Naruto : Infinite Buff!

The sharp, metallic click of the key turning in the lock echoed throughout the chamber, slicing through the oppressive silence like a blade scraping against stone. The sound wasn't rushed, but deliberate, each turn precise. Amatsu's ears caught the faint delay between the clicks, a subtle rhythm betraying the guard's impatience.

The rusted iron door creaked open, the groan loud and grating, dragging across the silence like claws over raw flesh. The fetid air of the corridor beyond drifted in, bringing with it an overwhelming scent—a mix of damp rot, stale blood, and something more, something indescribable yet unmistakably tied to death.

Amatsu's dark eyes flicked to the guard, scanning him with cold efficiency. His stance was balanced, weight evenly distributed, his steps betraying no hesitation. The man wasn't arrogant, but practiced—his movements were smooth, calculated, as if honed by years of repetition.

His gaze shifted, tracing the faint stiffness in the guard's right wrist. A concealed kunai, likely strapped beneath the sleeve. The subtle adjustment of the wrist confirmed it—a tiny, involuntary movement that only someone trained would notice. Amatsu's mind turned cold, calculating: 'Concealed weapon, secondary threat. Grappling favored in close combat. Head-on engagement guarantees death. Exploit rhythm, disrupt balance, strike where his guard falters.'

The guard's presence was oppressive, his aura radiating efficiency and cruelty in equal measure. His gloved hands gripped the rusted bars of the cell with an ease that spoke of strength, but not brutishness. He didn't need to intimidate. His silence carried the promise of violence more effectively than words ever could.

"Out."

The command cracked through the air like a whip.

The children froze. Their hollow eyes darted to the open door, then to the guard, their terror chaining them to the cold stone floor. Some clung to the walls, pressing their frail, trembling forms against the unyielding stone as though it could somehow shield them. Others huddled together, their pitiful murmurs barely audible above the steady drip of water echoing through the chamber.

A boy near the back of the group muttered prayers under his breath, his voice shaking with desperation. A girl with tangled hair pressed her face into her knees, her body trembling violently as she tried to stifle her sobs.

---

The air was heavy, thick like the weight of stones pressing against the chest. The underground hall stretched wide, its vastness shrouded in shadow. Damp stone walls glistened faintly under the light of flickering torches, their uneven flames casting trembling shadows that danced like restless spirits. The ceiling loomed high above, lost to the dark, its shape and height unknown, as if the hall extended into an infinite void.

The orphans shuffled forward in a loose, disorganized mass, their frail forms illuminated in patches by the uneven light. Bare feet scraped against the damp floor, the slick stone threatening to trip them with every step. The smell of rot and mildew filled the air, mingling with faint traces of dried blood and sweat, a stench that clung to the senses with cruel persistence.

Amatsu walked among them. His movements were steady, quiet, precise—utterly unlike the stumbling, panicked children around him. His dark eyes scanned the hall, absorbing every detail with detached calculation. The ceiling's height, the flickering torchlight, the dampness of the air—all of it entered his mind, dissected and stored. His gaze lingered on the walls, noting the faint condensation that gleamed like tears under the light.

The raised platform at the center of the hall drew his attention next. It was slick with dark stains, their edges dried and cracked, but their centers still glistening faintly in the dim light. Above it, two figures loomed like statues carved from shadow.

---

The first was Hanzo the Salamander. His mask caught the light, its smooth surface reflecting the flickering flames, while his breathing apparatus hissed softly with each inhale and exhale. It was a sound that seemed to fill the hall, rhythmic and mechanical, intruding on every corner of the oppressive silence. His presence was suffocating, his figure unmoving as he leaned forward slightly, his gaze sweeping across the trembling crowd of orphans.

The second figure stood beside him, shrouded in shadow. Danzo Shimura. His posture was rigid yet calm, his lone visible eye glinting beneath the dim light. Where Hanzo's presence radiated menace, Danzo's was colder, sharper. His gaze cut through the room like a blade, lingering on no one for more than a moment but missing nothing.

