This is a completed story. I will continue the Poseidon story when I have finished working on my other stories.
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Chapter 1: The Hero Who Fell Into the Sky
Let me just start by saying: if you ever wake up to find the sky bleeding, the ground shaking, and an eyeball the size of a city block glaring down at you from a monster made of pure chakra… yeah, it's probably not going to be a good day.
Unfortunately, this was that kind of day.
The world was toast. Cities? Charcoal briquettes. Rivers? More like blood-colored anxiety streams. Trees? Not even Groot could've survived. And in the middle of it all—like some kind of mythological cherry on top of the apocalypse sundae—two dudes were squaring off in the sky. Not just any dudes. We're talking about Naruto Uzumaki and Sasuke Uchiha.
And if you don't know who those guys are? Congratulations! You probably haven't been incinerated by a stray Rasenshuriken yet.
High above the desolation, floating like a chakra-born sun Immortal, Naruto stood inside his Kurama Avatar—a golden titan made of roaring energy and ancient beast-y rage. He looked like a celestial warrior-slash-tactical nuke, but his eyes? His eyes were human. Too human. Sad, tired, and stubborn as all get out.
"Sasuke, don't do this!" he shouted. His voice wasn't just loud—it mattered. It vibrated through the air, through the rocks, through the bones of anyone still breathing within a thousand miles. "Stop! I don't want to hurt you!"
Across from him, perched in a monstrous armored construct that looked like it'd been designed by a heavy metal band with anger issues, was Sasuke. His Sharingan spun. His Rinnegan pulsed. His smirk? Pure evil-ex-boyfriend energy.
"It's too late for that, Naruto," Sasuke replied, the wind screeching around his Susanoo. "For my dream to come true… you must die."
Then, because apparently dialogue wasn't dramatic enough, Sasuke launched hell. A vortex of fire and lightning exploded from his Susanoo, crackling with the fury of nine stolen Tailed Beasts. The sky screamed as black lightning met flame, forming a death spiral that could probably delete a mountain range or three.
Naruto didn't flinch.
"If that's how it has to be," he whispered, "then so be it."
He closed his eyes—and summoned everything. The planet's heartbeat. The breath of the wind. The stubborn pulse of every tree, every beast, every human still clinging to life below. It surged into him like a tsunami. His golden Kurama roared—literally roared, as if nature itself was pissed off—and hurled a Rasenshuriken the size of Manhattan straight into Sasuke's attack.
BOOM.
Let me rephrase that: reality had a panic attack. The sky tore open like a cheap paper bag. Space itself screamed "nope!" and ripped a hole right in the fabric of the universe. A swirling rift of white-hot chaos yawned open, and it did not look like it wanted to cuddle.
Naruto held on. Barely. His feet (and I use that term loosely because the man was literally floating) skidded backward in the air, the Kurama Avatar groaning. Across the vortex, Sasuke struggled to control his Susanoo as pieces of it crumbled off into the nothingness.
And then—because Naruto was, above all things, Naruto—he did the stupidest, bravest thing possible.
He saved him.
With a cry that could've broken mountains, Naruto stretched out a glowing chakra arm and shoved Sasuke clear of the rift. The force of it cracked the air like thunder. Sasuke spun away, flailing, falling toward the ruined earth like a broken comet.
Naruto didn't follow.
Because the backlash hit him like a freight train made of Immortals and regret. The Kurama Avatar shattered, gold light scattering like stars in a hurricane. Naruto—just a boy now, a human—was sucked into the rift.
Gone.
Just like that.
Sasuke crashed into the earth with all the grace of a dropped boulder. He dragged himself to his knees, coughing blood and regrets. Above him, the rift finally began to close. Whatever terrible thing they'd unleashed—whatever portal they'd torn into—was sealing shut, taking Naruto with it.
The last thing Sasuke saw before he collapsed was the stars.
Distant. Cold. Watching.
"You idiot…" Sasuke breathed, blood trickling down his chin. "Always trying to save everyone… even me."
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You'd think after living for thousands of years, the Olympian Immortals would have figured out how to handle things like mature, responsible adults.
Spoiler: They hadn't.
If anything, the longer they lived, the more dramatic they got. Imagine giving a five-year-old unlimited cosmic power and a throne on Mount Olympus. Now multiply that by a dozen, and you've got a decent picture of how things were going.
