NARUTO: The Saga of Crimson Monarch

The rain poured heavily as Sasaki, a battle-worn mercenary with years of experience, walking through the muddy streets, his boots leaving prints in the soft earth. He was tired, soaked to the bone, and in desperate need of warmth and drink. The old tavern, lit dimly from within, beckoned to him like a haven.

[He pushed open the creaky door, the warmth from the hearth and the smell of sizzling food greeting him. The low murmur of conversation filled the air, mixed with the clinking of glasses and the hearty laughs of the tavern's regulars.]

The tavern keeper, a stout man with graying hair, glanced up from the stove. "Evening, traveler! What can I get for you?"

Sasaki nodded, removing his soaked cloak and shaking it off. "Sake. A large one."

[A group of men sat in the corner, their voices growing louder as they bragged.]

"Hey, did you hear? The Crimson Asura is back!" one of them exclaimed, leaning forward with excitement. "They say he wiped out thousands with a single swing of his blade!"

Abe, snorting as he leaned back, rolling his eyes "Crimson Asura? Tch. Just another bedtime story to spook kids. A guy like that? No way he's real."

Suwa, laughing loudly, slamming his mug on the table"Yeah, right! What's next? He slices mountains in half and rides dragons through the sky?"

Nishi, leaning in with mock seriousness, eyes wide: "No, no, you're missing the best part! They say he doesn't even fight. Just his presence alone makes warriors drop dead. The earth shakes, the sky splits—absolute chaos!"

Miyabe, shaking his head with a dry chuckle: "You idiots are hilarious. These stories grow wilder every time. Next, someone's gonna claim he burned an entire army to ashes with just a look."

Kato, smirking as he leaned on the table: "Oh, please. If this 'Crimson Asura' is so unbeatable, then where is he? Hiding in some cave because he's scared of a hangover?"

Suwa, raising his mug high, shouting with exaggerated gusto"Here's to the great Crimson Asura! May he save us from bad ale and boring nights!"

[ The group erupted in laughter, slapping the table and clinking their mugs together. Their mockery filled the room. ]

Sasaki without turning, his voice cold and steady. "Y'all shut up!"

[The room froze instantly, conversations halting mid-sentence. Every head turned toward him, the tension thick as smoke. The tavern keeper paused with a bottle in hand, and even the faint clinking of mugs ceased.]

Nishi jabs a finger toward Sasaki.

"Oi! Who the hell do you think you are Ossan, huh? Storming in here and ruining our fun?"

Sasaki slowly turns his gaze, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"I'm someone who's been there. Unlike you, I don't talk about things I've never bled for."

Abe scoffs, his arms crossed as he sneers.

"Yeah, right. You were on the battlefield with the Crimson Asura? Don't make me laugh, old man!"

Miyabe leans forward, a mocking grin curling on his lips.

"Oh? Prove it, then! Tell us something only someone who actually fought would know!"

Sasaki leans back, unfazed, his voice quiet yet heavy with warning.

"I don't owe answers to a bunch of drunken fools. But trust me—you wouldn't be laughing if you'd seen what I've seen.

Suwa slams his fist onto the table, his voice boiling with anger.

"You bastard! Who the hell do you think you are?!"

Sasaki's voice drops, colder than ice, each word laced with a dangerous calm.

"I'm someone who fought for my life while the earth was soaked in blood. Someone who watched warriors break, their fear clear in their eyes. You? You wouldn't last a minute in that carnage."

The tavern falls into a deadly silence. The air grows thick with tension, the once mocking patrons now eyeing Sasaki, unease crawling up their spines.

Young Merchant whispers, wide-eyed.

"W-What... what did you see?"

Sasaki takes a slow sip of sake, his hand trembling slightly as his gaze turns distant. His voice falters, thick with reverence and fear.

"It was madness... I fought alongside my comrades, trying to suppress the other camp. We slaughtered so many villagers, but they never surrendered. They fought like their lives depended on it—because they did. With nothing but sticks and stones, they kept coming. The cries of the dying, the stench of blood and burning flesh... it was everywhere. And then..." He pauses, his body slightly shaking, his eyes haunted.

"He came."

A old villager swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You mean... the Crimson Asura?"

Sasaki nods, his eyes distant and haunted.

"The battlefield fell silent when he arrived, riding a monstrous crimson wolf. His presence... it was suffocating. One swing of his sword, and the earth cracked. Men froze in terror. Even the fiercest among us couldn't stand before him."

Miyabe stammers, voice trembling.

"You're saying he's real? Not just a myth?"

Sasaki locks eyes with Miyabe, his voice cold and unwavering.

"He's real. And if you ever cross his path, pray he's not your enemy. Because if he is... you're already dead."

"Never utter his name in vain."

