The silence around Naruto was almost sacred.
He stood like a statue of gold in the aftermath of a celestial fire, his hair dancing softly in the unnatural breeze that spiraled around him. Light still shimmered faintly from his newly evolved form—Narutomon Teen—but there was no movement, no sound, no spark of will in his eyes. He was there… and yet not there. Frozen not by fear, but by the crushing weight of truth and uncertainty.
And then—like a wolf catching the scent of fresh prey—Etemon turned.
The self-proclaimed "King of Digimon" had barely paid Naruto any mind before. But now? Now, the air was heavy with power. New power. Unstable power. A threat he did not understand, and in his twisted, prideful mind, what he did not understand, he had to destroy.
With a grin that stretched far too wide, Etemon snapped his fingers—and the dark tentacles moved.
They came like serpents uncoiling from the void, writhing and twisting through the air, aimed straight for Naruto.
Raikomaru's eyes widened. He had been watching in awe like the rest, his small frame trembling from both the glory of his partner's transformation and the hope that Naruto—his friend, his brother in this strange new world—would rise, lift his hands, and obliterate the enemy with divine force.
But that didn't happen.
Naruto didn't move.
His back was to them, but Raikomaru knew something was wrong. He couldn't see Naruto's face, but he could feel it—something inside him had shattered. And when MetalGreymon surged to intercept the incoming attack, only to be stopped by hundreds of other writhing limbs, the hope in Raikomaru's chest twisted into dread.
He didn't think.
He just ran.
Tiny paws pounding against the cracked earth, heart screaming louder than the wind, Raikomaru sprinted toward Naruto. He didn't even cry out for help—there was no time. He knew he wouldn't make it. He was too small. Too slow. Too weak.
But even if he died, he had to reach him.
Because Naruto had given him life. In this barren, broken world, where digital echoes wandered without purpose, Naruto had looked at him and seen him. Not a rookie, not a tool, not a pet—a partner. A friend.
That alone was worth everything.
And as he ran, something within him answered.
A surge like fire burst from his core. Not the warmth of a campfire, but the roar of a lion, ancient and proud. The heat seared through his veins, and light blazed across his body as his shape began to shift, twist, and grow.
He didn't stop running.
His legs stretched. His arms grew thick with muscle. His orange fur flared, bright as wildfire. His mane—golden and wild—framed a face now scarred and hardened by the image of one who had faced death and defied it. Blue eyes blazed with unshakable resolve.
Leomon had arrived.
The muscular lion-man hurtled forward like a meteor, body forged in desperation, sword clanging behind him, heart blazing in defiance of fate.
And just in time.
The dark tentacles struck—and he was there.
With a roar that split the sky, Leomon crashed into Naruto's frozen form, tackling him to the ground with the full weight of his newly evolved body.
But he was not fast enough to avoid the price.
One of the black tentacles caught his arm mid-turn, and the shadows—alive and hungry—wrapped around it like a vice.
There was no time to scream for help. Only the scream of agony itself, torn from his throat as the darkness devoured the limb—flesh, fur, and bone alike vanishing into the void.
"RAIKOMARU!" cried one of the other Digimon in horror.
But he didn't hear them.
He gritted his teeth, muscles twitching from the pain, his remaining arm tight around Naruto's chest as if to shield him from the world itself.
"It's… okay…" he gasped, blood dribbling from his mouth, "You're safe now, Naruto…"
Naruto's eyes, blank only moments ago, snapped open.
Something changed.
He looked up into the face of Leomon—no longer the small, cheerful Raikomaru he'd laughed with in the woods, but a warrior bleeding for him, protecting him.
"Raiko…?" Naruto whispered, voice raw.
And then he saw the missing arm.
The smell of burning fur. The black ichor eating at the ground. The pain in Raikomaru's eyes… and the smile behind it.
Something inside him howled.
Not the beast. Not the fox. Not the Digimon.
But Naruto Uzumaki—the boy who swore never to let anyone suffer for him again.
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For a moment, there was only the sound of wind and distant explosions—energy blasts streaking through the air, lighting the battlefield like storm flashes. Roars and screeches echoed from the fray, as the Digimon fought valiantly to protect them.
But Naruto heard none of it.
All he could hear was the sound of Raikomaru's ragged breathing.