The incident started on a peaceful desert night—clear skies, stars twinkling like they were finally enjoying a break from celestial traffic, and no thunderbolts in sight.
Then the sky ripped open like a piece of notebook paper in the hands of a bored ADHD kid. A jagged rift blazed across the stars, and something—or someone—fell through it.
Now, when a body falls from the sky, most mortals scream or run for cover. Maybe both. But this wasn't just a body. It was a power source cranked to a million, wrapped in what looked suspiciously like a twelve-year-old kid in orange and black clothing.
He crashed into the sand like a dropped Immortal-powered meteor, creating a shockwave that kicked up a mini sandstorm and knocked a few sphinxes off their midnight snack patrol.
Elsewhere in the world, magical radars went nuts.
Monsters growled.
The Oracle of Delphi burped smoke and passed out.
And on Mount Olympus?
Zeus panicked.
Which is what he usually did when someone other than him looked even remotely important.
Zeus arrived first, of course—because punctuality is important when you're scared out of your toga.
Lightning arced from his fingertips as he hovered above the crater. His beard was especially frizzy (that always happened when he was nervous), and his golden eyes narrowed as he stared at the kid lying unconscious in the sand.
"Impossible," he muttered. "No being should carry this power. Not even a Titan."
Moments later, the other Olympians flashed into view with varying degrees of drama. Apollo landed on a sunbeam. Athena shimmered into existence with her usual calm. Artemis barely made a sound. Hera stepped through the air like it offended her.
Hera was the first to speak. "A child?" Her voice held no scorn, only surprise. "Are you sure this is the threat?"
Zeus growled. "You feel the aura, don't you? This child is not mortal. Not even demiImmortal. He reeks of something older. Wilder. Too powerful."
Apollo crouched beside the kid. "Huh. Weird energy signatures. Sun-powered but... not solar. Wind, nature, a fox spirit?" He blinked. "Hey, he's kind of cute. What's his name?"
"We don't ask for names," Zeus snapped. "We erase them."
Hera frowned. "Zeus, he's unconscious. He hasn't even spoken."
"Doesn't need to," Zeus shot back. "His power speaks for him. If this child wakes up, Olympus may fall. We divide the energy. We bury it in the divine realms. No arguments."
"But—" Hera began.
"Hera." His eyes crackled. "Enough."
The other Immortals hesitated. Even Athena, who looked like she was biting back a dissertation on morality and strategic blunders, eventually nodded.
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Olympian Council meetings are usually a chaotic mix of ego, drama, and questionable fashion choices—like if you crossed a boardroom with a reality TV show and added pyrotechnics. But today? Today felt different.
The air was thick. Literally. The atmosphere around Zeus shimmered like a heatwave of raw, divine panic. His lightning-infused toga snapped against the windless air as he stormed through the halls of Olympus, straight into the throne room.
Behind him trailed an entourage of immortals, each radiating their own brand of "I'm definitely more important than you." Hera floated in like the queen she was (probably rehearsing a new passive-aggressive comment for later), Athena adjusted her armor with grim precision, and Poseidon rolled his eyes hard enough to create minor tsunamis on the mortal plane.
And at the center of it all, lying limp on a marble dais that had definitely seen less dangerous days, was the source of their anxiety.
A boy.
No, a force of nature masquerading as a boy.
Naruto Uzumaki—though nobody here knew his name—lay still, unconscious, and filled to the brim with the kind of power that gave even the sun Immortal pause.
Zeus raised his hand, channeling enough divine energy to fry a Titan, and reached toward the child's chest.
Bad idea.
The energy snarled.
Not literally (though with the fox-like aura rippling off the kid, it wouldn't be surprising), but it definitely lashed out. Zeus's hand jerked back as if he'd touched a live wire—except this wire punched him in the pride.
"It resists me," he said, as if offended.
"Good," Poseidon muttered under his breath.
"Quiet, brother," Zeus snapped. "Assist me."
With reluctant sighs, the Immortals stepped forward—Athena, Apollo, Artemis, Hera, Hades (fashionably late, as usual), and more. Hands raised, power extended, they combined their strength to suppress the unstable storm of chakra swirling within Naruto's body.
And still, it fought back.
The floor cracked.
