Possible triggers for this chapter: Bigotry
Games
"Do you fear me, Kabuto?" Madara's voice slithered out of his mask and Kabuto grimaced under his gaze.
"Look at me." Madara's finger hooked under the tip of Kabuto's chin, and the serpentine medic nin slowly slid his golden gaze onto the masked figure before him. His lip curled in distaste.
Outwitted. What a nasty word.
Kabuto Yakushi had divulged secrets, had helped Madara gain the upper hand in some situations, and yet he had been a fool. He had believed he was playing a game in which he could see the steps ahead if he rolled his dice right.
And finally, he had come across the genjutsu secret from Itachi's corpse that he had been looking for, only to be foiled.
Only Madara had planned this fromt he start, hadn't he? He'd known he could have done this to Kabuto all along.
Kabuto wasn't needed to deliver Naruto's child. Madara wanted the birth to kill the Kyuubi Jinchuuriki. Naturally, the demon would assist in the needed jutsu technique if it wanted to survive through the ordeal. Kabuto had to admit it, Madara had played him for a fool and he had unwittingly obliged. Fresh anger coursed through his veins. Orochimaru's rebirth seemed a distant, impossible thing at this moment. He looked defiantly into Madara's swirling red eye.
"How does it feel? To be the weaker one? Tell me. Tell me you're afraid." Madara said darkly, trailing a gloved finger down Kabuto's jawline. The medic nin shuddered in disgust. Madara laughed wickedly, obviously enjoying his little power trip over his supposed rival.
Madara would be a dirty liar if he said he didn't enjoy making Kabuto squirm, or that he didn't enjoy having power and control over someone, especially when they were losing at their own game, huddled in misery before his power.
It reminded him, in a twisted way, of Hashirama.
Before Madara Uchiha became despised.
"Look at me, Madara. Are you afraid?" Hashirama whispered against his lover's ear. Madara swallowed compulsively, not looking at the handsome Senju clansman. Exposed, naked, ashamed, he lay on the plush bed of his lover, on his side against Hashirama's chest, he refused to look over.
Black, glittering eyes locked on the orange flames that danced and licked against their log beds in the fireplace. Fire had such...power. It was power he had been after, and it was the lure of power that had (partially) led him into Hashirama's bed.
Now, it had humiliated him, in the form of Hashirama Senju. The most admirable, popular man in the newly formed village of Konoha. Six feet of sculpted, tanned, muscled body, silky black hair that fell in a plunge down his back, and stormy gray eyes as dark and threatening as a thundering sky. Madara smiled bitterly. One only had to look beneath the beautiful exterior to see the demon that lurked beneath.
What a lie.
"Tell me you're afraid to lose me, Madara. Please," Hashirama's hand slid up his thigh, resting on his hip. The man's fingertips sent trails of sensation coursing through Madara's skin, and in that moment he hated Hashirama for having that power over him. Madara's lips set in a thin line.
"I'm not afraid to lose you," Madara whispered. Beside him, he felt his lover recoil from him. Slowly, Madara turned, locking coal black eyes onto the muscled and beautiful form that was Hashirama Senju.
He wanted to love him. He wanted to love him so badly…but he couldn't. Not anymore. All he felt was resentment. Regret. Anger that bordered on something far more permanent and black.
Madara's lip curled in disgust, and the anger he felt sat heavily in his chest, threatening to set his whole body ablaze with the force of it. Madara sidled up closer to Hashirama, who was looking at him intently now, suspicious. Madara whispered against the shell of Hashirama's ear.
"Go. Take the Whirlpool bitch for a wife and fuck her senseless for all I care." His voice dripped with venom. He stood up, reaching for his clothing that had been kicked to the foot of the bed. Hashirama shook his head.
"You can't mean-"
"Oh yes. Yes, I do. I mean it with all my being, Hashirama. I do not need you. Not anymore," Madara hissed. A spasm of emotion flickered across the Senju clansman's face. Madara smiled when he noticed the sharp gleam of betrayal in Hashirama's gray eyes.
Ah, the bittersweet sting of revenge.
"Madara-"
"You think you can just take the position for yourself, don't you? Leave me behind after we've worked on this together?" Madara spoke in a controlled voice, but it made his lover wince. Hashirama quieted. For a moment, neither spoke.
