Blood Dreams

The rain never stopped in Amegakure.

It was both punishment and protection—a veil over wounds no one dared touch.

Within the core tower, beneath iron beams and artificial lights, Nagato lay asleep, body emaciated, nerves burned, but soul wide open.

His Rinnegan pulsed faintly—restless.

And that was when she entered again.

The dream unfurled slowly, like a scroll written in red silk.

Not words. Not pictures.

Resonance.

Nagato stood in a field that should not exist—a forest made of blood threads and chakra strands, spinning eternally like galaxies on a loom. At the center stood Karin—bathed in starlight, not just woman, but something beyond gender, beyond identity.

A Uzumaki made flesh.

Her voice wrapped around him like a lullaby and a command.

“You are strong, Nagato,” she said, stepping forward. “But strength without lineage is rootless.”

“Let me show you the flesh of legacy.”

She raised her hand.

From it bloomed a memory.

Nagato watched as Karin’s own body transformed.

No explosions. No monstrous horror. Just elegant transfiguration.

Her skin gleamed like living chakra. Her frame moved not with technique, but with command of reality.

Uzumaki Tekkai pulsed through every strand of her DNA—he could feel it. The chakra was no longer flowing. It was her. It was the breath in her lungs. The hardness in her fist. The eternity in her stance.

“This is how we survive,” she whispered.

“Not by hiding. Not by puppets.”

“But by becoming what chakra was meant to be—eternal flesh.”

He fell to his knees.

Not in weakness.

But in reverence.

She approached, and he looked up—into eyes that no longer burned red, but shimmered with crimson dust and Uzumaki truth.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Her body glowed. Feminine, yes. But also complete. Her frame bore grace, but beneath that—the core of a creator. The futanari form, holy and unapologetic, radiated not lust, but life.

Nagato gasped.

For the first time, he saw power not meant for conquest.

But for continuation.

He did not see sin.

He saw hope.

“You... you're not like the others,” he breathed.

“You're... future.”

She nodded.

“And you, Nagato... have always been the anchor.”

“But even anchors must learn to stand.”

She touched his chest—right over his heart.

Warmth surged through him. Not physical. Spiritual.

He saw the technique—not in words, but in genetic understanding.

Uzumaki Tekkai.

How to fuse chakra into the cells.

How to survive even in a chakra-less world.

How to become a god—one cell at a time.

His mind opened like a flower.

Tears streamed from his sleeping eyes.

Nagato awoke with a gasp.

Rain still poured outside—but it no longer mattered.

The world hadn’t changed.

He had.

“She... showed me,” he whispered.

Konan looked over, concerned. “Another dream?”

He smiled. A rare thing.

“Not a dream. A memory of the future.”

He looked out at the horizon.

For the first time, he wasn’t alone in that future.

Not a weapon. Not a puppet.

But family.

Karin.

She was more than kin. She was destiny. She was divinity.

And somehow—despite the brutal world—they had found each other.

He would strengthen Akatsuki. But now not for vengeance.

Now for preservation.

Back in the forest, Karin stirred from meditation.

Her seal pulsed gently.

Nagato had received it.

She could feel his awe. His budding loyalty.

His yearning to believe again.

And beneath it all—something else.

“He saw me,” she whispered. “He saw all of me. And he did not flinch.”

That mattered.

Not as a woman. Not as a god.

But as Karin Uzumaki, the first of a new world.

In a hidden chamber of Amegakure, Nagato lit a candle.

Not for Yahiko. Not for vengeance.

But for her.

The first candle of many.

“Let them worship gods with Rinnegan and Sharingan,” he murmured.

“I have seen something greater.”

“I have seen the flesh of the Uzumaki.”

And outside—

The rain finally slowed.