The Uzumaki Family (Naruto X Justice League)

Chapter 12: "Of Magic, Men, and Mild Mayhem"

If Bruce Wayne had ever imagined himself being judged by a child in knee socks while simultaneously trying not to throttle the most infuriatingly beautiful cat burglar on Earth, he certainly didn't expect it to happen in his own living room.

But there he was — brooding billionaire, masked vigilante, master detective — seated stiffly on one end of a rather plush Victorian sofa, facing a small girl with lavender-blue eyes and the poise of a queen. Himawari Uzumaki, though barely past ten (or twelve? One could never tell with magical children), sat with the gravitas of someone who'd judged the fates of kings… and found them lacking.

"I heard from my servant," she began with a tilt of her head and a tone that made Alfred raise a curious brow in the background, "that you ditched her after doing the deed."

There was a sputter. Not from Selena — who simply grinned like a cat with a fresh bowl of cream — but from Bruce, who looked like he'd just been accused of tax fraud by a Hogwarts prefect.

"I beg your pardon?" he managed at last, eyes flicking from Himawari to Selena, then back again.

"Selena, is that what you really believe?" he asked, almost plaintively, ignoring how her smirk only widened.

"Darling, it's not about what I believe," she said, folding her arms as if she'd been waiting all day for this moment. "It's about what you don't say. Or do. Or commit to."

Bruce turned back to Himawari, the expression on his face one of tragic endurance. "I apologize for involving you in this personal matter. But—this woman, your servant, ran away. Before the sun rose. I've tried to contact her for months, and she—"

"Liar," came Selena's cheerful sing-song.

Bruce's eye twitched.

"She's avoiding me," he continued stoically. "And I don't exactly make a habit of... emotional vulnerability."

"Is that so?" Himawari asked, her tone light but her gaze sharper than Batarangs. Behind her, Alfred polished a teacup with the resigned grace of someone who had once seen Bruce fight off a ninja army and still thought this conversation more dangerous.

Then came the real blow.

"Master," Selena purred, "he is a complete coward. Always hiding in his big, dark cave. No friends. No family. Just bats, silence, and an ocean of unresolved trauma."

"Selena!"

"Lower your voice, Bruce," she snapped, stepping forward with the authority of a lioness who knew her prey was already snared.

Bruce stood — foolishly, some would say — towering and tense, caught between a memory and a meltdown.

'Why am I acting so emotional?' he wondered bitterly, before his eyes flicked to the glimmering pendant around Himawari's neck.

Magic, he thought. Of course.

"Then explain," he said through gritted teeth, "like a human."

Selena arched a brow. "Do I need to spell it out for the world's greatest detective?"

Bruce's patience thinned faster than the ice on Gotham Bay in February. "You selfish—"

"Oho! There it is." Selena laughed and spun out of reach as he lunged forward.

"You can't catch me!" she taunted.

"Oh, they always do this," Himawari said, settling back with her elbows tucked and an expression that could only be described as mischievously regal.

"Miss Uzumaki," Alfred intoned as he offered her a biscuit, "this is simply how they express... affection."

"I shall tie you in my dungeon when I catch you," Bruce growled, as they circled each other like panthers.

"I like it!" Selena cheered. "So passionate!"

Laughter rang out — not the cold, distant kind that Bruce was used to, but warm and unfiltered. Himawari clapped like a delighted fairy queen watching her puppets dance, and Bruce — somehow — found himself grinning despite the chaos.

And then it happened. He caught her.

One arm braced against the wall, his breath heavy, their faces inches apart. Sweat trickled down his temple, and his eyes locked on hers. For a moment, the room quieted. Even the Bat seemed to hold his breath.

"Why?" he whispered. "You know how I feel. Why did you run?"

Selena's smirk faded, softened. "Because you'll never change, Bruce. You fear loving something precious. You'd abandon me — us — the moment fear took hold. I heard you. That night. After the fourth... You had a nightmare. You cared. And it terrified you."

Bruce closed his eyes. She wasn't wrong. Every person he'd loved had been a casualty of his mission — his war. And hadn't he driven them away because he feared the pain of losing them?

Himawari stood now, her little boots making no sound on the polished floor. "I support your relationship," she said brightly, as though she were bestowing royal favor. "Selena is my servant, and I'd like to see someone try hurting my friend."

Bruce blinked at the girl, completely unsure how to process any of this.

Selena, meanwhile, launched herself into his arms with feline grace.