"You must understand," Hashirama tried to explain a little desperately, "This isn't a matter of who is stronger. This is a matter of who is more capable of handling the people, of handling this village, correctly."
Madara laughed bitterly."You do not trust me in a seat of power!" he accused. Hashirama frowned, but he didn't deny it, and it made Madara heart harden against him, and allowed his rage to spill forth.
"You are brilliant, Madara. You are the most powerful ninja I know. Your technique is ingenious. You will offer many and more to the development of our village. But not as the Hokage." Hashirama was firm, rising from the bed. Madara's jaw clenched, and he dressed quickly.
"You're pushing me aside. Ridding yourself of me." he said, bluntly. Hashirama instantly came to his side. Madara swatted him away.
"Of course not," he denied vehemently. "I am not-"
"Then why are you taking a wife?" Madara hissed. Hashirama looked away, abashed.
"You thought you could keep this from me. You are a fool to think you can keep such things from me. I always discover your secrets."
Hashirama looked pained. "I was going to tell you when the time was right-"
"WE HAD A PLAN!" Madara shouted then, silencing his lover further. Madara shook with fury, black thoughts surfacing in his mind. It was true! it had been true, he realized with growing trepidation and nauseating anger.
Hashirama had used him from the start. He could barely form his words, get them to climb out of his throat.
"We were going to do this together. We brought our people together, we were going to rule side by side, together. Now you do this to me. You break it into a sole position of power, and to add salt to the wound, you begin to court a woman and ask for her hand." Madara accused. Hashirama was silent. The silence made the pain that much more palpable, made the betrayal that much more sharp. Like a shard of glass was slowly working its way through Madara's heart, and it wasn't finished pushing through the muscle.
"SAY SOMETHING!" Madara bellowed. Deny it. Deny what I just said, he silently pleaded, but he knew it was a vain thought. Hashirama reached for him again, but Madara moved away from his touch.
"You will still be there," Hashirama insisted, "You will still be-"
Madara hit him. Hard. Hashirama grunted and put a hand to his bleeding mouth.
Madara eyed him coldly. "Still be what, Hashirama? Second in command? Second to you in everything? Second to you even when all you need is a good fuck to end your day? No. No! I will not submit to you. I am strong. I am strong and I do not need you," he whispered darkly. With a final kick to his now former lover's face, Madara gathered the rest of his clothes and left swiftly.
He didn't cry. There was no need. Pain, in Madara's world, surfaced in different ways. No matter, he thought, already sifting through ideas. Hashirama wasn't going to get away with this. He wasn't going to get away with stealing Madara's rightful position.
Afterall, it had been Madara who had proposed the merging of the clans and the creation of the village. It had been Madara who suggested how best to go about the power struggle. It was he who had been behind a lot of the politics. He'd be damned if it was all taken from him. Infuriated, he returned to the Uchiha compound. He rallied supporters, began his campaign for Hokage.
He didn't get far.
He had been speaking to a group one afternoon, confident in his words, when it happened. A rotten cabbage hit him in the face.
"Sodomist!" an onlooker screamed. A deadly silence fell over the crowd. Those who had gathered frowned, and began to whisper, waiting to see what their admired and appointed leader would do next. Madara stared, wide-eyed, at the culprit: a ragged boy clearly from the Senju clan.
Why the hell a Senju kid was running rampant in the Uchiha part of the village was indeed a good question, but it wasn't suspicious enough to make Madara pause. Yet. Black fury nearly blinded him for a moment, but he pushed it away. It would do no good to make a spectacle of this.
Instead, he kicked at the rotten vegetable where it sagged on his stand, sending it sailing away. He carried on as if had never hit him As if he'd heard nothing. He was strong. His eyes narrowed when he noticed a larger group of ragtag Senju boys and girls appear from the alleys, creeping into the crowd and merging with the faces of the clansmen like a fungus. But Madara said nothing about it. He turned his eyes away.
He was strong. A few snotty kids weren't going to change that.
He looked them in the eye and said,"We Uchiha are the roots of this village, the very foundation of its existence! Our people deserve a say in this matter! We do not deserve to be pushed aside, oppressed, as our supposed allies deny us the right to help rule the village we helped create! I will lead you there, guide you with the utmost-"
"Booooo!"
"Sodomist!"
"Ass licker!"
"Murderer!"
"Look at him, wearing his brother's eyes like a monster!"
"Take a flying leap!"