The lion-man's fur was matted with blood, his entire left side limp from the loss of his arm, yet he kept going—he kept running, carrying Naruto away from the danger, as if that act alone could shield him from the chaos behind them.
Each step Raikomaru took carved a wound in Naruto's heart.
This wasn't how it was meant to be.
It should've been him protecting Raikomaru. He was the one who had evolved, who had awakened a new strength. Yet he had stood there—paralyzed, drowning in questions, buried in despair—while his friend had paid the price.
Raikomaru stumbled, knees buckling slightly under the weight of his own blood and the weight of his partner. But still, he pressed on. He did not cry. He did not scream. He bore his pain in silence.
And somehow, that silence screamed louder than anything else.
Naruto's fingers curled into fists at his sides.
"Stop."
His voice, though soft, cut through the air with the force of a command. Raikomaru froze, panting heavily.
"N-Naruto?" he murmured, turning his head.
Naruto slid down from his arms, feet hitting the cracked earth. His hands reached up gently—reverently—and steadied Raikomaru's good shoulder.
"Thank you," he said, his voice quiet. "But I can walk now."
Raikomaru looked at him, eyes flickering with uncertainty. He opened his mouth, as if to protest, but the look in Naruto's eyes stilled his voice.
Naruto wasn't shaking anymore.
The hollow, frozen stare was gone. In its place burned a light—not the wild, overwhelming brilliance from before—but something clearer. Focused. Like a torch catching fire after the storm has passed.
"I'm sorry…" Naruto said, his eyes dropping to Raikomaru's missing arm. The guilt swirled behind his voice like thunderclouds barely held at bay. "I let my pain get the better of me. And you… you paid the price."
Raikomaru shook his head. "It's not your fault. I chose to protect you."
"I know," Naruto said. "And that's why it hurts."
He stepped back, just enough to let Raikomaru breathe. The battle was still raging behind them. Their allies were holding Etemon at bay with coordinated long-range attacks—Garurumon's icy barrages, Kabuterimon's electric blasts, Birdramon's flaming cyclones—all streaking through the sky like fireworks in reverse.
"They're fighting for me," Naruto said. "For us. So I can't stand here and let myself drown in questions and fear."
His eyes met Raikomaru's—still burning blue, but now clear and unwavering.
"I'll figure it out. Whether I'm real or a legend, whether my world is gone or not… I'll figure it out. But not now."
He placed his hand over Raikomaru's chest, above his beating heart.
"Because right now… they need me."
Raikomaru swallowed hard, eyes misting. He didn't understand what pain Naruto was carrying, not fully. But in that moment, he realized something:
Naruto didn't need saving.
He needed someone to believe in him.
And Raikomaru always had.
"I'll fall back," he said finally. "I'll get the others to cover you."
Naruto gave a small nod, then added, voice low and steady, "Tell them not to get in my way."
Then he turned toward the battlefield.
The golden light returned—not in an eruption, but in a steady radiance that wrapped around his form like armor. The earth responded to his steps. The wind bowed to his presence. And above all else, a feeling spread through the battlefield—a shift in the very rhythm of the fight.
Hope had returned.
And Naruto Uzumaki was walking straight into the storm.
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Naruto didn't need to ask.
He didn't turn to Izzy for data, didn't glance toward the other Tamers for guidance. In that moment, as he stood beneath the fractured sky, feeling the trembling earth beneath his feet and the thrumming pulse of energy in his veins, he simply knew.
The way one knows how to breathe.
The knowledge surged through him—not with shock, but with recognition, as if a thousand buried instincts had finally stirred from slumber. Sage Mode. The Six-Tails transformation. The Rasenshuriken, its spiraling might waiting to be summoned. The wind itself bent toward him now, whispering secrets in his ears, threading through the air as if it were an extension of his will.
The spear in his hand shimmered faintly with unseen power—its balance perfect, its weight familiar, like a weapon forged not in a smithy but in his soul. It pulsed with a quiet promise of something greater… something future. Naruto could feel it—this wasn't the final form. Not yet. But it was a piece of the path forward.
He didn't need to know everything. Not now.
For now… this was enough.
Above him, Tai and MetalGreymon struggled in the air, wings faltering against the brutal swath of tentacles that tore through the sky like obsidian whips. Tai's voice cracked through the battlefield, a cry of defiance lost amid the cacophony of battle.
