I became naruto charachter

DISCLAIMER

I might cause huge changes in story and might as well have to rework it and this absolutely fan based novel and by no means I am trying to rip off sir kishimoto's writing its just I liked the idea and decieded to make it.

Anybody who wishes to make a manga or comic out of this is free to do so I just have one request that please mention si

r kishimoto and blooddemon as writers.

The oman race

The oman race was a race organized in the sawordsman village anybody who was any kid from age 5 to 10 could participate in this race . It was a annual festival of the village . kids from age 5 to 10 participate to collect the shadow orbs kept in the chaber of village head , the children ahd to just cross a river with boats and the winner would get to perform as the god in the next performance on stage the opportunity to perform as a god was considered to be holy .

On that day The village was alive with excitement! Drums thundered, ribbons fluttered, and the scent of festival treats filled the air. The children gathered at the riverbank, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Today was The Great Shadow Orb Race!—a wild, chaotic dash across the river where the winner would claim the honor of playing the god in the grand festival play.

Among the racers, two names stood out—Jinwoo and Akari.

Jinwoo was known for his brilliant (and totally not suspicious) ideas. If there was a way to bend the rules without breaking them, he would find it. But standing beside him was his biggest rival, Akari—quick, clever, and annoyingly good at everything. Unlike Jinwoo, Akari didn't rely on tricks. He was just fast.

Jinwoo leaned over, whispering, "Hope you don't mind getting wet, Akari."

Akari smirked. "Hope you don't mind losing. Again."

Before Jinwoo could reply, the village head, an old man with a belly full of laughter, raised his fan and shouted—

"Ready… set… GO!"

The race launched into pure madness!

Children shoved off into the water, paddles splashing wildly. Some sped forward like professionals, others spun in helpless circles, and a few had already capsized.

Jinwoo had a plan. Instead of paddling like a normal person, he had tied a small bag of fish food to the back of his boat. The moment he hit the water, a swarm of hungry river fish followed, creating just enough of a current to push him forward.

"Ha! Genius!" Jinwoo cackled, zooming past a struggling group of kids.

Akari, paddling effortlessly beside him, raised an eyebrow. "You brought fish food?"

Jinwoo grinned. "Work smarter, not harder."

Then—SPLASH!

A huge fish leaped out of the water, straight into Jinwoo's face. His boat rocked violently. "AHHH—!" KERPLUNK!

Jinwoo resurfaced, coughing and sputtering. His boat had floated ahead without him.

Akari howled with laughter. "Work smarter, huh?"

Jinwoo flailed, scrambling back onto his boat. "That was not part of the plan."

The Final Sprint!

The finish line was near—the village head's chamber, where the Shadow Orbs gleamed in the afternoon light. Akari and Jinwoo were neck and neck, with the rest of the racers close behind.

Jinwoo, soaking wet but determined, had one last trick up his sleeve. He scooped up a handful of water and flung it at Akari's face.

"HEY!" Akari blinked, momentarily stunned.

That was all Jinwoo needed! He paddled forward with everything he had, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.

But Akari wasn't going down that easily. With a final burst of speed, he shot ahead, jumped out of his boat, and dashed toward the Shadow Orbs—snatching one just seconds before Jinwoo!

The crowd roared!

The Aftermath

Jinwoo stomped up to Akari, dripping wet and panting. "Ugh, I totally had you."

Akari smirked, tossing the orb in his hand. "Oh yeah? Tell that to this."

Jinwoo groaned, then broke into a grin. "Fine, you won. But I almost had you."

Akari slung an arm around Jinwoo's shoulder, laughing. "Yeah, yeah. Better luck next year, fish boy."

And as the festival celebrations kicked off, the two rivals—one victorious, one so close—already started planning for next year's race. Because if there was one thing Jinwoo never did…

…it was give up.

The festival celebrations were in full swing, but Jinwoo and Akari had other priorities—ramen.

After all that paddling, splashing, and nearly drowning (at least in Jinwoo's case), they were starving. So, like always, they headed straight to their favorite little ramen stall near the village square, tucked between lantern-lit shops. The owner, an old man with a long white beard and a belly just as round as his soup bowls, grinned as they sat down.

"The usual, boys?" he asked, already ladling out steaming broth.

Jinwoo slumped onto the counter. "Make it extra big. I need to eat away my defeat."

Akari smirked. "Still salty about the race?"

Jinwoo pointed his chopsticks at him. "I would've won if that fish hadn't tried to assassinate me."

Akari chuckled as their bowls arrived—thick noodles, rich broth, slices of tender pork, and a perfectly boiled egg resting on top. The scent alone was enough to make Jinwoo forget his troubles.

They ate like they always did—loud, messy, and with zero concern for table manners. Jinwoo slurped his noodles so fast he nearly inhaled them, while Akari enjoyed his food like he knew this would be the best meal of his life.