"Fucking faggot. Get off the stage!"
A multitude of rotten fruit and vegetables sailed towards him. For a moment, he was too stunned to move, his thought straying to his dead brother and leaving his brain numb. But suddenly he kicked into gear, avoiding the hits. Infuriated, but not otherwise deterred, Madara continued, merely sidestepping the rotten array. He wouldn't give the kids the satisfaction of reacting to their disgusting and bigoted display by using violence.
He was above them.
"Join me, and I will lead you and this village to its rightful position of power in this world!" He watched, in dismay, in anger, as the crowd began to trickle away. Only a few stayed, but none stopped the children, who were now snickering and making obscene gestures. With a final word, thanking the listeners for their time and support,, Madara walked off the platform with all the dignity he could muster.
Upon returning to his home, Madara bathed, washed and changed his clothes, as if the children's words had dirtied him. He began to plan his next speech, this time to the Elders of his community. He needed their support just as much as he needed the clansmen.
If he had enough backup with the clansmen, the Elders would consider and petition for Madara to run alongside Hashirama in an election rather than simply picking the Senju clansmen due to a popularity contest. At least, that was how Madara viewed it. An unfair, unjustifiable, popularity contest. If another candidate didn't have enough votes or support, Hashirama would simply be declared Hokage.
It wasn't right.
Hashirama could make wood. Big fucking whoop. Madara had the Mangekyo. Madara was stronger.
As the days passed, the harassment he endured slowly worsened. The Uchiha men and women began to look upon him with doubt. The number of people who attended his speeches dwindled, until none came at all. He would come home to find his windows shattered, his walls graffitied. Still, he did nothing.
He would prove to his people his worth. He would show them his strength by exemplifying that he was above this juvenile bullying. He would show them he was the epitome of a man above pain. A man above trivial matters who could take care of his village without becoming impaired by emotion that could damage his outlook.
Eventually, he began to hear whispers in the streets. He noticed his presence elicited dirty looks and stares. The vendors at the shops treated him suspiciously, others coldly. At one point, some wouldn't take his money at all. It had happened slowly at first, like a storm that began as a soft drizzle of rain and later exploded into a maelstrom of lightning, hail, and blinding sheets of rain.
He had been ostracized. It was why no one would look at him, or take his money at the shops, or speak to him.
Madara went to the Elders.
"Please, reconsider." He bowed lowly, so that his forehead touched the gleaming floors of the Elder's quarters. Silence reigned. Madara didn't lift his head. He stayed rooted to the spot, a picture of respect and humility. The Elders watched on, unimpressed by his presence.
"We will not," the reply came at last. Slowly, very slowly, Madara straightened, until he was sitting on his knees, staring at the Elders on their silk cushions, in their fancy yukatas, sipping expensive tea on an ornately carved kotatsu.
For the first time since he was small, Madara was at a loss for words. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts.
"I do not understand. I am right for this. I have had the respect of our clan for years. I can run against him. We can win-"
He was cut off.
"Hashirama has already promised our people a position of power in this village. We would have the honor of controlling the village's system of security and ninja ways. We would control it. All of it."
"Then one of our own should also be sitting in the Hokage's seat. It is only right-"
"If we were to appoint someone to race alongside Hashirama, it most certainly wouldn't be you," an old woman stated coldly. Madar blinked. Hisao, the Elder who had previously been speaking, sighed deeply.
"Madara, if fate had been any other way, we would have gladly appointed you. You are a strong, able-bodied warrior with a sharp mind. But we cannot risk it. You are not loved, Madara. In fact, your image is now tarnished. Slandered. We will not affiliate ourselves with such disgusting gossip. You are not fit to rule for that alone. Hashirama Senju will do the title of Hokage justice. We, the Council, have decided to support him."
Madara listened, each word branding him with a hidden insult.
Faggot.
Sodomist.
Murderer.
The Elders and the people of the Uchiha clan in that day were a conservative lot with strict morals. Later, much later, the clan would abandon some of these foundations, but Madara would never see that day. And Madara had broken their code.
It was over. He had been ostracized, and it finally hit him. He had merely been too proud to see it. Too determined to notice that there was no fixing the damage that had been done. For so long, he had paraded around making speeches, making an utter fool of himself.
Something inside Madara snapped cleanly in two at that moment. He didn't know what, but whatever it was, something dark and sinister poured out of it the minute it was cleaved in two, and it was never the same again.
