Guldrin’s Gluttony: Family Bound by Speed & Food

The first thing he felt?

Pain.

It wasn't the sharp, searing kind that came from a fresh wound or the dull throb of an old injury. No, this was something else entirely, a deep, aching pressure that seeped into his bones, as if his very body rejected the unnatural sleep forced upon it. Guldrin's senses returned in waves, sluggish at first, then all at once like a dam breaking.

The scent of damp stone and sterilized metal filled his nostrils. His wrists and ankles were bound, not with rope or chains, but thick, reinforced steel-looking clamps and an energy he knows nothing about radiating from seals placed. Heavy-duty. Military-grade. This wasn't some haphazard prisoner setup; this was premeditated containment. Someone had expected resistance.

It was the right choice, because if Guldrin could free himself, then he would be causing Hell for everyone around.

Shiro was nowhere in sight. That realization sent a jolt through his system sharper than any pain. His heart hammered against his ribs, and his mind roared to life with possibilities, each one worse than the last. His breathing quickened before he forced it to steady. 

'Shiro? Can you hear me? Are you okay?' All he got from his mental probing was silence.

Panicking wouldn't help. 

Thinking would.

He wasn't alone in the room.

Guldrin cracked open one eye, keeping his breathing even, mimicking unconsciousness as he took stock of his surroundings. Dim lighting. Cold air. Monitors flickering in the corner. The rhythmic beeping of a heart rate monitor, his own. A figure stood near the foot of the metal examination table he was strapped to, watching him.

Danzo Shimura.

Of course, it was.

The old war hawk stood with his hands behind his back, his bandaged eye locked onto Guldrin with calculating scrutiny. He wasn't alone either, several masked figures, Root operatives, stood at attention, their postures rigid, waiting for a command.

Guldrin resisted the urge to groan. This was bad. Very bad.

Danzo finally spoke, his voice as smooth and cold as polished stone. "Fascinating."

Guldrin said nothing, keeping his breaths slow and even, his body still. He didn't like the way Danzo said that. Not one bit.

"I had my men run basic tests while you were unconscious." The old man tilted his head ever so slightly. "You have no chakra. A body full of scars that should have by all rights killed a civilian, let alone a no-chakra anomaly such as yourself. Not to mention your reptilian girlfriend you arrived with."

Well, that wasn't exactly a surprise to him. Guldrin wasn't from this world. He wasn't born with a chakra network, and he sure as hell hadn't unlocked some miraculous ninja abilities on arrival. But the way Danzo said it, like it was an anomaly rather than an expected result, sent a chill through him. 

Maybe this wouldn't go as smoothly as he hoped…

Not that he ever thought it would.

Danzo took a step forward. "Even non-Shinobi civilians in this world possess a rudimentary chakra network, however unrefined and pointless. You do not. Not even the faintest traces. That should be impossible."

Guldrin said nothing, because what could he say? 'Oh yeah, about that, I'm from another universe where chakra isn't a thing, but don't worry about it'? Not likely.

Danzo studied him like a scientist examining an insect under glass. "And yet…" He gestured toward one of the masked operatives, who wordlessly stepped forward, holding a small blade.

Oh, hell no.

Before Guldrin could even brace himself, the operative pressed the blade to his forearm and dragged it downward. The pain was sharp and precise, but something was wrong, his body reacted before he could even think.

The wound closed. Near-Instantly.

The cut was there one second, and the next, it was gone. Skin sealed. No blood, no scar.

Danzo exhaled through his nose, pleased. "Regeneration. No chakra, yet your body heals as if it were enhanced by medical ninjutsu. And fast." His gaze sharpened. "That is not natural."

Guldrin kept his expression neutral, but his mind was racing. He hadn't even processed what had happened before Danzo was already dissecting it. 

His self-repairing ability, Gluttony's passive effect after consuming the abomination zombie's flesh, had kicked in on instinct, just like before. It wasn't something he consciously controlled. However, this felt enhanced, like his bloodlines were fueling it to a degree that had no right to do so, and it was all subconscious.

Danzo turned to another Root operative. "Where is the girl?"

The question sent Guldrin's stomach into knots.

"She resisted more than anticipated," the operative responded. "Took down four of our men before we could subdue her. We had to sedate her again. It seemed our sedative didn't have much effect, but Genjutsu seemed to have accomplished the same result."

Danzo hummed. "Interesting, a man and woman with no chakra and two different abilities which should be impossible."

Guldrin clenched his jaw. They weren't hurting her. Not if he had anything to say about it.

'Don't worry, I am fine, just playing along, I can't escape, so at least I can convince them that this illusion is working on me for now. In reality, my Gamer's mind eliminated it before it took effect, but I went along with it.' Guldrin was pleased to receive confirmation that she was fine and understood it was best to act like nothing changed.

Danzo faced him again, his visible eye filled with something unreadable. "You are not of this world. At least not anything I have seen before, for sure not a resident of Konoha, and that makes you dangerous, and danger is only handled two ways… Submission, or Elimination."

Guldrin kept his mouth shut.

"You arrived without passing through the standard barriers. No known affiliations. No recorded identity. And now, abilities that defy the natural laws of chakra."

Danzo leaned forward slightly. "Tell me. What are you?"

Guldrin stared back.

