Germanicus
Active member
Awards
Author's note:
Previous Chapters:
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
The ebony claws of night strangled the air around the group of ninja hurdling through the dark forest. The air, usually warm and suffocating, had become cool as though matching the feeling of a corpse. The moon shone pale in the sky above, a sentinel of the eve and a watcher of the atrocity to come. The branches of the trees slashed out threateningly, so many oaken blades echoing the real blades beginning their bloody work nearby.
These premonitions were lost on Tobirama Senju, who still outpaced the remainder of his clansmen behind him, crimson eyes blazed with a hatred so complete and endless that the ocean itself would tremble at the depth of it.
Bastards…Dirty Uchiha bastards!
The thoughts burned throughout Tobirama’s mind; he had trained, bled, pushed himself to the brink of death for this war. The boy had never been a passionate one, the other Senju had noted, always as cold and calculating as the water techniques he used. That changed when he was in battle: emotional, arrogant, and furious. Tobirama Senju became the epitome of a raging wildfire in battle, always first to the fray and last to leave. When asked, he attributed all of this to one particular name…
He growled like a disgruntled animal as he broke the tree line, first to see scores of bodies littering pools of blood on the forest floor. Most of the bodies bore Senju markings; they had apparently been ambushed and had stood little chance against their marauders, who stood aloof throughout the battle ground, looting the corpses and chatting amongst themselves. Despite their disturbingly casual nature, however, not one of them looked surprised as Tobirama became visible, and some even grinned in anticipation at seeing the familiar Senju warrior appearing in his usual flair. One of the younger ones, similar in age to Tobirama, stepped forward and gauged him with little respect. Spiky black hair jutted from his head, his lean body was adorned by a simple purple robe bearing Uchiha colors, and his eyes were blood red with three black tomoe: the Sharingan.
“Oi, scarecrow, you best leave, or else the carrion will be too frightened to clean the forests of your dredged Senju hides after we slaughter the lot of you!”
Tobirama snarled, drawing his sword and leveling it at the Uchiha he knew and loathed.
“Izuna, you wretched hound! I told you never to call me that again!”
Izuna Uchiha barked out a laugh, voice ringing loudly and confidently in response.
“How can I, Tobirama? Your absurd spikey white hair makes you too much of a good target.”
“Idiot! You have spikey hair too!”
Izuna frowned deeply, suddenly agitated, shaking his fist at him menacingly.
“Well, at least mine isn’t…”
“Izuna!”
The interrupting voice, deep and rumbling, thundered over the clearing. Izuna nearly jumped, back arching straight as he whirled about to face the man who had supplied it: a tall, broad shouldered man, built incredibly with an appearance of indomitable strength, leaned easily against a tree. Long, raven hair flowed down past his neck to the midsection of his chest. Wearing similar robes to those of Izuna’s, as well as sporting similar sharingan flaring in his eyes, he glares at his brother, seemingly irritated by the back and forth banter he had initiated. He bore no weapons, but considered himself too much of a professional to need them anyway. He spoke, firmly but never shouting, to Izuna once more, frustration palpable in the tone of his voice.
“We are not here to squabble with words, now, are we? You shame the clan with your childish taunting.”
Izuna struggled with his temper for a moment, almost lashing out at his brother, before inclining his head out of respect.
“…yes, Madara. Forgive me, I have been hasty.”
A new voice rose up, not as deep as Madara’s, but still ringing with power and authority.
“Indeed, you have, Izuna. I expect more from my sons, even the younger ones.”
Both brothers glanced to the far side of the clearing; flanked by several veteran Uchiha warriors, a lanky, elderly man walked forward. His hair was as black as his sons, though his was longer and straighter than Izuna’s (though not quite matching Madara’s.) and he, too, bore the Sharingan. In fact, Tobirama noted as he gazed about the clearing with dismay, most of these Uchiha had the Sharingan. They were an elite unit, in that case, not just the usual rabble of haughty boys who wanted to prove themselves against the hated Senju, and they were out to spill blood, no less. Tobriama squared his shoulder and fingered the hilt of his blade in what could almost be called a loving caress; his eyes beamed with an insatiable hunger and his grin became cruel and dark.
“Haha…even the great lord Uchiha Tajima has come to greet us, then? Excellent, just what I’ve always wanted…the whole cursed pack of murderous dogs, right in front of me, so that we can bring peace to the forest once and for all…by killing the whole wretched lot of you!”
Izuna growled, moving forward and drawing for his own sword, but was stayed by the firm hand of his father. Tajima snorted, drawing forth a short, curved katana and walked forward a few paces, stopping just short of the young Senju, his eyes scanning him up and down, an unimpressed glint never once leaving his gaze. After a moment, he closed his eyes and chuckled slowly, shaking his head at the young man.
“Ah, young Tobirama. I’ve watched you grow through the years from a mere cub who should have been put to sleep with the rest of his dead, mongrel siblings to a positively striking young thorn in my side. Hell, I practically know you as well as my own sons.”
He opened his eyes once more, the bloody hue and black tomoe of the sharingan seeming to pierce him where he stood, making him involuntarily take a step back. Tajima nodded as though this were a sign of deference and turned his back.
“Yes…that’s still all you are, Tobirama Senju; a mere thorn, something which itches and agitates, but does no real damage. You’re not worth the dirt on my boots. Why should Izuna waste his time with you? Why should Madara even be forced to occupy the same tainted air as an unworthy little rodent like you?”
With the words barely having left his mouth, Tobirama lunged with a howl, the primordial need to kill wrought upon his grimacing face. Tajima lazily flicked his short blade up to clash in a flurry of sparks with Tobirama, the two swords fidgeting under the force the younger man was attempting to force upon his hated enemy. The remaining Uchiha slowly drew their weapons, just as the remaining Senju began bursting through the trees. Shinobi on both sides drew kunai, began weaving hand signs, and shouted insults at each other as two inexorable tidal waves of hate surged towards each other.
