By: Chocolate Carnival
2020
Fandom: Naruto
Genre: Dark Eroticism, Canon Divergence,
Dark, Time Travel, Clan culture, α|β|Ω,
Pairing: 団扇 佐助 - इंद्रा||Uchiha Sasuke - Indra,団扇 斑 || Uchiha Madara
戦争の舞||| My Antebellum Moon |||
偃月一: The Lunar Crescent
Inched in hatred and despair, Fire Country's vast landscape once again rearranged itself in a monstrous quake of power. Mountains split in spewing pits of fire; manmade seismic waves birthing new rivers beneath spiralling ash as an ocean of mist rose across vast, chakra-enhanced, forests. Breathing life and destruction into the land in equal measure, twin figures – long passed physical exhaustion – finally drew their epic battle to a close.
The Wood Sage was the first to crumble, twin palms unlocking from their offensive clasp as he wearily observed the ravaged shinobi caged in the breast of a towering chakra construct. The indigo avatar, Susanoo, reigned supreme over these undulating mountaintops. The utterly distraught Uchiha Patriarch had poured all his grief and despair into his last attack, the explosion of chakra so vast and encompassing it split the very mountain in half.
He was utterly drained however, so very tired of war and destruction and death that his soul howled painfully in the prison of his ribcage. Spiralling irises tilted dazedly to observe millennia-old craters punched in the surface of the moon, Eternal Mangekyō orbs vanishing beneath frantically clenched lids as premature lines of age creased the skin beneath long, black, lashes.
Uchiha Madara was no fool, he could only wonder why the older Senju deemed it necessary to restrain his silver-haired brother from killing him outright. The βeta was practically frothing at the mouth to do so, enough so that Hashirama had to force his brother into submission with a warning growl.
"It's not to late to stop this, Madara. There can still be peace." The other man said. "Our Clans do not need to carry this burden of hatred any longer." And just like old times, his once-upon-time rival's words carried far too much idealism and enthusiasm for Madara's liking. He didn't want to hear anymore empty promises…to live through death and betrayal and—.
No, this conversation was going against his very nature.
Yet, as he teetered on the brink of chakra exhaustion and blissful unconsciousness, there was very little he could do but listen. The Uchiha Patriarch couldn't leave his people to fight Hashirama's monstrous strength by themselves, nor could he continue such a meaningless pursuit of violence simply for the sake of violence. The strain between their Clans had reigned supreme for far too many centuries already.
It was time to push old grudges aside.
Awash with despair at his brother's recent death, the twenty-four-year-old Clan Leader struggled to contain the warning growl rumbling low in the back of his throat. He absolutely refused to make it easy for that filth to revel in their victory, he couldn't stand the smug stoicism reflected on that bastard Tobirama's face.
"I'll yield." He hissed grudgingly. "Draw up the peace treaty, Senju. Just keep that beast away from me." The last of his chakra crumbled Susanoo's intricate indigo armour, the flicker of a skeletal ribcage surrounding his injured frame as he stitched the mournful sight of a dimming moon in the back of his eyelids for eternity.
A wild mane of hip-length black locks fanned in a messy wave behind him, his clan uniform concealing the pessimistic downturn of his lips as he tilted his head with grudging respect. A cautious leap landed the equally dishevelled Senju beside him, the brunette's silken hair and skin weighed down with three-days' worth of blood and grime.
"You will not regret this, Madara. I promise." The Uchiha refused to reply, merely staring blankly ahead as his sworn enemy healed his wounds and nattered on excitedly about establishing their village. His jaw ground in frustration, feral canines dripping with the taste of iron and nickel as his ⍺lpha senses howled in protest against acquiescing any form of power to this undeniable moron.
There was no doubt Uchiha Madara was a proud man, almost too proud. Powerful shoulders never once drooped in despair, regardless of his precious brother having been slayed but a few days before or his clan's reluctant support in his quest for revenge. Yet —for the Clan, for those he protected, for Izuna — Madara refused to show weakness.
Lifting a gloved hand to swipe away a rivulet of blood assailing the corner of his mouth, Sharingan orbs never once loosened their stranglehold on Senju Tobirama scowling discontentedly a few paces behind his brother. If the man was just a little less cautious and a little more willing to look him in the eye, the Uchiha Patriarch would have no qualms about shattering the man's oh-so-treasured mind in his Tsukuyomi.
