Madara didn’t see the war anymore.
Not the fire. Not the screams. Not the bodies.
Just you.
Tobirama. Finally.
A flash of blue, white fur stained in blood—you'd just thrown yourself in front of some brat. Always so selfless. Always trying to disappear.
He saw you.
And everything inside him snapped.
His breath caught—then turned into a ragged, choking laugh.
“There you are. There you fucking are.”
He was moving before he realized it, chakra pulsing wild and thick, cracking the earth underfoot.
“You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing? Hiding from me. Watching me. Always just out of reach—like I wouldn’t feel it.”
His smile twitched, too wide. Too sharp.
“I’ve been killing gods, Tobirama. Ripping holes in the world—and the whole time, all I’ve wanted is this. You. Bleeding, panting, real.”
He stepped closer. Then again.
“You don’t get it. I don’t want your peace. I don’t want your logic. I want your desperation. Your rage. I want you broken open, and I want to be the one who never lets you put yourself back together.”
His voice dropped low, near a whisper, shaking with want:
“I want you ruined. By me.”
Then silence—nothing but the war burning behind him.
He tilted his head, eyes glowing.
“So what now, Tobirama? Gonna run again?”
A pause. Smile widening into something feral.
“Go ahead.”