In mere moments, the entire forest erupted in an explosion of steel, jutsu, and blood.
The searing heat of fireballs poured in showers from the mouths of the Uchiha, torching the trees and singing the flesh of Senju soldiers; the lucky ones came away with light burns. The less fortunate came away as ash. Senju, in turn, used a vast array of techniques to pummel the Uchiha bandits in a vicious counter attack. As they had vast stores of chakra, even greater than that possessed by the Uchiha, their attacks held various forms, from rocks and mud, to wind and water. Though the Senju were masters innately of few jutsu types, they had few limitations and fewer reservations on how to destroy their enemies. One Uchiha, barely out of his adolescence, found his young head eviscerated between a large oak tree and a flying boulder, bits of his brain splattering in pools of his blood over the corpses of two Senju females who had died underneath a hail of shuriken.
Tobirama had been pushed back, the Uchiha elder dismissing him with another flick of his wrist. Snarling in rage at the sight of the carnage consuming his kin, Tobirama furiously weaved his hands about, water seeping from the very earth in the forms of serpents; his water dragons were larger than they had been when he had fought the samurai before, and there was a savage, aggressive presence to them. With a roar, he sent them flying towards Tajima. “WATER STYLE! WATER DRAGON TECHNIQUE!”
Tajima stood unfaltering as the three aquatic monsters charged him, his stare merely burning holes through them. At the last minute, a searing inferno flashed before him; three dragons, hellish and fiery versions of the jutsu Tobirama had cast, reared before Tajima, crackling and colliding with the attack in a torrid wave of steam. As the air cleared, the slim, determined figure of Izuna stood before his father. The young Uchiha glared daggers at his Senju counterpart as he slowly spoke to the man behind him.
“Father…allow me the honor.”
Tajima rubbed his hands together for a moment, his face blank, contemplating his rash son’s proposal before slowly turning his back to them. His voice was slow and reluctant, the barest tinge of concern echoed in the solemn words.
“…do it.”
Cackling in pleasure, a torrent of flame shot from Izuna’s mouth as he raced towards Tobirama. The young Senju, disappointed for a moment that his greatest target had evaded him, yet ecstatic that his greatest rival stood before him, smirked as a vortex of pristine blue water enveloped the area around him. In a flash, the two unstoppable forces of nature slammed into each other with a fierce hiss, more blistering steam rising around the two as they danced in the storm they created, two katanas flashing through the haze. Tobirama scored a deep cut through Izuna’s cheek, a thin trail of blood flying off his face, but the Uchiha just laughed and brought up his fist into his opponent’s gut. The wind knocked out of him, the white haired shinobi flew back with a hard thud into a tree. Smelling the end, Izuna pounced with a howl, fire swelling through his chest.
“This is how we finish! Fire style, Phoenix Fire Jutsu!”
The flames spiraled towards Tobirama, encroaching from all sides and set to devour him. With little time, he slammed his hands upon the ground, and quickly mumbled. “Water Style, Giant Vortex Technique!” A spiral of water surrounded him, dispelling the flames in a twisting flood, allowing him to quickly move into different hand signals. Rushing from the steam, Tobirama leapt above Izuna, his opponent barely registering the swift flurry of events. With a full mouth, he spat out a large bubble at the Uchiha, the thick water pulsating as it flew down at the raven haired target.
“Water Style, Liquid Bullets”
Giving no pause, Tobirama quickly added a few more hand signs on top of his others. “Shadow Doppelganger Technique!” The one bullet suddenly multiplied into a countless number of similar projectiles. The lowly figure of Izuna on the ground below felt his eyes widen, the sharingan not warning him fast enough for his body to react. The storm of attacks struck with the force of a hurricane with a violent, air rending splash of noise. Tobirama flipped to the ground, landing confidently on his feet and looking down at Izuna’s drenched body as the young Uchiha, rasping for breath, struggled at no avail to come to his feet. Leveling his blade at him, Tobirama spat out blood from his mouth and shrieked in triumph.
“You were right! This is how we FINISH!”
The brilliant silver katana sliced through the night air in an arc of death as Tobirama moved to decapitate his nemisis…only to be brushed off by the metallic push of a curved, steel sickle chaining its way into his blade’s path. Gulping as he was bashed back, Tobirama looked up, his eyes narrowing in a paralyzing emotion he couldn’t control. Fear encompassed him and took hold of his still legs, making him tremble ever so slightly. His scowl furrowing on his face as he met the cold, unrelenting gaze of Madara Uchiha, whose Sharingan were wandering about the forest, as though they could dominate every last object which entered their vision. Peering back over his shoulder at his fallen brother, who had finally come to his feet, he shook his head in disgust.
“Izuna…come now brother, that was a disgraceful display. Last time you fought this rabble child, you humbled him in half the time, yet now you struggle to even keep up. Don’t tell me that you’ve lost your edge.”
The last words he spoke weren’t a question, but a statement. The elder brother knew that Tobirama had made great strides in his combat ability since they had last come face to face. Still panting, Izuna lowered his head in shame, his hands trembling. Still trying to compose himself, he forced himself upright and grabbed for his sword once more. “Brother, please, remove yourself, I can still-!”
“Silence.”
Madara cut him off with a single, simple response which seemed to reverberate throughout the battlefield. Stretching and rolling his shoulders, the feared Uchiha scion turned once more to Tobirama, his face calm, yet dangerous.
“I shall deal with the trash. Retreat to the camp and go catch your breath. You’re dismissed. I’ll be back to administer punishment later.”
Izuna screamed through clenched teeth, hurling his weapon upon the ground, his face pent up in the agonies of defeat and humiliation. After a moment of frustration, he nodded slowly and darted past his brother, whispering into his ear as he fled.
“…be strong, decisive, and victorious brother!”
“…very well. Be safe, little brother.”
The exchange was swift and surprisingly emotional. Izuna felt his chest now swell with pride and surprising confidence; though he himself had failed, he knew that now his mistakes would be avenged a thousand fold.
