect, each breath measured. His fire bent and twisted, roaring defiantly as it scorched the tendrils that reached for him. Golden flames danced around him, forming dragons and phoenixes that tore through the darkness.
But even he couldn't hold them back forever.
The darkness surged, its tendrils growing faster, thicker, more aggressive. They wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso, eating away at him piece by piece. His golden flames dimmed to orange, then red, struggling against the overwhelming void.
"Uncle Iroh!" I cried, struggling harder against the chains until my wrists were slick with blood. "Fight it! Please! Don't leave me alone!"
He turned to me then, his expression calm, his eyes filled with unwavering love. Despite the shadows consuming his lower body, his face remained serene, as though we were simply sharing tea on a peaceful afternoon.
"Remember this, my nephew," he said, his voice steady despite the encroaching void. "It is through passion that we firebenders gain strength. With strength comes power—but power must be tempered and controlled. Do not let it control you. Find balance, even in darkness."
The darkness surged, but Iroh's smile only grew. In one final act of defiance, he ignited his entire body, transforming into a blazing Eastern dragon. Its scales gleamed like molten gold, its whiskers trailing fire across the void. Its roar shook the void, and its radiant flames pushed back the shadows in a blinding wave. For a moment, the darkness faltered, revealing shadowy figures lurking within the void—humanoid shapes with glowing eyes and twisted limbs.
Then, he was gone, leaving only a shower of embers that faded before touching the ground.
The weight of his loss crushed me. My chest felt hollow, my cries tearing through the silence like shards of glass. I slumped against my chains, the fight momentarily drained from my body. Uncle Iroh—my teacher, my guide, my second father—was gone.
But the nightmare wasn't finished.
"Raiden."
Her voice—a soft, melodic call—pulled me from my despair. I looked up to see her running toward me, her kimono billowing as if caught in a nonexistent wind. The shadows surged behind her, faster this time, hungrier. Her black hair streamed behind her, and her violet eyes locked onto mine with fierce determination.
"No! Mama, run!" I shouted, reaching out as far as the chains would allow, ignoring the pain as metal cut deeper into my flesh. "They'll take you too!"
She was close—so close—her hand outstretched to meet mine. I could see the delicate floral pattern on her kimono sleeve, smell the faint scent of medicinal herbs that always clung to her.
But the tendrils struck.
They wrapped around her legs, pulling her back just inches from my grasp. Our fingertips brushed, a fleeting connection before she was yanked away. The shadows climbed higher, wrapping around her waist, her arms, her throat.
"Mama!" I cried, my voice cracking with desperation, tears blurring my vision.
She turned to me, her face calm despite the void devouring her. Not a trace of fear showed in her expression—only love, pure and unbounded.
"My sweet baby boy," she said, her voice soft yet firm as the darkness crawled up her neck. "I am so proud of you. You've grown into someone strong, someone kind. Remember who you are. Remember what we've taught you. I love you, Raiden."
Her words cut deeper than any blade. As the darkness consumed her, the smile on her face never wavered. The last thing to disappear was her eyes—those gentle violet orbs that had watched over me since birth, now fading into the endless black.
"I love you too, Mama!" I screamed, but it was too late. She was gone, leaving nothing but emptiness where she had stood.
The chains slackened, but it didn't matter. I crumpled to my knees, my body shaking with sobs as despair clawed at my heart. My home, my family, my world—everything was gone. The darkness had taken it all, leaving me alone in this nightmare realm.
The darkness, satisfied with its feast, turned its attention to me. Tendrils slithered up my arms and legs, their cold touch burning into my skin like acid. They pulsed with malevolent intent, savoring my despair before the final consumption.
"Maybe... maybe this is better," I whispered, tears falling freely onto the void beneath me. "Maybe if I become nothing, the pain will go away. Maybe I'll see them again in the darkness."
But as the void crept higher, something stirred within me.
A flicker of warmth.
Memories flooded my mind—sparring with Uncle Iroh, his patient corrections and proud smiles; helping Mama in her clinic, grinding herbs as she taught me the healing arts; the laughter of the maids as they chased me around the mansion, pretending not to find me during hide-and-seek. They weren't just memories; they were reasons. Reasons to fight. Reasons to live. Reasons to burn away this darkness.
"No," I growled, the spark igniting into a raging inferno deep within my chest. "I'm not going back into the void. I'll save them. I'll save them all!"
Blue flames erupted from my hands, burning through the chains that bound me. The power surged through my body, overwhelming and all-consuming. My muscles tore, my bones ached, and my veins burned as if they were being filled with molten fire. My eyes stung with an unbearable pain, blood—or were they tears?—streaming down my face as I felt something awaken within them. The familiar sensation of chakra pathways opening, expanding, becoming conduits for power I'd only glimpsed before.
I screamed, pouring every ounce of my rage, love, and determination into breaking free. The sound echoed through the void, challenging the silence that had swallowed my loved ones.
With a final, deafening cry, the chains shattered, exploding outward in fragments of shadow that disintegrated in my blue flames. The darkness around me ignited in a blinding blaze, retreating from the heat of my fury.
The shadows recoiled, revealing a towering figure—a massive, monstrous form that loomed over me. Its jagged edges shifted like liquid shadow, its glowing eyes fixed on me with malice. Limbs of pure darkness stretched from its amorphous body, reaching toward me with clawed hands.
I didn't hesitate. Pivoting midair, a burst of blue flames from the bottom of my feet pushed me forward, propelling me at the figure like a missile. Flames engulfed my fist as I drove a knee into its side, the impact sending it flying backward. The creature screeched, a sound like tearing metal, as the shadows that composed it screeched in protest.
As I landed, the ground lit up with blue flames, casting the void in an eerie glow that revealed more of the nightmare realm. Twisted trees of shadow, ground that rippled like disturbed water, and above it all, the crimson moon hung in the sky, its three tomoe spinning ominously, watching the battle unfold with an ancient, knowing gaze.
And then, I felt it.
A familiar presence—a surge of power that wasn't my own but had always been part of me.
The white fox appeared, materializing from wisps of light. Its fur gleamed with black and red markings, pristine against the darkness, its ten tails swaying in unison like banners of defiance. Each step it took left glowing paw prints that burned through the shadowy ground. It circled me protectively, its growl a low, rumbling threat to the shadows that dared approach.
"Shirayami," I whispered, feeling her power resonating with mine.
Together, we stood against the encroaching darkness. I clenched my fists, flames sparking at my knuckles, spreading up my arms in spirals of blue fire. The fox's tails fanned out behind us, creating a wall of light.
"I'm getting my family back," I said, my voice steady, resolute, echoing with a power I hadn't known I possessed. "And when I find what took them, I'll burn it until nothing remains but ash."
And this time, the void would break before I did. The darkness had made a fatal mistake—it had left me alive, and it had left me angry. Now it would face the full fury of an Uchiha with nothing left to lose.