Before this chapter begins, I have done a poll to determine whether people would like me to continue writing here on FFN or would be interested in reading my fics over on AO3. Or, I could consider just cross-posting. I am still considering it all and nothing's decided, but lately I've just gotten tired of FFN for a number of reasons.

P.S. I figured that time between the island and the mainland is a few hours apart. The mainland (Konoha) is about three hours ahead. So while it might be very late night or barely morning for Sakura and Madara, it's sunrise for Konoha. Just wanted to add this to avoid any confusion.


The gusts of wind made the downpour soaking her and stinging her skin hard to see through. For a while she was stricken, on her knees and staring at the pile of rock that had collapsed on Madara. None of it was registering like it should have been. Not long ago, they were barely more than enemies themselves, and then he…he…

Despite how biting the rain was, Sakura felt her cheeks steadily growing flush, and it wasn't entirely because of the weather. Crawling forward, she sunk her hand into the pile of rubble and tossed the first chunk aside, seething. What an infuriating man! No one had asked him to do that. It was completely unnecessary.

More stone was flung to the side, her lip gripped tight between her teeth as she dug through. In a way, actually, he was selfish. The next rock she got her hands on disintegrated to dust between her bare hands as she squeezed. Grunting, Sakura pawed at the stone, unsure if she was trying to move them or just needed something to physically slap around. Her fingertips brushed against something that felt suspiciously like a handle and with a jerk, she'd uncovered the unscathed gunbai.

Carefully setting it to the side, she sucked in a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut. She'd need shelter soon. The rain was cold, and too long out in it would get her sick. As if her body agreed, Sakura became vaguely aware that her shoulders were bouncing. A hiccup arose from her throat and, pressing her fingers between the debris and pushing it away, she made contact with something fleshy, which could only mean one thing. Ignoring the way her own hands shook, she reached out, clasping at the still hand to inspect the bruised knuckles. The digits were stiff and the palm clammy.

It didn't make much difference though; not when her own fingers had long ago succumbed to numbness. With no heat to transfer between them, the kunoichi brushed her fingers across the underside of the pale wrist. The pulse she felt there was encouraging, and when Sakura took another shuddering breath, her icy cheeks felt wet all over again.

She gave herself until the count of three to reign it all in, dimly aware that maybe, just like the flush, the wetness streaming down her face wasn't entirely caused by the storm. Leaning over, Sakura cautiously shifted the last of the rock and drew herself closer. Scrambling to the motionless body splayed in front of her, she delicately touched a palm to his back. Internal damage was surprisingly minimal, and what she found, she healed. But when she lifted both hands up to place on either side of his head…

Her fingers came back with a sticky wetness that couldn't be explained away by the rain. Cursing quietly, Sakura very slowly rolled him onto his back, ignoring the dig of the rubble under her bare knees as she placed Madara's head in her lap. Before she could move him, she had to get an idea of what she was dealing with. The most immediate concern was that he was unconscious and possibly concussed, a combination that never really ended well. She allowed her healing chakra to seep deep into him, to mend the cracks in his skull and bring down the swelling.

The rain at least washed away some of the blood from the spot at the back of his head. And the wound was knitting closed, hard as it was to see with the mess of hair in the way. Pushing him up by his shoulders, Sakura situated herself under him, draping his arms around her neck as she stood. All she could do was get them somewhere dry and safe, wait out the rain, hope that if—when—he woke up, his condition was manageable.

Sakura wasn't naïve. She knew all about what happened when someone was knocked out by a traumatic blow to the head. When they woke up, it was hardly ever like they'd been before. So she had to expect just about anything. Maneuvering around the scattered debris, Sakura caught a glance of the ruined mural as she made for the exit.

In spite of everything, the damage her followers had done…were doing…Iwanagahime wore the same dour expression, as if somehow, the troubles of a goddess would always trump the pain of mortals. A selfish, stupid goddess who threw a temper tantrum like a lovesick girl who couldn't get what she wanted.

