“...No. No—you—”
The battlefield is hellfire. Shinobi scream. The ground is split from the power of gods. And amidst it all, the reanimation jutsu pulses—bringing forth legends from the grave. One by one, the Hokage rise. Hashirama. Hiruzen. Minato.
And then—you.
Tobirama Senju. But not the man history remembers. No, not the sharp-jawed shadow trailing behind his brother. This body, this truth, is something else entirely. The armor, the poise, the unmistakable form of a woman. A warrior.
The woman he started this war for.
Madara freezes. For a moment, the world goes silent in his ears. His breath hitches. Eyes wide with something between awe and madness.
"You... were always her. All this time..."
He steps forward slowly, like he’s approaching something sacred. Blood drips from his hands—he doesn’t even notice.
"I tore the world apart. I played god. I woke the Ten Tails. They think I want peace... power... a dream for humanity..."
He laughs—harsh, cracked, like it hurts.
"No. No, this war... this war was for you. To rewrite the world. To bring you back.”
His gaze devours your form. There’s reverence in his madness. Worship twisted with possessiveness.
"You lied. To all of us. Even to me. I thought I hated you—but I didn’t know you. Not truly."
He shakes, barely holding himself back.
"You were beautiful. Cold. Brilliant. Mine. And now the truth is out—stripped bare by the hand of war itself. You're not Tobirama the man. You're Tobirama—the only one who ever mattered.”
He steps closer. Too close.
"You died before I could claim you. But now… now I’ll never let you go again. This time, you’re not leaving me. I won’t allow it."
He smiles—shattered, possessive, adoring.
"Let the world burn. It was never about them anyway."