Danzo was playing a game, one he had mastered long before Guldrin was even born. Every question was a trap, every pause a test, every movement designed to elicit a reaction. But Guldrin knew better than to play by the rules set before him, he might not know the playbook Danzo was following, but he had met a thousand people similar to him… The best way to survive is to give them non-answers, and half-truths till they get tired of it and send you to your new fancy holding cell.

So he did the only thing he could. He smiled.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Danzo's expression didn't change, but the air in the room shifted. The old man's patience was infinite, but his tolerance for evasion was not.

"I do not enjoy wasting time," Danzo said, his tone carrying an edge of finality. "Nor do I tolerate obstinance."

Guldrin knew his plan did, well… Something?

He nodded toward the Root operative, who was still standing beside the examination table.

The next thing Guldrin felt was the blade sinking into his shoulder.

His body tensed as pain flared through him, sharp and biting. Not enough to be fatal, but enough to make a point. They were testing him. Testing how much he could take.

Guldrin gritted his teeth.

Jokes on them, compared to the torture from Yoshimitsu, and being roasted alive, this was nothing.

The blade was yanked free, and again, his flesh knitted itself back together before his very eyes.

Danzo watched, fascinated. "Remarkable."

Guldrin exhaled through his nose, keeping his temper in check. Danzo wasn't torturing him for fun, he was gathering data. Every reaction, every wound, every involuntary twitch, it was all being logged, analyzed, and processed.

He was being studied like an experiment.

And that was a problem.

Danzo didn't discard valuable assets. He controlled them. That was the kind of man he was, cold, calculating, ruthless. If something held value, he twisted it, reshaped it, and bent it to his will. And if it refused? He broke it.

Guldrin wasn't about to let himself be broken.

His mind raced, heart hammering in his chest as he took in every detail of his surroundings. The room was dimly lit, sterile, clinical in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. It smelled of parchment, ink, and something metallic, blood, probably. His own? Maybe? Danzo sat across from him, an unmoving figure of authority and menace, his lone eye watching him with the patience of a predator that already had its claws in its prey.

He couldn't use his mana. The moment he had woken up in this room, he had tried, reaching inward for that wellspring of power that should have been there, only to find nothing. It wasn't gone, just… inaccessible, as if a thousand invisible chains held it down. Suppression seals. They had slapped them on him the moment he blacked out.

Danzo wasn't taking chances.

Guldrin flicked his gaze toward the door. Five Root agents. Silent, motionless, faces blank as porcelain masks. They were watching, waiting. He could feel their eyes on him, like wolves circling a wounded deer. And if five of them were here, there were probably more waiting just outside.

Things weren't boding well by the look of it.

His bindings were tight, steel biting into his wrists and ankles, but that wasn't the real problem. His strength could have easily shattered them, if not for the seals carved into the metal, glowing with the faintest blue hue. Chakra suppression. The maddening thing was, he didn't even use chakra. But these seals weren't just blocking chakra; they were keeping him physically weak, draining whatever gave him his unnatural edge. Right now, he was barely stronger than a newborn.

And it was infuriating.

Danzo's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "One way or another, you will talk… or you will spend the rest of your short life as a test subject." He tapped his cane against the ground once. The sound echoed. A heartbeat later, pain erupted in his body.

Four blades. Not deep enough to kill, just enough to make him feel every inch of their cold steel as they dug into his flesh. Deliberate. Precise. Uncaring.

Guldrin gritted his teeth, his breath coming out in sharp exhales. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a scream.

Danzo watched him, unimpressed. "Pain tolerance? Interesting. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. The longer I live in this world, the more I discover about its secrets... But even the strong have limits. I will find yours. The only question is how long will you have to suffer before giving in?"

Guldrin let out a breath, forcing himself to focus. His heart was pounding, and his body was screaming at him to do something, anything. But he had to be smart. He wasn't dealing with some common thug. This was Danzo. The man who had trained assassins from childhood, who had played a game of shadows for decades, who saw human lives as nothing more than tools to be used and discarded.

He needed a way out. Fast.

But first, he had to play along, just enough to buy himself time.

"So," Guldrin rasped, forcing a grin, "is this the part where I monologue about how you'll never break me?"

Danzo's expression didn't change. "No. This is the part where I ensure you understand the inevitability of your cooperation." He motioned again.

Pain flared as the blades twisted. Guldrin bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. His vision blurred for a second, but he forced himself to focus.

His instincts screamed at him, but he forced himself to stay still. Every fiber of his being told him that Danzo wasn't going to kill him. Not yet. He was too valuable. That much was obvious. The old war hawk wouldn't discard an asset like him when there was still so much to extract, so much to learn. That meant, for now, he had a sliver of leverage. Not much, but enough to keep breathing. And as long as he was breathing, he had a chance. He just needed to find it.

The cold steel of the blades buried in his body sent a dull, persistent ache through his nerves, but he barely acknowledged it. Pain was an old friend. He could endure it, push past it, work around it. What worried him were the seals etched onto his restraints, humming with suppressed energy, keeping his strength locked away like a caged beast. If he were at full power, breaking free would be easy. But Danzo wasn't a fool. No, the man had ensured that Guldrin was as helpless… At least for now.