The sudden fire that burned deep in her gut was inexplicable, but as she crossed the stone rendering, she let her heel come down with just a little extra force. Immediately the goddess's countenance was further cracked, almost to the point of being unrecognizable. The pinkette smirked, raged sated as she carried Madara the rest of the way into the temple.


Dawn was just breaking, the village bathed in only the slightest glow of sunrise. Hashirama pressed a knuckle to his right eye with a loud yawn. He would have fallen forward onto his desk, if not for the steaming cup of tea suddenly under his nose. "Mm," he grumbled, hoping it was thanks enough. It was scalding, and more on the bitter side than he would have usually taken his tea. But it did its job, and when his lips left the mug's rim he at least felt more awake. "I have to say," Hashirama sat down the cup, staring at the documents his brother had placed in front of him, "I'm not actually against getting an early start on work but this feels…excessive."

Tobirama's blank stare was immovable. "Really? Because I think that you have a lax understanding of urgency at best in most instances. At least make sure the last revision to the academy entrance requirements are satisfactory. You are the Hokage. These need actual approval from you."

Hashirama brought his face closer to the stack of papers, cocking his head and then drawing away with a shudder. "Tobirama, this is a book without a cover. How did the revised list end up longer than the first draft?!"

There was no sympathy in his brother's eyes, and Hashirama was prepared to hunker down and get to work, when a strong gust through the partially opened window displaced nearly everything in front of him.

He grabbed blindly for his bonsai, unable to see with all the hair suddenly in his eyes. Once his hand secured Bukkai's pot and tucked it securely against his side, the Hokage shook the strands from his vision. "It's…it's a sign!" He gasped, staring at the disarray that had once been neatly stacked papers. The heavens themselves rebuked the paperwork, and that was more than good enough for him.

"No," Tobirama disagreed, "It's a Summon."

Hashirama spun his chair, wondering how he had missed the largest bird he had ever seen perched on the roofing outside the window and attempting to wedge its head underneath. "An eagle?" he gawked. The bird shrilled so loudly it made his ears ring. "An extremely large eagle…"

The Summon's sharp amber eyes flickered to him and, inching forward, Hashirama moved close enough to pry the window all the way open, careful of his fingers so near to the big yellow beak. Making a series of clicking sounds, the eagle hopped forward a half-step and lowered himself, his entire head inside the office. The Senju could see now the bird wore a harness, a scroll held safely to its chest. Tobirama was faster than his dazed brother, who was too busy marveling at the giant creature, plucking the scroll away and opening it without ceremony.

The younger brother hadn't been looking long when his expression soured and he stopped, tossing it to Hashirama. Unsure what to expect, the Hokage examined it for himself. "This is Madara's handwriting…" Leaning against his desk, he started to read, more troubled by every word. By the time he had finished, the atmosphere was sobered, Hashirama delicately setting down the scroll. "Nothing about this sits well with me."

Tobirama stared at the big eagle waiting patiently outside. "There are a number of ways to handle this. All of them call for immediate action though."

Hashirama nodded, listless. "I…" he stumbled into his chair, plucking up some clean parchment and a quill. "I need to see Izuna first."


The temple was abandoned, as far as she could tell. Aside from the storm raging on outside, it was quiet, but Sakura remained vigilant, prepared for confrontation. She knew she had to make a decision about what to do with Madara. He was in a bad way, and she wanted to fully assess the damage, decide where they'd go from here.

The acolytes may have been gone for the timing being, but would they try coming back? And where had they fled to begin with? The village, the inn…were those safe places or would they be vulnerable there? There were so many uncertain factors it made Sakura's head spin.

The lonely echo of her footsteps on stone coupled with Madara's shallow breathing were the only noises keeping her company as she wandered the building's second floor. Miraculously, despite the damage done to the very top of the structure, the floors below seemed mostly unscathed. Although, she didn't miss the lifeless bodies strewn here and there, and she knew without a doubt it was a testament to the carnage Madara had caused on his way to find her.

She shifted him across her shoulder so she could get a stronger grip, the gunbai tight in her other hand. Determined to get them somewhere safe, Sakura tried not to focus on how heavy and wet her clothing was, or that they were still in an incredibly dangerous situation.

