The battlefield was a far cry from the riverside. Vicious glares and maniacal stares born from the hatred seeded right from within the very soul of the barer. Weapons clashed, focus on nothing else but each other as the duel continued. Not the screams of dying. Not the bodies of the vanquished. None of it. Onyx and brown locked in an inaudible struggle, neither backing down, neither giving in. If this had to be to the death, so be it that way.
Friend turned foe long ago, childhood fantasies nothing more than shattered relics of what two minds the same could produce. Eyes of black transformed that day, transcending to a scarlet light that became darker than the chasms of midnight. A single sided bond is all that remained for one, whilst the other gathered hatred, morphing and shaping it into power a plenty.
Many times have they met like this, sword to sword, fighting tooth and nail, never being able to defeat the other; locked in an internal feud. Boys turned to men, dreams of power and leadership fast sprung into reality, proving more a nightmare than a gift at times. Each man a leader of his separate clan, the bitter rivalry between groups shared by the men themselves, perhaps to an even greater extent.
This time was as times before, unrelenting brawling, blood spilt and new scars formed. Surely there was a better way, surely it could be settled without the needless and senseless death. Alas, only one believed it possible. Darkness consumed the heart of the other, a coldness so icy it burned.
There would be no mercy. There would be no let up. Blood, sweat and tears worth of effort all the days of fighting times long ago would not go to waste. The blood shed by ancestors and comrades could not be forgotten. This was the way to keep their memories alive. This was the way to prove they existed. This was the way to avenge the ever coming losses. A circle, a cycle of hatred and scorn. No matter words left from lips, two wrongs could never make a right. What could make a right in a world where the philosophy was an arm for an arm, and a leg for a leg
In the eyes of Madara Uchiha, there would never be a way.
In the eyes of Hashirama Senju, there would always be a way.