For now the strongest Uchiha had come to the fore and none could possibly stand in his warpath and live to tell the tale.
Madara cracked his neck and his knuckles in quick succession, his face stolid as he looked down on Tobirama. He grunted, and in a flash, fell upon the young ninja. The scythe shone in the moonlight as it curved like a snake through Tobirama’s guard and slashing him across the wrist. With a gasp, Tobirama felt oozing warm blood flow down his arm. He kicked out at Madara only to have his leg pass through air, his target darting behind him and flicking the wicked blade forward for the killing strike. A deep gash appeared on Tobirama’s neck as the blade severed his gullet, the young Senju’s throat struggling to make noise. Madara took no joy for the moment, merely landing on his feet behind the log which fell to the ground before him where Tobirama had stood.
“..tsk. You can’t run or hide from me, Tobirama Senju. Your little parlor tricks will only buy you mere moments of life.”
Panting behind a tree and clutching his bloody hand, Tobirama shook his head in despair; he had barely had time to register Madara’s movements! The gap in their power was tremendous. If only…
“Picking on those smaller than you, Madara? Come now, old friend, I thought you better than that.”
His eyes perked up, and Tobirama peered around the tree just in time to see a stalwart figure, in crimson red armor, standing on the branches above. Brown hair billowing in the cool night breeze, his face taut with stress, Hashirama Senju seemed like a conquering god entering the battlefield. Behind him, you could see the destruction which signaled his coming; the crumpled bodies of at least twelve Uchiha lay desecrated in a pile of disfigured roots and pillars of wood. Tobirama felt a grin come to his face, pride rising in his chest as he felt victory approaching once more.
For now the strongest Senju had come to the fore and none could stand in his warpath and live to tell the tale.
Madara Uchiha said nothing, merely readying his weapon as Hashirama jumped to the ground; the latter’s eyes grim and hell bent, clearly pained by the prospect of confronting this man. He reached a hand out, stretched in a dignified show of respect, as he did before every time he and Madara stared each other down like this. The Uchiha merely snorted, shaking his head in disgust.
“No matter how many times you repeat your tired act, nothing will change, fool of the Senju.”
“Madara! We can end this right now, right here, the right way!”
“Enough! I’m sick of your talk. On your guard, Hashirama!”
With a animalistic howl, Madara surged forward like lighting, fire spinning in a hellish pyre around his scythe. Bringing his head down and clenching his fist in a death grip, Hashirama waved his hands about, the earth swelling and rumbling beneath him, tree limbs weaving their way around his body. With a harsh battle cry, he, too, charged towards his enemy, the two flying towards each other like fierce gods of war preparing to tilt with the entire world as their stage. In an overwhelming crash, the two collided in the same spot Izuna and Tobirama had not long before, the earth wilting and sundering in their wake, the very planet seeming to crack under the pressure of their ruthless onslaught. The two struggled with each other, feet planted firmly in the earth as they tried to out muscle each other in the clearing, locked in a fatal struggle which would see one of them dead at the end. Madara’s eyes were lit up in demonic exhilaration, his face clearly elated by the challenge he grappled with before him. Hashirama’s face remained rigid, his own eyes refusing to turn away from Madara’s stare. The Uchiha kneed him hard in the chest, but he didn’t break the deadlock of their arms, and he countered with a savage head butt into Madara’s forehead. The Uchiha just continued to howl, taking pride in the pain and the intimacy he felt with his greatest nemesis and closest friend at this very moment.
“Heh…that’s right…that’s how it needs to be…HASHIRAMA!”
“MADARA!”
Off in the distance, a similar fateful clash was acting itself out. Not to be outdone by their posterity, Butsuma and Tajima sliced and thrust at each other with long katanas, the two pivoting about on the balls of their feet and seeking an opening in the other one’s stance. Butsuma Senju had arrived behind the main brunt of his forces, as he could no longer travel at speeds as swift as the younger members of the clan. Despite this, the grizzled elder of the clan sought out his most hated enemy the second he arrived; they both prescribed to the same, age-old belief in the war between their clans, that the second one of them fell, the fighting would cease with the clan of the deceased leaderless and hopeless. For countless years they had fought countless battles, just like this one, but today, Butsuma knew deep within the pit of his chest, that it would be the last.
One of them would be a grand feast for the carrion by the end of this confrontation.
Butsuma jumped back from their deadlock and feinted to the left before quickly flipping his blade around to slash at the right side of Tajima’s neck. Refusing to take the bait, the Uchiha expertly blocked with a firm cut to the same side, before bringing his blade forward into a thrusting motion at Butsuma’s chest, forcing the Senju to reel back on his heels in an effort to evade. Sweat pouring off his leathered face, Butsuma struggled to control his breathing properly, cursing under his breath; the clan doctors had told him that the illness was in his lungs, a long time ago, but he hadn’t thought that it would affect him this badly during battle, damn it all! He had never told anyone but them about his ailment, not even Hashirama and Tobirama, for he knew the Uchiha would catch wind of it. He couldn’t afford that kind of disadvantage…and yet here it was, rearing its ugly head regardless.
Butsuma knew, in short, that he and Tajima’s battle would conclude today since he could no longer keep up. Tajima smirked, sensing a change in his opponent’s demeanor, became aggressive, taking a purely offensive stance. Slashing and whirling about Butsuma, Tajima turned into a typhoon of muscle and steel, banging away at his opponent’s fleeting strength, each strike leading him closer to the inevitable conclusion. Another attack, another weakened block, another faltering retreat, and then finally Butsuma received a blow square in his chest, Tajima scoring a long, deep cut through the Senju’s crimson armor. With a rasping cry, Butsuma fell to the ground, the wound burning at his chest. Tajima said nothing, merely pointing his sword down, eyes cold but satisfied, and prepared to finish the job.