The air cracked.
Reality hiccupped.
Even Dionysus stopped sipping his Diet Coke and muttered, "Okay, this is worse than the time I turned Rome into a vineyard."
Athena's forehead was slick with sweat. "This isn't chaos," she muttered. "It's will. This boy's will doesn't want to be split."
"A threat to the natural order," Zeus growled. "We'll make him obey. Divide the energy. Now."
With a guttural shout that probably echoed into several dimensions, Zeus and the others forced the power apart.
The world shook.
A thunderclap echoed through every Immortally realm.
And finally—finally—the chakra split into ten blinding shards, each one swirling with unimaginable potency, like the soul of a sun trapped in a snow globe.
"Now what?" Apollo asked, rubbing his wrists. "We bury them in a time capsule? Toss them in Tartarus? Use them as nightlights?"
Zeus turned toward the forge.
Hephaestus had been silent all this time, standing in the corner like a very muscular statue with serious "I didn't sign up for this" energy.
"You will craft artifacts," Zeus commanded, voice hard as diamond. "One for each fragment. They must be indestructible. Divine. Impossibly secure. No mortal can ever unite them."
Hephaestus blinked slowly. "Sure, Dad. No pressure."
"Do not fail me," Zeus added, glowing eyes boring into him.
Hephaestus sighed, eyeing the ten shards now hovering like nuclear jellybeans over the marble.
"…This is gonna be a long week."
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Most people think of Immortals as these all-powerful, marble-chiseled beings who lounge around on clouds and throw lightning bolts when they get bored.
But if you ever found yourself adrift in the endless void between worlds—which I don't recommend unless you've packed snacks and emotional support—you'd learn something important: even immortals get lonely.
Even Primordial ones.
In that vast emptiness, beyond the reach of Olympus or even Tartarus, a single soul floated—cracked, flickering, barely holding itself together. If souls were lightbulbs, this one was the last spark in a post-apocalyptic Home Depot.
But no matter how dim it got, it didn't flicker out.
Because it was stubborn.
Because it had something most ancient beings lacked—hope, forged in pain, tempered by love.
This was Naruto Uzumaki's soul. And it was, frankly, on its last chakra-infused legs.
Then came the green light.
Soft. Healing. Comforting.
Kind of like wrapping yourself in a weighted blanket and being told your trauma's finally on a vacation.
"Poor little child," a voice said, echoing like music in a dream.
A figure emerged from the light, and let me tell you—if you're picturing some glowing anime Immortaldess with magical hair and an aura of mystery... you're only halfway there.
She wasn't just beautiful.
She was beauty.
She was Gaea, the primordial personification of Earth—but this wasn't the wrathful, Titan-mother version that most myths feared. This was something older, deeper. A lonely mother. The soul of the planet, in her truest, most vulnerable form.
Green eyes like spring after a thousand winters. Hair like the void itself. A smile that hadn't been used in centuries.
And in her arms, she cradled the boy like the universe had gifted her a child of sunlight and heartbreak.
"How do you endure such pain and hatred?" she whispered, brushing her fingers over the glowing soul. "How do you still remain… kind?"
No answer, of course. Naruto was still unconscious, his energy scattered across dimensions, sealed in artifacts, and probably giving Hephaestus migraines.
But even unconscious, his soul felt her. Like it knew it was safe. And slowly, like a dream finding form, his body began to reappear in her arms—blond hair, whisker marks, that faint little frown of someone who'd rather be saving the world than taking a nap.
She pulled him closer, resting his head against her heart.
"I feel alone," Gaea said, her voice trembling like a leaf in windless air. "Even among Immortals. Even in creation itself. But you… you remind me that warmth still exists."
She tilted her head, brushing hair from his face. "Would it be wrong to keep you? Just for a while? Away from Olympus. Away from war. Just… here, with me."
She wasn't asking for an answer.
She was asking the void.
And for once, the void was silent.
No cruel laughter.
No judgment.
Just two beings—one ancient, one impossibly young—alone in a space where time had no meaning, and pain had finally paused.
She traced his face again. Not to claim. Not to bind. Just to know.
Because in all her eternity, she'd never found a soul so pure.
So defiant in the face of sorrow.
So deeply connected to her element—life, nature, healing. He was a storm tamed by compassion, a wildfire turned warm hearth.