"Who?" Madara whispered. "Who claims this? Where is their proof-?"
"It comes from a source we cannot deny, and who can deny the words of a man with power?" Hisao answered tiredly. Madara stiffened, the cogs in his brain turning.
"Now leave. Leave before you sicken us with your taint." Hisao sniffed as he took his tea. Madara looked to the Elders. He realized they were looking on in disgust, as if he were a cockroach they'd discovered in their rice.
At that point, Madara hated them.
Bowing lowly, still respectful, Madara took his leave. He walked through the streets not seeing the dark looks, not hearing the whispers, and not noticing his surroundings. He walked to his home and gathered a bag. Directly after, he snuck away into the heart of the village. Outside of the Uchiha walls, he wasn't paid too much attention. He walked on, determined.
It had been four months since he had last seen Hashirama alone. He finally stopped in front of a lovely one floor, spacious looking home sprawled across a grassy lot. Madara rapped smartly on the door. A lovely red haired and blue-eyed woman answered the door. She paused uncertainly when she realized just who was filling her doorway. She blinked, eyes widening in surprise.
"Uchiha-san! Please, come in. Do you wish to speak with Hashirama?" she asked politely, reverting to a very formal way of speech with honorifics. He swallowed a snort. Well, wasn't this woman just charming in all the right ways.
He nodded curtly, and allowed the woman to escort him inside. The house was lavishly furnished, with scrolls of lovely inspiring kanji decorating the cream colored walls.
"You are his wife?" Madara asked through clenched teeth as they walked towards the sitting room. He refused to let the observation do more than anger him. The woman blushed prettily.
"Excuse me, Uchiha-san. I did not realize you did not know of me. Although I am sure you received a wedding invitation? Hashirama was adamant that you receive one. I am Mito, of the Uzumaki clan, from the Village Hidden in the Tides. Whirlpool Country. Have you ever seen it?"
Madara nodded coolly and said he hadn't. Yes, Madara had in fact received a wedding invitation. That didn't mean he'd actually read it or cared enough to know of the betrothed woman's name. He had ripped it and tossed it away upon its delivery without bothering to read it.
Who the hell sent a wedding invitation to their recent ex-lover?
Certainly not an honorable person.
Mito escorted him to a sitting room and poured him some tea before darting away to find her husband. Damn her. She was a pretty little thing. And so sickeningly polite. As the seconds trickled past, Madara stared into the amber liquid in his tea cup, pondering the words he was going to say.
"Madara," Hashirama's silky voice was surprised, and infuriatingly enough…happy. Madara looked up from his cup, eyeing the man coldly. He didn't rise from his seat, and was secretly pleased to notice that this annoyed Hashirama slightly, if the slight frown that marred his handsome face was anything to go by.
"Hashirama," Madara acknowledged, and he made a show of lounging on the couch in a relaxing position. His ex-lover's frowned deepened, but he came forward. Hashirama didn't sit.
"I didn't hear back from you about the wedding," Hashirama said quietly. Madara barked out a laugh.
"As if I would attend?" he asked, lazily draping an arm around a pillow. Hashirama looked away.
"I only wanted to make peace. I meant no harm by sending you the invitation. If you only would have bothered to open it, you would have found the note inside-"
"Yes, a load of good that would have done," Madara hissed. He paused a moment before fixing cold black eyes on the man before him.
"I know what you did to me, Hashirama. You dirty little fucker. I would like to say I'm impressed and I didn't know you had it in you, but I'm much too angry at the moment to appreciate your newfound evils."
Hashirama blinked, the confusion clear in his eyes. "I do not understand," he admitted.
Madara smiled when he spoke, and he knew it must have looked fearsome. "You slandered me when you realized I would try to run against you. You slandered my name in the Uchiha clan, and you did a hell of a job, I must say. I've been ostracized."
Hashirama paled. "Madara…I…I do not know what to say. Perhaps I can-"
"Well, sorry won't suffice, I'm afraid, The Uchiha said with a hollow chuckle.
Hashirama's features hardened. "I would never do such a thing to you. I respect you. I care for you-"
Madara held up a hand. "Save the bullshit. I didn't come here for your sympathy," he spat.
Hashirama looked wounded, and irritated Madara to no end. How dare he look like a victim in this matter!