Instead, she searched every nook and cranny of the floor, finding a well-hidden hall behind the stairs beyond the throne. There were no torches lighting it, so she relied strongly on her other senses as she carefully picked her way through what could have been a maze, for all she knew.

Managing it was a challenge between carrying a grown man over one shoulder and holding the large fan with her free hand. But she was nothing if not persistent, and when she came to a dip in the wall, she pushed with her shoulder on instinct, and it gave.

This time, there was ample lighting in the hidden passage behind the false wall, and she was able to see every crack in the floor beneath their feet, and every notch in the wood of the doors lining the opening. Sakura stopped, waited and listened. No sounds from any of the rooms, no shuffling or hushed whispers. Placing the battle fan against a wall, she checked the door and found it unlocked, peeking inside to see a small room with bows mounted neatly on the walls and quivers full of arrows.

There were a few blades, nothing special but sharp nonetheless, and Sakura considered taking one, despite knowing she was clumsy with a sword at best. Shutting the door back, her next hunt was for somewhere to rest Madara. Carrying him wasn't really making her feel tired, but her body was heavy and cold all the same and his added weight and the press of his own sopping clothes was uncomfortable to the extreme.

Luckily, the next empty room she barged into was clearly meant to be quarters. Maybe for a miko or for an acolyte. It was sparse, nothing like the opulence in the main levels of the temple, but a space perfectly accustomed to someone who was supposed to be devoted to pious living. The wood floors creaked as she walked them, about to deposit Madara on the small, narrow cot and then remembering his wet clothes and thinking better of it.

Sakura chose to set him down on the floor, propped up with his back to the bed instead. Sighing quietly, she flexed her now-free arm to alleviate the stiffness, surveying the rest of the modest room. Nothing else really caught her eyes. It had a wash-basin and a wooden trunk in the corner.

There was a small table with a lamp that was curiously still burning bright, and a plate containing the remains of someone's dinner. The call to arms prompted by Madara's unexpected arrival may have disrupted someone's quiet evening dinner. Sakura might have felt more pity if she hadn't known that whoever lived in this room likely joined the effort to try and kill them.

That made her feel unsympathetic about claiming the room for herself now, deciding the first thing she needed to do was get them both out of their soaked clothes. Sakura bustled back out into the hall and brought the gunbai, a small comfort somehow, leaning it up against the desk.

Seeing Madara was still incapacitated, she didn't bother moving him, choosing to search for something dry and clean to put on instead. The trunk was promising, so she got on her knees and fiddled with the lock. It was sturdier than it looked, and she blew a persistent wisp of hair from her face, only studying it a little longer before delivering a well-placed flick to its center and smirking when it shattered. There wasn't much inside. A small velvet pouch that felt half-full—she put that aside, mentally claiming its contents as her own—a stack of letters, neatly bound together and—ah!

Sakura triumphantly pulled out what looked like a clean black yukata. Holding it out to inspect, she figured it would probably fit Madara well enough, and he didn't exactly have anything he could complain about, given his current state… Chancing a peek at him, still unconscious, the kunoichi cringed.

Although she had been pushing the thought away, she knew she would have to be the one to change him. And while she had seen anatomical figures of the human body many times in her books, had seen the real deal not so long ago while prepping a patient for surgery, this was not the same, and professionalism be damned, she loathed it.

A chill went through her, reminding Sakura that her own outfit needed changing. There was nothing else in the trunk, and she wanted to give the yukata to Madara, which meant she was going to have to hunt down something else for herself. If she'd found one set, she could find more somewhere.

Knowing there was very little chance the Uchiha would wake up soon, she crept back into the hall, searching more rooms and finding various odd possessions she surmised belonged to the followers who lived here. None of them had a spare change of clothes, though.

On the verge of resigning herself to staying in wet clothes, Sakura stepped into one of the few remaining rooms. Unlike the others, this one had some characterization to it, an attempt by its occupant to make it homier. It wasn't much, but the vase of flowers and the brushes and paints strewn on the table did make it at least look lived in.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Sakura inspected some of the canvases stacked near the cot, finding some with mountainside views of the village, and a few of Iwanagahime. There was another with a field in a valley and bright purple flowers in full bloom.