[ But the atmosphere in the tavern shifted, turning suffocating. The once-lively chatter had ceased. Patrons sat frozen, their faces drained of color, each lost in the heavy weight of Sasaki's words. The air was thick, heavy with the unspoken dread of the crimson warrior. ]

[ Suddenly, the door to the tavern slammed open. The wind howled through the threshold, icy gusts sweeping in, carrying the chill of the storm. ]

"W-what's happening?"

"Who... who's coming?"

"Who… who's that?" one of the patrons whispering nervously.

The figure stood in the doorway with a puppy with his side, the silence thickening. his silhouette dark against the light from the outside.

And in that moment, no one dared to make a sound.

[ As the hood was pulled back, a shock of deep crimson hair spilled out, and the tavern was filled with a collective gasp. The hairs on the back of every neck prickled, the air growing colder, denser with the weight of his presence. A heavy silence blanketed the room, broken only by the sound of shaky breaths and the gnashing of teeth. A few, paralyzed with fear, couldn't even control themselves. ]

[ The crimson-haired man's eyes glowed faintly, like embers in the darkness—predatory, hungry. He stepped inside slowly, deliberately, as if the air itself bowed to him. The men who had mocked the Crimson Asura now exchanged glances, their faces drained, fear clawing at their hearts. ]

Abe voice trembling, eyes wide

"No... it can't be..."

Tavern Keeper dropping the ladle, hands shaking as he reaches for a bottle

"By the gods..."

Miyabe voice barely a whisper

"Please... no, not here..."

Nishi hands shaking.

"It's him. It's him... I can feel it."

A old villager trembling

"God help us... We're all dead."

The young mercant whispering and shaking

"Don't look at him. Don't even look! Pray he doesn't notice us."

Kato eyes fixed on the door, voice low

"Pray he's not here for us... or we're already dead."

[ Sasaki's gaze shifted to the Ares, his face unreadable, but his jaw tightened, recognition flickering in his eyes. He took a slow sip of sake, his hand shaking. ]

Ares scanned the tavern, his eyes cold, locking with each person in turn. Silence crushed the air.

Sasaki his voice, breaking the silence

"You." He rose slowly, he took a step forward. "I see you've arrived Lord Asura."

He bowed, the gesture laced with both respect and reverence.

Ares' gaze met Sasaki's, freezing the air. With a subtle nod, he moved forward, brushing past the trembling patrons, his presence suffocating the room.

The tavern fell silent, every soul realizing they were face-to-face with a legend. The Crimson Asura.

In the stillness, only frantic breaths dared to break the silence.

Ares' smile as his eyes locked on Sasaki. His voice was soft but carried with terrifying clarity " How are you, Sasaki? A mercenary king, fearless on the battlefield... a true warrior."

[ The tavern froze. Every eye was fixed on the two men, the room suffocating under Ares' presence. His tone, casual yet chilling, sent a shiver through the crowd. No one dared to breathe, gripped by the reality of the Crimson Asura's arrival. And the old man's true identity was now unmistakable—shocking, terrifying. ]

Sasaki, still reeling from the encounter, struggled to regain his composure.

"I was never worthy of such praise, Lord Asura," he muttered, his voice trembling. "Just a speck of dust in your shadow. Please... don't embarrass this old man."

Ares chuckled lowly, his hand falling on Sasaki's shoulder, the touch oddly warm yet reassuring. "Shall we drink, then?" His eyes gleamed, a flicker of friendly mischief.

Sasaki's eyes widened in shock, his voice faltering. "How… How is this possible? I— I never imagined sharing a drink with a Lord Asura. It would be an honor beyond measure."

Ares laughed, a low, rumbling sound that resonated in the stillness."Nah, Sasaki. Sit. Let's drink."

The tavern keeper, still trembling, finally found his voice, stuttering, "W-What can I offer you, Lord Asura?" His hands clenched the towel, his mind scrambling for a response.

Ares' gaze flickered toward him, his tone smooth but commanding. "Your finest sake. The best you've got. I'm drinking with my old friend." He nodded toward Sasaki, whose face was frozen in disbelief.

[ The tavern keeper's hands shook as he rushed to serve the sake.]

Sasaki bowed his head, voice filled with respect. "Lord Asura, I don't deserve this honor, but I'm grateful for your company."

Ares smiled, relaxed. "We're just two old comrade having a drink. No need for pleasantries." He gestured for Sasaki to join him. "Let's enjoy it."

The tavern fell silent, only the faint exchange between Ares and Sasaki breaking the stillness. The patrons, paralyzed with fear, dared not move.

[ This humble tavern would carry the weight of this moment forever. Word would spread, but the truth would remain unsaid. The owner, trembling yet proud, would one day hang the cups as relics of asura.

This humble tavern would forever bear the mark of that night. Word would spread, but the truth would remain unsaid. The owner, trembling yet proud, would one day hang the cups as relics of the Asura—tokens of a legend that had walked among them.

The patrons, haunted forever, would whisper their tale, spreading it like wildfire, each word a shadow of the unthinkable. ]