Naruto : Infinite Buff!

Amatsu stood in the heart of the battlefield, silent amidst the sea of lifeless bodies. The air was thick with the scent of blood, a lingering requiem for those who had dared to fight.

Amatsu inhaled, the air thick with blood and decay. He embraced the reality around him.

He stepped over a fallen body, the lifeless gaze following him as he moved. Each step was deliberate, each movement calculated. The battlefield would become a memory, a lesson carved into the fabric of his being. He would carry this experience forward, a reminder of the price of power and the cost of weakness.

He had acquired a system.

Power helping his every action. Yet, even if others gained such power, could they truly wield it? Did they possess the perseverance and discipline required? Or would they, too, be devoured by the emotions that had doomed their comrades?

The weak-minded would become slaves to the system, reliant on it than their own strength.

They would cling to it, seeking refuge from the brutal truths of existence. But Amatsu understood the harsh reality—the system was merely a tool. 

True power lay not within the system itself, but in the resolve of the one who wielded it.

In the end, it was the wielder who defined its worth.

These people once had hopes. Now, they are nothing.

They had clung to life, believing in survival.

So do I.

They had fought for victory, convinced of their strength.

So do I.

Yet, in the end, it was not power that had failed them—it was themselves.

Fear. Arrogance. Hesitation. These were the true executioners.

Power had given them a chance to kill, but power alone was never enough. They lacked control. Control over their fear, their instincts, their very selves. And so, they crumbled.

The moment they wavered, their fate was already sealed.

I no longer feel that. I abandoned it long ago.

The illusion of fairness, the comfort of belonging—what use were these things when hunger gnawed at my ribs? When a piece of bread was the only thing standing between me and oblivion?.

Amatsu's gaze fell upon the grotesque remains before him. Three bodies, three deaths, three truths carved into flesh.

One with his neck slit wide, his empty sockets gaping into nothingness. A man stripped of vision before death even took him.

One with the same wound, but his eyes—they still held the desperate flicker of survival. A man who had seen death and still dared to hope.

And the last—a body torn asunder, flesh splattered across the earth.

The strongest among them. The one who had a chance. Had he cast aside his emotions, he would still be breathing.

But emotion slowed him. Regret clouded his mind. The weight of his fallen brothers shattered him.

And so, in the end, he abandoned reason and stepped willingly into the jaws of death.

The trap he set.

Today's hunter was tomorrow's hunted. The world spun on this axis of brutality, indifferent to the suffering it wrought.

As he moved forward, leaving the battlefield behind, Amatsu's resolve crystallized—sharp, unyielding, absolute.

The dead had no voices. The fallen had no legacies. Only the strong carved their names into eternity.

Emotions? A shackle. Ideals? A mirage. The world spoke in only one language—power. And he would become its most fluent speaker.

He would not seek guidance, nor place faith in his systems built to pacify the weak. The only law worth following was the one written in blood and will.

Fate was a chain meant to be broken. The future was a battlefield meant to be conquered.

For in this world, where death was the only certainty, survival was not a right—it was a battle waged with every breath. The strong dictated the terms of existence, while the weak clung to the illusion of control, unaware that their fates had already been sealed.

The cycle of predator and prey was absolute. But absolutes could be rewritten. Bent. Shattered.

Amatsu remembered a time when he, too, had been burdened by such sentiments.

He had long since abandoned them, forging a path that transcended the illusions of compassion and attachment. In this world, there was no room for the weak-willed; only the strong could hope to survive.

If fate was a law, then he would become the lawbreaker.

If power was fleeting, then he would be the storm that consumed all in its wake.

Victory was not granted. It was taken. And he would take everything.