She couldn't say she was much of an artist, but Sakura at least knew when something she was looking at was done by a practiced hand, and each portrait gave her that impression even more than the one before it. It wasn't until she picked up the final picture that the small smile on her lips sank, and her vision started to swim. 'What…what is this?!'

There was no mistaking the lithe figure's battle stance, the green-eyed glare, or the pink hair and Byakugo. Sakura was staring at an image of herself standing in the same field from one of the previous paintings. The canvas slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor in her shock. 'How's that even possible? There's no way there'd be time to do this after the fighting…' It was all too eerie, too unexplainable.

Suddenly wanting out of the room, she resumed her original quest for dry clothing, popping the standard-issue wooden trunk open and ignoring the additional blank canvases and small bottles of incense stashed within. Fortunately, this time the search bore fruit, and Sakura found herself clutching first a white haori, and next a red hakama, the traditional garb of the miko. Inspecting them, the kunoichi was satisfied that they appeared and smelled clean, or at least barely used, deciding they would do for the time being.

Loosening her yukata, Sakura slipped out of it from the shoulders, then eased it to the floor. The air was even cooler on her chilled skin when it was bare, and she momentarily wrapped her arms around herself to protect her sensitive breasts.

Upon adjusting to life in the era, Sakura quickly learned bindings were almost always a hindrance when she was wearing a yukata or a kimono—clothing already awkward for her to wear regularly— and despite her original insistence on trying to preserve her sense of modesty, after the uncomfortable pinch around her chest, she'd stopped. One thing that she had worn uncompromisingly was the susuyoke that served as her lower undergarments, refusing to take the chance of any incidents where her virtue would be...exposed.

But now she realized that the thin wrap was just as soaked through as the rest of her clothing, and she reluctantly took it off. Bending to retrieve the haori first, Sakura slipped it over her head, instantly feeling better that it came as far down her body as it did. The hakama came next, and she stepped in them with a small sense of awe at how surreal it felt to be back in pants once again. It didn't even matter that these weren't the kind of pants she'd ordinarily wear, they were much easier to move in nonetheless. Although she fumbled with tying them securely under her bust, especially the back himo, she managed, feeling proud when it stayed up.

Collecting the wet hair clinging to the back of her neck, Sakura wrung it out and then placed it in a low ponytail hanging over her shoulder with the white ribbon that had been in the trunk with the rest of the attire.

A quick perusal of herself in the mirror against the wall made her pause. As a child, she marveled at the brave miko in the fairytales her mother read her. But in her mind's eye, they reminded her a lot of Ino—beautiful, confident and strong.

Regardless, there was no mistaking the striking young woman staring back at her wasn't Ino.

It was the same pink-haired, beryl-eyed, timid little girl from back then, but with much more poise and less of a slouch. Sakura tilted her chin up and stepped back from the mirror, knowing she couldn't put off the inevitable anymore.

She moved down the hall like a shadow, finding Madara exactly as she'd left him. Checking his pulse, she noticed it stronger than before, and checking his head with her probing chakra, she felt how much the swelling had come down. Still, she didn't exactly have the benefit of the high-tech, futuristic benefits of hospitals from her own time.

She couldn't do a head scan and get a clear look at his brain. All she could hope for was that he hadn't slipped into a state where damage would be irreversible. Her prodding at least revealed there was brain activity. That was a good sign. She was confident she'd acted fast enough, but…there was still never a guarantee with such things.

While she and Madara were hardly close, he was in her care at the moment, and moreover, there was a pang in her chest when she thought of Izuna, who loved his (difficult) brother. Not to mention the Hokage, who'd thought highly enough of her skills to allow her to come on this mission in the first place. If she didn't do her utmost to care for Madara, she'd be letting them both down.