The Arrival

BOOM!

A deafening explosion shook the village.

The ground trembled. The lanterns overhead flickered. The joyous laughter of the festival turned to screams.

Jinwoo's chopsticks froze midair. Akari turned toward the source of the blast, his eyes widening.

Above the village square—it hovered.

A being unlike anything they had ever seen.

Its skin was pure white, glowing unnaturally under the night sky. It had three eyes—two like a human's, and a third, vertical one in the middle of its forehead, watching everything with a cold, unreadable gaze. It was dressed in flowing robes that shimmered like liquid moonlight, and despite floating in midair, it made no sound.

People collapsed to their knees in horror.

"It's the god…" someone whispered.

"The real god…"

Jinwoo's stomach twisted. The playful, mischievous atmosphere from before had vanished, replaced by an air so heavy it felt like the whole village was sinking into the earth.

Akari clenched his fists. "Jinwoo… we need to move."

But Jinwoo barely heard him. He was still staring at the being, at the way its third eye slowly, slowly turned…

…and locked onto him.

A shiver ran down his spine.

The race, the ramen, all of it suddenly felt so small.

Something was very, very wrong.

And the night was just beginning.

The God's Return

The festival, once filled with laughter and music, was now drowned in screams.

Above the village square, the pale-skinned being hovered, its three eyes scanning the terrified people below. Despite the chaos, it remained eerily calm. When it spoke, its voice wasn't loud—it was absolute.

"I have come to reclaim what is mine."

A chill swept through the air. The villagers trembled.

Then—a single movement.

The god-being lifted one pale hand—its fingers impossibly long, its nails gleaming like sharpened ivory. And with a flick—

BOOM!

A shockwave ripped through the crowd. Entire market stalls were obliterated in an instant. People were flung into the air like ragdolls, their cries vanishing in the explosion of dust and debris. The very ground cracked, as if reality itself was struggling to contain this entity's presence.

Jinwoo and Akari barely managed to dive behind the ramen stall before the wave hit, splinters and stone flying past them like deadly shrapnel.

Jinwoo coughed, shaking off dust. "W-What the hell is that thing?!"

Akari, his usual smirk nowhere to be found, gritted his teeth. "Something we shouldn't be anywhere near."

More screams filled the air as the god-being descended. It walked as if gravity itself bent to its will. It gazed upon the cowering villagers, its expression unreadable.

And then—it raised its hand again.

The people braced for death.

The village square was in ruins. Fire crackled, the scent of dust and burnt wood thick in the air. The god-being stood motionless in the center of the destruction, its three eyes unblinking, its expression eerily calm.

The villagers, trembling and broken, had given up hope. Until—

A whirlwind of killing intent filled the air.

A presence so overwhelming that even the god-being's three eyes flickered with interest.

They had arrived.

The Free Swordsmen

Unlike ordinary warriors, these swordsmen did not belong to any kingdom, clan, or order. They were legends in their own right—wanderers, mercenaries, duelists, and forgotten gods of the blade. Each one could shape the course of history alone, their names whispered in every corner of the world.

And now, they stood together.

The first to step forward was a giant of a man, easily eight feet tall, carrying a broadsword so massive it looked more like a slab of iron than a weapon. His voice rumbled like thunder—

"We've heard the rumors. A god walks among men?" He planted his sword into the ground, cracking the earth beneath him. "Let's see if gods bleed."

Beside him, a grinning woman in red twirled two curved blades, her footwork impossibly light. She tilted her head at the god-being.

"Tch. I was expecting something uglier. You're kinda pretty." Her smile sharpened. "Let's fix that."

A young swordsman, barely in his twenties, adjusted the cloth wrapping around his katana's hilt. He was the weakest among them—and yet, his strength alone was enough to wipe out an entire shinobi village.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze locked on the god-being. "You picked the wrong place to descend."

More arrived—some standing atop rooftops, others walking through the dust and rubble.

There was the one-eyed swordsman, whose blade had never once been drawn without tasting blood.

The barefoot ronin, who carried no weapon but claimed he could cut a man down with his fingers alone.

The silent executioner, whose very presence turned the air cold.

And at the center of them all, the village head stood firm, his ancient sword gleaming under the festival lights, his aura alone enough to silence the cries of the frightened villagers.

"You have made a grave mistake." His voice was calm but absolute.

The God Smiles

For the first time since its arrival, the god-being reacted.

Its lips curled into a smile.

Not one of mockery.

Not one of anger.

But of pure, unshaken delight.

"Interesting."

Without hesitation, the battle began.

The Price of a God's Wrath

The battle raged behind them, but Jinwoo and Akari had no time to watch.