"Control," Bruce muttered, blocking her attempted kiss with a palm to the lips. "There's a child watching."

"You can continue now," Himawari said sweetly. "Or you can visit my palace tomorrow. Bring wine."

With a flicker of chakra and a burst of wind-swept petals, she vanished — leaving behind a faint giggle and a dumbstruck Bruce Wayne who was beginning to realize he'd been played at every level.

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Now that Himawari was gone—vanished with all the elegance of a bubble popping under moonlight—the strange, syrupy fog of magic that had crept into Bruce Wayne's heart seemed to lift.

And just like that, the Dark Knight was back.

Brooding. Frowning. Silent as a shadow with indigestion.

He stood by the tall, spotless windows of Wayne Manor, teacup cooling on the saucer beside him, arms folded like a disappointed headmaster. His thoughts were anything but calm. No, they tumbled and tangled like laundry in a storm.

"Magic," he muttered, as if it were a particularly vile flavour of jellybean. "Emotions shouldn't be pulled out like candy from a wrapper."

Selina, who had been lounging across the antique sofa with all the grace of a very expensive jungle cat, gave a soft chuckle. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, darling. She only made you a tad more honest."

"I don't like being manipulated," Bruce replied curtly. "Especially by a child. A powerful one."

"Technically," Selina mused, twirling a strand of hair, "she's an Uzumaki. Apparently, that's like royalty in their world. And 'servant' doesn't mean what you think. It's more of a… trusted companion thing. At least, that's what I've gathered so far."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, which was very much his usual way of expressing mild concern. "Trusted or not, we can't ignore what she is. A child with that much power, wandering about unsupervised? It's a recipe for disaster. The world isn't built for magical pre-teens with a talent for charming assassins and charming cats."

"Oh, so now I'm an assassin?" Selina purred, clearly delighted. "You do know how to compliment a girl."

"I'm serious."

"I know," she said softly, her teasing tone melting away. "I'll keep an eye on her. If anything feels off, I'll tell you. Promise."

He was silent for a long moment, the silence stretching between them like an old, well-worn blanket. Then, in a voice that was almost too soft to hear:

"If something happens… anything. Come to me. I'll deal with it."

Selina's smile was brighter than usual, a flash of sunlight in a room full of shadows. "Oh, my dark knight already planning strategies to take down a magical girl. Be still my heart."

Bruce didn't respond. But the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him—barely.

Somewhere, far off in the city, the night continued. People screamed. Alarms rang. The usual.

But here, in Wayne Manor, a curious kind of peace had settled. Temporary, fragile, laced with magic and questions that refused to go away.

Selina leaned back, resting her head against the cushions. "You know, she did say I could learn more by spending time with her. Maybe she's not dangerous. Maybe she just needs guidance."

Bruce considered that. "Or maybe," he said, "she's the storm before the flood."

Selina laughed. "Then we'd best build an ark, darling."

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Clark:

If you'd asked Clark Kent how his day was going, he might've stared off into the middle distance, sighed, and said something poetic like, "A thunderstorm in my mind with no umbrella in sight."

And who could blame him?

He'd just returned from a battle that defied all explanation—even for him. There had been lightning, visions of death, and a fellow who wielded so much power it made Green Lantern look like a toddler with a toy hammer. The worst part? The man hadn't even tried. Clark had seen relaxed expressions before, but that kind of calm in the middle of combat? That was deeply concerning.

He was still processing it all—images of destruction looping in his brain like a bad dream stuck on repeat. If this new being (partner? friend? cosmic threat?) ever turned hostile, there wouldn't be a world left to protect. Clark had faced immortals, titans, and monsters... but this was different. This was someone who could end everything before breakfast.

And then—

"Clark, where have you been?" Lois's voice snapped him out of the spiral, and he turned just in time to feel a folder thump against his back. It was, by her standards, a loving gesture.

"We've got work to do. That creep Toyman's back in the news."

Clark blinked. "What about the article on the new hero?"

Lois waved dismissively. "Surge? It's already trending. We'll circle back later. Maybe even get an interview, if he doesn't vanish like the last five vigilantes."

Clark cocked a brow. "Surge?"

"Yeah, because he uses lightning. Honestly, you wouldn't believe the names we brainstormed. Purple Bolt, Overload, Haywire, Powersurge—Zeus made the list, too. And Thor. Without the hammer, mind you."

Clark nodded slowly, trying not to laugh. "I'm glad none of those stuck."

"Well, it was either that or 'Mr. Shocking Personality,' and I threatened to resign."