Hashirama tried to speak again. "Madara, please. Calm yourself. We will get to the heart of this matter. If you will just tell me what has happened, I will see to it that it is fixed-"
"Already acting the part of Hokage. That's rich. You've stolen so much from me lately…I thought I could steal that one thing from you. I am able and fit enough to be Hokage. I deserve it," Madara said.
Hashirama sighed deeply, and took a seat. "I do not deny that you deserve recognition for the man you are. However, I cannot support you in your endeavors to become Hokage."
Madara wondered if the Sharingan could activate on anger alone. "Why? Why can't you let me have this one thing?" he hissed. If I cannot have you, what is left? he wondered.
Hashirama paused. "Madara, you are a great man. You are a man worthy of deep respect, I will not deny it. However, you do not view the people in their entirety as your own. Your desire power too much to become a figurehead ."
Madara stared at him. Then he laughed. "As if you are so innocent! You deny me this; you! The man who promised me the world-"
"You cannot have the world, Madara." Hashirama spoke calmly. Madara fought against his surge of anger.
"But you can have Konoha, is that it?" Madara whispered. "What are the people, Hashirama, but citizens who need to be led forward and protected?"
"The citizens are more than the people who populate the village. They are part of you, Madara. Your arms, your legs. As their leader, you are the brain, the head of it all. You must think and act accordingly so that you do not damage a part of your own body. You do not view the people in such a precious light. You only want power." Hashirama spoke firmly now, anger lacing his voice.
"You think you are better than me." Madara said finally.
Hashirama sighed. "Will you ever let me get through to you?"
"Tell me you slandered me first," Madara urged. Hashirama colored, his frown twisting into a distasteful grimace.
"I have told you-"
"Oh yes. Right. You didn't have a hand in it and I should just tell you what's happened, so you can come to my rescue and magically fix it, blah blah blah. I am not a sniveling boy who needs protection, Hashirama. Tell me. Tell me you slandered me. Tell me what you did to spite me." He was leaning forward in his seat, waiting for it. He just wanted to hear the bastard say it-
"I haven't done anything to spite you," Hashirama said lowly, "I have done nothing but love you."
Madara laughed bitterly. "You say this to me after you marry a woman, after you take the position you denied me, after you allowed me to undergo abuse the past few months until I became a blight upon my clan? No one else knew about our relationship. Only you could have done this to me. Love me? Ha! You make such a convincing argument, Hashirama, I simply do not know how to dispel it!" Madara said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. He watched as Hashirama slowly succumbed to anger.
"Get out of my house," the soon-to-be Hokage growled.
"Tell me you slandered me first."
"Get. Out. Of. My. House."
"Tell me you slandered me!" Madara cried. "Let me hear it slip past your deceitful lips!" Madara rose from his seat, heart racing. Hashirama looked thunderous.
"You will never be Hokage material, Madara! Never! You will never be right for the position! You are not compassionate enough. You lack insight, empathy, and understanding. You are not the right man for the job. You will never successfully lead this village. You are too selfish! Perhaps this slander will humble you. Now you are just a man. Now you are not fit to be Hokage."
Madara felt the blood drain from his face, then felt himself flush in anger. He turned to the door.
"Burn in Hell, Hashirama. I will not forget this betrayal. You mark my words. I will never let you rest in peace. I'll be back to drag you to the fire, and then you're going to wish you had never let me go." He slipped out of the house as quiet as a shadow, leaving a distraught and fuming Hashirama alone in his sitting room, staring at a cold cup of tea.
It wasn't Hashirama Senju in front of Madara now.
It was only Kabuto, and for some reason, this angered the Akatsuki leader.
"Tell me you're afraid of what I might do to you now," Madara whispered. Kabuto scowled.
"I will welcome whatever you wish to do to me, my Lord," Kabuto said through clenched teeth. Madara's Sharingan eye whirled.
It was time Kabuto knew pain for his mistakes. Madara had waited for this moment. He had bided his time. Learned all he could from the medic nin before he became expendable.
Whatever it was Kabuto had truly been planning, Madara would see an end to it. He had no doubt Kabuto would later double cross him, or try to. So it would end here. And now. Madara had been perfecting this technique so discreetly, Kabuto had failed to notice it.
Madara was done toying with the medic nin. He grew bored of the antics. He needed Kabuto to stop whatever plan he was concocting.
