Izuna spins to the side, fluid as a dancer, and dodges the next sloppy punch thrown his way.
"Stop moving you damned rat!" The thug slurs.
Izuna ignores him and continues his performance in the dingy alley, ducking and spinning around the ungainly man like ashes in the wind, becoming more confident and sure-footed with every step he takes in this new body.
He is still clumsier than he would like, but it's nothing he cannot overcome with time and practice. His puny muscles need every chance they can get to catch up to his new-old memories, and to adjust those memories that don't fit his physique anymore accordingly.
"I've had it with you! Fucking brat!" The drunkard yells aggravated between his clumsy stumbles, his arms abruptly elongating into sharp blades that glisten menacingly in the sparse moonlight.
Taking a wary step back, Izuna finally activates his Sharingan. Evading a drunk idiot is one thing, fighting an armed man head-on and coming away unscathed is another; and with no equipment out of the question. Izuna has neither armour that can protect him, nor a blade that could match the man's quirk. Lucky him, that doesn't mean he is defences against physically stronger opponents; he still possesses his clan's Dōjutsu.
It's a strange and confusing sensation to activate it, slightly disorientating even. There is no familiar feeling of chakra rushing to his eyes, or Tenketsu widening in his skull. There is just this instinctive knowledge that something is being released from deep within himself, crawling out of the pitch-black well in the very centre of his soul, gaunt fingers searching for purchase on oil-slick walls, the silent echo of rusty chains rattling on foul stone floor, the noise of groaning metal that is about to give as an obscure power strain against its prison, drunk on the leeway it has been granted now yearning to be fully unshackled and released from the depths of the dungeon onto the unsuspecting world.
Nothing of it is projected onto the physical world in any way, and Izuna ignores the demon in the abyss, shoves it to the other monsters of his past that haunt his present. He focuses on the only tangible changes, his sharped eyesight and visual receptivity.
Black tomoe spin on seas of blood and a minute moment of eye contact is all Izuna needs to trap his prey in a Genjutsu. The man's muscles instantly lock up; he stumbles and falls to his knees.
Slowly terror contorts his features and silent screams start to tear his mouth wide open. His arms shake by his side, sharp metal screeching on the asphalt as the man shivers, staring ahead at something only he can see. And the demon smiles with hollow glee as the man is trapped in nightmare after nightmare. It reaches out, caresses his salty cheeks with jagged fingertips, rubbing skin raw until blood joins tears. It coos gently, bile and venom dripping from its bottomless maw with every regurgitated sound it chokes out.
The thug, despite all, is still mostly upright. This one is resilient, Izuna realizes with interest. Tilting his head in concentration, he increases the Genjutsu's complexity, dragging up more intricate Illusions from his own memories. There is plenty for him to choose from, and more than enough to show the trembling man kneeling before him. The war and carnage he had been confronted with since he had been a toddler, the unspeakable cruelties committed in front of him, the battles he had fought standing ankle deep in mud and blood; those are his inspirations as he creates nightmare after nightmare in the man's mind. All he can hear is steel bending and stone shrieking, so high pitched it rings in his ears.
Izuna is curious; how far can he push? How far until the thug's brain melts in his grasp from all the horrors he is witnessing? How many nightmares will it take for his feeble psyche to shatter at last, like an ugly vase that has been knocked over one to many times?
The man jolts. Then falls to the side in a pitiful heap. He must have reached his limit already, his brain shut down. A pity.
"This is weird." Izuna mumbles contemplatively, poking the limp man with his foot. "Somehow the Sharingan is easier, almost instinctual to control, and yet I have no feeling for it whatsoever. There is no chakra to regulate, nothing physical to hold on to. It's just intuition, as if moving a muscle that's not actually there. It's confusing."
"I know what you mean. I noticed it as well." Madara says, casually leaning against the wall without sparing the thug a single glance.
And that is something that has changed too, Izuna muses. His older brother had become utterly indifferent to every aspect of life that doesn't directly involve Izuna. He had not been this callous during the war. Even after the cruellest of battles and during the harshest of winters, Madara had always been emotional and an idealist to a fault, even though he tried to mask it behind stoicism.