He blinked slowly, his eyes casting down for a moment. The hum of a projectile through the wind had been easy to ignore in his moment of ultimate triumph; after all, they were in the middle of a war zone, and no ninja had dared to come close enough for a jutsu or other shinobi tool to actually threaten him. Except that the arrow protruding through his chest wasn’t a tool used by shinobi. Following the angle of the black feathered herald of death, Tajima’s eyes slowly came up to see a well built, foreboding figure standing calmly in the distance of the tree line, a long and elegant ebony war bow resting in his hands. He was so taken aback that he had no time to react as Butsuma summoned forth every last bit of his strength to bring his katana ramming into Tajima’s throat. The two rivals locked eyes, one last time, as the sharingan began to flicker in the throes of death. Butsuma, coughing up a foul mixture of phlegm and blood, spat in Tajima’s face.
“I’ll…I’ll see you in hell, you dirty Uchiha *****’s son!”
Tajima could only manage a failed, gurgled response as his life flowed from the gash in his neck. As Butsuma ripped the blade out with a satisfied, defiant grin on his face, the Uchiha leader fell to the ground, face in the dirt, never to rise again. The tumultuous roar of the violence slowly died down, the shinobi frozen in shock and awe at what had just occurred. Many of the combatants on both sides clutched their weapons tightly, like parents holding the hands of children they were afraid to lose, unsure at what would happen now. Their eyes flickered back forth between their allies and adversaries, looking for some kind of cue they could take to either fall back or continue fighting.
Sentinel watched all of this quietly from the trees; if it had taken Butsuma a long time to arrive at the site of the horrific battle, it had taken the samurai commander and Katsuie Shibata eons. Unfortunately, for all of his proficiency at planning battle tactics, the samurai simply couldn’t match the pure speed of ninja on the move. Luckily, none of the shinobi had been concerned with the two visiting warriors, allowing the two to arrive as they could and survey the battle however they wished. Tapping his black shoulder straps thoughtfully with his right hand while still holding onto the bow with the left, Sentinel wondered if this truly might cause a cease in the fighting. He hoped it would, as what he saw before him was brutal. The ground was littered with at least eighty dead ninja on each side, probably split about fifty Senju to thirty Uchiha, and the carnage that the shinobi had wrought on each other left each warrior left standing ragged and on edge. He worried that if someone didn’t move to settle the matter right now, one of them would go back to the needless slaughter just to take the edge off.
Suddenly, something caught his eye in a part of the clearing near where he and Katsuie lurked in the shadows. He could see Hashirama, face dirty and tired, maybe about fifty paces off, pleading with a broad shouldered Uchiha man with long and dark hair. The Uchiha man’s face was twisting in raw, seething fury. His fists were clenched and his eyes…what the hell was happening to his eyes?
Hashirama spoke soothingly, but with authority, attempting in vain to keep his friend calm.
“Madara! Listen to me; you have to let it go! I know it’s hard, and I know my father is going to be right behind yours to the next world! I’m torn, I’m about to lose the man who raised my brother and I for our entire lives, but if you and I sit down and see each other for who we are beyond the clans, beyond the old hatred, we can grieve together! Overcome our sorrows together! We can…”
“Shut…UP!”
Madara spat the words out like they were poison. He looked up at Hashirama, causing the Senju to inhale deeply, not only at the sheer hatred which lay distorted across his face, but in the transformation that occurred with his sharingan. The crimson color of his eyes seemed to glow deeper and more violent, as though they had absorbed the blood which soaked the earth and taken in suffering of the whole vicious ordeal. The tomoe had gone, replaced by a single black, triple pronged pupil, as though two deadly shuriken had been planted in his skull. Most frightening of all, they caused a fiery, blue glow, to spread about his body and grow into some…thing. That was the only way Hashirama could describe it. For the first time in a long time, even he felt the pang of fear as he watched a towering, demonic goliath appear in a skeletal suit of armor around and above Madara. By the time it had reached full height, he knew it must have gone about twenty feet tall. In its hands lay blades of a similar length and color to the beast; the Senju could only guess that getting hit by those was, to say the least, not the best idea.
Madara merely shrugged off Hashirama, the vile anger in his eyes seeking through the men until they came back to the point where Butsuma Senju stood, leaning on his sword, his eyes horrified by the monster he saw lumbering before him. With a grunt, Madara flicked his wrist, and the beast followed suit; it was as though this was a living, breathing suit of armor, which followed his every movement exactly. The sword in its right hand came down and the path was ripped asunder by the weapon of hell unleashed upon it. The old Senju, looking over in terror at his eldest son as though pleading him to do something, didn’t stand a chance. A low, pained murmur was the most he could manage before he was completely annihilated.
“Hashi…Tobi…I failed after all…we chose poorly…stop the…”
Blood and ash. All that remained of the spot where Butsuma Senju had stood was blood and ash. Even his blade had been completely wiped away. Hashirama looked up, his eyes darting back and forth between the spot where his father had perished and the place where his troubled friend had killed him, as though fighting in vain to logically reconcile what had just happened. Tobirama, leaning against a tree and nursing several wounds, felt his eyes widen in despair and fell to the ground screaming. Sentinel and Katsuie emerged in a dazed state from their hiding spot, the samurai leader with his mouth wide open. “I’ve…what is…I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Madara inhaled deeply, a slow, purifying breath entering and leaving his body, his eyes closed, as though he were beginning to meditate. After a moment, he opened his eyes again…and a smile, wide and brilliant, appeared on his face underneath the same eyes so filled with hate. His voice, dripping with joy and satisfaction, boomed through the now silent forest, carrying a weight which seemed to hit everyone in the clearing like tidal wave.
“Today is a new day, Senju Clan. Rejoice, be merry, and celebrate your fallen leader. With the power of my Susano, I will send you to join him and all the rest.”
Wow, it's been a long time, eh NB? Are you happy to see me? Bull, I know you're not. Don't know why I felt inspired to write another chapter of Iron Fist; guess the thought was just burgeoning at the back of my head and I felt in the mood. I'm really rusty. Parts of this felt somewhat awkward and forced, and there are probably more errors than I'm used to, but oh well, I'll fix em again with practice. Read, comment, send hate mail, enjoy!