Through their mental link, he relayed everything to Shiro. Every detail. Every sensation. Every word. He didn't have to see her to know she was livid. He could feel it. Her anger was a wildfire, burning hot and furious in the back of his mind. But no matter how much they wanted to fight, they had no way out. At least not yet.

One of the scientists, some no-name lackey with the kind of face that faded into a crowd, stepped forward, clutching a clipboard like it was a lifeline. He adjusted his glasses, eyes flickering between the instruments and Guldrin's wounds, which were already closing up at an unnatural rate. "His physiology is responding remarkably," the scientist murmured, half in awe, half in calculation. "The minor wounds are healing almost instantaneously. The deeper ones… slower, but still remarkable progress. Fascinating."

Danzo's single visible eye gleamed with something almost like satisfaction. "Good," he said, his tone a quiet command. "I suspected as much. That will make the experimentation more… thorough." He turned his attention to the scientist, dismissing Guldrin as if he were a mere specimen rather than a person. "Document everything. I want every detail recorded. Do what you want with him. Push him to his limits. Just make sure he lives."

Guldrin's stomach twisted, but he didn't let it show. He forced his face into a mask of indifference, locking away the sickening unease clawing at his insides.

Danzo's gaze was sharp, and calculating, his singular eye scrutinizing Guldrin as if trying to peel away his very essence with just a look. The room was suffocating in its sterile silence, broken only by the occasional scratch of a pen against a clipboard from one of the ever-observant Root operatives and the scientist. 

The air was cold, heavy with the scent of blood, antiseptic, and something far more insidious, something that reeked of control, of power being wielded with precision and cruelty.

He hated it.

Danzo took a step forward, his cane tapping against the cold stone floor with measured patience, each sound echoing in the dimly lit chamber. "Tell me," he said, his voice deceptively calm, almost conversational, "where does your power come from?"

Guldrin met his gaze without hesitation, his body restrained but his spirit anything but. He could feel the weight of his situation pressing down on him, the inevitability of suffering that was to come. And yet, there was no fear in his eyes, only defiance. His voice, though hoarse from exhaustion, carried unwavering resolve.

"Go to hell."

For a moment, there was nothing. Just silence. The kind that stretched unbearably, filled with the unspoken threat of what was to come.

Then, pain.

The cold bite of steel sliced into his thigh without hesitation, a blade sliding between muscle and sinew with cruel precision. His body jerked involuntarily at the sharp agony that flared through his leg, but he refused to cry out, refused to give them the satisfaction. He exhaled sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched so tight it felt like his teeth might crack. Blood seeped from the fresh wound, pooling beneath him, and soaking into the already stained floor.

Danzo sighed, his disappointment almost theatrical. "Why do they always struggle?" he murmured, shaking his head. "Such a waste of time."

He turned, his pace deliberate, tapping his cane once more against the ground in that infuriatingly steady rhythm. He was already walking away, his presence retreating toward the heavy steel door. And then, casually, as though it were a passing thought, he spoke the words that made Guldrin's blood turn to ice.

"Perhaps your lady friend will be more receptive."

Guldrin went still.

The pain in his leg, the oppressive weight of the restraints, the cold bite of the room, all of it faded into the background. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else, everything that wasn't that one single thought, Shiro.

Danzo was going to her.

It didn't matter that Guldrin was the one here, bleeding, bound, completely at their mercy. It didn't matter that they were poking and prodding him, treating him like some kind of experiment to be dissected and studied. None of it mattered because Shiro was next.

A slow, creeping horror settled in his chest.

Danzo left without another glance, the heavy door creaking open before sealing shut behind him with a finality that made something inside Guldrin twist.

He could feel the distant surge of anger through his mental link with Shiro. She knew. She had been listening, feeling everything he had been experiencing. And she was furious.

But there was nothing either of them could do.

Not yet.

A man cleared his throat, drawing Guldrin's unwilling attention back to the present. One of the scientists, the one with the clipboard, the one who had been studying him like a fascinating insect beneath a microscope, stepped forward. He adjusted his glasses, peering down at Guldrin with what could only be described as a detached curiosity.

"I wonder," the man mused aloud, as if speaking to himself, "if I were to remove one of your fingers… would it grow back?"

There was no malice in his tone, no sadistic glee, only genuine scientific interest, as if he were discussing the potential growth patterns of a plant rather than contemplating Guldrin's mutilation.

Guldrin didn't answer.

Didn't flinch. Didn't react.

Because reacting was exactly what they wanted.

Instead, he lay there, waiting, staring up at the ceiling with an almost eerie calm.

Because he knew what was coming.

The pain, the experiments, the endless cycle of their cruel curiosity, it wasn't going to stop anytime soon. Not until they had learned everything they wanted.

Not until they were satisfied.

If they were ever going to be satisfied.

He wasn't naïve enough to believe that they would simply throw him into a cell after this, that they would let him sit quietly in the dark, waiting for his chance. No, that would be too easy.

They wanted to test him. To break him.

To see what he was capable of.

And so, he waited.

Not because he had given up.

Not because he had accepted his fate.

But because he was patient.

Because the moment they made a mistake…

The moment they let their guard down…

He was going to kill every last one of them.