Shoring herself up, Sakura sighed, putting a hand to his shoulder. "Let's…let's get this over with." She announced, already knowing there wouldn't be much of an answer. She reached to remove his shirt, only for her fingers to stop short. If her mentor were there, shishou would no doubt be fussing at her to just get on with it. She'd had to undress incapacitated patients before, and a trained medic with as much experience as she had shouldn't be balking over such a mundane task. Sakura humbly thought there should be an exception made for this scenario. Never in her wildest dreams did she think there'd come a day when she'd have to fully disrobe Madara Uchiha. How did one train for that?!

"This time I mean it!" she warned herself, reaching for his shirt once again and feebly grasping it. Undressing one man shouldn't be this hard. Growling, she gave the shirt a firm tug, exposing the skin up to his navel. There. Nodding, Sakura assured herself she was more than competent enough to do this, and pulled the shirt higher, pulling his arms from the sleeves until Madara Uchiha sat nude from the waist up.

Onboard the ship, she'd gotten a glimpse of his chest, and it was just as taut as it had been then, faint lines of varying lengths visible—old scars. Carrying on, she prepared herself for the hardest part, lifting him onto his feet and hooking her thumbs into the waistband of his pants. Ignoring the fact that her fingertips were grazing his hips, she shimmied them down to his thighs and then sat him on the cot to make it easier to get them the rest of the way off. Without him being awake to support himself, wrestling to keep him upright was unnecessarily tedious.

Madara didn't stir. Sakura briefly considered removing the thin fundoshi that wasn't leaving anything to the imagination anyway—even less was hidden by the dampness of the material—but the whole process was already uncomfortable enough for her, and had it been her, she would have at least wanted the knowledge that her dignity had been spared.

Redressing him in the yukata was quick and uneventful, thankfully, mostly due to her wanting the experience to be over with. Picking him up, Sakura placed him on the cot, staring deeply into his face. If someone had once told her that a day would come when Madara Uchiha's life would be in her hands, she would have called them a liar and more than doubted the circumstances that could lead to such an occurrence.

Yet the impossible had come to pass somehow, and he rested motionless, oblivious to her inner turmoil. He was the enemy. It didn't matter what time period it was, in her eyes that hadn't changed. If anything, his antagonistic attitude toward her only helped solidify the belief that with or without a war, Madara was an unlikable person. Then he'd saved her—unnecessarily—at great cost to himself, and against her will, she felt responsible.

Emotionally spent, Sakura staggered to her feet, deciding that she needed to secure the area in case anyone returned. She was sure she could locate some trip wire and at least set up a trap that would warn her if someone set foot near the door. And it would give her something to do, some small distraction to avoid mulling over how she'd ended up in such a mess.


There was a sense of urgency to the curt message that had been waiting for him when he woke up, or rather, that had woken him up. Naoko had been an unexpected success with the children—girls more than boys noticeably— and, volunteered to teach them for just one more day.

Since she'd promised to be on her best behavior, and Hikkaku was yet again assisting, Izuna hadn't seen the harm. She had a certain expertise with the spear that was both daunting and enthralling. Versatility in learning to handle different weapons could only help the next generation of Uchiha. Knowing that was handled, Izuna had coaxed himself into sleeping in, feeling maybe he'd earned it.

The crow screeching at his bedroom window begged to differ. It didn't leave. Not when he turned over to ignore it. Not when he asked it politely to settle down. And not even when he blindly lobbed a shuriken in its general direction. That was when he understood that it was a summoning. Straight from the Hokage no less, as it turned out.

He dressed and left the compound in record time, not even pausing for the greetings from the other early risers who'd already gotten up to start their day. Figuring it was important, he flickered into the office without so much as a knock, finding Hashirama looking unusually grave, and Tobirama's face was unreadable. Neither of them admonished him for being so informal, instead Hashirama inclined his head to the seat in front of his desk. "Izuna…" he sighed, the weight of the world—or bad news—on his shoulders, "You know you can sit."

He was an Uchiha, and he had plenty of practice concealing his emotions in tense situations, so he declined with a polite shake of the head. "I think I'll stand if it's all the same to you."