Previous Chapters:
You must be registered for see links
You must be registered for see links
You must be registered for see links
You must be registered for see links
War
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
The ebony claws of night strangled the air around the group of ninja hurdling through the dark forest. The air, usually warm and suffocating, had become cool as though matching the feeling of a corpse. The moon shone pale in the sky above, a sentinel of the eve and a watcher of the atrocity to come. The branches of the trees slashed out threateningly, so many oaken blades echoing the real blades beginning their bloody work nearby.
These premonitions were lost on Tobirama Senju, who still outpaced the remainder of his clansmen behind him, crimson eyes blazed with a hatred so complete and endless that the ocean itself would tremble at the depth of it.
Bastards…Dirty Uchiha bastards!
The thoughts burned throughout Tobirama’s mind; he had trained, bled, pushed himself to the brink of death for this war. The boy had never been a passionate one, the other Senju had noted, always as cold and calculating as the water techniques he used. That changed when he was in battle: emotional, arrogant, and furious. Tobirama Senju became the epitome of a raging wildfire in battle, always first to the fray and last to leave. When asked, he attributed all of this to one particular name…
Uchiha.
He growled like a disgruntled animal as he broke the tree line, first to see scores of bodies littering pools of blood on the forest floor. Most of the bodies bore Senju markings; they had apparently been ambushed and had stood little chance against their marauders, who stood aloof throughout the battle ground, looting the corpses and chatting amongst themselves. Despite their disturbingly casual nature, however, not one of them looked surprised as Tobirama became visible, and some even grinned in anticipation at seeing the familiar Senju warrior appearing in his usual flair. One of the younger ones, similar in age to Tobirama, stepped forward and gauged him with little respect. Spiky black hair jutted from his head, his lean body was adorned by a simple purple robe bearing Uchiha colors, and his eyes were blood red with three black tomoe: the Sharingan.
“Oi, scarecrow, you best leave, or else the carrion will be too frightened to clean the forests of your dredged Senju hides after we slaughter the lot of you!”
Tobirama snarled, drawing his sword and leveling it at the Uchiha he knew and loathed.
“Izuna, you wretched hound! I told you never to call me that again!”
Izuna Uchiha barked out a laugh, voice ringing loudly and confidently in response.
“How can I, Tobirama? Your absurd spikey white hair makes you too much of a good target.”
“Idiot! You have spikey hair too!”
Izuna frowned deeply, suddenly agitated, shaking his fist at him menacingly.
“Well, at least mine isn’t…”
“Izuna!”
The interrupting voice, deep and rumbling, thundered over the clearing. Izuna nearly jumped, back arching straight as he whirled about to face the man who had supplied it: a tall, broad shouldered man, built incredibly with an appearance of indomitable strength, leaned easily against a tree. Long, raven hair flowed down past his neck to the midsection of his chest. Wearing similar robes to those of Izuna’s, as well as sporting similar sharingan flaring in his eyes, he glares at his brother, seemingly irritated by the back and forth banter he had initiated. He bore no weapons, but considered himself too much of a professional to need them anyway. He spoke, firmly but never shouting, to Izuna once more, frustration palpable in the tone of his voice.
“We are not here to squabble with words, now, are we? You shame the clan with your childish taunting.”
Izuna struggled with his temper for a moment, almost lashing out at his brother, before inclining his head out of respect.
“…yes, Madara. Forgive me, I have been hasty.”
A new voice rose up, not as deep as Madara’s, but still ringing with power and authority.
“Indeed, you have, Izuna. I expect more from my sons, even the younger ones.”
Both brothers glanced to the far side of the clearing; flanked by several veteran Uchiha warriors, a lanky, elderly man walked forward. His hair was as black as his sons, though his was longer and straighter than Izuna’s (though not quite matching Madara’s.) and he, too, bore the Sharingan. In fact, Tobirama noted as he gazed about the clearing with dismay, most of these Uchiha had the Sharingan. They were an elite unit, in that case, not just the usual rabble of haughty boys who wanted to prove themselves against the hated Senju, and they were out to spill blood, no less. Tobriama squared his shoulder and fingered the hilt of his blade in what could almost be called a loving caress; his eyes beamed with an insatiable hunger and his grin became cruel and dark.
“Haha…even the great lord Uchiha Tajima has come to greet us, then? Excellent, just what I’ve always wanted…the whole cursed pack of murderous dogs, right in front of me, so that we can bring peace to the forest once and for all…by killing the whole wretched lot of you!”
Izuna growled, moving forward and drawing for his own sword, but was stayed by the firm hand of his father. Tajima snorted, drawing forth a short, curved katana and walked forward a few paces, stopping just short of the young Senju, his eyes scanning him up and down, an unimpressed glint never once leaving his gaze. After a moment, he closed his eyes and chuckled slowly, shaking his head at the young man.
“Ah, young Tobirama. I’ve watched you grow through the years from a mere cub who should have been put to sleep with the rest of his dead, mongrel siblings to a positively striking young thorn in my side. Hell, I practically know you as well as my own sons.”
He opened his eyes once more, the bloody hue and black tomoe of the sharingan seeming to pierce him where he stood, making him involuntarily take a step back. Tajima nodded as though this were a sign of deference and turned his back.
“Yes…that’s still all you are, Tobirama Senju; a mere thorn, something which itches and agitates, but does no real damage. You’re not worth the dirt on my boots. Why should Izuna waste his time with you? Why should Madara even be forced to occupy the same tainted air as an unworthy little rodent like you?”
With the words barely having left his mouth, Tobirama lunged with a howl, the primordial need to kill wrought upon his grimacing face. Tajima lazily flicked his short blade up to clash in a flurry of sparks with Tobirama, the two swords fidgeting under the force the younger man was attempting to force upon his hated enemy. The remaining Uchiha slowly drew their weapons, just as the remaining Senju began bursting through the trees. Shinobi on both sides drew kunai, began weaving hand signs, and shouted insults at each other as two inexorable tidal waves of hate surged towards each other.