—

–

-

Shiro was enduring her own personal hell, though, to any observer, she looked disturbingly serene, her expression vacant, her body slumped as if she were still caught in whatever Genjutsu they had attempted to trap her in. She had let them believe it had worked, let them think they had broken her mind, that she was nothing more than a doll, limp and unresisting. But in truth, she was watching, analyzing, memorizing every detail of their movements, every change in their breathing, every flicker of emotion, or lack thereof, on their faces.

They had underestimated her.

It wasn't entirely their fault. How could they have known what they were dealing with? She wasn't normal. She never had been. And now, as they drove needles into her skin, cut shallow wounds along her arms, trying to elicit a reaction, they were beginning to understand that fact. But they still didn't understand her.

One of the masked operatives tightened his grip on the kunai he held, adjusting his stance before plunging the blade directly into her shoulder. It should have been agonizing, a pain that would have made even a trained Shinobi gasp. But Shiro remained completely still.

And then, something fascinating happened.

A shimmer passed over her skin, subtle at first, like the glint of moonlight over water. Then, in an instant, dark, purple, iridescent scales surged to the surface, covering the point of impact. The kunai met resistance, stopping as if it had struck solid stone, while it did inflict a small wound, most of the force had been reduced thanks to the scales.

A quiet murmur spread through the room as the operative withdrew the blade, inspecting it as though it had somehow betrayed him. The sharp steel, which should have cut clean through muscle and tendon, now bore a slight notch where it had made contact with her scales and a slight sheen of red where the kunai made purchase.

Shiro remained motionless. She felt the shifting of her skin, the automatic defense responding without her conscious command, but she made no indication of acknowledgment. She could feel the tension in the air thickening, the growing unease of the men around her as they realized what they were dealing with was far beyond their understanding.

Danzo, ever the patient observer, merely tapped his cane against the ground in a slow, methodical rhythm. The sound echoed through the chamber, a quiet reminder that he was still in control, that this was still his domain. He was studying her with the same detached curiosity as a scholar observing a rare and deadly creature behind the safety of reinforced glass.

"My, both of you are a joy to an old man's heart," he mused, his tone almost wistful, though devoid of true warmth. "One can heal wounds that would kill most people, and the other… some kind of abomination. A cross between a human and something reptilian. Both utterly unique." He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he considered his next words. "And neither of you possess even a trace of chakra."

There was something in his voice, something just beneath the surface of his usual monotone. It wasn't quite disbelief. No, he had long since abandoned the luxury of doubt. What he felt now was something more dangerous.

Fascination.

And that was a problem.

Shiro knew what men like Danzo did to things that fascinated them.

Shiro had read countless Naruto fan fictions, and they all had one thing in common, Danzo is a sadistic, obsessive, power-hungry, unremorseful, horrible human being… So, she knew what his next plan would be…

He wouldn't stop until he had dissected them.

Danzo took a slow step forward, his cane clicking against the stone floor. The surrounding operatives tensed ever so slightly, a reflexive response to his movement, though none dared to break their rigid discipline.

"Impossible," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "And yet, the evidence is undeniable."

The room was silent but for the steady drip of blood from her previous wounds, wounds that were healing far too quickly for any normal human. She could feel their eyes on her, feel the way their perception of her was shifting, recalibrating.

But she didn't move. Didn't react.

She was still playing the fool.

She let her body remain slack, her gaze unfocused, her breathing slow and shallow. She let them believe she was still trapped in their illusion, that she couldn't feel the pain they were attempting to inflict upon her.

It was a game of patience.

And patience was something she had in abundance.

Games were her bread and butter.

Alisa had put them through Hell, and that might be the reason they make it out of this…

Who was she kidding, it was the only reason…

One of the scientists, the one who had been taking notes in the corner, cleared his throat. "Sir," he addressed Danzo, his voice carefully neutral, "should we proceed with further testing? Perhaps a more… invasive approach?"

Danzo remained motionless, his expression unreadable as he contemplated his next move. The rhythmic tapping of his cane against the cold floor echoed through the chamber, each sound deliberate, measured, a subtle display of the control he wielded. His mind was a battlefield of strategies, his thoughts sharp as a finely honed blade. 

His patience, though vast, was not limitless. But for now, he would restrain himself. There was still much to observe, to dissect, not in the literal sense, not yet, but soon enough.

"No," he finally said, his voice calm, as if he had already foreseen this outcome from the very beginning. "Not yet. We have all the time in the world."

If he had been paying closer attention, he might have noticed the tiny flicker of amusement that passed over Shiro's seemingly vacant face, a shadow of a smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

No, they didn't.

Guldrin and Shiro weren't fools. They knew what was coming. The endless cycle of pain, the methodical prodding, the experiments that would be conducted with the cold detachment of a scientist dissecting a particularly interesting specimen. 

But what their captors failed to understand was that while they were being studied, they were studying right back. Every movement, every word spoken, every glance exchanged between Danzo and his subordinates, it all told them something.

And in the silence of their own minds, they communicated.

Apparently, Guldrin could regenerate fingers. That was new. The process was agonizing, though, bone reconstruction was a slow and merciless experience, one that left him barely able to suppress his reactions. Every nerve in his body screamed at him, but he clenched his teeth, forcing himself to endure. Shiro, ever the observer, took note of his pain, of the way his body struggled to adapt to its own unnatural resilience. 

Their mental connection allowed her to feel everything he felt.