Kabuto was too hungry for knowledge. So hungry, that, during a fleeting moment, he was blind to the world.
This was his greatest flaw.
Kabuto froze. Unbidden, his snakes slithered from his sleeves, hissing softly, dark mouths opened to reveal glistening fangs. Eyes widening, Kabuto attempted to drive them back, but it was a futile attempt. Real fear flashed across his face. The snakes were under the control of the Mangekyo.
The white snakes turned their heads towards their master, curling around his neck, their forked tongues brushing against his cheek.
Kabuto held still.
"Five minutes, did you say?" Madara whispered. Kabuto swallowed, his skin shiny with a light sheen of sweat in the candlelight.
"Their poison can't kill me. They are a part of me-"
"You might be immune to their venom, but their evil will maim you. This is your punishment, Kabuto. This is what you deserve."
For a moment, Kabuto stared, stunned, but he regained his composure."Why not kill me? Get it over with? Take your body back."
Madara had no desire to see his body. If it had been discovered by Kabuto finally, it had been time for another hiding place. And Kabuto had already solved that problem, hidden it for him.
What did he need his body for now? He would always be able to find it.
"Well, that wouldn't be nearly as much fun…would it?" Madara whispered, and Kabuto gasped as one of his snakes sank its fangs into the soft space between his thumb and index finger on his right hand. Two minutes later, Kabuto was shaking, gasping, and sweating as Madara led him to a chair to sit down.
"Now, you see why you cannot cross me, Yakushi?" Madara spoke almost gently. Kabuto shivered, grimacing in pain.
"You have given me powerful assets, and divulged extraordinary secrets. You have been a blessing in disguise, but that won't save you. Let this be one of many lessons, Yakushi. Fight me, or join me. The choice is yours, but know that I can destroy you at a moment's notice. Know that I can take from you without much difficulty." He waited for Kabuto to speak.
"…Still…have...you body…." Kabuto gasped out while he shivered and writhed, sweating profusely. Madara chuckled.
"You poor fool. Your experiences with Orochimaru should have been a lesson learned. You should have realized that there are men you simply can't dance with. Me being one of them."
Kabuto's eyes were bulging. "You will…never be….as great as Hashirama…." Kabuto bit out.
Slap.
His head snapped to the side.
Madara trembled with rage. "Never compare my endeavors as a weakness to his memory," he hissed, outraged. Shaking, Kabuto looked at his hand, and winced, looking away. It was swollen, black, and useless. He couldn't move his last three fingers.
His hand was useless and ugly.
"Now…do it." Madara ordered.
"But..my…my hand…" Kabuto whimpered. He couldn't perform seals. Not anymore. Madara's eye glittered evilly.
"Incapacitated, are you?" he asked, and he enjoyed the look of rage that consumed Kabuto. He couldn't perform the necessary seals with a dead hand.
"You are out of your league, Kabuto. But it was fun playing your game. I was hoping you would prove to be more than you seemed, but unfortunately you failed to surprise me. You can still be of use to me, however. Now…do it. I want to see you try." Madara ordered again.
...
Kabuto stared at his black, swollen hand. Clumsily, he attempted the seal. Madara watched him, silent. Kabuto began to sweat again. His mouth ran dry and he hung his head in shame and defeat. He gritted his teeth against the waves of shame and hatred. All this time...he had been played with, when he could have been done away with.
"I…I can't," he whispered.
"You can't?" Madara echoed.
"No…" Kabuto answered quietly, swallowing his pride.
"And why is that?"
Kabuto shot angry golden eyes up at the masked nin.
"Tell me why that is." Madara pressed.
Kabuto grimaced before saying,"Because you incapacitated-"
"Because I incapacitated you," Madara said in almost perfect unison with the medic nin, cutting him off. "That is right. So tell me, Kabuto, how do you win in this?"
There was a pause before Kabuto looked away and spoke lowly. He chose the safest answer, but not, he believed, the correct one.
"I…I don't."
Madara nodded, placing a hand on Kabuto's shoulder. "You don't." he agreed. Madara stepped away.
"Now, give me a detailed report, and don't lie to me," Madara whispered. Kabuto took a deep breath.
"Sasuke Uchiha is rumored to be in Saka. Wind Country. It can't be confirmed. The source was an old drunk who saw an old woman screeching," Kabuto said finally, in a pained voice. Madara patted his shoulder lightly.