While the legendary swordsmen clashed with the god-being, the two friends were racing against time, guiding villagers toward the river. The boats rocked violently as terrified men, women, and children piled in, desperate to escape the destruction.

"Move! Get in! Just row, don't look back!" Jinwoo shouted, pushing another boat into the water.

Akari grabbed an elderly man who had fallen and helped him aboard. "We're almost there! Keep moving!"

The air shook with explosions. The clash of steel and divine fury echoed behind them, but Jinwoo refused to turn around.

He knew what he would see—a battlefield where mortals challenged a god.

But right now, his fight was here.

Then—the sky ignited.

The God's Wrath

From above, the god-being raised its hand, its three eyes glowing with an unnatural light.

Dark orbs formed in the air.

Not just any orbs—they looked exactly like the Shadow Orbs the village head had protected for centuries.

And then, with a simple flick of its wrist—

It rained death.

The orbs shot down like meteors, each one obliterating anything they touched. Entire houses vanished, turned to dust. The river boiled where they struck. Even the swordsmen, powerful as they were, had to evade, unable to block such devastating force.

One of the orbs was heading straight toward a woman clutching her infant.

Jinwoo saw it.

So did Akari.

And without hesitation—Akari moved.

Akari's Final Moment

In one swift motion, Akari grabbed the woman and flung her aside—just as the orb struck him.

It didn't explode.

It simply pierced straight through his chest.

For a moment, everything was silent.

Jinwoo's breath caught in his throat. No.

Akari staggered back, his usual smirk replaced by wide, shocked eyes. He looked down at the massive hole in his torso, the darkness consuming his body from the inside out.

His sword slipped from his fingers.

His legs gave out.

And before Jinwoo could reach him—Akari collapsed.

Jinwoo skidded to his knees beside him, his hands trembling as he grabbed his friend. "Akari—AKARI!"

Akari's breathing was shallow. Blood dripped from his lips, but even now, he smiled—that same annoying, cocky grin.

"Guess… you were right… about getting wet," he rasped. "Should've… stayed on the boat…"

Jinwoo shook his head violently. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! You're gonna be fine! I'll get a healer—"

But Akari's body was already fading.

His skin darkened, his form disintegrating into small embers of light—as if the god's attack was erasing his very existence.

Jinwoo watched helplessly.

Akari exhaled softly.

"…Looks like… you win this time…"

And then—he was gone.

Alone Under the Bridge

The last boat had left. The villagers had escaped. The warriors still fought in the distance.

And Jinwoo was alone.

He stood under the bridge, his hands clenched into fists, his whole body trembling. The river water lapped against his ankles, but he didn't move.

His best friend was gone.

The festival, the race, the ramen, their endless rivalry—all of it had led to this.

Tears blurred his vision, but through them, he looked up at the battle raging above.

His heart pounded.

His grief burned.

And for the first time in his life—Jinwoo wanted nothing more than to just get akari to breathe again

Jinwoo wanted nothing more than his only friend .

The Death of a God

The battlefield was silent.

The last swordsman had fallen. Their bodies, once filled with overwhelming power, now lay motionless beside the being they had fought.

And at the center of the carnage, the god stood still.

For the first time since its arrival, it staggered.

Its three glowing eyes flickered. Its pale skin, once unblemished, now bore deep, fatal wounds.

The swordsmen had failed to survive, but they had succeeded in one thing—

They had killed a god.

A faint, almost amused smile crossed the god's lips. It had underestimated them.

Its body, despite its divine nature, was breaking apart. It was dying.

As its strength faded, it raised a trembling hand, looking at its own existence coming undone. A being that stood beyond mortals… struck down by them.

"Hah… Interesting…"

And then—it collapsed.

The god's body crumbled, its form turning into an ethereal light that slowly scattered into the night sky. The presence that had once made the world tremble with fear was gone.

But there was no victory.

Because all the warriors who had stood against it were gone too.

Their lifeless bodies lay where they had fallen, next to the very god they had fought to destroy.

No cheers. No celebration. Only the stillness of death.

Jinwoo, Powerless

Jinwoo watched everything.

From under the bridge, where he had taken shelter, he had seen the last blows exchanged. He had seen the god's fall. He had seen the final, unmoving bodies of the legendary swordsmen who had once seemed invincible.

But more than anything, he had seen Akari die.

Now, nothing moved.

The festival was gone. The village was gone. The people were gone.

And Jinwoo?

He was still the same.

Still just a child.

Still weak.

Still powerless.

He stared blankly at Akari's lifeless form, lying near the water's edge. Just hours ago, they were racing boats, eating ramen, arguing about who would win the festival's grand honor.

Now, Jinwoo was alone.

His fingers dug into the wooden planks of the bridge. His nails scraped against the surface, his body trembling—not from cold, but from something deeper.

He gritted his teeth.

