A small bird circled the entrance to the hospital, flying from her nest to the trash back and forth, the valued half eaten snacks there would be enough to feed her young. After the third trip of ramen, she noticed a small puddle near the ground. Swooping low, she landed to drink but something wasn't right. Aside from the dark, murkish red color, the taste was pungent. The bird had tasted blood before, but this was different - foul, almost unpure...evil. Lifting off, the bird flew off, traveling away from the puddle of blood and the smaller drops away from the puddle, tracing to the walking, limbing cloaked figure.
Wheezing between steps, Madara dragged his body forward in pain, moving through sheer willpower. He was lucky to even be able to move; Hashirama was no weak foe. The front of the cloak drenched in blood and dust from his weakened body falling, Madara's right arm wrapped around his lower rips, right where Hashirama had redirected the Magatama back at. It had pierced through his own Susano'o and weakened it substantially but not to the point that it didn't leave it's mark, many broken and fractured rips can attest to that. Almost as if on cue, a sharp jolt of pain shot through his chest, causing him to yell out in pain, spitting blood up as he stumbled back to his knees. Madara was a proud shinobi, it had been how he was raised as a Uchiha. Help is for the weak, only the strong survive. his father drilled into his head as he and his brothers were thrown into countless wars. It was because of that thinking however, that lead to the deaths of his other brothers. A product of the failed system of their lives, a system where war was all they ever knew. Life was eclipsed by death and death was as second nature as breathing.
Moving as slow as ever, Madara made it to the door, left hand pushing it forward, and almost fell as he walked in the door; his right leg had gave out under the pressure, his ankle broken. He had made it this far, he wouldn't succumb to his injuries - not yet. After all the years of pain and defeat and death in his family, he knew what he had to do. This world was flawed, there was nothing good in it. No love, no future....no Izuna. When his last brother died, he knew that this world must die with him. How foolish he had been to not listen! He had warned him to not trust the Senju, but he betrayed his brother's trust and joined hands with them despite this and lo and behold, it ended how he expected: betrayal and backstabbing, and surprisingly, it wasn't by Madara's hand that the knife was thrust. Tobirama had managed to turn the village he built for peace against him, and even his own clan disowned him. Madara knew why....he wasn't strong enough to save them. Help is for the weak, only the strong survive. If he couldn't even protect his brother, how could be protect the rest of them? He heard the mutterings and whispers; they thought him broken, finished and they turned to the one who broke him - Hashirama. Madara spat his name and blood out. Seeing how his clan betrayed him, Madara's mind turned to power and how he could make them see how wrong they were....but he then realized he had been wrong. Power without control was where he failed. He needed balance and he knew where to learn how to achieve this.
The stone tablet held all the secrets he needed the answers to and with his EMS, he could decipher most of it and knew what had to come to fruition and for the first time in months, it birthed a smith to his face: he must kill Hashirama. The job wouldn't be easy, but only through his death could something more be awakened. He fought....and in the process, was defeated again. This time however, it worked in his favor. He had managed to bite a portion of his skin off and with his Wood SM active, the wound healed so quickly, Hashirama never noticed. Nursing a broken ankle, several cracked ribs and a plethora of bruises and low chakra, Madara escaped the fight, leading Hashirama to believe he was dead but dead he was not, he had managed to elude Death's shadowy grip once again.
Now standing in the lobby, he sees a ninja walking across the lobby, carrying several documents and parcels, to whom he assumed was a Doctor.
Help is for the weak, only the strong survive.
He had proven he wasn't weak, he had stared in teh face of death and openly defied him, but for how much longer? He could hear Death catching up, his laugh becoming louder and darker. As much as it would pain Madara to admit it, he needed help.
"You......I..."
Stumbling, Madara falls to his knees, reaching a hand into his pocket to withdraw the chunk of Hashirama DNA, looking back to the nurse.
"Surgery..."
Decided to keep him a bit longer lol
Wheezing between steps, Madara dragged his body forward in pain, moving through sheer willpower. He was lucky to even be able to move; Hashirama was no weak foe. The front of the cloak drenched in blood and dust from his weakened body falling, Madara's right arm wrapped around his lower rips, right where Hashirama had redirected the Magatama back at. It had pierced through his own Susano'o and weakened it substantially but not to the point that it didn't leave it's mark, many broken and fractured rips can attest to that. Almost as if on cue, a sharp jolt of pain shot through his chest, causing him to yell out in pain, spitting blood up as he stumbled back to his knees. Madara was a proud shinobi, it had been how he was raised as a Uchiha. Help is for the weak, only the strong survive. his father drilled into his head as he and his brothers were thrown into countless wars. It was because of that thinking however, that lead to the deaths of his other brothers. A product of the failed system of their lives, a system where war was all they ever knew. Life was eclipsed by death and death was as second nature as breathing.
Moving as slow as ever, Madara made it to the door, left hand pushing it forward, and almost fell as he walked in the door; his right leg had gave out under the pressure, his ankle broken. He had made it this far, he wouldn't succumb to his injuries - not yet. After all the years of pain and defeat and death in his family, he knew what he had to do. This world was flawed, there was nothing good in it. No love, no future....no Izuna. When his last brother died, he knew that this world must die with him. How foolish he had been to not listen! He had warned him to not trust the Senju, but he betrayed his brother's trust and joined hands with them despite this and lo and behold, it ended how he expected: betrayal and backstabbing, and surprisingly, it wasn't by Madara's hand that the knife was thrust. Tobirama had managed to turn the village he built for peace against him, and even his own clan disowned him. Madara knew why....he wasn't strong enough to save them. Help is for the weak, only the strong survive. If he couldn't even protect his brother, how could be protect the rest of them? He heard the mutterings and whispers; they thought him broken, finished and they turned to the one who broke him - Hashirama. Madara spat his name and blood out. Seeing how his clan betrayed him, Madara's mind turned to power and how he could make them see how wrong they were....but he then realized he had been wrong. Power without control was where he failed. He needed balance and he knew where to learn how to achieve this.
The stone tablet held all the secrets he needed the answers to and with his EMS, he could decipher most of it and knew what had to come to fruition and for the first time in months, it birthed a smith to his face: he must kill Hashirama. The job wouldn't be easy, but only through his death could something more be awakened. He fought....and in the process, was defeated again. This time however, it worked in his favor. He had managed to bite a portion of his skin off and with his Wood SM active, the wound healed so quickly, Hashirama never noticed. Nursing a broken ankle, several cracked ribs and a plethora of bruises and low chakra, Madara escaped the fight, leading Hashirama to believe he was dead but dead he was not, he had managed to elude Death's shadowy grip once again.
Now standing in the lobby, he sees a ninja walking across the lobby, carrying several documents and parcels, to whom he assumed was a Doctor.
Help is for the weak, only the strong survive.
He had proven he wasn't weak, he had stared in teh face of death and openly defied him, but for how much longer? He could hear Death catching up, his laugh becoming louder and darker. As much as it would pain Madara to admit it, he needed help.
"You......I..."
Stumbling, Madara falls to his knees, reaching a hand into his pocket to withdraw the chunk of Hashirama DNA, looking back to the nurse.
"Surgery..."
Decided to keep him a bit longer lol