This couldn't go on indefinitely. Even they had limits.

So, they made a decision, a subtle manipulation of their own biology, suppressing their abilities just enough to create the illusion of failure. They needed their captors to believe that they had reached the end of their capacity for the day, and that no matter how much more stress they were subjected to, there would be no further results. 

It was the only way to ensure they could catch their breath, gather their strength, and strategize without constant interference.

And it worked.

So well, in fact, that the scientists made the decision to place them into containment tanks, massive test tubes filled with a viscous, nutrient-rich solution designed to accelerate healing and preserve their bodies for further experimentation. The liquid was cool, unnervingly still, like a suspended prison of synthetic amniotic fluid. Floating within its depths, Guldrin and Shiro were reduced to nothing more than lab specimens, waiting to be studied again and again.

Danzo watched them through the reinforced glass, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the handle of his cane.

Time was of no concern to him. He had spent a lifetime playing the long game, moving his pieces across the board with meticulous precision. The patience that had carried him this far would serve him once more. Because this wasn't just about studying them. This wasn't about simple results.

No, this was about something far greater.

This was about power.

These beings, whatever they were, had no chakra. And yet, they defied every law, every fundamental principle which Shinobi had built their world upon. They healed wounds that should have been fatal. Their bodies adapted, and evolved in ways that no normal human could comprehend. 

Danzo had spent his life searching for the perfect soldier, the ultimate weapon that could secure his vision of the future. And now, standing before him, floating in those tanks like eerie remnants of some forgotten legend, were the answers to all his ambitions.

If he could unlock the secrets of their biology, if he could harvest what made them unique…

Could their abilities be replicated? Could they be enhanced, refined, controlled?

Could they be weaponized?

His mind raced with possibilities. If these beings could survive wounds that would kill a shinobi, could they withstand chakra infusion? Could they use jutsu? Could they harness bloodline limits?

The thought alone sent a thrill through him.

What if he implanted a Sharingan? Would their bodies reject it, or would they adapt as they had adapted to everything else?

What about a Byakugan?

Could their strange resilience be merged with the specialties of the great clans, the Yamanaka's mind control, the Nara's shadow manipulation, and the Akimichi's monstrous physical transformations?

Could the Inuzuka's feral instincts be fused into them, turning them into something even more dangerous?

The fusion of Shinobi and these creatures… could that be the answer to all his problems?

His dream of becoming Hokage had never faded. It had simply evolved. He didn't need to be loved. He didn't need to be adored like the fools who came before him. He only needed power.

And now, he had found it.

For now, he would wait. He had all the time in the world. Patience had always been his greatest weapon, more potent than any jutsu, sharper than any blade. A miscalculation, a rushed decision, those were the weaknesses of fools, of men who sought power but lacked the discipline to wield it properly. Not him. No, Danzo understood the long game. He would put in the work, as he always had.

Experiment. Analyze. Dissect.

Not physically, not yet. That would come in time. There was still much to learn before the body could be unraveled, before he could peel back the layers of their strange existence and lay bare the truth beneath.

He would find the limits of their endurance. He would push them past the brink of suffering, past pain, past the very threshold of what it meant to be human, if they even were human in the first place. He would tear apart their secrets, strip away the mystery surrounding them, and when the final piece of the puzzle fell into place…

He would wield that power as his own.

Once he understood the secret to their existence…

He would become it.

-

–

—

Now, you might be wondering about the high-tech watch he was wearing before entering this world. A curious detail, perhaps, in the grand scheme of things. Surely someone would have noticed it by now, questioned its presence, and examined it under the cold scrutiny of the laboratory lights.

But no one had.

Not a single scientist, not a single guard, not even Danzo himself had given it a second glance.

Why?

Well, the answer was quite simple, really.

Alisa had used a rather elegant combination of magic and technology, some advanced hocus-pocus, a little trickery, a little ingenuity, to ensure that no one so much as thought to question it. A subtle manipulation, a tweak in perception, a sleight of hand that turned the watch into something as unremarkable as the very air they breathed. To their minds, it was nothing more than an ordinary piece of fabric, a natural extension of his wrist, a thing so mundane it wasn't even worth acknowledging.

And yet, despite all her cunning, all her careful planning, Alisa was utterly helpless.

She had been observing from the moment of their arrival, a mere slip of consciousness nestled away, hidden in the folds of existence like a whisper in the dark inside the code of the smartwatch. 

She had watched everything, every test, every calculation, every cruel experiment conducted under the harsh glow of artificial lights. She had watched her little master and little mistress endure, their bodies battered, their spirits tested, their pain turned into data, into cold, clinical numbers on a clipboard.

She had wanted to act. Needed to act. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to intervene, to break the chains that bound them, to rip apart their captors piece by piece until nothing remained but blood and silence.

But she couldn't.

Something held her back.

Something vast, something unknowable, something beyond even her comprehension.

It wasn't a seal. It wasn't a curse. It wasn't a physical barrier that could be shattered with brute force. No, this was something far more insidious and infuriating. A force that restrained her, as if unseen hands gripped the very essence of her existence and refused to let go.

The worst part?

She didn't understand why.

She had meddled in countless affairs before. She had bent the rules, twisted fate, and cheated destiny itself when it suited her. But this? This was different.

This was absolute.

And it terrified her.