He clenched his fists so hard they bled.

But he could do nothing.

The world had shattered before his eyes, and he had just stood there.

The wind carried away the last embers of destruction, and in the distance, the sky began to clear. The night was as peaceful as ever.

As if nothing had ever happened.

As if the gods had never descended.

As if his best friend had never died.

Jinwoo stayed under that bridge, staring at Akari's body, until the sun began to rise.

And in that moment, something inside him broke forever

The Forgotten Child of the Sword Village

The leaves rustled as a group of shinobi moved swiftly through the silent ruins of the once-great Sword Village. Their movements were cautious but precise—trained killers, honed by war and discipline.

At the front of the group, Minato Namikaze, the Fourth Hokage of Konoha, led the way. His golden hair swayed in the wind, his piercing blue eyes scanning the destruction ahead with a somber expression.

They had been sent on this mission a month ago—to aid the legendary Free Swordsmen in their battle against the unknown god. But now…

They were too late.

As they stepped onto the cracked stone roads, their eyes widened in horror.

The Village of the Dead

The Sword Village was nothing more than a graveyard.

Ruined buildings, scorched land, and bodies upon bodies—some of the greatest warriors to have ever lived, now reduced to rotting corpses. The god's remains had long since faded into nothing, but its destruction remained.

One of the shinobi, a scarred veteran, knelt beside the remains of a swordsman and placed a hand over his chest in silent respect.

"So, this is how they died…" his voice was grim. "Even these warriors couldn't stop it."

Another shinobi, a younger kunoichi, shivered as she looked around. "I can't believe this… We should've been here."

Minato didn't respond. He only stared ahead—his instincts were screaming.

Something was still here.

Something alive.

Then, they heard it.

A faint, wet sound.

A slow, rhythmic chewing.

The group of shinobi immediately tensed, their hands going to their weapons. Someone was still here.

Minato turned his gaze toward the collapsed remains of a bridge. And that's when he saw it.

The shinobi stood frozen.

Their trained senses, honed from years of war and bloodshed, had faced monsters, demons, and the worst humanity had to offer.

But this?

This was something else.

The boy sat there, his frail frame hunched over a body unlike any other.

It wasn't one of the fallen swordsmen.

It wasn't even human.

It was the god.

Even in its decayed state, the corpse of the three-eyed being exuded a strange, lingering presence. Divine. Otherworldly. Unnatural. Its flesh was not like mortal flesh. Its blood did not pool like human blood. Its form—though broken—still seemed wrong, as if it didn't belong in this world.

And yet—

Jinwoo was eating it.

His small hands tore into the god's chest cavity, pulling out what could have once been a heart, or something close to it. The organ pulsed faintly, releasing faint, eerie wisps of light with every bite the child took.

His face was blank. His expression void of emotion.

This wasn't desperation.

This wasn't madness.

This was something else entirely.

A shinobi stumbled back, horror in his voice. "What… what is he doing!?"

The young kunoichi covered her mouth. "He's eating a god… No, that's impossible—no human can do that! No human should be able to do that!"

Minato didn't speak.

His sharp eyes locked onto Jinwoo's body.

At first, the child looked weak, his frame thin from hunger and survival. But as he devoured the god's flesh, his presence shifted.

The air around him changed.

The dying embers of divine energy that once belonged to the fallen god didn't fade.

They were being absorbed.

Jinwoo's breath came out slow and steady, his dark eyes void of light—yet within them, something stirred.

Something beyond human comprehension.

Minato Steps Forward

The Hokage finally moved.

His shinobi were too shaken to act, but Minato had seen far too much in his life to hesitate now.

In a flash, he was gone from his spot—reappearing just a foot away from Jinwoo.

The boy didn't react.

He simply kept eating.

Minato crouched down, his voice calm but firm. "Jinwoo."

This time, the boy slowly lifted his head. Blood dripped from his chin. Pieces of divine flesh stuck between his teeth. His once-blank eyes slowly focused on Minato.

There was no fear in them.

No confusion.

Just… emptiness.

Minato didn't flinch. He met the child's stare with quiet determination.

Then, he asked the only question that mattered.

"Why are you eating it?"

Jinwoo blinked once.

Then, after a long pause, he finally spoke.

"…Because I was hungry."

Minato's breath hitched for just a fraction of a second.

Not because of the words themselves—but because of the way Jinwoo had said them.

It was a simple answer. A normal one.

But there was something wrong about it.

Something unnatural.

Jinwoo had spoken in a way that felt too calm, too accepting. Like this was normal. Like this was just survival.

Like he had been born for this.

And as Minato continued to watch, he saw it—

The faintest glow beneath Jinwoo's skin. The remnants of divine energy, shifting within him.

The god was dead.

But something of it still lived.

And it was inside this child.