The platform itself was surrounded by masked ninjas, their silent forms stationed like unyielding sentinels along the walls. Each one stood with perfect discipline, their weapons gleaming faintly in the torchlight. Their masks, blank and featureless, erased any trace of humanity, leaving only the suggestion of cold efficiency.

---

The children shuffled closer to the platform, their movements slow and reluctant, driven forward by the guards' silent gestures. Whispers rippled through the crowd—soft, broken fragments of fear and despair. A muffled sob broke the rhythm, quickly stifled, but its echo lingered in the cold air.

Amatsu's gaze shifted briefly to the children around him. Their hollow eyes darted nervously, searching for some unseen salvation. Some clung to one another, their small hands gripping desperately as if the fragile bonds between them could hold back the tide of inevitable doom. Others stared blankly ahead, their pale faces devoid of expression, resigned to whatever fate awaited them.

A boy stumbled, his thin legs giving way beneath him. He fell hard against the stone floor, the sound of his body hitting the damp surface breaking the fragile silence. The guards didn't pause. One reached down effortlessly, grabbing the boy by the arm and hauling him upright. The boy whimpered, his body trembling as he struggled to stay on his feet.

Amatsu's eyes flicked to the scene, observing it without emotion. Weakness was punished here. Hesitation was not tolerated.

His gaze returned to the platform, his focus narrowing.

---

Hanzo leaned forward, his breathing apparatus hissing louder as his voice broke the silence. The distortion added weight to his words, each syllable carrying a cold, mechanical authority that crushed all noise in the hall.

"Look at them," he said, his words slow and deliberate. His gaze swept across the crowd, lingering briefly on the faces of the children. "Scraps of a war-torn world. Cast aside, forgotten. Weak."

The word hung in the air like a blade, sharp and final.

Hanzo's mask tilted slightly as he straightened, his tone growing colder. "Yet, even among the weak, there are those who can be shaped. Broken, reforged. The rest…" He paused, his voice trailing off into silence, as if even the thought of the others wasn't worth finishing.

Danzo stood still, his visible eye scanning the crowd with clinical detachment. He didn't need to speak. His silence was its own statement, an extension of his authority.

At a small gesture from him, the masked ninjas stationed along the walls began to move. Their movements were fluid, precise, and utterly devoid of hesitation. One by one, they descended into the crowd, their expressions hidden behind their masks as they began the process of sorting.

---

The hall descended into chaos.

The ninjas moved like shadows, weaving through the crowd with cold efficiency. They grabbed children without warning, their hands unyielding as they dragged them toward one side or the other. Whimpers turned into cries, and cries turned into screams as the children were separated. Some clung to each other desperately, their cries for help ringing hollow in the oppressive air.

The right side filled quickly. These were the children with the strongest physiques, the ones who had survived the streets and the war with their bodies intact. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with fear, but their frames betrayed the resilience that had kept them alive this long.

The left side grew more slowly. These were the chosen few, picked not just for their physical traits but for something more. A name, a bloodline, a latent potential that set them apart. Each child sent to the left side was inspected more thoroughly, the ninjas pausing as they whispered observations to one another.

Amatsu stood still as the chaos swirled around him. His gaze remained calm, his breathing even. He watched the ninjas' movements, noting their patterns, their methods. Each step, each gesture revealed something about their priorities, their criteria.

He saw the way they shifted their weight, the slight stiffness in their stances from hours of standing in disciplined silence. He noted the way their eyes darted beneath their masks, searching for signs of strength or weakness. Every detail was absorbed, analyzed, and stored.

Amatsu understood the division at a glance. The right side was raw material—bodies to be used, molded, discarded. The left side was something more. Potential.

He waited.

---

A Root ninja stopped in front of him, his masked face tilting slightly as he examined Amatsu. The silence stretched between them, the ninja's posture stiffening as his gaze lingered.

Another ninja moved closer, exchanging a silent gesture with the first.

Amatsu didn't move. His expression remained calm, his dark eyes unflinching.

