Naruto: The Prophetic Shinobi

Somewhere far from the reaches of the Five Great Nations, behind the shadows of war-scorched rock and hidden valleys, a rain fell endlessly against steel and stone.

Within the hollow of an abandoned tower, deep in the Hidden Rain's forgotten industrial heart, a ring of chakra flickered into existence—each symbol glowing dim red upon the fingertips of cloaked men.

The Akatsuki had convened.

Nine figures. One void.

"Where is Tobi?" Kisame asked, eyes gleaming with amusement beneath his hood.

"Late," Kakuzu muttered, "as always."

From the highest perch, Pain said nothing.

The rain behind him struck the iron window slats with rhythmic violence, like the ticking of a slow, boiling clock.

But the silence didn't last.

Konan stepped forward from the edge, her paper flower wilting slightly in the humidity.

"We have news."

Sasori's puppet head turned with a slow creak. "It better be worth the chakra."

"It is," Konan said simply. "Our contacts in the Land of Fire report that the Kyūbi is no longer within its host. The Nine-Tails… is dead."

The words should have echoed.

But instead, the room held stillness. A silence too dense to move through.

Hidan was the first to speak.

"Dead?" he repeated, incredulous. "That's not how this works. Bijūu don't just die. They're chakra incarnate."

"You're wrong," Itachi said quietly, arms folded in his sleeves. "Chakra can disperse. Given the right circumstances—and the right host—it can be undone."

Pain's gaze lowered to the floor.

"Konoha has found a way to sever the Kyūbi's chakra from this plane," Konan continued. "We don't know the full method yet. But our sources confirm Uzumaki Naruto still lives… somehow even without the beast."

"Then he's useless to us," Kakuzu said flatly. "The statue cannot be fed without the bijū."

"It changes our timeline," Zetsu's white side interjected, half-muttering to himself. "The balance… it's shifting."

"No," came the black side of Zetsu, voice deeper. "It only means we accelerate."

Kisame leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

"Well, it's a shame. I was looking forward to seeing what the Kyūbi's chakra looked like up close."

Itachi didn't speak.

His gaze had lowered slightly, thoughtful—but not surprised.

Pain finally spoke.

"This changes nothing. The plan continues. The other bijū remain. The Akatsuki's purpose is larger than any single beast."

Konan looked toward him. "But it will change how the other villages move."

Pain nodded.

"Which is why we move first."

Far to the west, in the iron-scarred chambers of Iwagakure, the Tsuchikage stood before a map.

Onoki narrowed his eyes.

"So... the Kyūbi is gone."

"Yes, Lord Tsuchikage," said his aide. "Confirmed. Our informants in the Fire Country say Danzo's final actions exposed the truth."

"And the boy?"

"Still alive. But no longer a jinchūriki."

Onoki turned, slowly, arms crossed behind his back.

"That child…" he muttered. "he still lives even with bijuu dead from his body?"

He fell silent.

"Should we move, Lord Tsuchikage?" the aide asked. "Without the Kyūbi, Konoha is weaker. Their deterrent is gone."

Onoki gave a slow shake of his head.

"No. That boy may no longer have the beast… but he is still a symbol. Attacking now would unify the clans of the Leaf under him. Worse… the world might see us as the ones who struck first."

He leaned over the map, fingers brushing over the Fire Country's borders.

"No. We watch and wait. Konoha will fracture before it rises."

Meanwhile, in the storm-rimmed mountains of Kumogakure, the Raikage's desk cracked beneath his fist.

"The Kyūbi's dead?!" he roared.

C flinched but stood his ground. "Yes, Lord A. The report came from our embedded scouts in the Land of Fire. They've confirmed it."

Darui stood to the side, silent.

The Raikage paced.

"He was the strongest deterrent left. The moment we learned he wasn't a weapon anymore, we should've moved."

"With respect," C said carefully, "our agreement was not to escalate. Especially not after the last treaty."

The Raikage growled. "Treaties don't mean anything if the game's changed."

Darui finally spoke, voice quiet. "Maybe the game hasn't changed as much as you think."

"What?"

"The Kyūbi's gone," Darui said, "but the boy isn't. And you know what he's been doing lately. That was not the same kid from the Chūnin Exams. He exposed Danzo. Defended the Hokage. Tracked down the roots of ROOT itself."

The Raikage was silent for a beat.

"…If we moved now," C added, "we might make enemies of the very alliance we're trying to maintain."

The Raikage grunted.

"Then we keep eyes on him. But not just him—watch the Hyūga, the Nara, even the rogue Uchiha."

Darui raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

And in Konoha, as evening fell again, Naruto stood atop the Hokage Monument, wind tugging at his shirt, hands folded at his back.

He didn't know the conversations echoing across the continent.

Didn't know that the death of the Kyūbi had sent waves into enemy war rooms.

Didn't know that the name "Uzumaki Naruto" had begun to matter in ways no one expected.

But he did know one thing.

The game had changed.

Not just for him—but for the world.

And he was ready for it.