A vicious snarl ripped through clenched teeth. The Nanadaime... no, the man gripped the Hakkō Chakura Tō firmly and wrenched it from the corpse. Bones creaked and its lifeless form lost its battle with gravity and crashed through the tree branches, landing with a solemn thump. With a flick of his wrist, blood flew from the chakra-infused blade, a streak of white following its path.

The restored blade felt alien in his palm. He did not deserve to wield such a beloved weapon, not he. With a heavy heart, the man continued down his path. Nothing was left. Everything was obliterated by Tobi. He had nothing, no-one. Not even Ka... no he mustn't think of the man. He had failed him. He had failed everyone. They had all put their trust in him and yet he failed them. He shut his eyes and willed his heart to stop beating as it had once before, many years ago at the hand of his best friend.

Grotesque images danced before his eyes, mocking him, willing him towards death. Sakura's body was a sea of reds and blacks, scorched flesh and caked-on blood; eyes gazed blankly skyward, mouth open in a silent plea. Sai. Gaara. Shikamaru. Ino. Choji. Kiba. Shino. Hinata. They all met the same fate as his beloved teammate and once upon a time crush. The losses broke his heart; one loss in particular shattered it.

His adoring sensei, his companion, his comrade and maybe in another life, his lover. For years, the stirrings of a romantic attachment had grown in the youth's heart. Of course, he ignored them. This was his sensei, one of the people who had practically raised him.

Over time their relationship had been changing, evolving into one more like friendship than student and teacher. It changed more and more, teetering on the edge of something... new. But, then of course, Kakashi died.

Silver locks were a stark red, limbs bent at impossible angles. He raced towards his almost lover, reaching a speed he never knew possible. He skidded to a stop, falling to his hands and knees. Outward, he reached with trembling hands, tracing a gaunt cheekbone. The facemask so beloved by his ex-sensei was in tatters. Ever loss had ripped at his soul but... this was the end for him. Tears swam down his whiskered cheeks in rivulets. Slowly, he closed Kakashi's gray eyes.

Tears begged to escape from their imprisonment. His legs trembled, his body nearly throwing itself to his death. Curse his sense of self-preservation that he so wished would let him fall.

Suddenly, the world tilted and unconsciousness claimed him.

Cerulean eyes opened to see a fiery tailed beast glaring at him. He rolled his eyes, and walked towards his life-long companion.

"Why won't you let me die?" his voice was hoarse with emotions. Damn that Kyuubi interfering with his life again. This was his choice, not the furry beast's.

Self preservation, the nine-tails replied. Yeah right, he thought with a snort. There... is an alternative.

"Don't try to fool me. If there was really an alternative you would have mentioned it long before now," he growled, not allowing his friend to comfort him with false words.

I had hoped it wouldn't come to this point, the Kyuubi whispered, uncharacteristic for him.

"Don't lie to me," he snarled, furious that his friend would play games with him when he was in such a fragile state.

It requires a lot chakra, my child; it was not an option before. I have been storing chakra since the loss of your beloved and I think we can pull it off.

"Pull what off, Kurama?"

Going back in time of course.

He guffawed at the concept. "There's no such thing as time travel. You must have knocked your head there, old man."

Father showed us once, the map of fates. When one door closes, the world continues on beyond it. There are multitudes of presents and pasts. He could move freely through them, seeing how each decision would play out. We can go back. Change those decisions, those instances that would effect the entire world. You must remember. One flap of a butterfly's wings and the universe shifts. Some things should not be toyed with.

Before he could respond, Kurama raised his paws into handsigns and channeled his chakra. Eyes closed, he murmured the incantation. Jikan idō.

The souls of the deceased whispered their thanks. They sounded much like screams, these whispers. So many voices rose in succession, forming a whirlwind. Suddenly, he was back in his body and he was flying up, up, up. He gazed down at the world below him, disturbingly unperturbed by his flight. The earth was scorched, patches where villages once stood were raised and ashy.

The voices screamed louder. Naruto. Naruto. Naruto. Never forget, Naruto.

I only used Naruto's name at the end because up until this point he has been nothing but an empty shell. Without his precioud people he is nothing, and only those precious people can speak his name for him to register it.

It's been a long time since I attempted anything writing-related so please forgive my mistakes and trepidations.