He had always dreamed of a better future, of peace and kindness, of reaching a helpful hand to each other. Madara had always cared. Now, though, that compassion and optimism is nowhere to be found in his apathetic eyes, and Izuna doesn't know how to feel about that. Despite his oftentimes mocking words regarding his brother's unrealistic dreams, he had always admired how Madara was able to preserve his soft side in spite of the never-ending pain they had to endure. It was a testament to his strength that he could let himself feel so much during those unforgiving times.
Surely that side of his brother had not been entirely burned out. It couldn't have been. So, Izuna demands, like his did so many times before in another lifetime, "Nii-san, let's train together."
Madara nods and pushes himself of the wall. "Very well. We should move to a different location before we get unwanted company."
Izuna's shoulders slump. For a moment he thinks that that's it, the world had managed to char his brother's soul; but as Madara passes him, he reaches out and ruffles Izuna's hair roughly, in that particular affectionate way of his, like his did so many times before in another lifetime.
Izuna beams and follows Madara with a skip in his step.
.
.
"Hey, Nii-san?" Izuna asks drowsily, clinging to his brother's arm like a limpet. It's the middles of the night and yet it's never truly dark in Tokyo, even this high up on a rooftop. Streetlights, constant traffic, and bright skyscrapers illuminate the city perpetually with their artificial light.
"Hm?" Madara hums, not averting his gaze from the glowing horizon build of glass and steel.
A sudden frosty breeze makes Izuna shudder, causing him to huddle even closer to his brother's warm side. Damn the absence of his fire natured chakra.
"What do you want to do?"
"…I'm sorry?"
"What do you want to do with this life?" Izuna elaborates. "There is no war, no clan, no duties. We could literally do whatever we want. Have you never thought about your future?"
Now Madara turns his full attention to him. A minute passes before he responds with a tense expression. "I can't say that I have."
"Well, I don't know yet either." Izuna sights, resting his head on Madara's shoulder. This world is just so completely different, it seems so endlessly big and full of possibilities, and there is nothing and no one to guide them. It's nauseating to think about. They have to start somewhere though, and Izuna can do that, he can take the first step, "But I guess I would like to try painting."
"Painting?"
"Yeah. Have you seen all those vibrant colours you can buy for a mere few Yen in basically every corner store? And there are so many shades and hues to choose from! Not to mention all the different materials. Crayons, watercolours, oil colours, felt-tip pens. Just imagine the beautiful paintings I could make with all those options available."
"I see… You always liked pretty things."
"Of course I do, who doesn't? Don't pretend you didn't like the pretty knives I forged for you." Izuna protests. Madara never cared much for the aesthetically pleasing things in life like jewellery or elaborate fabrics, however, Izuna knows for a fact that his brother had dearly treasured every single blade he had made for him. "I want to work with metal again, too; once this body isn't so useless anymore and I can actually lift a hammer. Then I can finally make you a proper sword again, and with all the time at our hands it will be my best work yet, you'll see. I won't have you carry a shoddy one."
An amused huff. "You never made a shoddy sword in your life, Izuna."
"And I never will, but yours will be nothing short of perfect. It will be sharp enough to cut though every enemy you encounter, and it will be durable enough to never shatter on another one's blade. It will protect you in battle, no matter the odds you face."
"If you forge it, I'm certain it will." Madara says, throwing his arm over Izuna's shivering shoulders.
"So, is there something you want to do?" He asks, getting back on topic. "You always enjoyed falconry." An understatement, Madara had adored his birds of prey. He would often spend hours training them or simply letting them sit on his shoulder, no matter the matted state they would leave his hair in.
"I did." He hums.
Izuna's grin widely, success. "Then it's decided! We will get you a hawk or two, and I will learn to paint them. Everything else can be decided along the way."
Madara's lip twitches ever so slightly. "I think I would like that."
.
.
Izuna spins to the side but is unable to block the lighting fast punch aimed his way. With no choice but to take it, he tries to roll with the impact as best as he can, grunting when the air is still thoroughly knocked out of him.
Madara freezes, stopping his next strike before it connects. "Are you alright?"
