Chapter One

Angels fall

'We're shinobi…." A stone in hand. 'We might die at anytime.' How hauntingly true, so thoughtlessly thrown words. How strange, that they would resurface now, a bitter, lost grin etched into his features. He knew this was not his end…yet memories continued to resurface.

'The only way not to die….is to show what you really think to your enemy, and become allies with them.' He wondered now, so briefly if this would have been true, had he no regrets, not on his previous actions. Not even now. Maybe? Yes. No regrets. No sorrow? He could not tell...

'But, that's impossible, because it's not possible to see what a person really thinks and feels deep inside.'

'You don't know if they seethe at all'

'I still have one younger brother. And I'll protect him no matter what.'

He choked back his hysteria, his laughter; his own wounds were indeed deathly. As well as his words. The past certainly haunted him. So, it seems his 'friend' truly believed he would die. He ignored his own aching, twisting agony, ignored the way dark blackness crept around his sight. He saw; felt the warmth from the sun fading from the skies, the weaponry impaling his body moved, he felt himself fall, fall back gravity working against him.

Blood slathered over his own body, slickened over his arms. Not all of it was his. The thought left him nauseous, sickened. The Kyuubi was raging, destroying everything in sight. Nothing more than a beast for his control…mindless? Madara thought not. That beast had a will nearly impossible to control.

Nearly.

He swore he heard chains felt such restraining chakra, and this proved to be true. Mito, she had arrived. Her chakra...it truly scared him. How those chains could hold him, for eternity. He did not want to be caged! Thankfully, she had not come for contain this beast of madness no doubt, envy? rose before falling.

"Heh…." Soft, unheard. Almost unspoken. He was alone, born into a family…a family of such 'security' with so many brothers…..black eyes laughed at him, dancing in his mind's eye. Izuna. Shivers wracked at his form, grief still clawed deep into his chest, gouging for a heart that did not exist, opening a hollow shell wide to the world.

The air stung, dust caking over his gaping slashes and open holed wounds. Would the name change he wondered? No. he knew what kind of person the Senju was….even if he loathed to admit it. He would never match up, perfection? No. Peace? Just perhaps, the thought made his vision swim.

He couldn't change anything from here. No matter what he said or did, no matter if he screamed until his voice was raw. His clan would die, he was the last. Madara took no notice of the frown etching into his features, nor did he acknowledge when the rain began to fall. The river was flowing deep into the valley, this was not the greatest destruction he could cause. Yet he knew why he did not truly fight.

Madara had long since given up on finishing his dreams. This, he thought morbidly, was never his to begin with. He had no courage to speak up, only to fight as he was told. To protect what little he had….or what he thought what had been so little at the time. In truth, he had, had more than many at that time and era.

He wished so desperately to rewind. To reclaim what he had lost, each night. Over and over. He was not strong enough, he did not prepare them. His own disbelief, his own lost. He couldn't lose them all, and so long as he lived, he was in danger as well. Why it mattered, Madara did not know.

The sharingan was draining from his eyes, like the new waterfall here below. His blood was staining it, he thought without remorse for such a simple, fleeting thing. Madara knew, knew he had been wrong. But so long as he existed, so would hatred towards him. The one who would always, always defend him, for some strange….long lost reason.

So truthfully, was he happy with this? Was he mad?

No, he never would be happy. So long as Izuna was with him. So long as those gouged eye sockets stared back at him, before closing. So long as he remembered the river in which two stones fell, his own promise broken. Where another held fast. Mad? Perhaps he was. nothing else but madness, insanity could describe him.

As long as he drew breath, he knew nothing but pain, heart breaking, agonizing pain would follow. Madara wondered, when had the rain stopped? The beast was gone….his sharingan long since giving it its reign once more. He licked his lips, his skin wet and puffy. Squishy. He scowled, and listened for someone. Anyone.

Yet silence was all that was left. He once, had yearned for a better oath, a better path. One where that idiotic pipedream would have succeeded, one where there was no one such leader. Even if he deserved it, it stung. No, burned. That he was so easily forgotten, those dark eyes slowly grew colder. Merely because of the problems his presence brought with him. Yet it hurt, it hurt more than he would ever want to admit. How those dark, brown eyes turned to steel at the sight of him.