In mere moments, the entire forest erupted in an explosion of steel, jutsu, and blood.
The searing heat of fireballs poured in showers from the mouths of the Uchiha, torching the trees and singing the flesh of Senju soldiers; the lucky ones came away with light burns. The less fortunate came away as ash. Senju, in turn, used a vast array of techniques to pummel the Uchiha bandits in a vicious counter attack. As they had vast stores of chakra, even greater than that possessed by the Uchiha, their attacks held various forms, from rocks and mud, to wind and water. Though the Senju were masters innately of few jutsu types, they had few limitations and fewer reservations on how to destroy their enemies. One Uchiha, barely out of his adolescence, found his young head eviscerated between a large oak tree and a flying boulder, bits of his brain splattering in pools of his blood over the corpses of two Senju females who had died underneath a hail of shuriken.
Tobirama had been pushed back, the Uchiha elder dismissing him with another flick of his wrist. Snarling in rage at the sight of the carnage consuming his kin, Tobirama furiously weaved his hands about, water seeping from the very earth in the forms of serpents; his water dragons were larger than they had been when he had fought the samurai before, and there was a savage, aggressive presence to them. With a roar, he sent them flying towards Tajima. “WATER STYLE! WATER DRAGON TECHNIQUE!”
Tajima stood unfaltering as the three aquatic monsters charged him, his stare merely burning holes through them. At the last minute, a searing inferno flashed before him; three dragons, hellish and fiery versions of the jutsu Tobirama had cast, reared before Tajima, crackling and colliding with the attack in a torrid wave of steam. As the air cleared, the slim, determined figure of Izuna stood before his father. The young Uchiha glared daggers at his Senju counterpart as he slowly spoke to the man behind him.
“Father…allow me the honor.”
Tajima rubbed his hands together for a moment, his face blank, contemplating his rash son’s proposal before slowly turning his back to them. His voice was slow and reluctant, the barest tinge of concern echoed in the solemn words.
“…do it.”
Cackling in pleasure, a torrent of flame shot from Izuna’s mouth as he raced towards Tobirama. The young Senju, disappointed for a moment that his greatest target had evaded him, yet ecstatic that his greatest rival stood before him, smirked as a vortex of pristine blue water enveloped the area around him. In a flash, the two unstoppable forces of nature slammed into each other with a fierce hiss, more blistering steam rising around the two as they danced in the storm they created, two katanas flashing through the haze. Tobirama scored a deep cut through Izuna’s cheek, a thin trail of blood flying off his face, but the Uchiha just laughed and brought up his fist into his opponent’s gut. The wind knocked out of him, the white haired shinobi flew back with a hard thud into a tree. Smelling the end, Izuna pounced with a howl, fire swelling through his chest.
“This is how we finish! Fire style, Phoenix Fire Jutsu!”
The flames spiraled towards Tobirama, encroaching from all sides and set to devour him. With little time, he slammed his hands upon the ground, and quickly mumbled. “Water Style, Giant Vortex Technique!” A spiral of water surrounded him, dispelling the flames in a twisting flood, allowing him to quickly move into different hand signals. Rushing from the steam, Tobirama leapt above Izuna, his opponent barely registering the swift flurry of events. With a full mouth, he spat out a large bubble at the Uchiha, the thick water pulsating as it flew down at the raven haired target.
“Water Style, Liquid Bullets”
Giving no pause, Tobirama quickly added a few more hand signs on top of his others. “Shadow Doppelganger Technique!” The one bullet suddenly multiplied into a countless number of similar projectiles. The lowly figure of Izuna on the ground below felt his eyes widen, the sharingan not warning him fast enough for his body to react. The storm of attacks struck with the force of a hurricane with a violent, air rending splash of noise. Tobirama flipped to the ground, landing confidently on his feet and looking down at Izuna’s drenched body as the young Uchiha, rasping for breath, struggled at no avail to come to his feet. Leveling his blade at him, Tobirama spat out blood from his mouth and shrieked in triumph.
“You were right! This is how we FINISH!”
The brilliant silver katana sliced through the night air in an arc of death as Tobirama moved to decapitate his nemisis…only to be brushed off by the metallic push of a curved, steel sickle chaining its way into his blade’s path. Gulping as he was bashed back, Tobirama looked up, his eyes narrowing in a paralyzing emotion he couldn’t control. Fear encompassed him and took hold of his still legs, making him tremble ever so slightly. His scowl furrowing on his face as he met the cold, unrelenting gaze of Madara Uchiha, whose Sharingan were wandering about the forest, as though they could dominate every last object which entered their vision. Peering back over his shoulder at his fallen brother, who had finally come to his feet, he shook his head in disgust.
“Izuna…come now brother, that was a disgraceful display. Last time you fought this rabble child, you humbled him in half the time, yet now you struggle to even keep up. Don’t tell me that you’ve lost your edge.”
The last words he spoke weren’t a question, but a statement. The elder brother knew that Tobirama had made great strides in his combat ability since they had last come face to face. Still panting, Izuna lowered his head in shame, his hands trembling. Still trying to compose himself, he forced himself upright and grabbed for his sword once more. “Brother, please, remove yourself, I can still-!”
“Silence.”
Madara cut him off with a single, simple response which seemed to reverberate throughout the battlefield. Stretching and rolling his shoulders, the feared Uchiha scion turned once more to Tobirama, his face calm, yet dangerous.
“I shall deal with the trash. Retreat to the camp and go catch your breath. You’re dismissed. I’ll be back to administer punishment later.”
Izuna screamed through clenched teeth, hurling his weapon upon the ground, his face pent up in the agonies of defeat and humiliation. After a moment of frustration, he nodded slowly and darted past his brother, whispering into his ear as he fled.
“…be strong, decisive, and victorious brother!”
