Crossposted from AO3.
"Sir, Captain Sakamae has requested your presence at the bridge. We have a situation developing on the other side of the canyon," the runner said in a near-whisper. Madara only heard it because he wasn't quite asleep when the boy arrived—but he wasn't quite awake, either, which was why he was still fastening his han-kote over the sleeves of his shirt when his brother poked his head through the doorway.
"Good, you're up," Izuna said hoarsely. He looked like Madara felt: miles of bad road, with an ambush at the end of it. "Apparently a large group of refugees is at the eastern rim of the canyon, and more may be coming."
"How many?" Madara grumbled, pulling his sandals on as they left the single shack allotted to command and started walking up the barren path to the watchtower on the edge of the cliff. "There can't be that many free villagers left in Fire at this point."
"Sakamae has counted several hundred, so far," Izuna said, matter-of-fact. "She can't tell how many more are coming because the Forest's aura is blocking our vision more than usual."
Madara hissed through his teeth, and accordingly sped up. "Breakfast says they're being chased by zetsu."
"I'm not taking that bet," Izuna said, smiling mirthlessly. "I sent the runner to Takeichi with a message to get everyone in formation at the watchtower in the next fifteen minutes. We'll need everyone we've got on hand, given the number of people we'll need to process."
Madara nodded, and for the next few minutes, the brothers were silent as they climbed first one, then another switchback on the steep path up to the watchtower, strangely surefooted in the peculiar deep darkness of a night with heavy cloud cover. Other camps, held by other clans, would have lit the path with torches; but this camp was held by the Uchiha Clan, and darkness was no great obstacle to overcome. Down near the bottom of the hill, Madara could hear Takeichi ringing his bell, getting everyone up and in order. He was a fast lead; Madara knew he'd have the whole camp awake and on the march in less than fifteen minutes, if that. At the top of the hill, the watchtower loomed, more a sensation of pressure than anything seen with sight.
Once Madara reached the tower, he saw a group of sentries and guards, tightly clustered around a tall figure in the standard armor of their clan: Sakamae. She was peering through a telescope, trying to aid her vision. Madara turned his own eyes to the other side of the canyon and tried to see as well: Sure enough, the dim flicker of dozens upon dozens of untrained chakra systems milled around on the eastern rim.
"Hell of a night for pitched battle, don't you think?"
Madara ignored the speaker, a man in the traditional robes and face paint of a nin from the Land of Wind, instead electing to walk straight past him and stand near Sakamae.
"Lord Madara," she said, not bothering to take the telescope from her eye. "I'm glad you're here. I've counted over seven hundred people across the canyon, and more keep arriving."
"Does the Forest show any signs of incipient growth?" Madara asked, scanning the tree line himself. It was quiet and still, but that could change in a heartbeat.
"None so far, but I've already authorized arming the catapults," she said curtly. "We've pulled out all the extra projectiles as well—I have a feeling we might need them before the night is through."
"Good thinking," he replied. "When Takeichi gets here, have him organize three fire teams—I'm certain we'll need them as well."
"Yes, sir," she said, clenched fist knocking against her chest plate. She handed off the telescope to one of the sentries, already motioning for them to gather closer for orders. Madara took a few steps back, and turned to look back at the other side of the canyon, and the tree-line further still.
"That was more than a little rude, brother." Izuna's tone was reproachful, but his eyes had a mischievous spark in them. "Sotan was a little put out you just walked past him without saying hello."
Madara just sneered in response. "That gasbag prattles on far too much. Why is he even here? I thought Jakuchu was currently stationed here."
"Wife just gave birth to their sixth child," Izuna said, shrugging casually. "Apparently it was a hard labor; we're stuck with Sotan until Jakuchu returns."
"His elders couldn't dig up anyone else for this area?" Madara asked in exasperation.
"Brother, Sotan may talk too much, but he is a professional, and quite capable of leading his clan members stationed here," Izuna said, not without some measure of sympathy. "You'll be moving on to the next post soon enough; I think you can deal with him until then."
There was nothing Madara could say to his brother when he took that tone; he sounded exactly like their mother in a mood. Down the hill, Madara saw a formation marching up with Takeichi's spare, lean figure in the lead. Sotan was walking towards the tower from the canyon edge. A sturdy blonde girl was arguing at him from a half-stride behind. Somewhere past the Forest, the barest hint of gray touched the eastern sky.