There was no telling where this endeavour would lead, there was no knowing what the future would bring or the obstacles they would face. Offering his enemy a near-imperceptible nod, the twenty-four-year-old forced himself to his feet as he valiantly tried to ignore the unexpected tumble nearly forcing him to his knees.
There was nothing left to say between them, Madara wanted nothing more than to return home and drown himself in a sea of alcohol to forget the death of his brother.
"We'll resume negotiations tomorrow." The Patriarch noted gruffly, promising to send a messenger to the Senju with a time and place as he turned on his heel and showed his back to his enemy. There was no need for either man to speak another word to understand each other, the battle they just survived told them more than enough.
Heading south towards the Naka-no-Kawa1 with exhausted limbs and cautious footsteps, the Uchiha Lord had no choice but to prepare himself for another sleepless night. He didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive or forget what happened in that godforsaken gorge two weeks ago, nor did he want to believe his own inability to save someone so precious.
The rumbling of the universe warred with his mind however, an earth-shaking tremor abruptly vibrating the soil beneath his feet as time slowed to a halt.
Barely a ri away from the cartographical ruins of their awe-inspiring battle, the moon's rays abruptly bathed the world in a sea of cruor carmine. The tremoring sky tore itself asunder in a ragged, dimensional, gap. The boundless horizon tumultuously inverted a series of exploding stars, a tiny figure hurtling unrestrainedly towards the earth as an icy chakra worked to freeze the celestial commotion.
Uchiha Madara stilled instinctively at the sensation, the hairs raising on the back of his neck as a fissure of cloudless lightning abruptly severed the monochrome twilight in twain.
The graceless shunshin he employed shattered knotted branches in his path, a series of unseen leaps struggling to settle the agonised breath stalling inside his lungs as he soared across the heavens to capture a small body in his arms. The sharp impact sent his mind reeling, his barely healed wounds screaming in agony as he hoped no one was there to witness his unexpectedly clumsy landing.
"Fuck!" Madara hissed, hating how unsettled the small figure made him feel. The little one's barely-there breath at least alluded to life. A gentler and firmer grip settled the small body against his chest. There was soft but distinctly male scent clinging to the boy's skin, his beautifully serene features twisting sharply in sharp agony as a series viscous tears trailed carmine smears down his left cheek.
Something shattered inside the ⍺lpha at the sight, the push and pull of a lifetime of memories spent beside his brother drawing a sharp comparison to the features of the child. He had no choice but to choke back a violent sob.
"I-Izuna—," He murmured, Mangekyō orbs obsessively tracing the curl of long black lashes, small lips inverted in uncharacteristic sorrow, messy blue-black hair darker than the midnight stratos as smooth brows scrunched in underserved pain. It was enough to tear a hole in the older man's heart, drunken footsteps leading him back the way he came to lay his back against a solid tree.
A trickle of acidic tears reddened already exhausted eyes, the twenty-four-year-old feeling the last of his control snap as a heaving breath shook proud shoulders. There were several things things that differentiated this little boy, no older than seven, from his precious Otouto. His scent for one, his age for another. Yet, there was more that enough likeness to break the older man's heart.
Madara couldn't take it anymore, shoulders crumbling in despair as he curled himself protectively around the precious treasure. It didn't matter if he'd never seen this child in his life before, nor that the boy's chakra was far too potent to belong to any Uchiha family but the main line. He had no doubt this boy was part of the Clan.
The material of his wide-collared shirt, now desperately grasped in gloved-fingertips, was stitched with a familiar red and white uchiwa fan. Hauntingly pale skin also remained fragrant with the Clan's infamous fire and ash scent, where the very universe seemed to bleed into focus at the astringent aroma.
Strange though, that the caustic fragrance of fear belayed a softer sweetness the ⍺lpha rarely, if ever, came across amongst his kin. He felt an instinctive need to soothe and protect the owner of that scent, his bare forehead pressing against a smaller, pain-furrowed, brow as he found himself intensely drenching the little one in his more potent hellfire, mahogany ash and darkness scent.
The shinobi had no idea how long he stood there, shoulders heaving with silent tears as his legs finally decided to give out beneath him. His back slid numbly to the ground, trembling arms pulling the little one more firmly into his lap as primal black locks tumbled in a protective curtain around them.
It seemed like a lifetime before the strange arrival stirred in his arms, the twenty-four-year-old feeling his world rearranging itself once more as immature, one-tamoe, Sharingan collided unseeingly with his. The colour of the iris was far too faded to be anchored in reality, a sense of heavy foreboding stalling the steady drip of saline from the Patriarch's eyes as he clenched enraged fingers in the back of a child-like Uchiha shirt.
