Naruto：Immortality and the Eight Inner Gates[Double agent]

"Feed these wretches some slop - just enough to keep them alive through the night!"

Who's there?

Who's speaking?

Did I black out drunk somewhere?

Rinjin's eyes fluttered open to complete darkness. Gone was his familiar ceiling, gone were the fluorescent lights he knew so well. The only illumination came from oil lamps flickering dimly in the corridor beyond iron bars, casting weak shadows across the space.

What was happening?

With a start, Rinjin sat bolt upright, his eyes darting around frantically as his heart plummeted.

Nothing - absolutely nothing - was familiar.

Iron bars divided the space into cells, the floor beneath him cold and unyielding. In this vast cage, ragged children huddled together in desperate clusters!

This...!

Glancing down at his small, calloused hands, cold sweat broke out across Rinjin's body.

"Christ... I can't be more than six or seven!"

If this wasn't a dream, something was terribly wrong.

These weren't his old weathered hands that had served him so well - this clearly wasn't his body at all.

And the fierce, burning hunger in his gut confirmed one thing: this was no dream.

"Well... shit."

Rinjin's lips twisted in a bitter smile as he fell back, struggling to process his situation.

There was no denying it - he had transmigrated.

Fighting against the gnawing hunger, he squeezed his eyes shut, searching desperately for any trace of this body's previous memories. But the kid's mind was completely blank - cleaner than the box of tissues that used to sit by his bed.

"My savings!"

Transmigration wasn't a foreign concept to Rinjin. In his previous life as a salesman, his favorite escape between client meetings had been reading novels. Sometimes, worn down by the daily grind, he'd envied those protagonists and their fantastic adventures through transmigration.

But now that it had happened to him? He wanted nothing more than to go back!

All that money he'd carefully saved - he hadn't even gotten to enjoy it!

The thought of his cash sitting cold and lonely in his safe, just like him now, made his chest tight with despair.

Still, years of corporate life had taught him when to bow to reality. Transmigration was completely beyond his control - there was no fighting it.

As this sank in, his panic gradually subsided.

"Well, at least I kept my memories. Without those, I'd really be screwed."

His previous career as a successful salesman had involved facing down countless difficult clients and unreasonable bosses. That experience had given him an unshakeable mental fortitude - his greatest asset for survival.

Having steadied himself, Rinjin carefully assessed his surroundings again.

The windowless cells, the damp cold floor, the stale but temperate air, the raggedly dressed children - everything spoke of calculated cruelty.

One thing was clear - they were underground.

Given the illegally imprisoned children, himself included, this had to be some criminal organization's hidden facility.

Lost in thought, Rinjin was startled by a sudden harsh clanging.

"CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!"

"Damn, do you guys float or something? Walking around silent as ghosts," Rinjin muttered, opening his eyes.

In the dim light, he saw a stern-faced middle-aged man wearing a gray linen jacket over what appeared to be mesh armor, with an odd metal plate tied to his forehead. The man was mechanically striking the bars while scattering black pellets across the cell floor.

From his position near the bars, Rinjin sat up and picked up one of the pellets, watching the man's retreating form. "Guy must have a screw loose, wearing fishnet underneath - either a complete weirdo or..."

He froze mid-sentence, his eyes widening as recognition struck.

Wait... I know that outfit...

The word "Naruto" burst into his mind like a thunderbolt, sending his thoughts into chaos.

Then he recalled the Japanese-accented words he'd heard before waking. And that metal plate - it wasn't just any headband, it was a shinobi forehead protector!

Looking down at the black pellet in his hand, Rinjin felt his jaw clench.

No, it couldn't be. Maybe this was just some dedicated cosplayer with questionable fashion sense!

Around him, children were scrambling desperately for the pellets, shoving them into their mouths before diving back into the fray.

Soon the floor was picked clean. Rinjin noticed many who'd managed to grab extras were carefully hiding them, crouching in corners with wary eyes.

Those who'd gotten nothing stared with naked hunger at their luckier cellmates. Several fixed predatory gazes on the pellet in Rinjin's hand - a chilling look in children so young.

With a quick motion and a gulp, Rinjin swallowed his pellet, and the hungry stares shifted elsewhere.

Help yourself before helping others - that was the rule of survival.

With just one pellet and his stomach burning with hunger, he had to look after himself first.

Shortly after swallowing, a satisfying fullness spread through him, warming his gut. Rinjin worked his jaw thoughtfully, impressed despite himself.

Though it tasted like dirt, the effect was remarkable - one pellet felt like a full meal.

As his hunger pangs eased, he shifted away from the still-squabbling children to a quiet corner. Leaning against the wall, he strained to recall everything he knew about the Naruto series.

The more he thought, the more his anxiety grew.

"This is bad... Why is my head full of nothing but memes? 'Madara acknowledges your strength,' 'How many floors can you climb with a rice bag' - damn it! I watched way too many highlight reels!"