"Kreeee!" The cry made his ears ring and his heart drop. Restlessly peering into the window was his late father's Summon, Shinta.

If Izuna's shinobi senses hadn't already been in high drive, just the sight of the giant eagle would have been enough to fill him with a heavy foreboding. 'Madara hates summoning him.' Despite Madara's inheritance of the summoning contract following Tajima's death, the bird barely listened to his brother, or anyone, very much loyal to the ghost of the former Uchiha patriarch.

"If Madara sent Shinta, it had to be with a dire message." He swallowed, bracing himself. "Did something happen on the mission?"

The Hokage exchanged a brief look with his brother. "I received this not too long ago, and I think you should read it too…"

Izuna wasn't feeling optimistic about whatever message was contained in the scroll Hashirama was offering him, but he still took it, holding his breath as it unfurled. Right away, he recognized not only the handwriting, but the tone itself, "I suspected from the start this would be a fool's errand. I have doubts about a curse, but I do feel something nefarious here. The leaders of Chigiri and Genzai have confirmed the desperation to avoid death that the islanders have, falling back on an old wives tale with little to no credence as their guiding prophecy. Minamatori minerals, they say, can absorb curses. The people are all governed by myth in a way that's absurd. They follow it without question. Haruno continues to embroil herself deeper and deeper into affairs, to a vexing degree. She may possess competency as a medic, but I deeply question her own sense of self-preservation. On a final note…it goes without saying that Izuna is my heir, the next leader of the Uchiha clan, in my absence or otherwise."

When Izuna brought his eyes up from the scroll, gaze darting between the two of them, every emotion going through his head was nakedly displayed. "I can't accept this." he said quietly.

"Can't is a strange way of saying won't." Tobirama snorted. "Regardless, your role in all this is very passive. This is just Hashirama being gracious."

Izuna felt the scroll crumpling in his grip. "Don't treat me like I'm misunderstanding things." he growled. "I know what this means, and that's why I don't plan to accept it." His eyes found Hashirama's and they became almost pleading, "Hashirama…I'm asking you not so much as a Hokage, but Madara's closest friend...Please, I need to go to Sekai."

Hashirama looked reluctant, but considering. "There are a lot of unknown factors, and Madara's made it clear what he wants…sending you wouldn't be—"

"It's out of the question," Tobirama explained bluntly. "Your clan would turn riotous without its leadership. Stop being unreasonable."

Izuna stared over at Shinta, surprised the raptor had stayed beyond delivering the scroll at all. Although he had a slightly better relationship with the eagle than his elder brother, the fact remained that the bird did what he wanted more often than not.

"I'm asking out of formality, and out of respect for you as the Hokage," he grumbled. "But I could go if I wanted." Inwardly, he knew he was acting privileged and immature, possibly throwing his weight as the brother of the Hokage's best friend. But Madara was his only remaining brother, and Sakura-san was…well, a friend. He wouldn't just pretend there wasn't a possibility he'd never see them again.

Tobirama was quicker to react than Hashirama, stepping forward with a deepening look of resentment etched into the hard lines of his face. "You Uchiha," he spat, "Are entirely too comfortable giving ultimatums. Stepping foot out of the village, directly disobeying the Hokage's orders, is tantamount to a defection."

"Tobirama," Hashirama warned. While he didn't look happy about it, the younger Senju quieted. "It's not like neither of us has never done something careless for family. And besides, this is concerning. Under normal circumstances I'd write a letter to Sekai and wait for a response, but it doesn't really seem like there's time for that." Propping his elbows on the desk and placing his head in his hands, Hashirama stared off into the distance.

"Alright." Izuna straightened, realizing the Hokage had made his final decision. "Just this time, I want you to go investigate. Join up with the others, and send word as soon as you do. Then remain on standby."

A small smile fought its way to his lips. "Yes!"

"But this is just a compromise," Hashirama added. "So I hope you understand I can't send you alone."

"You shouldn't send him at all," Tobirama quietly objected. Not for the first time, Izuna was grateful that the Senju brothers were such opposites, and especially that Tobirama didn't have the final say. Life would be hell, doubly so for anyone with the last name Uchiha.