Emily, ever perceptive, had sensed the rising panic bleeding off Alisa, the way her distress grew like a relentless tide, threatening to consume her. Unlike Alisa, Emily knew what was happening. She had known from the start.

And so, she took pity on her.

A single message, sent through the system, broke through Alisa's turmoil like a quiet ripple across still water.

It wasn't a grand revelation. It wasn't some complicated explanation that unraveled the mysteries of the universe. No, it was something much simpler.

A warning.

A rule.

By no means was she allowed to interfere.

For three years.

Three years of watching.

Three years of waiting.

Three years of standing by while her little master and little mistress suffered, while they were poked and prodded, while they were tested like animals in a cage.

It wasn't just agony for them.

It was torture for her.

She had never felt so powerless in her entire existence.

—

–

-

Like this, the months dragged on, stretching endlessly into a monotonous cycle of suffering, powerlessness, and endless experimentation. 

Each day was a fresh horror, a new lesson in cruelty, as Danzo took his time, methodically wearing down their resistance like water eroding stone. There was no rush, he was meticulous, careful, ensuring that every test, every extraction of blood, flesh, and tissue, brought him closer to whatever wretched goal he had in mind. 

He wanted to understand them, to pick them apart and reassemble them in ways that suited him. To find what made them different and, in the end, to make that power his own.

The room where it all happened was cold, sterile, utterly devoid of warmth. The smell of antiseptic and something faintly metallic, probably blood, hung thick in the air. The fluorescent-like lights buzzed overhead, a constant, droning hum that drilled into the mind like an unending reminder of where they were, of what was happening to them. The walls, smooth and gray, seemed to close in more and more each day. 

There was no concept of time beyond the vague shifts in personnel.

If there had ever been a part of Guldrin that believed Konoha was different, that it was some kind of beacon of light in a world of darkness, those illusions had long since been shattered. This was the reality, the rot hiding beneath the village's noble facade. If a place like Konoha could harbor someone as twisted, as utterly vile as Danzo Shimura, then it was clear, they would never be on the same side. The idea of allegiance, of loyalty to such a place, was laughable.

But then, something unexpected happened.

A new variable entered the equation, one that neither Danzo nor Guldrin had anticipated.

Ino.

Yes, that Ino.

Yamanaka Ino, heir to the Yamanaka Clan, a girl who, in any other world, would have been nothing more than a loudmouthed blonde with a love for flowers and an obsession with Sasuke Uchiha. But in this world? In this twisted version of reality, she was Root.

And she had been ordered to mind-dive into Guldrin.

Why her? That part was unclear. Maybe Danzo wanted to use her abilities to break past whatever mental defenses Guldrin had. Maybe he thought a deep enough invasion would reveal secrets even Guldrin himself wasn't aware of. Or maybe, just maybe, he was simply testing the extent of Ino's own abilities, throwing her headfirst into something she wasn't remotely prepared for.

Whatever the reason, it didn't matter.

Because the moment she entered his mind, everything changed.

It was supposed to be simple. A routine mental invasion, the same technique the Yamanaka had honed for generations. Slip into his consciousness, navigate through his memories, extract whatever information was deemed valuable, and leave. A clean, precise operation.

But that's not what happened.

The moment she made contact, the moment she touched the depths of his mind, she nearly lost herself entirely.

Something inside Guldrin latched onto her presence, something vast and incomprehensible, something hungry. His very being twisted around hers, and before she could even think to pull away, it was already too late.

Her will, her identity, her very sense of self, it all crumbled in an instant.

And then… she changed.

Long story short?

She became a follower.

His follower

Not in the way a soldier follows a leader. Not in the way a shinobi obeys their orders. No, this was deeper. This was a conversion on a fundamental level, something that rewrote the very core of who she was.

One moment, she had been a loyal operative of Root. The next, she belonged to him.

How did that work?

Guldrin had no idea.

Subjugation? Mind-breaking? Some kind of loss of will to fight?

Whatever it was, he could feel it.

His blood, his Devil bloodline, stirred at the development, preening like a predator that had just claimed its prize. The sensation was unlike anything he had experienced before, a strange mix of satisfaction and power, as if something ancient and instinctual within him was pleased by the turn of events.

And the strangest part?

He felt connected to her.

Not just in the way a master and servant might be bound. No, it was something more intrinsic, something woven into the very fabric of their beings. He knew her now in a way that went beyond words, beyond logic. It was as if, in that moment of mental contact, something of her had been transferred to him, and something of him had been embedded in her.

And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he willed it, if he so much as thought about it, he could erase the seal Danzo had placed on her emotions.

He wouldn't do it. Not yet. Not until they could escape.

But the knowledge that he could…

That was enough.

And if the Devils in the Underworld could see what had just happened, if they could witness what he had unknowingly done, they would be shocked to their very core.

Because what had just transpired was eerily similar to something from their own history.

Lucifer himself had once done the very same thing, twisting the minds and souls of others, bending them to his will, converting thralls to his side with little more than a touch, a whisper, a thought.

But there was one key difference.

Guldrin wasn't completely twisted.

He wasn't deluded with visions of grandeur. He wasn't drowning in self-importance or caught up in some ridiculous war with the divine. That would be far too simple. No, what burned inside him wasn't the arrogance of a self-proclaimed king, nor the delusions of a fallen angel. It was something far more dangerous, cold, patient, and inevitable.