Rinjin's lips curved into a slight smile as he murmured to himself.

"Ah, youth!"

As the candlelight gradually dimmed, Rinjin closed his eyes and drifted into slumber.

Time passed, and the drowsy Rinjin was suddenly jolted awake by sharp, metallic clanging. Outside the cage stood an old man in a white lab coat, flanked by four or five figures in ninja attire. The middle-aged man who usually brought food to the children was striking the iron bars violently with a wooden stick.

"Get up! All of you, against the bars, now!" The middle-aged man bellowed, his eyes dark with malice.

The children in tattered clothes startled awake, lining up against the cage bars like frightened fawns. Rinjin rose quietly, keeping his head down and blending into the crowd while covertly watching the movements of those beyond the bars.

With a harsh screech of metal, the cage door swung open.

"Out! Move it!" The middle-aged man continued his aggressive banging, creating thunderous echoes.

Staying within the crowd, Rinjin followed the white-coated elder through a claustrophobic corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly.

[...]

In a vast underground cavern, water dripped steadily from stalactites overhead. At its center loomed a massive stone platform, stained dark crimson with blood. The air hung heavy with the metallic stench of death.

Before the platform stood a cloaked figure, completely shrouded, hands clasped behind his back as he stared expressionlessly at the massive raised altar before him.

"Lord Isamu Inoue, the sacrifices for the great Jashin are ready!" A ninja-clad figure knelt behind the man, his voice thick with reverence and fanaticism.

The cloaked man called Isamu Inoue nodded silently, still facing away as he spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Where are the vessels?"

The ninja immediately bowed his head and replied, "All prepared, my lord. We have one hundred and fifty-two vessels ready."

Isamu Inoue nodded more noticeably this time, clearly satisfied with the number.

"Proceed with the preparations. Lord Jashin will remember your dedication!"

Hearing this, the kneeling ninja's face lit up with barely contained joy.

People began flooding in from all directions. From the dark tunnels, children were herded out like cattle. The emotionless cultists wielded whips, indulging freely in their brutality.

Soon, the malnourished children were driven onto the massive altar at the cavern's center, huddling together in fear, awaiting their unknown fate.

Isamu Inoue, hooded and heavily cloaked, watched the frightened children on the platform. His bloodshot eyes blazed with fanatical fervor as he muttered incomprehensible ravings under his breath.

Once the children were in place, the previously empty tunnels filled again with people - this time with adults. Men, women, and elderly with vacant expressions emerged. Though different in appearance, gender, and age, they shared one common trait - eyes showing nothing but white.

Moving with zombie-like stumbles, they surrounded the altar.

Seeing both sacrifices and vessels in position, Isamu Inoue pulled back his hood, revealing a face horrifically scarred, his bloodshot eyes with unnaturally small pupils burning with zealous madness.

"Yahahahaha! Let the sacrifice begin!"

At Isamu's piercing cry, the ninja guards uniformly dropped to their knees facing the central altar, heads bowed low as their lips moved in an unsettling chorus of blasphemous chants.

On the altar, Rinjin suddenly felt the world spinning, reality seeming to warp around him. Even his thoughts felt rusty and sluggish.

"Damn... these... cultists. I... can't move! Must... save... myself!"

Though he didn't understand what these deranged people were doing, he knew it couldn't be anything good.

As Rinjin desperately struggled to regain control of his body, the horror began.

The cultists produced grotesque, dark red torture implements from nowhere and charged into the crowd of adults like meat grinders, creating whirlwinds of blood and flesh.

The civilians were no match for the ninja, especially with no will to resist - they didn't even scream.

Soon, blood painted the ground red, and dismembered limbs littered the base of the stone platform.

Isamu Inoue closed his eyes, savoring the metallic scent of blood in the air. Suddenly, his bloodshot eyes snapped open, his hideous face contorting grotesquely.

"Not enough! Still not enough! Kill some again .

At his shrill command, the cultists grinned maniacally as they charged the platform, weapons raised.

Cold sweat poured down Rinjin's back at the sight.

But his body remained frozen like rusted machinery, barely able to creak.

As the blood-stained axe blade approached his neck, panic flooded through Rinjin, his eyes feeling ready to burst.

"Move! Dodge it!"

His desperate scream echoed through the cavern.

The tension in his body reached its limit. With a soft 'ping', his burning survival instinct shattered the paralysis.

His body fell backward, dodging the cultist's beheading strike by a hair's breadth.

But before he could feel relief, the cultist's demon-like face appeared again. The axe, as if weightless, cut through the air with incredible speed, pursuing his neck.

Rinjin's pupils contracted to pinpoints as he watched the blade draw ever closer, his heart filling with despair.

This is it...

The sharp blade swept through. Rinjin felt the world spin as he was thrown into the air, then crashed down with a heavy thud.

In his darkening, blurring vision, he watched a familiar headless body slowly topple, raising clouds of dust.

Damn it! Decapitated! I'm dead!