Madara sighed, then raked a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath to center himself, then turned on his right heel toward the door of the watchtower, jerking his head for Izuna to enter first. Sakamae slipped in a bare moment behind them, and busied herself pulling out the area and regional maps and pinning them to the table. By the time she had them arranged to her satisfaction, Takeichi and the other team leads had filed in, followed by Sotan and his aide. There was a serious look on the Sand-nin's painted face. Once everyone was inside, he unceremoniously shoved the girl forward towards the table. She startled a bit, gray-green eyes wide, and Madara had a nagging feeling that he ought to recognize her from some other meeting.
"My niece has some interesting news from the other side of the canyon," Sotan said seriously. "Shigeru, what do you currently see?"
To her credit, the girl didn't hesitate once prompted, and immediately launched into a report. "I sent a third eye to the other side to observe the refugees and confirm headcount. Currently there are eight hundred and twenty-three—no, eight hundred and twenty-eight—people waiting to cross. Most of them speak the eastern dialect—"
On the other side of the room, Madara saw Takeichi roll his eyes and mouth the words "eastern dialect" incredulously at Mamiko. She, in turn, was clearly not paying any attention to him. Sakamae was, however, and she quickly sent him a quelling glance.
"—although some seem to speak dialects from areas closer to the Eastern Sea. They're wearing the clothing of petty merchants and traders, with a few craftsmen mixed in. Lastly, they're addressing their prayers towards Uka no Mitama. All this, plus the unprecedented number of refugees we're seeing, leads me to believe that Kurashiki has fallen."
There was dead silence throughout the room for a split second, and then the gathered soldiers erupted into protests.
"You can't be serious—"
"Kurashiki? With the engineers they have access to? No chance of th—"
"Don't be a fool, any wall can be bro—"
"There are fifty-thousand people living within Kurashiki's walls. I can't believe—"
"Everyone, enough," Izuna snapped, his patience finally falling short. Once the room quieted, he addressed his next question directly to Sotan's young aide. "Have you been able to make contact and confirm this with any of the refugees in question?"
The girl shook her head sharply, tendrils of sandy blonde hair pulling free from her braid. "No, Commander, but I feel it's a near certainty."
Izuna sighed. "All right. Let's say you're right, and Kurashiki has fallen. It doesn't change anything for us right now. We still need to check all those people for plants, and get them over the canyon before whoever the Leaf sends after them catches up. To that end, our overall strategy will remain the same. Mamiko will be the catapult captain for the shift—given the amount of people out there, I want you to be free with our supply of weed killer. I'd rather run out before the next shipment then lose a team to the Forest."
Mamiko nodded seriously, already scribbling notes and equations on a spare piece of paper. An ugly, worried murmur moved throughout the room after Izuna's instructions. Madara knew damn well what the issue was: their shipments of weed killer always came from Kurashiki, as did allshipments of herbicide on the Western frontier of Leaf. If Kurashiki had indeed fallen, it will wreak hell on one of their principal methods of fighting back the ever-encroaching Forest.
"Sotan," Madara interjected. "How long can your team keep the bridges up? There's hours of work ahead of us, and I'd like to be sure they don't fall out from under us halfway through."
The question was blunt bordering on rude, but it did exactly what it was supposed to do: move everyone's focus away from events they couldn't influence in any possible way. Anxiety, uncertainty, fear of the unknown: all three conditions make the work so much harder to bear. Madara could at least try to redirect that energy towards something productive. Sotan was still a fast-talking bastard, but Izuna was right: he knew his kin's capabilities intimately, and didn't take any criticism of their skills lightly.
"As I'm sure you already know, given the many, many discussions we've had on this topic previously, maintaining the bridges is no problem once they're created," Sotan said, an edge to his normally genial voice. "Shigeru, Kichibei, and I can create and destroy perhaps a half-dozen bridges each, and still have energy to fight. "
Madara nodded curtly in response. Not ideal, but still better than nothing.
"Sakamae, Takeichi, and Itsuki."