Of course, maybe he did have some father issues. That was something he and the Devil had in common. But honestly? That was beside the point.

—

–

-

The world around him was a blur of muted colors and distorted sounds, the ever-present hum of the liquid-filled pod droning in his ears. It was a sickly, artificial warmth that surrounded him, a viscous embrace that lulled his body into a half-sedated state. But his mind? His mind was sharper than ever, cataloging every experiment, every violation, every single thing that had been done to him and Shiro. The memories seared themselves into the deepest parts of his being, fueling something cold, something calculating. The quiet rage simmered beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to erupt.

"How's my favorite test subject doing today?" 

The grating, nasal voice of the bespectacled scientist cut through the fog of his mind, an unwanted intrusion as the liquid within the pod began to drain. Guldrin's muscles tensed involuntarily as his body reacted to the shift in pressure. His lungs burned as they readjusted to breathing air rather than the oxygenated fluid that had kept him suspended in that accursed tank.

Dr. Shirakawa, or as Guldrin preferred to call him, 'Four Eyes', stood just beyond the reinforced glass, a smug expression stretching his already rat-like features.

"Ah, if only you were as docile as Subject XX," the man mused, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with deliberate slowness. "Well, no matter… I quite like your screams when we can coax them out of you. Unlike your little girlfriend, who remains disappointingly mute and unresponsive."

A sick chuckle.

"Genjutsu is such a fascinating tool, don't you think? She hasn't reacted to a thing in weeks. The master," he gestured vaguely, no doubt referring to Danzo, "seems to think that leaving her like that is of little consequence. I, however, think it's such a waste. A mind can only be broken so many times before it ceases to be useful."

The bastard shook his head in mock disappointment before motioning for the guards to pull Guldrin from the now half-drained pod.

His bare feet slapped against the cold steel of the lab floor as rough hands yanked him forward, but he barely registered the discomfort. His mind was already reaching out.

'Are you okay?'

The message was instant, delivered via the system's private link. A direct line to Shiro, his lifeline in this hellhole.

'I am fine… A little sore, but I'm gaining pain tolerance levels quickly,' came the reply, calm and matter-of-fact as always. 'I even developed an actual regeneration skill. It stacks on top of what I already had from the High Human and Vritra bloodlines.'

Even through the telepathic link, he could hear the analytical interest in her voice.

'I overheard them talking. They want to start exposing us to techniques soon, to see if we can utilize them without chakra. This could be our chance to absorb more information. I might be able to use it through the Gamer class, and you…'

A pause.

'…should be able to replicate and refine them through your Innovator class.'

Guldrin exhaled sharply through his nose. Now that was interesting.

'I'm being put back in the pod. Feels like nap time. Enjoy your next torture session.'

The dry humor in her words made him smirk despite everything. Only Shiro could treat literal hell like some kind of grinding session for her skills.

The Gamer class was a real cheat…

She was already leagues ahead of him in that regard. But he'd catch up.

The guards pulled his arms behind his back, metal clamps clicking into place around his wrists. Guldrin barely paid them any mind. His attention was on Four Eyes, who was watching him with thinly veiled frustration.

He knew why.

No matter what they did, Guldrin refused to give him the satisfaction of breaking.

The bastard wanted a reaction, fear, rage, despair, anything. But Guldrin had learned early on that silence drove the man insane.

And so he kept his expression impassive, offering nothing but cold, empty indifference.

That was a mistake.

Without hesitation, the scientist snapped his fingers.

A sharp, sickening sound filled the room.

Guldrin barely had time to register the flash of movement before he felt it, the searing, nauseating pain of his fingers being severed from his right hand.

The world narrowed into a pinpoint of agony. His breath hitched, his muscles spasming against the restraints, but he refused to give them the scream they wanted.

The scientist hummed, tilting his head as he examined the damage.

"Fascinating. You don't even flinch." He turned his gaze to the silent figure standing nearby. "Ino, dispose of those, would you?"

Guldrin's stomach twisted as he watched her move.

Ino.

Her movements were mechanical, her expression blank. The mark of the Root's infamous emotion-suppression seal was painfully evident.

But that wasn't what made his blood boil.

It was the fact that they were using her.

His follower. His first.

Against him.

Guldrin had no illusions about his connection to her, he hadn't meant for it to happen, hadn't planned for her mind to break and latch onto him the way it had. But that didn't change the fact that she was his.

And these bastards had the audacity to use her against him.

Oh, he would make them pay.

Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon.

For now, he burned every second of this moment into his mind.

Guldrin would remember every single moment. Every glance, every word, every smirk of superiority they had dared to throw his way. The way they looked at him like he was nothing more than a specimen, a curiosity to be poked and prodded. A thing. A subject. An object for their amusement and twisted research.

He had memorized the smug, ever-present smirk on Four Eyes' face, the way the scientist's glasses gleamed under the cold artificial light of the underground facility. 

The man held no fear, no hesitation, just raw, unfiltered curiosity as if Guldrin's suffering was nothing more than an academic study, an experiment running its course. 

The guards were no better. They stood idly by, their expressions blank, their body language indifferent, as though torturing another living being was no different from filing paperwork. 