“…very well. Be safe, little brother.”
The exchange was swift and surprisingly emotional. Izuna felt his chest now swell with pride and surprising confidence; though he himself had failed, he knew that now his mistakes would be avenged a thousand fold.
For now the strongest Uchiha had come to the fore and none could possibly stand in his warpath and live to tell the tale.
Madara cracked his neck and his knuckles in quick succession, his face stolid as he looked down on Tobirama. He grunted, and in a flash, fell upon the young ninja. The scythe shone in the moonlight as it curved like a snake through Tobirama’s guard and slashing him across the wrist. With a gasp, Tobirama felt oozing warm blood flow down his arm. He kicked out at Madara only to have his leg pass through air, his target darting behind him and flicking the wicked blade forward for the killing strike. A deep gash appeared on Tobirama’s neck as the blade severed his gullet, the young Senju’s throat struggling to make noise. Madara took no joy for the moment, merely landing on his feet behind the log which fell to the ground before him where Tobirama had stood.
“..tsk. You can’t run or hide from me, Tobirama Senju. Your little parlor tricks will only buy you mere moments of life.”
Panting behind a tree and clutching his bloody hand, Tobirama shook his head in despair; he had barely had time to register Madara’s movements! The gap in their power was tremendous. If only…
“Picking on those smaller than you, Madara? Come now, old friend, I thought you better than that.”
His eyes perked up, and Tobirama peered around the tree just in time to see a stalwart figure, in crimson red armor, standing on the branches above. Brown hair billowing in the cool night breeze, his face taut with stress, Hashirama Senju seemed like a conquering god entering the battlefield. Behind him, you could see the destruction which signaled his coming; the crumpled bodies of at least twelve Uchiha lay desecrated in a pile of disfigured roots and pillars of wood. Tobirama felt a grin come to his face, pride rising in his chest as he felt victory approaching once more.
For now the strongest Senju had come to the fore and none could stand in his warpath and live to tell the tale.
Madara Uchiha said nothing, merely readying his weapon as Hashirama jumped to the ground; the latter’s eyes grim and hell bent, clearly pained by the prospect of confronting this man. He reached a hand out, stretched in a dignified show of respect, as he did before every time he and Madara stared each other down like this. The Uchiha merely snorted, shaking his head in disgust.
“No matter how many times you repeat your tired act, nothing will change, fool of the Senju.”
“Madara! We can end this right now, right here, the right way!”
“Enough! I’m sick of your talk. On your guard, Hashirama!”
With a animalistic howl, Madara surged forward like lighting, fire spinning in a hellish pyre around his scythe. Bringing his head down and clenching his fist in a death grip, Hashirama waved his hands about, the earth swelling and rumbling beneath him, tree limbs weaving their way around his body. With a harsh battle cry, he, too, charged towards his enemy, the two flying towards each other like fierce gods of war preparing to tilt with the entire world as their stage. In an overwhelming crash, the two collided in the same spot Izuna and Tobirama had not long before, the earth wilting and sundering in their wake, the very planet seeming to crack under the pressure of their ruthless onslaught. The two struggled with each other, feet planted firmly in the earth as they tried to out muscle each other in the clearing, locked in a fatal struggle which would see one of them dead at the end. Madara’s eyes were lit up in demonic exhilaration, his face clearly elated by the challenge he grappled with before him. Hashirama’s face remained rigid, his own eyes refusing to turn away from Madara’s stare. The Uchiha kneed him hard in the chest, but he didn’t break the deadlock of their arms, and he countered with a savage head butt into Madara’s forehead. The Uchiha just continued to howl, taking pride in the pain and the intimacy he felt with his greatest nemesis and closest friend at this very moment.
“Heh…that’s right…that’s how it needs to be…HASHIRAMA!”
“MADARA!”
Off in the distance, a similar fateful clash was acting itself out. Not to be outdone by their posterity, Butsuma and Tajima sliced and thrust at each other with long katanas, the two pivoting about on the balls of their feet and seeking an opening in the other one’s stance. Butsuma Senju had arrived behind the main brunt of his forces, as he could no longer travel at speeds as swift as the younger members of the clan. Despite this, the grizzled elder of the clan sought out his most hated enemy the second he arrived; they both prescribed to the same, age-old belief in the war between their clans, that the second one of them fell, the fighting would cease with the clan of the deceased leaderless and hopeless. For countless years they had fought countless battles, just like this one, but today, Butsuma knew deep within the pit of his chest, that it would be the last.
One of them would be a grand feast for the carrion by the end of this confrontation.
Butsuma jumped back from their deadlock and feinted to the left before quickly flipping his blade around to slash at the right side of Tajima’s neck. Refusing to take the bait, the Uchiha expertly blocked with a firm cut to the same side, before bringing his blade forward into a thrusting motion at Butsuma’s chest, forcing the Senju to reel back on his heels in an effort to evade. Sweat pouring off his leathered face, Butsuma struggled to control his breathing properly, cursing under his breath; the clan doctors had told him that the illness was in his lungs, a long time ago, but he hadn’t thought that it would affect him this badly during battle, damn it all! He had never told anyone but them about his ailment, not even Hashirama and Tobirama, for he knew the Uchiha would catch wind of it. He couldn’t afford that kind of disadvantage…and yet here it was, rearing its ugly head regardless.
Butsuma knew, in short, that he and Tajima’s battle would conclude today since he could no longer keep up. Tajima smirked, sensing a change in his opponent’s demeanor, became aggressive, taking a purely offensive stance. Slashing and whirling about Butsuma, Tajima turned into a typhoon of muscle and steel, banging away at his opponent’s fleeting strength, each strike leading him closer to the inevitable conclusion. Another attack, another weakened block, another faltering retreat, and then finally Butsuma received a blow square in his chest, Tajima scoring a long, deep cut through the Senju’s crimson armor. With a rasping cry, Butsuma fell to the ground, the wound burning at his chest. Tajima said nothing, merely pointing his sword down, eyes cold but satisfied, and prepared to finish the job.