All three shift captains turned towards him, attentive as always. Itsuki had even left off chewing the end of her braid.
"You three will be in charge of the checkpoint teams for the night. Form up your squads outside—I'll be floating between all three as necessary. We'll keep up just three bridges. Sotan, I'll expect you to stay fresh and act as defense on the other side, when the pursuit arrives."
"Sir, are the fire teams going to go through the full decontamination procedure, or a modified version?" Sakamae asked, a faint frown creasing her brow. There was another rising murmur agreeing with her, and Madara repressed the urge to snap at them impatiently. It was an unworthy impulse to feel, as the question was perfectly sensible for Sakamae to ask. Izuna rescued him, as he always did in these moments.
"Yes and no. We don't have the time to carefully check everyone's belongings before they cross—at least, not if we want to actually finish before sunset! So we're going to tell everyone to strip, leave their clothing and other belongings in a specified zone, and submit to a physical examination before they cross. If we can, we'll sort through their belongings later, but given the way things usually go..." Izuna shrugged laconically.
"They're going to fight us on that," Takeichi said flatly. "They just lost everything, and now we're taking the clothes off their back, too?"
"it's either that, or remain on the wrong side of the border. We can't let even one seed cross over the rift. If they want to risk their own lives, they may, but they're not going to risk ours with them," Izuna said firmly.
"We might need to insist on cutting their hair, too." Everyone turned to look at the blond girl. Her eyes were unfocused as she used her third eye to observe the refugees. "As I said, most of them don't look too wealthy, but you can tell they've been living in a walled city up to now: they all have long hair, and barely any of it is covered by a headscarf."
Madara huffed impatiently, only stopping when Izuna gave him a cutting glare.
"Good observation, Shigeru! Sakamae, definitely arrange to give everyone a trim—doesn't need to be shaved, just short enough they can shake out any seeds and burrs caught in it. Any other suggestions?" Shigeru fairly grinned at Izuna's praise, but not before giving Madara a quizzical look.
There was a long, quiet moment before Sakamae said, "No, I think that's all, sir."
Izuna nodded once, decisively, and said, "Indeed. You're dismissed—get to your stations, I want us to start processing everyone in the next five minutes! Mamiko, stay behind, I have some further instructions about the catapults for you."
Collectively, the crowd saluted, fist over heart, before filing outside. Madara lingered while Izuna spoke to Mamiko, staring at the maps of the area, tracing the pathways left out of Kurashiki.
"So you've noticed it, too," Izuna said, leaning against the table with one hip. Madara just nodded in response: Kurashiki was under siege a long time. Five years ago, even three years ago, people fleeing could have taken ship and sailed downriver to the southern coast, but the Forest overtook that route a long time ago. The grasslands to the northwest have been a no-man's land since last spring. The only place to flee is straight west—straight towards the canyonlands, and the Uchiha camps garrisoning it.
"I'm going to get some runners prepped. Once we make contact and learn if Kurashiki has fallen or not, I'll send word to our sister camps both north and south alerting them to the possibility of more refugees, if they don't know already."
"No birds?" Madara said, looking at his brother sharply.
"Too much risk. They never seem to make it to their destination these days. A messenger is more certain." It was said in a neutral tone, but Izuna was no doubt thinking the same as Madara: the birds had only started disappearing in the last year, when the Forest had come within naked sight of the watchtowers.
By mid-morning, over a thousand souls had been processed, but hundreds more had arrived in the meantime. Kurashiki had indeed fallen, and with it the last bastion of non-Senju power within the borders of what used to be the old Land of Fire. There was still no sign of pursuit, and Madara felt the tension of the interminable wait like a tightly-wound screw between his shoulder-blades. Somewhere in the crowd, a child was wailing; it was counterpointed against the deep, wracking coughs of a old man. Madara idly hoped whatever the man had wasn't contagious, because they could hardly afford the expense of a quarantine.
"I bet you dinner they'll attack right as it begins to rain," Izuna mumbled bleakly, staring at the tree-line in the near distance. It looked like just an ordinary forest from here, with just the suggestion of sun-dappled light and the scent of humus. It was deceptive, though: the farther you traveled, the darker and more twisted the woods became, until all that remained was a sort of quiet, musty twilight...
