Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

The night on the floating island was a canvas of tranquillity. The pale moon bathed the island in a soft, silver glow, and the surrounding trees stood as silent sentinels against the backdrop of a starlit sky. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of dew forming on the lush grass beneath Renjiro's feet.

His designated training ground was nestled on a plateau, high above the rest of the island. It was an isolated haven, a place for solitude and reflection.

Renjiro sat cross-legged in the lotus position, his posture unwavering despite the rush of emotions and sensations coursing through him. His auburn hair shimmered faintly in the moonlight, and his expression was calm yet contemplative. He had been meditating for hours, lost in the aftermath of a profound experience that had shaken him to his core.

It had started with his shadow clone—the brief but impactful moment when it had unleashed those vivid green flames. The memory replayed in Renjiro's mind, the flames flickering in his thoughts like echoes of a distant storm.

Their energy had been unlike anything he had ever encountered. They were wild and primal, yet they felt inexplicably connected to him, as if they had always been a part of him, lying dormant until now.

He couldn't quite put the sensation into words. It was as though something ancient and primal within him had been unlocked.

A tether that had once bound him to the earth had snapped, leaving him unburdened and untethered. The feeling was exhilarating, yet disorienting, like standing on the edge of a precipice with the wind urging him to leap.

"Light," he whispered, his voice carried away by the gentle breeze. "I feel so… light."

This newfound lightness was not just physical. It was as if his soul itself had been unshackled, freed from invisible chains he hadn't known existed. Along with this liberation came an overwhelming torrent of information. It hit him like a flood, relentless and unyielding, forcing him to close his eyes and steady his breathing.

The knowledge unfurled in his mind, vast and intricate, like an ancient scroll revealing its secrets. At the forefront of this revelation was the understanding of his first Mangekyō Sharingan ability.

Purge of the Wicked.

Renjiro chuckled softly, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Well, that's a grand name," he murmured, his tone tinged with amusement.

The amusement quickly faded as the intricacies of the ability became clear. The Purge of the Wicked was no ordinary fire. Ethereal and untouchable, the flames did not harm the physical body. Instead, they targeted chakra—the very essence of a shinobi's power. These green flames sought out malicious or disruptive energy within a target, burning it away with ruthless precision. Chakra-based jutsu, seals, corruptions—anything tied to the target's chakra system could be unravelled and dissipated by the flames.

What made this ability even more formidable was its secondary effect: Renjiro could absorb a portion of the burned chakra, temporarily replenishing his reserves or bolstering his techniques.

"So that's why it destroyed the clones so quickly," Renjiro mused aloud, recalling how his shadow clone had struggled against the flames. "It wasn't just burning their chakra. It was stealing it."

The implications of this ability sent a thrill through him. His chakra reserves were already exceptional, surpassing those of many elite jōnin in Konoha while he himself was just a normal jōnin. As an Uzumaki, he had inherited a natural affinity for massive reserves, and his youth meant his potential was still growing. This new ability further tipped the scales in his favour.

In a battle of attrition, he could not only outlast his opponents but also turn their strength against them.

"Have I now become invincible?" Renjiro wondered, the thought flickering in his mind like a spark.

But as quickly as the thought arose, he dismissed it. Arrogance was a trap he could not afford. He knew his own weaknesses well. While his chakra reserves were immense, his arsenal of techniques was equally demanding.

His Uzumaki regeneration, chakra purification, and adamantine chains all consumed vast amounts of energy. These were abilities he relied on heavily, and their cost often negated the advantage of his reserves.

"And now I have the Susanoo," Renjiro muttered, his voice tinged with resignation. "Even in its primitive state, it's a chakra guzzler."

He sighed, tilting his head back to gaze at the stars. The heavens stretched endlessly above him, a reminder of how small he was in the grand scheme of things.

Despite his growing power, he felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. He hoped that the increased chakra control granted by his Mangekyō evolution would alleviate some of the strain.

A question lingered in his mind, gnawing at him. "Malicious or disruptive energy," he murmured, repeating the phrase that had been etched into his thoughts.

"What does that even mean?"

He frowned, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of it. "Is it like burning sage?"

The thought of Juinjutsu crossed his mind, and he perked up slightly. "It makes sense," he reasoned. "Juinjutsu is inherently malicious. If my flames can burn that away, it would be incredibly useful."

His musings shifted to Senjutsu. The thought of Sage Mode brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

It was an art he had always admired, yet his body's incompatibility with it had dashed his hopes. If his green flames could counteract Senjutsu, he could become the perfect antithesis to Sage users. The idea was tantalizing.

"That would be ironic," he said with a wry smile. "If I can't use Senjutsu, I'll counter it instead."

The thought brought him some solace, though the bitterness lingered. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to refocus. There was more to uncover.

The torrent of knowledge that had been dumped into his mind wasn't limited to the Purge of the Wicked. There was another ability—one that intrigued him even more.

Renjiro activated his Mangekyō Sharingan once again, the intricate pattern of his eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. He reached into a storage seal, retrieving a kunai. With practised precision, he sliced a shallow line across his forearm, working quickly to draw a seal with his own blood before his regeneration erased the wound.

The seal was unlike anything he had ever created. It consisted of a single kanji instead of the usual components, bold and unadorned, yet it radiated an aura of power.

As he activated it, the seal glowed with an ethereal green light, mirroring the flames of the Purge of the Wicked.

"This… this is the Mark of Dominion," Renjiro whispered, the name resonating in his mind.

The Mark of Dominion was a tether, a metaphysical link that connected him to individuals or objects he had a strong bond with. These marks were invisible to the naked eye, detectable only by Renjiro's Mangekyō.

Currently, Renjiro could only make two types of marks, sense and strengthen. Sense was self-explanatory, and Strength only worked with the green flame, limiting its application.

Through these marks, he could sense the chakra signatures, emotions, and well-being of those he had marked. Basically improving his sensory abilities by leaps and bounds.

The possibilities were endless. Renjiro's mind raced with potential applications. On the battlefield, he could use the marks to track allies, coordinate attacks, or anticipate the movements of marked enemies. By focusing his gaze on a marked target, he could even disrupt their chakra flow, weakening their abilities.

Yet the ability was not without its limitations. Renjiro could only mark those he had a strong connection with, making it impractical for use on enemies he had just met. Additionally, maintaining awareness of multiple marks drained his chakra, especially if the targets were far apart or in hostile environments. And while the marks were subtle, skilled seal masters could detect or remove them.

"Well," Renjiro said, leaning back with a sigh, "not invincible, but close enough."

As he reflected on his newfound abilities, a warning surfaced in his thoughts. It was a stern reprimand, a voice from the depths of his consciousness. The shortcut he had taken to awaken his Mangekyō Sharingan had come at a price.

"You took a shortcut," the voice seemed to say. "And shortcuts have consequences."

Renjiro frowned as the message became clearer. By using an unorthodox method to awaken his Mangekyō Sharingan, he had sealed his fate. His eyes would never evolve further. The Eternal Mangekyō and the Rinnegan were forever beyond his reach.

"Well," Renjiro said aloud, his tone tinged with resignation, "the shortcut did work, but I'm paying for it now."

He leaned back, staring up at the starry sky, the weight of his newfound abilities mingling with the cost of their acquisition. For now, he was content to revel in what he had gained—a new arsenal, a stronger self. But the shadow of what he had lost lingered, a quiet reminder that power always comes at a price.

The night carried on, the rustling leaves and gentle breeze bearing silent witness to a shinobi who had unlocked the next chapter of his destiny.

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