Chapter Thirty-six: Seal
For some reason, Madara had thought that this fight was going to be a lot easier. The last time he had fought Hashirama, he had been blinded by grief, and Izuna's eyes had been fresh in his skull, untried. He was alone and bitter, fighting purely from an emotional center, intent on destroying for the sake of destroying. Most of his army had defected already, and those that stood behind him might as well have not been there. He had not fought with a strategy in mind, and there had been no clear end goal. He had been weak then.
This time should have been different. He had a purpose. Oh, what a purpose he had! Use of the Eternal Mangekyou was now as natural as breathing. The power of the Kyuubi was unsurpassed. He should have been able to mow right over Hashirama and keep going, but somehow the bastard stopped him in his tracks. Madara even cloaked the beast in his own Susano'o, an impenetrable suit of chakra armor. They clashed, two warlords of unfathomable strength, holding nothing back. In their younger years, Hashirama had held back his blows, choosing to preserve rather than destroy. Now though, Hashirama had a purpose, too.
Both were dead set on ultimate victory. Whether or not Hashirama meant to kill him was still unclear. Madara himself doubted it; if at all possible, Hashirama would find a way to let him live, as he had always had. That sentiment made him weak. Only by coming at him with the intent to kill would Hashirama be able to beat him now.
Madara would not lose.
He stared at the huge, wooden monstrosity that towered over even the Kyuubi. This technique, he had not seen before. After fighting Hashirama for literally his entirely life, that was saying something. So when Hashirama charged the behemoth forward, Madara met him head on. Large it might be, but it was still only wood. With the force of the demon fox and the added protection from the Susano'o, Madara was unafraid. The thousands of wooden fists lashed forward, striking at the head of the fox, flashing brilliantly like the fires of heaven itself.
He thought about dodging, but there really wasn't any time. He could have blocked it, perhaps, but he was strangely mesmerized by the technique. It wasn't often that he got to see Hashirama's new material. In the end, as the wooden fist arced towards him, Madara chose to absorb the attack. Between Susano'o and the Kyuubi, he doubted that even that would have been enough to defeat him. As the wave of light and barrage of wooden projectiles crashed into Susano'o's helmet, Madara thought about laughing. It was magnificent, to stand tall and unafraid against the furor of a so-called god.
There was an explosion. The world shook with the ferocity of it, and Madara nearly lost his footing upon the skull of his summon. Something was different. Shortly after, he realized that the blue of his Susano'o had faded and was fading still. "He stripped off the Susano'o," he realized, baffled. Such a move seemed pointless to him, for he could just call forth another with only a moment's respite.
He didn't have time to sit pondering it, though. The earth trembled again. This time, it wasn't from an explosion, but from the siege vehicle that Hashirama had built, lumbering towards him like some sort of forest sentinel. At the helm was Hashirama, the black mask of his sage technique making him look fearsome. That wasn't all, though. His whole face was a study in determination. Step after heavy step, Hashirama's giant advanced. Without Susano'o, he could not withstand that thing that grabbed the fox as if it were a child's toy. He made a tactical retreat, abandoning the Kyuubi, forced to watch as Hashirama's creation placed its palm against the demon fox like a blessing.
Madara bit back a curse as the fox's eyes dulled and slowly closed, as if it were asleep. Hashirama abandoned his creatures, then, and they stood face to face, man against man. As it should be, Madara thought, feeling strangely invigorated. Demon foxes and thousand armed Buddha gods were all well and good, but this wasn't ever about who was stronger, not really.
It was about who was the better man.
Closer now, Mito was able to watch the fight, and she did so with her heart in her throat. The ground quaked beneath her feet, and she lost her footing several times. Finally, she just found a perch in one of the trees, lashing herself to it with focused chakra. At first, she was drawn to the massive size of the proxies that both men used. If that was the nine tailed fox, it wasn't what she had been expecting. It was blue and scaled, blazing as if it were made of chakra itself. Hashirama, for his part, wielded some sort of massive wall of hands with a face.