Madara shook off the memories, then looked at the sky, still dark with heavy clouds. No one had emerged from the treeline in nearly three-quarters of an hour, and Madara knew from experience these were probably all the people they could save. Out near the salt break, Itsuki had the same idea, for some of her team was deftly setting up the wire traps that criss-crossed over the burnt, sterile ground, sentries keeping a wary eye on the looming trees. Madara looked back towards the cliffside and surveyed at the crowd of people still left. It would be at least another hour or more of processing, if all went well.
"No bet," Madara replied, and rubbed his face with his palms for a moment. It didn't help with his headache, but then again, little did these days. When he scanned the crowd again, he saw a older man with a pockmarked face marching towards them with some purpose. It was Yoringa, from Itsuki's team.
"Lord Madara, Commander Izuna, we have a difficult case in holding. Itsuki would appreciate a second look," he said when he got within earshot. Madara and Izuna exchanged a surprised glance, and as one, they both start jogging toward the central holding area. Itsuki was young to be a team leader—she had only turned sixteen at the turning of the season—but she had activated the Sharingan when she was a little older than twelve, and she had both a good eye for the details that made a plant, and a remarkably even temperament. It was rare that she needed any kind of assistance.
When they got to the holding area, it was surprisingly full. There were a dozen wild, grimy children, gleefully stripping off their clothes, a rather voluptuous woman with the tan skin and sandy blonde hair of the people of Wind, already undressed and presenting herself for inspection with a wry look in her eyes, and lastly, a man with closed-shaved head, dressed in a ragged kimono, carrying what looked like a serviceable sword in a worn scabbard.
"An uchigatana?" Izuna questioned out loud. "I don't see many of those these days. Noble-turned-monk, perhaps."
"And how many monks do you know with chakra systems that could rival our own?" Madara asked tightly, eyes narrowed, and Izuna tsks as he re-activated his Sharingan.
"You know, according to the tales, all of them. Something about meditation being good for the body... I'll admit to being a bit disappointed, though: shinobi pretending to be a monk is much less exciting," he said flippantly, and Madara suppressed the urge to slap him upside the head. "Wait… I know that woman. Her name is Samsi; her caravan always brings us our supply of weed killer. I don't think Itsuki knows her—she transferred in from the grasslands station after our last purchase."
Madara looked at her a little more closely, but still doesn't see anything out of the ordinary—but he supposed that was to be expected. He had met less than a handful of the Alchemist's couriers over the last few years, and all of them seemed utterly ordinary given their backgrounds: a salt trader in Cloud, when he'd traveled there five years ago for a potential alliance with some clans; a travelling priest he'd met on the high road through the mountains around Stone; a stubborn scholar cataloging plant life in the grasslands even as the vanguard of the Senju army arrived; a card shark from Fire who'd cheated him out of a succession of meals during his second-to-last visit in Lanshi.
They'd all been utterly different, and utterly uninteresting, save for the fact they were apparently in contact with the biggest individual thorn in Senju Hashirama's side, aside from Madara himself. All Madara had learned from the meetings was the Alchemist, whoever he was, was a strange one. Madara could understand choosing covers and alibis that would explain the need for constant travel, but he didn't understand why his agents were actually what they appeared to be instead of shinobi.
"All right," he murmured. "I'll interview our monk friend. Come get me if something comes up."
Izuna nodded briskly and loped away towards the woman, already calling a greeting—some kind of ribald joke, to judge from her scandalized laugh. When Madara turned to look at the other man, he stilled in surprise, for he was already being surveyed quite closely.
At a closer distance, Itsuki's potential plant turned out to have very fine, aristocratic features. Madara idly marked the stubborn tilt of his chin and the firm set of his mouth: if it weren't for the Sharingan's ability to see chakra coils, the other man might very well have passed as nobleman-turned-monk, unwilling to give up his sword. The albinism only added to the aura—a noble's son with that sort of affliction wasn't likely to inherit anything. Madara couldn't tell what color the monk's hair was—too closely shorn—but the red eyes and pale skin were a definite giveaway.