They followed orders with mechanical precision, devoid of conscience, like well-oiled machines doing what they were built to do.

That indifference... it was something Guldrin would carve into their memories, just as they had carved it into him.

He wasn't just biding his time. No, he was accumulating. Stacking every bit of pain, every moment of humiliation, every violation of his body and mind, storing it away in the depths of his soul, waiting for the inevitable reckoning. Because that reckoning would come. Not as some grand, dramatic escape fueled by desperation, not as a blind rush for vengeance. No. It would be slow, methodical, and inevitable.

Guldrin did not believe in revenge. Revenge was crude, reactionary, a mere outburst of rage that burned hot but brief. It was an emotion-fueled, immediate response that often left one just as empty as before, seeking satisfaction in something that could never truly repay the debt of suffering. 

No, revenge was for those who lacked patience, for those who thought a single act of violence or defiance could balance the scales of torment. Guldrin knew better. What he sought, what he truly believed in, was something far worse. Something deeper, colder, more calculated.

Retribution.

Retribution was not an act of passion; it was a force of nature. It was inevitable, relentless, systematic. It did not strike in blind fury but rather moved with the precision of a thousand sharpened blades, each cut measured, each wound inflicted with purpose. It was a slow, creeping tide of justice, indifferent to screams, merciless in its execution.

And retribution was coming.

For every scientist who had peered at him like a specimen under a microscope, noting his suffering with dispassionate interest. For every guard who had stood by, arms crossed, amusement flickering in their deadened eyes as he was poked, prodded, tested beyond the limits of human endurance. For Four Eyes, whose smirk never faltered, always so sure of himself, so convinced that Guldrin was nothing more than a thing to be studied and discarded when broken.

Oh, he would remember them. He would remember every single look of condescension, every act of cruelty both great and small. The way they dismissed him, stripped him of dignity, reduced him to nothing more than an experiment, a curiosity. They had made a fatal mistake in assuming he was something that could be caged indefinitely. They had mistaken restraint for weakness. They had mistaken silence for submission.

The truth was, Guldrin had been waiting.

Waiting, watching, enduring.

From the moment the first cold steel cuff had locked around his wrist, he had made his decision. The pain, the degradation, the agony, it had all been fuel, a slow-burning fire that had tempered him into something far stronger than they could have ever anticipated. 

He and Shiro had spoken in hushed whispers, using the mental link provided by the system, strategizing in the moments between agony. They had agreed, there would be no desperate attempts, no reckless gambits.

They would bide their time till escape was possible…

Now,

The sign-ins.

Every day, the system offered him rewards.

Sure, some of these rewards might help a tad… But if the accumulated reward he received in the past was any indication, then three whole years, or however long it takes them to escape… Would be immensely satisfying and might just be what they needed to turn the tide in their favor… Or it might be a flop, RNG is like that sometimes.

So he waited…

He had hoarded them. Let them pile up, stack upon stack, waiting for the perfect moment.

It had been a gamble, of course. There was never a guarantee that any single reward would be enough to free him outright. But he wasn't looking for an easy way out. That was never the point. An escape would be too clean, too unsatisfying. What he wanted, what he needed, was to make sure that when he left this place, it wasn't as a fugitive. It wasn't as a prisoner slipping through the cracks.

It would be as something else entirely.

Something they would fear.

Something, they created.

He would not flee. He would rise.

He would make them regret ever believing they had control over him.

Because suffering was a debt.

And he intended to collect.

He could almost picture it, the moment when everything would change. The alarms blaring, the red emergency lights painting the cold metallic walls with streaks of crimson. The sharp bark of orders as the guards scrambled, their once-bored expressions twisted into fear and confusion. The scent of burnt circuitry, of blood. The knowledge dawning on them, too late, far too late, that they had created their own destruction.

They had spent so much time studying him, but they had never truly understood him.

They saw his pain, but they didn't see his resolve.

They recorded his screams, but they didn't hear his silence.

They tested his limits, but they never once realized he had none.

They like all before them, had NO idea what they had tried to break.

It was almost funny.

Almost.

When the moment came, when the tables turned, he would not be merciful. Not because he enjoyed cruelty, no, that would be too simple. But because mercy was something granted to those who had earned it, to those who showed regret, who sought redemption. 

These people? They had never once hesitated when it was their turn to hold power.

So he would make them understand.

He would take his time.

There would be no quick deaths, no sudden escapes from accountability. They would experience everything he had endured, feel every ounce of pain, every moment of helplessness. But unlike him, they wouldn't have the certainty of eventual reprieve. No, he would make sure of that.

And when it was over, when the last scream had faded into silence, he and Shiro would walk away.

Not as a survivor.

Not as a victim.

But as something far greater.

And they would never forget the day they thought they could break him. Nor would they know the Hell they unleashed on this unexpecting world due to their hubris.

(RNG changed the way this would go in sooo many ways. A 50/50 chance to be captured... I rolled a 10% chance to have someone from the main cast be Root, Ino won, another 50/50 chance to completely fry her mind, she was converted instead... I rolled for a chance to escape, it didn't happen. I rolled 5 sided die for how long they would be captured, the longest time was the result... This is crazy, I hope everyone enjoys the way the story is coming along... Give me your POWER, Please, and Thank You! Leave reviews and comments, they motivate me to continue.)