And in her timeless heart, something unfamiliar began to bloom:
Hope.
"I will not trap you," she murmured. "But I will protect you. Until you awaken… and choose."
She looked down at him, smiling softly. "Stay with me for now, little one. Rest. Dream. Heal."
And as she cradled him, she wove the void into a cradle of green. A dreamscape of peace. A sanctuary from Immortals, monsters, curses… and even destiny.
And in the stillness, Naruto—though unconscious—smiled.
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Time works funny in Immortal-realms. Outside, it had been a week. Inside Gaia's domain, it could've been centuries—or just a really long nap after a chakra crash.
But now…
He awoke.
"Awaken, my child; you have slept long enough."
The voice was soft. Not the kind of soft that coddles you, but the kind that heals. Like sunlight filtered through leaves, or the first breeze after rain.
Naruto's eyes opened slowly, and the first thing he saw wasn't sky or ceiling.
It was green—not a color, but a presence. Gentle. Vast. Alive.
He sat up slowly, blinking at the Immortaldess before him.
Long dark hair like flowing night. Skin aglow with life. Emerald eyes that held both eons of wisdom and a loneliness so profound, even Naruto felt it in his bones.
"Where… am I?" he asked, voice hoarse, eyes flicking from the radiant garden around them to her watchful form. "Who are you?"
"You are within Nature's domain," she said, each word laced with affection, as if simply speaking to him brought her joy. "And I am Gaia, the Primordial Mother. How do you feel, my child? Does it hurt anywhere?"
Naruto hesitated. The weariness in his body wasn't pain exactly. It was more like… emptiness. Like a campfire someone forgot to stoke.
He ran a hand down his chest, then paused.
No Kurama.
No chakra beast rumbling in the background.
He felt… small.
"I feel alright, I guess. But something's off. Like… something inside me's gone."
He frowned. "What happened?"
Gaia stepped closer. Her presence was calm, but her voice dipped with sorrow.
"Your power—your essence—was stolen by the ones called Olympians. They feared you, feared what you represented. So they tore your energy apart and forged it into ten artifacts."
She hesitated, her green eyes darkening like storm-tossed forests.
"I could not stop them. Even I, bound by ancient laws, could only watch."
Naruto's fists clenched. "Olympians?"
He was no stranger to being misunderstood. Feared. Hated. But this was murder.
A cosmic dismemberment. Done not by monsters… but by Immortals.
"And why do you call me your child?" he asked after a pause. "I'm the son of Kushina Uzumaki."
Gaia's gaze softened instantly. "I know. And I mean no disrespect to your mother. But your soul… it resonates with mine more than anything I've encountered. You embody everything I've longed for—a being in harmony with life, despite pain. You… feel like my child."
He stared at her for a long moment.
Then, slowly, a smile crept across his face. "You seem like a nice person. And I don't feel any bad intent from you. So… yeah. I don't mind."
Gaia smiled—truly smiled—and if stars could sigh in relief, they would have.
But the calm didn't last.
Her tone grew bitter, almost venomous. "The Olympians… they are my grandchildren. Reckless, prideful, and cruel. You must see the truth yourself, but I will not lie: it was they who tore your body apart."
Naruto's face darkened. His fingers dug into his knees. "Are you sure?"
"I witnessed it all," Gaia replied. "And I failed to protect you. But I will not fail again."
There was silence.
Then—"They sound like some real assholes in need of a good beating," Naruto said, voice low and steady.
It wasn't rage.
It was resolve.
"Thank you," he added after a pause. "For giving me another chance. Even if I'm not at full power, at least I get to keep moving forward."
"You are not powerless," Gaia said firmly. "With my blessing, you retain elemental affinity—your bond to nature lives on. No mortal can rival you. And in time, as the fragments are found… your true strength will return."
Naruto grinned—an old, familiar grin that promised headaches to anyone who thought he'd stay down for long.
"You're the best, Gaia. I owe you big-time. And if there's one thing an Uzumaki never does…" He stepped forward and, without hesitation, wrapped his arms around her.
"…It's forget a debt."
Gaia blinked. For the first time in eons, someone hugged her.
No worship. No fear. No manipulation.
Just warmth.
She hugged him back, and something ancient and cold within her… finally broke.