"Are we going to speak now, or are you just going to stare at me some more?" the other man questioned imperiously, and Madara scowled. Whoever he was, he was good. Madara had heard that exact tone of voice from petty chieftains and minor lords, drunk on their own importance and ignorant of exactly how quickly they could die. They'd only been saved from the blade of his sword by the money they were paying him and the potential ruin of his reputation.
"Well?"
Madara unclenched his jaw with effort. "Name and profession," he said flatly.
The other man arched a fine eyebrow—white, Madara noticed, now that he was looking—and shrugged, looking a little surprised. "Koji. Swordsman."
"Not a monk?" Madara questioned.
"No, I don't claim that identity," the albino said diffidently. "Given how you're making everyone cut their hair, I'm sure you've noticed the seeds of this new forest have a tendency to catch on anything they can. I traveled extensively outside of Kurashiki for work—it was safer to shave than worry about bringing something back on each trip." He laughed, darkly. "Not that my precautions saved us, in the end."
Despite himself, Madara felt a little sympathy. Koji seemed like all the other Alchemist couriers Madara had met over the years. The only difference was his overdeveloped chakra coils, which he had yet to explain.
"You call yourself a swordsman," Madara said slowly. "Who trained you?"
Koji just looked at him as though he was particularly stupid. "My clan, of course. Specifically one of my uncles, when I was a young boy."
"So you're a shinobi?" Madara asked skeptically.
Koji frowned a bit. "I was. Now I have no clan, so I call myself a swordsman."
Madara winced inside—he already knew how this story went, but the question must still be asked. "I'm sorry for asking this, but... your clan, were they killed by Hashirama?"
There was a very long pause. Koji's face was utterly inscrutable, in contrast to his demeanor in their earlier conversation. "No, worse. They joined him."
Madara looked at the man askance. "And what? They just let you leave?" he asked in disbelief.
The corners of Koji's mouth turned down a little more, but that was the extent of his reaction. "Of course not," he said hoarsely. "But I could not stay. Faced with that choice, would you?"
Madara can think of nothing to say to that. Join Hashirama, who has spent the last ten years crossing lines never meant to be crossed—or leave his family, possibly forever? That was never an option available to Madara, and in some ways, he's glad he never had the choice. There was an awkward silence for another moment, and then Koji sighed and asked, "If the interview is finished, shall I strip?"
"A moment," Madara said, a little off-balance. "Why are all these children here?"
"Oh," Koji said, startled. "They refuse to be separated from me. Their usual caretaker didn't make it out of the city, so they're my responsibility until I can find them a new home."
He was... well, he was not quite smiling as he looked indulgently over the children, but it was a near thing. As if they knew he was watching, the squirming mass of children all turn to look at the other man and yell their various greetings and questions; they were obviously quite familiar with him. The not-quite-smile brightened just a smidge.
"Please strip," Madara ordered abruptly, and busied himself scanning the tree-line while the other man took off his robes. It's the work of a moment to re-center himself, and then Madara let the years of rote inspections take over as he gestures for the man to raise his arms, turn in a circle, and show the palms of his hands and soles of his feet, one by one.
"Looks good," Madara finally said. "Please leave your belongings, including your clothes, in the designated area. Once you cross the bridge, there should be a worker handing out some kind of clothing, although it won't be much. We'll try to return your belongings to you within a few days, but I can't guarantee that. Additionally, given your unusual background, I would request that you and your... colleague please check back in with either myself or Commander Izuna before you depart the camp."
Koji nodded slowly, an assessing look in his eyes. "I understand," he said mildly, and bowed slightly in farewell before turning to the crowd of children (are there more of them now than there were earlier?) and calling them in. Izuna waded through the crowd, somehow managing to always be a split-second away from some child's grasping fingers, nodding absent-mindedly at Koji before making for Madara.
"So, Samsi vouches for our fake monk friend—apparently he's always been clear about his status as an ex-shinobi," Izuka said casually. "I wonder if we ever fought him? And from the way she was speaking, I think he might be closer to the Alchemist than any of the others I've met."
Madara shrugged, eyes still on the other man. "Pretty much the same, although I don't know about that. He seems just like any of the other couriers I've met," he said casually. Both brothers paused a moment to watch Koji corral the children and and offer a gallant arm to Samsi, only to be waved off by the woman as they made their way to the drop-off zone next to Bridge Three.
