The words fell onto empty ears. The tongue, and words falling deaf to his ears. The ears that should have been listening but they weren't. Blood ran hot under his skin, the rage, provoking his actions, ones that shouldn't be permitted. But they were. Red lines upon white skin like snow. The mere pleasure the act of bringing this man to his knees, in a mental sense not just a physical sense to him.
He was too far gone. His darkness has tangled him once more. "Pain is what keeps you able to live, even if it drives you into madness." The words slipped out of his mouth with a type of taint that couldn't be placed even if someone had tried to place it. Even if someone had tried to, they would fail.
"I have told you once before, forget that petty village. They are not of your concern nor is my stained past." Madara's words were beyond bitter with the taint of an emotion that could have also been mistaken for concern. Concern that had been buried long ago. Long ago along with his heart when his brother had given him his eyes.
Teeth, sharp, bite though skin of the neck, before the other had the chance to react or even attempt to stop the movement. These advances were unexpected, and often only seemed to happen when the other had gained the upper hand. This was a lesson being learned, not to inquire about his past. The past he wanted to bury.
Iron, scarlet, cinnabar. The color that drenched the skin as he bit open the flesh. His hand resting on his shoulder, the other still leaving marks in his hip. The taste of blood on his lips. The weight that was familiar, and one that was forgiving. The flash of red that tinted his eyes staring back at the other now. The monster having come alive.
"It would be wise to hold your tongue on these matters. Child. This is no longer just a game."
Madara knew all too well that the other knew what he meant. He intended to break him by whatever means necessary, even if the other fought back now. The elder Uchiha was too far gone by now, the darkness once again having consumed what was left of his heart.
Digging into his flesh, and leaving marks, marks that have imprinted the boy since he was a child. Leaving the crescent shaped marks on the bare skin of his hip, tightening the hand around his neck, choking him for brief moments, and then digging that hand across his neck drawing reddened lines from his nails.