Naruto's eyes narrowed. His heartbeat slowed.
Then he moved.
He pressed his fingers together, forming a perfect circle—one breath—and in that moment, the natural energy around him surged. The winds hushed. The stones beneath his feet seemed to settle. Sage Mode unfolded across his body like a second skin. His irises turned to sharp, orange rings, and a new layer of perception opened to him—one beyond sight, sound, or even instinct.
He felt everything.
The venomous malice leaking from Etemon's attack.
The tension in Tai's limbs as he strained to break free.
The glint of courage in Raikomaru's eyes, watching from the safety Naruto had earned for him.
And the swell of power in himself, boiling beneath the surface like a storm ready to be unleashed.
Naruto raised his arm.
Wind gathered instantly, swirling in a spiral so tight and fast it screamed against the air. Chakra laced through it, mixing nature energy with raw willpower until it burned white-blue, furious and beautiful.
Rasenshuriken.
No hesitation.
No fanfare.
He threw it.
The air split in half. A shockwave followed—raw and thunderous—as the Rasenshuriken screamed across the battlefield like a comet. Tentacles surged to intercept it, hundreds upon hundreds writhing to protect Etemon.
---------------
The Rasenshuriken surged forward like a divine storm, spiraling with such intensity that it seemed to draw in the very air around it. But as it neared its target, the battlefield shifted once more.
From the blackened ground below, a mass of dark tentacles erupted—coiling upward like serpents summoned from the abyss. They weren't ordinary limbs. These were cloaked in a malevolent shadow, an unnatural energy that shimmered with oily iridescence, a darkness that seemed to consume anything it touched.
Naruto's eyes narrowed.
He saw it—a split second before contact. Those tentacles weren't just physical defenses. They were meant to erase chakra. They'd swallow his Rasenshuriken whole, reduce it to nothing.
But Naruto didn't panic.
He acted.
His fingers twitched, his chakra lashing outward with command. The Rasenshuriken pulsed in response, veering off its original course with impossible precision. It twisted around the incoming tentacles, snaking like a dragon through a forest of darkness, dodging where it couldn't overpower, anticipating the traps laid in its path.
Etemon's gleeful smirk—already forming as the tentacles rose—cracked.
"What—!?"
The Rasenshuriken spiraled toward him—and exploded.
A sound like a thousand paper seals tearing apart reality filled the battlefield. A swirling dome of wind erupted outward, and from its center, millions of microscopic blades screamed into being. Each one carved through space, slicing air and energy alike. It struck like a cyclone made of razors, engulfing Etemon's position in a hellish whirlwind.
But Naruto wasn't the only one watching for the moment.
From above, MetalGreymon roared, his wings flaring wide, eyes blazing with battle-light.
"OVERFLAME!"
The skies cracked open as the Champion Digimon unleashed a blast of fire hotter than magma. It wasn't just flame—it was a torrent of fury, a dragon's breath laced with every ounce of power he could muster. The inferno poured downward and met the still-churning Rasenshuriken storm.
Wind and fire.
The two elements merged.
The spiraling blades caught the flames, twisted them into their vortex, and turned the storm into a blazing hurricane. Heat and pressure exploded outward. The very air around Etemon ignited. Trees buckled, rocks cracked, and the clouds above scattered as if flinching from the elemental wrath.
Etemon screamed.
The Monkey King thrashed against the onslaught, tentacles flying in all directions, trying to shield himself from the damage. But the combined assault covered too wide an area—there was no escape.
Darkness melted beneath white-hot flame.
Tentacles burned to cinders, sliced mid-motion by the invisible scythes of wind.
And in the heart of it all, Etemon's body took the full brunt of the explosion.
He emerged seconds later, tumbling backward across the scorched ground, fur singed, armor cracked, and his proud sneer replaced by a snarl of rage. His sunglasses were shattered, one lens cracked and swinging by a thread.
His voice, when he spoke, was a guttural growl.
"You… vermin."
Naruto didn't flinch.
He stood tall, Sage Mode still active, his body humming with power. MetalGreymon dropped down beside him, panting but grinning through gritted fangs. The battlefield, for a moment, held its breath.
Etemon rose.
A scorched crater lay behind him, the ground smoking, tentacles withered and twitching. But the rage in his eyes burned brighter than ever. His aura darkened, twisted further by his fury.