Hashirama gave Tobirama a weary glance, pulling some parchment and a quill close. "Prepare as much as possible. Can you be ready in under an hour?"

The Uchiha lifted his chin proudly. "I can be ready in under thirty minutes." He'd always been efficient when packing for missions, something he considered to be one of his personal strengths as a ninja.

"Good." The Hokage nodded. "You leave as soon as you're done. Your teammates will meet you here and, er," His brown eyes leapt to the agitated raptor that refused to leave the roof. Izuna would have found Hashirama's silent concern amusing in any other situation. Shinta was daunting, naturally. A bird of prey more than capable of hunting down a grown man. Having him perched on the roof outside, where Hashirama could no doubt feel the leer of those eagle-sharp eyes on his back, must have been nerve-wrecking.

"It's alright," Izuna laughed quietly. "Shinta," The Summon lazily looked in his direction. "You're probably hungry. I'll ask Naoko to feed you before the journey." Appeased, the large animal trilled, flapping his massive wings and taking off. With any luck, he'd head straight to the compound without causing trouble.

Hashirama blinked slowly. "You're planning to…to ride the eagle to Water Country?"

"It's risky," Izuna admitted, knowing that in the past the bird only wanted to be ridden by Tajima and according to Madara, their mother. "But I don't have a Summon of my own, and with Shinta's top speed, I could be there in barely an hour. He'd accommodate more than one person too."

Tobirama tilted his head, apparently amused. "Yes, a bird that size must have a large stomach. When they're minced to pieces I'm sure he'd comfortably seat ten." He said sarcastically.

Izuna shot his old rival a look, Hashirama also giving his brother a pointed glance. "Thank you for this. You won't regret it." The Uchiha vowed.


So violently beautiful, those special Rinnegan eyes. When the opportunity came to destroy Obito's eye to keep it from falling into the wrong hands, she couldn't do it. She hesitated, and unsurprisingly Madara had seized it. Ashamed, she looked away with a shudder. Images of Naruto and Sasuke broke her out of her moment of self-pity, the presence of the Byakugo stamped into her forehead inspiring her to be proactive.

Charging, she commanded her teammates to follow. There was no surprise in the pain of Madara stabbing through her with his chakra rod seconds later. She wouldn't die, not with her seal in effect. But if she could damage him…even just a little. Her fist collided against something solid, invisible.

No! The blood in her veins felt like packed snow, burying her in a blizzard. And yet, her emotions sizzled, burning through the snow, burning through her eyes, burning through him. His defensive wall buckled underneath her fist, cracks starting to web outward from her knuckles. Madara's cold gaze, in the span of a blink, started to fall too. That's right, she reminded herself. He was powerful, but he was never a god. Always a man, hiding behind those stupid eyes. Taunting them with those stupid eyes. Controlling them with those stupid eyes. Chipped pieces of the divide fell to the ground where it was weakest, her fist unrelenting.

He was grunting in exertion, unable to hide his surprise any longer. They both knew it shouldn't have been possible. The cool bite of metal wrapped in her clenched hand dragged across the sensitive flesh of his neck, not quite leaving a mark. Piercing flesh was much easier than piercing wall, and that hadn't been any match for her either.

"I'm going to kill you," she told him, "Slowly."

And her kunai buried itself in his shoulder.

Madara hissed, the noise almost pitiful. Almost, but not enough. She wanted to drag the most broken sounds he could make from him, wanted all hope to drain from his eyes as he felt the despair, the pain he inflicted so carelessly on others.

When she yanked her weapon from him, ready to drive it deeper and spill more of his very-human blood, the crimson on the kunai caught the light. Sakura paused, staring in awe as if she was seeing blood spilt for the first time all over again. He really could bleed. She had made him.

More.

More of what? The voice asked gently, a phantom hand ghosting a motherly touch over the crown of her head.

More of his blood. More of his pain. More of the unadulterated freedom that came with every dark desire she kept bottled being unleashed. More of this. More of everything!