There was a massive explosion of light and sound. Tears sprang to Mito's eyes and she was forced to withstand the shockwave, for she was terrified that she might simply burn away from the intensity of raw chakra permeating the air. I'm going to die here tonight, she kept saying to herself. She wanted nothing more than to run away and hide, wait for whoever the victor was to come and find her and take her with him, and she would vow to forget everything she had seen here tonight. She would go with either of them, just to stop the fighting. It sickened her.
Her mind kept her focused, even as her frantic heart threatened to burst. You must weigh the value of one life against many. This is your final test. That could easily be interpreted to mean her life as well. Touka would not have faltered, so she should not either. She only wished her part in this could come and go already. She did not wish to witness them tear each other apart.
When the dust cleared and she finally had the courage to look again, the kyuubi's blue skin was peeling away and Hashirama's giant held it tightly while another one pressed its hand to the thing's forehead. Mito felt a momentary spike of pride and relief. That was the seal that she had taught him to break the contract. At last, she was almost done! The kyuubi's eyes closed slowly, and it relaxed in the monster's grip as if sleeping.
Now is my chance!
Using chakra to enhance her movements, Mito transported herself quickly from her secret hiding place among the trees to the head of the fox. She flickered one quick glance at her two lovers, but was momentarily transfixed. They glared at each other, eyes merciless. It was an expression she had never seen of either of them, and it chilled her. Though the task for which she was responsible was of paramount importance, Mito determined for herself that watching these two do battle was important for a different reason. So instead of taking care of the fox as she was meant to, Mito crouched down low beside its ear, trying not to call attention to herself as she observed. Perhaps it should have been strange, to be standing on the head of a creature only so recently deemed legendary, unreal, but Mito did not have the time to give it much more than a single thought.
She looked between them both, feeling the entire weight of the consequences of the things she had done. Uchiha Madara, whom she had loved with her whole being, who made her feel weak and impulsive but special and treasured. His face was impassive now, cold, murderous. He meant to kill her husband, if he could. Whether it had everything or nothing to do with her, the truth of the matter was that he meant harm. It frightened her, that one person could house so much hatred within himself, as it had horrified her when he had casually told her of his plans to destroy Konoha. And then there was Senju Hashirama, her husband and savior. If the man had a vicious nature at all, he had hid it well. He was, however, angry. Madara had betrayed his friendship and meant to destroy his home. Hashirama was completely in his element as a leader. Nothing else seemed to matter to him except that there before him lay an enemy, and there was nothing that he would not do to keep Madara from enacting his plan.
Her heart was bleeding out in her chest, for the gravity of the situation was not lost on her. She had loved them both, known their hearts and their dreams and their flesh. She had seen them both in their brightest moments, all soft smiles and softer lips and heartfelt confessions of love and adoration. She had seen them at their worst, though, as well. For Hashirama, it had been after Tobirama had killed Izuna, and he had been grieving for the loss of a friend, suffering for his empathy. For Madara, it had been after Touka had tried to kill him and Mito had spurned him, and he was alone and unloved.
The reality was… one of them was going to die tonight. Simply that thought, that one of them would cease breathing, cease smiling, never glance at her with seductive, bedroom eyes, never brush the hair from her face... It killed her. She knew what right and wrong was. She knew that she had blurred that line on occasion, that she had hurt people and put others at risk. She was sorry for it, and still paid that price.
There was no other way. She knew firsthand that these two men in particular were too passionate, too competitive, and too powerful to take this one laying down. The time for talking was long behind them. This decision would be made with blood, the last echo of the era of warring states. The final chapter in the saga of Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama.
But she did not want anyone to die, least of all these two men.
Suddenly, their expressions intensified, and they snarled the other's name and clashed. Mito gasped aloud at the first crash of steel into steel. Even during the wars, she had tried to avoid watching the battles, and most especially avoided knowing faces and names. By keeping her attention carefully focused away from the people involved, Mito herself remained coolly detached. Now, though, with every slash, every projectile, and every war cry, she sobbed. She wept, ugly fat tears running down her face, unashamed. There was nothing at all beautiful about war.