He blinked slowly, his eyes casting down for a moment. The hum of a projectile through the wind had been easy to ignore in his moment of ultimate triumph; after all, they were in the middle of a war zone, and no ninja had dared to come close enough for a jutsu or other shinobi tool to actually threaten him. Except that the arrow protruding through his chest wasn’t a tool used by shinobi. Following the angle of the black feathered herald of death, Tajima’s eyes slowly came up to see a well built, foreboding figure standing calmly in the distance of the tree line, a long and elegant ebony war bow resting in his hands. He was so taken aback that he had no time to react as Butsuma summoned forth every last bit of his strength to bring his katana ramming into Tajima’s throat. The two rivals locked eyes, one last time, as the sharingan began to flicker in the throes of death. Butsuma, coughing up a foul mixture of phlegm and blood, spat in Tajima’s face.
“I’ll…I’ll see you in hell, you dirty Uchiha *****’s son!”
Tajima could only manage a failed, gurgled response as his life flowed from the gash in his neck. As Butsuma ripped the blade out with a satisfied, defiant grin on his face, the Uchiha leader fell to the ground, face in the dirt, never to rise again. The tumultuous roar of the violence slowly died down, the shinobi frozen in shock and awe at what had just occurred. Many of the combatants on both sides clutched their weapons tightly, like parents holding the hands of children they were afraid to lose, unsure at what would happen now. Their eyes flickered back forth between their allies and adversaries, looking for some kind of cue they could take to either fall back or continue fighting.
Sentinel watched all of this quietly from the trees; if it had taken Butsuma a long time to arrive at the site of the horrific battle, it had taken the samurai commander and Katsuie Shibata eons. Unfortunately, for all of his proficiency at planning battle tactics, the samurai simply couldn’t match the pure speed of ninja on the move. Luckily, none of the shinobi had been concerned with the two visiting warriors, allowing the two to arrive as they could and survey the battle however they wished. Tapping his black shoulder straps thoughtfully with his right hand while still holding onto the bow with the left, Sentinel wondered if this truly might cause a cease in the fighting. He hoped it would, as what he saw before him was brutal. The ground was littered with at least eighty dead ninja on each side, probably split about fifty Senju to thirty Uchiha, and the carnage that the shinobi had wrought on each other left each warrior left standing ragged and on edge. He worried that if someone didn’t move to settle the matter right now, one of them would go back to the needless slaughter just to take the edge off.
Suddenly, something caught his eye in a part of the clearing near where he and Katsuie lurked in the shadows. He could see Hashirama, face dirty and tired, maybe about fifty paces off, pleading with a broad shouldered Uchiha man with long and dark hair. The Uchiha man’s face was twisting in raw, seething fury. His fists were clenched and his eyes…what the hell was happening to his eyes?
Hashirama spoke soothingly, but with authority, attempting in vain to keep his friend calm.
“Madara! Listen to me; you have to let it go! I know it’s hard, and I know my father is going to be right behind yours to the next world! I’m torn, I’m about to lose the man who raised my brother and I for our entire lives, but if you and I sit down and see each other for who we are beyond the clans, beyond the old hatred, we can grieve together! Overcome our sorrows together! We can…”
“Shut…UP!”
Madara spat the words out like they were poison. He looked up at Hashirama, causing the Senju to inhale deeply, not only at the sheer hatred which lay distorted across his face, but in the transformation that occurred with his sharingan. The crimson color of his eyes seemed to glow deeper and more violent, as though they had absorbed the blood which soaked the earth and taken in suffering of the whole vicious ordeal. The tomoe had gone, replaced by a single black, triple pronged pupil, as though two deadly shuriken had been planted in his skull. Most frightening of all, they caused a fiery, blue glow, to spread about his body and grow into some…thing. That was the only way Hashirama could describe it. For the first time in a long time, even he felt the pang of fear as he watched a towering, demonic goliath appear in a skeletal suit of armor around and above Madara. By the time it had reached full height, he knew it must have gone about twenty feet tall. In its hands lay blades of a similar length and color to the beast; the Senju could only guess that getting hit by those was, to say the least, not the best idea.
Madara merely shrugged off Hashirama, the vile anger in his eyes seeking through the men until they came back to the point where Butsuma Senju stood, leaning on his sword, his eyes horrified by the monster he saw lumbering before him. With a grunt, Madara flicked his wrist, and the beast followed suit; it was as though this was a living, breathing suit of armor, which followed his every movement exactly. The sword in its right hand came down and the path was ripped asunder by the weapon of hell unleashed upon it. The old Senju, looking over in terror at his eldest son as though pleading him to do something, didn’t stand a chance. A low, pained murmur was the most he could manage before he was completely annihilated.
“Hashi…Tobi…I failed after all…we chose poorly…stop the…”
Blood and ash. All that remained of the spot where Butsuma Senju had stood was blood and ash. Even his blade had been completely wiped away. Hashirama looked up, his eyes darting back and forth between the spot where his father had perished and the place where his troubled friend had killed him, as though fighting in vain to logically reconcile what had just happened. Tobirama, leaning against a tree and nursing several wounds, felt his eyes widen in despair and fell to the ground screaming. Sentinel and Katsuie emerged in a dazed state from their hiding spot, the samurai leader with his mouth wide open. “I’ve…what is…I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Madara inhaled deeply, a slow, purifying breath entering and leaving his body, his eyes closed, as though he were beginning to meditate. After a moment, he opened his eyes again…and a smile, wide and brilliant, appeared on his face underneath the same eyes so filled with hate. His voice, dripping with joy and satisfaction, boomed through the now silent forest, carrying a weight which seemed to hit everyone in the clearing like tidal wave.
“Today is a new day, Senju Clan. Rejoice, be merry, and celebrate your fallen leader. With the power of my Susano, I will send you to join him and all the rest.”
“Today, I will end this war by completely eviscerating all of you worms with my own two hands.”