"Never been better." Izuna wheezes on the floor, clutching his stomach.
Amaterasu, he can't remember a time when he had been this embarrassingly outmatched.
Once he and Madara had been equals on the battlefield, despite their very different fighting styles, or maybe precisely because of that. They would train together whenever they could, pushing each other to their limits, always looking for new ways to beat the other.
After his death, Madara must have surpassed him, and Izuna can accept that. No, he is proud that his brother had become so much more skilled over the years. Izuna naturally fell behind, it's only logical. This fight, however, is just pathetic, Izuna's physical condition is pathetic. He can barely keep up without his chakra to speed up his steps and augment his hits. His tiny body is of course no help whatsoever; his reach is too short, his muscles too weak, and his centre of gravity is entirely awry.
There is only one thing to do about it.
Gritting his teeth Izuna pushes himself onto shaky legs. He takes a couple of deep breaths and forces any discomfort to the recess of his mind.
"Again." He demands, sliding his feet further apart and raises his hands.
A soft smile ghosts over Madara's lips and without further ado he rushes at him again.
.
.
Chocolate or gummy bears?
Izuna doesn't have the money to buy either, but the shop seems to be well of, so surely the owner won't mind donating some sweets to Izuna. Most likely he won't even notice that the candy aisle had been liberated of some of its contents.
But what flavour should he choose? Strawberry or marzipan? He had never tried raspberry before. Madara is not found of overly sweet things, though, so maybe he should get something bitter, or maybe a little of everything? Hmm, decisions, decisions…
"Oi, you brats! You are not welcome here, get out!"
Being rudely interrupted, Izuna slowly lifts his head towards the source of the irritating voice, making eye contact with a greasy, middle-aged woman with dog ears and a matching tail. Her face is contorted in red anger, her fists clenched too tightly.
Izuna can see Madara tensing up ever so slightly in the corner of his eyes.
"Are you deaf!? I said get out, worthless scum!" The dog-woman shouts a second time.
Izuna stays standing where he is, glaring up at the asshole. "You got a problem with us?" He spits right back.
"Yes, I've got a problem with quirkless, cheeky filth like you dirtying my shop!"
"What the hell?" How does this nobody know about their 'quirkless' status? Should they know her? He has never seen this woman before.
"I won't repeat myself! OUT!" She roars, and her patience visibly snaps when neither of them move a single muscle. Furious, she grabs a handful of chocolate bars from the shelf next to her and hurls them their way. Predictably, she is entirely inept and misses Izuna by a wide margin, Madara however, has to dodge several of the projectiles to avoid being hit.
A spark flies, small but enough to ignite a pit of oil into a flaming inferno. Burning anger rises inside Izuna. "You dare lay a hand on my brother?" He snarls. "You think that just because you look like a mutt you have the right to do so?" His Sharingan flares to life. "You think that because you have got a tail sticking out of your ass your pathetic life is worth anything? More than my brother's no less?" A low rumbling, a gluttonous howl. "Then allow me to correct those false assumptions of yours." A wide, wide smile spreads over Izuna's face. "You are not worthy of liking dirt off Madara's shoes. Your miserable existence doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as him. You call us filth, but all I can hear coming out of that mug of yours are the asinine barks of an uncivilized runt. You are not-"
"Izuna." A warm hand lands on his shoulder. Izuna turns his head, scowling petulantly up at his brother. "Don't waste your anger on people like her. Her words mean nothing."
"But no one is allowed to belittle you, except me." He grumbles. "Besides, you were just as ready to strangle the bitch for calling me scum. I was just faster this time."
Madara shakes his head, more amused than anything else. "At least I wouldn't have made such a mess. You are lucky we are alone."
Izuna glances down at the woman lying in her own blood and piss. Her face is an unrecognizable lump of meat, her hands covered in gore from trying to claw her own skin off.
"I knew we were alone, I'm not stupid." Izuna complaints crossing his arms. "Now help me carry my sweets, I decided to take a little of everything. I deserve it."
Madara rolls his eyes but holds the shopping bag open as Izuna rummages through the aisle like a maniac squirrel.