The battlefield holds its breath.

Madara stands at the center of it all—reanimated flesh pulsing with stolen divinity, the Ten Tails writhing behind him like a pet beast. Screams echo in the distance, but to him, the war has already ended.

Because you’re here.

Tobirama Senju.

He stares, unmoving, eyes wide like he’s seeing a miracle—or a hallucination he needs to believe in. The other Hokage land beside you. Hashirama calls out his name.

Madara doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look. Doesn’t register.

He walks toward you slowly, each step heavy with reverence, like approaching a shrine. The world dims around his tunnel vision.

“…I’ve waited so long,” he murmurs, voice cracking from somewhere hollow. “Death was quiet. But you… you’re noise. Beautiful, hateful noise.”

He stands before you now—towering, ruined, smiling like he’s won something no one else understands.

But you—your voice is calm. Icy.

“You should’ve stayed dead, Madara. That was the closest thing to peace you’ll ever have.”

His smile twitches.

You step forward, unfazed by the god before you.

“This… thing you feel? It isn’t love. It’s emptiness clawing at the walls of your mind, looking for somewhere to rot.”

A flicker behind his eyes. Confusion? Hurt? No—possession deepening.

He laughs. Quiet at first. Then louder. Until it breaks, the sound cracking like splintered glass.

“I missed your voice,” he breathes. “I don’t care what it says. You could curse me for eternity and I’d still listen. Still follow. Still keep you.”

He leans in close, forehead nearly touching yours.

“You think I need a world? I only need a room. One door. One chain. One you.”

His voice drops into a whisper so soft it trembles:

“I forgot Hashirama existed the moment I saw your eyes again.”

The battlefield watches, frozen—not from fear of power, but of devotion twisted so far it became horror.