The ninja turned his head slightly, glancing up at the platform. Danzo's lone eye locked onto Amatsu, narrowing slightly as if assessing him from a distance.

"Send him to the left side," Danzo said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

The ninja obeyed without hesitation, gripping Amatsu's arm firmly.

Amatsu didn't resist. He allowed himself to be led forward, his expression unchanged.

---

Amatsu stepped into the left side of the hall, his movements calm and deliberate. The children around him were a stark contrast—eyes wide, bodies trembling with fear. Their gazes darted nervously, lingering on the guards, the seals, the platform, and each other. The air among them was thick with despair, heavier even than the oppressive energy radiating from the seals on the walls.

Amatsu's expression didn't change. His dark eyes swept over the children, cataloging their behavior, their postures, their weakness. They were different from the ones on the right side—physically stronger, yes, but their fear was no less consuming. Some clung to the faint hope that being sent to the left side meant salvation, while others seemed to understand the truth: no side offered safety.

He noted the slight differences in their movements. The children here stood a little straighter, their frames healthier, their gazes not entirely vacant. But fear still ruled them. It clung to them like a second skin, seeping from their trembling hands and quivering breaths.

Amatsu's thoughts remained cold and detached. Strength mattered here, but strength alone wouldn't save them. Fear was a poison, and these children were drowning in it.

He turned his gaze forward, back to the platform where Danzo and Hanzo stood. Their figures loomed above the hall, unmoving, their presence like shadows etched into the stone.

---

The sorting process continued. Masks moved through the crowd with mechanical precision, dragging more children to either side. The right side overflowed quickly, the cries and whimpers of the orphans blending into a cacophony of despair. The left side grew slower, the numbers sparse.

Amatsu stood silently, his gaze fixed ahead. He could feel the weight of the guards' eyes on him, the way their attention lingered for just a moment too long. His composure didn't waver. Every second of their scrutiny only confirmed his suspicions: they had noticed him.

He didn't flinch under their gaze. Fear was a luxury he couldn't afford.

---

From the platform, Danzo's visible eye remained fixed on Amatsu. His expression was unreadable, his thoughts shielded behind the cold, calculating glint of his gaze. Hanzo, standing beside him, tilted his head slightly, the faint hiss of his breathing apparatus breaking the silence.

The oppressive silence of the hall was broken by Hanzo's distorted voice. "That one," he said, his mask tilting slightly toward Amatsu. "He doesn't look away."

Danzo didn't respond immediately, his lone visible eye narrowing as he studied the boy. Amatsu's calm, calculating gaze stood apart from the trembling orphans around him.

"No fear," Danzo said finally, his tone cold and clinical. "But no defiance either. He calculates."

Hanzo's mechanical laugh echoed, hollow and sharp. "Sharp edges are fragile. They break under pressure. And when they do, they can cut the hand that wields them."

Danzo's gaze lingered a moment longer before shifting. "If he survives, we'll see if he's worth the effort."

Hanzo's mask tilted, his gaze falling on another child—a small girl no older than six or seven. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly under the torchlight, veins of black spreading from her irises like blooming petals. Around her feet, faint traces of crimson mist curled, dissipating into the air.

"That one," Hanzo said, his tone darker. "She's different."

Danzo followed his gaze, his voice colder now. "A Kekkei Genkai. Blood-based?. Flower-blood? Unstable, but powerful."

Hanzo chuckled again. "That's no ordinary power. She's a flower—beautiful, but poisonous. Flowers like her bloom through blood."

Danzo's eye narrowed. "A weapon in the making. If she survives, she'll be forged into something unparalleled."

Hanzo tilted his mask. "And if she can't be forged? Poison like that kills everything it touches."

Danzo's voice hardened. "If she cannot be shaped, she will serve as an example of failure. But if she can..." His eye lingered on the girl. "She will belong to Konoha."

Hanzo's tone grew mocking. "Do not forget, Danzo—flowers like her don't bloom for free."

Danzo turned back to the trembling children.

Danzo didn't respond. His attention had already moved elsewhere, but the weight of his presence remained, suffocating and inescapable.