"He seems like a very admirable man," Madara said haltingly, watching the man in question gently take one of the children by the hand and lead her forward—a little girl with a dirty blindfold tied around her eyes. He almost immediately regretted saying it, as his brother slowly turned to look at him.
There was a very long pause, then Izuna laughed loudly. "Seriously, brother? I know you have a type, but thi—"
A piercing scream cut Izuna off. Both brothers turned in the direction of the scream, only to see a monstrous centipede stampede through the treeline. Sizzling acid dripped from razor-sharp pincers and weak sunlight glinted off a nearly-impenetrable carapace. Behind the first centipede, another one was already emerging into the open.
"Fuck!" Madara swore, sprinting towards the tree line. Izuna was already pulling ahead of him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Madara saw the refugees pushing closer to the canyon brim, jostling closer and closer to the already-broken bridges. The fire teams had already taken position on the salt break. As Madara crossed into the kill zone, he felt Sotan and his clan creating a wall on the designated barrier line.
Sakamae was already reporting in when he came to halt beside her, her team at the ready. "Six centipedes so far, sir, no sign of zetsu yet."
"Unlikely to remain that way, but let's deal with the obvious threat first," Madara said. "Are the traps primed?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Get everyone in position; on my mark, we fire," he ordered. He watched the centipedes struggle through the initial defenses of the salt break. The mines they had bought from the Sand-nin's mysterious western contacts were, as always, impeccable. The pressure sensors didn't go off for anything less than 200 kanme, so they were perfect for the mutated beasts of the Forest. First one, then another of them struggled through the caltrops set over the minefield, only to be blown apart, piece by gory piece. The third one got a little further by walking over the bodies of its compatriots, but still died in a shower of gore before it could cross the kill zone.
The fourth one learned that it only needed to walk where its brothers had died to safely cross the minefield. There was an uneasy tension in the clan, but it was hardly unexpected: everything from the forest was smarter than it ought to be. Another two centipedes followed the new leader, and they paused at the second zone. The traps in that area were made of razor-sharp wire and spring-loaded needles, and they crisscrossed the area up to a height of fifteen shaku. The centipedes hesitated for a good long while—one of them even turned back towards the Forest—but again, that damnable fourth centipede realized it could simply arch over it with a little effort.
"We need to kill the leader first," Madara said to Sakamae, and heard her mutter the target to the rest of her team. On his other side, Izuna had already prepped Itsuki and Takeichi. Madara waited for the lead centipede to close—fifty shaku...forty shaku... thirty-five shaku...thirty-three shaku...
"Mark!" Madara shouted as soon as the creatures finally breached their range. Three harpoons pierced the monster's side almost instantaneously, one from each team. It shrieked as steaming black gore poured over the head of the harpoon onto the bare ground. Madara held up a hand. "Second rank, ready… Mark!"
Like clockwork, the first rank retreated as the second rank took their place and fired. Another three harpoons whistled as they flew towards the second centipede. Only two of them hit center mass this time. The third overshot the creature by a half-shaku and landed harmlessly in the ground by the first centipede. But it was good enough. Both centipedes were pinned to the ground by the harpoons, and wouldn't be free for at least another moment. Madara closed his hand into a fist. At his side, Sakamae was already breathing in, hands steady in the handsigns for the Great Fireball—the entire second rank was doing the same. In unison, they all blew fire at the pinned centipedes. The smell of roasting chitin was both utterly unique and utterly nauseating. The creatures screamed shrilly as they twisted sinuously around the harpoons, pitch rising higher and higher until it hurt the ears. Finally they went still.
"I miss the days when they were still squishable," someone muttered behind him. Madara entirely agreed.
It was unnaturally quiet afterward. Madara peered past the smoking corpses to the tree-line beyond, still strangely quiescent.
"Izuna, do you see anything?" he questioned urgently.
"No," Izuna said, sounding a bit shell-shocked. "I don't see a single zetsu at all."
"Maybe that's the worst of it," Takeichi said dourly, on Izuna's other side. "When a city the size of Kurashiki falls, there are going to be a lot of poor refugee bastards still in the Forest, taking up time and attention."