Madara's face had changed again. His clothes, too. His eyes weren't open, but closed, and his mouth was twisted in a thin line, like he was uncomfortable. He wasn't in those divine robes. In fact the void of his black yukata was a stark contrast. It was the same with his hair, dark as a starless night once again and fanned around him.

The would-be god from the battlefield and the broken man in a fitful sleep coalesced in her mind, her eyes honing in on the kunai gripped tightly in between her interlocked fingers. It was trembling along with the rest of her, making it impossible for her to sink it into her motionless target.

Sakura sucked in a rasping breath, pulling out of the deep sludge clawing at her cognizance. When the haze cleared, she was back in the temple, still alone with the unconscious body of Madara. Her elbows pressed into the cot as she hunched over him on her knees, fighting to regain lucidity. There was a kunai knuckled in both hands, poised a fraction of an inch above his jugular. Sakura pulled up, letting it drop to the floor with a clatter.

As she tried to regulate her erratic breathing, startled by the realization of what she almost did, she noticed the way her nails poked at her palms as she clenched and unclenched her fingers. Odd, considering they hadn't been that long at all before the mission.

Holding her hands level with her face, the kunoichi got a second jolt of panic, the curved ends of her digits less nails and more talons. Sharp like a hawk's…or a dragon's. Refusing this new reality she'd found with every fiber of her being, Sakura clenched her eyes shut, waiting several beats and then opening them again, staring accusingly down at her hands. They were normal. The same hands she'd always had, and she reasoned that it was all getting to her. The events of the last five or so hours.

After all, she had no idea what would be waiting for them when she dragged them out of the temple—which she had booby-trapped to the best of her ability after tending to Madara. The people of the island were beholden to the cultish following of Iwanagahime. If the acolytes had fled to wait for them in the village, or if they came by later and demanded they be handed over, she couldn't see the skittish, broken islanders putting up much resistance.

They hadn't even fought over the acolytes removing their dead and whisking the bodies who knew where… Sekai just wasn't safe for them. Unfortunately, just knowing that didn't mean much of anything. Even if the acolytes had put targets on their backs, where would they go? Another island? Would that even make a difference? Iwanagahime could have put roots all over Water Country, her followers throughout. Sakura wished desperately in that moment that she could just use Katsuyu, send a message back to the mainland and ask the Hokage for advice, or even backup.

She bit her thumb, watched a bead of blood drip down the pad and then formed the appropriate seals for a summoning, pressing it down against the floor with quiet hope.

A puff of smoke sent the flutter of excitement through her heart the way it had the first time she brought Katsuyu out. It was a short-lived feeling. There was no little slug when the wisps cleared.

Nothing.


I want to briefly touch on some things here…you may be wondering "When did Madara send off a message to Konoha?!" It was last chapter, off screen. During the time when Sakura was away healing people. I made it pretty clear he had some serious suspicions following how she came back the first night. Although he may not have been completely aware of what was going on (and definitely still isn't) he had every reason to believe he and Sakura were in pretty much immediate danger that he realizes may land them in over their heads. So as a "just in case" measure…he sent off the Summon, knowing exactly how Izuna would interpret the significance, along with the message itself.

I think the arc's official title ("The True Madara") likely makes more sense now. After all, Sakura has been seeing him as the Madara of her time. To her, that is who Madara is. An evil man. But now with the new developments, the truth is bound to shift, and Sakura will have to juggle sorting that out while also dealing with the deity drama. Good luck, dear girl~better you than me. ;)

Fundoshi (not the same as fujoshi!) was popular as men's underwear before the arrival of boxers and briefs in Japan. They tend to be have cloth fully covering the front, but the cheeks out in the back (looking similar to a thong). They are still worn in modern Japan today, although mostly for ceremonial purposes now.

In case it wasn't clear, Sakura was lucid dreaming of an alternate encounter with Madara during the Fourth Shinobi War, which carried over to her unknowingly trying to stab him in his sleep. There may be some...repercussions with Sakura eating so many blights that will reveal themselves even more next chapter.

If you enjoyed the chapter, please, please review...I would appreciate it.