He chuckled. "What other names did you come up with for Superman, then?"

Lois grinned. "Oh, the usual: Hercules, Miracleman... Alien X."

Clark winced. "Yeah. 'Superman' definitely works better."

Their banter lightened the weight in his chest. For a moment, he wasn't thinking about planetary doom or eldritch beings. He was just Clark Kent—journalist, husband, occasionally electrocuted hero.

But reality crept back in as Lois pulled up a file on her laptop. "Bruno. He's been connected to a toymaker who got caught with a suitcase full of narcotics disguised as action figures."

Clark peered at the screen. "The old 'Toys for Twits' scam?"

"Exactly. But here's the twist—what if this toymaker isn't the original one, but someone related to him? Or worse, an apprentice?"

Clark's instincts buzzed. "We'll look into it. But Lois… it's already past Seven."

She didn't even glance at the clock. "You can leave if you want."

He gave her the Look. The one that said You're not working late alone again, Lois. And then he sat beside her.

Silence settled—one of those comfortable ones that only years of partnership could create. She typed; he read. She muttered theories; he nodded, offering counterpoints.

And still, in the back of his mind, that silent question remained: What comes next?

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Boruto:

The roar of space being torn asunder was like the growl of some ancient, invisible beast. It echoed endlessly across the void. But above it—gliding like a comet stitched from living shadow—was the Void Dragon, a beast so colossal it might well have been mistaken for a primordial immortal.

And on its head, with wild blue eyes and hair rustled by unearthly winds, stood Boruto Uzumaki, heir to a legacy that now defied even planetary scale.

He didn't speak often on these journeys—there was a reverence, almost a sacredness, in riding through emptiness on the back of a dragon. The stars blinked at him like curious children, and time bent oddly in this plane. Even the ever-talkative Boruto felt small here, despite the mighty chakra pulsing within him.

Behind him sat a clone of his father, the original Naruto off somewhere with Hinata. This clone—functionally immortal so long as chakra remained—had built a domain unlike anything ever seen before. Planets spun in perfect synchronicity, each born from the elemental affinities of chakra. Earth. Fire. Wind. Water. Lightning. And at the center, a sun of pure Yang energy, burning with peace and fury alike.

This was their home away from home.

This was the Uzumaki Realm.

"Swoosh!"

Boruto's feet shifted slightly to keep balance as the Void Dragon—Kaiser—banked hard left, wings stretched wider than mountain ranges. Below them spun a planet of crackling blue and white, its atmosphere swirling with wild arcs of electricity. Thunderstorms clashed like titans. Bolts danced from mountain to cloud and cloud to sea.

The Lightning Planet.

Boruto knew this one well. It was forged with the help of Uncle Sasuke and his mother, Hinata—a confluence of lightning's raw devastation and control. Shinobi from all walks had left their imprint here, feeding it jutsu, essence, and spirit.

Boruto's heartbeat rose. He could feel it.

A storm was building.

As the dragon descended, slicing through clouds of ionic fire, Boruto spoke.

"The Void Dragon is worthy of its name. Only they can fly through this emptiness like it's air. Most beasts—or shinobi—wouldn't last minutes in the outer void. Spatial collapse, tearing winds… even a Kage-level shinobi would be vaporized if they lost focus."

He remembered the first time he came here. He had nearly passed out just trying to breathe.

But now… things were different.

Their destination sparkled like a star fallen from heaven: a silver lake, but not of water.

Thunder.

Pure, living lightning rolled across a massive basin the size of a small country, coiling like dragons mid-flight. It was beautiful and terrible, the kind of thing one could stare at forever and still never understand.

Boruto felt his mouth go dry. His fingers twitched instinctively, chakra gathering at the tips.

"This is…" he breathed, "…insane."

The lake buzzed like a immortal's heartbeat. It pulsed, cracked, and arced upward in wild streams of electricity. It wasn't just strong—it was alive.

"A lightning pool," Naruto's clone confirmed, standing behind him with arms folded. "We call it the Thunder immortal's Lake. You'll be training here from now on."

Boruto blinked. "You want me to—what?"

"You've reached the edge of your natural lightning affinity," Naruto's clone said, his voice calm but firm. "If you want to break the boundaries—to make your Purple Lightning into something that even immortals fear—this is where it happens."

Boruto swallowed.

He remembered the last time he let loose. A single bolt had flattened half a mountain range and turned a diamond fortress into dust. If this lake could overpower even that…

His hands clenched. "Okay. Let's do it."

