The rain fell relentlessly on the village hidden in the rain, a gray curtain that seemed to weep for the fate that loomed over Amegakure and, unbeknownst to the world, something far larger. In the ruins of a shattered tower, a man lay mortally wounded, his body broken but his spirit unbreakable. Jiraiya, the Gallant Hermit, the Toad Sage, felt the cold embrace of death creeping up his limbs, the stinging pain of multiple punctures turning into a growing numbness. Before him, the impassive figures of the Six Paths of Pain, a manifestation of the power of his former student, Yahiko, manipulated by the darkness of Nagato and the mastermind of Obito. A cruel irony that the man who had believed himself to bring peace was the harbinger of his own destruction.
Defeat was imminent, a cold, hard fact that his shinobi mind accepted with the same resignation with which he had accepted so many losses throughout his life. He had failed to bring Nagato back, had failed to stop this madness. But he hadn't failed to obtain the crucial information. Pain's secret, the true Nagato and his connection to his immobilized body, was etched in his mind, ready to be sent to Konoha. It was his last act as a shinobi, as a sannin. His legacy would not be failure, but the information that perhaps, just perhaps, would save the ninja world.
He raised a trembling hand, blood trickling down his fingers as he tried to carve the final message into the back of Fukasaku, the loyal little toad sage. Each stroke was a Herculean effort, each kanji a battle against the growing darkness in his vision. He remembered faces: Tsunade, his impossible love; Orochimaru, his friend fallen to madness; Minato, his brilliant student, the Fourth Hokage; Naruto, his godson, the child of prophecy, the hope he had nurtured. Had he done enough for them? For the world? A rueful smile crossed his bloodstained lips. He had always been a pervert, a traveler, a writer of risqué novels. But deep down, he had always been a protector.
Pain's figures advanced, his Rinnegan eyes spinning with terrifying indifference. He felt the final blow approaching, the inevitable end. There was no regret, only a deep sadness for not seeing Naruto grow up, for not seeing if he really was the child of prophecy. The thought of Naruto gave him one last spark of strength. He had to send the message. For Naruto. For Konoha. For the future.
He felt the final impact, an overwhelming force that broke his remaining ribs and pierced vital organs. He fell into the water, the cold liquid mixing with his blood, a scarlet shroud in the gray rain. The world tilted, vision blurred, sounds distorted. His last thoughts were for Naruto, a hope, a silent prayer in the downpour. "You'll make it, Naruto..." Darkness closed in around him, the chill of the water penetrating to his bones. He was sinking. It was over. The great Jiraiya, the Toad Sage, was dying alone in the depths of Amegakure.
But then, something happened. Something not in any ninja scroll, in any hermit legend. Just as consciousness faded completely, as the cold void of death began to claim him, he felt a jolt. Not the pain of wounds, not drowning. It was a sensation of being pulled, torn from the cold certainty of the end.
The void that followed wasn't that of death, but a different kind of void. A non-space with no top or bottom, no perceptible light or dark, only a kaleidoscopic confusion of strange colors and impossible shapes that flickered and twisted beyond human comprehension. The sound was a silent cacophony, a vibration in his nonexistent body that resonated with the same visual strangeness.
Amidst this sensory dissonance, he felt a presence. Not a physical presence, but a vast, ancient, and powerful consciousness, a mind that encompassed concepts Jiraiya could barely begin to process. It was as if an ocean of knowledge and energy engulfed him, observing him, evaluating him. There were no words, no communication in a traditional sense, but there was a transmission of intent. An intent foreign to his reality, interested not in his chakra or his jutsus, but in the very essence of who he was: a convergence point of life energy, spiritual and physical, shaped by experience and will.
The presence seemed to probe, not in an invasive or painful way, but with a distant, methodical curiosity. It felt as if her own history, her memories, her abilities, her very being, were being scanned and understood at a fundamental level. She recognized the chakra energy, the natural energy, the pain of her death, the hope for Naruto, her unwavering perversion. It was all there, exposed to this cosmic entity.
A soundless "voice" echoed in the void, a mental impression Jiraiya somehow interpreted. It wasn't a language, but a concept: Potential. Convergence. Imbalance. Relocation.
Imbalance? What was that presence talking about? Had his death caused an imbalance? Or was it something bigger, something involving realities, universes? The concepts were too abstract, too far removed from his world of ninjas, samurai, and summoned beasts.
He felt his consciousness, his soul, whatever constituted his "self," being encapsulated, protected from the chaos of the void. The feeling of being pulled continued, but now it was more controlled, more intentional. It was like a seed carried by a cosmic current toward unknown soil.
The colors and shapes of the void began to coalesce, becoming less chaotic, though no more comprehensible. He saw glimpses of strange landscapes, of different skies, of creatures that defied known biology. They were fragments of other realities, other dimensions, passing like lightning. Was he traveling through the multiverse? The idea was far-fetched, worthy of one of his most fantastical novels, but the sensory evidence was undeniable.
The presence was still there, a silent constant guiding his journey. He felt no fear, only a stunning bewilderment and the fatalistic acceptance of a man who had seen many strange things in his life, though nothing remotely like this. If this was the fate after death for a Sannin, it was certainly more interesting than he'd imagined. He wondered if Minato or the Third Hokage had experienced anything similar. Probably not. This felt... special. Or perhaps, just weird.
As the journey continued in that timeless and spaceless realm, the intensity of the presence seemed to diminish slightly, as if it had completed its task of rescue and relocation. The transmission of intent became less strong, but still pulsed with an echo of its initial purpose: Relocation. Purpose. Agent.
Agent? Purpose? Was he going to be used for something in this new reality? After a life of fighting for peace and protecting those he loved, was there a new role for him beyond death? Curiosity overcame puzzlement. If he could continue fighting, continue protecting, even in another world, perhaps his death hadn't been so final after all.
The kaleidoscope of flickering realities began to fade, replaced by a sense of focus. The interdimensional void contracted, as if being expelled from it. The visual and aural chaos diminished, and a new sensation began to form: that of matter. That of physical presence.
I felt a pressure, a heat, the distant murmur of organic sounds. It was no longer a consciousness floating in nothingness, but something more substantial. A sensation of envelopment, as if I were contained within something, or someone. The darkness wasn't that of emptiness, but of being surrounded.
Full consciousness hadn't returned yet, but her senses were beginning to flicker. A rhythmic heartbeat, slower and more powerful than she remembered. The faint scent of damp earth and lush vegetation, mingled with something wild and musky. An ambient warmth that wasn't that of sun or fire, but something deeper, like the earth itself.
The sensation of being dragged gave way to that of being gently placed on a warm, organic surface. The echo of the cosmic presence finally faded completely, leaving him alone with these new, strange sensations.
The Hermit's last breath in his old world had died in the rain. But on this new threshold, shrouded in darkness and the primordial heat of an unknown reality, the journey of Jiraiya, the future agent of something far greater, was just beginning. His mind, scarred by memories of a ninja world and the intervention of a being from the stars, was preparing to awaken. The perversion was intact. The determination too. Wherever he was, he would still be Jiraiya. And this new world... well, he was about to know it.
The sensation of warmth increased, and a dull, rhythmic sound filled the space. The interdimensional void closed behind him. Jiraiya was about to be reborn.
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