On Madara's left, Sakamae sighed impatiently, and opened her mouth to speak. Madara never learned what she was going to say. A zetsu burst out of the ground beneath her feet and neatly broke her neck.
Bedlam broke out all around him, but Madara only has eyes for the zetsu whose hands were around Sakamae's neck. "Axes out!" he roared, and as more zetsu rise from the ground, Uchiha began pulling their axes off their back holsters, and chopping at the creatures with a will. It was almost exactly like chopping down a living tree, made a hundred times more difficult by the zetsu's mobility and vast killing intent. Around him, Madara saw the bodies of his kinsmen—behind him, he heard the wall shake, and screams carry over.
The zetsu travelled under the salt break, Madara realised. It didn't stop them for a second.
"Sotan, break the walls," Izuna screamed, his brother's voice cracking midway. But Sotan apparently heard him, and the walls came tumbling down. Madara looked back with his Sharingan active, and saw the whole battlefield in a glance. There were zetsu everywhere among the crowd, grabbing any people they could and killing them with just a twist of their rootlike hands around fragile human necks. But everywhere, people were fighting back. Any able-bodied refugee had joined the fray, wielding anything from cudgels to long, wickedly sharp knives, harrying the zetsu and distracting them from the Uchiha with axes.
Madara's eye was caught on one figure in particular in the middle of the battlefield: Sotan's blonde niece was clinging to the back of one gnarled zetsu and sawing at the thing's neck with a big serrated dagger, clear droplets of sap suspended in the air from whatever passed for its arteries. Beyond her, the sand-nin's last walls still before the rim of the eastern side of the canyon, protecting those refugees too afraid or infirm to fight. The bridges had been cut, and those sand-nin with the gift were massing a sand wave to crush those zetsu they could reach.
There was no escape, but there never was when fighting Hashirama's creatures.
"Team Two, defend Sotan," Izuna shouted from right beside Madara, and grabbed his arm. "Mamiko can't use the catapults; the zetsu are too close to us."
"I figured that out as soon as I saw Sakamae die," Madara snapped. "Stop making obvious statements and start defending the Sand-nin! The only way we're going to survive this is if they can thin the zetsu to a manageable number."
Izuna snarled at him, but let go and darted off to side, lopping the arm off a zetsu about to stab the blonde girl from behind. All around Madara, person by person, team by team, shinobi began to team up against the zetsu as the civilians distracted the creatures—but more and more of them were falling, Sand and Uchiha and refugee alike. Madara killed his first zetsu of the day, and whirled around to face another, sap running down the handle of his axe. Sotan whistled, high and sharp, and when Madara found the other man, he saw five zetsu trying to pull themselves out of a roiling ball of sand slowly compressing them into a pulp.
Madara heard the crack-crack-crack of their wooden joints snapping, and realized a split second later what Sotan wanted him to do. Six handsigns later, and Madara was blowing a massive fireball into the coils of sand, turning it into a glass coffin for the zetsu entombed within. Sotan released the still-hot glass and began sweeping up more zetsu into another hold, but Madara could see the sweat on his face, his open mouth as he panted harshly for air. He can't do this many more times, Madara thought, and he knew that Sotan was the only Sand-nin powerful enough to do this even once. All his kin were just using walls to corral the creatures, but the zetsu were crawling over and digging under them faster than the Uchiha could dismember them.
I need to set off the flare for Mamiko, Madara thought in despair, and looked for his brother on the battlefield.
And then suddenly, Koji was before him, wearing his shabby kimono and holding his unsheathed sword on guard, blade already wet with the sap of living zetsu. "The wire traps," he shouted, red eyes intent. "Can they be set off from this side?"
Madara just blinked at him for a moment, totally flabbergasted.
"Answer me!" Koji snapped.
"Yes," Madara shouted in return. "But what are you doing out here? You should be with the other refugees beyond the retaining walls!"
And then—and Madara could not believe this was happening—Koji held out a single demanding hand. "Give me your flare!"
"I'm not giving you anything, you madman," Madara screamed back at him, and then turned to his left to chop the arm off a grasping zetsu.
"Is this really the time to argue with me?" Koji demanded. "Give me your flare, I need it!"