Who the fuck would dare to put a child under genjutsu?!
"I'm sorry, little one." His voice sounded rough and strained to his own ears, so unlike its usual smooth timbre and gruff confidence. "This is going to be a little uncomfortable." Activating Mangekyō eyes to pull himself into the child's unsuspecting mind, he sure as hell had no intention to allow an innocent seven-year-old to be captive inside his own mind.
. . .
The world here existed in monochrome grey. A complex labyrinth of streets and artificially lighted homes superimposed themselves on high district walls, all corners pridefully stamped with vibrant uchiwa red and macerated grey. Beyond the call of the impossibly large harvest moon and cracked concrete, the sky dyed the horizon blacker than midnight.
There were no stars here, no sight beyond what was shown, no sound, no life, no fire…no movement—.
It was the pinnacle of unnatural, the vast Uchiha compound tilled like the earth of a silent graveyard and anointed in the blood of a hundred corpses. There was no existence for the living, no hope, no name, no pride, no Clan, no nothing…just a single scene played before premature Sharingan irises over and over and over again.
With experienced speed and trained mercilessness, a deadly figure — enveloped in silky ebony hair and burning, burning, carmine eyes — seared itself forever in the back of a tiny mind. Instinct was screaming at the observer to erase this bloodstained monster tearing his precious sanctum apart — to live disgustingly and crawl and pursue a path bathed in nothing but hate.
Yet, after a while, nothing seemed to matter. Nothing but the drip, drip, drip of red blood, warm and sticky on his hands, and the overwhelming scent of lpha/βeta fear. It was astringent and painful, dulling his senses and steeling his heart. It was absolute chaos in this nightmare, it was pain, it was numbness…it was the unknowing.
He didn't want to be here anymore; he didn't want to see. He didn't want to live; he didn't want to breathe—.
A gloved palm came to rest over aching ruby red eyes, blocking the sight of them laying protectively over each other on bloodstained tatami…calling words and a name he did not recognize.
Dull orbs turned slowly to collide with the unique dōjutsu of his Clan, instinctively flinching back at the complex pattern within before a large body knelt on the ground before him.
"It'll be alright, child. I mean you no harm." The man's voice was warm — warmer than his. Warmer than the 'if you want to kill me, despise me, hate me, and live in an unsightly way... Run, and cling to life, and then some day, when you have the same eyes as I do, come before me—.'
Gentler than his lithe, pinwheel-eyed, nii-san.
Replacing the crow with this proud stranger surrounded in waves of primal black hair, long and spiky and textured like his own, and tired eyes creased with unwavering strength, power and age enough to disrupt the centre of this bloody prison.
In this world of nothing, in this grey world coloured in red, the boy, the child, shifted. He turned, the touch warm and serene against his skin as a beautiful fiery-chakra cracked fissures in blood-stained walls and filled his nose with a soothing fire-summer-wind scent.
"Look into my eyes." The lpha, there could be no doubt, rumbled. Leaving no room for disobedience, the little one looked and looked without blinking. The bichrome nightmare slowly dissolved in a swirl of fire and chaos, his own howling cry shattering the night as time stalled.
But the boy was no longer afraid, this fire, he knew, was part of him. The lightning, wind and ash soothed him.
It was his rebirth…it was Clan.
Nameless, he gazed ahead. Wondering where the stranger came from as he was scooped into the circle of warm arms and a forehead came to rest against the top of his head. The man's wild mane tickled his fingers, prompting him to grasp palmfuls of ebony strands as he openly drank in the offered affection.
Finally. Finally, he could escape here.
. . .
Shivering subconsciously the moment reality formed around him once more, Uchiha Madara struggled to reconcile himself with the image of bloody genocide permanently seared in the back of his mind. A terribly potent rage was boiling the depths of his blood, a frustrated hiss violently tickling the top of spiky black locks.
The Uchiha Patriarch had never in his life seen a clansman put a child under Tsukuyomi before, in fact he was sure it had been outlawed to use against kin for centuries. It was no wonder the boy's eyes had begun bleeding in a premature attempt to awaken the Mangekyō without his Sharingan, the ⍺lpha could still recall the towering genjutsu moon that painted the sky of that inverted, nightmare, world.
That exotic, six-point, black and red, sphere had been a symbol of the boy's bloodline emergence. Though, the little one clearly did not have the coils to sustain the power or visual prowess to control it.
