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Twin Demons. Chapter 57
🕑 Added 2025-10-31 21:19:40 +0000 UTCThe Uzumaki twins found themselves in the middle of a white nothingness. No room, no space—just endless emptiness drowned in blinding light, as if someone had erased the world and forgotten to draw a background. No walls, no floor, not even a shadow. Only the two of them, and the air so thick it pressed on their bodies like heavy water.
Menma tried to move—and realized it was almost impossible. Every motion took effort, as if he were stuck in syrup. Even turning his head to look at his sister required titanic strength. Naruko didn’t look any happier: her lips were tight, veins showing on her forehead as she strained to move.
And then, right in front of them, without a sound or warning, they appeared—the twins themselves. Shorter, maybe six years old, perfect copies of who they once were. Even the way their hair fell was identical. The little versions stood side by side, confused, until they spoke.
“Grandpa will marry me off to Konohamaru,” the tiny Naruko murmured in a small, trembling voice. “I’ll be a bird in a golden cage. I’ll never leave home again. I’ll just keep having children… for the rest of my life.”
The real Naruko wrinkled her nose. “I never said that. I couldn’t even think something that stupid.”
“The Hokage will lock me in a workshop,” said little Menma sadly, staring into the void. “I’ll draw sealing scrolls day and night. I’ll only be able to create in secret, like a rat too scared to show itself to a cat.”
The real Menma frowned. “Cheap brainwashing. Honestly, I’m more worried about what’s happening outside this place.”
The little twins repeated his words. Then again. And again. Their flat, identical voices began to overlap, turning into a nauseating chorus, like a broken record.
“I’ve had enough of this!” Naruko snapped, forcing herself forward, ripping through the air as if pushing against invisible jelly. “How much longer do we have to listen to this crap?!”
“For a while,” Menma muttered grimly. “Obviously, it’s some kind of mental conditioning program from Orochimaru. These thoughts are supposed to sink into our heads so we’ll happily join his Sound Village.”
“Why the hell did we ever deal with that slimy snake in the first place?!” Naruko growled, fists clenched. “This is your fault! You schemer! Liar! Bastard!”
“Exactly, sister. I’m a monster, the symbol of moral decay,” he said through gritted teeth, forcing his voice to stay calm. “Now maybe you could shut up and help me get out of here?”
“Only because I’m sick of this freak show!” she shot back.
Menma struggled toward her, every movement dragging like he was swimming through honey. When he finally reached her, he nodded toward a point somewhere high above.
“I need to get up there.”
“Oh, and what’s up there?” Naruko closed her eyes, opening her sensory field. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to let him out. You’ve completely lost it, haven’t you?”
“Sister, please.” Menma took a slow breath, forcing down his irritation. “Just trust me.”
“Like I trusted you about Orochimaru? Look where that got me!”
“Yeah, I screwed up. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Menma hissed. “But I’m not becoming Orochimaru’s puppet—and I don’t want that for you either. Help me fix this.”
She squinted at him for a long, suspicious moment, then sighed. “Fine. Brace yourself, brother.”
Her right hand began to glow, and the air trembled with concentrated chakra. A rasengan spun to life with a soft hum. Menma didn’t even have time to argue before she slammed it right into his backside.
The pain was stellar. He let out a short, strangled yell as he shot upward through the thick air like a badly launched firework.
Below him, the copies kept reciting their lines as if nothing had happened.
Menma reached the upper edge of the white world and felt something thin under his fingers—a paper-thin seal barely visible in the light. The symbols of fuinjutsu shimmered like living things, holding back something enormous. The moment he touched them, the space before him flared—
And Namikaze Minato stood there. Alive. Blonde hair, blue eyes, white cloak. Every detail perfect, as if he’d stepped out of a history book.
The world froze.
Minato clapped his hands together, and the aura of Sage Mode flared around him instantly. He locked onto a target and threw his signature tri-pronged kunai, its blades crackling with lightning chakra. In a blink, he vanished and reappeared beside his mark, slamming a rasengan into an invisible figure.
The air thrummed like a plucked string. The invisibility broke. Orochimaru—or perhaps his clone—fell to the ground.
“Minato?” Orochimaru rasped from under his hand. “But how—”
Minato didn’t answer. A second rasengan tore through the Sannin’s body, scattering it into shards of light.
The white world rang, cracked like glass, and collapsed. The familiar stench of the sewers returned. The sounds came back. A roar like an earthquake tore through the space.
“A-AAAH!!! DAMN IT!!!” Kyuubi howled, claws raking the ground. “I DON’T WANT THIS!!!”
Before Menma’s eyes appeared the familiar cage—but this time it was filled with something horrifying: pulsating, living flesh, oozing and growing, writhing like it was alive. Kyuubi fought back, snarling, slashing with his tails, but the vile mass advanced, crawling across the floor and walls, devouring everything.
“So Orochimaru actually completed his technique,” Minato said calmly, watching the nightmare not as horror, but as a problem to solve. His voice wasn’t harsh—rather analytical, coldly precise. “Once, the snake dreamed of becoming a dragon. Now it seems he thinks himself a new bijuu. Well… I suppose someone has to clean up the mess.”
He stepped toward the cage, and his movements became mesmerizing. His fingers slid through the air as if tracing an invisible screen, and lines of fuinjutsu flared behind them. No scrolls, no brushes—just raw chakra forming symbols directly, obediently weaving the most complex patterns. Menma and Naruko froze, unable to look away as the air itself bent to his will.
[The old folks of Konoha love to grumble, “If Minato were alive, we’d be living differently!” I used to think that was nonsense. But watching how this man makes decisions instantly—without panic, without hysteria—I’m starting to understand. With a Hokage like that, Konoha really would have been different. Better.]
