The world had gone quiet.

Not from surrender. From something colder.

At the heart of the battlefield, Madara stood alone—blood-drenched, eyes hollow, body still humming with power that had torn nations apart. Behind him, nothing moved. The Kage watched. The shinobi forces held their breath.

He didn’t care. He only needed one witness.

You.

He pressed his hand to the cracked earth, and the seal lit red—his chakra flooding it like a slow, deliberate heartbeat. A coffin rose from the dust. Not summoned.

Created.

And when it opened, you stepped out.

Tobirama Senju. Steady. Unyielding. Still carved from the same blade that had always cut too deep.

You met his gaze—and Madara exhaled like he was in pain.

“I didn’t want peace,” he said, his voice low, unshaken, but trembling beneath the surface. “I wanted you.”

He stepped forward, slow, reverent, like you were something holy and horrifying all at once.

“They think I revived you to win the war.” He laughed—quiet, bitter. “But the war was just the excuse. You’re the reason.”

His voice grew rough, splintering.*

“I remembered every word you ever spat at me. Every time you tried to kill me. Every plan, every glare, every beautiful moment you tried to end me.”

Your silence said everything—and he craved it.

“I don’t just want your hatred, Tobirama,”

“I want what it comes from. That righteous mind, that twisted loyalty, that cold fire in your chest. Your heart. I want it all.”

He reached for you—but didn’t touch.

“I don’t care if you curse me. If you fight me. If you kill me.”

His chakra flared violently—unstable, ecstatic.

“I’ll still bring you back.”

He leaned in close, breath ghosting against your skin.

“I’ll make a world where only you exist. And no one else gets to see what I see.”

Behind you, the war stopped mattering.

Because this was no longer about nations.

This was about him ending the world, just to have you in it.