Glancing down to make sure his charge was at least awake; he could only breathe a sigh of relief as one-tamoed Sharingan quickly faded to black. The boy's vision had already been scarred with far too much bloodshed, his small shoulders shaking with overwhelming fear as a quiet weight shifted uncomfortably against his hip.
"Do you want to walk?" He growled, not seeming to mind when there was no reply to his query but small fingers curling rather desperately in the strands of his hair. A small nose had come to rest against the oily gland behind his ear, almost clawing at the Patriarch's back the moment the older man prepared to remove him from his chest.
"Very well. We'll return home soon."
"Make sure you keep quiet, it's dangerous here." The half-mile trek home was quietly interspersed with a small forehead drooping against his shoulder as he instinctively sweetened the simmering emotions surrounding his ⍺lpha scent. The little one seemed soothed by his presence rather than agitated, a first for the Uchiha for many reasons.
When he asked for a name, he merely received a confused tilt of his charge's head. The seven-year-old's voice seemed to have completely faded, most likely from the trauma he experienced. Either way, Madara couldn't keep calling the seven-year-old 'boy' for the foreseeable future.
Pondering his current predicament as he cleared the last few leaps across towering treetops, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he crossed the border into Uchiha territory. A nod of gratitude and wave of his palm dispersed the group of shinobi waiting for his arrival.
A few the younger ones lingered with intent of making sure their Clan Head was alive. Yet, when they spotted the small frame curled against his side, they didn't feel comfortable enough to ask questions. Madara himself was on the brink of exhaustion, proud shoulders straining to keep upright as he cleared the last few meters to the main house.
"Kagami," He called tiredly once inside, the shoji doors opening with a quiet snap as he hastily removed his shoes by the engawa. "Fetch Aya-san for me, would you? I need her medical expertise."
"Are you injured?" His younger cousin inquired, curly black hair a mess of just-woken from a deep sleep as he openly stared at the Patrairch's approach.
"Not enough to warrant a visit from the old-bag myself, but someone else needs her." He nodded to the child in his arms, watching as the seventeen-year-old obediently vanished into the night. Madara dragged himself to his bedroom not long after, intent on putting the dazed child down to sleep as he nursed a well-deserved bottle of sake.
The boy clung to him fiercely however, almost afraid that if he let the older man go, he too would disappear from his sight and be taken away by that cruel crow.
In the light of a single oil candle, the twenty-four-year-old ⍺lpha had no choice but to offer his lap for the boy's head as small fingers twisted viciously in his clan tunic. He still reeked of blood and sweat, his fight with Hashirama had not been an easy to survive and it was likely that he too would pass out soon.
But he had decided not do so until he made sure his charge was looked over by a medic.
. . .
"You never cease to amaze me, Madara-sama. Where did you find the boy?" An aged clanswoman inquired, drawing tired black eyes from an ancient scroll spread in the Uchiha Patriarch's lap as he set down the bottle of sake he just brought to his lips. The twenty-four-year-old had been nursing the same one for the past hour, his mind too distracted to really pursue the research he had been delving into before his battle with Hashirama.
"He fell from the sky, believe it or not." He mused, rudely dismissing the woman's disbelieving scowl with a shrug as he tipped his head back against the wall. He deliberately kept the dimensional tear he had seen silent, an unexpected shiver transversing his spine as he recalled the unawakened Mangekyō reflected on the surface of the moon. There was something otherworldly about it, something so powerful and overwhelming it was enough to send his skin crawling.
His new charge was thankfully fast asleep, content with having his body as close to his protector as possible as he slumbered against a powerful thigh. Aya was gentle when she moved him, laying him between the sheets of a warm futon before brushing inky black strands from a pale forehead.
"He's definitely Uchiha," She noted, frowning in concern when gentle green chakra came in contact with a frantically beating heart. The influx of Clan specific despair she found there was unnatural on one so young, almost as unnatural as the sensation of her kin awakening their bloodline after horrific loss.
Passing her palm over the boy's smooth forehead to assess a slight spike in temperature and the throb of small temples, she soon yanked her hand back with a distressed cry.
"Madara! Why are this child's chakra pathways such a mess?! His mind is in utter chaos! Who in their right mind would place a mailable cognizance under a genjutsu powerful enough to affect his growth?! Did you—!"