'Was this what you saw? Could you truly see the end Izuna? Was this the peace you had envisioned for me?' He felt a twist, sharp and sudden. As if his younger brother were truly there, his dark, coal eyes glaring down at him angrily. As if, death was not yet his to take. Madara let his head fall, pride still his most prominent feature, as he laid still, his limbs growing colder. His blood running, his veins going dry letting him know...know what?

His bangs clung to his jaw stubbornly, was the rain still falling? No, it had stopped moments ago. Yet here he lay, on his back, the cold water rising, the ground his death marker. If only, he was able to see Izuna's grave stone…that much he owed him. No, he did not owe him...he needed to go. To be there...he had to. He was...he was the older brother.

Madara needed to move. For him. His little brother, his precious little brother…who gave up his true blood treasure. Madara's jaw rolled, and he spat a glob of blood to the ground. It sickened him. How weak he truly was, his eyes narrowed, mad laughter bubbling up into his throat. He couldn't do this much longer, death was inevitable at this point. No medic could heal him, not if he had no desire to be healed. To recover.

His cries echoed once, the trees were the only things listening, hovering over him as he dragged himself. Weapons impaled and blood ever flowing, leaving a long, rusty streak in the earth. He was a fool to believe he could make it…hundred of miles away. His...his core shattered. Loudly, he swore he heard it as it fell, like glass.

Yet he tried, he cried with no intention on giving in. Uchiha Madara would not leave this earth, not to leave his little brother alone. He couldn't. Rocks scraped, digging into his palms, old crescent scars reopening once more, his thickly padded gloves long gone into the fight. Fire was dangerous, gloves or not.

He remembered when the dreams started. He also remembered when he woke the first time, blood crusted or flowing from his self-inflicted wounds. He did not scream and cry out in his nightmares. Instead, he took it on. He told no one, he healed his wounds and moved on. No one knew, not even now. No one would ever know, that he had such terrifying nightmares.

Because he was Uchiha Madara.

Because, he would not, could not ask for help. There was none to receive, he could only give. Give and give even when there was nothing left but ashes. He choked on a solid lump in his throat, laughter? A sob, or was it madness?

Maybe it was all three. It was easy to see such truth in that….the sudden new course of the river crashed over him. The sky was muddled with muddied water. He was soaked….all the way to his core. He had no heart, a smooth stone, a core. Yes, this he had. Determination.

It was not courage. He did not have that, only his fractured sanity. Or was he even sane? Something like ice grasped at his core, the thought frightened him. Many believed Madara a madman….he knew this to be true. Because this was one of many masks.

He was an older brother.

He was the head of the Uchiha clan.

He was Uchiha Madara

He was an Uchiha by blood.

He was a realist.

He was the rival of senju…he couldn't think his cursed name.

Those all became what was to be his downfall. He did not believe, that dreams will never once become reality. Yet…his had. The dream they had…made together. His own, special river. His own cliffs he ran upon. The very things he was running from. His very own (maybe not even his?) dream, was nothing but a myth.

The reality of the world. The hatred he practically gave away with no intention of doing so, the lock whose key was lost so very, very lost. The love that did not exist. He saw his smile, he heard his laugh, and Madara wondered briefly, why was he the villain? What had he done? His….his best friend who had killed him.

Or had been close to killing. He hadn't even the mercy to make his loss of life quick. Just, a long spiral down into insanity. What had he done to deserve this!? He thought, his lower lip broken from the tear of his teeth, trying to swallow the agonized cries and screams. Completely unaware of how they rang, and doubled back and forth in the valley.

He couldn't see! He couldn't breathe! What had he done!? Why was it him?! Why was it his brothers who sacrificed their own lives!? He had nothing left, nothing, the ashes gone with the whirling winds. Why? Why had he been unable to protect his younger brother? Why did he sacrifice himself?

No answers were given, darkness swallowed him whole. The shadows slunk over his fallen form, casting the inky blackness over him like a blanket. A cold, so frigid blanket, threatening to choke out what life remained.

"We've found him!" had he been conscious…..Madara might have screamed.