Maybe half an hour passed. Maybe an hour. Nobody was bored—watching a master at work was pure satisfaction. When Minato finally finished, he waved his hand, and curtains of sealing symbols descended around the cage, glowing softly. Menma wasn’t sure, but it seemed to him that Kurama quietly whispered, thank you.
“I couldn’t completely remove Orochimaru’s influence,” Minato said, turning to the twins. For the first time, there was a trace of fatigue in his voice. “He built a curious mutagen into your DNA—an automatic collector of natural chakra. A will suppressor, for both the bijuu and the jinchuuriki. And a chakra transmitter that siphoned the Nine-Tails’ energy out toward Orochimaru through the ether... using the same principle as shadow clones returning chakra.”
[Damn, that snake had some serious ambitions. Brainwash us and gain an infinite chakra source on top of that.]
“In short,” Minato sighed, “I cut out everything unnecessary—and kept what might be useful. After all, Orochimaru did enormous work. It’ll help you grow stronger.”
Menma listened intently, absorbing every word like a secret technique. Naruko, on the other hand, barely heard a thing—her gaze was fixed on Minato’s face.
“Dad... is it really you?” she whispered hoarsely.
Minato raised an eyebrow. “So you both know about our connection?” Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second, quickly replaced by calm. “Looks like we’ll be having a long talk.”
He lifted his hand, and the floating sealing symbols flashed. The sewer dissolved, replaced by a moonlit forest. Warm firelight illuminated three figures—a father and his two children.
“I want to hear everything,” Minato said, sitting on a stump and folding his arms. “How you found out who I am, and how you got involved with Orochimaru. Take your time—the restructuring of your bodies will take about five days.”
Menma sat opposite him in silence. The firelight flickered across his face—sometimes calm, sometimes shadowed. Naruko turned away, her whole posture shouting that she was so mad she wasn’t even talking to him.
He could have lied, played the innocent, told any story he wanted. But when he looked at his sister, Menma understood: if he lied now, he’d be lying for the rest of his life. So he chose the truth.
Menma told him everything. About their poverty, about the villagers’ contempt, about the merchant who struck him in the street. About the first time he found himself in the Nine-Tails’ cage, when Kurama spoke and revealed the truth about their parents. How he realized that he and Naruko were being used, and decided to pit Hiruzen and Kurama against each other.
Minato listened quietly, asking only brief questions now and then—“Where did you live?” “Did Jiraiya ever visit you?” His face remained calm, but emotions burned in his eyes: pain, sorrow, concern.
Naruko looked like her world had cracked beneath her feet. She forgot she was supposed to be angry and silent.
“Brother… you kept quiet all those years?” she asked softly. “Why didn’t you tell me from the start?”
“For your safety,” he answered without looking up from the fire. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but Hiruzen always treated you better.”
“Me?” She jabbed a finger at herself. “He went gray just from talking to me!”
“But he trusts you,” Menma said with a weary smirk. “If you’d known the truth, you wouldn’t have looked at him with that same open sincerity when you called him ‘Gramps.’ He’d have noticed. Then would come surveillance, restrictions, and constant checks.”
“You’re overdramatizing,” she muttered.
“Daughter,” Minato interrupted gently, “we’ll talk about that later. Son, continue.”
Menma went on—about the deal with Orochimaru, the beast-like mutations, stealing the Hokage’s scroll, and how he ended up here. With each sentence, Minato seemed less like the legendary hero of Konoha and more like an ordinary father listening to his wayward son.
“I see,” Minato finally said. He stepped forward, placed a hand on Menma’s shoulder. “Your plan against Hiruzen and Kurama was clever—and desperate. I can tell you wanted what was best for your sister. That’s worthy of respect.” He paused, his gaze hardening. “But the deal with Orochimaru… that wasn’t necessity, son. That was greed.”
Before Menma could respond, Minato suddenly turned, sat back down on the log, and—wearing a completely calm expression—pulled his son across his knees.
“Wait—hold on! We can discuss this like civilized adults!” Menma started, but—
Smack!
“AAAH! Dad, come on! I’ve got trauma there after Naruko’s rasengan!”
“Perfect,” Minato said evenly. Smack. “Then maybe you’ll learn faster.” Smack. “I couldn’t discipline you as a child, son, but I intend to make up for lost time.” Smack. “This isn’t punishment out of anger—” Smack “—it’s prevention.” Smack. “You’re too overconfident, son.” Smack. “Better to knock it out of you now before it gets you killed.”
Menma gritted his teeth, refusing to make a sound beyond a low growl. He knew he’d earned it.
Naruko stood frozen—not gloating, not laughing, just worried. “Dad, maybe that’s enough? He’s already half-broken.”
“You think he’s had enough?” Minato paused thoughtfully, hand still raised. “Let’s do one more for emphasis.”
Smack!
He released his son, and Menma immediately jumped up, rubbing his backside and pacing around the fire with an offended look, too wary to sit down.
“Well, at least now you know he’s not a ghost,” Naruko teased, winking. “Those hits were very real.”
“Dad!” Menma exclaimed indignantly. “She missed your parenting too! I could tell you so many of her mischief stories.”
“So my daughter’s a troublemaker, huh?” Minato patted his knee invitingly. “We’d better fix that right away.”
“No way!” Naruko yelped, jumping back and covering her rear with both hands. “Those stories are ancient history and totally fake!”
“You made the proctor cry this morning,” Menma said vindictively, sticking out his tongue.
“And you handed in a blank exam sheet!” Naruko shot back, pulling down her eyelid.
Minato chuckled quietly, watching them bicker. The campfire crackled, lighting their faces—the three of them together again, even if in a slightly… unconventional format.
Comments
Catherine Colin
Thanks for the chapter!