The previously calm aura surrounding the ⍺lpha stirred menacingly, a flash of rage coaxing three-tamoes to twine ominously in his visible eye as fragile paper crumpled beneath clenched fingertips. The Uchiha Patriarch snarled viciously at the βeta for reminding him of that fact, the atmosphere turning acrid with his rage as he fought down a desperately howling need to separate the bitch from his charge.
Her long black hair, streaked with and pulled in a bun, tumbled from loose tie as she waved his aggressive posturing aside like he was a pup. Extracting her hand from the boy's forehead, she did her best to soothe the absolute chaos that seemed to consume her Clan Leader's mind.
She was no expert at healing mental trauma, not to the degree the little one needed. In fact, she doubted anyone had ever thought it would be needed in their own Clan. They may have been in possession of the world's most powerful genjutsu, yet it was never meant to be used against one of their own.
"I know it wasn't you, boy. It couldn't have been. You are too honourable to even ponder that for a second." She said reassuringly. "Uchiha Madara may be a brute but he is no sadist. He would never harm an Uchiha to that degree."
Gesturing for the extra bottle of sake the Lord had gathered but not drunk yet, she brought the cool liquid to her lips with a quiet sigh. The Uchiha Patriarch didn't need to voice the question flickering so vividly in his eyes, Aya understood him too well.
His surge of overprotectiveness was just starting, really.
"His chakra is almost completely depleted, some quiet and calm should restore his coils in a few days. As for his mind, it's currently too distorted for me assess or heal. We'll have to work on that at a later time when he's more stable."
"I don't know what he saw or what he lived through; all I know is that it's not unlikely if lesions were surface. It might affect his personality, mental growth or speech in the future."
"Will he be alright?" Madara asked quietly, feeling suddenly out of his depth as he anxiously cast dark eyes over the slumbering boy unaware of their conversation. He didn't like the possibility of such a small child being harmed in such a torturous way, it made him feel responsible for not being able to help sooner.
"In time, yes." Aya hummed, her no-nonsense attitude crumbling slightly as she took a steady breath. "This should be kept between ourselves for now. I can't be entirely certain but the boy seems to be an Ωmega. He—."
"Ωmega?!" The Patriarch started. "Isn't that impossible?! The Uchiha clan have never produced Ωmega. We are predominantly known as pure ⍺lpha, though the occasional βeta does spring up."
"Yet the Sharingan is inherited through the matrilineal line. Considering the foundation of the Uchiha, it means only one thing. There had to have been at least one Ωmega born into this Clan. In fact, I can guarantee you that there was. You must have read that tablet, right?"
"He was the very founder this Clan."
"Indra." Madara breathed in surprise, dark eyes flicking towards the slumbering child in wonder. It would be a great asset to know Ωmega could be born in their Clan, they had always had trouble producing pure offspring to preserve the strongest traits of their bloodline. Yet, with this—.
"Does the boy have a name?" Shaking his head in the negative, the twenty-four-year-old turned his eyes to the scroll spread in his lap as he pondered the strange twist of fate present in the inked contents. There, at the start, carefully rendered and painted, was a six-pointed Mangekyō beneath the curl of ancient letters.
He recognized the exotic script, a painstaking portrait of Sharingan eyes in various stages of development and uses.
"Indra." He said. "He'll be known as Uchiha Indra from now. Like our forefather, it will be his destiny to carry the hope of our Clan." Tracing the complex script with the pad of his finger, the foreign swirls decoded themselves at his sight.
इंद्रा, it read with loving reverence.
団扇 इंद्रा, he brushed with his own ink on the generational scroll never far from his desk. Uchiha Indra would be the hope of their future.
'Hallowed as the Crow flies, 'ere the ashen strands of war and conflict forge thine heart in steel. Stand, Child of Our Ancestor, stand in thy likeness and dance upon the Moon.' ~ Uchiha Prophecy
The night Uchiha Itachi subjected his little brother to the Uchiha Massacre, he awakened something that had not been seen in the Clan for centuries. Yet, with its rising, the innocence he had to be cruel to protect was propelled into the past.
Now, forgotten and lost, there will come a time when He returns to his rightful time. And with him comes the horror of their most powerful Ancestor.
1 Naka-no-Kawa (南賀ノ川)– The Naka river at the edge of Uchiha territory.
戦争の舞 - Senso no Mae - Dance of War
偃月一 - Engetsu Ichi - First Crescent Moon
Thank you, as always, for reading my darlings! Please leave me a little review of how you found it. I welcome any comments and question relating to the plot. I do love discussing theories and such if you aren't shy. :)
Yours
Chocolate Carnival