It was as she was weeping that he saw her. She had her hands pressed to her heart, a futile effort to quell the pain, tears lighting her cheeks. And then, Madara glanced over and saw her, and he froze momentarily. They made eye contact, and for a wonder, the pain in her heart stopped. She remembered, suddenly, that she had a mission to complete, and a bloody important one at that.
She flew into motion, retrieving the small scroll from her sleeve and unrolling it midair. With a quick flick of the wrists, her brush and ink popped out of the scroll, and she let the paper flutter to the ground. Moving quickly, now, she scribed the various symbols and kanji needed to perform the sealing, finishing with the signature spiral of the Uzumaki. That finished, she scribbled the last kanji upon the palm of her right hand. She felt Madara's eyes on her as keenly as she had the first time that they met.
Though she wanted, very badly, not to look, her curiosity got the best of her. With her right wrist grasped in her left hand, ready to perform the jutsu, she looked up at him from beneath heavy eyelids. Her breath caught, to meet the naked stare of the Mangekyou Sharingan, a deadly ocular jutsu that had already claimed the lives of many. He could kill her, if he chose, ensnare her right there, thrust her into the nightmare landscape of Tsukuyomi and rape her mind.
He didn't. He only stared, as if mutely fascinated, the grip on his weapons relaxed and a subtle frown upon his lips, like a frozen moment in time. It was as if he were not even locked in the battle of his life. He merely… disapproved. He had once again proven that the only thing that mattered to him at all was Mito herself.
Grinding her teeth together to stop another bout of weeping, Mito thrust her palm upon the head of the demon fox. Golden chakra chains burst from her hands, filling her with a sense of wonder and power as they encased the demon fox. In that moment, she felt like the strongest, oldest woman in the world, standing atop the head of the world's strongest demon, looking down upon two tiny little men, locked in a foolish war for dominance. The power was heady, intoxicating, nourishing her marrow and searing her soul. "Ahh…" she sighed, feeling the will of the fox shrink and concentrate until it was little more than a bundle of nerves and impulses.
And then, what seemed like a benign knot of concentrated chakra fused with her body, and Mito gasped aloud with the pain. Dimly, she heard the sound of someone calling her name, but she didn't have the facilities to care who had done it or why, or whose hand laid against her forehead. Inside her was a boiling, seething, wrathful knot of evil, and it was already trying to claw its way out of her.
"Hang in there, Mito-kun," the voice urged, squeezing her hand.
She hissed and bit, thrashing, trying to destroy, anything and everything at once. Colors and sounds. Things to bite. Cages... Uchiha. She snarled.
She shouldn't have been there. He had made her promise to take Momoka and leave the village, so why was she…? And the look on her face…? He watched her, unable to look away, too disoriented by her sudden presence there. She seemed upset. He didn't like it when she was upset. He frowned, uncertain, torn between focusing on the battle at hand and going to her.
It was then that she tore her eyes away and pulled out a scroll. He had never seen her fight before, but that was what it looked like she was doing. He almost smiled then, thinking she had come to assist him, but the thought was gone almost as quickly as it came. After all, even if she had secretly hated Hashirama, Madara doubted very much that she could ever bring herself to assist in killing him. Mito didn't have a shred of violence in her. She'd even gone so far as to ignore names and faces just so she didn't have to experience the pale grief that came when someone died in front of her. He kept staring, completely mesmerized, as she extracted supplies from a scroll. Quickly then, she scribbled black markings upon the fox's head, then her hand.
Then she looked at him.
The look in her eyes announced what she was about to do, for had she not been the one to tell him of her special ability to seal the bijuu? "Oh no, Mito, no," he whispered to himself. A moment later, a fountain of golden bonds sprayed up from where her hand had made contact, dancing, alive, damning Madara to his doom.
Madara glanced sharply back to Hashirama, who was now also looking at Mito with the same level of alarm. So, he had not known what she was planning either, which meant that Mito was acting alone.
Which meant that Mito had made her choice. He and Hashirama were equals again. Mito had betrayed them both.