Before Madara could open his mouth again, his brother appeared next to him, replied, "Good enough for me," and slapped his own flare into Koji's outstretched hand.
"Thank you," Koji shouted in response. "Get your clan in position; thirty seconds after impact, I'll need some mass fire." And then he cut his left palm on the blade of his own sword, before reaching forward and slapping the face of the zetsu Madara had just maimed on with his own bloody hand.
"What the hell?" Madara shrieked in disbelief, at his brother or Koji, he didn't know. Koji, at least, couldn't answer. He was already sprinting towards the salt break, and the razor-sharp wires still strung across the eastern zone, pristine and new. But he wasn't going alone—the zetsu were following him, leaving their own battles to chase after him like he was the only person on the battlefield. Sotan crushed a few laggards, and more than a few fell to stray cuts from Uchiha axes, but dozens of them were converging on Koji with an awful ululating cry. Madara, Izuna, and Team 2 were right behind them. Somehow, Sotan's niece, Shigeru, had attached herself to Izuna's back, and was clinging for dear life to his shoulders, her big serrated dagger in a holster on her back.
"Are the zetsu baying for his blood?" Shigeru said, amazed. "How is he going to fight them all by himself? Is this a suicide maneuver?"
"I have no idea what is going on," Madara said angrily, axe still clutched in his hands. Izuna was ordering Team Two into a modified arrow foundation, with himself and Madara as the point. Koji was carefully crawling through the wires as quickly as he could. Once he reached the other side, he made the sign of the snake, and the earth all around him shifted—transformed into stone, Madara realised. The first zetsu to reach the wires attempted to dig underneath, only to be stymied by the new material. It cocked its head, almost… puzzled. But a split second later, it started pushing through the wires, only to fall to pieces in another instant, dismembered by the force of strung wire. It didn't matter: another pushed forward, and another, and another...
"How many zetsu are those traps designed to take down?" Takeichi asked. The only sign of tension in his demeanor were his tightly clenched fists.
Izuna just shook his head as zetsu after zetsu was destroyed by the sprung traps. "Sakamae told me that even without her direction, the traps could take down at least a dozen zetsu. But we never planned on there being such an unprecedented influx."
"Did you ever think they would dig under the salt break, Commander?" someone further down the line asked. "Because that's what really screwed us today."
Madara put the conversation out of his head, still focusing on the fight ahead. Two zetsu stumbling into the last wire triggered the final trap, and were promptly decapitated for their pains. That still left nearly two dozen zetsu crawling through the mass of wire and mangled corpses towards Koji, not that he betrayed the tiniest flicker of unease at the sight. He pulled the string on the flare, pointing it straight above his head, and then, as the red sparks rose high in the sky, took two precise strides forward and began slicing at the tangled zetsu. The zetsu may have been attuned to him in some way, somehow, but they still weren't any smarter—Koji cut down them down in ones and twos, never letting a single one get within arm's reach.
And suddenly, just as Madara heard the peculiar twang of the catapult springs, he understood Koji's plan. As Izuna shouted at everyone to get ready, Madara began making the six-seal pattern for the Great Fireball for the third time that day. Right on cue, the hollow clay projectiles containing the weed killer flew overhead, bursting like bombs when they hit the ground and dowsing everything in the area—except for Koji, who was making the seal for the dog sign in his left hand.
In the sight of Madara's Sharingan, his chakra coils seemed to pulse intently, and the water surrounding him was slowly funneled into a great wave. He held it for a moment more, before releasing it upon the zetsu, already hissing from the contact burns they'd already received. They shrieked in response, clawing at their own bodies in a frenzy.
"Mark!" Madara roared a final time, and like a well-oiled machine, the arrow formation let loose with a mass fireball upon the zetsu.
And then they exploded.
"Wow," Shigeru whispered beside him, grotesque body parts raining from the sky. An arm landed next to her, bouncing and rolling to land next to her feet. The fingers of the hand twitched once before falling still. "How can I learn how to do that?"
"Good question," Izuna murmured, sotto voce. He turned closer to Madara, as the rest of Takeichi's team shook off their shock and began cheering. "We need to keep our new friend in custody. I'm almost certain he's Senju Tobirama."
Next Chapter: Every battle has an aftermath. This one has a mystery, as well.