"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" With that, the masked nin left Kabuto in his bare room, with no light but the ruddy orange flame of a wax candle. Shadows played on the stone walls, and Kabuto groaned as his hand ached painfully. Gasping, he looked at it again, only to avert his eyes in disgust.
He should have known better, but he was running out of options, and clearly, he was trapping himself further into a life of servitude for that passive-aggressive fucker. He wasn't sure, at this point, how to accomplish what he wanted.
It had been so wonderful when played out in his head: Infiltrate the Akatsuki. Get close to Madara. Play his little game. Trick Sasuke into sacrificing himself in exchange for Naruto's well being...
Bring Orochimaru back to physical life. The thought left him strangely hollow. His deranged mentor was forever gone, and the fact that there was nothing Kabuto could do to bring him back pushed his obsession for it harder. But...perhaps. Perhaps, Orochimaru was better off dead. Kabuto slouched in his chair.
He could sacrifice obsession and wait for the afterlife, if it meant the ultimate defeat for Madara.
Next on the super villain checklist?
Become the most powerful adversary in the ninja world next to Madara. Become someone important, a figurehead of power. Become the beacon of incredible knowledge and exceptional scientific discovery to the Shinobi world. He had, already, outdone himself, and yet there was no one to share the findings with.
Then, there had been the plans, after bringing Orochimaru back to physical form, of killing Madara by destroying his body. The genjutsu around the body was incredibly powerful. If Kabuto used his summoning jutsu for it correctly and did not look at the coffin, it usually did not affect him. Otherwise, his mind, left unprotected, would undoubtedly be poisoned by the illusionary curses protecting any who dared open it.
It had been why Kabuto was studying Itachi. It was another reason he could use Sasuke's Mangekyo for himself. To get past the illusions and be able to reach the body. The particular summoning jutsu he used for it had taken a lot of time and research to create. Furthermore, all he could do was summon it. Open it for mere moments if he wasn't looking at it, even. If he tried to tamper with it in any other way, the genjutsu would activate.
He needed the Sharingan.
He needed another way to get past Madara-
A thought occurred to him suddenly.
Of course!
Maybe…maybe what he'd come here for had been in vain. Maybe Kabuto should have taken his chances and switched sides while he could. Taken Madara's corpse to the Allied Shinobi Forces…
No, no. That would never do. He despised the hidden villages. Although the thought had crossed his mind more than once before he came to the Akatsuki. Amnesty, for their enemy's corpse. There were other ways to foil Madara. And, as he was learning, other sides to take.
But he had still been a fool. He had thought himself above simple tricks. He had thought himself above Madara's schemes. Yet he had trapped himself like a rat. Was this his fortune? His fate?
Fortune's fool. Heh.
He was a power-hungry, sadistic wanna-be. He had only ended up where all traitorous fools were destined to be at the end of of every goddamn fairytale with a hidden moral.
Alone. Outwitted. Incapacitated. Beaten at his own game.
He did not possess the Sharingan. He had failed to get closer to it. He had no chance against the Mangekyo's influence except to avoid eye contact and hope for the best. Or use clones, but that hadn't gone exactly to plan either, had it?
His gut twisted. At that moment, he was consumed with hatred, with loss, with desperation. Madara could not win, even if that meant Kabuto could no longer win himself. He was far too invested in this game to let go.
There had to be a way.
The son of a bitch had to go down, and everyone else with him, or Kabuto would not rest. Kabuto's entire arm was throbbing in pain at this point, and he stood, conjuring his snakes. They slid from his sleeves, coiling upon the floor.
It was time to put his back-up plan, a technique he had carefully and secretly been perfecting especially for the moment Madara could kill him, in effect.
"Find him," Kabuto rasped to the snakes. He didn't need to clarify who. The snakes shot off into the shadows, and Kabuto lowered himself onto the bed.
There was a limited number of people who could defeat Madara Uchiha. In fact, there were only two people alive who could possibly accomplish it in a fight: Naruto Uzumaki, or Sasuke Uchiha.
But there was one person who could have the power defeat Madara with his own memories. Kabuto grinned, humming to himself as he thought of Madara's coffin, hidden safely away beneath the ruined and forgotten catacombs of an ancient imaged what kind of power illusions would have on Madara himself.
The game wasn't over yet.