The Void Dragon hissed, almost approvingly, and floated gently toward the lake's edge.

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There were places in the universe—mysterious, ancient, wildly unsafe places—where the brave did not dare venture, and the foolish were never seen again. And then, there was Boruto Uzumaki, who belonged in a special third category: the enthusiastically reckless.

Hovering over a lake of living thunder on the back of a void dragon, Boruto wore the kind of smile that said, "I've made peace with questionable life choices."

"Old man," Boruto called over his shoulder, grinning like a schoolboy who was about to jump off the roof for the sheer thrill of it. "I'm going in first. I'll send a signal if I die."

Naruto's clone crossed his arms. "Don't let your arrogance and haste lead you to an early grave. The deeper you go, the stronger the lightning. This pool contains chakra from Kage, Sannin, Tailed Beasts, even that one guy who called himself 'Raijin the Reincarnated'—don't ask. It's essentially a divine barbecue. And unless you think you can take me…" Naruto cracked his knuckles, "...don't get cocky."

Then, with the sort of fatherly wisdom that could only be expressed physically, he kicked Boruto squarely in the rear.

"OLD MAN!" Boruto howled as his legs flailed and his pride plummeted. He fell into the pool like a discarded umbrella in a thunderstorm.

SPLASH… ZZZZAAAAP!

Not water. Lightning.

Boruto hit the surface of the thunderbolt lake with all the grace of a startled cat. Instantly, he activated his Purple Lightning Armor—a technique both flashy and functional, like ninja fashion couture. The crackling energy formed a protective shell around him just in time as silver snake-like bolts darted in with malicious curiosity.

They hissed and writhed and struck with precision, but the armor held. For now.

Above him, Kaiser—the Void Dragon—let out a low, amused rumble, his eyes flickering with ancient curiosity.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The thunder came in like a symphony of divine temper tantrums. Bolts slammed around him in all directions. But the Purple Lightning—that magnificent, volatile chakra of Boruto's—absorbed the attack like a sponge soaking up a storm. It was a beautiful paradox: the wild energy of chaos meeting the calculated rhythm of training.

And Boruto stood, smiling.

He was going to die probably.

But not today.

He waded deeper, each step a small war against the crackling density around him. The silver energy clung to him, pulled at him, begged him to misstep so it could swallow him whole.

"Another hundred feet," he muttered. His voice sounded absurd in the roar of raw thunder. "This is... definitely a terrible idea."

Still, he pressed forward.

The pressure grew. The bolts grew thicker, more intelligent—as if the lake had decided it disapproved of him. The kind of disapproval that came with electrocution.

"If I go any deeper, even the Purple Lightning won't save me…" Boruto thought. A new sensation throbbed behind his eye. The Jougan—his mysterious dojutsu—flared to life, feeding off the ambient power like a curious child discovering fireworks.

"Alright," he said aloud, gritting his teeth. "This spot is good enough."

And with all the poise of a meditating monk wrapped in a lightning storm, he sat down.

What happened next could only be described as… electrifying.

Bang bang bang bang!

The thunder, it seemed, took offense at his serenity. Thunderbolts the size of trees struck him like he owed them money. Yet as each bolt made contact, the Purple Lightning didn't resist—it consumed. The chakra around Boruto grew brighter, denser, more defined.

Silver met violet. Chaos met control.

The lake was awakening.

And Boruto was transforming.

His skin began to smoke. Not metaphorically—actually. He looked like someone had stuffed a lightning bolt into a scarecrow. Yet he smiled through it, his focus sharper than ever. The Jougan pulsed, absorbing, adapting, evolving.

By the end of the day, as the Void Dragon rested on a floating arc of plasma and Naruto's clone observed quietly from a nearby cliff, Boruto crawled out of the pool like a half-baked marshmallow.

His clothes were in tatters. His eyebrows had seen better days. And he smelled faintly of ozone and defiance.

"You look terrible," Naruto offered cheerfully.

Boruto rolled onto his back, wheezing. "Thanks… I feel great."

"How much did your lightning affinity improve?"

Boruto managed a grin. "Five percent."

There was a pause. Naruto blinked. "That's actually… really impressive."

Boruto chuckled through the pain. "At this rate, I'll be frying immortals by next year."

The two sat in silence as the thunder rumbled softly behind them.

And somewhere deep beneath the silver waters, the lake whispered a promise: Come deeper, child. We're not finished yet…