Crazy Shinobi: Rise of the uzumaki Clan

Shinsui stepped forward, feeling the air of the real world against his skin for the first time in three decades. The sky was overcast, the winds carrying the scent of damp earth and decay. He turned his gaze toward the lone figure before him—the last Uzumaki.

The young man was worn and weary, his once-vibrant red hair dulled with dirt and exhaustion. His eyes, however, still carried the flicker of determination that defined their clan. Shinsui studied him in silence before speaking.

"Who are you?"

The Uzumaki straightened, bowing his head slightly. "My name is Ryo Uzumaki," he said. "The last of my clan."

Shinsui's gaze sharpened. "The last?"

Ryo clenched his fists, his shoulders trembling. "Yes," he whispered. "The Uzumaki Clan is no more. We were wiped out by the Great Ninja Villages—Kumo, Suna, Iwa, and Kiri."

The words settled like lead in the air. Shinsui's expression darkened, his golden eyes burning with cold fury. "Explain," he commanded.

Ryo took a deep breath, steadying himself. "It all started not long after you were sealed," he began.

He recounted the events as he had been told, the history that had shaped the world in Shinsui's absence.

A few years after Shinsui's imprisonment, Madara Uchiha had left Konohagakure. He had declared that Shinsui had been right—that peace could never be achieved so long as different powers vied for control. His departure sent ripples of unease through the village, but Hashirama, ever the idealist, had insisted that Konoha's unity would hold strong.

Years passed, and then Madara returned—this time with the Nine-Tails at his side. He challenged Hashirama to battle, seeking to enforce his vision of peace through absolute control. Their fight reshaped the land itself, shaking the foundation of everything Konoha stood for. In the end, Hashirama triumphed, and Madara fell.

But victory came at a cost.

During the battle, Hashirama had sustained grave injuries. Though he emerged victorious, the strain on his body was too great. In the following years, illness consumed him. Slowly, painfully, the great leader of Konoha began to wither away.

And when he died, so too did the fragile peace he had fought so hard to maintain.

With Hashirama gone, the old tensions resurfaced. The balance of power shifted, and the Great Villages turned their eyes toward new opportunities—toward anything that could strengthen their hold.

Uzugakure had been one such target.

Despite their alliance with Konoha, the Uzumaki Clan had always been feared for their sealing arts and vast chakra reserves. Their knowledge was unparalleled, and that knowledge was seen as both a threat and a prize.

One by one, the Great Villages struck.

Kumo sought their secrets to strengthen their Jinchūriki.

Suna desired their knowledge of fūinjutsu, fearing their own decline.

Iwa wished to eliminate any potential threats before they could rise.

Kiri… simply wanted to bathe in blood.

Uzugakure fought bravely, but they were overwhelmed. Their allies in Konoha, bound by politics and self-preservation, hesitated to intervene. By the time they acted, it was already too late. The village was reduced to rubble, its people slaughtered, its legacy all but erased.

Ryo clenched his teeth, his eyes glistening with barely contained rage. "I was just a child when it happened. I survived only because my parents sealed me away before the final assault. By the time I awoke… everything was gone."

Silence hung between them.

Shinsui slowly closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

"So, Hashirama's peace lasted only as long as he did," he murmured.

Ryo hesitated before nodding. "Yes."

Shinsui opened his eyes again, the fire within them more intense than ever.

"Just as I told him," he said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "True peace can only be achieved when the world is united under one banner."